Amorelle (4 page)

Johnny stood across the room, twirling his hat, his own face gone white now, his honest, blue eyes filled with distress, his soul racked with compunction. He longed to do something to comfort her, yet he would not lay so much as one of his strong, rough fingers on her sweet bowed head.

In a moment more she had control of herself and lifted her face, wet with tears, yet a smile trembled through.

“Oh, Johnny,
dear!”
she said earnestly. “Please forgive me! I wasn’t laughing at you, I’m just all upset; and I do appreciate your great offer. It’s the biggest thing a man could do for a woman. And it’s beautiful, what you have said to me. I’ll never forget it! But, Johnny, you and I are
friends
, not lovers. There’s no question of marrying between us.”

“Oh, I know I’m not of your class—!” he broke forth again in a troubled voice.

“No, Johnny, it’s not a matter of class between us. It’s just that God hasn’t put us into that relationship to each other, Johnny.” She looked at him keenly. “Whenever did such a thing come into your head? You never had such an idea before, did you?”

“Well, no,” said Johnny, getting red again. “I—I…just thought of it this morning. I thought I was well fixed—And I thought I’d like ta make things easy fer ya—”

“Johnny, has Mrs. Brisbane been into the store this morning? Has she been talking to you about me?”

Johnny’s honest eyes met hers and then dropped sheepishly.

“Well, yes,” he owned uncomfortably. “She was in. She did mention ya, but I—”

Amorelle was suddenly seized with that uncontrollable desire to laugh and cry again, but she mastered it.

“Now look here, Johnny,” she said earnestly. “You’re my friend and I want to keep you so, and you’ve got to help me. Mrs. Brisbane was over here this morning suggesting all sorts of wild things to me, even suggesting different people in the town I could marry. And I was simply furious at her, but I never dreamed she’d go out and tell the people! Oh, Johnny, I’m so ashamed and troubled! Johnny, I don’t
want
to get married! I don’t want to marry
anyone
. I’m going out West to live with my uncle’s family, and I want to get away from here quietly and decently and not have people talking about me. Won’t you help me, Johnny? Won’t you help me to put down such ideas and go away like any quiet, decent person? I can’t marry you, Johnny, and I hope you won’t feel bad. I’m sure you’ll be glad someday I said no. But I do want your help. Won’t you help me? Won’t you be like a good, friendly brother to me?”

“I sure will!” said Johnny earnestly. “What could I do? How should I go about it?”

Amorelle looked wildly around her and, through the open doorway, caught a glimpse of her father’s bookcase in the library opposite.

“Well, if you could help me get a few things packed and moved, I’d be so grateful. I want to get Father’s books put away in boxes and some of my precious things moved away to the house of a friend, over near the Glen, who is going to keep them for me. You see, I think some of the ladies have an idea of trying to buy Father’s books and furniture for the manse, and I couldn’t part with them. I’d like to get them all put out of sight before anybody can come and suggest anything about it and make an embarrassing situation for me. Mrs. Brisbane said some of the Ladies’ Aid were talking about it.”

“Sure I’ll help, Miss Amorelle,” said Johnny in his old breezy tone. “I’ll be glad ta beat that bunch of old cats to it! I sure will! Whaddya wantta do first? The books? Say, I gotta lotta good strong, empty boxes over ta the store. They’re clean and nice. I can bring ’em over at noon, and we can get those books into ’em in no time and nail ’em up. Then when I take the run over ta the Glen, I ken deliver ’em, and when anybody come around wanting ’em, they’ll be
gone
, see?”

“Oh, Johnny, that would be wonderful,” said Amorelle. “But I couldn’t take you all that time away from your store. If I just had the boxes, I could pack them and get a truck to take all my things over at once.”

“No sense in wasting truck hire,” said Johnny. “Ef I’m your brother, why not let me cart ’em? I run over that way twice a day anyway, and my truck is good and strong. I can get quite a load in every time I go, and before you know it they’ll all be gone!”

“But some of them are heavy; I’m afraid you couldn’t manage them alone.”

“Aw, whaddya mean manage? Besides, Tod often goes out on the truck with me, and we’ll take the heavy things at night after dark. Then I’ll leave Tod over at his home on the way back. That’s all fixed now; that’s what I’m going ta do. And you don’t know how glad I am you’ll let me be of some real help. But say, Amorelle, you won’t lay it up against me that I asked you that other? I know it was sorta presuming, but I’d a ben glad ta do it ef you felt it was the right thing.”

Johnny was all eagerness now, wistfulness. His big, earnest blue eyes searched her face tensely. He was calling her Amorelle just as if he’d always done it, and he didn’t even realize it.

“Why, of course not, Johnny. That was really a wonderful thing for you to propose,” said Amorelle gently. “That is the highest honor a man may offer a woman. Only you know, too, Johnny, that you are young, a year or two younger than I am, and that you have friends of your own that probably have been occupying that place in your thoughts, and I hope you’ll be very happy someday in that snug little house over your store. I’ll love the girl you will choose. But you and I are just friends, and today you’ve come to be more like a brother, too, and I’m glad. I’m just going to call upon you to help me in my need and be real happy in the asking. Father loved you, and he’d be glad that you’re helping me. So don’t say anything more about presuming, please, and let’s be glad in our friendship.”

“Well, now that’s settled,” he said in a relieved tone. “Just let me take a look at those books to see about how many boxes we can use, and I’ll bring ’em over when I go to my lunch.”

Johnny stumped away, whistling happily, slamming the manse door behind him. And Amorelle retired to her father’s big chair to laugh over the strange, embarrassed proposal of marriage and to grind her teeth over Mrs. Brisbane and wonder if the woman could possibly have dared to talk of marriage to the other men whom she had suggested. Oh, how terrible! How humiliating! And there was nothing,
nothing
, she could do to stop it. Her mind ran over the list of available bachelors her caller had mentioned, and she shuddered.

Then suddenly she looked around her. There was just one thing she could do, and that was to get out of Rivington as soon as possible. She must get packed up in a hurry and moved before anybody realized what she was doing. Oh, if only Mrs. Loomis Rivington was at home, she would be able to stop all this nonsense and take her under her watchful eye!

But the Rivingtons were in Europe. They would write lovely, kind letters and probably send her a present of some sort and great sympathy when they knew of her father’s death; but they could not protect her from the village gossips and the church meddlemakers. Strange that the two most loved members of her father’s church should be from the opposite walks of life. The Rivingtons were old settlers, rich and influential. The town was named for them. Old Judge Rivington had been her father’s closest friend and adviser until his death some five or six years before. The younger Loomis-Rivingtons were like him in their friendliness and generosity. And strangely they and Lavinia Landon had the same sympathetic, comforting ways with them. But the Rivingtons were in Europe and Lavinia Landon was not a person of influence. There was nobody to help her. Just nobody! A little dry sob broke in her throat.

Then suddenly there came a thought of her father’s tender smile and his voice as he had said to her not long ago, “There is
always God
, little girl, and He loves you more than anyone could.”

Ah! She had been forgetting.

She lifted her eyes to the little silver-and-blue card that hung on the wall above her father’s desk and read the familiar words: “The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms!” And for a moment, she bowed her head on her father’s desk and prayed in her heart for the help she needed. Then she sprang up and went to work.

A
morelle got a dust cloth and went swiftly around the rooms taking down the beloved old pictures, thankful that she had a place to put them out of the way for a while and that she did not have to decide which to keep and which to give away or sell. There was room in Miss Lavinia’s kitchen chamber to stow them all away.

There were not a great many pictures, and it took only a few minutes before they were standing face to the wall in a compact bunch, ready for Johnny any time he should demand a load.

Next she went through the little parlor gathering out a few books and papers, a few vases and ornaments that would need to be packed carefully in her bureau drawers. She came back from carrying them upstairs and looked around, trying to banish the memory of the flower-banked casket that had stood over in the bay window only yesterday, trying to keep back the tears. Ah! Pain and sweetness and love and parting. How they were mingled. But she must not stop to think. She must go on and get things done. It would all be easier, perhaps, if she would just goad herself with the thought that she must get as much done as possible, irrevocably, before the Ladies’ Aid should descend upon her.

She looked around the parlor again, removed a couple of chairs that she did not care to keep, a little table that she never had liked and that had no special associations. There was nothing left now but the couch; the chairs that belonged to it that had been her mother’s; a fine, old inlaid table; a small bookcase with glass doors; and the old piano. She eyed the latter with a troubled glance. It wasn’t a very good one and had seen long service. Some parishioner moving away had given it to her when she was a child, just beginning music lessons. It wasn’t valuable. She couldn’t, of course, take it with her, and it would be expensive to move it to Glenellen. Besides, she had to have money to get to Uncle Enoch’s. There would be other expenses, too. She must not be dependent upon what the parish would offer to do for her. If they did anything, let it be a surprise, an extra, but she must be independent and pay for everything, though she knew her small bank account had been sadly depleted in the last few sad days. She must get together all she could.

So she deliberately went to the telephone and called up the mother of a small member of her Sunday school class who had told her only a few days before that her daddy was going to get her a piano.

“Mrs. Wayne, this is Amorelle Dean. I’m calling about my piano. Tessy told me you were going to get one, and I wondered if you would care to consider a second-hand one to start with, and then when she is getting on a little farther, you might be able to trade it on a new one? You see, I’m having to break up my home here, and I can’t very well take my piano with me. Of course it’s not new, and I wouldn’t expect to get much for it. But I thought it ought to bring at least thirty-five dollars. I thought I’d let you know first before I told anyone else.”

The outcome of that conversation was that Mrs. Wayne promised to run right around and see the piano, and presently she arrived eagerly with Tessy by the hand and her husband trailing behind.

Mr. Wayne did try to reduce the price, but Amorelle was firm.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne, but I just felt it wasn’t worthwhile to part with it for less than that, and I’ve got to have money to get things settled up here.”

The Waynes consulted together in the hall and finally decided to take the piano and said they would send for it around five o’clock that afternoon.

After they were gone, Amorelle went over to the old piano and laid her hands lovingly on its ivory keys. It was like parting from another friend. Perhaps she ought not to have done it. And yet she knew it had been right. She must have money. She slid down to the stool and let her fingers wander softly over the keys, playing an old hymn or two that her father used to love, playing the first little piece her mother taught her when she was a child.

Then suddenly the doorbell sounded out sharply through the house, and she closed the piano quickly and went to the door, hoping nobody had heard her soft music. The parish would think it dreadful of her to be playing the piano the day after her father’s funeral.

But it was only Johnny, with his honest face beaming and two boxes on his shoulder.

“I couldn’t raise anybody at the back door,” he said with a grin, “so I hadta come around here, but I got the truck in the alleyway, and ef you want I should take anything out to Miss Lavinia’s I can just sneak ’em out the back door an’ nobody’ll notice. Now, where do we get the first books from?”

“Oh, I can pack the boxes,” said the girl eagerly. “What nice boxes!”

“Naw, you better let me pack ’em. I’m usedta packing, see, an’ besides, books are too heavy for your little hands to handle.”

So Amorelle opened her father’s bookcase and they went to work, Amorelle flicking a duster whenever she got a chance, though Hannah had always kept her minister’s study well dusted and they didn’t really need it. But Johnny worked fast and skillfully, and the two boxes were tightly filled in no time. Johnny fished out a handful of nails from one pocket and a hammer from the other and nailed the tops on with strong, firm blows. Then he went out to his truck for another box. At last Amorelle gazed at the empty shelves with a sad satisfaction. Now there could be no question about anybody trying to buy her father’s library, the most precious treasure she owned.

Johnny promised to be back again at dark for another load, and Amorelle went into the house to get a bite of lunch. But somehow Mrs. Brisbane’s biscuits didn’t attract. It seemed as if they would stick in her throat. She swept them and the shriveled Spanish omelette into the garbage pail and found herself a glass of milk and some bread and butter. She didn’t want to be reminded of Mrs. Brisbane while she ate.

A letter came from her aunt, special delivery, and Amorelle read it gloomily while she finished her meager lunch. It somehow sounded alien and uncordial, but perhaps it wasn’t meant that way. It read:

Amorelle drew a deep breath when she had read this and gave a little involuntary shiver. Did she only imagine it or was that letter really cold and heartless? However, it was Uncle Enoch who was father’s brother and who had sent the first invitation. Father had wanted her to go to Uncle Enoch and she was going. She would try and not think about it till she got there. If it proved uncomfortable she didn’t have to stay. She could get a job somewhere and get out. To that end she must get all the money she could from the goods with which she was willing to part. She looked speculatively at the old sideboard and dining room table. She remembered that her mother had always called them ugly. She herself had never liked them. Perhaps even the small sum they would probably bring would be more profitable to her than keeping them. It wasn’t likely she would set up housekeeping and need them. If she did, it would likely be in a little apartment with no dining room. She resolved to sell them if she could. There were no tender memories connected with them as there were with the old rosewood sofa and chairs.

She went around for a few minutes, mentally deciding what to sell in the kitchen and dining room. She must keep her mother’s wedding china, of course, but the kitchenware could be cheaply replaced when needed. Strange how quickly chattels assembled themselves into three classes—those to be kept, those to be sold, and those to be given away.

She was upstairs, packing away table linen, bedding, and towels in the walnut bureau drawers, with bits of cherished bric-a-brac in between, when the doorbell again rang sharply through the silent house.

She cast a quick glance at the clock. It couldn’t be the man for the piano for it was only four o’clock. She hurried down with a little nervous tremor in her heart. Would Mrs. Brisbane and Mrs. Ferguson come so soon? She had hoped to get more things out of sight before they arrived.

But when she opened the front door her heart sank, for there stood pale-faced, weak-chinned Carson Emmons—the widower of a year whom Mrs. Brisbane had recommended that morning as a possible husband for her—and by either hand he held a sallow little twin. Oh could it be that Mrs. Brisbane had dared to talk to him? Her heart failed her, and her knees grew weak. She stared at the man, and he smiled affably and essayed to come in. Of course she couldn’t turn him out. But she felt suddenly as if she might be going to faint! What kind of dreadful meeting was this to be?

“Shake hands with Miss Dean, Annabel, Amelia,” admonished the father suavely, and each apathetic twin stuck forth a bony little hand and surveyed her coldly, almost reluctantly, she felt.

“Won’t you sit down?” said Amorelle, trying to make her shaking voice sound pleasant and casual.

The widower sat down, and the twins drifted into awkward positions on the edges of two chairs and stared around the room.

“It may seem a little soon for us to call,” said the man in some embarrassment. “My excuse is that my business is such that it may be of advantage to us both to transact it soon.”

Amorelle gave him a cold look and tried to keep her lips from shaking.

“Yes?” she managed to say steadily.

“You see, I have thought,” he began again, looking at her with appraising eyes as if he had never quite noticed her before, “that is, it has been suggested to me that on account of my children I should marry again, rather than try to get along any longer with housekeepers, which are most unsatisfactory.”

He paused an instant and looked significantly at Amorelle as though expecting some help from her, but Amorelle sat fixing him with a frozen stare, her whole being up in arms at the awful thing she was being made to endure. She felt chocked with indignation when she thought of Mrs. Brisbane.

“And,” said the man, with a quality in his voice that sounded as if he felt he was getting on very well with his difficult speech, even without her help, “when I looked around I felt there was no one who would be better fitted than you to take the place of my sainted wife and bring up my children. In short, Miss Dean, though it may seem a little out of place so soon after a funeral and perhaps a trifle abrupt, I have come to ask you to marry me. I trust you will pardon my haste. It seemed best to come to the point at once and save both you and me trouble. You will be wanting to move out of here soon, and it would save much trouble and expense to move your things right to my house.”

He cast an interested glance at the rosewood sofa and chairs and, smiling confidently, awaited an answer.

Amorelle looked at his weak chin, at the sparse yellow moustache that surmounted his fulsome upper lip, at the two prominent front teeth that held in the weak under lip and chin, and barely restrained a shudder.

“I was sure you would understand why I am so precipitate,” he added confidently.

Amorelle summoned her voice at last, out of a dry and convulsive throat.

“I quite understand, Mr. Emmons.” Her voice sounded dead and far away to her own ears. “But I am not thinking of getting married at present, and when I do it will not be for reasons of convenience.”

The man edged out on his chair and spoke with a trifle more color to his voice.

“Oh, but I assure you that is not the only reason I wish to urge,” he said, looking at her as one might admire a new piece of furniture or an automobile one had decided to purchase. “I have always admired you exceedingly. Why, even when my wife was living we used to speak of you always in the highest terms. She felt that you were a young woman of great promise, and it was for your Christian character and your ability that I have admired you. In fact, when this matter first came to my attention, my heart went out to you at once as one whom I could not only admire and respect but also become very fond of. And I can assure you that my children have the same feeling. Amelia, Annabel, speak up and tell Miss Dean how much you think of her.”

Suddenly the two pale, inanimate twins arose as one man and spoke in concert in monotonous, well-drilled tones. “We like you, Miss Dean, and we want you to come and be our mother. We promise you we will be good, obedient children and try to please you.”

The twins came to an abrupt halt, swaying on their bony little legs and looking timidly toward their father for approval, as if they had just recited a piece and wondered what to do next.