Amorelle (18 page)

I
t was a long ride because the train she had taken was a way train and went only to the junction, where she had to wait four hours for the evening express and take a sleeper, but Amorelle was glad she had started at once. If she had waited, George might have turned up and made objections.

Her mind was filled with pleasant thoughts. It was as if she had just acquired a beautiful book filled with delightful experiences and charming pictures, and this was her first leisure to examine it.

It was not until late in the afternoon that she fully realized that she had spent the day between enjoying the views she passed and reviewing the day before. Constantly there came to her mind interesting phrases, glimpses of Russell Garrison’s views of life, incidents and quotations that had enriched the few hours she had spent in his company. She looked upon the experience as an uplifting one for which to be thankful. He was not in any sense her friend, though he had had been most friendly. Of course he had not understood that she did not belong to his sphere, for he was wealthy and traveled and belonged to a fine old family high in social realms, she understood. But he had been wonderful to her, and it was nice to know how it felt to be treated that way. Of course she would never see him again, and it was just as well that she should not. She grudged him not to whoever should be his future companion on the way of life, but if one saw too much of a man like that, it might be hard not to like him too much.

That was the way she explained it to herself when her conscience suddenly rose and asked her how George would like to have her thinking so much about what another man had said.

It had not occurred to her to let Garrison know that she was engaged. She wondered if she should have done so. She had not worn her ring because of George’s constant warnings about it. He would have said it was a great risk to wear a diamond to the woods. Somehow the ring didn’t seem to be really hers, anyhow. It was George’s investment, and her hand merely displayed it.

As Glenellen drew nearer, she found she had a better understanding of her own feelings toward George Horton than ever before. She resolved to write him a frank letter just as soon as she arrived and get the matter entirely off her mind. She could not be at peace until her unfortunate engagement was at an end. She had talked with her Lord about it, and He had shown her. Oh, if she had only realized sooner what riches she had in Christ. Wisdom and knowledge! It was wonderful!

As Amorelle walked down the quiet street from the Glenellen station, she was remembering old scenes and precious happenings. Here was where she had fallen off her bicycle, and her father had picked her up and carried her home and her mother had bound up her bruises and comforted her. Oh, to have a father and mother to bind up and comfort now. Here was the same old tree encroaching upon the sidewalk, where she used to play hide-and-seek with her playmates when they took a walk to Glenellen. There was the spire of her father’s church off in the distance with the ivy climbing thickly over it. Up there was the way home to the manse that wasn’t home anymore.

They had called a young married man in her father’s place, although he hadn’t accepted the call yet. She wondered, in case he came, if she could bring herself to go to church and hear him preach in her father’s pulpit without weeping.

She walked down the length of the street under the maples, their thick foliage yellow-green in the sunlight, past the clustering houses of people she remembered as if she were opening an old photograph album, until she came to the little cottage with moss etching its shingles in velvet-green lines behind tall lilac bushes. It was only one winter, yet it seemed so long since she went away.

The old gate sagged but still bore its chain and weight. She swung it back with a loving touch and hurried into the house.

The little white-haired woman lying like a frail flower on the old calico-covered couch did not look much like the alert Aunt Lavinia that Amorelle had left, but the same loving eyes and voice were there, and Amorelle flew into her arms.

“I just had a feeling something nice was going to happen,” said Miss Landon joyously. “I made Henrietta put on this wrapper and let me up awhile. Amorelle, little girl, stand back and let me look at you. You’ve got tired eyes, but you’re just the same. I knew you would be. Your mother’s sweet, patient mouth. Your father’s true eyes and wonderful smile. They haven’t spoiled you yet.”

Henrietta came breathlessly from a neighbor’s where she had been for fresh eggs. Bonny! Dear old Bonny!

Bonny took her to a little white room. There was an old four-poster bed with homespun linen sheets, a blue-and-white homespun spread, and a long mirror over a chest of quaint drawers. Her father and mother smiled at her from two frames on the wall. A handful of blush roses in a gray-and-blue jar on the windowsill filled the air with fragrance. A thrush sang somewhere overhead, and a big blue and orange and black butterfly hovered over the bowl of roses. It was all wonderful. She took off her hat, washed her face in the funny little thick, white washbowl, and wiped it on the soft towel that smelled of geranium leaves. She smoothed her hair and rested her tired eyes with a long look out of the window into the thick green of the lilacs.

Downstairs there was the smell of fried chicken and strawberries. It all seemed so sweet and homey, it took her right back to her childhood and made it seem almost possible that if she should go down the street to Rivington, she might find her dear father in the parsonage again.

After the evening meal she sat beside Miss Landon and talked while Henrietta Bonsall whisked the dishes away and went down to the post office on an errand.

“Now, Amorelle,” said the old lady, “before we begin I want you to know the truth. I’ve got hardening of the arteries, and I’m not likely to live long. It’s been going on for sometime back, and the doctor says I’m almost to the end. You needn’t look sad, because I’m perfectly satisfied. I’ve lived my time, and it’s often been a lonely way. I’m glad to go home to my Savior. My Lord is calling me home. I’ve had a yearning for many a year to go where all of my family and most of my friends are, so it’ll be a happy ending. But I took a longing to see you before I go and tell you all about my affairs, and I’m glad you’ve come.”

“Oh, and I’m glad I’ve come, too, Aunt Lavinia,” breathed Amorelle, struggling with quick tears.

“There now, put away your tears and listen,” said the old lady, smiling. “I’m feeling fairly well tonight, but it may not last till tomorrow, and I’ve a lot to say before Bonny gets back. Bonny’s the salt of the earth, but I don’t tell my affairs to anyone in this town unless I am willing the whole town should know them. So listen, and don’t feel bad.”

Amorelle smiled and grasped the withered old hand that felt like a crumpled rose leaf.

“You don’t remember, of course, but your father and mother were wonderful to me when I was in great trouble once, and your father fixed my money affairs up so I had enough to keep me all my days. And now that I’m going away, I’ve nobody in the world to leave it to but you, child. You see, it rightly belongs to you, because if your father hadn’t saved it for me, I wouldn’t have had it to leave. I would have been in the poorhouse all these years, through a rascally man who had charge of my property.”

“But, Aunt Lavinia—” broke in Amorelle with wonder in her voice.

“No, wait, child, I’m not quite through. You needn’t feel it’s anything great. It’s only this old house, free from mortgage, and a bit of money well invested, thanks to your father. But after the funeral expenses are paid and a bit to Bonny for looking after me, there’ll be enough to keep up the house and take care of you if you are ever in need. In case you have no need of the house, you can easily rent it or sell if you choose, though I’d like to feel I was leaving a place for you to come to if ever things went against you as they went against me.”

Suddenly Amorelle’s head went down on the couch beside her old friend, and the tears had their way. She had been able to bear the loneliness, the disappointment, the desolation of the years, in quietness and patience, but this sudden care for her overwhelmed her overwrought young soul.

Miss Landon laid her hand on the smooth brown head and let her cry for a minute; then she said gently, “There now, child, cheer up, and tell me all about you! I’m just hungry to know everything. Begin at the beginning and tell me just as you would your mother, won’t you dear?”

“Oh, Aunt Lavinia,” burst out the girl, “why didn’t I under-stand? Why didn’t I write oftener to you? It would have been so wonderful to have someone who cared like this. There wasn’t anyone in the whole wide world—”

“Child,” said Aunt Lavinia, clasping her hand earnestly and peering at the young face in the twilight, “you don’t mean nobody cared. Oh, you must be mistaken. Nobody could look at your dear, sweet face and not care.”

“Oh, they cared—a little—but not really cared, you know. Aunt Clara was cold and hard; Louise was selfish. Only Uncle Enoch was really kind. He gave me some money when I came away, a hundred dollars, and seemed very much interested in my having a good time. And then of course
George—I
thought he cared, but I’m beginning to feel almost as if it was only because I was going to belong to him that he cared, not just because it was I more than any other girl.”

Amorelle’s cheek was lying against the gentle old hand, and she was speaking out of the inmost depths of her heart without realizing she had a listener, this dear friend seemed so like her own mother in her tenderness and understanding.

“But who is George?” asked the older woman quickly.

And there in the twilight, with the tree toads singing sleepily outside and a drowsy cricket chirping at the door, Amorelle told the simple, drab romance of her lonely, young life, showed her gorgeous ring, told how good-looking he was and how much he seemed to care sometimes, especially at first.

Aunt Lavinia listened, making no comment beyond the quick, warm pressure of her hand now and then until the story was finished, and Amorelle lifted her head with the question that had been going over and over in her mind in one form or another for days.

“Aunt Lavinia, what is the matter with me? Why didn’t I want George to kiss me? Why did it make me feel lonelier than ever to think of going to live in that awful little house with him? Do you suppose I was just tired and cross, maybe? And shall I get over it? Or am I the one who is selfish? Oh, you don’t know how wonderful it was to run off here and get away from it all. You don’t know how dear and still it sounds, and how the air smells good enough to eat, and this house looks like a precious palace. I never want to leave! Tell me, what shall I do? I
can’t
marry George feeling that way, can I?”

The frail arms came quickly around her, drawing her close, and Aunt Lavinia’s gentle voice had a decisive, protective note. “No, indeed, child! You mustn’t marry a man
ever
unless you can’t be happy without him. That is what’s the matter with half the marriages in the world; people were just in love with getting married and never calculated on the long, hard pull together through life. Marriage is the most intolerable thing on earth if there is no love, or not enough love, and I guess it’s the nearest to heaven if the love is true and pure and unselfish. Of course, as you say, you may be simply tired out soul and body and need a rest to be able to look at things sanely and naturally. But it sounds to me as if that man”—there was something in the way in which Miss Landon said “that
man”
that expressed her utter dislike for George Horton—“well, it seems to me he is just a selfish creature that wants you because you are sweet and wholesome and will make a good wife in his home. He picked you out the way he did his house, because it was cheap and would help him to save money; the way he will his automobile, because it will give
him
pleasure, make a good showing at the office, and give the most wear for the money. I know that kind of man. That may seem harsh, but what you have been telling me convinces me he is like that. Now, if you really love him, you’ll be red-hot mad at that.”