Amorelle (13 page)

“Oh!” she said. “Of course! Well!”

“What’s ‘Oh, well’?” snapped in Louise, suddenly tripping down the stairs. Then her sharp eyes lit on the diamond, still held forth in George’s proud hand, and she fairly pounced on it.

“Oh, how gorgeous! George, you don’t mean, not
really—
that—you and
Amorelle!
Why you sly brutes you! And you bought that ring for her? Not
bought
it out and out? You didn’t get it on the installment plan? Oh,
George!
How simply beatific! Why, George,
darling!
If I’d known you would have loosened up enough to get me a ring like that I’d have taken you myself! Enoch!” she called to her stepfather, who at that moment came in the front door, “Just gaze on that sparkler!”

She grabbed Amorelle’s hand and pulled her forward so that he could see. Uncle Enoch looked down at the ring and then up at his niece, a piercing look, an almost pitiful look, a look that had a likeness of her father’s glance in it. Then he looked keenly, challenging, at the young man and back to Amorelle, as much as to say, “Is this
really
what you want? Is
this
all you want?” The look wrung Amorelle’s heart. It searched her soul, and it left her miserable and undone.

The dinner bell rang and they went into the dining room. Aunt Clara rose to the occasion and invited George to stay for dinner. George often used to be invited there to dinner, but of late, since the advent of Sam, he had not been there so often. But George was all ready to stay. If they hadn’t asked him he would have stayed anyway. He went to the cabinet and got himself a plate; he opened the drawer of the sideboard and found knife and fork and spoons. He brought up a chair and settled himself beside Amorelle, giving her hand a squeeze now and then under the tablecloth and touching her foot surreptitiously under the table; but he talked to Louise as if that were his main interest that evening, and Louise chattered and laughed back and had a grand time while Amorelle sat silent and miserable, trying to cloak her misery behind a wan little smile.

Now and then she felt her uncle’s eyes upon her, with that look like her father, and her soul sank lower. What had she done? Engaged herself to a man she knew so little, and engaged so openly that there was now no way to draw back without making Aunt Clara’s dreadful accusation seem to be true! But why, why did George act that way with Louise? He was actually flirting with Louise!

She tried to excuse his hilarity by saying that he was happy and that now he looked upon Louise as his cousin and therefore could treat her in a more intimate way. But in spite of herself, it troubled her. It did not seem the fine, true way to act, if he cared as he had seemed to care when he put the ring upon her finger.

Then she told herself that she was jealous, and that was ridiculous. If he had wanted Louise he might have had her. He had declared himself for herself, and therefore she need not be annoyed with his foolishness. Likely it was just a bit of fun.

Then suddenly George began to talk about buying a house and asked Uncle Enoch quite respectfully what he thought of property values in certain parts of the city.

Uncle Enoch answered his questions in monosyllables. Louise relapsed into sullen silence, alternately looking at the diamond on Amorelle’s hands. Suddenly Amorelle had an impulsive wish that the diamond were on Louise’s hand instead of hers and that she were out of this strange engagement that had come upon her so unawares that she was not even sure how much she was to blame for its culmination.

She had to sit and listen to Aunt Clara take up the theme of a house and tell just what it should be and where it should be, and she had a sudden vision of Aunt Clara trying to run their household and Louise breezing in whenever she chose and sitting on the arm of George’s chair and calling him “Dolling Cousin George” as she kept doing all during dinner. Somehow the little home that had held out such allurements to her weary, homesick soul began to grow drab in contemplation in the light of such possibilities.

It was the evening for her Bible school, and suddenly, to her surprise, as she rose from the table and looked toward the door to slip away as she usually did, she found that George was going with her. Her heart gave a sudden rebound. Was he really going to throw his interests with hers and be a true comrade? A little, just a little, of the elation that had enwrapt her when he put the ring upon her finger swept back over her now, and a sweet color flooded her troubled face. Uncle Enoch saw it and studied her keenly again. Was his little girl perhaps happy after all with this strange, giddy, too-good-looking young man?

They went away into the starlit night—George carrying her Bible under his arm; George lifting her up off her feet occasionally, just to show that she was his own and he could lift her if he chose. And Amorelle caught again for a little time a flame of that joy she had felt in such a tumult before dinner. It was going to be nice to have a comrade like this who loved her and cared for her and protected her. She forgot the little episodes at dinner that had troubled her. She forgot Louise and Aunt Clara’s cold eyes—she even forgot Uncle Enoch’s troubled gaze—and just let herself be happy.

It was nice to have George escort her into the Bible school and take his place beside her. She saw many admiring eyes turn toward him and look at her in question. She experienced a little thrill of pride in him and was glad. That surely meant that she loved him, didn’t it?

George held her Bible for her, though most of the time she had to find the places for him. He didn’t seem to be acquainted with the book. But he would get interested, and they would study together. That would be wonderful! And they would have sweet conversations. That would be thrilling!

But the class was only half over before George began to fidget, to touch his fingers to hers under the cover of the Bible, to whisper to her how pretty she was during a wonderful exposition by the teacher, and finally to yawn covertly. Her heart sank, though she tried to tell herself that this was only his first time, and he had not gotten the thread of the study yet.

Out in the street, he suggested they get some ice cream.

“I’ve got to get something to wake me up,” he declared. “That room was hotter than seven furnaces. Are those classes always so long? It seemed to me that guy never would get done. He said things over in seven different ways.”

“That’s to help us remember, to get the thought thoroughly across to us,” said Amorelle eagerly. “He is considered a wonderful teacher.”

“Well, maybe he is,” admitted George good-naturedly, “but me, I was more eager to get you out and away where we could be by ourselves. Say, whatever made you go into this Bible thing anyway, Amorelle?”

“Because I love it,” she said eagerly. “I’ve always studied a great deal with my father, and this was an opportunity to get what some of the great writers and thinkers and Bible students have found out today. It will help me so much in private study and in teaching others.”

“Well, you don’t need to consider teaching others now,” said George, taking a large spoonful of ice cream. “My wife won’t need to teach. I can support her all right!”

“Oh, but every Christian should teach as well as they can to give out the good news.”

“Oh why not leave that to ministers and missionaries? If you get married you’ll find your hands full without trying to teach the nation. I guess you know enough Bible now for all the teaching you’ll need to do. Why don’t you quit this thing now we’re engaged? I’d liketa take you out. We could go to the rink one night a week and skate. Wouldn’t you like to skate?”

“Yes, I love to skate,” said Amorelle with a troubled look, “but I love this Bible study more. Couldn’t we do both? I thought it was so nice to have us both studying together. I wouldn’t like to stop my course so near the end. It’s only about six weeks more, you know. By the time it is up, you will love it as much as I do. I know, for I’ve seen it tried.”

“Not me,” said George decidedly. “I’ve had plenty tonight. If I tried to keep that up one night a week I’d disgrace you by falling asleep. I’m no student, and I learned all the Bible I need to know when I was a kid and went to Sunday school.”

“But I thought you said you were a Christian,” said Amorelle. “Surely if you love the Lord you want to get to know His will.”

“Good night! I learned the Ten Commandments! What more do you want? Isn’t that enough to get one to heaven?”

“No,” said Amorelle gently. “Knowing the Ten Command-ments won’t ever get anyone to heaven any more than knowing the law would keep a criminal out of jail. Not even trying to keep the Ten Commandments will either, because no one can keep them perfectly, and if one least little bit of a one is broken then they all are broken. The Bible says so.”

“Great Scott, if being good and keeping the Ten Commandments don’t save you, how do you ever get to heaven?” asked George.

“Accept Christ’s atoning sacrifice on the cross in our place. It is the only way!” Amorelle’s voice was soft and earnest. “Nothing that we can do makes us good enough. We must be accepted through Christ, and through His righteousness.”

He looked at her through his long, curly, golden lashes and whistled softly.

“You’re too deep for me, beautiful,” he said indolently, “but you certainly do look lovely with your eyes big like that and your face all so earnest. I could kiss you right here in the store.”

Amorelle drew back, annoyed.

“Oh, George! You turn everything into ridicule,” she said sadly. “I do so want you to get interested in this. It’s wonderful!”

“I’ll take your word for it, girl,” he said, touching her check playfully. “Finish out your class if you want to, but count me out. I’ve got my business to attend to, you know, and I can’t spare so many evenings for childish things. I’ll take you there and come for you when I can, and that ought to be enough. If keeping the Ten Commandments isn’t enough for me to get to heaven on, I’m afraid I’ll have to try the other place. Or perhaps they’ll let me in on your record; how about it?” He laughed cheerfully, threw down his money with a swagger on the tiled table beside the check, and rose, pulling out her chair for her.

“Let’s go!” he said.

Amorelle felt as if she had suddenly run up against a wall and was blinded by the blow. What was there about this man she had so suddenly acquired that made her always so uncertain? There must be something wrong somewhere. But perhaps she ought not to expect too much of him all at once. He had been going with a crowd who joked about sacred things every hour of their lives. He would not know how it hurt her to hear him talk that way. Someday she would tell him, and then he wouldn’t do it. Surely if he loved her so tenderly he would not want to hurt her. And she in turn must not hurry him too fast. He seemed to know so little about heavenly things, why should he want to know more when he didn’t understand how important and wonderful it was? She must be patient and be willing to go slow. She would pray for him, and all would come right. He was a Christian at least. He said he was. She hugged that thought to her heart.

Of course, all these questions ought to have been settled before their engagement, to say nothing of before it was announced so fully. If only Aunt Clara had not appeared with her terrible voice and awful suggestions and precipitated the affair! But it was too late to recall that now. The engagement was on record in full force and she must make the best of things as they were. Oh, why had she let him take her in his arms that way and kiss her so intimately, so tenderly, before she was
sure
beyond the shadow of a doubt? Or—was she sure? Her mind was so tortured that she could not tell, and she was glad when he finally said good-night and left her to go to her quiet room and think; glad that there were a lot of young folks present and he could not be so very free in his farewells. Oh, God, what was the matter with her? Why didn’t she know her own mind? What would her father say to it all? If he were
only
here to help her.

B
ut the days went on and Amorelle’s mind was not at rest.

There were times when everything was lovely and she forgot her fears. George bought her a pair of fine skates and took her down on the creek to skate. He was delighted that she was so accomplished in the art in spite of the fact that she came from a climate where the skating days were comparatively limited. But Amorelle had used well those rare occasions when there was skating and was graceful as a feather on the ice. Once she gave up her Bible school evening to skate with him, and he in turn suffered through another Bible class with her. That cheered her, and she hoped against hope that she might be able to lead him little by little to be interested in what was so vital to her.

Often she told him bits of what had been said in class, and always he would listen and seemed interested and then when she had finished would say, “That’s the way I want your picture, beautiful! Just like that with your eyes so big and earnest.” And she would turn away in despair and try to smile patiently. She knew she must not nag him.

But sometimes he seemed so utterly trifling that she wondered if she ever could love him.

By this time she had fully convinced herself that she did love him, although she told herself again and again that it was a great mistake that she had become engaged until she had settled several questions with him, and she felt that a day of reckoning must come before long. Certainly before they were married.

As spring drew on Amorelle was very busy, and there was little time to consider problems. Both her schools were nearing examinations, and she had extra studying to do.

Also, George was involved in what he called “invoicing” and demanded her help. He told her several times what a good thing it was that she took that business course; she could be such a help to him in his business when he got to be utterly on his own. Once she half playfully suggested that he might feel even more glad sometime that she had taken the Bible course and could help him. “Because,” said she, looking up at him shyly, “you know when it comes to getting ready to go to another world, we all have to be ‘on our own.’ ”

He gave her a half-annoyed look and said, “Amorelle, I’m surprised at you joking about a thing like that!” and went on with his work.

When he was absorbed in something, he seemed to forget all the nice things he had said to her. Sometimes he even found fault with her now, and his tone was growing almost alarmingly possessive. He talked about being married in June and said they must go out and find a house pretty soon, and Amorelle’s heartbeats quickened. Was she ready to go so soon to live with him, with him and nobody else? Not that it was any pleasanter at her uncle’s house, for even Uncle Enoch had grown silent and tactiturn since her engagement, especially since that one day when he said just as he was leaving for the day, “I don’t see what you see in that empty-headed dolt! Are you sure you want him?” He had not waited for an answer and had never since given her an opportunity to answer, but his question had lingered and tormented her whenever she had time to think. It seemed almost as if it might have been the echo of her father’s voice asking her.

George took her down to his office several evenings to help him. Sometimes she was weary when she went and dreaded the long evening shut up in the office, just when it was getting toward spring. But she always went patiently and sometimes rather enjoyed the time straightening out snarls that a blundering new assistant had made.

George was always good natured at such times and kept telling her how much she was helping and how she was saving him money. He might have had to get in an expert accountant if she hadn’t found out what was the matter. At such times she went home partly satisfied, feeling that she was doing her best and things would work out in time. Nevertheless, her heart found no real rest. Often at night she would think of what her father and mother’s marriage had been and face the truth that her own was not going to be like that. Then she would tell herself that no two people were just like any other two, and she must not expect such an ideal marriage. George was steady and loved her. She ought to be satisfied with that.

Only sometimes when he got impatient with her and spoke harshly, almost roughly, she wondered if he really loved her. Perhaps it had only been a fancy that would wear off. Then at other times, he would be gentle and cheerful with her, and she reminded herself that all people had nerves and tempers. She must not expect perfection.

So the days went by, and there seemed nothing that she could do but struggle on with her problem and seek to do her best.

Aunt Clara had complicated matters by having a dressmaker in the house and asking Amorelle to work along with her every day, and then to finish up what the dressmaker left unfinished. This was in addition to her other work and just as she was studying for her examinations. It became necessary for her to sit up very late sometimes to make up for her loss of the usual study time in the daytime. This was especially hard on the days when George demanded her assistance.

“I don’t see why you don’t give up that silly Bible school,” said Aunt Clara one evening at dinner when Amorelle was hurrying to get off, and her uncle noticed that she was looking pale and had dark circles under her eyes.

“I am almost done now,” she answered patiently. “I have only one more examination besides tonight.”

“Examinations!” snorted Aunt Clara. “How ridiculous! For a girl who expects to be married in June! I think it’s high time you were doing something about your trousseau. You ought to be hemming napkins and tablecloths and saving your money to buy them. It isn’t decent for a girl to get married without some kind of an outfitting. You’ll find George is very practical. I was talking to him about it the other day.”

“I have plenty of household linen, Aunt Clara,” answered Amorelle patiently.

“You have? Where did you get it?”

“It was my mother’s,” answered the girl. “We always kept it nice and used it only on rare occasions. Father insisted that he wanted it kept for me because it was Mother’s, and he had me buy inexpensive things to use every day.”

“H’m!” said Aunt Clara. “Well, I’m glad to see he had a little forethought for you.”

Amorelle answered nothing. She had learned that that was the quickest way to end a discussion.

Nevertheless, Aunt Clara kept nagging on, insisting that Amorelle begin to make house dresses, even giving her a few cast-offs to make over.

Then, as the days grew more springlike, George decided it was time to go house hunting. Amorelle shrank from that. It seemed to make the matter so final. And all the time she was praying, “Dear God, show me please!” and going right on, not waiting for God to show her. Then one day she read in a book she picked up at the Bible school, “When in doubt as to God’s leading, wait. Do nothing until He leads the way. Do not go ahead of God.”

This greatly troubled her and stayed with her all that day. And that very evening George came after her with a borrowed car and wanted her to go and look at a house in the suburbs.

It was a charming house, with porches and bay windows and a pussy willow tree in the yard. It filled her with joy to think of living there, having a home of her own and doing as she pleased.

The house had a white-tiled bathroom, and a blue-tiled kitchen with a lovely white sink with porcelain drain boards running across one end. There were low windows looking on a little grassy backyard, and the neighborhood was lovely; nice, neat homes all around and crocuses coming up in the flower beds. In her mind’s eye she saw pretty muslin curtains at the windows and her own furniture placed here and there. For a few minutes her fears and problems vanished, and she rose to enthusiasm and told George it was the very thing and she was delighted.

“The price is pretty high,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know as we ought to buy it, not right off at the start. Still, it’s a peach, of course. We could look around and see if we find anything just as good cheaper.”

But on the way home George talked as if the little house was a settled thing.

“I’ll go see the owner,” he said. “Maybe we can haggle him down a little if we kid him along. He might make a lower price if we paid a year’s rent in advance.”

Several days passed before George had time to see the owner, and he came one evening with a grouch.

“Couldn’t do a thing with that man,” he announced when he got Amorelle alone. “I talked to him for two hours, and he just set his jaw and said that was his price. Couldn’t tempt him with even a year and a half in advance, though that would scarcely pay, reckoning up the interest and all. He says he has a rule never to change his price. Well, let him keep his old house. He’ll learn. I’ve got on the track of two or three others; one especially I think’ll be fine, and the price is fifteen dollars less than the first one. That one was in a snobbish district anyway. We’d have to put on a lot of dog if we lived there. And we just can’t afford to go out a lot or do much entertaining the first two or three years. Especially if we had to pay that much for a house. We’d have to live up to the house, see?”

Amorelle’s heart sank. She had fallen in love with the little house at first sight, and it somehow seemed to make her approaching marriage a happier affair and not nearly so fearsome and uncertain.

They went to see the other house the next day. George did not bring a car. They had to take a trolley.

“There’s another good thing about this house today besides being cheaper,” he orated on the way. “It’s more accessible. Trolleys and trains not far away and no need to have a car right away. Although there’s a garage if I found I needed one for business,” he added. “Here, here we are! This is the corner where we get off.”

Amorelle stepped from the trolley expectantly and looked around her with growing dismay. She had envisioned a suburb, and here were diverging rows of tiny two-story brick houses in every direction, glaring back the sunshine to the simmering red of the brick pavements.

George walked ahead of her up the curb, talking eagerly.

“It’s only a block and a half from here, right down the middle of the next row. Handy for the trolley. I sha’nt have to get up so early as I do now—”

Amorelle halted and looked around a bit, as if by taking a fresh start the impression might somehow be better. She spoke slowly, gently, reluctantly.

“But—I thought it was a suburb. You said—”

“Well, it is,” snapped George brusquely. “This is ‘the annex’ they talk so much about in the papers. ‘North Harrington’; it’s only just become a part of the city. It’s practically a suburb. See those trees up there, only four blocks away? That’s Lemon Park. Have band concerts there every now and then. Over to the right is the dump, and out that street is the cemetery, only five blocks away. You see, we’re practically in the country. And only twenty-five a month! Think how we can save. Fifteen less than the house you’re so crazy about.”

Amorelle fell into step silently, her troubled gaze searching the surroundings, studying anxiously the little children playing hopscotch on the sidewalk.

“Do you know anything about the neighborhood?” she asked, as George paused in the middle of the block and looked up at the number.

“Oh, good enough neighborhood. Doesn’t matter, does it? We sha’n’t be entertaining much for a couple of years yet, I tell you, not till I get my promotion, and think how we can save on clothes! We don’t need to have anything to do with our neighbors, you know, not till we get ready to move up into swell society. Here’s our house. All right, eh? Needs a little painting around the porch, but I can do that evenings, or maybe you’ll amuse yourself doing it when you haven’t anything else to do.”

George was too occupied unlocking the door to notice Amorelle’s silence as she hesitated on the step, looking down the dreary line of sordid porches stretching from corner to corner like stalls in a market. Halfway down the street two children were fighting over a wagon; and a brawling mother shot out of the door untidily, administered a common punishment, and hastened back with a furtive glance toward the strangers.

Amorelle’s slender grace stood out noticeably in the sordid neighborhood. Always her sweet gentleness sat upon her like a pleasant garment and put her apart from the common run. And now, even in her simple dress, she was something rare and out of place standing on that cheap little porch. Her wistful brown eyes were full of sudden distress. But George, all unaware, strode on into the house.

“That’s the parlor. Wallpaper’s all right, not scratched up much. We can set a chair in front of that spot. Agent said it had been recently papered. We sha’n’t have to bother about that.”

Amorelle took in the tawdry gold background with flaring baskets of roses at intervals on endless knots of bright blue ribbon, and she shuddered.

“Oh, George! This paper would be awful to live with.”

“Now, Amorelle, don’t go to getting fussy. I’m not a millionaire yet! It isn’t good for you living so long in luxury at your aunt’s. You’ll get notions. We’ve got to economize, you know. Besides, I’m thinking of getting a car. It’ll save carfare and make a good impression down at the office.”

George walked jauntily through the archway into the speck of a dining room papered in greasy magenta, with finger marks, and gloomily lighted by a single window opening darkly on a dusky brick-lined passageway to the seven-by-nine backyard. The floor was thick with dust, showing the weave of a coarse ingrain rug that had lain and left its aged imprint. The wood was “grained.” There was a closet in one corner, a dirty shelf with a bit of slobbery candle, eloquent of the former occupant, and the opposite door opened into a dim kitchen with one high window over a grim iron sink. A rusty gas range with its door gone completed the desolation.

Amorelle stood in the kitchen aghast an instant and looked around her with sudden perception of a long line of desolate days looming beside that awful sink.

“Oh, George! We
can’t
take it! This is a terrible kitchen! Think of that nice white sink in the little bungalow. It is worth the extra money.”