The Flower Brides (84 page)

“Well,” said the mother eagerly, “I’ll do it! Of course I’ll do it. I’ll love to do it! I think he’s wonderful, and I’ll tell him so. He may be rich, and he may be playing, but he doesn’t forget kindness, and that’s a great thing in this busy world.”

“Oh yes,” said Camilla with worldly wisdom, as if she were the elder, “only, Mother dear, don’t get notions about him, for you’ll only have to get over them if you do. We likely shan’t see him again. He doesn’t belong to our world.”

Her mother gave her a quick, keen look.

“It is all God’s world, Camilla,” said her mother softly.

“Yes, but we’re not all God’s children,” said Camilla, almost wearily. “Only in the sense that God made us. You taught me that yourself, Mother. You said we were not God’s children till we were born again.”

“How do you know he is not born again, child?” said the mother after a thoughtful pause.

“I’m sure he’s not,” said Camilla with a deep breath. Oh, must she be probed this way forever? “That is, I’m pretty sure,” she added. “He didn’t speak like it.”

“We can pray for him,” said the mother softly.

“Yes, we can pray,” sighed the girl, as if just now she had very little faith to pray for a man like that, “but—we aren’t in his class. But, anyhow, these oranges are great, aren’t they? And wouldn’t it be nice to send half a dozen to Miss York?”

“Send her a dozen,” said the mother eagerly, and then she forgot to probe farther.

And then Miss York herself came walking in.

“Just for a glimpse of you two,” she said wistfully. “Somehow you seem more like home folks than anybody I’ve met since Mother died.”

They had a nice cheery little talk and a good laugh over some of the funny things that happened in the new household where Miss York was nursing, and Camilla forgot her troubles for the time until they were at work packing the basket of fruit for the nurse to take with her.

“Put a spray of orange blossoms in,” called the mother from the other room.

“No, no, don’t waste orange blossoms on me!” said Nurse York, stooping over to smell them. “I’m out of the running for orange blossoms at my age. All omens have failed on me. Keep them all for Camilla. They belong to her. I always said it wasn’t but a step from orchids to orange blossoms, and it looks as if it had proved right again.”

Then suddenly weary Camilla flushed crimson.

“Don’t! Please!” she said sharply and hurried out to the kitchen to get a few more oranges and hide her tortured face.

She was back again in a minute, though, trying to laugh it off.

“You’re all wrong,” she explained with an elaborate smile on her face. “The orange blossoms and the oranges were sent to Mother, not me, and perhaps you’ll recall that the most of the orchids were Mother’s.”

“Oh yeah?” said Miss York with a very good imitation of a small boy with his tongue in his cheek.

“Well, you can laugh,” said Camilla seriously, “but really, you are all wrong, and you’ll just have to put aside all your silly romantic notions, for I have it on very good authority that the young man you are talking about is as good as engaged to another girl.”

Camilla brought out the words clearly, as if she were reading a lesson on her own soul. Her mother eyed her keenly, but Miss York only said, “Is that so!” mockingly, as though she had inside information and were enjoying her own thoughts.

Camilla went and got her purse and paid the nurse her monthly stipend that had been agreed upon between them. She did it with satisfaction. Come what would, her debts were that much smaller, anyway.

Camilla did not expect to sleep much that night. She had intended to take out her troubles when her mother was asleep and look them over carefully and pray about them, but when morning came she found that instead she had fallen asleep almost the minute her head touched the pillow and with only the briefest kind of a prayer, though she was so much in need of one.

M
r. Whitlock was in the office when Camilla got there the next morning. He looked up with his pleasant new smile of greeting, and Camilla went happily to her desk and began to get ready for the day’s work.

Suddenly her employer spoke in a pleasant, friendly tone.

“How about going to lunch with me this noon, Miss Chrystie?” he asked. “There’s a matter about the office that I would like to talk over with you. Some changes that I’m thinking of making to which I would like to get your reaction. I thought we might find a quiet place where we could talk it over while we eat?”

His manner was gravely quiet, though there was still that friendly light in his eyes, and Camilla could not help feeling pleased, although she had no special desire to go out to lunch with Mr. Whitlock. Still, this was more or less a matter of her job, she supposed, and of course she would go. She probably ought to be pleased that he thought it worthwhile to consult her about the office. At least it would keep her thoughts from other things.

“Thank you,” she said. “I shall be glad to go.”

It suddenly occurred to her that this would be something more she could tell her mother and that she had been so full of interest in the oranges that she had forgotten last night to say anything of the day’s happenings.

“Very well,” said Whitlock, “I’ll arrange to be here at the office for you at one o’clock.”

And just then Marietta came in.

Whitlock sat still at his desk writing for several minutes more while Marietta was taking off her coat in a leisurely way. Her scare was a thing of the past, and she had fully recovered her spirits. The door of the cloakroom was open wide, and she was watching Mr. Whitlock, wondering if he were in a good mood and if she dared to ask for the afternoon off so she could take Ted to the movies.

But just as she was about to come out to her desk she saw Mr. Whitlock, with an envelope in his hand, step over to her desk. He laid it down beside her machine and immediately took his hat and coat and went out of the room.

With a dart of sudden fear in her eyes she went out and snatched up the envelope, which she saw was addressed to herself. She tore it open frantically and read with growing horror in her face.

Camilla was writing away at top speed, trying to get a lot done before she went out to lunch, in case she should be detained beyond her usual time. She didn’t want to have to stay late again that night, for she knew her mother would be uneasy having her late two nights in succession. But there was something so weird and heartbroken in the sound that Marietta gave forth that Camilla had to turn around and see what was the matter.

There stood Marietta with the letter in her hand, consternation in her homely, stubby young face, and a check lying at her feet.

“I’m fired!” she cried in a tone something between a wail and a squeak. “I’m
fired
! And I promised last night to take Ted to the circus! And now I can’t even pay for my fur coat!”

Camilla couldn’t help but smile over the order in which Marietta’s woes had culminated in her mind; the circus and the moment would always come before other considerations with Marietta.

“I’m fired! Can you beat it?” asserted Marietta, as if it were something almost beyond her comprehension.

“Oh, Marietta!” cried Camilla sympathetically, “not
really
?” And suddenly Camilla took in the full possibilities, which might involve her also. Her heart began to sink. And here she had been congratulating herself on the fact that she was invited out to lunch with her employer to be consulted about office affairs and was therefore immune to this danger! How did she know but this would be his polite way of breaking the news to her, a little less abruptly than the method he had used with Marietta because she had been introduced by an old friend and was from his hometown? That was probably it! He was taking her out and explaining to her why he had to make changes in his office force! Consternation spread over her face also, but she managed a tender look of commiseration for Marietta.

“Oh, Marietta, I’m so sorry!” she said as she saw the big tears begin to rain down the poor girl’s face.

“You aren’t fired, too, are ya?” Marietta paused in her grief to inquire sobbingly. “’Cause if you are I’m gonta tell him what I think of him. You aren’t, are ya?”

“Not yet,” said Camilla bravely, trying to manage a wan smile, “but I’ll probably come next. But anyway, I’ll do all I can to help you get another job, whether I’m dismissed or not.”

“Say—you’re—all—r-r-right!” sobbed Marietta. “I’ll—always re-remember—you—saying that! But—maybe you won’t get fired. Mebbe he means ta make you do all your work and mine, too!” she blubbered noisily. “He’s mebbe cutting down on expenses like everybody else, an’ he’s keeping you ’cause you’re the most ef-f-f-ficient! Oh, I know you are! I never was m-m-much—g-g-good!”

“Don’t talk that way, Marietta. I’m sure if you would just put your mind to it you could be as efficient as anybody.”

“Oh, I know,” said Marietta hopelessly, “that’s what they told me the last place I worked. But some days I just
can
’
t
! Life is so awful dull, just working! I havta have some excitement! I can’t help thinkin’ of other things besides just work. If I didn’t I’d
die
! I haven’t got dates and fellas like other girls! I’m not good-looking like you are. Nobody cares a hang about me!”

“Oh, don’t say that, Marietta!” said Camilla pityingly. “I’m sure little Ted is fond of you.”

“Oh yes, poor kid!” said Marietta hopelessly. “But what’s he? And he wouldn’t care a hang, either, if he had another soul in the world to turn to. He wouldn’t look at me if his mother paid any attention to him.”

“Oh yes he would,” consoled Camilla. “Children aren’t like that; they respond with love when love comes to them, I’m sure, and you’ve given him love. He must love you.”

“Oh, well, he’s the only one anyhow. There isn’t another soul in the wide world cares about me.”

“Yes,” said Camilla softly, thoughtfully, “there is another One who cares a great deal! He cares so much that He came down here to die for you. He loves you more than even a mother could love!”

Marietta stared at her.

“Whaddya mean?” she asked, getting out her handkerchief to mop her face.

“I mean the Lord Jesus Christ. Marietta, He really loves you and takes account of every single thing in your life.”

Marietta’s expression was incredulity, and a deep gloom settled down over her homely face.

“Then what does He let me lose my job for, if He loves me so much? Why did He let that happen?” she asked belligerently. “Naw, you can’t make me believe that bunk! Look at all the rotten times I’ve had. If He cares, why would He let all that come to me?”

“Perhaps to make you listen to Him,” said Camilla thoughtfully.

Marietta turned to her fellow worker—her swollen tear-stained face on which the cheap makeup was badly streaked—and stared.

“Listen to Him? What in the world can you mean?”

Camilla spoke eagerly.

“You know, God speaks to every one of us. He wants to make us hear His voice, and sometimes when everything is going beautifully and we’re having a good time, we just won’t listen. We never even think of Him! I think very likely that is often why He has to take everything away from us for a while, so we can hear His voice in our hearts.”

Marietta looked at her in bewilderment.

“But what would He want of us?”

“He wants us to love Him! He wants our companionship and love!”

Marietta shook her head.

“Not me!” she said decidedly. “He wouldn’t want me! Nobody wants me. I’m not good-looking, and I’m not good. I’m a devil, I tell ya, a little devil! Why, Camilla Chrystie, I’m a
sinner
!”

“Yes,” said Camilla sweetly, “but we’re all that, and Jesus said He came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”

“Aw! Sinner nothing. Everybody ain’t the same kind of a sinner. You don’t know what I mean by sin! Why, I’ve lied, and I’ve stolen—I stole some money off my stepmother once ta get a box of candy fer little Ted when she had slapped him! And I’ve hated! I’ve hated her so hard I could have killed her ef I’d had a chance, yes, and been glad of it! Oh, you don’t know what a sinner I’ve been! He wouldn’t want me except ta punish me, and I s’pose that’s what He’s doing now.”

“But you don’t understand, Marietta; single sins don’t make us sinners, they only
prove
we’re sinners. We sin
because
we’re sinners. There is only one sin, anyway, that can keep you from God, and that is unbelief, refusing God’s Son as your Savior.”

Marietta was silent, almost thoughtful for a long minute, staring at Camilla.

“I’d believe all righty ef He’d just give me back my job!”

Camilla shook her head.

“We can’t make conditions with God. We’ve got to take His conditions. He says belief must come first, belief accepts salvation. Why, if you know somebody loves you, you’re not afraid to trust them to do their best for you. And God’s best for you may be a great deal better than anything you have dreamed of for yourself.”

Marietta looked uncertainly at Camilla and slowly sat down in her chair, staring off into space sorrowfully.

“I can’t see it,” she said, shaking her head hopelessly.

“You don’t have to see it,” said Camilla. “You just have to trust Him and let Him prove it to you.”

Camilla leaned over and picked up the check from the floor, laying it in Marietta’s lap. Marietta looked down at it with a long quivering sigh.

“He’s paid me for the whole month,” she said sadly, fingering the check. “I s’pose that’s the last money I’ll get the feel of for many a day! He says I can leave tamorra morning ef I want! But gosh! What’ll I do?”

Bang went her head down on her typewriter again, and she began to cry afresh.

Camilla went over and patted her rough, crimped head gently. She felt very pitiful toward her. She almost forgot that she herself might be presently in the same predicament.

“Come, dear,” she said suddenly, stooping over and smoothing Marietta’s stiff locks away from her hot forehead, “let’s get back to work. This won’t make things any better. We’ve got to finish up this day’s work honorably, whatever comes!”