The Flower Brides (88 page)

“Thus endeth the first lesson!” laughed Camilla as she finally shut the door after her guest and sank wearily into a big chair. “Mother, I don’t know what you’ll think of me, but I had to undertake her reformation. She was about to lose her job.”

“Dear child!” said her mother understandingly. “I’m glad you did it, though I can see that it’s not going to be all rest and pleasure for you. But it’s a heavenly thing to do, and I think the angels watching you love it that you are doing it.”

“The angels?”

“Yes,” said her mother brightly, “didn’t you know, we have an audience all the time, we Christians? I was just reading about it this morning, how we are made a spectacle for the world and for angels. And it seems that word
angels
includes bad ones, too, demons who are watching the Christians’ walk. Yes, I’m glad you did this, dear, and if there’s any way I can help, I will. Poor, homely, lonely girl! But you know, Camilla, she didn’t look so bad when you got her hair fixed. She really didn’t.”

When Camilla, weary with the day, crept into her bed, it came to her suddenly that she hadn’t had time to think about Wainwright and Stephanie Varrell all day long. Then, just as she was falling to sleep, there came that sharp, sweet memory of a kiss that seemed like a dream that had never been.

The next few days were interesting for Camilla. Mr. Whitlock was suddenly called to New York on business, and he left with only a few hurried directions and a promise to call her up later and find out what was in the mail. He was gone before Marietta arrived at the office, which was a good thing, perhaps, for Marietta had not been quite such a success with the arrangement of her hair as Camilla had hoped, and it had to be done over again. But Camilla fixed her up and began to stimulate her to work and see what she could accomplish while Mr. Whitlock was away, to surprise him.

This was perhaps the very stimulus Marietta needed, for she was still a child in many ways and was greatly intrigued by the idea of surprising and pleasing her employer.

Camilla, moreover, was pleased that he had entrusted her with his affairs during his absence and took pride in having everything move on as if he had been there, and even Marietta caught the spirit and tried to act brisk and businesslike when anyone came in.

She brought no more novels to the office to read. She was too anxious to work every minute and get the pile of typing done that had been assigned to her.

And then Saturday afternoon Camilla took part of her precious half-holiday and went shopping with Marietta, to help her find just the right things. Mr. Whitlock was returning Monday morning, and Marietta was determined to get some new clothes before he arrived.

By this time she was getting fairly skillful at managing her unruly hair, and even in her ill-fitting, unsuitable clothes, she looked much subdued. Camilla hoped that with the purchase of a few much-needed garments, Mr. Whitlock could not help but see a change even in so short a time. So the shopping expedition was planned, and Marietta was almost too excited to work all Saturday morning.

They went to Camilla’s house with their packages, and Marietta dressed up in her new dress, a trim dark blue with white collar and cuffs. Miss York came in, was introduced, and approvingly entered into the scheme of things without having to be told what it was all about. And before Marietta left she slipped in her bag a sheet of paper on which was written in the nurse’s clear handwriting a few rules for bathing and breathing, exercise and diet, that Miss York told Marietta would greatly improve the complexion she was deploring. Taking it altogether, Camilla was quite satisfied about her protégée, and it was with much eagerness that she anticipated Monday morning and the return of Mr. Whitlock. She hadn’t done anything in a long time that was so interesting as fixing up poor, little homely Marietta Pratt. At least, not anything real. She kept telling herself now that her contact with Wainwright had not been real, only a sort of fairy tale, and fairy tales never came true. They were only to dream about. And dreaming like that wasn’t at all wholesome, so Camilla entered into the redemption of Marietta Pratt—physical, intellectual, and spiritual—with all her heart. She wanted to keep from thinking. She wanted to keep from dreaming.

J
ohn Saxon was a fine, earnest young man who was taking a year off from his medical studies to earn some much-needed money to complete his course.

He had been offered the opportunity to take in charge a dozen young boys whose parents or guardians had either no time or inclination to look after them themselves. Two of the boys were not strong enough to stand the northern winters; therefore, Florida had been selected as the scene of his activities, and more especially because Florida was a sort of native land to John Saxon and he knew well all its possibilities.

It was to this group of unfortunately wealthy youngsters that young Sam Wainwright had attached himself, and he refused to be separated from them. And when, in the well-planned and educative program of John Saxon, this young company were to move down into the Everglades for a hiking-camping-fishing-exploring trip, Sam Wainwright went into the particular kind of gloom that he knew how to create, until his mother consented that he should accompany them, provided John Saxon would take him on and would also allow his elder brother to be one of the company.

Having thus gained consent, young Sam became forthwith so angelic for the next two days before the expedition was to leave that he almost overdid the matter and got his mother to worrying about him lest he was going to die. So it was with the greatest difficulty that he finally made his departure.

John Saxon had not cared overmuch for the idea, it is true, of having an elder brother along who would likely be superior and try to interfere, but the extra money that was offered, which would hasten the time he should be able to go back to the work he was eager to do, made him yield.

The two young men had not seen one another until the morning that they were to start. All the arrangements had been conducted by young Sam, and naturally the two approached one another with a thoroughly developed case of prejudice on either side.

Looked at from the standpoint of an outsider, they were not unlike. Both were young and strong and good-looking. Perhaps Wainwright had an inch or two of height in his favor, and on the other hand John Saxon had several lines of experience in his fine, strong face that were yet to be developed in Jeffrey Wainwright’s. Yet they seemed well matched as they met on the beach in the pearly dawn of that tropical winter morning and measured swords with their eyes as they shook hands. “Soft!” Saxon was saying to himself, just because he had never seen a face before with such an easygoing, happy smile that at the same time concealed strong character, character that had not been severely tried as yet, but still strong character.

“Tough?” said Jeffrey to himself with a question mark, and somehow was not convinced of that. This man did not quite fit any of the types of men he knew.

There was a certain gravity behind the sparkle in Jeffrey’s eyes that John Saxon could not help liking, and Jeffrey on his part was not long in discovering strength and authority, with a certain grave sweetness, in Saxon. So they started on their way, bristling with question marks concerning each other.

But in the mind of young Sam, there were no question marks. He thought his big brother was the greatest thing that ever happened, and he thought that John Saxon was the next greatest.

The sun shot a crimson rim above the opal sea and tinged the waves with ruddy gold, and strange colors gleamed and leaped in the sparkle of the waves. The sand grew alight with color, and little eager white birds with pink kid feet went hopping here and there along the rim of the waves to catch the sand crabs without wetting their feet. A big white gull sailed out over the waves looking down for fish and then circled back and settled down on a pile that stood out in the sea a few yards, surveying the strange group with their khaki outfits and paraphernalia. Strange, changing groups this wise bird saw at different times along this coast since it had been fashionable to winter in Florida, but it made no difference to him. The sea was there and did not change, and he wore the same cut of white feather coat from generation to generation, so why bother about mere humans?

Saxon gave Jeffrey a quick, firm grasp of the hand as he looked into his eyes, said “Wainwright!” just to acknowledge his presence, and showed neither joy nor sorrow over the fact that he was going with them, and Jeffrey was left to the company of the sea and his own thoughts while the small army was forming for the line of march. Then, when they were drawn up in line, there were a few questions.

“Everybody gone over the list?” All hands were raised.

“Everybody got every article on the list?” All hands again.

The young captain let his eyes sweep the row and acknowledged with a faint shadow of a grin the fact that Jeffrey had raised his hand both times, as if he were one of the boys. The stranger was perhaps going to be game after all. Nothing haughty about him so far.

“About face!”

Jeffrey obeyed the order. He was standing at the end of the line.

“Forward march!”

Jeffrey fell in step with the rest. At least he knew enough for that.

“By twos, march!”

This brought Jeffrey marching with the youngest boy in the crowd, one Carlin de Harte by name, and a little devil by inheritance, if he might be judged by his actions.

Carlin was the son of divorced parents and had been shunted off on others wherever it seemed easiest to bring him up. He was a recent addition and had not yet learned self-discipline. The young chief eyed the combination doubtfully. He had not expected the son of the millionaire bond king to choose to walk as one of the boys.

But Jeffrey looked down with a friendly wink at Carlin, and Carlin looked up with sudden respect when he saw how tall Jeffrey was, and grinned. Suddenly John Saxon knew that Jeffrey was going to be an asset instead of a pain in the neck.

The way led at first along the silver-gilt beach of the opening day, and Jeffrey Wainwright drew in deep breaths of the clean sea air and rejoiced in the emptiness of the beach. They had it practically all to themselves except for the kid-footed bird, catching crabs, and an old fisherman out in a dory.

When they had gotten so far from human habitation that they couldn’t see anything but sand and sea and palms and pines, and everybody was wondering what came next, Saxon called a halt and set his young minions to work, gathering sticks, unpacking a hamper, making a fire, and setting up a contrivance for cooking. Each boy had his job and knew what was expected of him. They went at it like trained ants, hurrying around excitedly.

Jeffrey dropped down upon the sand and watched for a while, surprised at the efficiency of his young brother. But when Saxon passed, he stood and saluted.

“Say, Captain, what’s my job?” he asked with a grin.

Saxon measured his height admiringly but answered with a reserved smile.

“Guest, I think,” he said, “or maybe critic, whichever would suit you best.” There was still smile enough about Saxon’s lips to keep the remark from being an offense, but Jeffrey watched him sharply.

“Nothing doing,” he said quietly. “If that’s all the place you’ve got for me, I’m afraid I shall have to walk all the way back alone.”

Saxon took his measure again and relaxed his lips.

“All right, if you really want to work. I thought you just came along to protect your brother.”

Jeffrey looked him in the eye.

“I came along because my mother insisted Sam shouldn’t come without me, but I’m staying because I like it—and because I like
you
!” he added with a genuine ring to his voice. “If I go back, I shall leave my brother in your care and tell my mother there’s no cause to worry. But I’m staying on if you let me have a part, because I like you, and I think it’s great!”

Saxon put out his hand and grasped Jeffrey’s in a hearty clasp.

“All right, brother,” he said with a new light in his eyes, “there are two of us! Suppose we open the milk bottles and fill the cups. I was going to do that myself, but I’ve plenty besides, and I’ll see to assigning you a regular place when we’re on our way again. I think you’re going to be a big help. You’ve already subdued our worst particular little devil. If this keeps up, we shall have him a model child before the trip is over.”

Jeffrey felt a warm glow around his heart as he watched this other young man, with his strong, clear-cut features, his crisp, brown, curly hair, and his very blue eyes that had dancing lights in them and yet could look sternly at a misbehaving charge or scorn a casual multimillionaire’s son. It all intrigued Jeffrey immensely, and he felt the thrill of a new admiration. He was not going to be bored on this expedition. It was going to be interesting.

Stephanie Varrell would have been amazed to see him pouring milk into tin cups and cutting bread, distributing butter, and heaping up the tin plates with the second helping of baked beans and frankfurters. She did not know how he had served his apprenticeship at washing dishes in a tiny apartment kitchen with her rival. She did not even know yet that he had disappeared from the playground where last night she had tried and failed to inveigle him to walk in the moonlight with her. She was having her breakfast in bed about the time of this midmorning repast that was served so many miles away from her, down the beach.