Rose Galbraith

by Grace Livingston Hill

  But then her gaze swept the whole side of the ship, and she saw him hurrying off from the other plank where the baggage had been loaded aboard.

  All about her were excited voices; confetti and paper ribbons flung over the rail, landing at the feet of friends, or about their necks; handkerchiefs waving; people crying; people laughing and contributing to the general symphony of sound. There were many smart sayings that were never heard above the noise of the boat as it thundered its final farewell to its native land.

  But Gordon McCarroll was making his way through the crowd toward the end of the dock that was below the forward deck where he had left her. He looked up and signaled and then smiled with an intent gaze, for all the world as if she were an old friend, the kind of friend she had always in her heart wished she might be.

  He was standing there and waiting, as if he had brought her down here and put her aboard. He was taking away that deathly loneliness and making her feel as if she belonged, as if he really cared for her loneliness and wanted to comfort her.

  Suddenly she smiled, a radiant glow like sunshine illuminating her face. As they stood there looking at one another during those last seconds, while the ship began to move, it was almost as if words, pleasant assurances, passed between them.

  And when at last the ship passed on into the dimness of the blue mist that was the sea, Gordon McCarroll still stood there, looking out at the mere speck the ship had become, thinking amazing thoughts about the little girl who was alone out there on a strange sea! The little girl whom he had known so slightly during the years of their school days together. How she had suddenly become of importance to him! Just the clasp of her hand, the touch of her lips, and something dear had crept into his heart that he could not understand nor fathom. Was that merely a thing of the flesh? No, he thought not. There seemed something almost holy about it.

  She had always interested him. Her quaint answers in class had frequently drawn his attention, but he had looked upon her as someone out of an unknown world, for he had never met her elsewhere than in school, and his interest in her had always been but passing. Yet he remembered now that he had often marked the blueness of her eyes, the lights of gold in her hair that curled so naturally about her delicate refined face. And now he had seen in her today a beauty he had never noticed before. Perhaps it had always been there. Only he had not been looking for it, or perhaps the sorrow of her mother’s death had touched her with the beauty that sorrow brings. But anyhow, the memory of her face as he had just been looking down into it, stayed with him and intrigued him strongly.

  The twilight was settling down over the pearly tints in the sea, and the ship had become a part of the distance, with possibly a mere speck of light stabbing it somewhere to show where it had gone, but he felt sure the little girl was still there by the ship’s rail looking back to the land of her birth wistfully, and perhaps, as he was, thinking of their brief farewell. Would he ever see her again? His heart cried out to be assured. Would it be possible for him to do anything about it sometime? When? Would he still wish to do it when the time came?

  He turned sadly away and walked the length of the wharf, took a taxi to his hotel, and sat down to think before he went down to get his dinner.

  And later, after going out to call on some of his mother’s friends, the memory of Rose Galbraith was with him again on his way back to the hotel. Her eyes reflecting the blue of her garments, their beauty holding his thoughts even against his will. He felt again her small soft hands in his, the thrill of her shy lips so sweet against his own. He wasn’t a boy who made a practice of kissing girls. Kissing had always seemed a very special sacred thing to him, and now that he was looking at his own action past, and the fact that it was he who had stooped to lay his lips upon hers, he wondered why he had done it. What impulse had stirred him to it? Was it pity for her loneliness? No, not that. There was nothing forlorn about her. Nothing in herself that had claimed such intimacy. She had seemed almost surprised, yet she had yielded her lips. No, it was not pity for her, nor was it promiscuous. It had seemed a fitting sacred thing. As if somehow she suddenly belonged to him and he wanted to kiss her. The farewell gave enough occasion for it, even though they had never been intimate. He was not ashamed of his action. He thought about whether he should tell his mother of it when he went home. He would not be ashamed to tell her. In a way, she would understand. There had always been a sweet intimacy between himself and his mother. But yet he wondered if she would fully understand. He had to think it over carefully and be sure he understood himself before he would feel like bringing it out into the open that way. Maybe it was just something that should be kept in his own heart till time should pass over it and set some kind of a seal upon it. Perhaps it was only a pleasant salutation, a farewell, like a handshake, that would pass into history. Yet that thought was not pleasant, for the memory of that kiss held a strange sweet thrill that was full of beauty and seemed something akin to a heavenly friendship. It was as if suddenly he was aware of having known her a long time.

  Always in his schooldays, she had been somewhere about, though usually shy and quiet. Excepting of course when it came to recitations. She had always been smart as a whip in class. The teacher’s attitude toward her had been one of utter confidence. She could always call upon Rose when there were visitors present and know that there would be a perfect recitation. Yet it had never given her that look of pride and self-importance that many bright ones wore like a garment. Much praise had never made her try for a position in the limelight. She had always been so sweet and unassuming, no one had seemed even jealous of her.

  Of course he had never known Rose Galbraith socially. She almost never attended the parties and picnics and gatherings of the class. Only when in the line of her studies her presence was required was she always present. She had never been out with the crowd skating or attending any of their special outings, and it had never occurred to him to ask why. He hadn’t even known except vaguely, in what part of the town was her home. But now he began to wonder why she had always been so apart from the rest. Could it be an invalid mother, or poverty and hard work that was the answer to that question? Yes, perhaps it was both, for she had told him that her mother had just died.

  Poor little girl! There was such a stricken look in her face! It had seemed to call forth the finest feeling of his heart. He had felt a strange new desire to take her in his arms and comfort her. He couldn’t quite understand himself. But somehow he felt glad that he had happened along before she left.

  Happened? Was it chance? Could a thing that lingered with him so keenly be just a happening? Or was it somehow planned as a kind of climax to their school days? What, that quiet plain girl whose life had touched his so rarely? Why should she seem suddenly so fine and rare? Why should the thought of her linger so poignantly in his mind? She seemed so utterly alone to go across the great ocean, going to strangers!

  “Oh, God, keep her safe,” he prayed as he knelt before he slept.

  Rose Galbraith, as she stood on the deck alone and watched the land recede, was conscious of a comforting gladness. The touch of his hands on her hands, the touch of his lips on hers, the look of his eyes into hers, for just that last minute before he went! It was wonderful! Breathtaking! As if God, to comfort her, had prepared a friend for those last few moments. She probably would never see him again, but for that moment she had had a perfect friend for her own, and it was something she could remember all her life.

  His face upturned from the throng on the wharf, the radiance of his smile! How lovely it was that she had that to remember! A symbol of her happy school days! How glad her mother would have been to know that the nicest boy in her high school had given her as much honor for those last few minutes as if she had been a princess. Maybe it would be something like that when the end of her life came, and she was about to enter the heavenly home. Only—would there be anybody to bid her good-bye then? But she wouldn’t need them, for she would be going home.

  Then at once she be
came aware that the deck was almost deserted. People had gone to their staterooms. There would be things to be done. Her mother had told her about it all. She must unpack some of her belongings, brush her hair, and get ready for the evening meal. Also, she must get acquainted with the small compartment that was to be her refuge during this voyage.

  Slowly she found her way to the cabin, reluctant to leave the spot where that pleasant good-bye had taken place. It would always be the bright memory of her voyage, for surely none of the rest could be especially pleasant, now that her mother was not along and she knew no one else on board!

  It seemed almost sacrilege to her that she must now get out the pleasant garments her mother had insisted upon and apportioned each to a certain time. The pretty little frock of soft rose silk, simple in the extreme, but fair, with loving stitches of the dear hand that was gone, was the order for tonight. The tiny string of pearls from the five-and-ten that made the neckline so becoming. How far her mother had made their few dollars go in getting ready for this homegoing that had meant so much to her, but now was not going to mean anything to the sorrowful girl who was taking it as a pilgrimage alone. How it hurt to have to go through each activity that they had talked over so carefully together! How well her mother had remembered what had happened each hour of the voyage when she came over on her wedding trip.

  The tears were almost at the surface now as she stood before her own stateroom. How she hoped she was to have the whole room for herself! But she had canceled her mother’s ticket, and perhaps they would have to put someone else in with her.

  She opened the door and snapped on the light, for the twilight had preceded her here. It was bright enough now, and she looked about her. There were her suitcases, still locked. But no others! What a relief. She must hurry to get out her dress and hang it up in the breeze from the porthole to take the wrinkles out.

  She hastened over to the suitcases, and then before she stooped to them, she saw the big box on the dresser. An enormous box it was, a florist’s box. What was it doing here? The boy must have made a mistake and brought somebody else’s flowers to her cabin. Nobody would be sending her flowers, of course. Or perhaps someone else was coming in with her after all! How unpleasant that would be!

  She stooped to look at the name on the box cover, and was amazed to find it was her own name! What did it mean? Surely the ship didn’t provide flowers for the passengers! Her mother had told her how many pleasant things were provided, but not flowers!

  She untied the cord and opened the box, and there on the top was a card with the penciled words “Bon voyage.” Turning it over, she found Gordon McCarroll’s name engraved, and her heart gave a little leap of joy. How lovely! How wonderful! But when had he done it?

  Ah, that must have been what he was doing after he left her and before he appeared leaping over the baggage entrance plank! He must have passed the flower shop. She had seen it on board in her first wanderings. How thoughtful of him! To think he would go to that trouble for her! How kind he was!

  Suddenly she felt again his lips upon hers, felt the sweet thrill that flooded her young being, the clasp of his hands on hers. Oh, that was a precious moment, that parting that she had so dreaded! And now it was climaxed by these wonderful flowers!

  She took them from their box almost reverently. Roses! They were great crisp buds, each folded in its own rosy sheath of baby-like petals. Exquisite roses! She had never had a gift of roses in her life that she could remember. She had often looked wistfully at them in the shop windows. Her mother had meant to send up a bouquet of roses when she graduated, but Rose had found that out in time to prevent her spending the money on flowers that would fade, when they needed it so much for necessities. How pleased her mother would have been to know that she had these gorgeous roses! Suddenly she sat down in the little chair in front of her dressing table and buried her face in the cool sweet flowers, her tears dropping upon them. It was like having a dear sweet face against her own, comforting her. They almost seemed to have a human touch. They were not just inanimate things, they were alive!

  Presently the sound of distant unfamiliar gongs startled Rose into getting up and putting her flowers in water. There were several vases about, as if flowers were an expected part of the voyage.

  Then as she took out the soft rose dress and got herself ready for the evening, just as her mother had planned, her heart was made glad again, thinking how pleased her mother would have been about the roses. Of course, if Mother had been along, that would have been gladness enough. But Mother was not here, and would have been greatly pleased that someone else had comforted her girl.

  Rose had dreaded inexpressibly having to go out into this new world of the ship and learn its ways, but when she was ready, she looked herself over carefully as she knew her mother would have done if she were here. She drew one or two of the smallest of the lovely rosebuds from the vase, and breaking off the crisp long stems, fastened them in the soft folds of her dress at her shoulder, where they lay like a lovely jewel and gave grace to her whole outfit—the loveliest adornment that she could have had.

  She went shyly down to the dining room, and in due time found herself seated at a table with several other people. There were two young men, an old lady, another one of indiscriminate age, and a young girl with a good deal of makeup, wearing a low-backed evening dress. Rose felt uncomfortable and out of place there. She wished she didn’t have to stay. She tried to think how different it would have been if her mother had been along, and then put that out of her mind because it brought the tears too near the surface.

  After all, she reasoned, this was no worse than a first day in a new school, and she had been through that experience twice in her short life. She must get over that ridiculous dread of meeting strangers, anyway. She had nothing to do but mind her own business, speak pleasantly when she was spoken to, and eat her meals. It wasn’t in the least likely that any of them would be at all interested in her. Her mother had told her so much about a ship and its ways that she felt she was fairly well informed, and if she just held her head up and went on her way, why need she be disturbed?

  So she lifted her head and happened to meet the eyes of the alert-looking old lady. She smiled brightly. That was better than just sitting silently.

  The old lady gave her a faint glimmer of an indifferent smile, but turned away to speak to her companion, so Rose felt she hadn’t got far.

  She ordered a simple dinner and ate it mostly in silence, answering now and then a question put to her by those who were seated near her.

  As they rose from the table and were making their way slowly out of the dining room, one of the young men from the table came up beside her, looking down at her admiringly. He was noticeably good-looking, with strong white teeth that gleamed engagingly as he smiled, and very large black eyes with long curly lashes. His hair was crisply black and curly in long polished waves, and he looked as if he gave a great deal of attention to his appearance.

  “Nice night!” he said familiarly. “How about a little walk on deck? Been around the ship yet?”

  “Why, no, not very much,” said Rose shyly. Somehow she didn’t just take to this young man. He was too familiar on such slight acquaintance. Perhaps unconsciously she was comparing him to Gordon McCarroll. And then she laughed to herself. Why, Gordon had even gone so far as to kiss her! But that seemed different. Besides, she argued to herself, Gordon was not a new acquaintance. She had known him for years. The young man helped her up the companionway, she all the time wishing that he wouldn’t. Still he was only being polite and friendly, and Gordon McCarroll had suggested that she would get to know people. This young man was a fellow traveler. She mustn’t be snobbish. He was probably just trying to be kind.

  She would much have preferred walking on deck by herself, but unless she absolutely refused his company and fled to her cabin, she didn’t quite know how to get rid of him. She was not versed in the ways of the world, and she was innately courteous. It didn’t seem the right
thing just to go away by herself when he had asked her. There was no harm, of course, in walking about among others and looking at the sea, with its sunset lights and its silvering approach of the moon, which would rise presently.

  So she drifted around with him, letting him do most of the talking, but thinking her own thoughts. He was talking about the list of entertainments on board. He told her in detail the story of a movie he had seen on his last trip, with a knowing flavor of worldliness that showed plainly what his character and tastes were.

  “Do you play tennis?” he asked suddenly.

  A wistful light came into her eyes.

  “No,” she said a bit sadly, “I wish I did.”

  “Well, here’s your chance to learn,” he said gaily. “I’m just nuts about tennis, and I’d be delighted to teach you.”

  “Oh!” she said with a startled look, torn between interest and a kind of reluctance. “You mean deck tennis. Why, that would be wonderful! But I couldn’t let you do that. I would be awful at it. I’ve never played on land, you know. I don’t know the first thing about it.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” said the young man easily, “I’ll see to that. When can you play? Early in the morning?”

  Now she was almost frightened. Did she want to play tennis with this man? Of course it was a perfectly proper thing to do, yet she wasn’t altogether sure that she wanted to be under even that much obligation to this stranger. True, they had been introduced at the table, but she didn’t like the young man. She had a feeling that he wasn’t her kind. So she hesitated.

  “That’s kind of you,” she said thoughtfully, “but I think I would like to watch a few games first before I made any attempt. Of course, I have seen court tennis played, but I’ve never had much time to watch it. I think I would like to watch a while first. You know I am entirely green at it.”

  “Oh, sure, we’ll watch a game or two first,” said the young man, “but you’ll see. It’s nothing. You look limber and agile. I’ll warrant you’ll make a good player. Of course it’s all right to watch for half an hour, say, but there’s nothing like getting into it yourself to make you lose your timidity.”