Bright Arrows (18 page)

No, he wouldn't write a letter. Or say, he might write to that little number he danced with at the nightclub last night. He didn't know a thing about her, of course, except that she smiled at him even before he had looked her over, and she accepted his invitation to dance without hesitation. She wasn't even a hostess in a canteen, either. Just a common little girl who was out for a good time. He had asked her name, and she said, "Cutie Cordell," and she borrowed his pencil and wrote it down with her address and telephone number. Showed what she was. He hadn't been so much attracted, either, but what difference did it make? One girl might be as good as another to have a good time with, and after all, when she had gone to all that trouble to write out her address, it would be too bad to disappoint her.

Following a sudden impulse, he seized upon a sheet of handsome letter paper and began to write.

 

Dear little Sugar Plum:

You see I can't forget you, and so now that I have a few minutes to wait for a train, I am taking this opportunity to write you a letter.

You are a cute little number, and I don't wonder that is your name, Cutie! It just fits you.

I just wanted to tell you that I enjoyed my dance with you. You were super! And I hope you come around the next time I drop into your town. I want to see your pretty eyes. They are like two stars. I shall not forget the sweet kiss you gave me, and I shall be back for another before long. Don't forget me, Cutie, and I'll remember you.

Yours for remembering,

Cappie

 

Caspar put his letter in an envelope, sealed it, and selecting a stamp from a little open box on the desk, affixed it to the envelope. Then he sat back and tried to think of something comfortable, to quiet the discomfort that had nagged him ever since he had been driven away from Eden's presence.

Of course, he knew it was his own fault, and yet he told himself it was the only way to bring that silly girl to understand that she was all out-of-date and had to give up her father's foolish old ideas and get some new ones, learn what modern people and science had found out about the stuffy old religion that she had been brought up to respect. Of course, he could never marry her while she held such fussy ideas. He couldn't be happy with her. But he had learned to know since he had seen her again that there was no one anywhere who came up to her beauty and utter dearness, and he remembered how sweet she had been sometimes. Suddenly that inward urge made him reach forward and take another sheet of the heavily embossed paper and start to write again.

 

Dear Eden:

I am still thinking of you, though I know if you are thinking of me it is probably to hate me. I don't know why I had to be so disagreeable to you, but I just couldn't help it. I felt you must somehow be made to wake up and get wise to the modern way of thinking. But I might have gone a little slower and not have antagonized you quite so much. For I am convinced that it won't be long before you find out that I am right, and then I am certain you will change your ideas and we shall be okay as chums and pals again, and perhaps something still closer.

 

He read over what he had written and decided it sounded very well and was a good line to go on, sort of sympathetic and loving, and would show her he hadn't given her up for all her hard refusals. He frowned at the paper and decided to write a few more lines.

 

I don't know when I shall be coming back--perhaps soon, because I have almost enough points to rate being discharged. And it occurs to me that you didn't even take enough interest in me to notice my rank and decorations. I have some you might as an old pal of mine be proud to see. But, of course, there is always the possibility that I may be picked off in one of these last trips, so if that's my fate, don't worry about me. When you're dead, you're dead, and that's all there is to it. I won't have to worry any longer about how an old friend treated me.

But I'm no pessimist; I don't expect to pass out yet. I'm too young, and there's too much left for me to live for. But if I do, I guess I'll stand as good a chance as the next guy, so don't worry your pretty head praying for me. I'm not worth it. Besides, I don't believe in it anymore, remember.

So long, and I'll be seeing you again soon.

Cappie

 

His friend was returning, coming up the steps. He scribbled his name crazily, put the letter in another envelope, stamped and sealed it, and rose to go out with his friend, feeling most virtuous because he had written two letters. If one didn't "take," perhaps the other would. The way he felt just now, it didn't seem to matter much which one. So at the next mailbox the two letters started on their way together.

 

The day seemed to glow more glorious for Eden as they drove farther away from the hometown and penetrated into little byroads where she had not often gone. They passed pleasant farmhouses back from the road with plenty of trees about them that suited so well their surroundings, fairly glowing in autumn colors. Nice snug villages with neat, well-painted houses and children playing on the street or in the yards. The women's clubhouse, unpretentious but well cared for, two or three little churches of different denominations, and then more woods, a modest mountain or two grading down to lovely green hills and more little villages.

And at last they came to the fine old elm-shaded farmhouse where the dying man was waiting for them.

The banker and the lawyer got out and went into the house, leaving Eden with Mrs. Worden. They sat in the comfortable car and talked quietly, feeling somehow the shadow of death that was hovering over that house. Mrs. Worden spoke of the old man's wife who had died a couple of years before, and his married daughter who had several children, and his two sons who were both still across the seas. And then they gradually got to talking of people they both knew well in Glencarroll. It wasn't a particularly enlivening conversation, and Eden was glad when at last the two men came back and got into the car, their business completed.

The sun was getting ready for a grand display of flaming sky as they started on their way again, and delicate tintings flashed into vivid colorings as the sun slipped down lower and lower behind the lovely wooded hills. The sky above glowed deeper and dashed into crimson and turquoise and purple and gold, with beauty that made the two young people in the front seat catch their breath with delight in its loveliness. And the older people, too, took their pleasure in it, though more quietly.

It had been planned that they should journey on to a smaller city on the fringe of the mountains to a rather famous inn to have dinner, and they all felt that the day was having a rare ending as far as the setting was concerned.

But it was in this time with that glowing, vivid sky above them that Eden and Lance Lorrimer had their opportunity for quiet talk. It seemed that Eden had so many questions, and the young lawyer was the only one she felt could really answer them because her shyness with him had been broken down by former talks and because he understood the new life she was striving to enter.

The sound of their going drowned their quiet voices, so that they did not feel that they had an audience, and Lance Lorrimer studied the girl's sweet face and rejoiced to see the devout look of earnestness in her eyes.

She had been almost too shy to introduce the themes about which she had planned to ask him, but suddenly he turned to her and asked, "Well, how did you come out? Were you helped through the hard time you were anticipating?"

She turned a bright face toward him that nevertheless was touched by a shadow of perplexity.

"Oh, yes, I was helped. I was able to really speak out the truth of what I felt was so. But--"

"But what?" he asked interestedly. "There are no buts where God is concerned, you know. Not if you are fully leaving it to Him."

"Yes, I know," said Eden slowly. "But afterward I wondered, was I really leaving it all to God, or was I putting in my own oar, what I thought was righteous anger at somebody? I'm afraid I wasn't gentle enough. He had spoken out against God, and I couldn't just let it go, could I? But do you think it is ever right to be severe?"

"Sometimes," said Lorrimer, trying to follow her difficult utterance. "You couldn't just keep still and seem to agree against your Lord."

"I know," said Eden. "But still it was hard not to be angry at him. I think I was pretty severe, and afterward I felt that perhaps there had been too much of myself and my own personal indignation. But it was a help to know you were praying."

"It was a joy to me to have the privilege," said the young man almost reverently.

It was sweet, low talk, and their earnest young faces made a picture of interest to the two older people who sat behind them.

Then suddenly they reached the inn, and the quiet time was over, the lovely day gone, into a blending of purple and gold below a dome of delicate rose and green, with a single star glinting out like a diamond on a lovely fabric.

They had a delicious dinner, a pleasant talk together, and it was a relief to Eden to be away from all the thoughts that had troubled her since her father had been taken from her.

But what would she have said if she could have known that another element was to come into her life the next day?

Oh, it was just an old college friend, Vesta Nevin, and her brother Niles Nevin, who boarded the southbound train from Boston that evening and laid their plans for an outing that was to include a trip to Washington and places still farther south, Florida perhaps.

"I'll tell you what I'd like to do, Niles, if it won't upset any of your plans," said Vesta as they settled back to wait while their berths were being made up. "I'd like to run down a few hours to Glencarroll and see my friend Eden. It's not so far below New York, at least it's between Philadelphia and New York somewhere, and we could take an early train down from New York and stop off to see her. I know she'd adore to see me, for we were very close friends in college, you know, and she's just lost her father. I'd like to be sympathetic enough to stop off and see her and find out what she is going to do now. You met her, too, don't you remember, once at college prom or something? She's a darling, and pretty as a picture, or was. How about it? Can you humor me?"

"Why, sure, Vesta, if you want to. I could hang around and do something while you were chattering." He smiled derisively. "Yes, I do remember some pretty little girl you especially emphasized when you introduced your gang. Wasn't she a lot younger than you? As I remember her she seemed a mere child."

"She wasn't," said Vesta. "She was one of the brightest girls in college, and only three months younger than I was. I hope you don't feel I'm a mere child."

"You'll pass," said the brother, grinning and settling back against the cushion and looking at his pretty sister admiringly. "Of course we'll arrange to stop off and see her if you like. This trip is your birthday present, you know. A pity if you can't have one stop off to please you."

"But, Niles, I want you to go along to the house. I like to show off my distinguished big brother. I don't enjoy it one little minute if I think you are sighing around somewhere getting impatient."

"Oh, I'll go along, of course, and do the honors, be polite and all that. But say, isn't this the girl that had such a distinguished father, wrote books or something?"

"Yes, wrote books and gave lectures, too, and was a rich banker, besides. I don't see how she stands it to have him gone. She was so devoted to him."

"Oh, heavens! Then I suppose we'll have to go through a lot of sob stuff, and you know how I detest that," said the young man, looking annoyed.

"I don't think you will," said the sister. "Eden wasn't the sobbing kind. She was always sweet and self-controlled, and you'll like her, I know. She's traveled a great deal, and she can talk well."

"Oh, I suppose you'd think so if you like her. But, well, all right, let's take in Glencarroll in our tour. It's better to have it come at the beginning this way and then feel free. All right. In the morning I'll get hold of some timetables and see how trains are. It's a pity we haven't got our new car. It would be so much easier to take in these side trips that are sure to appear as we go on. But cheer up. It won't be long before I can get that new car, and then we'll take another trip somewhere and try it out."

So the matter was settled very happily, and they soon went to their rest. But quite early the next morning Niles Nevin, consulting with the porter, got hold of necessary timetables and mapped out a workable schedule for a stopover at Glencarroll.

"We'd better send a wire or telephone, announcing our approach," said the young man while they were in the dining car eating a hearty breakfast.

"Oh, I'd much rather walk in on her and surprise her," said Vesta. "If we announce our coming, she would think she had to get ready for us, invite us to stay over or something elaborate, and I'd just enjoy surprising her. She loves surprises."

"But you don't even know she is at home, and if she isn't, we could save ourselves a trip and wouldn't have to bother going out of our way."

But Vesta shook her head.

"Sorry, brother, that this is such a bore to you, but I want to go anyway. I want to see where she lives. She's told me so much about her home, and I want to see it even if she isn't there."

"Well, of course, if you feel that way, then that's what we'll do."

So about the middle of the morning a taxi drew up at the Thurston home, and the two young people got out and went in.

It was Janet, of course, who came to the door, as Tabor was not yet able to sit up, and when she said she would call her young lady, Vesta burst forth with an eager: "You're Janet, aren't you? Eden has told me so much about you, and I was sure it was you."

Janet melted at once into cordiality and looked sharply at the visitor's pretty face.