The Flower Brides (7 page)

“Oh, Mother dear!” Marigold suddenly laughed out. “You surely don’t liken my going to a worldly party to anything so righteous as David going out to kill a giant, do you? Aren’t you getting your metaphors mixed? I though you didn’t quite approve of my going to this party.”

“Well I don’t, child, if you must know the truth. I think you are going into a world where you do not belong and never should. I think you are getting further and further away every day from the things you have been taught, and more and more you are forgetting God and your relation to Him.”

Marigold was silent. It seemed there was nothing for her to say in answer.

At last she looked up. “Well anyway, Mother, I may as well tell you what I’ve done. I telegraphed Aunt Marian you would be with her on her birthday. And now you’ve got to begin to get things in order, for I called up your supervisor at the library and told him I was worried about you, and wouldn’t it be possible for you to get away for a few days’ rest right away, and he said it would. He said he could spare you as well as not for a week, or even ten days if you wanted to stay so long, and it wouldn’t affect your salary. He said you had sick leave that you had never taken, and he would be glad to let you go whatever day you wanted to start.”

“Oh, my dear!”

But there was dismay rather than joy in the mother’s eyes.

“Don’t you
want
to go, Mother?”

“Yes, oh, yes, I want to go, but not now. Not with that party so near. I couldn’t relax until that is over.”

“Why, how silly, Mother. Can’t you trust me? You don’t think I’m going to run away with anybody, do you, or get into trouble?”

“I trust
you
, dear child, perfectly, but I don’t trust—well—the world you are going into. I must be at home and get you ready and be there when you come back to look into your eyes. I could not be content without that. I have written your aunt. She will not expect me.”

A worn gray look settled down upon Mrs. Brooke’s face, and the daughter suddenly realized that she was tired out.

“There! Mother, we won’t talk another word about it tonight. You are very tired. In the morning you will see things differently. Now, I’m going to put you right to bed, and you’re not to think another thought about it at all tonight!”

W
hen Aunt Marian Bevan got Marigold’s telegram, she wondered and looked a bit disappointed. She wanted her sister to come very much indeed, but she also wanted to see her niece whom she hadn’t seen since she was an adorable little child of three. But when her sister’s letter came, she looked troubled and spent an hour in prayer. She was a great one to take everything to the Lord in prayer.

About six o’clock that night, she called up a number on the telephone and talked with a very dear nephew, the son of her dead husband’s brother, who from the time of his own parents’ deaths had been almost like a son to her.

“Ethan,” she said, “what are you doing this weekend? Don’t tell me you have plans. I want you.”

“If I had, dearest aunt, I’d cancel them for you,” said Ethan Bevan heartily. “But I haven’t a thing. What can I do for you? I was thinking of coming to call on you, for one thing, anyway. You have a birthday on the fifth, you know.”

“Oh, dear lad! Did you remember that? Well, I want more than a call. I want you to come and stay the weekend with me. I’m having a party.”

“Good!” came the cheery answer. “I’m with you. Your parties are always worthwhile. Who’s coming? Or is that a secret?”

“No, it’s not a secret, but the truth is I’m not sure who will be here. You see, Elinor and her husband have gone to Bermuda, and I’m alone except for my nurse and the servants. There’s just a little hope that my sister may be able to come. I’m not sure. Do you remember her?”

“Aunt Mary? I should say I did! She used to make maple taffy for me. That was very long ago, but I always put her in my list of beloveds, just next to you. I never saw her again after she was married, did I?”

“No, she lived here in the East, and of course you and I lived mostly out West. I’ve never told you, have I, how glad I am that you’ve come east now, too?”

“Well no, but I’ve hoped you were as glad as I am. I’ll tell you all about it when I get there. Is that all your party? That’s swell! I like parties where there aren’t any inharmonious elements. I shall just bask in the light of both your countenances.”

“You ridiculous boy! Remember you are talking to an old woman and that my sister is just another old woman. It’s not a very alluring party for a young man of your age. I had hoped that my niece, Aunt Mary’s daughter, could come with my sister, but she has another party to keep her at home, so I’m disappointed. Her name is Marigold Brooke. I wanted her to come so we could get acquainted with her, but she says she can’t.”

“Don’t worry! I’m just as satisfied. I’m fed up with girls. I just hate lipstick and red fingernails. There isn’t one of them as nice as you, Aunt Marian.”

“Well, but I’d hoped Marigold would turn out to be different,” said the aunt. “You know, she’s Aunt Mary’s daughter and would be brought up differently.”

“Perhaps,” said the young man suspiciously, “but I doubt it. That doesn’t always follow by any means these days. What a frilly name she has.”

“Yes, isn’t it pretty? I believe her father named her, partly for her mother whom he used to say was worth her weight in gold, or something like that—Mary-gold, you know—and partly from the color of her hair when she was little.”

“Well, Mary is good enough for me,” said the manly voice in a superior tone. “I’m just as pleased she’s not coming. When may I arrive?”

“Just as soon as you want to come. I’ll be glad to see you anytime; and, of course, if you’d like to bring someone with you—”

“No! I don’t want to bring anyone with me. I’m glad to get away from everything and have a little time alone with you, Aunt Marian. And besides, I have some work to do. Engineering problems. Mind if I bring it along? I really have been looking for a quiet place in which to work. Do you mind?”

“Not in the least. You may do just as you please while you are here. And if nobody else comes, well, I shan’t mind at all.”

Aunt Marian hung up the receiver and picked up her sister’s letter again, a little pang of disappointment still in her heart. How nice it would be to have Marigold meet Ethan. But then, if she was touched with worldliness probably he wouldn’t like her. And she might not like him, he was so quiet and big and almost shy with women he didn’t know. And what was Marigold like? The little sprite with the red-gold hair and the dancing eyes. Poor little girl! Was she going to have to go through trouble? Better that than go to dwell far away from God. Poor Mary! Yes, she would pray! Of course she would!

Was the answer to those prayers already on its way the night before they were made, while Marigold lay wide awake for the second night and tried to think her problems through?

One thing she was resolved upon, and that was that her mother should go to see her sister on the birthday. Party or no party, that should be accomplished. She hoped to get Mother off Friday afternoon. The birthday was Saturday. The party was Saturday night. That was another thing that Mother didn’t like about that party.

“It will run over into Sunday, dear. It can’t help it, and that doesn’t fit with your upbringing and traditions. Saturday night was always a quiet time in my old home, a time for resting and preparing for the day, which with us was especially set apart for worship.”

“Mother, times have changed!” Marigold had responded almost petulantly.

“Yes, but God hasn’t changed! And people have not changed, either. They are the same weak, sinful creatures they have always been, and they need God and quietness to think about Him, just as much as they ever did. And I believe God likes to have His own take time to look to Him.”

She had stopped because Marigold was not listening. But Marigold had heard, and her mother’s words came back to her now as she lay in the darkness and thought.

Why was it that this question of the party seemed to bother her so much these last few days? When the invitation had been received, she had had no such qualms. She was only filled with joy that she had been included in this grand event, that Laurie’s mother wanted her to come and was going to include her in her list of friends at last.

She had waited a couple of days before replying to the invitation. She wanted to get used to the thought that she was going to be a part of the social life of the elite. She wanted time to think out what she should wear, time to get herself in hand and be sure of herself. She wanted above all to talk it over with Laurie. But Laurie had not said a word. He was likely taking it for granted as he did everything else, not realizing how strange she was going to feel going among his friends who were all unknown to her. Or didn’t Laurie know that his mother had invited her? Perhaps that was it. Perhaps it was to be in the nature of a surprise for Laurie, and if that were so, it must mean that Laurie’s mother had a kind, friendly feeling toward her.

All these things had influenced her in selecting that white dress. She wanted to do Laurie credit. But now that the white dress was gone, irrevocably, and it was even supposable that she would meet it on someone else at that very party, she felt a kind of unpreparedness which even the charming green silk could not make up for. Was that green silk all right, or should she try and get some material and make another dress even yet?

Or should she stay away entirely? Stay away and go with Mother down to Washington?

She faced the disastrous thought for the first time openly, lying there in the dark, defenseless, alone. It was quite possible that she might not be going to the party at all. If Mother wouldn’t go without her, then she was determined to sacrifice everything for her mother. It was silly, perhaps, when there were other days coming, and birthdays, not the actual date, didn’t count anyway. Mother and Aunt Marian could have just as good a time together if they came together next week, as this particular Saturday. But she had completely finished with that argument. She had settled it in her mind that Mother had to be there on the birthday, silly or sensible.

And now she had to face another issue.

Was it true as Mother said that she did not belong in a worldly place like that? She was a Christian, a member of the church, and all that. She had taught a Sunday school class for several years; she believed the Bible, of course, in spite of mocking denials she had met in college. But she hadn’t really been living her faith very clearly. It might even be true as Mother said that she had lowered some of her lifelong standards since she had been going with Laurie. After this party she must check up on her life and straighten out a few points with Laurie, make him understand that they didn’t fit in with what she believed. But now, of course, it was too late until after this party was over. It stood in the nature of an introduction to his people and it was not her place to question manner and customs of the family where she was to be a guest. Afterward she would explain a lot of things to Laurie and turn over a new leaf as to some of his worldly amusements and ways. But now—well now, what was this new uneasiness that was prodding her very soul as she lay there trying to be complacent about her green dress and plan how to make Mother want to go without her?

Was it—it couldn’t be that she was unhappy about Laurie himself. Of course, he had said he would call her up again this evening and he hadn’t done it. Doubtless something had prevented him. But—ah—now she was getting down to the real sharp sting that hurt her. It was not that he hadn’t called as he had said he would. It was not that he had passed her in his car as she walked along on her way home late that afternoon and he had not noticed her. That might be easily explained, and she could have a lot of fun teasing him about not recognizing his friends on the street. But it was that he had been in the company of another girl, a dashing, dark-haired girl with vivid lips and shadowed, furtive eyes full of arrogant assurance, eyes that offered and dared and were never shy nor true. And the thing that cut had been that Laurie, her Laurie, as she had come to feel he was, had been looking down into those other luring eyes with exactly the same tender, melting expression that he had often worn when he looked into her eyes.

Marigold, as she lay there in the dark, bared her soul for the first time to the truth. She let the vision of Laurie’s look that she had seen and photographed clearly on her memory come out in the open while she examined it, and her honest soul had to admit that Laurie had never given her any more melting glances than he had lavished on that chic, sophisticated girl he had with him. Like a knife she let it go through her soul, as if she would see the worst, press the wound, and cut out the thing that hurt her.

And then a new thought came to her. Was this girl whom his mother had invited to be the guest of honor at the party? Was it this girl who would be her rival? She stared at the wall in the dark and saw as it were her own soul, with all its unworthy motives crying out within her for vengeance and victory. Had she really been going to that party to show them all what a winner she was? To conquer his mother and sister, and his whole social set? And her only armor that fateful dress that she no longer had? What presumption! What colossal conceit! But—could she have done it even with that dress? Would it not, as her mother had suggested, have become unwonted armor to her that would merely have embarrassed her with its unaccustomed elegance?