The Flower Brides

by Grace Livingston Hill

  And behind it all was that kiss! The kiss that she had wanted to feel was a holy thing, a thing not of the flesh, but a spiritual thing, yet that in the light of present events would probably not prove to be so if it were brought out into the open. Camilla did not mean that it should be brought out into the open. Between herself and God she would ask forgiveness for her part in it, for her leniency with it, her pitiful eagerness and thrill over it. Then she would put it away as a thing that was dead, a thing that had no right to be, and ask God to blot it out of her life. But never would she bring it out to the light of day and examine it. If it were real, it was too precious to be handled lightly. Since it could not be, why suffer anymore? She had learned her lesson, which was probably the reason it all had happened.

  Chapter 9

  Camilla put her car in the shabby little garage and went in as briskly and casually as possible.

  “Sorry I had to be late,” she said as she saw the anxious look on her mother’s face. “I should have telephoned, but I kept thinking I would get away in a few minutes, and I didn’t realize the time.”

  “Oh, my dear!” said the gentle voice. “Have you had to work so late? That’s inhuman! Couldn’t you have promised to come down a little earlier in the morning and do the extra work? You look so tired!”

  “No, it had to get off in the night mail. Yes, I am a little tired.” Camilla pressed her hand to her temples. “And I’ve got one of the miserable, mean old headaches in my eyes. But don’t worry. I’ll be all right when I get some dinner and a good night’s rest. You know this doesn’t happen often, Mother dear!” She gathered her frail little mother into her arms hungrily and kissed her soft, warm cheeks. She had her mother, anyway. She mustn’t worry about other things. What did anything else matter when Mother was well again?

  She summoned a fairly bright smile and sat down. She did not see how she was going to eat a mouthful, but yet she had to for Mother’s sake. And then everything was so good that presently she found herself enjoying every mouthful.

  “It’s all so good, so delicious!” she said like a child who had been lost somewhere in a barren wasteland and had just gotten home where it was safe and comfortable. The day behind her seemed so wild and the way so hard.

  “I’m glad I didn’t make potpie after all,” said her mother contentedly, watching her eat. “I was going to make potpie first, because you like it so much, but I changed to biscuits instead. I thought maybe you’d be late, and the potpie won’t wait, you know. It has to be eaten right out of the pot or it falls and is heavy as lead.”

  “These biscuits are wonderful!” murmured the girl happily, thinking that perhaps after all the day had been but a bad dream and life was going to be livable again. She and her mother together was enough to be happy without others.

  But later, when everything was in order in the kitchen, the table set for breakfast, the light out, Mother asleep, and Camilla in her bed in the front room, then came the memories in a wild flock like so many cormorants and sat around her on the dim shapes of the chairs and tables and other furniture in the dark room. They shouted out taunting and arrogant words at her until she felt that she would scream aloud and her mother would be sure to hear and demand to know the whole story. She thought she would never get to sleep. The night was going, the morning would come, and she would be unfit to go to the office. Oh, what should she do?

  But sleep did come after all, and she awoke, startled to find the new day full of sunshine and her troubles not quite as heavy upon her as the night before. At least she was able to look forward to going back to the office without quite so much dread. The young woman with the gold hair would not likely haunt her steps the rest of her days. And since Wainwright was in Florida it wasn’t reasonable to suppose that the girl would make her any more trouble, at least until his return.

  So she went back to her office with her mind intent on her work, determined to keep so busy that she would have no opportunity to think any more about the matter. It was an incident of the past and that was all. Probably the young man would have forgotten all about her by the time he came back.

  So she tried to cheer herself into contentment and forget the things that troubled her.

  But now something new loomed on her stormy horizon. Mr. Whitlock, usually so quiet and courteous, so staid and dignified, came into the office with a frown on his face.

  “I am looking for a letter,” he said after he had searched through his desk and looked carefully over the letters in the letter tray. “It should have come in yesterday afternoon. Miss Chrystie, are you sure you did not see it? It was from Cleveland. The firm you wrote last week, you remember? They promised me an answer not later than yesterday. Are you quite sure nothing came? You put all the mail in my usual letter tray? You are sure?”

  He looked at Camilla with almost an accusatory gleam in his eyes. It was evident that he was greatly excited.

  Camilla told him she was sure the letter had not come. She got up from her work and went over to help him hunt, although she was positive no such letter had arrived. He kept insisting that it must surely be there somewhere, perhaps had fallen into an open drawer or the wastebasket.

  At last he turned toward Marietta, who had been placidly polishing her typewriter, and told her in no very uncertain terms that she was wasting her time and that she should have been at her typing long ago. He spoke more sharply than either of the girls had ever heard him speak before.

  He sat down at his desk and wrote out several telegrams for Camilla to send off. Then he had a couple of stormy conversations over the telephone, and finally, in going over to the rack where his hat and overcoat hung, his anxious eyes still searching for the letter, which he was sure must have come and been carelessly mislaid, he spied Marietta’s ubiquitous novel sticking out of the lower drawer of her desk.

  “What’s that?” he snapped sharply.

  “It’s—it’s just a book,” said Marietta, with a frightened look in her eyes. “Just a liberry book.”

  “What’s it doing here in the office?” he asked sharply, eyeing the girl, who drooped under his gaze and dropped her eyelashes over her startled eyes. “Is that what you’re doing while you’re supposed to be working for me? Is that why my work doesn’t get done on time? You are reading novels betweentimes? Your mind is on some mystery story or other instead of on your work?”

  “Oh no, sir!” Marietta hastened to explain glibly. “I just brought it along to leave at the liberry on my way home. It’s just a—a book—my stepmother borrowed!”

  He looked the girl keenly in the eyes.

  “Don’t try to lie to me!” he said dryly. “Pick up that book and take it in the cloakroom, and don’t bring any more novels into this office!”

  Then he went out, slamming the door hard behind him.

  “What’s eatin’ the poor egg?” said Marietta as the man went out. She looked suspiciously toward Camilla as if she ought to be able to explain the mystery. But Camilla went right on working.

  “He’s the crankiest old thing I ever saw,” finished Marietta, with an ugly frown. “He told me yesterday morning before you came in that he didn’t know as he’d want me after this month was over. He wasn’t sure but he was going to make an entire change in the office force. Did he say anything to you?”

  “No,” said Camilla, trying to keep her voice from trembling, “he has scarcely spoken to me for a week. Something must have gone exceedingly wrong in his affairs.”

  “I’ll say!” said the girl shortly, and then most unexpectedly she banged her head down on her machine and began to cry with great shaking sobs.

  Camilla looked at her an instant in consternation, and then she summoned voice to speak.

  “Don’t feel bad, Marietta,” she said. “Maybe he’s only got indigestion.”

  “Indigestion, nothing!” gurgled out Marietta. “He means it! I’m sure he does. He’s got something on his mind. I been knowing it fer some time. He’s made me do every last thing over twice for th
ree whole days. And I’ve just b-b-begun ta buy a fur-r-r coat!”

  “Oh, well, I wouldn’t worry,” said Camilla with a secret qualm for herself. “There will be other jobs.”

  “Not ef yer laid off. Not in these days!” said Marietta firmly, sitting up, mopping her wet eyes and getting out her lipstick and tiny mirror to repair damage in her facial landscape. “I heard when I came here he was kinda odd, but he was so nice at first I thought they had the wrong dope, but now I guess they were right. Anyhow, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m buyin’ it on installments.”

  “Well,” said Camilla, trying to smile for the other girl’s sake, “there’s always something that can be done.”

  “Mebbe fer you, but not fer me,” said the other girl dejectedly. “You’re lucky! You c’n always get by. You work hard and know your job. And besides all that, you’re a good-looker. Good-lookers always get by.”

  “Oh, no!” said Camilla sorrowfully. “Sometimes they get into worse trouble than the others. But, Marietta, looks don’t have anything to do with it. If you do your work well, you’ll be sure to get a position. If he turns us both away we’ll go out together and hunt a double job. How about it?”

  Marietta looked up in amazement.

  “You mean that? Say! You’re great! I really believe you’d do it. I knew the minute I laid eyes on you, you were different from the common run. I couldn’t make out what made it, till I sighted you readin’ that little Testament the other day, and then I knew. You’re a Christian, aren’t you? A real one, I mean, not just a bread-and-butter one, nor a whited-sepulcher kind. Well, I’m real pleased you said that, even ef you don’t ever have to do it, and I don’t expect you will. You’re too good-lookin’ ta get the go-by! He’ll never let you go, even ef he didn’t like your work, which he does. But I’m pleased ta know there is one girl in these days that’s an out an’ out Christian.”

  Camilla was thoughtful a long time after that. Of course, this might be the beginning of the end, and she must be prepared for it, but there was something that touched her in this girl’s speech, and presently she said, “Marietta, aren’t you a Christian?”

  Marietta laughed.

  “Not me!” she said derisively. “I’m the devil! You oughtta see me at home. I live with my stepmother, and she’s some hotshot. She dresses up like all good night and goes out ta parties and plays bridge and never gets me a thing. I wouldn’t stay with her a day ef it wasn’t fer my kid stepbrother. He’s a cripple, an’ I can’t bear ta leave him alone with her. She never loved him much, an’ after he was hurt and his back began to grow crooked, seems as though she just hates the sight of him. I gotta stick by an’ bring a little fun inta his life, ur I’d been gone from home long ago.”

  “Oh, Marietta!” said Camilla with instant sympathy. “Isn’t that too bad! I wish I could do something to help. But—doesn’t your father care for him?”

  “He’s dead!” said Marietta sadly. “Yes, he liked Ted, and useta hold him in his lap an’ bring him toys and nice things ta eat when he could get by with it, but my stepmother, she didn’t like it much. She just hates me! She’d send me flying now ef it weren’t that I take Ted out Sundays and leave her free ta go. She’s flighty, ya know. She wasn’t more’n five years older ’n I when Dad married her. He told me that was the mistake of his life. He thought she’d be good company for me. Good night! ’Zif I’d want her company! Why, I ain’t had a decent good time, ner no pretty clothes since my own mother died, an’ I can’t scarcely remember that! Not until I got this job. An’ now ef I lose it I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m ’fraid she’ll go an’ put Ted in a home ur somethin’, an’ that’ll kill him, poor kid!”

  Marietta was sobbing again, and Camilla’s heart was deeply touched. After all, there were deeper trials than her own. She might lose her job, but she still had her dear mother, and God would somehow provide for them. He always had.

  So she laid aside her own fears and tried to comfort Marietta. And on her way home she was planning how she might invite Marietta out to see her some weekend, perhaps let her bring the little boy along and give him a really happy time.

  She told her mother about Marietta that evening while they were eating their dinner, and Mrs. Chrystie was interested and sympathetic as always with anybody in distress and ready to plan to give the little cripple boy a good time.

  “I’ll make some cookies tomorrow, Camilla,” she said, “and I’ll make some funny shapes, a dog and a cat and a man, with currants for eyes, the way I used to for you when you were little. Children always like them. I saw the old cutters the other day when I was looking on the top shelf for a pan I needed. I’ll make a little bag full for him, and you can take them to the sister. And can’t you find one of your old books that you can lend him or give him?”

  “Why yes,” said Camilla brightly, and she went hunting up in the attic for old books and toys. She got so interested in getting things together that she forgot her own troubles for a while. Not once during the evening did she think of Wainwright or the girl with the jacinth eyes, and even her fears for her job were only dim forebodings now and then hovering on the margin of her mind.

  But on the way down to the office the next morning she remembered what Marietta had said and felt again that dread for herself. What if she should lose her job now, while they were still in debt and Mother by no means out from under the doctor’s care? Oh, what could she do? Where could she go for another job? Now, in these times, when jobs were almost impossible to find?

  Then she remembered that God knew all about it. He had her life planned out for her. He knew her, and nothing was hidden from Him. She had been reading that verse in her Bible that very morning. He had planned everything in her life from the foundation of the world, and she need not be afraid. There would be a way out of this, the very way that He had planned!

  Mr. Whitlock was in the office when Camilla arrived. He gave her a curt nod in answer to her good morning and went on with his writing. Camilla, as she went to the cloakroom to put away her things, felt her heart sinking. This day was going to be like yesterday, or more so. Any moment now she might be blamed for something; any moment she might be dismissed!

  Marietta looked frightened when she came in and hid the paper package she was carrying under her arm. But Mr. Whitlock did not even look up or notice her entrance. He was very intent on his own affairs. Marietta hung up her things and hurriedly went to work.

  Mr. Whitlock stayed at his desk until the mail came and then, with a set grim look on his face, went out. Marietta worked more steadily than usual, and Camilla saw no book around. She did a fair amount of work and seemed anxious to let Camilla know how much she had accomplished, though she did not interrupt her as much as usual.

  At noon Camilla produced the book and a few simple puzzles she had found in the attic and asked Marietta if she thought Ted would like them, and Marietta was overjoyed. She also told her about the cookies her mother was making for him, and actual tears came to the homely girl’s eyes.

  “Say, now, isn’t that wonderful!” she exclaimed. “My, how lucky you are to have a mother like that! My, ef I had a mother, I’d do just everything she said! Say, I guess that’s one thing that makes you different from the other girls, isn’t it, having a mother like that? My! I’d like ta see her sometime! But she wouldn’t approve of me! Me, I’m a devil! That’s what my stepmother calls me!”

  Camilla wanted to say something kind and comforting to the girl who seemed so forlorn and lonely, but just then they heard Mr. Whitlock’s quick, impatient steps coming down the hall. Marietta scuttled into the cloakroom with the things Camilla had given her, hid them, and was back working away at her machine with unusual diligence when he finally reached the door and entered.

  Chapter 10

  For the rest of that week matters at the office were exceedingly strained. Mr. Whitlock came and went, scarcely looking at either of his secretaries, saying nothing except what was absolutely necessary, smiling not at all, an
d each day found Camilla’s hopes going down lower than the day before. It seemed to her as if she should scream if this kept up much longer.

  Then one morning the letter from Cleveland came and things relaxed a little. There was obvious relief in Mr. Whitlock’s face as he read it, and his tone was more like his old self, gracious, courteous, reserved, as he dictated the answer. Camilla thought she understood partly what had been troubling him, and she drew a free breath and took heart of hope.

  Marietta, child of emotion, on the other hand, unbound from the lease of fear once more, lapsed into her novel on the slightest pretext. Not the same novel by this time, of course, but another of like thrilling interest, and at once her rate of production dropped again. Marietta bounded up from her temporary grinding industry as a bird let loose and tried to be chummy and friendly with her dignified employer, just to reassure herself that the strain was all over.

  But Camilla could not so soon forget her anxiety, and she redoubled her efforts to be letter-perfect in every way in her work.

  Yet as things grew brighter again at the office and her fears began to drop away, her thoughts went back to dreaming again, and she could not keep Wainwright out of her mind. Would she never get this thing conquered, or was it just that she had been under so much strain that her thoughts sought naturally the only little incident in her monotonous life that had given a bit of a thrill?

  Then she would recall bit by bit the incident of Stephanie Varrell’s visit and her hateful insinuations until her pride would rise and put the whole matter out of mind.

  Sometimes it seemed to her that she just must tell her mother everything. There was no one but her mother who could help to take the sting out of the whole affair and make her see things sanely and be able to laugh at it all, rather than to brood over it.