by Lilyan Brock
Sheila put out her hand and touched Nicoli’s. “You are my strength, my darling.”
Nicoli drew her into the circle of her arms. Her kiss was warm against the satiny surface of Sheila’s lips.
*
The following few days were happy ones for Nicoli and Sheila. Each morning found them up early and impatient to start on their daily wanderings. After a hearty breakfast, carrying in their pockets sandwiches Mrs. Mason had prepared for them, they would leave the house, returning in the late afternoon dog-tired and hungry. The brisk air had brought the color back into Sheila’s once pale cheeks and the strength back to her slender body.
As Nicoli looked at her tramping along beside her in the heavy snow, she marveled again at her speedy recovery. It was nice to know that her presence could create such a difference in the woman she loved. Then Nicoli’s thoughts would rush back to Sheila’s illness, and she would torture herself with what might have been, had Jo not asked her to come. Suppose she had not known in time? But that was all over now, and never again would she allow anything to separate them. Her life had been so empty without Sheila in the years she was away—emptiness which, as she looked back, was magnified a thousand times by the fullness of her life now.
Everything was changed now. The air was twice as sweet to breathe—all of nature was twice as lovely to look upon— and above all, it was twice as good to be alive, in a world wherein Sheila lived and treasured the vast wealth of love Nicoli showered upon her.
On the last day of their stay, Sheila and Nicoli started out for a last tramp through their beloved snow laden woods. As they strolled onward along the path, or, deserting it, plowed their way through the heavy drifts, Nicoli noticed a certain sadness creeping into Sheila’s face. Finally, unable to determine the reason for the sudden change, she asked anxiously, “What is it, Sheila? What makes you look so lost in space?”
Her companion’s eyes took in the stately grandeur of the snow-mantled trees. When at last she spoke, it was almost reverently: “I’m finding it difficult, so difficult, Nicoli, to tell our friendly trees goodbye. I dread leaving them, leaving here; in spite of everything that has happened, I love it.” Sheila sighed deeply. “This place has become home to me.”
Yes—that was it—home: the roomy old house, its comfortable rooms and protective atmosphere, and out here the lofty trees—all these had been a sanctuary for their love during these all too brief days, shielding it from all harm. The massive sentinels of the woods had looked down upon her through the brilliant green of their summer raiment, through the bright red and brown and gold of coming winter, and now, after months of viewing her misery, they were seeing reflected in their white glistening branches the happiness that had somehow found her again.
Nicoli’s arm drew Sheila close. “I know how you feel, dear. I’ve fallen under the spell of this quietude too.”
Sheila looked up. “It is peaceful here, Nicoli, and I dread New York and the milling crowds. I can’t believe I ever liked it—all this has become such a part of me. Besides, here we have everything.”
“Who knows?” murmured Nicoli. “Some day we may come back here and finish our lives together among the things we both love so well.”
“I hope so!” Sheila whispered fervently. “I hope so.” With a sigh she linked her arm in Nicoli’s and together they started homeward.
*
The evening was spent packing and arranging the numerous details necessary before leaving. Nicoli insisted upon doing the actual work while Sheila directed the procedure from the recesses of a deep chair.
Nicoli paused in the midst of her packing. “What are you going to do with Allison’s things?” she questioned.
Sheila’s face flushed at the mention of the name. How… horrible it must be for Nicoli to know all about Allison and her life with him, and now to go through the ordeal of seeing his clothes and personal effects in the house wherein she had lived with him, even though he had been ill and their relationship had necessarily been changed.
Still, there were those days when things had been different—how big Nicoli was to be able to cast them aside and forget their existence, and remember only her own blissful days and nights with her. Sheila dismissed the past and hastened to answer.
“I think the best thing to do is to get everything packed up; then in the morning I’ll tell Mrs. Mason to send them to the sanitarium.”
“All right,” Nicoli replied briefly, resuming her work. “We’ll do that. I dare say there are quite a few things he can use—it’s really a shame they couldn’t have been sent sooner.”
“Yes, it is,” agreed Sheila. “But you see, neither Jo nor Mrs. Mason wanted to bother me while I was ill, so naturally they didn’t give me the letter from the state authorities when it arrived. Of course as soon as I did receive it I sent them the information they asked for—”
“Has Allison any relatives?” asked Nicoli interestedly.
Sheila’s face clouded. “No, that’s the sad part of it—he hasn’t. I notified Harrison Blair, his attorney in New York, as soon as I could and he immediately wrote me that he was having Allison moved to ‘Hillcrest—that’s a private sanitarium right outside the city. At least he’ll have the best of care there, even though Mr. Blair said there really wasn’t any hope that he would regain his sanity—” the full mouth quivered—“it’s all so terrible…”
Nicoli crossed the room and seated herself on the arm of Sheila’s chair. Her hands stroked the fair head. “My poor baby! You have been through such an ordeal. I’m so thankful I can take care of you from now on. I shan’t ever let anything hurt you again.”
Later, after the lights were out, and Sheila lay close to Nicoli in her protecting arms, she said softly, “I shall always love this room, my precious, because it was here you came back to me and here we have spent some of our happiest hours. I hate to think that tonight is our last night in it. I want to stay here with you.”
Nicoli’s arms tightened about Sheila; then in a hushed voice she asked, “Do you know what it means for me to be back? What it means to have you in my arms again after the countless nights I’ve spent wanting you close to me?” Not waiting for Sheila to speak, Nicoli’s anxious mouth sought hers, and in the velvet blackness of the room found the answer to her questions. Her breath-taking kisses spoke of the pent-up longing in her own soul, of the wild passionate love in her heart for the slim, perfectly molded form she pressed so hungrily against her trembling body. Sheila’s beloved hands and arms held her tightly. Never, never, Nicoli vowed, would she lose them again. This time it would be for… always.
*
The following morning found Sheila and Nicoli up early, and moving about collecting the few toilet articles that had been left out the night before for use when they should rise. Sheila closed her small toilet case, and exclaimed with relief, “There, that’s finished! Now we can go down to breakfast. I’m hungry—aren’t you?”
Nicoli smiled knowingly. “Unusually so, darling!”
Almost before the words were uttered, Mrs. Mason’s voice sounded from below. “Breakfast, Miss Case.”
Nicoli and Sheila walked out of the room, but paused on the threshold almost with one accord and looked back as if to bid it farewell. In each of their minds was the memory of the night past. Unforgettable it had been in its perfect consummation.
At breakfast in the spacious high ceiled dining room there was little conversation. Sheila seemed to be lost in thoughts, and Nicoli knew they were thoughts of the house that to Sheila had become home. The stillness was broken by Mrs. Mason: “I’ll miss you, Miss Case, and you, too, Miss Nicoli. I do hope that some day you will come back. I’d like to hear from you,” she finished hurriedly, and turning away walked rapidly back into the kitchen.
Mrs. Mason watched the car bearing Nicoli and Sheila disappear around the bend of the lane. Tears coursed slowly down her round cheeks. The house would be desolate now as it had been in years long past, when death had stripped it of its occupant
s. Her only companion would be Ring— Ring, who had whined so pitifully when Sheila had stroked his head and told him goodbye, Ring, who stood close to her now, looking so dejected and crestfallen at his sudden desertion. Mrs. Mason dropped her hand to his fine head to comfort him. Her eyes wandered over the house.
What was it in its old rafters that seemed to bring sorrow and trouble to those who lived within its walls? She recalled the time when without warning influenza had fallen upon the male members of the Alden household and spirited them away, leaving Mrs. Alden overwhelmed by her loss and the thought of the years of solitude to come. Now later, the pitiful condition of Mr. Graham and the near tragedy which came as a result of it, closely followed by Sheila’s illness. Mrs. Mason wondered if its power to cause unhappiness were at an end— if some day its spacious rooms would resound again with happy laughter such as it had once known. Perhaps…
*
Speeding along the road, Nicoli, in her masterful manner, outlined the plans she had made.
“We’ll spend only a few days in New York, Sheila, just long enough for me to straighten out some of my affairs; then I’m going to take you south—to Florida. I’ve never been there, and neither have you, so now is the ideal time to go— for while you are stronger, you are not able to stand the bitter cold of this northern midwinter.”
“I’d love it, Nicoli! That is, if you really feel that you can stay away from the office.”
“Of course I can stay away. Heaven knows when I’ve taken a real vacation—to be frank about it, I think I need the change as much as you do.”
Sheila patted the firm hand on the steering wheel. “I’m so glad we aren’t going to stay in New York. I really have been dreading it.”
Florida… what a wonderful picture the name brought to mind. How different from Manhattan and its snow covered streets—streets that would be mushy and dirty from the trampling of thousands of hurrying feet, snow that would be covered with the imprints of the chains on the tires of hundreds of automobiles as they rushed along Broadway. There would be slush and dirt and crowds and clamoring noises, dreary lowering days to quench the stoutest spirit.
Yes, it would be perfect to go south with Nicoli, to leave I it all behind. To see for the first time the beauties of the sunshine state, to bask in its revivifying warmth—to be a part of the gay winter season in cities alive with the brilliant colors of tropical wearing apparel, on beaches splashed with silver and green and gold; and best of all to ride at night through the warm balmy air filled with the fragrance of orange blossoms and of jasmine… Sheila threw back her head and revelled in her mental picture.
They stopped later in the day for luncheon at a small place along the road. As they sat eating Nicoli watched Sheila’s dancing eyes as she enthusiastically talked about their coming trip.
“When will we have to come back?” she demanded of Nicoli.
After a moment’s consideration, Nicoli answered indulgently, “I see no reason why we can’t stay all winter. There really isn’t anything in New York that the office force can’t attend to, or that I can’t handle by wire.”
“But what about the new script you said you were working on? When will you finish that?”
“That’s just it, darling. I’m not going to finish it.” Nicoli noted Sheila’s surprised expression and added quickly, “I’ll tell you later what my plans are about my writing—but now suffice it to say we’re going south. Okay?”
“Okay!”
A few hours later found them in the corridor outside of Nicoli’s apartment. Sheila slipped her arm around Nicoli’s waist, and together they walked in.
“Oh, I’m glad to be here again!” she exclaimed as she pulled Nicoli down on the divan beside her.
The memories of the hours spent in its sheltering recesses rushed back to Nicoli’s mind… hours when she had held Sheila in her arms telling her of her great love… later, hours when alone she had sought solace in its comforting depths. Now as they sat close to each other again, all of the sadness and desolation of the years past vanished from their minds, and ahead, looming bright with the promise of happiness, lay the future.
The next few days were busy ones for Sheila as she rushed about the shops purchasing clothes for the coming trip. It was great fun when all New York was huddled in heavy coats and furs to be buying light filmy frocks, white sports clothes, and soft pastel shaded sweater suits—and best of all, to be buying them to wear on a trip with Nicoli. Sheila’s spirits rose as she went about her shopping tour, scarcely stopping to rest until at night she lay utterly exhausted on the divan before the fire.
The last day was spent roaming around with Nicoli as, finished now at her office, she went about the task of replenishing her own wardrobe. Sheila thought she had never seen her more attractive than when in one of the shops she asked her opinion of the smartly tailored white suit with its gaily colored scarf tied high about her throat, and the soft white polo coat with its wide lapels… Nicoli, typically.
That evening they moved about the apartment busily packing. Trunks and hand luggage cluttered the otherwise orderly rooms. Discarded boxes and tissue paper littered the floors, and everywhere was the evidence of Sheila’s extensive shopping tours.
Nicoli paused amid the disarray. “I think it would be a good idea to have the trunks shipped to St. Augustine.”
Sheila dropped the gaily colored shoes she had been carefully stowing in the business-like shoe trunk and seated herself on the edge of the crowded bed. “Why, darling?” she questioned. “Aren’t we going to Miami as we planned?”
“Of course, dear,” Nicoli answered. “But I thought we’d probably want to spend a few days in St. Augustine. There’s really a lot to see there, you know, and if we do that we’ll need lighter clothes.”
“Oh, I see. Well, if that’s the case, it is best to send them there.” Sheila laughed. “You had me worried. For a moment, I thought I wasn’t going to see Miami after all.”
“Silly! You’re like a baby. It’s downright dangerous to promise you anything.”
Sheila pulled Nicoli down beside her. “If I am a baby, you’ve made me one, darling.”
*
Early the next morning found them skimming along the road leading south. The air was raw and cutting, and the country through which they passed appeared barren and desolate. Everywhere the earth was covered with its crust of ice and snow, and the farm houses they passed looked as if they had been deserted by all life. Sheila, wrapped in her warm fur coat, snuggled close to Nicoli. It was cold, but they didn’t mind.
Throughout the day they sped on, stopping only for gasoline and a hastily eaten lunch—for now that they were really on the way south Nicoli and Sheila both were anxious to escape the vicious onslaught of the northern winter. Their only idea was to annihilate distance. Stops were brief and unplanned. They drove steadily, stopping wherever the night might overtake them, rising early in the morning and continuing on.
*
The Florida line at last. “We’re really in Florida now,” Nicoli said enthusiastically. “We’re only a few hours’ drive from St. Augustine.”
“I’m so glad, darling! It seems right now as if our holiday has really begun.”
Nicoli glanced quickly at Sheila’s sparkling face, then back to the road before her. It was inspiriting to see her so alive and happy, and Nicoli wondered how much more so she would appear when she had told her of the plan which for days had been slowly formulating in her mind.
Everywhere the country was clothed in shades of green: bright glossy green of huge oaks; ghostly gray green of festoons of Spanish moss hanging from their boughs; yellow green of the parasitic mistletoe which crowned their branches; dark rich green of the holly, dusty green of the dense undergrowth of palmettos. Bright clusters of red holly berries peeped out through the tangle of snakelike vines which climbed to the highest tree tops and fell dripping to the ground only to start the upward climb again on the nearest sapling. The bamboo vine trailed over fences or twin
ed its way into the pines, its scarlet berries an elusive patch of color against their dark needles. The broad shining leaves of the regal magnolias caught the sunlight, relieving the dense woods from any aspect of gloom.
Late afternoon found Nicoli and Sheila arriving at the picturesque old city of St. Augustine. To the right as they entered was an old cemetery, its ancient moss-covered tombstones gradually crumbling under the hand of time. Around it was a low vine-covered wall built by an earlier generation to protect its dead. It was beautiful in its quiet solemnity, as the sunset glow filtered through the overhanging trees and came to rest in pale rose colored shafts on the ancient stones.
Sheila, glancing up, noticed the ancient burial place, and pointing it out, cried, “Wait a minute, Nicoli. Let’s stop. I’d love to walk through this—it’s lovely.”
“I would too,” Nicoli replied, bringing the car to a standstill. “It is so peaceful, though, so sacred looking, that I feel almost as if we were desecrating it to enter. I wonder how old it is.”
They left the car and without a word passed silently through the gates. As they walked among the graves reading those of the inscriptions which had not been erased by the years, a sense of serenity came over them.
Sheila, coming upon a grave upon which the elements and the passage of time seemed to have had a more destructive effect, said with a shudder: “Nicoli, look! Oh, it must be terrible to be buried and one day hundreds of years later have one’s final resting place broken and shattered like this.” Her eyes looked strangely serious as she continued, “Promise me, if anything ever happens to me you will see that I am cremated—I can’t bear the thought of being in the ground…” Then in a soft hushed voice, “Besides, that way I could be with you always, for you would have my ashes.”
Nicoli shivered at the morbid words and at the morbid thought which had prompted them. As she sought in her mind for an answer, Sheila added, “I’d like for you to use the jade box.”
