The Flower Brides (68 page)

Gordon purposely led her around the house to the view of the meadows in the back with the spring house nestling its white stone walls by the brook and the darkening woods standing majestic beyond. And just below them the garden, huddling in groups of dying colors, like devoted worshippers before the glory of the clouds. The breath of mignonette was there. Late pansies and forget-me-nots in close borders, the white of stately lilies towering above tall spikes of larkspurs, flocks of Canterbury bells, pink and white foxgloves, all bowed saintly heads at vespers. It was a lovely scene, and the young man wanted the girl to lose that sense of horror that must be connected in her mind with the spring house. In the colored evening light, with flowers around and the brightness of the sunset on its white vine-clad walls, and with Gordon MacCarroll’s strong hand slipped protectingly within her arm, the spring house was forever robbed of its atmosphere of horror that Diana had felt since the night she came home. She would never again dread to look out toward it even in the evening.

And as the colors in the end of evening settled into purple and pearl and gray, they wandered slowly, reluctantly away from the hauntingly lovely garden wrapped in prayer; on through the shrubbery around the house to the drive, and so down across the drive to the tall plumy pines that grouped themselves behind the stone cottage.

They were walking across the grass now, their footsteps muffled by the turf and their step in unison. They had been talking of many things, and Diana thrilled to find that Gordon knew and loved the same poems and books and pictures that were her especial delight. How wonderful to have a friend—yes, she could dare to call him friend surely—who enjoyed reading. Not one of the young men in her crowd of friends had cared for reading anything but trash. They scarcely took time to read that.

But now as they entered within the seclusion of the trees, suddenly Diana saw at her feet a starry flower!

Another carnation!

“Oh!” she cried and stopped before it.

Then she looked up into Gordon’s face with wonder and delight and, stooping, reached out both hands to gather up the flower tenderly and draw it close to her face.

Gordon stood looking down at her, a great reverence in his eyes.

She rose and looked at him again, a wonderful look, starry even through the dusk.

“You have put this here again!” she acknowledged. “How wonderful of you! And you brought me out here to find it!”

He slid his arm within hers again. They took another step or two, and there deeper in seclusion was another flower—and another—and another—a whole armful of carnations, it seemed like dozens and dozens of them, scattered broadcast there in the quiet luminous dark, with the stars beginning to look down from the sky.

He stopped beside her and helped her gather them up, and then as she stood breathless with them clasped in her arms he came and stood before her and, looking into her eyes, he said, “And now, may I tell you about my love for you?”

He took both her hands as she held the flowers and looked down at her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. And Diana thrilled to the wonder of his voice and, looking up, said with grave solemnity, “But how could you possibly love me when you didn’t know me? When you never even saw me yet?”

“Oh, but I had,” said Gordon tenderly. “I had watched you day after day. Do you know where I saw you first? Right here in this spot where we are standing, kneeling down and picking something out of the grass. I found out afterward that it was violets you were picking, for after you were gone I went out and searched and found one you had missed. I have it now pressed in the pages of my Bible over a very precious verse.”

“But where could you have been? I didn’t see you anywhere,” said Diana.

“No, you wouldn’t. I was up in the window of my room reading my Bible, and I looked up and saw you. Then when you were gone I knelt beside the window to pray, and I prayed for you. Afterward I went out and found the violet. And every morning after that I watched you come for the violets till they were almost gone. Then I was afraid you might not come there anymore, and I would miss you. So I thought of putting a flower there to see if you would find it. It was so I began to leave a flower each day for you. And each day I prayed for you, that you might know Him, my Lord, and be guarded and guided. And each day as I watched you and prayed for you my love for you grew until I suddenly knew it was a great overwhelming thing that was going to shut out the possibility of my ever loving any other woman. And I realized that you might never care for me. In fact, it even might be that I would never get to know you well enough to tell you of my love. I am not a wealthy man, and you are a girl brought up to luxury. There were all sorts of obstacles. Yet I couldn’t help be glad, for I knew there was something far more precious in loving you even this way than to have a daily companionship with any other woman. So I laid it before God and went on praying for you. The flowers were my only way of telling you, and you had not put them away from you. You had accepted them.”

He paused and looked down at her with question and deep hunger in his eyes.

Diana stood with her face slightly averted and spoke slowly. “You don’t know how precious they were! You don’t know how much I needed them just then! Oh, it is all so very wonderful. I can see now why your prayer followed me everywhere and drew me in spite of myself to God.”

His hands were warm upon hers. His eyes were filled with wonder.

“But how could you possibly know that I was praying for you?” he asked. “You spoke of that before. I wondered about it.”

“I heard you,” she said quietly. “It was the night I went away. I had meant to be gone when Father brought her—his wife—home but they came before I expected them, and I had to slip out of the back door and hide behind the shrubbery. I was afraid they might follow me and stop me. I got down to the gate and stood out on the pavement over beyond your house, close to the hedge, waiting for the bus to come. And suddenly I heard a voice behind me praying. I did not know who you were, nor that you belonged in the cottage then. Nobody had told me except that a woman and her son had taken it. For some reason I thought the son was only a boy. But when I heard that prayer I knew it was the voice of the one who had protected me when I was terribly frightened. I thought perhaps it was a visitor at the cottage. But you were praying for
me
—at least I hoped that I was included. I hoped that our house was the one you meant when you spoke of the ‘great’ house, and I carried that prayer with me, for oh, how we needed it! ‘Lord, we would ask Thy mercy and tenderness and leading for the people up at the great house,’ you said. ‘Perhaps some of them are sad. Lord, give them comfort. Perhaps they need guidance. Do Thou send Thy light—!’ And then the bus came along, and I felt I had to get into it. But all the way to the city I kept saying those words over and over so that I wouldn’t forget them, and when I got into the train I wrote them down. And I kept wishing I had stayed and heard the rest, even if I did get caught! Sometimes it seemed that I could not stand it because I had not heard the rest of that prayer. I almost got out of the bus and went back, only I had my suitcase to carry and I knew the prayer would be over by the time I got back. And then I was a little afraid that perhaps I might hear something more that would show it was not our house after all that you were praying for, and I felt as if I could not stand that.
I needed it so!
”

Her voice quivered, and suddenly his arms went around her and he drew her close, flowers and all, and laid his face down upon her soft hair.

“Darling!” he whispered.

She quivered in his arms and was still, and then she lifted her face to his and whispered back softly, shyly, “Dear flower-person—!”

He laid his lips upon hers and drew her closer, and heaven itself seemed to come down and enfold them.

“I love you!” he told her in tones that thrilled her. “Can it be that you love me? So soon?”

“I think I’ve loved you since the first flower,” she said, smiling through the darkness. “I called them spirit-flowers and told myself God had sent them, but I loved and dreamed about whoever sent them. And—your prayer—God answered it! He sent me light to guide me, just as you prayed.”

She told him about the girl in the station and the tract that had helped her and how she had begun to pray for herself, and he breathed a glad “Thank God!”

They had so many things to tell! There were times she had been saved from perils. There was the escape from the kidnappers. There was the way she looked when she came down the stairs in Mrs. Lundy’s rooming house with the carnations held in her arms—! There was a great deal for him to tell her about that. And suddenly they realized it was growing late.

“The dew has been falling for a long time, and your feet must be drenched!” said Gordon. “This is a pretty way for me to begin to take care of you!”

But they were loath to leave the sacred place where their love had first found root, and it was some minutes before they walked slowly up the drive and entered the house, their hands clinging together until the very threshold was reached. They had said good night down among the pines, but their fingers gave a last lingering pressure as they entered decorously.

Maggie was waiting for them discreetly in the back of the hall and came forward and took the carnations to be put in water quite as if it were a common thing for young men and maidens to go out at midnight and gather carnations in the moonlight.

“There’s a telegram for your father,” Maggie said in a whisper, indicating a yellow envelope on the hall table.

D
iana and Gordon discussed whether it should be opened and decided to do so. It might be something about the kidnapping, in which case he probably wouldn’t have to see it at all. But it might be something important that should be attended to at once. In any event, they must know what it was before they dared show it to him, for the doctor had warned them so much about exciting him.

So Diana opened it carefully and read. It was dated from the yacht
Lotus Blossom
, and it consisted of just ten words.

Diana looked up at her beloved with startled eyes.

“It’s from Helen!” she said. “She’s off on a yachting cruise. What shall I do about telling him?”

“Let it drift a day or two,” advised Gordon. “It will work out somehow. We’ll pray about it.”

She gave him a smile of wonder and awe as she put the message back in its envelope.

“I am sure that life is going to be wonderful and different now,” she said, looking up at him. “You make everything seem different. But oh, poor dear Father! How is he going to get well and strong with a wife like that?”

“Leave that to the heavenly Father, too. Just trust it with Him! He’ll have a way of working it out someday. Be patient!”

Maggie, lingering in the back hall, filling a vase with the carnations, kept sharp ears open to the low whispers and keen eyes furtively on the two. She was not unaware of the starriness of her bonnie lassie’s eyes, and her own lingered with approval upon Gordon’s strong, pleasant face and fine height and build. Here was a man worthy of her wonderful girl!

And when he was gone and Diana had gone up to her room Maggie went and stood before the hall table looking down at the yellow envelope with eyes that could almost penetrate the paper, so keen they were of understanding, and then she said in a very inaudible whisper, more like a hiss: “The
hussy
!”

Two days later Mr. Disston was so much better that the nurse said he could sit up against three pillows for a little while and might have the paper to read for a few minutes.

They had given him the telegram the day before, and he had read it without comment and cast it carelessly on the table, whence it floated to the floor. Maggie, when she came in to “redd up,” as she said, gathered it up and had the satisfaction at last of knowing the exact words of the message that she had read before by thought transference, or whatever it was that helped her to unravel the secrets of those around her.

So the nurse plumped up the pillows, and Stephen Disston sat up against them with the morning paper.

He thought he wanted very much to see what the stock market was doing, for his lawyer friend had been in to see him for a few minutes the day before and had brought encouraging news, but he let his eyes wander over the first page of the paper before he opened to the commercial pages, and there in large letters heading one column was the announcement:

There were definite details about the owner of the yacht, its description, its history, speed, etc., and the accident by which the catastrophe arrived, also a lengthy discussion of why the SOS did not bring neighboring ships in time, but Stephen Disston did not read them, neither did he turn over to the commercial pages at all that morning. When the nurse came back she found him lying back on his pillows with his eyes closed and the paper on his lap. She told him it was time for his orange juice and his morning nap and went to prepare the orange juice. But when Diana came in a moment later her father handed her the paper and pointed to the headlines.