In Orchard Glen

by Mary Esther Miller MacGregor

  CHAPTER XIII

  "THE PLIGHTED RING"

  Jimmie came home from school on Friday evening bounding in full of news.

  "Say, who do you s'pose's gone and enlisted from Orchard Glen now?" hedemanded indignantly of Christina, who was preparing supper in thebright, warm kitchen.

  "Mrs. Johnnie Dunn," suggested his sister. But Jimmie was in no moodfor a joke. Each new enlistment from the community was to him apersonal injury.

  "More unlikely than that!" he growled, throwing his heavy bag of booksin the corner, and his wet mittens behind the stove, "it's Gavin Grant,that's who it is."

  Christina stopped in the operation of taking a pan of hot biscuits fromthe oven. "Gavin Grant! Why! Are you sure, Jimmie?"

  "Course I'm sure. I saw him in town to-day. He's joined the BlueBonnets, and they're going to Camp Borden, and I tell you it just makesa fellow sick, that's what it does!"

  Jimmie did not explain just why Gavin's joining the army should havesuch an effect upon his health and Christina paid no heed to hiscomplaint. She was completely taken by surprise. If there was a youngman in Orchard Glen who had a good excuse for staying at home surelythat young man was Gavin. And yet he was going, when it would be soeasy to remain. She was not long left to wonder over him. Her motherbrought home the whole story of Gavin's struggle from his proud andgrief-stricken Aunts the very next day. Elspie Grant had come over tooffer sympathy when her sons left her for the battle-field and MaryLindsay could not rest until she had done the same for her old friend.So as next day was Saturday, Jimmie took her over to Craig-Ellachie inthe cutter.

  She came home filled with the story of the long time Gavin had beenyearning to go, but had remained silent for his Aunts' sake, how he wasmaking every preparation for their comfort in his absence, how brave hewas, and how proud they were of him, even though it was breaking theirthree old hearts to see him go.

  Christina listened to the recital in ever-deepening humiliation. Sheremembered how she had been disgusted with Gavin when he fled frombefore Piper Lauchie's wrath, and how full of admiration she had beenfor Wallace Sutherland's courage. She had played the part of a sillygirl who could not see the character under the thin covering ofappearances. Her humiliation was not made lighter by the remembrancethat Wallace had given no smallest hint of a desire to enlist.

  There was nothing else talked of at the Red Cross rooms the next day.Mrs. Sutherland was quite severe in her condemnation of Gavin for goingand leaving a farm and three helpless women who had brought him up andgiven him his chance in the world.

  "It is his plain duty to stay at home," she said distinctly. "It isnothing but a desire for adventure that is taking many of our young menaway, when they are needed here to work the land. No young man with afarm should be allowed to enlist."

  This was too much for Mrs. Johnnie Dunn, of course, and she proceededto rid herself of the burden of it.

  "Well, my stars!" she declared loudly, her needle flying in and out intime to her words, "I would rather get down on my marrow bones andscrub for my living if I was the Grant Girls than keep a young man athome. Gavin Grant's duty ain't at home any more than Trooper's is.The Grant Girls'll never want. Hughie Reid is just a brother to them,and he's to work the farm. And the Grant Girls are as well fixed asany folks in this Hall. And let me ask yous folks what good ourfarms'll be to us when the Germans gets here. Just tell me that, now?"

  As usual, the Prime Minister had silenced the Monarch, and the lattertook refuge in a royal and dignified silence that ignored the noisyusurper.

  "Christina, my dear," Mrs. Sutherland said, "will you be so good as tofetch me another skein of this sweater-coat yarn from the storeroom?"Christina went obediently, inwardly hot and raging. She wanted to rushin by The Woman's side and stand up for Gavin and tell how chivalrousand brave he really was. But how ridiculous she would look speaking upto Wallace's mother in that fashion. And yet, it seemed as if some onehad cast a reflection upon Sandy so much did it annoy her.

  She was unpacking the desired article from a bale, hidden by a pile ofsupplies which The Woman had brought out the evening before, whenvoices from the other side of the barrier reached her.

  "She won't stay President long, I bet." It was Tilly's voice andTilly's giggle accompanied it. "She's started now to talk like the warwas wrong and young men shouldn't go."

  "Everybody knows it's all because Wallace won't go," answered BellBrown. "Pa says Dr. McGarry won't speak at any more recruitin'meetings nor anything because he's so ashamed."

  "I don't see how Christine Lindsay..." But Christina had tiptoed outof her ambush and escaped into the main room with the yarn, her cheeksburning, her eyes unnaturally bright.

  Gavin went to camp at Niagara but was allowed to come back to work hisfarm for a month in the Summer. The Grant Girls were as happy to havehim again as if he had returned from the war, and with youth's happydisregard of the future, they set themselves to have the gayest Summerthat had ever shone down upon Craig-Ellachie, and folks who went theresaid there never was such fun as they had round the supper table withGavin giving his Aunts' military orders and they obeying them withmilitary precision.

  Christina would have given much to be one of those guests. She wantedto show Gavin before he went that she admired his spirit, and was gladhe wanted to go. But she felt diffident about going to Craig-Ellachie,and she shrewdly guessed that Gavin would never ask her.

  She saw him only at church, and how proudly the Aunties walked down theaisle with Gavin in his Highland Uniform to show them to their seat andsit at the end of the pew. And indeed they could scarcely keep theireyes off him during the service, and a fine sight he was to be sure, inhis trim khaki coat and his gay kilt. And the worry had all gone fromhis face and he was his old smiling kindly self. He was too busy tocome to any of the village festivities and Christina had no opportunityto speak to him except as he came down the church aisle. And thoughthe other girls crowded around him she stood aloof, so strangely shyshe had become of Gavin.

  Joanna and the other girls decided the young people must give Gavin asend-off such as had been given to all the boys and so they planned fora gathering on an evening when he came home for the last leave, andPresbyterians, Methodists and Baptists once more joined amicably in acommon cause. But Gavin was not to have the privilege of receiving apublic farewell, a circumstance that suited him well, for he haddreaded anything that would drag him into public notice.

  For one dark Autumn day, when the last blossom of the Grant Girls'garden had drooped before the frost, the Blue Bonnets were suddenlycalled to go overseas. Gavin had come home just the night before for aweek-end leave, and a telegram summoned him to rejoin his Battalion atonce. There was a great stir at Craig-Ellachie. Hughie Reid hurriedover as soon as the news reached him, and he sent one of his boys tofetch Mrs. Johnnie Dunn to help the Aunties through their trial, andHughie himself got out his Ford car to take Gavin to Algonquin to catchthe midnight train for Toronto.

  The weather seemed to be in accord with the hearts of the threebereaved old women, a cold rain came sweeping across the hills just asnight fell and Gavin drove away from his old home and the loving armsthat would have held him, into the storm and darkness, and the light ofCraig-Ellachie went out with him.

  Christina had not heard of Gavin's sudden call, and while he wasdriving away in the wind and rain, she was sitting by the fire windinga skein of yarn which Wallace Sutherland was holding.

  The sitting room was warm and bright, and had many pretty femininetouches, and there were plenty of easy chairs and cushions that Maryhad contributed from time to time. The soft-shaded lamp-light fell onChristina's bright hair as she bent over her yarn. Her mother had goneto bed early, they were alone and Wallace was watching Christina fromhis luxurious seat on the big deep sofa, in perfect content. The windhowled around the corners of the old house, and the rain lashed thewindow panes, but the comfort of the bright sitting-room andChristina's presence were only made mor
e delightful by the contrast.

  Wallace sank down deeper into the sofa. He was in his happiest mood.He had worked quite steadily all Summer and had been so successful inthe process of "Showing Uncle William" that that unreasonable oldperson had written quite a reasonable letter to his brother, sayingthat, maybe there was something in the young cub after all, and that ifhe really succeeded in demonstrating that he was good for something,even if it was only feeding the pigs, he, Uncle William, might beinclined to pay him a visit, etc., etc. It was that etc. that soraised Wallace's spirits. He knew Uncle William, oh, right down to theground, he declared, and had no hesitation in assuring Christina thatif everything went all right with his stock this Winter, Uncle Williamwas his to do as he pleased with. He was very happy, and expectedChristina to rejoice with him. She was naturally gay and ready tofollow a merry lead, and Wallace enjoyed her companionship more thanany one he had known for that very reason. But he could not deny thatfor some time she had not been such a good comrade. She had to make aneffort to-night to help him be gay over Uncle William's completeundoing. She tried to be interested as he told all his good fortune,but was just a little relieved when John came in for a few minutes andbegan talking politics.

  She went to the kitchen for a plate of apples, leaving them discussingthe Minister of Militia, and was taking down a plate from the high oldcupboard in the kitchen, when she heard a sound as if some one werefumbling at the door. The big kitchen was empty, the damp day had beenbad for Uncle Neil's rheumatism, and he had gone to bed early, it wasalmost too late for a visitor, and thinking it might be only the wind,Christina put down her plate and went to look if the outside porch doorwere slamming.

  She threw open the door and the rain and wind whirled in her face, andout of the wet and the darkness emerged a tall figure in a long khakiovercoat and a Highland bonnet. The bonnet came off immediately, andthe soldier said in a soft Highland accent, "Good evening, Christine."

  "Oh, Gavin," she cried in surprise, and a sudden unreasonable joy. "Isit really you? Come away in. Are you wet?"

  But Gavin still stood in the doorway. "No, I cannot come in," he saidhurriedly; "Hughie is waiting for me at the gate. He is taking me intoAlgonquin."

  Christina looked past him into the darkness. "To Algonquin! Oh,Gavin, you're not called away are you?"

  "Yes, the Battalion is ordered to Halifax, we will likely be sailing atonce. I did not know till this morning; and I--" his voice dropped toa whisper, "I just couldn't go away without saying good-bye to you,Christine."

  A gust of wind swayed Christina's skirts, and Gavin stepped inside andclosed the door, but stood holding the latch.

  "And your poor Aunties!" cried Christina. She was angry with herselfthe moment she said it, for a look of anguish passed quickly overGavin's face.

  "They are very brave," he said simply. He paused, there was silence inthe big warm kitchen.

  "Won't you come in, just a minute, and say good-bye to John?" askedChristina. "Mother and Uncle Neil are gone to bed, but--"

  "No, I have no time to-night, but I could not go without seeing you,just once, and saying good-bye," he whispered.

  Christina's eyes suddenly stung with tears. "Oh, Gavin," she faltered,"I--I don't deserve it."

  He shook his head to indicate that she was wrong, and again silencefell. Gavin glanced at his wrist watch. She noticed that hisawkwardness had disappeared under his military training, he heldhimself with a new dignified bearing. "I must not be keeping you," hesaid, but it seemed as if he could not go. He stood looking down ather and she could not mistake the look in Gavin's eyes. Her own fellbefore them.

  "Oh," she managed to whisper, "I have always wanted to tell you that Ithink it is so brave and so grand of you to go, and, ... oh, I hopeyou'll come back safe," she ended, faltering, and Gavin still stoodunable to speak and looked at her as if he could never take his eyesaway.

  The loud, slow tick of the old clock marked off the minutes.

  Suddenly Gavin put his fingers under the collar of his coat. "Couldyou--would you mind taking this as a little keepsake?" he whispered,handing her the regimental pin of the Blue Bonnets. She took it withgrateful thanks.

  And then a sudden impulse came to her.

  "But, I ought to give you something in return."

  She looked up and down her dress. She wore no ornament but anold-fashioned brooch of her mother's fastening the throat of her softblue dress. "I haven't anything," she said helplessly. She followedGavin's eyes that were fastened on her left hand.

  "Could you spare me that?" he whispered. It was a little old ring, onethat Allister had sent her before he came home for his first visit,just plain gold with her initials carved on it. Christina slipped itoff her finger eagerly.

  "Oh, it's just a poor little, old thing, Gavin, but I'd be so proud tohave it go to the war," she cried. He took it, his face radiant.

  "Oh," he cried, "I ought not to have asked you. I was too bold,perhaps, I shouldn't--perhaps--he,--wouldn't like it?"

  Christina's face flamed. "There is no one who has any right to saywhat I should do," she said with sudden boldness.

  Gavin's face lit up. He slipped the ring on his little finger. Itwould hardly go on, but he managed it. A line of the old song he hadsung flashed through Christina's mind as he did it, something about theplighted ring the warrior wore, being crushed and wet with gore.

  "Oh, Gavin," she whispered, the tears welling up into her eyes, "Godbless you, and bring you home safe again."

  A sharp whistle sounded from the gate where Hughie Reid was waitingimpatiently in the rain. Gavin started as if from a dream. He heldout his hand. "Good-bye, Christine," he whispered, "you won't forgetme, will you?"

  Christina put her hand into his. She shook her head; she could notanswer. He was going away, perhaps to his death, and she had not aword for him, and yet he was leaving her deliberately to another at thecall of duty. Her heart was in a tumult of grief and self-abasement.She could only stand and look up at him, her eyes filled with tears,her lips trembling, and the next moment, Gavin had stooped, with thesudden boldness of a shy man, and kissed her.

  And then the door was flung open and shut again, and he was gone intothe storm and darkness, and Christina was left standing motionless,gazing at the closed door.

  It was a long time before she found courage to return to thesitting-room. Her heart was throbbing with grief and at the same timea wild exultation that she could not understand and had no time toanalyze. She did not even attempt to answer Wallace's raillery as tothe length of time she had been away, or John's as to why she hadstayed in the cellar long enough to eat all the apples which she foundshe had forgotten to bring. The event had been too stupendous for herto come down to the commonplace. And at last Wallace grew just alittle piqued over her absent-minded air and went home early very muchto Christina's relief.

  It was the week after Gavin had gone out into the storm and Christinawas still going about in a sort of daze, with feelings stillunanalyzed, when she remembered that Friday would be Jimmie'seighteenth birthday. Jimmie should have been through school, but hehad done that disgraceful thing that, so far, no Lindsay had ever done;he had failed in his examinations the Summer before. Had it not beenfor the boys' going to war, the great event that absorbed the mind ofthe family, Jimmie might have fared badly. As it was he received asolemn warning from John, and went back to school in the Fall veryunwillingly.

  "Life is so queer," Christina was constrained to say. "I was alwaysdying to go to school and couldn't, and Jimmie is dying to stay out ofit and can't."

  "It's Allister's money that's spoiled the silly kid," grumbled John."That and the war. I tell you, Christina, we always thought it was adreadful misfortune to be poor, and wished we had money, but I ambeginning to think that we ought to thank the Lord that we have had todo without. Jimmie has never done very well at school just because ithas been made easy for him to there."

  "I'm afraid Allister's money
is not likely to do any of us much moreharm, anyway," Christina said to herself, remembering another ratherdespondent letter from him. She could not quite agree with John thatmoney was not a very good thing to have. It would have opened for herthe road to the college halls, but it had been denied. And yet she wasnot unhappy. Something sang in her heart these days, the memory of acertain farewell at the back door in the wind and the rain anddarkness, a memory that was all light and glory.

  But Jimmie was still unsettled and dissatisfied with school, andChristina said that she would please him by making him a birthday cake.She would ice it with plenty of thick almond paste, his favourite, andput his initials on it and the date. It was a very handsome andtempting confection indeed, when she put it on the pantry shelf in asecluded spot where he would not see it until the right moment arrived.

  The kitchen was still filled with its spicy fragrance when there came aquick footfall in the porch and a knock at the door. Christina openedit to meet a slim young soldier who strode into the room and salutedsmartly. She stood looking at him in stupefied silence for a moment,and then she dropped upon a chair and put her head down on the kitchentable.

  "Oh, Jimmie! Oh, Jimmie!" she sobbed. "How could you?"

  But the new recruit caught her round the waist and waltzed her acrossthe room, and then, snatching the butcher-knife from the table, hepresented arms and saluted and posed all in such an absurd fashion thatin spite of her grief she smiled.

  "Go right back into the shed till I tell mother," she exclaimed, "shemustn't see you till she has had warning."

  Jimmie went out and hid himself, just a little subdued. Evidently hisgallant act, the thing that everybody had admired in Trooper, had takenon a different colour when performed by him.

  He had little opportunity to reflect upon his act. There was hardlytime for sorrow before Jimmie was gone; he had been put in a draft fora Battalion already in England and to his huge delight he was sentoverseas almost immediately. It seemed as if this, her baby's going,was almost more than Mrs. Lindsay could bear, and Christina was moreand more called upon to be a comforter and a bearer of burdens.

  It was not the fear of gas nor bomb nor German bullet that keptJimmie's mother wakeful at night, but the pestilence that walked indarkness, waylaying the souls of young men. Terrible tales of braveboys falling before an enemy more to be dreaded than all thefrightfulness of the Hun came back to Canada. It was this living Deaththat stalked through the camps of England, and behind the lines inFrance and Flanders, that made the mother's heart sick with fear.

  As she watched her mother's silent suffering, Christina's soul began,again, to ask questions. What was the meaning of that psalm thatGrandpa had read when Sandy and Neil went way, and, later, when Jimmieleft? Did it mean anything? And if it did, why could it not bringcomfort to her mother's sorely-tried heart?

  Through all the days of Christina's loneliness and anxiety there was noone so kind to her as Wallace's mother. Mrs. Sutherland made a pointof selecting Christina for her special helper at Red Cross meetings,and Christina could not but notice the significance of her attentions.

  "You are such a comfort, Christine," she declared one day when the girlhanded her back a sock with a dropped stitch deftly picked up. "Yourmother is a fortunate woman. I wish I had a daughter like you!"

  Christina's cheeks grew scarlet, and she was thankful that the clatterof sewing machines and the noise of Mrs. Johnnie Dunn's orders securedthem from being overheard.

  But indeed, she could not shut her eyes to the fact that all eventspointed in the direction so prettily indicated, again and again, byWallace's mother. Wallace was succeeding beyond his own expectations,and Uncle William was growing more lamb-like every day. The road tosuccess had surely opened out for Christina. Her Dream Knight hadridden up to her very door. He was possessed of a fine house, andbroad acres, and had prospects of great wealth. He was handsome andgay and debonair, and what more could any human girl ask?

  And in the face of all this grand good fortune that unreasonableChristina Lindsay was more dissatisfied and restless than she had everbeen in all her life. She reasoned with herself and scolded herselfall to no avail. That foolish heart of hers, that had always got inthe way of her worldly prospects, was standing stubbornly right in thevery highway of success.

  Here was the great opportunity of her life, such prospects as mightdazzle any Orchard Glen girl, and its glory was all blotted out by thememory of a tall figure in a khaki coat, coming suddenly out of thewind and rain of a dark night. Wallace had sat by Christina's sidethat night in the warmth and shelter of the fireside, but thoughChristina did not quite realise it yet, her heart had gone out into thestorm after Gavin, and could never come back. It was still followinghim over the perils of the high seas and into the blood and carnage ofthe battlefield, and it valued farms and stock and fine houses lessthan the dust.

  And so Christina was more dissatisfied than she had ever been in herlife, and she lay awake nights wondering what she should do, and howshe could possibly extricate herself from the impossible position inwhich she found herself.

  And to make matters worse or better, she did not know which, Gavinwrote to her, and she wrote him long letters in reply. And she grewinto the habit of running over the hills to Craig-Ellachie to cheer theGrant Girls, and, of course, they talked of their soldier-hero all thetime, and of nothing else.

  The Aunties literally lived by his letters. Everything was dated bythem.

  "We started yon crock o' butter jist the day Gavie's first letter camefrom France," Auntie Janet would say. "It's time it was finished."

  "Gavie's letter was a bit late this week," they announced at anothertime, "so we didn't start the ironin' till it came. It jist seemed asif we couldn't settle down."

  Gavin's letters were certainly worth waiting for, Christina had toconfess. He wrote much easier than he spoke, and his happiness inbeing permitted to write to her at all filled them with a quiet humour.Christina's eyes searched them just a little wistfully for any hint ofthe feeling he had displayed in his farewell. But there was none.Gavin was too much the true gentleman to presume on that parting. Hetold her he had the little ring safe, and that it was his most preciouspossession, but beyond that he did not refer to that last evening.There was never a hint of hardship, even after he reached the Front,and was in many a desperate encounter. It was only all joy that he wasable to be in the struggle for right. He had just one anxiety and thatwas lest his Aunts be lonely, and he wondered if she would be so goodas to comfort them just a little when she could.

  And Christina wrote him long letters in return and felt like a criminalin her double dealing. She knew she was wrong but she could not make adecision. On the one hand was all that she could hope this world couldoffer, and on the other nothing but a true and gallant heart. She wasangry and ashamed of herself and very restless, and withal, in spite ofherself, quite unreasonably happy.

  Mary had been writing all Winter urging her to come for a little visit,and see Hughie Junior, who was a marvellous baby, with wonderful featsto his credit that no human baby had ever yet performed. But Christinaput the tempting invitations aside, feeling she must not leave hermother in her deep anxiety.

  And then there came letters from overseas that brought a wonderfulrelief from her mother's worry, and lightened greatly the burdens ofthe night.

  For many and many a night her mother sat sleepless by her window,looking up at the stars that hung above her home and that also watchedabove her soldier sons. She had no fears for Neil, a thousand mightfall at his side and ten thousand at his right hand, but it would notcome nigh him. And Sandy,--Sandy was honest, and true, and as fine alad as marched in the Canadian Army, but he was young and careless andgay, and how did she know what temptations might assail him? And therewas Jimmie! Night after night she lay awake, thinking of Jimmie,praying and agonising for him. He was so young, such a big overgrownbaby, how could he come through unscathed?

  And then ther
e came from France this great relief from her dread.Jimmie's draft had reached England and Neil had managed to get himselftransferred to Jimmie's Battalion. It was going to France immediately,and France was safer than England, Neil wrote, from certain kinds ofdangers. And his mother was not to worry, for he had Jimmie rightbeside him and he would look after the boy and see that no harm couldcome to him. And Sandy wrote that Neil had refused a chance to takethe officer's course and a Commission, because he would not leaveJimmie.

  Full of joy and gratitude, Christina watched her mother's eyes growbright again, and so she left Mitty in charge of her many affairs andtook the train for a week's visit to Port Stewart.

  Mary's house was as pretty as ever, but had lost much of its immaculatetidiness. For Hughie Lindsay MacGillivray's wardrobe and appointmentsoverflowed into every room. But Hughie himself was all he had beenreported and more, and Christina fell down and worshipped his appleblossom face and his dimples at the first sight.

  "And tell me all about Wallace Sutherland," demanded Mary, betweenraptures. "Isn't it grand that he's doing such fine things with theFord place. Why, Christine, you'll be a wealthy woman some day!"

  "Oh, hush!" cried Christina in distress. "Why, Mary, I haven't evenbeen asked to live at the Ford place yet, and it's positively shamelessto talk about, about anything, yet!"

  "Nonsense!" laughed the practical Mary. "You know perfectly well thatWallace is in love with you, and that you are as good as engaged."

  "He is not! I am not!" denied Christina excitedly. "Don't you talklike that, Mary, I--I can't bear it--"

  "Why, Christine, why, mercy! I didn't mean anything!" cried Mary,alarmed and amazed at the sight of tears in Christina's eyes. "Why,what's the matter, dear? You haven't quarrelled with Wallace, haveyou?"

  "Oh, no, of course not," said Christina dolefully, regaining hercomposure.

  "And his mother's just lovely to you now, isn't she?"

  "Yes."

  "And, well, what's wrong? Why, any girl I know, even here in town,would give anything for your prospects!"

  But Christina could not explain her sudden outburst. It had astonishedherself as much as Mary. She knew that now was the great opportunityto confess to Mary that Wallace had fallen far below her high standard,but the memory of the Ford place and all it meant closed her lips. Itseemed too much to give up, and she went home with the battle betweenher heart and her head still raging.