Beloved Stranger

by Grace Livingston Hill

  Aunt Pat came back with her book and ate with them, a happy little meal. She watched her girl contentedly, watched the young man approvingly, and remembered days of long ago and the light in a boy-lover’s eyes. That was the same light, or else she was mightily mistaken.

  Then all at once Copeland looked at his watch with an exclamation of dismay and sprang to his feet.

  “It is almost time for my train!” he said. “I wonder what has become of my taxi! The man promised to be here in plenty of time.”

  “Gemmie! Look out and see if the taxi is there!” called Aunt Pat.

  “No, ma’am, there’s no taxi come. I been watching out the window!” said the woman primly with a baleful look at Copeland as if his word was to be doubted. Gemmie thought he likely hadn’t told the taxi man to come at all. She thought he likely wanted to stay all night.

  “It isn’t far; I’ll try to make it!” said Copeland. “I’m sorry to leave in such a rush. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?

  I’ve had such a wonderful time!”

  “Why, I’ll take you, of course,” said Sherrill, suddenly rousing to her privilege. “My car is right outside. Come, out this side door. We’ve time enough.”

  “But you’ll have to come back alone!” he protested.

  “I often do!” she laughed. “Come, we can make it if we go at once—although I wish you could stay.”

  “But I mustn’t!” said Copeland. “I must get back at once. It’s important!”

  He took Aunt Pat’s hand in a quick grasp.

  “You have been good to let me come!” he said fervently. “May I come soon again?”

  “You certainly may!” said Aunt Pat. “I like you, young man! There! Go! Sherrill’s blowing her horn. You haven’t any time to waste!”

  With an appreciative smile he sprang to the door and was gone. Aunt Pat watched them drive away and then turned back with a smile of satisfaction to see Gemmie standing at the back of the hall like Nemesis, looking very severe.

  “That’s what I call a real man, Gemmie!” said Aunt Pat with a note of emphasis in her tone.

  “Well, you can’t most always sometimes tell, Miss Patricia,” said Gemmie primly with an offended uplift of her chin.

  “And then again you can!” said Aunt Pat happily. “Now, Gemmie, you can wait till Miss Sherry comes back, and then lock up. I’m going to bed.”

  Out in the night together Sherrill kept the wheel.

  “I’d better drive this time,” she explained as she put her foot on the starter. “It will save time because you don’t know the way. You be ready to spring out as soon as I stop, if the train is coming.”

  Sherrill flashed around corners in the dark and pulled up at the station a full two minutes before the train was due.

  “I have my ticket, and my baggage is checked in the city,” said Copeland, smiling, “so this two minutes is all to the good.”

  He drew her hand within his arm, and they walked slowly up the platform, both conscious of the sweetness of companionship.

  “I’m coming back soon,” said Copeland, laying his free hand softly over hers again. “Your aunt said I might.”

  “That will be wonderful!” said Sherrill, feeling that it was hard to find words to express her delight. “How soon?”

  “Just as soon as I can get a chance!” he said, holding her hand a little closer in his own.

  Then they heard the distant sound of the train approaching and had to turn and retrace their steps down the platform.

  “I’ll let you know!” he said.

  Somehow it took very few words to complete the sweetness of the moment. The train thundered up and they stood there waiting, her arm within his.

  “I wish you were going along,” he said suddenly, looking down at her with a smile. “It’s going to be a long lonely journey, and there is a great deal I would like to talk to you about, but we’ll save it for next time.”

  The train slowed down to a stop, and the few passengers from up the road came straggling out.

  Copeland and Sherrill stood back just a little out of the way till the steps should be passable, and as they looked up, Mrs. Battersea hovered in sight through the car door, coming back from an evening of bridge with some friends in the next suburb.

  “Isn’t that your Battledore-and-shuttlecock lady of the reception?” murmured Copeland with a grin.

  Sherrill giggled.

  “Mrs. Battersea,” she prompted.

  “Yes, I thought it was something like that.”

  The lady brought her heavy body down the car steps and arrived on the platform a few feet from them.

  Copeland stooped a little closer and spoke softly: “What do you say if we give her something to talk about? Do you mind if I kiss you good-bye?”

  For answer Sherrill gave him a lovely mischievous smile and lifted her lips to meet his.

  Then Mrs. Battersea, the conductor just swinging to the step of the car and waving his signal to the engineer, the platform and all the surroundings, melted away, and heaven and earth touched. The preciousness of that moment Sherrill never would forget. Afterward she remembered that kiss in comparison with some of the passionate half-fierce caresses that Carter used to give, kisses that almost frightened her sometimes with their intensity, and made her unsure of herself, and she knew this reverent kiss was not in the same world with those others.

  With that sweet tender kiss, and a pressure of the hand he still held, he left her and swung to the lower step which the conductor had vacated for a higher one as the train rolled out of the station.

  He stood there as long as he could see her, and she watched him, drank in the look in his eyes, and suddenly said to her frightened happy heart, “He is dear! Dear! Oh, I love him! I love him! He is no longer a stranger! He is beloved! The Beloved Stranger!”

  Then as the train swept past the platform lights into the darkness beyond, with her heart in her happy eyes, she turned, and there stood Mrs. Battersea, her lorgnette up, drinking it all in! Even that last wave of the hand that wafted another caress toward her before he vanished into the darkness!

  Sherrill faced her in dismay, coming down to earth again with a thump. Then with a smile she said in a cool little tone, “Oh, Mrs. Battersea! You haven’t your car here. May I take you home?”

  And Mrs. Battersea, bursting with curiosity, gushed eagerly, “Oh, Sherrill Cameron, is that really you? Why, how fortunate I am to have met you. I’ve just twisted my ankle badly, and my chauffeur is sick tonight. I expected to take a taxi, but there doesn’t seem to be any.”

  Then as she stuffed herself into Sherrill’s little roadster, she asked eagerly, “And who was that attractive man you were seeing off on the train? That couldn’t have been the charming stranger who was at the wedding, could it? Oh—Sherrill! Naughty, naughty! I thought there was a reason for the changes in the wedding plans!”

  Sherrill was glad when at last she reached her own room and could shut the door on the world and shut herself in with her own thoughts and memories. But a moment later Gemmie knocked at the door and brought a message from her aunt that she would like to see her for a minute.

  Gemmie looked at Sherrill’s lovely red cheeks and smiling lips coldly, distantly. Sherrill felt as if she would like to shake her. But she gave her a brilliant smile and went swiftly to her aunt’s room.

  “Well,” said the old lady from among the pillows of her old-fashioned four-poster bed, “I hope you see now that he never stole that necklace!”

  “Aunt Pat!” said Sherrill in an indignant, horrified tone. “I never thought he did! I knew he didn’t! But I wanted him to come back to prove to you that he hadn’t! He was my stranger. I knew he wasn’t that kind, but I couldn’t expect other people to realize what he was. I was afraid you would always suspect him if he didn’t come back.”

  “Hmm!” said the old lady contemptuously. “I know. You didn’t give me much credit for discernment. Thought you had it all. Now, run along to your bed, child. You’ve had eno
ugh for one evening. I just wanted you to know I think he’s all right. Good night!”

  Chapter 19

  Sherrill awoke the next morning with a song in her heart, but while she was dressing she talked seriously with herself. It was utterly impossible, she told herself, that a splendid man like Graham Copeland could care about a girl he had seen only a few hours, and especially under such circumstances. There was that precious kiss, but it had been given half in fun, to carry out the joke on Mrs. Battersea. Men didn’t think much of just a good-bye kiss—most men, that is. But her heart told her that this man was different. She knew that it had meant much to him.

  Then she told herself to be sensible, that it was wonderful enough just to have a real friend when she was feeling so lonely and left out of everything.

  Of course he was very far away. He might even forget her soon, but at least he was a friend, a young friend, to tide her over this lost, humiliating spot in her life.

  And he had said he would come soon again! Well, she mustn’t count too much on that, but her heart leaped at the thought, and she went about her room singing softly:

  “When I have Jesus in my heart,

  What can take Him away?

  Once take Jesus into my heart,

  And He has come to stay.”

  The trill of her voice reached across the hall to Aunt Pat’s room, and the old lady smiled to herself and murmured, “The dear child!” and then gave a little wistful sigh.

  It was raining hard all day that day, but Sherrill was like a bright ray of sunshine. It was not raining rain to her; it was raining pansies and forget-me-nots in her heart, and she did not at all understand what meant this great lightheartedness that had come to her. She had never felt toward anyone before as she felt toward this stranger. She had utterly forgotten her lost bridegroom. She chided herself again and again and tried to be sober and staid, but still there was that happy little thrill in her heart, and her lips bubbled over into song now and then when she hardly knew it.

  Aunt Pat sat with a dreamy smile on her lips and watched her, going back over the years to an old country graveyard and a boy with grave, sweet eyes.

  Three days this went on, three happy days for both Sherrill and Aunt Pat, and on the morning of the fourth day there came a great box of golden-hearted roses for Sherrill, and no card whatever in them. An hour later the telephone rang. A long-distance call for Sherrill.

  With cheeks aflame and heart beating like a trip-hammer, she hurried to the telephone, not even noticing the cold disapproval of Gemmie, who had brought the message.

  “Is that you, Sherrill?” came leaping over the wire in a voice that had suddenly grown precious.

  “Oh yes, Graham!” answered Sherrill in a voice that sounded like a caress. “Where are you?”

  “I’m in Chicago,” said a strong glad voice. “I want to come and see you this afternoon about something very important. Are you going to be at home?”

  “Oh, surely, yes, all day,” lilted Sherrill, “but how could you possibly come and see me today if you are in Chicago?”

  “I’m flying! I’ll be there just as soon as I can. I’m starting right away!”

  “Oh, how wonderful!” breathed Sherrill, starry eyes looking into the darkness around the telephone, almost lighting up the place, smiling lips beaming into the reciever. “I—I’m—glad!”

  “That’s grand!” said the deep big voice at the other end of the line. “I’m gladder than ever that you are glad! Are you all right?”

  “Oh, quite all right!” chirruped Sherrill. “I’m righter than all right—now!”

  “Well, then, I’ll be seeing you—shortly. I’m at the airport now, and I’m starting immediately! Good-bye—darling!”

  The last word was so soft, so indefinite that it gave the impression of having been whispered after the lips had been turned away from the phone, and Sherrill was left in doubt whether she had not just imagined it after all.

  She came away from the telephone with her eyes still starrier and her cheeks rosier than they had been when she went to it. She brushed by the still-disapproving Gemmie, who was doing some very unnecessary dusting in the hall, and rushed up to her aunt’s room.

  “Oh, Aunt Pat!” she said breathlessly. “He’s coming! He’s flying! He’s coming this afternoon. Do you mind if we don’t go for a ride as we’d planned?”

  “Who’s coming, child?” snapped Aunt Pat with her wry grin and a wicked little twinkle in her eye. “Be more explicit.”

  “Why, Graham is coming,” said Sherrill eagerly, her face wreathed in smiles.

  “Graham indeed! And who might Graham be? Graham Smith or Graham Jones? And when did we get so intimate as to be calling each other by our first names?”

  For answer Sherrill went laughing and hid her hot cheeks in the roseleaf coolness of the old lady’s neck. The old lady patted her shoulder and smoothed her soft hair as if she had been a baby.

  “Well,” said Aunt Pat with her twisted smile, “it begins to look as if that young man had a great deal of business in the east, doesn’t it? It must be expensive to travel around in airplanes the way he does, but it’s certainly interesting to have a man drop right down out of the skies that way. Now, let me see, what are you going to wear, child? How about that little blue organdy? You look like a sweet child in that. I like it. Wear that. Those cute little white scallops around the neck and sleeves remind me of a dress I had when I was sixteen. My mother knew how to make scallops like that.”

  “I’ll wear it, of course,” said Sherrill eagerly. “How lovely it must have been to have a mother to make scallops for you. But I don’t know as that is any better than having a dear precious aunt to buy them for you. You just spoil me, Auntie Pat! Aren’t you afraid I’ll ‘spoil on you’ as Lutie’s mother says?”

  “Well, I’ve tried hard enough,” said the old lady, smiling, “but I can’t seem to accomplish anything in that line. I guess you are the kind that doesn’t spoil.”

  All the morning Gemmie came and went with grim set lips and disapproving air, going about her duties scrupulously, doing all that was required of her, yet saying as plainly as words could have said that they were all under a blind delusion and she was the only one who saw through things and knew how they were being deceived by this flying youth who was about to appear on the scene again. She sniffed at the gorgeous yellow roses when she passed by them and wiped her eyes surreptitiously. She didn’t like to see her beloved family deceived.

  But time got away at last, and Sherrill went to dress for the guest, for they had been consulting airports and had found out the probable hour of his arrival.

  Sherrill was just putting the last touches to her hair when Aunt Pat tapped at the door and walked in with a tiny string of pearls in her hand, real pearls they were, and very small and lovely.

  “I want you to wear these, dearie,” she said in a sweet old voice that seemed made of tears and smiles and reminded one of lavender and rose leaves.

  Sherrill whirled about quickly, but when she saw the little string of pearls, her face went white, and her eyes took on a frightened look. She drew back and caught hold of the dressing table.

  “Oh, not another necklace!” she said in distress. “Dear Aunt Patricia. I really couldn’t wear it! I’d lose it! I’m afraid of necklaces!”

  “Nonsense, child!” said the old lady, smiling. “That other necklace is going to turn up sometime, I’m sure. Remember I told you those stones were registered, and eventually if someone stole them, they will be sold, will ultimately arrive at some of the large dealers and be traced. You’re not to fret about them, even if it is some time before we hear of them. And as for this necklace, it’s one I had when I was a little girl, and it is charmed. I always had a happy time when I wore it, and I want you to wear this for me this afternoon. I like to see you in it, and I like to think of you with it on. You’ll do it for me, little girl. I never had a little girl of my own, and so you’ll have to have them. I’m quite too old now to we
ar such a childish trinket.”

  So Sherrill half fearfully let her clasp the quaint chain about her neck, and stooped and kissed the dear old lady on the parting of her silvery curls.

  Sooner than Sherrill had dared to hope, he came. She watched him from behind her window curtain while he paid the taxi driver and then gave a quick upward look at the windows of the house. No, she had not been mistaken in her memory of him. That firm, clean, lean look about the chin, that merry twinkle in his eyes. The late-afternoon sun lit up his well-knit form. There was a covert strength behind him that filled her with satisfaction and comfort. He was a man one could trust utterly. She couldn’t be deceived in him!

  Then Gemmie’s cold voice broke stiffly on her absorption: “The young man is here, Miss Sherrill!”

  “Oh, Gemmie,” caroled Sherrill as she hurried laughing from her window. “Do take that solemn look off your face. You look like the old meetinghouse down at the corner of Graff Street. Do look happy, Gemmie!”

  “I always look as happy as I feel, Miss Sherrill,” said Gemmie frigidly.

  But Sherrill suddenly whirled on her, gave her a resounding kiss on her thin astonished lips, and went cheerfully past her down the stairs, looking like a sweet child in her little blue organdy with the white scallops and pearls, and her gold hair like a halo around her eager face. The small blue shoes laced with black velvet ribbons about her ankles fairly twinkled as she ran down the steps, and the young man who stood at the foot of the stairs, his eyes alight with an old, old story, thought her the loveliest thing he had ever seen.

  Aunt Pat had managed to absorb every single servant about the place, suddenly and intensively, and there wasn’t a soul around to witness their meeting, though perhaps it would not have made the least difference to them, for they were aware of nobody but their own two selves.

  She went to his arms as to a haven she had always known she possessed, and his arms went around her and drew her close, with her gold head right over his heart, her cheek rubbing deliciously against the fine serge of his dark blue coat. Dark blue serge, how she loved it! He had worn a coat like that when she first found him!