Patricia

by Grace Livingston Hill

  Deeper and deeper grew her thoughts as she went on reading her Bible and asking to be shown the right way in her life. All unknowingly she was more and more surrendering herself to the leading of the Holy Spirit, which makes for the understanding of the Word, until things she read grew always clearer to her mind and stayed with her as she went through her days, and many a time when she might have made wrong decisions she was kept and led aright.

  But of her growth in grace she was as unconscious as a growing babe is unconscious of its physical development.

  Yes, though the girl herself knew nothing of the daily working of the Spirit within her, this was not hidden from those around her. Her father saw it first, and one day commented upon it thoughtfully.

  “Our girl is getting sweeter and more lovely every day,” he said.

  He was perhaps only thinking aloud and did not realize until his wife spoke up.

  “She has always been sweet!” she snapped. “I can’t see why you haven’t understood what a very beautiful daughter you have. Perhaps if you had realized it more, you would have been a little more careful how you subjected her to the influences of the common herd.”

  He was sorry at once that he had spoken, and he closed his lips and said no more about it, but he continued to watch his child from day to day and to wonder over her sweetness and gentleness, and how she patiently bore the nagging of her mother about unimportant matters, until she must have been tried almost beyond endurance. And once he asked her how it was that she contrived to keep her temper so much better than in former years when unpleasant things came, and she looked down shyly with a soft color in her cheeks and hesitantly said in a low wistful little voice, “Perhaps it is because I asked the Lord Jesus to help me.” And her lashes remained down upon her cheeks for an embarrassed moment. It was the first recognition between them of some special preaching they had been hearing together intermittently at their little church without a name, that was so unfashionable.

  A great shyness and embarrassment came over the father, and he did not answer for a full minute. Then in a low husky voice:

  “Yes, I guess that must be it,” he said and cleared his throat and looked away off in the distance for a while. Then he added:

  “I guess I’ll have to try that way, too.”

  Patricia looked up astonished, a great light coming into her face. Why, he was getting like that other father! Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they could have that family worship in their home, too? But—what would Mother say? Mother wouldn’t hold with such an informal, unfashionable thing as Father kneeling down to pray at morning and at evening. Mother might be afraid that someone would come in to visit.

  But Patricia came over eagerly to her father and kissed him softly on his forehead and on his down-drooping eyelids and murmured softly, “Oh Daddy, I wish you would! Wouldn’t that be nice? You and me both! I’d love that, Daddy!”

  Somehow after that there seemed to be a closer bond between father and daughter that made life sweeter. It was as if the years during which the father had protected her were culminating in this sweeter fellowship, and the two understood one another as they never had before.

  It was days after this first word was spoken between them about the spiritual life that the father asked her one night while they were sitting together alone for a little while:

  “What started you on this religious line, Pat? Did you just get it from our little old-fashioned church, or what?”

  And Patricia blazed out in a sweet bright smile, her eyes full of something lovely and deep.

  “No, Daddy, not altogether. At least—there was something else. You remember that picnic last year? The day the storm came up?”

  “Oh yes. I wasn’t home, was I? I was in New York. Someone took you who you didn’t like. Was it Thorny? I remember. Your mother said she would have been so worried if he hadn’t taken you, but she knew you would be all right since you had the right kind of an escort. But how did that help you religiously? Were you scared?”

  “Yes, I was scared,” said the girl with downcast eyes, “but that had nothing to do with this. I was only scared because Thorny got me alone, and then he took me in his arms and began to hug and kiss me in a horrid way. I got so frightened that I tried to scream, and he put his hand over my mouth and almost strangled me. At last I got away from him and ran as fast and as hard as I could, and I got away off from the rest, though I had thought I was running toward them all the time, till I found I was really lost. I fell down and almost knocked the breath out of me, and then I was afraid to look around lest Thorny was after me, so I just lay still. And I must have gone to sleep, for I was very worn out and excited, and then all at once I was wakened by a terrible clap of thunder. It startled me so I sat right up, and when I looked around there was somebody standing beside me, and I thought it was Thorny. I was so frightened I did not know what to do.”

  “The little whelp!” said Patricia’s father angrily, sitting up. “Why wasn’t I told of this before? I would have given him a big horsewhipping! Why didn’t you tell me at once?”

  “Oh, Daddy! Because I knew it would make Mother so angry. Because she was so pleased that Thorny was taking me.”

  “But you should have come to me alone and told me. You poor little girl! Well, go on. What did Thorny do next?”

  “But it wasn’t Thorny,” said Patricia, with a sweet hazy look in her eyes at the memory, “it was John Worth. Do you remember him, Daddy, at commencement last year? He gave the valedictory.”

  “I should say I do remember him!” said the father excitedly. “Don’t tell me that nice refined-looking boy was unpleasant to you!”

  “Oh no, Daddy! He was wonderful! The lightning was flashing terribly, and it had begun to rain hard and fast, and John just took off his coat and stooped down and put it around by shoulders, and then he picked me up like a baby and ran across the plowed ground with me to his own home! Such a sweet, dear home with lilies of the valley all around and a precious, sweet-faced mother standing at the door to take me in! And that nice kind father sitting in his chair by a lovely fire on the hearth. And then John’s mother took me in her room and wrapped me up in a wool blanket while she ironed my clothes dry, and we had a lovely time by the fire, with hot gingerbread and milk and then supper. John and I helped to get it ready, and it tasted so good. Hot scones and applesauce and more gingerbread. It was wonderful! And they wheeled John’s father up to the table, and after supper John gave him a big Bible and he read a chapter and then prayed, just as if he knew God intimately. And afterward when John brought me home, we talked about it and John said they did that every morning and evening. He called it family worship. And when I said I wished we did that, he said of course I could do it by myself if I wanted to. And I do. And I think it has helped me. I understand the sermons at the church now. And it makes me a lot happier, Daddy!”

  Mr. Prentiss was still for quite a long time, until they could hear Mrs. Prentiss coming up the front walk talking to one of her friends who was evidently coming in to visit, and then Mr. Prentiss drew a long sigh and said, “Oh, little Pat, you ought to have had a father like that! I was brought up that way, and I ought to have kept it up, even if I had to do it by myself! I’m sorry and ashamed, little Pat! I guess your mother wouldn’t have stood for it. But I ought to have done it anyway.”

  Patricia folded her arms lovingly around his neck and kissed him hard, whispering “Dear Daddy.” He held her close for just a minute, until suddenly they heard footsteps coming down the hall toward the library where they were. Patricia stepped back into the shadow, and her father quickly brushed the mist away from his eyes and said in a husky voice, “I liked that man, Pat. We’ll go and see him someday when we have time. I’d like to know him.”

  “Oh, but Daddy, he isn’t there anymore. He’s gone to heaven. Last summer while we were away!”

  “You don’t say!” said Mr. Prentiss, looking troubled. “Now that’s too bad! That was an unusual man, I’m sure. I thought when I
saw him I’d like to know him.”

  “He was a professor in a college,” said Patricia softly, for the footsteps were very near now, “and they had such a nice picture of the college and a picture of Mrs. Worth’s old home in Scotland. Oh, I wish you could have seen it!”

  Then the door opened and Mrs. Prentiss swept in.

  “For mercy’s sake!” she said. “What are you two sitting in a dark room for? Why didn’t you have a light on? It’s quite dark outside and high time the lights were on everywhere. It must look very strange to people passing outside to see no lights in the house. I wonder what the servants are thinking of.”

  That was the end of their talk that night, but Patricia and her father felt nearer to one another than ever after that.

  Chapter 15

  Toward the end of the school year Patricia, to her great surprise, became popular with the whole class, and three or four of the boys began to show her little attentions. The most daring of them took turns walking home with her, carrying her books, vying with one another to get first place.

  She was always gracious and sweet and most friendly, yet they never got to the place where they felt quite free to go in with her unless she asked them in, and then they would only go as far as the porch. They still didn’t drop in at any hour of the day or evening as they did at the other girls’ houses. They admired her, but she was still in a class by herself.

  Patricia liked them all pretty well, some better than others of course, but none of them enough to want them around continually. She was content with things as they were.

  One day her mother happened to be passing through the hall as Bramwell Brown stood on the front steps with her, talking about who should be on the decorating committee for commencement. Afterward her mother asked, “Who was that good-looking young man with you at the door?” And Patricia answered, “That was Bramwell Brown.”

  “Do you mean he is from your high school?”

  “Yes, Mother. He’s the prize debater and sings in the class quartet.”

  “Really? As good-looking as that? I don’t think I ever saw him before. Has he just recently come to town?”

  “Oh no,” said Patricia. “He’s been in my class since primary days. You probably never noticed him.”

  “Well, that’s strange, as good-looking as that. He’s almost as handsome as Thorny Bellingham! Who is his mother? Strange I never met her at the club or somewhere.”

  “You wouldn’t,” said Patricia, half smiling. “She’s a dressmaker, Mother, and lives down on South Street. She wouldn’t have time to go to a club.”

  “A dressmaker! And one who lives on South Street! Well, Patricia Prentiss, I am amazed at you, that you would allow such a young man to walk you home! No matter how handsome he is, you could certainly have made some excuse. I certainly am thankful that there are only two or three weeks of that dreadful school left. I don’t know what your father can be thinking of to allow you to be exposed to things of this sort. But then, of course, the poor dear man doesn’t understand social correctness, and never will, I’m afraid. Please don’t bring that young man around again, my dear. I know, your father said you were to have freedom, but when it comes to somebody from South Street that certainly is the limit. What would my friends think if they saw such a young man attending my daughter? Patricia, I simply can’t have it!”

  “But Mother! He wasn’t tagged! He didn’t have a placard pinned to his back saying he was from South Street, and you said yourself he was good-looking!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Patricia! Well, I suppose we can stand anything for the next few weeks and hope it will all be forgotten next year when you go away to college.”

  Little brushes like these were only occasional, however, and Patricia lived from day to day happily.

  Of course there was a big fuss over her commencement wardrobe. Mrs. Prentiss wanted an elaborate dress of chiffon with hand-drawn work in the waist and profusely edged with handmade lace, or else a lovely tailored white taffeta with a real lace overblouse. But Patricia would have nothing but a simple organdy.

  “Mother, we’re all dressing alike,” she said gently with a smile. “You see, there are some who can’t afford elaborate expensive dresses, so we voted to have everything very simple. Then everybody will be happy. And we’re not having any lace at all, just simple lines, sort of tailored, with deep hems. Some of the girls are making their own, and we’ve chosen a very simple pattern, but I think it’s going to be lovely. Then each one will wear the kind of sash or belt she chooses. Some are having white organdy sashes. I’d like a white silk sash, I think. And then for class day we’re wearing the class color, light green, or green and white.”

  “Do you mean you are going to look just like everybody else? My daughter going to look just like all the rest? I think that is terrible! Just look like some scrub woman’s child!”

  “Oh no, Mother! I’ll have my own face, you know,” laughed Patricia. “And we haven’t a single scrub woman’s child in the class! Betty Low’s mother scrubs offices at night, but Betty is a soph and won’t graduate for two years. Besides, Betty is the prettiest girl in the whole school! Mother, don’t look so disappointed. It’s just like a school uniform, you know, and I think it will look lovely having us all alike!”

  “But you only graduate once, Patricia, and I’ve been planning on your dress all this year.”

  “Oh yes, mother dear. I hope I’ll graduate from college sometime, and you can spread yourself then, although I don’t think it is in good taste. Always in stories I’ve read a graduating dress is a simple thing.”

  “Oh, dear me!” sighed the mother. “How simply impossible you have become! If I had known what a difficult child you were going to be I should have been so discouraged I would have given up at the start. Now take this matter of low heels; it’s absurd to wear low heels like a child. And this awful party you are going to have. Whoever heard of a party without dancing? What on earth will you do all the time?”

  “Oh, we have all that planned. Some lovely new games. I’ve been hunting them out all the year. They are going to be fun! Some of them are fascinating.”

  “Games?” said her bewildered mother. “You mean card games?”

  “Not a card, mother dear, just cute funny games and old-fashioned charades and things. Daddy has helped me telling me some of the games they used to play when he was a boy.”

  “Daddy!” said Mrs. Prentiss with contempt. “As if Daddy knew anything that would be suitable for entertainment! I declare you two are the most impossible creatures that ever lived. But if Daddy has helped you plan this, I suppose it is quite useless for me to concern myself about it.”

  “Oh, quite, mother dear!” laughed Patricia again, whirling away upstairs to complete her arrangements and glad to escape further inquisition.

  But the evening of the class party Mrs. Prentiss had a new grievance.

  “What have you done with all the ashtrays, Patricia?”

  “Put them away in the closet, dearest,” answered the girl promptly.

  “Well, get them out, all of them, and put them around. I certainly am not going to run the risk of having my lovely rugs and upholstery ruined by cigarette stubs and ashes everywhere. Of course they’ll be smoking all the time.”

  “Oh no,” said Patricia, “they won’t. It isn’t done at the school events, not when the teachers are present, and we are having three of our nicest teachers here. You needn’t worry about ashtrays. Besides, they all know how I feel about it. We’ll just forget the ashtrays, please.”

  “Oh, Patricia! You are so difficult! So that’s where you get that strange idea about not smoking! You know, you’re going to have to learn to do it, now and then at least. Simply everybody does it.”

  “No!” said Patricia. “I’m not going to learn. I don’t like it, and I think it is silly. I know Daddy doesn’t like it when you do it.”

  “There you go, condemning your mother. You think that is right, do you?”

  “I’
m not condemning you, Mother, but—I just wish you didn’t do it.”

  “But, Patricia, if you don’t smoke people are going to think you are very odd when you get out into society. You won’t be smart at all!”

  “I’m not anxious to get out into society,” said Patricia, “and I wouldn’t care to be thought smart. It doesn’t seem a nice word to me. Come, Mother, forget it, and let’s have a nice time!” Patricia was very happy and her eyes were shining, her cheeks aglow. She was wearing a little pink dress and a pink rose in her hair. She was lovely.

  “Nice time!” sniffed her mother. “Nice time at a lowdown party, for a horde of children who don’t know how to act at a party. But you do look beautiful, darling. Only, I wish you would run up to my dressing table and just put the weest mite of lipstick on your lips. Then you would look all right. Do that to please Mother, won’t you, precious?”

  “Oh no, please, Mother,” said Patricia firmly. “I want to be myself, not a primped up society girl. I hate lipstick!”

  “Oh, you perfectly impossible child!” sighed her mother. “Shall I ever be able to make anything out of you after this awful time is over?”

  “I sincerely trust not,” said her father in a low reverent tone as he came in the door just then. “You certainly ought to be satisfied with her the way she is now, Amelia. I never saw anything lovelier. In fact, she looks a little as you did when you were her age,” he added grimly. “I used to think you were the prettiest girl in the whole countryside.”

  “There, Mother, listen to that!” said Patricia. “You ought to be satisfied with a compliment like that from our dear silent Daddy!” And then Patricia escaped up the stairs laughing.