Patricia

by Grace Livingston Hill

  The young girl lifted expressive eyes to her father’s.

  “Mother knows I don’t want him around, Daddy,” she said in a low tone.

  “There!” said the mother indignantly. “Now I hope you see, Mr. Prentiss, just what you have done to your daughter, making her disagreeable and self-conscious and unable to have any friendships with nice boys. If she ever gets free from that dreadful school, I shall have a pretty time training her for her social life.”

  “I don’t see that she needs any training,” said her father, with a cheering smile and a wink. “I think she’s a pretty nice kind of a girl now, myself.”

  “Yes, that’s just about as much as you know about social life,” said his wife. “You never had any yourself, you know.”

  “Well, I’ve managed to rub along fairly well and get enough money to support you in ordinary comfort and a little over. But I draw the line at those Bellinghams. If you like them, all right. Go and see them all you want to, but don’t ring Pat and me in on them, that’s all I ask. And if you can’t produce any more manly boys than that Bellingham irresponsible, I think Pat would be better off without any social contacts. Come on, Pat; if you want me to play tennis with you, now’s your time before dark. Excuse us, won’t you, Amelia?’ And the two escaped from further discussion.

  But that was not the last time the subject was brought up, for Mrs. Prentiss had no idea of giving up such a delightful thing as a cottage at the shore, and she kept on it from every angle until her husband said he guessed they would have to give up the plan for this time. He wouldn’t be able to get away from his business very much, and he didn’t want his family away from him.

  That was before they heard that Thorny must attend summer school if he wished to pass his finals and go on to graduate the next year. When that was told at the table one day, Mr. Prentiss looked up with interest. And when two or three days later his wife announced in a grieved tone that her friend Mrs. Bellingham was going to the mountains for a month, he began once more to take an interest in a cottage at the shore. He said very little about it however, until one day he came home and announced that he had taken a nice little place right on the beach for a month, rented it furnished from a friend who was going abroad on business and wanted somebody to look after his house.

  Mrs. Prentiss felt very dubious about it. A man, she told him, didn’t know how to pick out a summer cottage. However, it was all picked out and she might take it or leave it, so she submitted, and Patricia had a glorious time with her father for playmate and no fear of running into Thorny anywhere. Her mother was fairly happy, too, for the house was charming and so near the sea, and the only trouble with it was that there was no guest room. However, Mrs. Bellingham was away, so she settled down really to enjoy her family for once. Of course, she did try to get Patricia off to a dance now and then at the hotels on the beach, but her father took her part, saying she needed to go to bed early and get well rested up for next winter’s study. “The last year of high school is always the hardest, you know.”

  “And thank goodness, that will be over at last!” said Patricia’s mother.

  So the summer was comparatively free from annoyances, and there was plenty of outdoor exercise and play; a boat, which she learned to row on the little lake nearby, good swimming, tennis, a pony she had the privilege of riding twice a week, and best of all a time to rest in the hammock in the wide wind-swept porch with a book in her hand and her eyes off to the sea, dreaming of the great things of life that were just beginning to touch her consciousness deeply, thinking of the future and what it might hold in store for her.

  Sometimes as her eyes wandered to the far horizon, of an early evening, when the sea was pearly with its myriad lights and its silver ripples looked like a pathway to heaven, she got to thinking what heaven would be like; would she always be wanting to do things up there that her mother did not think were right for her?

  Then one day her father flung his evening paper down and left it on his chair when he answered his wife’s call to come into the house for something, and the paper slid down and began to blow across toward the hammock. Patricia reached down and caught it in its flight, and as she smoothed its pages down and tried to crease them more carefully her eye caught a name among the death notices. “Worth!”

  She caught her breath and stared at the page.

  WORTH—John Graham Worth died today after a lingering illness at his home, Braeburn Cottage, Briarwood Road, Waverly Township. Services Thursday at two o’clock, interment private.

  Patricia’s eyes filled with tears as she read swiftly and then searched the page for the rest. Yes, here it was.

  Professor John Graham Worth, for ten years professor of Greek and Hebrew at Carrollton University, passed away in the fifty-eighth year of his life. He was a graduate of Oxford University, England, and took his degree at Edinburgh University, Scotland. After serving for a time as teacher of Hebrew and Greek in his native land, he accepted an urgent call to Carrollton University and was there until his failing health made it necessary for him to take an extended rest—

  Patricia’s head went down upon the paper and a soft sob came from her lips. She was seeing the fine sweet face of John Worth’s father as he sat before the fire in his own cottage and talked with her. Seeing him seated at the table, laughing with his family over their bright repartee. Seeing his head bowed reverently as he prayed that earnest prayer, which included her. She was hearing again the kindly words he had spoken to her, hearing his voice as he read those words of scripture.

  And now she could never talk with him again! He was gone! Up to God Himself, to whom he had talked so intimately in that notable prayer!

  It seemed as if she had just discovered a great personal loss! Something that she had hoped was to have come into her life, that would never be hers now.

  Oh, but there was eternity! Perhaps she could know him then, in heaven!

  And it wasn’t as if it were a loss that she could mourn openly. Her mother, perhaps even her father, would not understand her weeping for an utter stranger of whom they had never heard. Oh, later, when she was a little older and knew how to explain things better, she might be able to tell her father all about that storm and that wonderful day in Braeburn and the gentleman whom she would have liked to be her father’s friend, but now, would he understand? Or was this one of those things that had to be experienced to be understood?

  And her mother surely would think she was crazy to weep over a poor man who lived in a cottage among cabbages and lilies, even if he had been a notable scholar once. Her mother would never understand.

  If she were only at home she might go to that service and show her sympathy to that dear family, the sweet lady who called him “feyther,” he who had gone Home and left them now. And the wise, courageous son! What would they do now? Oh, how her heart ached for them! How she longed to do something to show them her sympathy. How she wanted to go to that service. To get the feeling of that family who knew God so well and to see the radiance she would surely find in their faces in spite of their sorrow.

  Her father would take her tomorrow perhaps, if she could manage to make him understand how much she wanted it. But her mother would make such a fuss about it, insisting on knowing every detail, how she came to know them, who John Worth was, and what school he attended. Patricia shrank in dread from the thought of the discussion she would bring upon herself if she tried to work that. And not only upon herself but upon her father also. No, she must not try that.

  But couldn’t she send some flowers? How could that be managed? She had enough money to pay for them, and flowers could be ordered by mail or telegram. Nobody need know anything about it.

  People from the neighboring cottage had come in to visit. Her mother and father would be occupied for a little while. It wasn’t far down the beach to the little drugstore where they had a telephone. She couldn’t do it here in the cottage. Her mother would come rushing right out and demand to know who she was telephoning to, and wha
t about. But couldn’t she run down to the drugstore and telephone Mr. Mathison, the florist at home? He knew her and would know how to get the flowers to the right place.

  She picked up the paper again, searched for the date. This was last night’s paper. Yes, the services were tomorrow.

  Quick as a flash her decision was made. She slipped softly up the stairs to her room without attracting the attention of anyone. They were sitting on the west porch away from the village end of the beach. Quickly she got her purse and noiselessly hurried downstairs and out the side door. Then she flew up the beach in the soft moonlight that was beginning to get brighter every minute. It wouldn’t take long. She could buy a box of candy and take it back to pass to them all as an excuse for going if they found out.

  So she hurried through the silver brightness with her heavy young heart full of a new kind of trouble she had never known before. Trouble for those dear new friends of hers who were friends of God and one of whom had gone home to Him.

  Having done her errand and bought her candy, she came back quietly, watching the silver sea where it met the silver-blue sky, as if the gate of heaven were up there and might possibly open while she looked and let her glimpse in.

  Back at the cottage again, she went to the porch where they all were sitting and passed her candy, then she slipped away to her room and, undressing in the darkness, knelt before her open window in her soft white robe and looked across the sea. Laying her head down on the windowsill she prayed.

  Oh, God, dear heavenly Father, help them to bear it. Love them and keep them, and make me Your child just as they are. Let us all meet up in Your heaven. And please—if You don’t mind worrying about a little thing, will You let my lilies that I sent tell that dear family how sorry I am for them and how much I care?

  For Patricia had said to the florist: “Please, Mr. Mathison, if you have any, I’d like them to be lilies of the valley if possible. I know it’s late for those, but couldn’t you get them somewhere? It doesn’t matter if they cost more, and send the bill to me, please, not to Father.”

  So she prayed “lilies,” though the florist had only said he would try.

  A long time she knelt there and prayed, and when at last she rose and lifted her eyes to the far silver sea where the sky came down and touched, she could seem to see bright angels dimly standing by an open gate to let a new soul go Home.

  One day when Mrs. Prentiss had gone down to the city on some errands, a letter came to Patricia, forwarded from home.

  Dear Patricia:

  Mother and I thank you. Father would have been so pleased with the lilies. He liked you.

  John

  Patricia was so glad that it came while she was alone. Now she would not have to explain.

  The days went on, golden with sunshine, and the silver nights, and Patricia felt as if she were growing up.

  “She is really lovely,” said her mother to her father one night as they watched her walking down the sand ahead of them. “Too bad she has to spend another year in that silly school!”

  But Patricia did not hear and walked sweetly on. She was studying her Bible daily now, and some of the words came gently to her on the wings of the wind as she watched that silver sea and sky: “The heavens declare the glory of God. . . . In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun, which. . .as a bridegroom. . .rejoiceth—” The Hebrew professor would never tell her now on this earth what some of those wonderful words meant in their original setting, but somehow her heart was beginning to know, as if God’s Spirit was teaching her. As if just because she had the will to accept them all even before she understood them, the Spirit was graciously leading her to a wider place where she could see farther into their meaning, making her sure that these words were of God.

  Chapter 14

  Patricia went back to school life in the fall with eagerness and zest. This was to the best year of all, and she was looking forward to it. Her father had made it distinctly understood that she was not to be hampered in any of her school activities, and her mother with sighs had acquiesced, saying that of course it didn’t matter much for just one year more, and then, thank fortune it would be over and she would have her way with her precious child and try to undo some of the harm that had been done in all these young years.

  So there was a different look on Patricia’s face when she went back to school, and there was more freedom in her friendships with the other girls and boys, though to tell the truth she usually had very little to do with the boys except in gatherings of the whole class, for the boys were just a little bit afraid of Patricia. They had never quite figured out why she had disappeared from the picnic. Of course, the storm had managed to take their thoughts away from the subject to a certain extent, but they had never been able to decide why she was not on hand at lunchtime, nor for any of the games. Likely she was a snob after all and didn’t want to associate herself with them. They had not connected her disappearance with Thorny because he had come back complaining of a twisted ankle and a scratch in the face from briars. He had stayed and eaten what was left of his lunch with Della Bright and had been generally annoying in little ways to the rest of them. But he had stayed with the crowd and had been the chief instigator in taking them all to the roadhouse for a refuge in the storm. It had also been Thorny’s influence that had made the whole latter part of the day a riot instead of a time of innocent fun. Most of the quieter boys had taken their special girls and their sisters home as soon as the rain was over, but many of the others had stayed, willing enough to explore a side of life with which they were not familiar.

  But now Patricia was eager to make the class feel that she was one of them and to erase all memory of the unfortunate picnic. So she went faithfully to their parties. However, as the winter wore on she decided that she didn’t enjoy dancing. There was too much familiarity about it.

  But there were not many parties, and at least for this one year she was not expected to go to many festivities among her other set of acquaintances, which was a relief. Also Thorny was definitely out of things, word having gone out that he was attending a famous school in the far west, and Patricia was greatly relieved that she had not that problem to face.

  So the winter went on in a pleasant whirl of work. Patricia loved studying. She wanted to be at the head of her class, and she studied hard.

  But there was one element missing in the school this year. John Worth was not there. As she looked back upon the past few years, she realized that she had never had much personal contact with him, very seldom even spoken to him for days and sometimes weeks at a time. But he had been there, a quiet presence, a strong influence upon his whole class, the admiration of the whole school, even since he had not been active in athletics. Now that he was only a memory they still boasted about him, as something of the past; but the fine flavor of each day seemed to be growing less and less. At least to Patricia, who had been used to watching him from afar so long and to think of his attainments as something to be emulated, to look toward his quiet strength when she was tired or excited or uncertain—always those lamps behind John Worth’s eyes had meant that to Patricia since the first time she saw them, and now she missed them every day.

  Of course, there was now a still more pleasant personal memory to think back to, in that day she had spent in his home while the rain poured down. The day seemed framed in a rainbow at the end and perfumed by the lilies she had carried home. But school now was just a little less than it had been because he was no longer there. And perhaps she would never see him again!

  True, he had promised to come to see her sometime in the dim and misty future, but Patricia, in the months that had passed, had been learning to grow up in her thoughts. To realize that all that young people promise is not likely of fulfillment. That time changes even thoughts and wishes.

  Since his father died it was rumored that John Worth was working full-time now on Miller’s farm. They said he was just going to be a common farmhand. That seemed too bad for the best scholar in high school
, never to have a chance to go on and study further. The valedictorian! Imagine it! Somebody ought to have done something for him!

  That was the way a few of the seniors talked.

  Patricia, when she heard it, was sure in her heart that John Worth wouldn’t have taken help from anybody. His father hadn’t brought him up that way. The grand old college professor had not brought up his son to be a “softy.” John Worth would help himself. Besides, just now he was probably taking care of his mother.

  But Patricia didn’t participate in any talk about him, and soon it died away. In time John Worth was all but forgotten by the new class that was coming on.

  “But there isn’t one in this year’s class that is up to John Worth of last year,” Patricia heard one of the old teachers say to another. “Not scholastically, anyway.”

  And Patricia’s heart was glad that one worthwhile teacher recognized that.

  There was plenty to do all that winter, however, and little time for regretting scholars of the past.

  Patricia had a few more or less close friends among the girls in her class this year. Up untill then she had felt that she must not be too friendly because her mother would not let her bring the public school classmates to her home to visit her. But now her father’s edict had gone forth most decisively, and she had been told in her mother’s presence that she might bring her friends there and even have a party for them sometime during the year, so she felt more free and easy with them. She found the girls most eager to come and see her. They had always been curious about the big pretentious mansion in which she lived, and they came home with her sometimes with great delight. They seemed to vie with one another to be her closest friend. So the days went by pleasantly, and Patricia felt her life was very full and happy.

  But in the midst of it all she did not forget that little touch with the Worth family. She remembered how John Worth had told her that she could have family worship by herself, and every morning and evening she religiously read her Bible and knelt to pray, falling little by little into the habit of talking to the Lord as if He stood close by and she could see Him. The mysterious beauty of those few hours spent in that consecrated home listening to the conversation of God’s saints had made a deep impression, and she did not want to get away from it.