The Widening Stream

by Rachel Lindsay

  While they were unpacking their night things and Loris was hanging up the bridal gown and her bridesmaid dress in the heavy mahogany wardrobe, Melanie suddenly mentioned Brett for the first time since Loris had come out of hospital.

  "Dickson will be very disappointed if he doesn't come to the wedding. They've known each other for years, you know." Her voice muffled in the folds of the dresses, Loris murmured some non-committal reply, and Melanie went on: "Dickson asked him to be his best man, but this business trip came up, so we'll have to put up with Dale Martin—not that Dale isn't a darling, as you'd probably be able to find out if you wanted to."

  Loris turned round. "I?" she said in surprise.

  "Yes, you, innocent eyes! You bowled him over the night of the party, and whenever he comes to the house now—and even you must have noticed he's been a suspiciously frequent caller lately—he looks at you with such sheep's eyes that I feel quite sorry for him. You might give him a little encouragement, Loris. After all, he's so eligible—and he's an awfully nice boy, too."

  "That's exactly what he is—just a boy," Loris said ironically, and her thoughts flew to a tall, broad-shouldered man with a firm, determined face, lips that could curve with tenderness and eyes that one minute were gay and laughing and the next steely and cold as ice.

  "But he's only a year younger than Dickson," Melanie protested. "That makes him a couple of years your senior, anyway." She sighed. "I suppose you know best, but wouldn't it be wonderful if you got married out here? Think of all the fun we could have! I wouldn't mind being labelled a young matron nearly so much if you were one too!" She chattered on, seeming not to care that she received no answers to her questions and quite oblivious of the anguish she was causing.

  Left behind, Dickson felt as if the sixteen hours until the wedding ceremony would drag interminably. But he brightened a little at the thought that some of them at least would be spent in the company of Dale Martin and the other men friends he had invited to share his last evening as a bachelor, and he was wondering restively when they would begin to arrive when the telephone rang and he lunged for it.

  "Hallo? Who's that? Why, Brett, you old son of a gun, when did you get back? Just arrived at the airport—gee, that's great! Sure, I'm fine. Yeah, they're fine, too. No, Loris isn't here—you've missed her by a minute. She just went off with Melanie to stop with the Gaylords overnight—some old-fashioned nonsense of Mom's. I guess they'll be up half the night gabbing—they will be, if I know my fiancée! What? No, it might be a bit awkward if you called her up there. But you'll see her tomorrow. How about coming along to my stag party? Nonsense, you can't work the night before my wedding! I won't take No for an answer. You will? Atta boy, that's grand! I'll expect you right along, then."

  Brett put down the telephone in disappointment, for he had counted on seeing Loris as soon as possible and was irked at the thought of another night of estrangement before he could talk to her. But realizing that a few more hours would make no difference and that the girls would be in a dither of excitement at the Gaylords, he felt it was up to him to go along to Dickson's party and see the boy got a good send-off for the morrow.

  Dickson himself opened the door to him and they greeted each other warmly. It was the first time Brett had seen him on his feet since the accident, and they thumped each other on the back, both speaking at once, as they went into the lounge.

  "I seem to be the first arrival," Brett remarked, looking round the room.

  "All to the good—we can have a pow-wow. It's such a time since I saw you, and once Dale and the gang get here there won't be much of a chance of swapping yarns." He went to the sideboard and poured two whiskies. "Soda?"

  "Please—just a dash." Brett took the drink and raised his glass. "Here's to you, Dickson. May you have every happiness."

  They sat in armchairs opposite each other and as they sipped their drinks, Dickson studied Brett, noticing that he was thinner and looked older.

  "I'm glad you got here in time for the wedding, Brett. I'd hate to have had you miss it."

  "I'd have come back even if my business hadn't been finished in time."

  "But it is, isn't it? Don't tell me you have to go East again right after."

  "No, thank God. As it was, it took much longer than I thought it would. If I'd had any idea how long I was going to be, I—well, there's something I'd have done before I left."

  There was a short silence, but although Dickson sensed the significance behind Brett's remark, he did not ask him it was.

  Brett broke the silence by inquiring after Mr. and Mrs. Loftus and Melanie, and Dickson responded at some length. But when he had finished, silence fell again, and he became even more sure that there was something on Brett's mind. Normally not a loquacious man, he could nevertheless be an amusing conversationalist, and never before had Dickson found him so remote and preoccupied.

  "Have another drink?" he asked cheerfully.

  "No, thanks," Brett replied, with an absent smile.

  "In that case I'd better wait for the boys—don't want a thick head for tomorrow."

  Suddenly Brett wondered how Loris was taking this marriage. He still did not know whether she had been genuinely in love with Dickson or whether his attraction for her had been merely the outcome of the maternal sympathy aroused by his affliction. Did that attraction still exist, now that Dickson was no longer an invalid? At that moment Brett would have given a great deal to know.

  With attempted casualness, he asked: "How's Loris?"

  "Fine. She came out of hospital about three weeks ago, as thin as a rake and pretty shaky, but she's picked up well, although I think Mom would still like to see her put on some more weight. She's been a colossal help to Melanie. They've been running around from one department store to another like a couple of zanies in a treasure hunt! She's a grand girl, Brett—If it hadn't been for her, I'd never have got through those last weeks before the fire." He paused reflectively, then something in Brett's face prompted him to continue. "You know when Melanie first came out here, a lot of the gang gave her a terrific rush, and like a fool, I encouraged her to go along with them. In fact, if it hadn't been for Loris, I'd certainly have been a back number by now where Melly was concerned. D'you know, I was even contemplating sending her back to England? I might even have done so if Loris hadn't persuaded me not to."

  "Loris?"

  "Sure." Dickson looked at him keenly. "She was the only one who made me feel I hadn't lost Melanie, and as it turned out she certainly knew her better than I did. Why, if I hadn't taken Loris's advice, we wouldn't be getting married tomorrow! What's more there wouldn't have been any stag party for you to sit at and drink my Bourbon. C'mon now, change your mind and have an. other!"

  Brett handed him his empty glass and Dickson refilled it and his own. When he sat down again, Brett regarded him in silence for a moment.

  "I'm rather surprised at what you've just said about Loris, Dickson. You see, I—I've always thought she was rather fond of you."

  "Sure she's fond of me—most people are," Dickson grinned. "I'm a nice type, not a sad sack like you." Brett smiled briefly.

  "You don't understand. What I mean is, I had the impression she was more than just fond of you. In fact, there was a time when I thought she was trying to rival Melanie."

  Dickson stared at him in amazement.

  "What made you think that?"

  Brett stood up, put his glass on the mantelpiece, and looked down at the boy. "See here, Dickson, what I'm going to ask you now isn't out of mere curiosity. I don't want to tread on anyone's toes and you know me well enough to realize I wouldn't ask you at all if it wasn't important to me."

  "Fire ahead."

  "Were you and Loris ever in love with each other?"

  "In love?" Dickson echoed incredulously. "Good heavens, you're not serious, are you?"

  "More serious than I've ever been in my life," came the quiet reply.

  Dickson faced him squarely. "I give you my word Loris and I have never
been anything to each other except good friends." There was a pause. "Satisfied?"

  "Yes." It was a doubtful answer.

  "You don't sound it. There's still something worrying you, isn't there? Get it off your chest, Brett. I'll answer anything you want to ask. Then it'll be my turn to ask how you got the crazy notion Loris ever loved me."

  Brett sat down again and leaned forward in his chair. "I came here to see her the day after she strained her ankle rescuing Timothy from the roof of the barn. The house seemed empty when I arrived, so I let myself in and went straight into the lounge." He looked away. "I almost interrupted what I took to be a love scene between you and her."

  "A love scene? You must have been dreaming!"

  "I wish I had, but it was no dream. Loris was kneeling by your couch with her arms around you and your head on her shoulder."

  Dickson thought quickly. Then:

  "Good grief, you don't mean you thought that was a love scene!" He started to laugh, but at the expression on Brett's face suddenly realized how much it meant to him, and disregarding his own embarrassment, began to explain what had led up to the scene Brett had misinterpreted.

  Brett stared at him incredulously and as the boy finished his explanation such relief flooded into his face that even Dickson was moved by it.

  "Gee, Brett," he said, "this must have meant an awful lot to you—I didn't realize—"

  "It did. But what you've just said has helped to clear up some of the misunderstanding which has come between Loris and me since she came to California." There was a pause. Then: "I fell in love with her on the boat, you see. Now I can go to her and clear up the rest." He stood up.

  "Hey, you can't go over tonight, you know," Dickson said quickly.

  Brett looked down at his watch. "Of course not," he agreed. "I wasn't thinking. Oh, well, we've waited so long that I suppose another few hours won't make much difference."

  He sat down again, his thought plunging into an agony of remorse. How could he have misjudged her so? What a fool he had been not to have believed in her—what a callous boor she must have thought him.

  Unable to contain himself any longer, Dickson suddenly burst out: "There's something I want to ask you, Brett. No treading on toes or anything like that, but why in the name of all that's holy did you ever get engaged to Elaine? You say you fell in love with Loris on the boat coming over. Then what in the world made you ask my sister to marry you?"

  "There was a misunderstanding between us and I was going to try and get things cleared up between Loris and me the night I came over here and found you together." He shrugged. "The rest you know. I met Elaine and she took me along to a party. I got tight and didn't remember anything after that. When I rang her up in the morning to apologize, I found I'd proposed to her."

  "You don't remember proposing to her?"

  "No."

  "Then how do you know you did? Oh, don't look so surprised—Elaine may be my sister, but I'm not blind to her faults. When she sets her mind on something, she'll do anything to get her way, and she'd obviously made up her mind to get you."

  "You're not—?"

  "I certainly am. If you want my opinion, I'd say it's quite likely you never asked Elaine to marry you. Look, Brett, you've been drunk before—at parties and weddings and occasions like that. How have you usually behaved?"

  Brett smiled ruefully. "I've always been told I get as close as a clam."

  "Ah." There was a note of satisfaction in Dickson's voice. "What did I say? If you ever proposed to Elaine when you were tight, then I'm a Dutchman. She probably made it up, knowing you'd never realize she was lying."

  There was a stunned silence. Then Brett said: "Great Scott, if she'd do a thing like that, perhaps there are a lot of other things she—"

  But at the moment the door opened and Dale Martin came into the room, followed by several other young men.

  Reverting to his role of host, Dickson became light-hearted and gay again and entered cheerfully into the raillery and good-natured teasing which most prospective bridegrooms have to endure. Brett, however, could not enter into the spirit of the party, for there were too many things he wanted to think over, and he excused himself early, saying he was tired after his trip and that unless he went to bed he would not be in fit shape for the wedding.

  Truth to tell, he was feeling far from tired. His brain had never been clearer and as he drove home, he went over all he had learned from Dickson, filled with gladness that Loris had never been treacherous and deceitful as he had imagined, and bitterly ashamed that he should ever have believed it of her. His first impression of her loyalty and inherent strength of character had been triumphantly vindicated, and the only flicker of doubt that remained in his mind was why, if she had never been in love with Dickson, she had been so cool to Brett himself on his return from New York.

  Back in his own home once more, he wandered through the downstairs rooms, visualizing her at the head of his table in the handsome dining-room or welcoming his guests in the lounge which would make such a fitting background for her loveliness and he was filled with longing for the time when she would grace his house and his life, and he could make up to her for the unhappiness caused by his jealousy and mistrust.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Melanie's wedding day dawned bright and clear, and as Loris went in to call her and drew back the curtains the sunlight streamed into the room dappling the apple-green carpet with golden.

  Melanie sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, her fair curls tumbled in disarray, and calmly proceeded to eat her breakfast. Then with a little sigh she slipped back under the covers and Loris took the tray off the bed.

  "You don't seem to have lost your appetite—I always thought brides were too nervous to eat!"

  "Not if you're marrying the right man," Melanie replied complacently.

  "There's probably something in that. But you can't stay in bed—it's nearly nine o'clock already—I'll go and run your bath and give you a call when it's ready. Now, mind you don't go back to sleep again!"

  As Melanie bathed, Loris busied herself with her clothes and was laying the silk lingerie on the bed when the girl padded back into the room, her feet leaving damp little marks on the carpet. Flushed from the heat of the water, she looked like a naughty angel, with her hair piled on top of her head and a white terrycloth bathrobe enveloping her small body, and Loris thought how little she had changed since their days at Roxborough together.

  Presently Mrs. Loftus bustled in to see how things were progressing, and Loris had never seen her so excited. Normally a placid, controlled woman, her face was flushed and her manner quite agitated as she satisfied herself that everything was going to schedule.

  Time sped by and Loris stayed with Melanie until she was almost ready. Then she decided to leave her and go and get dressed herself; but coming in from the bath-room found the girl sitting on the bed, one sheer nylon in her hand and one on her leg, staring into space with such a bemused expression on her face that with a sigh of exasperation, she realized she would have to stay with her, and did so until the shimmering satin gown had fallen into graceful folds about the little figure. She was relieved when Madame Thérèse herself arrived to supervise the bride's dressing and left Melanie in capable hands while she went to put on her own dress.

  Surveying herself in the mirror a little while later, Loris's thoughts flew back to the night—a night that seemed so long ago—when she had stood before the mirror in the Loftus house and looked at herself before she went to Brett's engagement party. She sighed—sighed for all the might-have-beens and could-have-beens, had Fate been kinder. Then she shrugged away her unhappy thoughts. This was Melanie's wedding day and nothing should be allowed to spoil it.

  Badly singed in the fire, her hair had not yet grown to its original length, but clustered in loose, soft curls around her head, giving her the air of a small boy. Madame Thérèse's idea of a simple bridesmaid's dress would certainly have startled the villagers of Roxborough, for it was off the
shoulders, of palest bluish-pink chiffon which clung to her waist and then billowed out like a rosy cloud, swirling about her in folds of misty pinkness as she moved, giving her slimness an appearance of fragility accentuated by her heart-shaped face, still too thin, and the large eyes, shadowed by faint smudges of blue. She put on the large-brimmed picture hat of stiffened organdie of the same colour, and picking up the trailing spray of stephanotis she was to carry, went into Melanie's room.

  Even the critical eye of Madame Thérèse was enchanted with her, and she surveyed them both with complacency.

  "You are zee loveliest bride and bridesmaid I have zee pleasair to dress since I come to America. Vous êtes toutes ravissantes et charmantes, et je m'en fâche d'ex-primer mes sentiments!" She raised her hands, at a loss for words.

  The wedding party descended the stairs to find Mr. Gaylord waiting in the hall, resplendent in a black morning coat and grey striped trousers. In the absence of Melanie's parents, he was to give her away, and took her proudly on his arm out to the waiting car.

  There were murmurs of admiration at Melanie's radiant loveliness as she walked up the aisle. Walking nervously behind the bride, Loris was embarrassed at the glances she felt upon her, and kept her eyes downcast, conscious merely of a sea of faces around her as they halted in front of the altar and Dickson stepped forward to stand at Melanie's side.

  Half-way through the service, Loris moved forward to take the bouquet from her trembling hand, and turning to walk back to her place, her eyes met those of a man in the third pew on the left. For one startled instant she paused, her heart thumping madly, then recollected herself and went back to take up her position.