The Tryst (Annotated) (Grace Livingston Hill Book) (2 page)

"Got your tickets, Miss?” asked the porter as they neared the train gate. 

"Oh! No!” gasped Patricia still looking bewildered. She was just wondering why Evelyn had thought she wanted Hal Barron for her own exclusive property, and the matter of tickets seemed so trivial. 

"Better step to the window and get them, Miss. There ain't so much time. Right this way.” 

"Oh!” gasped Patricia, following him blindly through the crowd and bringing up at the window where three were already in line ahead of her. 

“Got your ’commodations, Miss?” asked the porter eying her paternally, and deciding she needed protection. 

“Why -- no --not yet!” She drew her breath in a little quick flutter. There were so many things to be thought of, and she was going away into strange scenes with no one who cared - oh, her father! He had always protected her so carefully! What would he think? But her father! “What -- how could it all be reconciled anyway?” 

“Pretty late, Miss! 'Fraid you won't fare very well. Like me to see if there's anything left?”

“Oh, yes, please!” she answered gratefully, and moved up to the window as the last of the line moved on. 

The porter put down the suitcase and went away for a moment. “Nothing left but the drawing room. Miss. Care to have that?” he asked anxiously, returning a moment later. 

"Oh, yes!" sighed Patricia gratefully, handing him a bill from the roll in her bag. She had no idea how much she had, as much as was left of her allowance that had been paid her a few days before. She had not bought much since but chocolates, a magazine or two, and some flowers for a little sick girl. She had paid for her ticket and there seemed to be a lot left. She did not count it. It was not likely she would have been able to bring her mind to take in whether it was much or little. Money meant nothing to her just then save a miserable bone of contention between herself and her sister. Money, what did she care about it, if she could have only had love and a home! She would gladly have given up the pretty clothes. They had not meant much to her in themselves. She had always enjoyed picking them out, and wearing things that harmonized and were becoming, but that was such a minor matter compared to the great things of life! 

The porter took her ticket and managed the whole affair for her, and she followed him relievedly to the gate and out to the train. 

It all seemed so strange, this journey, following a porter with her suitcase, out a train gate to a pleasant compartment. She had always enjoyed journeys so much before, and this one was like hurling herself into space, knowing not where she was going nor what she was going to do when she got there. It must be that condemned men felt this way as they walked to their doom I And what had she done? Why had it all come upon her? Was she right in going away till she found out? 

This last question beat upon her brain as she felt the train begin to move. A wild impulse to run back and think it over came upon her, and she half rose from her seat and looked about her frantically, then sank back into her seat again as she realized that it was too late. The train had started. Besides, she could always return after she had thought about it and found out what was the right thing to do. With a faint idea of looking her last upon familiar things she glanced out of the window and was comforted by the porter’s respectful salute accompanied by a smile of most unporterful solicitude. He had just dropped from the front end of the car to the platform, and had been watching for his lady as the drawing room window passed. Patricia sank back on the cushion with a passing wonder at his care. She did not know that her sweet face had taken on a look like a lost Babe in the Wood, and that any man with a scrap of humanity left in his breast would be aroused by her wistful, hurt eyes to protect her. But it comforted her nevertheless and helped to relieve the tension. She put her head back and closed her eyes wearily. A soothing tear crept over the smart in her eyes that had been so intolerable. Somehow with it came a complete relaxation, so new to her vigorous, alert youth that it was fairly prostrating. She longed inexpressibly to lie down and sleep, yet knew she must not until the conductor had been his rounds. But she put her head wearily against the window glass and watched the passing scene with unseeing eyes, as the city of her home traveled fast across her vision, and the train threaded its way gradually from crowded city streets to suburbs, and then out into the wide open country. And yet she could not think. Could not even bear to face the words she had heard such a little time before that had turned all her bright world into ashes, and clouded the face of the universe. 

The conductor came his rounds, and then the Pullman conductor, and she was left at last in peace. Her head dropped back on the cushions and she sank into a deep sleep of exhaustion from the shock she had received. The miles whirled by, the sun rose high to noon, afternoon came gaily over the western plains, and still she slept. 

The sun was casting long, low shadows over the valleys and plains when Patricia awoke, her cheek crumpled and pink where it had rested against the cushion. She sat up suddenly and looked about her startled, trying to realize where she was. For an instant she remembered the house-party and thought she was on her way; but Evelyn was to have gone to that, and Evelyn was not in the compartment. Then all in a rush came the memory of Evelyn's sharp voice rasping on her quivering heart, and she remembered. She was on her way to New York and she must have been traveling a long time! 

She glanced at her wrist-watch and saw it was half-past five. She had not eaten anything since morning, and in spite of her trouble a healthy young appetite began to assert itself. She resolved not to think about anything until she had been to the dining-car. At least she would be better able to bear the pain of it all, and think clearly after she had eaten. She arose and straightened her hat at the long mirror, opened her bag, got out a diminutive comb and fluffed her pretty hair, shook out her rumpled garments and wended her way to the diner. 

But somehow thoughts would come, and after she had made her selection from the menu and sat back drearily she found that just across the aisle from her sat a mother and two daughters, and their whole atmosphere of happy comradeship brought back the sickening memory of her own unhappy state. She glanced out of the window to turn aside her gloomy thoughts and tried to interest herself in the wonderful landscape, but somehow the whole face of nature seemed desolate. Rock and tree and sweep of plain that would have enraptured her eyes a day or two before were nothing more than a map now, a space over which she had to travel, and a light little laugh from one of the girls across the aisle followed by the loving protest, "Oh, Mother, dear!” pierced her like a knife. The tears suddenly sprang into her eyes and she had to turn her head and pretend to be watching the view to hide her emotion. 

And then the errant thoughts rushed in and almost overwhelmed her. Why did her mother and sister feel so unloving toward her? Why had she ever been born into a world where she was not wanted? No -- that wouldn’t do exactly, for her father was always loving and kind, always understanding of her, always anticipating her longings and trying to supply their need. Perhaps he had realized how the other two felt, and had purposely kept her at school so long that she might not feel it, knowing that she was sensitive, like himself. Was it possible that he had missed something in them himself? Perhaps she was like her father and Evelyn was like the mother. That was it, of course. She recalled how often her father had repeated the phrase: “You mustn't mind them; it's their way, little girl. They are all right at heart, you know.”

For the first time the words seemed like a revelation. He, too, had felt the sting of the proud looks and haughty words, and yet he was loyal. How he must have loved her mother! And of course he understood her -- or had he? Could anybody be lovable who had such an unnatural feeling toward her own child as had been shown this morning? Stay -- was she perhaps not an own child!

Her eyes grew wide with horror and she stared at the waiter blankly as he brought her order and set it in array before her. The thought seemed to rear itself up before her eyes like a great wall over which she could never climb, and for a moment she seemed to be sinking down into a horrible place from which there was no possible exit. For, like a convincing climax, came the words she had heard from Evelyn just before the door closed: “Did she never suspect that she wasn't --!" 

Wasn’t what? What could it possibly mean but “wasn't an own child”? 

All the pent-up loneliness of the years came down upon her like a flood to overwhelm her then, and she sat staring blankly before her, forgetting where she was or that there were people looking at her. 

“Will you have your coffee now or latah, lady?” the hovering waiter broke in upon her unhappy reverie. He felt that something was wrong and could not quite make out why she sat and stared ahead with her dinner all nicely before her. 

She roused herself then and summoned an answer, scarcely knowing or caring what it was, but the floodtide of her thoughts surged back into more natural channels. How ridiculous for her to think of such a thing! She was just like a girl in a story, imagining a thing like that. Of course that was not true; for she could remember her father telling her about the night she was born and how he sat alone and thought about the little new soul that was coming to his home and for which he would be responsible; and how a surge of great love came over him at the thought. He had told her that one night when he bade her good-bye at the boarding school, and she had been more than usually dreading the parting. He had seemed to understand her so well and to anticipate her dreads and to know just what she needed to make her own soul strong. Oh, why did he have to be sent to South America just now when she was coming home? If only he could have been here for a day so that she might have had a few minutes' talk with him! If only he were somewhere in this country now that she might fly to him and ask him the meaning of all this that had come upon her! 

She turned to her plate and her healthy appetite reasserted itself and made everything taste good. It was comforting to think over her father's little note, left on her dressing table under the linen cover just where he used to leave bits of surprises for her sometimes when she was at home for brief vacations, or in her little girl days before she had gone away at all. The note was so precious. He had not forgotten her even in his hurry. She knew every word of it, every line of every letter was graven in her heart: 

“Dear Little Pat:" it ran, 

“This isn't the kind of homecoming I had planned for you at all. A cable has called me to South America to look after my business interests there, and I have only an hour to catch a train that will get me to the boat just in time, I'm overwhelmed with sorrow not to be at your commencement, little Pard, as I told you in my telegram. If I had twenty-four hours leeway I would wire you to go with me, but there isn't an hour to spare, I must make this boat or lose out. But never mind little Pat, you're my own brave little daughter, and we'll make it up when I get home, so be of good cheer, and don’t mind the bumps on the road till I get home. 

Your disappointed old Dad, who loves you more than tongue can tell." 

As she went over the letter in her mind her face brightened. Surely, surely, how had she forgotten! He called her “his own brave little daughter.” What a silly she had been to imagine she was a stray child he had picked up on the street, or taken from some hospital!

And what would he think of her running off in this frantic way at the very first "bump on the road”? Would he blame her and say she should have stayed behind and borne it? Oh! No! Surely not that! But would he have said she ought to have asked an explanation before going away? Perhaps -- but if she had they would have been obliged to keep her whether they wanted her or not, because it was their duty. This way they were relieved of her without any act of their own -- and she was relieved of them! Yes, that was the truth, she just couldn't have faced them and kept an unmoved countenance after what she had heard. She would always be thinking how Evelyn had said she hated her, and the dreadful tone their mother had used in reply, quite as if she agreed with Evelyn, only it was not wise to say so. Patty gave a little shiver as she remembered the hard, cold tone. Somehow each time she thought of it the hurt was just as keen and new. She drew a deep breath and tried to get away from it all for a few minutes, forcing herself to watch the people around her. 

Back in her compartment she faced the now darkened window and frowned into the night face to face with her problem again. 

Oh, if she could have gone with her dear father! And yet even that might have made trouble, for it had often seemed to cause jealousy when she was alone with him for long, and sometimes when he had stopped at school to visit her he had apologized for bringing no message from them, saying that they did not know he was coming that way or they would have sent one, and she had often suspected that he had a reason for not telling them, so that there grew up between her father and herself a quiet understanding like a secret pact. 

Somehow in the light of what had happened things in the past seemed to take on a new significance. It was like the time when she went to call across the way on a neighbor never visited before, and looked over at her home in astonishment that it seemed so different from what she had thought, so now she seemed to be standing outside of her own life and finding out what it really had been. 

The thoughts whirled on an endless chain in her mind, and she was no nearer to a decision about things. Her mind simply seemed to refuse to act farther, except to throw back upon her the words she had heard that morning. Lying at last upon her berth she fell into a troubled sleep in which she seemed to toss in an endless round of puzzle and bewilderment. 

The second morning of her journey the train rolled into the Pennsylvania Station in New York and Patricia Merrill, no nearer a decision about what she ought to do, but neatly groomed and with shining eyes sat up and watched the approach eagerly. Somehow during the night the mists had rolled away from her mind and she was at peace again.