In Orchard Glen

by Mary Esther Miller MacGregor

  CHAPTER VII

  OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE

  It seemed to Christina as if there had never been a summer that openedso joyously. In the first place she was preparing to go West withAllister when he came home in July, and she would not be very far fromthe Mission Field where Neil had gone, and that was good fortune enoughin itself. Added to that, Sandy came home in May, and life was allholiday when Sandy was near, but best of all, at the closing ofcollege, who should come riding over the hills but her Dream Knight.He was to stay the whole summer, Tilly explained on Sunday when heappeared with his mother and uncle at church, and Mrs. Sutherland wasscared to let him go beyond the garden gate alone.

  Though his coming to Orchard Glen brought such joy to Christina, youngMr. Sutherland had really come home under a cloud, though his mothertook great care to turn it inside out for the public benefit and allowthe silver lining of Wallace's many virtues to shine through. He wasso handsome and so genuinely glad to see everybody in Orchard Glen, andso free and hearty in his manner, that it was very easy for people tobelieve the best of him. And indeed the worst was only that he hadbeen a little less studious in college than he should have been.

  He had barely passed his examinations in his first year, and now in hissecond, when he should have retrieved himself, he had gone underaltogether. And the worst of it all was that Uncle William, who waspaying his college bills, and who was rich and childless and wouldnever miss the money, was making a dreadful fuss. Wallace wrote himapologising deeply, and explaining just how it all happened, theinconvenient examinations having come on just when he was labouringunder a heavy cold.

  Mrs. Sutherland wrote her brother explaining still further, Wallace hadbeen ill, he was not at all well now. He had been really quiteindisposed all Spring, and it was cruel to blame the dear boy for notstudying.

  But Uncle William seemed to enjoy being cruel. He wrote that he haddone his best to give her son an education, but it appeared that itcouldn't be done, and he felt it was time to stop wasting money. So hewas sending Wallace home to her to see what she could make of him.Perhaps she could find something for him to do in Orchard Glen thatwould not tax his mentality as the University seemed to have done.

  Poor Mrs. Sutherland was overcome with grief. Dr. McGarry was too, andhe stormed and scolded Wallace and his sister by turns, and ended up bydeclaring that William was getting to be nothing but a skinflint andthat he might give the boy another chance.

  Wallace alone seemed undisturbed. He felt sure that Uncle William'sbilious attack, as he termed his difference with his patron, would passoff, and that he would be ready to forgive him in October. So hesettled himself in the old home with a tremendous display of books anda fine appearance of studiousness, and declared he would work so hardthat when the Autumn term opened he would pass any examination theycould possibly set before him.

  His mother and uncle caught his optimism and were both soon ready toagree that all would be well. So Wallace spent the Summer very happilyin Orchard Glen, lying in the hammock under the trees, always with hisbooks, or driving about the country in the Doctor's car.

  But poor Mrs. Sutherland had little enjoyment in his home-coming. Shewas really a very neighbourly soul, in spite of a few strange ideasabout social usages, and she was now condemned to the difficult task ofkeeping Wallace at his studies, and away from the young life about him,and that in a village where the girls were as thick as the thistlesalong the roadside.

  First there was that pretty young simpleton at the corner store, whogiggled all the time, and made it dangerous for Wallace even to go forthe mail. Then there was that family at Browns up on the hill withgirls of all ages. And there were those Lindsays, for though the mostdangerous one was married and out of the way, and another one said tobe engaged, there was still another, very attractive and quite toosmart. And there was that bold, black-eyed daughter of the blacksmith,who lived next door. She was too old for Wallace, but those maturegirls were the most to be feared. And indeed, there was no safetywhatever way you turned.

  His mother had hoped for some relaxation when Wallace decided to spendan hour or so each morning under Mr. Sinclair's tutoring, but no soonerhad this haven been provided, than the minister's daughter, a finelooking, high-spirited girl, came home for her holidays, from herschool teaching.

  So Mrs. Sutherland remained a prisoner in her own home, on guard overher son. And the girls of the village did all in their power to makeher task most difficult.

  And though Christina would have disdained to take any part in theirschemes to meet Wallace, she managed to see her True Knight quite oftenand the Summer was a very happy one.

  She always received a nod and a bright smile from him on Sundays, andsometimes on week days when she went down into the village. And he wasalways as gay and as debonair and handsome as anybody could wish aDream Knight to be.

  Sandy came home full of joyous relief that at last Christina was to getaway out into the world. The trip to the West was not as good ascollege, of course, but Allister would give her a chance for aneducation yet, when this pinched time that he was passing through wasover.

  "I hate the thought of your going away," Sandy grumbled. "Girls oughtto get married," he added, struggling confusedly with this firstexperience with femininism. Mary's career and Ellen's prospects werethe only right and proper sphere for a girl.

  Privately Christina thought so, too.

  "But I can't get anybody to marry me," she said gaily. "So what am Ito do? There's nobody in Orchard Glen wants me except"--she paused,perhaps she was wrong after all about Gavin's caring for her--"exceptMarmaduke," she added on second thought.

  "And I'll bet if any fellow in Orchard Glen asked you to marry himyou'd turn up your nose at him," complained Sandy. "My, but girls arequeer. Now, if that Wallace Sutherland was to come along I supposeyou'd be like the rest and be as sweet as honey to him, and youwouldn't look at a fellow like Gavin Grant. And I wouldn't give Gavinfor a wagon load of Wallace Sutherlands."

  Christina's cheeks grew crimson. Sandy had drawn a bow at a venture,but had hit right in the centre of the mark. But she respondedgallantly.

  "Neither would I. I wouldn't know what to do with a wagon load of him.But one would be very nice--loaded on an auto," she added slyly.

  Sandy sniffed; but he could not dispute long with Christina overanything. They had grand times together, as June came in and they fellinto their old habit of sitting in the evenings on the pump platform.There were long confidential talks there, under the apple boughs, too.Sandy's mind, under Neil's careful guardianship, was turning more andmore towards the ministry as his life-work. And every day Christinagrew more thankful that she had not been the means of holding him back.

  She had not yet confessed to Grandpa that his electric light was to beswitched off before the end of the summer. Christina had not found anoccasion when she could summon sufficient courage to break the news tohim. It would be time enough when she had to tell him. So he sang hisevening hymn and read his morning psalms of thanksgiving undisturbed.

  And to make things even better for Christina Mary came home in June.Hugh McGillivray had gone to Toronto on business and Mary came back tothe old farm for a visit during his absence. Mary looked morebeautiful than ever, in her new town-made clothes, and Christina wasvery proud of her as they went about the village together.

  The practice for the Presbyterian Church's first of July picnic was infull swing, and as there were no Methodists helping this year, thePresbyterians had to do double duty. Mary went to practise with hersisters and had a grand reunion with all the girls.

  "Christine, where's Bruce to-night?" she asked, as they came up thehill on the way home together, with Ellen walking ahead beside AnnieMcKenzie.

  "Bruce? I don't know," confessed Christina. "Oh, he hasn't come topractise much since he came back from Toronto."

  "No, and it's my opinion he hasn't been going to anything else,"declared Mary. "Do you know that he has been here only
once since Icame home?"

  Christina listened in dismay. She had been so absorbed in her joyouspreparations for going West that she had actually not noticed what wasquite apparent to Mary.

  "Maybe he and Ellen have had a lover's quarrel," she whisperedhopefully.

  "Nothing of the sort," scoffed Mary. "Can you imagine any onequarrelling with Ellen or Bruce either--and as for their quarrellingbetween themselves!"

  Christina was forced to admit that was extremely unlikely. And as shewatched Ellen she could not but be convinced that there was somethingwoefully wrong between her and Bruce.

  "You couldn't think that he doesn't care for Ellen any more, couldyou?" faltered Christina as she and Mary held a second conference.

  "Wouldn't it be awful," cried Mary aghast. "I can't remember whenBruce wasn't in love with Ellen and was coming here to see her. Itwould be an insult to the whole family!" she cried hotly.

  Christina was not concerned about the family honour, but she was verymuch disturbed over Ellen. And then it was a heartbreaking thing tolose Bruce, too. He had always seemed like a brother, and it wasalmost as bad as if Neil or Sandy should become estranged.

  Poor Ellen was striving hard to hide her hurt, and made heroic effortsto explain Bruce's changed manners. He was tired with all theunaccustomed work of the farm, he had to study at nights and that kepthim at home. She was always ready with an excuse for his unaccustomedabsence.

  "Where's Bruce, Ellie?" asked her mother one Sunday evening when theusual crowd strolled in after the Methodist service.

  "He's back at the gate with the boys, Mother," said Ellen with affectedcarelessness. "He'll likely be in later."

  Bruce did come in later with John, but he did not stay late and wenthome when Annie and Katie left.

  Of course Joanna did not fail to notice the change in Bruce and remarkupon it. There was a little crowd at the Lindsays one evening to seeMary, when the McKenzie contingent entered without him.

  "Where's your family doctor, Ellen?" Joanna inquired. "You'll have tolook after your fellow better than you're doing!"

  Ellen looked at her with quiet dignity, but her cheeks grew crimson.

  "It's very good of you to be so interested in him, Joanna," she said.

  "Course I'm interested in all my neighbours. Here's the whole McKenzieoutfit, every one of them, but your particular one. Annie, you keepBruce tied up as close as Ma Sutherland does her little boy. What haveyou done with him?"

  Annie McKenzie was Ellen's close friend. She looked embarrassed.

  "He's tired. He's been working in the field all day and now he's gotstudying to do at night," she declared hurriedly.

  "My! If you let him study that hard he ought to be a doctor about nextChristmas! Maybe he's hurrying up so's he can get married a year ortwo sooner!"

  Ellen's face grew pale, but Mary was there. Mary Lindsay had alwaysbeen a match for Joanna in a quiet elusive way, and now from thevantage ground of a rather brilliant marriage Mary McGillivray wasstill more to be feared.

  "Oh, Joanna," she said suavely, "a long piece of your hair is hangingdown at the back. There's a looking-glass on the wall over there whereTrooper's standing. Would you like to go and fix it?"

  Joanna flounced away into the bed-room completely routed. There wassomething subtle about Mary that one could not combat.

  Bruce dropped in late at the next practice that was held in the church.He sat in the back seat and talked with the other boys duringintermission, but his very presence seemed to make Ellen happy. Shebecame radiant, and chatted and laughed gaily with the other girls,looking handsomer than she had for many a day.

  When they started home, Christina, with an eye for Gavin, keptcarefully in the crowd. But Gavin had turned and gone away at oncewith the other boys who were unattached. And with the perversity of awoman's mind Christina felt a little hurt. She wondered why he seemedto have stopped trying for her favour. Was it because he wasdiscouraged, or because he did not care? She was so far fromunderstanding Gavin that she did not guess that his pride was keepinghim aloof.

  Annie McKenzie and Ellen were ahead, and Christina found herselfwalking beside Bruce. This was not unusual, for Bruce had always beenso much one of the family that he just as often walked with her or oneof the boys as with Ellen. She was so happy that she was impelled toexpress her joy.

  "It's so nice to see you at practice, Bruce," she said. "It's lonesomehere when all the boys are away."

  "Yes, it's good to be home again," said Bruce without enthusiasm. "ButI think I've got the city fever rather badly. I just couldn't settledown in Orchard Glen, now that I've been away."

  Christina sympathised. "I fancy I'll feel like that when I go away,"she ventured.

  "Yes, you will," he declared. "When you get away you realise how smalland narrow everything in your life has been. It changes a personcompletely. Nothing seems the same." He spoke in tones of depression.He was not at all the old Bruce who had been always kind and cheery,and almost as nice as John.

  Christina experienced a feeling of dismay. "Nothing seems the same,"weighed heavily upon her heart.

  He came in for the evening lunch the Lindsay kitchen always furnished,but he went away when the rest left, and did not have a word with Ellenalone.

  "What were you and Bruce talking about so seriously?" asked Ellen withforced lightness, as she and Christina put away the remains of thefeast in the cellar.

  "Oh, nothing much," said Christina confused. "About Toronto mostly.He likes it awfully well there," and she hurried away into Grandpa'sroom to take her last look at him and see that he was comfortable, andavoided further questioning.

  "Tell me all about him when you write next," Mary said when Hugh cameas radiant and eager as on her wedding day to take her home.

  Christina promised. "It wouldn't be so bad if everybody wasn't sointerested," she said with a sigh. "It's Joanna; that's the worst partof it."

  "This is such a narrow gossipy little place," complained the lady fromthe metropolis. "I'll be glad when you get away out West withAllister, Christine."

  "But Ellen can't get away from it," said Christina, "and mother's beenhere nearly all her life and she's not narrow nor gossipy." ForChristina was not quite so sure now that she really wanted to get away.Ellen's undeniable trouble was taking away much of the joy of hersister's good fortune.

  When the time came to write Mary, the news of Bruce was notencouraging. He came to the house very seldom, was almost melancholyand not at all his old self, and every one in the family noticed thechange. Even Uncle Neil asked what was the matter between Ellen andBruce, and he carefully avoided singing the "Standard on the Braes o'Mar" in the evening, knowing that there would be no McKenzie's mancoming over the hills as in the old joyous days.

  And so June slipped away and Allister wrote that he would come aboutthe middle of July and for Christina to be ready. She felt that shecould no longer put off the evil day of telling Grandpa and one nightas she helped him to bed resolved to prepare him.

  "I've got something to tell you," she shouted as she gave him his hymnbook and put back the curtain. "But there isn't time to-night. I'lltell you to-morrow."

  "Eh, eh, that'll be fine," said Grandpa, who was always looking forwardto good things. "Don't forget about it." And after she left, sheheard him say,

  "Eh, eh, but it's a fine bit lassie. Eh, there's not such another--notsuch another!"

  Christina felt a big lump choking her as she went upstairs to dress forpractice.

  Bruce appeared at practice again, and as the boys and girls paired offto go home, Christina noticed with great joy that he took his old placeat Ellen's side and they walked away together.

  Sandy had gone off with Margaret Sinclair again, and Christina joinedherself to Burke Wright and Mitty, and later to Mrs. Johnnie Dunn. TheWoman was still hot on the scent of the valentines and her remarks onthe subject were highly amusing. They passed Ellen and Bruce, andChristina noticed joyfully that
they were walking very slowly and werein deep conversation. It was still more encouraging, as she slippedinto the house alone, to see that they were standing at the gate verymuch absorbed.

  Her mother was moving about the kitchen. No matter how late herchildren were in getting home she always lingered till all were safelyin the house.

  "Bruce and Ellen are hanging over the gate," whispered Christinaexcitedly. "They've taken about half an hour getting home."

  "They'll be all right, then?" whispered her mother eagerly.

  "Oh, yes," cried Christina joyfully. "I'll tell you all about it inthe morning. You go away to bed now, mother, and I'll set the bread."

  Her mother went slowly to her room, and Christina bustled about thekitchen. She had got out the bowl and the flour, when she heardEllen's step on the old creaking veranda floor. The door opened andChristina turned with a word of gay raillery, but stopped suddenly.Ellen stood in the doorway looking white and dazed, as though some onehad given her a blow.

  "Ellen!" cried Christina aghast. "What is the matter? Are you sick?"Her sister did not seem to hear. She did not answer, but passed thedoor and went on upstairs, slowly and stumbling, as though she wereGrandpa's age!

  Sandy came in from the woodshed door to find Christina standingovercome in the middle of the kitchen. "What's the matter?" he asked."Did you see a ghost?"

  "Oh, Sandy," Christina was full of dismay, "something is wrong withEllen and Bruce. Something dreadful."

  Sandy was deeply concerned as he listened. This was no mere girl'slove affair like the sort Mary would have had. Bruce and Ellen hadalways been lovers. It was like hearing that John had broken with thefamily.

  "Ellen just can't stand it here any longer," Christina burst out atlast. "The girls are all talking about her, and Joanna is justdreadful; and, oh, Sandy, do you think I ought to let her go Westinstead of me?"

  "Now, you look here!" cried Sandy violently, "don't you go talking likethat any more. If there's anybody has to stay home I will. You justcan't be the one that's always left. Cheer up. Wait till you askEllen what's up. Maybe it's not so bad, after all!"

  It was just as bad as it could be, Christina felt sure, as she layawake in the night listening to Ellen's slow deep sobs, not daring toask the cause. The Lindsay girls were reticent, especially aboutaffairs of the heart, and Christina hesitated to intrude. It was nottill they were alone in the spring house with the churning the nextmorning, that the opening to the subject came and Ellen herself madeit. She had gone about her work, pale and spiritless all morning, hermother's kindly eyes watching her with anxiety.

  "Christine," Ellen said, when the picnic was broached, "I wish you'dtell Mrs. Johnnie Dunn you'll take my place on the tea committee, willyou? I don't want to go."

  "Of course I will," said Christina. "But don't you want to go to thepicnic?"

  Ellen turned her back and busied herself with something in the far endof the dim little cellar. "I don't want to ever go to a picnic again,as long as I live," she said quietly.

  "Ellen!" cried Christina in dismay, "what is it? Have you andBruce--what's the matter? Did you quarrel?"

  "No, it would be better if we had." Ellen seemed to be relieved at thepossibility of unburdening her heart. "He's just got tired ofme--that's all."

  She said it with a quiet bitterness that was far more sorrowful than arush of tears. Christina felt her anger rise with her grief.

  "Why, I never heard of anything so abominable--" she commencedstormily, but her sister stopped her.

  "No, I won't listen to anything against him. Bruce is just as good--"she stopped overcome for a moment. "It isn't his fault," she went on,regaining her self-control. "He feels awful about it. He didn't wantto tell me, but I made him, last night. I knew there was something,ever since last Christmas. And it's been getting worse all summer andI couldn't stand it any longer. He's changed since he went away. Andhe,--I've never been anywhere outside of Orchard Glen, and he's seenthe difference. He's gone ahead of me, that's all and he couldn't helpit."

  She finished in a whisper, and stood looking before her in a kind ofdazed despair. "I don't know,"--she faltered,--"I don't seem to knowhow to start over again," she said with an air of bewilderment.

  "Oh, Ellen!" cried Christina in a sudden rush of tenderness and pitythat had to have an outlet, "wouldn't you like to go away for a while,till--right now, and do something and--and catch up?"

  A light flashed up for a moment in Ellen's eyes, but faded immediately."How could I?" she cried, "and leave them here alone--I might as wellthink of going to the moon."

  "But you can. Yes, you must, right away. Allister would just as soonhave you go out there as me. He said so, but he didn't think youwould, and you'll go and I'll stay at home. It will only be for alittle while, and you can see everything, and it'll just be grand!--"her eyes were shining, her cheeks pink with excitement.

  "Christine!" Ellen looked at the little sister, her eyes filled withunspeakable gratitude. "Oh, it wouldn't be right to let you--but if Ionly could--just for a little while, till he goes away, I might stand--"

  She sank down upon a little low bench and buried her face in her apron."It seems too good to be true," she sobbed.

  Christina had a sudden vivid remembrance of a time when she dropped theheavy trap door of the cellar in a foolish prank and barely escapedgiving Ellen a terrible blow on the head. And this time she might havekilled her if she had been careless enough to forsake her in the day ofher despair!