"All right, dear!" said Mary Garland almost cheerfully. Now she wouldn't have to answer any more questions for a couple of hours, and maybe by that time Rex would have called and she would know what to do.
Oh, but would she know any better after Rex called?
She hung up with a sigh of relief, like one who had a brief reprieve. How she dreaded to meet her children's dear, clear eyes, demanding the dreaded truth! How she feared to see rebuke in them for their brother!
She walked to the head of the stairs and called down to Selma.
"Selma, the children are all staying at school for lunch. Suppose you just bring me up a cup of tea and a bite. Not much. I'm not very hungry."
Selma was silent for a full minute. She always liked to get up nice surprises for the children for lunch and was mortally disappointed when they did not come home.
"Yes, ma'am," she said reluctantly. "Telephoning at this last minute, after I've got my lunch all ready to put on the table."
"Well, it's too bad," said Mary Garland. "Never mind, Selma, I guess they couldn't help it this time. But--I'm coming down. I shall enjoy the lunch, anyway. I guess I can eat something." She tried to make her voice sound natural. Selma must not suspect that anything was the matter yet. If Rex--well, when it had to be told, she must tell it most carefully. There had never been anything in their family life to conceal. Whatever came must be adjusted to. If it was to be a trial, then it must be admitted as such, with their faces all set to take their hard things courageously, no hiding behind subterfuges. But no servant should suspect that anything was the matter until they understood just what it was to be.
So she dashed cold water in her face and tried to hum a little tune. It is true the tune got tangled with a few tears, but she steadied her lips and went down to the dining room, spoke cheerfully to Selma, sat down before the very nice lunch, and talked to Selma about the Christmas dinner that was to be next week. She managed thus to eat a very respectable lunch, forgetting for a few brief moments the anxiety that had fairly consumed her all the morning.
When she had finished her lunch, she went upstairs and patiently, persistently finished doing up the rest of her presents, trying her best to keep her mind on what she was doing and away from the fearful possibilities that were in the future for them all.
And still so far she hadn't thought about the girl. Just because she had a strong feeling that no right-minded girl would marry a boy while he was in college and his family knew nothing about it. Not a boy as young as that, anyway.
So the girl was kept persistently out of all calculations. Until Rex should account for himself and tell his story, the girl had no part in this matter. Not even if she had been very much to blame, she had no part as yet.
At last all the presents were tied and labeled and put away. Rex's present, too, because it had been long ago bought and planned for, and she could not think whether Rex's marriage was going to make a difference in what she was giving him or not. She must go on and get these things off her mind and somehow wait without agitation until she heard from Rex.
And then, just as the children were arriving up the street and walking into the drive, the telephone rang, sharply, excitedly, almost as if it were angry that it had been forced to have so great a part in this affair; and Mary Garland, taking a long, deep breath and crying out in her heart, Oh, God! Help!, arose and went to the telephone.
Chapter 3
There was a long delay before the connection was established, and the three children had entered the house and were tiptoeing up the stairs when the telephone gave its final twinkle and Mary Garland's breathless voice answered. It seemed as if she could not summon the breath to speak.
"Is that Mrs. Garland? Mrs. Garland, your son Rex has been located and advised that you wished to speak to him, but he was on his way to catch the train for our basketball game tonight in Buffalo and couldn't stop to go to the telephone. He asked me to let you know that he is playing on the team tonight and it was important that he be there. They will not be back until very late tonight, but he will call you in the morning."
Mary Garland hung up the telephone with a dazed look on her face and turned toward the door, where her three troubled children stood waiting. Could it be possible that Rex, after having sent her such a letter, would let a mere basketball game stop him from answering his mother's call? Surely Rex knew what consternation he had brought to her. Surely he would not so far forget his love for her and all their years of close confidence, as to send her a message like that and then pay so little attention to her call. The telegram had probably not reached him yet.
"He's playing basketball tonight!" She spoke the words as if they were a lesson she had been memorizing and looked at Sylvia as if she expected an explanation.
"Yes," said Sylvia, "he wrote, you know, that he was on the team, but I shouldn't think he would let that stop him talking to you for just a minute." There was indignation in Sylvia's tones.
"I gathered that he only got my message as he was leaving the building, running for the train," said the mother slowly. "He will telephone in the morning."
"Baloney!" said Stan indignantly. "He knew what he'd done to us all, didn't he? He's not dumb. He knew how you'd feel. Where's he been all day that he just got your message? Hiding? If it was an all-right marriage and he isn't ashamed of it, why does he hafta hide? I think there's something phony about all this. Mother, I think you better let me run over to the college and find out about it."
Then Mary Garland pulled her mantle of courage about her again and summoned a wan smile.
"That's dear of you, Stan, to want to protect me, but you know we've got to be patient and not judge Rex too harshly until we find out all about it. This is a serious matter, and we mustn't risk making some terrible mistake that may make us infinite trouble the rest of our lives. Besides, Stan dear, if anybody had to run over to college and find out about things, I would certainly have to be the one to go. But I have thought it over carefully and decided for the present that is not the thing to do."
"Well, I should think not!" said Stan indignantly. "One of your children should go, of course, and it ought to be a boy. Personally, I think Paul should have done something about this before you ever heard of it. I'll be glad to run over there this afternoon and put it all before Paul, and I'll wager that before night Paul will get it all fixed up somehow."
"Mother!" spoke up Sylvia quickly. "Isn't there such a thing as getting an unwise marriage annulled, especially when the parties are so very young?"
"I suppose there is," said Mary Garland slowly, sadly, as if she had already considered that.
"Well then, why can't you call up your lawyer and fix it that way, right now before Rex gets any idea of it and runs away to prevent it?"
"Oh, my dear!" said Mary Garland. "Rex is very young to be married, of course, but Rex is not a baby. He is old enough to have fully understood what he was doing. It isn't as if it were something somebody had put over him. It may have been unwise; of course, it was. But it is done, and I'm not sure I would have the right to do a thing like that. I'm not sure it would be a Christian thing to do. I would have to know all the circumstances before I could even consider such a move. If they are really married, have been married for some time, 'what therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder,' you know. It is a serious matter. I wouldn't dare make a single move in the matter until I know all about it. I'm not sure that I would even then."
"Oh, Mother!" wailed Sylvia, her bright hope dashed, the quick tears coming into her eyes. "Has our Rex got to go under this terrible mistake all the rest of his life?"
"That is the way life is, Sylvia. We have to bear the consequences of our sins and our mistakes through the days down here. But, you know, it may turn out that there is really a bright side to it. The girl may be fine and sweet."
"She couldn't be!" said Fae determinedly, tossing her arrogant young head fiercely. "A girl like that would never encourage our Rex to marry her when his fa
mily didn't know anything about her. Marry when he wasn't through school! When his mother didn't know it."
"Now, listen, Fae," said Mary Garland, "we don't know this girl, and whatever comes in the future we have no right to jump to conclusions. Even though she has done a terrible thing like this, she may have only been silly. Remember that Rex said she had no home, no family; he said she was all alone in the world. She may have had no teaching and does not realize what an unwise and silly thing she has done."
"A pretty kind of wife she'll make for Rex then," said Sylvia with snapping eyes.
"There, Sylvia, it won't do any good to say a lot of things like that that will probably have to be lived down and wiped out in the future. It would be better if you were all to go up to your rooms and kneel down and ask God to help you to look at this thing as He wants you to do, and then put it out of your minds until we know definitely if there is anything to do but wait and bear patiently whatever is to come out of this for us."
Stan gave her a startled look, dropped his serious gaze to the floor, and said huskily, "Okay, Mother!" then walked gravely up the stairs. When he had reached the top and turned down the hall to his room, Fae made a dash for the stairs and followed him, and then Sylvia turned to her mother.
"All right, Mother, I'll try," she said, but there was deep trouble in her eyes as she slowly went up the stairs.
After they were all in their rooms again, Mary Garland went upstairs to the telephone extension in her own room and called up the college, asking for Paul. By this time his examinations for the day would be over, and she would not be disturbing him.
But there was another long delay again, and finally the college operator spoke.
"Mrs. Garland, Paul has gone to the basketball game, too. Almost all the older boys have gone. It is a very important game. I can find out from the dean if there is any place in Buffalo where you could reach him. Would you like me to try?"
"No," said Mary Garland, with almost relief in her voice. She had been fearful ever since she had put in the call for Paul that maybe she shouldn't have done it. Paul was so hotheaded, so apt to be bitter with Rex, and so ready to defend his mother and blame his brother. She hadn't wanted to tell Paul until she had talked with Rex. And now she was shut up to waiting, shut up to trusting the whole matter in the hands of the Lord!
There came a tap at her door, and Sylvia entered with a subdued face.
"Well, I've prayed, Mother," she said quietly, "but it's going to be frightfully hard to keep from blaming that girl, and I'm sure I never shall like her, even if she turns out to be bearable. It's so awful, Mother, for her to have made us all this trouble, and right at Christmastime. Spoiling our Christmas! The nicest time of all the year!"
"Well, dear, we mustn't think of that. Besides, perhaps it won't spoil Christmas. Christmas is a thing you can't spoil by worldly things. It has a real, lasting meaning, of which the presents and the trees and the stars and the wreaths and carols are only symbols."
"Oh, I know," sighed the girl. "But--we were going to have such a nice time! Our Christmas party, and being together for our presents like it used to be when we were little kids! And we wanted to have our old friends around us, and maybe some new ones, and now we won't want anybody around here to see our shame and disgrace, and we won't feel like having any fun or going to things."
"I don't believe it is going to be as bad as that," said the mother, looking at her sweet, sad daughter with troubled eyes. "Surely this happening isn't going to hurt the presents we have bought, nor to hinder you from going places and having good times. If this is something we are going to have to bear and get used to and try to like, why then, we might as well get used to it now as any time and carry bright faces. Have a good time in spite of it!"
"But, Mother, do you think it seems quite right to go around looking happy when we are very sorrowful? People will think we don't care for Rex."
"Oh no," said Mary Garland. "That is a foolish idea. We are not going to help Rex any by going around as if we were at a funeral. There will be enough of that without trying."
"But how can we help it, Mother? We all love Rex a lot, and to have this--this--kind of girl come into our nice times and absorb him is going to be perfectly terrible. I don't feel as if I could hold my head up, and I know you feel just that way, too, Mother."
"Yes! Those are our natural feelings, dear. But God is stronger than such feelings. He is able to lift us up beyond those things. He is able to give us strength to be brave for one another and find and plan nice ways to help us all to trust instead of worry."
Sylvia was still a long time, standing at the window looking out, and then she said with a deep sigh, "But we'd have to stay at home all the time and try to act polite to that new sister, wouldn't we?"
"Not necessarily. Not all the time. You could have your engagements as usual. You can't put everything aside, even if they should be here. What are you thinking of, dear? Was there something special?"
"Well, I had thought about going to a concert, but it isn't necessary, of course. When do you think they will likely come? Would they be here for Saturday night?"
"Oh, I don't know," said the mother, with a sound almost like a suppressed moan in her voice. "I haven't thought that far yet. But I don't see why their coming--if they come----should affect a concert. What concert is it? Something at the university?"
"Oh no, it's the Messiah, given by the orchestra and the choral society. You know, I've never heard it, and I had an invitation to go this morning, but I didn't dare accept it." She ended with a prolonged sigh.
"Oh, my dear!" mourned her mother. "There's no reason why you shouldn't go, of course. Who asked you? Someone I know?"
She looked at her oldest girl keenly, realizing that there were possibilities and dangers ahead of all her young brood, and she must be prepared to expect them. She awaited Sylvia's answer anxiously.
"No, I don't believe you do," she answered. "I showed you his picture in a college group the other day, but I don't suppose you noticed it. He's a swell fellow. His name is Rance Nelius. I thought perhaps I'd like to invite him here some night during Christmas week, or to dinner sometime, while they are all home, but now, of course, I can't."
"I don't see why not!" encouraged her mother thoughtfully. "Of course, we'll wait a little to see how things turn out, but I certainly don't want any of you to have your Christmastime spoiled in such ways. I would like very much to meet him, and we'll try to plan it so that it will be pleasant all around. But certainly go to your concert Saturday night. Just plan for it as a matter of course."
"But it doesn't seem right to desert the rest of the family at a time like this."
"No, dear. I'll be glad to have you having a nice time and getting your thoughts away from disappointments. Just who is this young man, dear? Is he in your classes?"
"Only in one. He's a senior. He's awfully bright, and I heard Doctor Wharton tell another teacher that he was the most brilliant man he had ever had, and he was sure he was going to amount to something great. Besides that, he's awfully nice and full of fun and not a bit stuck on himself. I'm sure you'd like him. But I told him I wasn't sure but things at home would be so I couldn't be away that night, and he said it was all right. I might call him up at the last minute if I found I could go. He's very--sort of--understanding, you know. Nothing silly about him."
"Where does he live?"
"I don't know. You see, I don't know him so awfully well. We've only met walking back and forth from the bus. He sometimes comes on the same bus I do, though not every day. I have an idea he has a part-time job or something, but I don't know. He's never told me exactly. But he's always nice and friendly for the few steps we walk together. He has nice eyes and doesn't go around flirting like some of them. But you needn't worry. I haven't any silly notions about young men, Mother, and you needn't go to thinking I'll go off my head at any moment, like Rex. I don't believe I shall ever marry. Certainly not till I grow up. I guess Rex has taught us all a g
ood lesson."
The mother gave a wan smile.
"Dear child!" she said with a soft little sigh. "Dear children!" she added, and then after a second, "I don't want you to be morbid on the subject, of course, and it's right that young people should have good times together and get acquainted and all that; only I don't want you to make any terrible mistakes. I'm sure you won't do any wild things, nor run away and get married!"
She gave another wan smile that was almost nothing but a sigh and turned away to hide the quick tears that wanted to fall.
"I should say not!" said Sylvia with her eyes snapping angrily. "I can't see how Rex could! I don't believe any of us will ever want to have anything to do with anybody who would marry us, just because of what we've been through today. Just to see you go through this! It's awful! That was the reason I didn't want to speak about this concert, and I wouldn't think of bringing Rance here now. If he were an old friend, it would be sort of different. But he's pretty much of a stranger, and I don't want any of you thinking I'm up to any silly nonsense!"
"No, dear, we won't think that! Go tell this boy you'll go to the concert. I think it will be nice for you. It will take your mind off things."
"But suppose--he--they--should be just arriving when I had to leave!"
"That won't make any difference. You have a right to a previous engagement. Besides, they didn't stand on ceremony about their marriage. They can't expect formal consideration. Anyway, if anything unforeseen occurs, you can always explain to him, of course. Go ahead and accept your invitation."
All the rest of the evening the stricken Garland family struggled to be brave and cheerful for one another's sake, watching to drive the shadow away from their mother's eyes, maintaining a kind of rigid cheerfulness. And they were all really glad when the time came to go to bed.
Stranger within the Gates Page 4
