Tomorrow About This Time

by Grace Livingston Hill

  It wasn’t as if she were just Lilla, made young again, pretty and wily and sly, with a delicate feminine charm and an underlying falseness. That was what he had expected. That was what he was prepared for. That he could have endured. But this creature was gross—coarse—openly brazen, almost as if she had reverted to primeval type, and yet—vile thought! He could see all the worst traits of himself stamped upon that plump, painted young face.

  Athalie gave a self-conscious tilt to her head and inquired in a smug voice: “Well, how do you like me?”

  The man started, an unconscious moan coming to his lips, and dropped his head into his hands then swung himself up angrily and strode back and forth across the far end of the room, glaring at her as he walked and making no reply. It was obvious that he was forcing himself to study her in detail, and as his eyes dropped to her feet he paused in front of her and inquired harshly: “Haven’t you any—any hosiery?”

  Perhaps the good attendant angels smothered a hysterical laugh, but Athalie, quite wrought upon in her nerves by this time and not a little hurt, stretched out a plump silken limb indignantly.

  “I should like to know what fault you have to find with my stockings?” she blazed angrily. “They cost four dollars and a half a pair and are imported, with hand-embroidered—”

  He looked down at the smooth silk ankles helplessly.

  “You are too stout to wear things like that!” he said coldly and let his glance travel up again to her face. “How did they let you get so stout anyway?”

  Her lips trembled for an instant, and real red flared under the powder on her cheek, then she gave her head a haughty toss.

  “You aren’t very polite, are you? Lilla said I’d find you that way, but I thought maybe you had changed since she saw you. She told me—”

  “You needn’t bother to mention anything that your mother said about me. I shouldn’t care to hear it,” he said coldly.

  “Well, Lilla’s my mother, and if I have come to live with you, I shall mention what I like. You can’t stop me!”

  There was defiance in the tone and in her glance that swept remindingly toward the pile of luggage at her feet, and he veered away from another encounter.

  “Do you always call your mother by her first name? It doesn’t sound very respectful.”

  “Oh, bother respect! Why should I respect her? Certainly, I call her Lilla! I had it in mind to call you Pat too, if I liked you well enough, but if you keep on like this I’ll call you Old Greeves! So there! Oh, heck! This isn’t beginning very well—” She pouted. “Let’s start over again. Here Pat, let’s sit down and be real friendly. Have a cigarette?” and she held out a bright little gold case with a delightfully friendly woman-of-the-world air, much as her mother might have done. As she stood thus poised with the golden bauble held in her exquisitely manicured rose-leaf hands she seemed the epitome of all that was insolent and sensual to her horrified and disgusted father. He felt like striking her down. He wanted to curse her mother for allowing her to grow up into this, but most of all he felt a loathing for himself that he had made himself responsible for this abnormal specimen of womanhood. Scarcely more than a child and yet wearing the charm of the serpent with ease.

  Then suddenly the shades of all the Silvers looking down upon him from the painted canvases on the wall, the sweetly highborn gentlewomen and gentlemen of strong, fine character, seemed to rise in audience on the scene and bring him back to the things he had been taught and had always deep down in his heart believed, no matter how far he had wandered from their practice. And here was this child, scarcely turned toward womanhood, daring to offer her father a cigarette, daring to strike a match pertly and light one for herself, here in this old Silver house, where grandmothers of four generations had been ladies, and where dear Aunt Lavinia had taught him his golden texts every Sunday morning—taught him about purity and righteousness. Oh, it was all her sweet, blind innocence—her ignorance of the world, of course, yet sweet and wonderful. And to have this child—his child—transgressing the old order in her playful, brazen way! It was too terrible! His child! Flesh of his flesh!

  “Athalie!”

  “Oh, don’t you smoke? I thought all real men smoked. Lilla said” She pursed her lips and lifted her cigarette prettily.

  “Athalie!” he thundered. “Never mind what your mother said! Don’t you dare to smoke in this house! Don’t you ever let me see you—”

  “Oh, very well! Shall I go outside? Perhaps you’ll take a little walk down the street with me—”

  The child was angry. There were sparks in her dark eyes. She looked very much like the old Lilla he knew so well. This was not the way to handle her. He was bungling everything. What should he do? He must establish his authority. The court had handed her over to his charge. What a mistake! He should have had her when she was young if he was ever to hope to do anything with her. But he must do something. He reached out suddenly and took possession of the cigarette and case before the surprised girl had time to protest.

  “Those are not fit things for a young girl to have,” he said sternly. “While you are under my protection it must not happen again. Do you understand?”

  She pouted. “You wouldn’t talk!”

  “I can’t talk to you while you look like that,” he said with a note of desperation in his voice. “Go upstairs and wash your face. And haven’t you got some less outlandish clothes? You look like a circus child. I’m ashamed to look at you!”

  He stepped to the wall and rang a bell, while Athalie, after staring at him in utter dismay, burst into sudden and appalling tears. Almost simultaneously Anne Truesdale appeared at the door with a white, frightened face looking from one to the other. Patterson Greeves felt a distinct wish that a portion of the floor might open and swallow him forever, but he endeavored to face the situation like a Silver and a master in his own house.

  “This is my daughter Athalie, Mrs. Truesdale, and she wished to wash her face and change her apparel. Will you kindly show her to a room and see that her bags are brought up and that she has everything she needs? I did not expect her to arrive so soon or I would have given you warning. It was my intention to keep her in school—”

  “Oh–h–h–h!” moaned Athalie into a scrap of green-and-black bordered handkerchief—”O–hhhhh!”

  Anne Truesdale looked at the plump tailored shoulders as she might have looked at a stray cat that she was told to put out of the room and then rose to the occasion. She slid a firm but polite arm around the reluctant guest and drew her from the room, and Patterson Greeves shut the library door and dropped with a groan into his chair, burying his face in his hands and wishing he had never been born. Somehow the sight of his daughter weeping, with her foolish frizzled hair and her fat, flesh-colored silk legs in their flapping galoshes, being led away by “Trudie,” as he always used to call the housekeeper, made him suddenly recognize her for what she was. She was a flapper! The most despicable thing known to girlhood, according to his bred and inherited standards. The thing that all the newspapers and magazines held in scorn and dread; the thing that all noted people were writing about and trying to eradicate; the thing they were afraid of and bowed to and let be; and his child was a flapper!

  Just as, after long and careful study, a new specimen would at last unexpectedly reveal some trait by which he could place it, so now this child had shown her true character.

  It was terrible enough to acknowledge; it was easy enough to understand how it had come about. But the thing to consider was what was he going to do about it? How could he do anything? It was too late! And God thought men would believe in Him when He let things like this happen! Somehow all his bitterness of the years seemed to have focused on this one morning. All that he called in scorn the “outraged faith of his childhood” seemed to rise and protest against his fate, proving that he still had some faith lurking in his soul, or else how could he blame a God who did not exist?

  He rose and paced his study back and forth, dashing his rumple
d hair from his forehead, glaring about on the familiar old room that had always spoken to him of things righteous and orderly, as if in some way it, too, with God, were to blame for what had happened to him. He had taken perhaps three turns back and forth in his wrath and perplexity when he was aware that a light tapping on the door had been going on for perhaps several seconds. He swung to the door and jerked it angrily open. Had that girl finished dressing so soon, before he had thought what to do about her? Well, he would tell her exactly what she was, what a disgrace to a fine old family; what a—mistake—what a—!

  In the hall stood Anne Truesdale with a deprecatory air, her fingers working nervously with the corner of her apron, which she held as if to keep her balance. Her beloved Master Pat had turned into an inscrutable old ogre, whom she loved but scarcely dared to brave. She felt assured, in view of the modern young specimen upstairs, that he had reason to be in this mood, and she but adored and feared him the more, after the old-fashioned feminine way, that he had it in him to storm around in this fashion; but she was frightened to death to have to deal with him while it lasted. Behind her, smiling quite assured, and splendid to look upon this morning with the soot washed from his face, and his big body attired fittingly, stood the minister, a book in his hand and a look of pleasant anticipation in his face.

  Then Patterson Greeves remembered as in a dream of something far past that he had invited the minister to take a hike with him this morning and afterward to lunch with him. The boy Blink was to have gone along. How fair and innocent the prospect was compared to what had now happened to him! He looked as one who was about to tear his hair out, so helpless and tragic were his eyes.

  Chapter 4

  Oh! It’s you!” There was at least a wistfulness in his tone.

  “Good morning!” said the minister. “Am I—? Perhaps our plans are not convenient for you this morning—?”

  “Oh!” said Patterson Greeves stupidly, as if he had just remembered.

  “You look done out, man! Is anything the matter? Can I help? If not, shouldn’t I just leave this book I promised and run along till another time?”

  “No. Come in!” said Patterson Greeves with a desperate look in his face. “You’re a minister! It’s your business to help people in trouble. I’m in the deuce of a mess and no mistake. You can’t help me out. Nobody can. But it would afford me some satisfaction to ask you how the devil you can go around preaching the love of God when He allows such Satanic curses to fall on men.”

  Bannard gave him a quick, keen glance, and set his clean-shaven lips in a firm line as he threw his hat on the hall console and stepped inside the door.

  Anne Truesdale retreated hastily to the pantry and paused to wipe a frightened tear from her white cheek. The other servants must not suspect what had happened to the master. Was this then the secret of the sadness of his face, that he had forsaken the faith of his fathers and taken to cursing and swearing? It made her shiver even yet to remember how familiarly he had spoken of the devil. Dear old Mr. Standish Silver! It was well he was not present to be grieved! And little pretty Miss Lavinia! If she had heard her darling’s voice talking that way about her Heavenly Father it would have killed her outright! Just have killed her outright! Oh, it was sad times, and the world growing weary instead of bright. And she so glad only the day before that Master Pat was coming home! Poor Master Pat! She must order waffles for lunch. He was always so fond of them. She must do all in her power to win him back to right living. It must have been that awful war! They said some of the officers were that careless! And of course he’d been a long time away from home. Poor Master Pat! She must pray for him humbly. There was no one else left to do it. That was what Miss Lavinia would have done, crept to her old padded wing chair and knelt long with the shades drawn. So she always did when Master Pat was a boy and did wrong. There was the time when he told his first lie. How she remembered that day. Miss Lavinia ate nothing for a whole twenty-four hours, just fasted and prayed.

  She, too, would fast, and would go to Miss Lavinia’s room and the old wing chair, and draw the shades and lock the door, and pray for the master! Perhaps then her prayer might be heard and answered. She would ask for the sake of Miss Lavinia and his uncle Silver. They must be beloved of the Lord. It would be terrible to have their nephew come out an unbeliever in these days of unbelief. The family must not be disgraced. But she must not let the servants know what she was doing. They must not find that anything was amiss with the master. Surely the Lord would hear and all might yet be well in spite of the awful young woman that had arrived, apparently to remain.

  So she scuttled away to Miss Lavinia’s sunny south bedroom and locked the door.

  Downstairs, Patterson Greeves gave his guest a chair and began to pour out curses against God.

  Bannard listened a moment, head up, a startled, searching, almost pitying look in his eyes, then he rose with an air of decision.

  “Look here, Greeves, you can’t expect me to sit quietly and listen while you abuse my best Friend! I can’t do it!” And he turned sharply toward the door.

  Patterson Greeves stared at his guest with surprise and a growing sanity and apology in his eyes.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said brusquely. “I suppose God must be that to you or you wouldn’t be in the business you are. I hadn’t realized that there was anybody with an education left on earth that still felt that way, but you look like an honest man. Sit down and tell me how on earth you reconcile this hell we live in with a loving and kindly Supreme Being.”

  “You don’t look as if you are in the mood for a discussion on theology to do you any good now,” answered the younger man quietly. “I would rather wait until another time for a talk like that. Is there anything I can do for you, friend, or would you rather I got out of your way just now?”

  “No, stay if you don’t mind my ravings. I have an idea you’d be a pretty good friend to have and I’ve been hard hit. The fact is, I suppose I’ve been a good deal of a fool! I married again. A woman who was utterly selfish and unprincipled. We’ve been divorced for years. Now suddenly our daughter is thrust back upon me, a decree of the court I’d utterly forgotten! She arrived without warning, and she’s the most impossible specimen of young womanhood I’ve ever come across! If a loving God could ever—! What are you smiling about, man? It’s no joke I’m telling you!”

  “I was thinking how much you remind me of a man I have been reading about in the Bible. Jehoram is his name. Ever make his acquaintance?”

  “Not especially,” answered Greeves coldly, with evident annoyance at the digression. “He was one of those old Israelite-ish kings, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes, a king, but he blamed God for the results of his own actions.”

  “Mm! Yes. I see! But how am I to blame for having a daughter like that? Didn’t God make her what she is? Why couldn’t she have been the right kind of a girl? How was I to blame for that?”

  “You married a woman whom you described as utterly selfish and unprincipled, didn’t you? You left the child in her keeping during these first formative years. What else could you expect but that she would be brought up in a way displeasing to yourself?”

  The scientist took three impatient turns up and down the room before he attempted to answer.

  “Man! How could I know? Such a thing wasn’t in my thoughts! I insist it was a dastardly thing to wreak vengeance on me in this way. No, you can’t convince me. This thing came from your God—if there is such a being. I’ve been watching and waiting through the years for a turn in my luck to prove that the God I’d been taught loved me had any thought toward me. But this is too much. Why should I wait any longer? I know! God, if there is a God, is a God of hate rather than love.”

  “Jehoram’s exact words,” said the minister. “This evil is of the Lord. What should I wait for the Lord any longer?”

  “Exactly!” said Greeves. “Don’t you see? Jehoram was a wise man. I respect him.”

  “But he found he was mistaken, yo
u know. Wait till ‘tomorrow about this time’ and perhaps you, too, will find it out. God’s purposes always work out—”

  Patterson Greeves wheeled around and looked sharply at his visitor. “What do you mean, ‘tomorrow about this time’?”

  “Go read the story of Jehoram and you’ll understand. The city was in a state of siege. The people were starving crazed by hunger, were eating their own children, and appealing to the king to settle their demoniacal quarrels. The king was blaming God for it all, and suddenly the prophet appeared and told him that ‘tomorrow about this time’ there would be plenty to eat and cheap enough for everybody. How do you know but tomorrow about this time God may have relief and joy all planned and on the way?”

  Greeves turned away impatiently and began his angry pacing of the room again.

  “Oh, that’s the kind of idealism you were prating about last night with your dreams that God was working out His purposes for the laboring classes and all that bosh! Excuse me, but I don’t believe any such rot any more for the classes or the nations than I do for the individual. Take myself for instance. If I don’t send off a letter I just wrote to stop it, by tomorrow about this time I may have a worse mess on my hands than I have now. I tell you your God has it in for me! I didn’t tell you I had another daughter, did I? Well, I have, and she’s taken it into her head to come here also. Here! Read this letter!”

  He picked up Silver’s letter and thrust it into the young man’s hand. The minister glanced at the clear handwriting, caught the words “Dear Father,” and pressed it back upon Greeves.

  “I oughtn’t to read this!” he said earnestly.

  “Yes! Read!” commanded the older man. “I want you to know the situation. Then perhaps you’ll understand my position. I’d like to have one person in the town who understands.”

  Bannard glanced through the lines with apology and deference in his eyes.

  “This is no letter to be ashamed of!” he exclaimed as he read. “This girl had a good mother, I’m sure! Or a good grandmother, anyway!”