Amorelle (5 page)

Amorelle had a sudden desire to laugh, yes, and to cry, too. Was it possible she was going to become hysterical?

“That’s very sweet of you,” she said, trying to smile at the two frightened little girls, “but it’s quite impossible. I hope you’ll find a nice mother somewhere whom you will like even more and be very happy.”

Then she turned toward the father quickly.

“Mr. Emmons, I certainly thank you for your appreciation, but I’ll have to refuse. I have other plans, and I do not want to marry anyone.”

The widower gasped slightly and stared at her out of unbelieving eyes.

“But, but—” he said, edging a little farther forward in his chair. “You do not understand. I’m sure you do not understand. I’m very well fixed and my business is growing. In a little while I should be able to offer my wife almost anything she wants. Indeed, even now I would be willing to get you a small car of your own and would allow you a private bank account as well as an allowance with which to run the house. I—”

But Amorelle broke in upon his remarks.

“No, not for a car of my own nor a private bank account nor anything you could offer me, Mr. Emmons. I wouldn’t marry you now or ever. I’m sorry if I’m disappointing you, but I just couldn’t ever marry you.”

But Carson Emmons, in spite of his weak chin, was not in the habit of easily giving up anything he had set out to get, and he simply settled down doggedly to business and proceeded to argue his case, inch by inch, moment by moment, until Amorelle’s lips became a thin, firm line of adamant, and her eyes grew frantic with aversion and horror.

Suddenly she glanced up at the quiet little clock on the mantel and saw that it was ten minutes to five. In ten minutes the piano movers would be here. Must they find this ridiculous person still nagging her to marry him? She looked at him in despair. How could she get rid of him?

Just then he arose and came toward her with a motion almost as if he intended to go down on his knees to implore her to yield to his proposal; and the round-eyed twins sat watching him, fascinated.

Amorelle sprang to her feet and backed off away from him.

“Oh, Mr. Emmons,” she cried anxiously, “please, please don’t say any more! I cannot marry you. I do not want to marry anyone. Really, you are only making it hard for us both. And, Mr. Emmons, I’m sorry to seem rude, but a moving van is coming at five to take some of my things away, and I’m not quite ready for them yet. Would you excuse me now?”

The pale young man paused and stared at her dumbfounded. Could it be that she was really refusing him finally?

“And you really mean that there is no hope for me?” he said reproachfully. “You would leave these two little motherless girls to grow up under the care of servants? What am I to do?”

Amorelle looked at him desperately.

“The little girls are not my responsibility, Mr. Emmons. God has not put it into my heart to marry you nor to look after them. If you would get down on your knees to Him instead of to me, perhaps He would show you what you are to do. But once and for all, no, Mr. Emmons, I cannot marry you, and I wish you would please go and say no more about it.” She was shaken between hilarious laughter and furious tears.

The small, pale blue eyes narrowed almost to the point of indignation, and a baffled look came over the weak face.

“I don’t suppose you realize in the least what you are giving up,” he said, speaking as sternly as a weak-faced man could speak. “You have not seen the addition I have recently made to my house, nor the handsome furniture I bought shortly before my wife’s death. I will go now, but I would like to come after you tomorrow in my car and take you over to my place and let you see how I am fixed before you give your final decision.”

“I shall be busy all day tomorrow, Mr. Emmons, and I prefer not to go to your house. I would not marry you under any consideration.”

Amorelle’s voice had taken on a tragic edge now, like a frightened child, and she felt that if he did not go at once she could not stand it any longer.

He regarded her morosely for a moment and then turned, and taking a twin by either hand, he marched from the door of the manse with haughty mien, down the steps, and out to his car.

Amorelle closed the door quickly, locked it, and fled upstairs. Oh, how much more of this torture had she yet to endure? Would that terrible woman speak to
all
those men she had suggested? How could she escape?

But there was little time to consider. A large moving van was rumbling up to the door.

Amorelle gave a frightened glance from the window and, seeing the van, hurried down.

When the piano was gone, she looked around the room pitifully. Already the place seemed to have taken on an alien look. The home of her childhood was going fast. In another day or two, all would be changed. In another week she would be gone; sooner, if she could get ready. Well it could not be too soon, if she was going to have many more such callers as she had this afternoon.

She set to work again frantically; Johnny would be coming for a load soon after dark.

When Johnny arrived, backing up his truck in the alley, she had the bureau packed and ready to go.

“I’m taking two loads tonight,” he said. “Mebbe three, I’ll see. We wantta get away with as much as possible before the angry mob arrives!” And he laughed cheerily.

Johnny and Tod hustled things out of the room and stowed them away in the truck, which seemed to hold an amazing amount, and did it all so breezily that Amorelle had no time to feel sorrowful. One minute they were there, the next they were gone, and suddenly she looked around the little parlor that looked so amazingly large and unfamiliar now and found it empty.

She went and sat down on the stairs and tried to stop that sinking feeling that came over her. True, she hadn’t eaten much that day, but she didn’t want to eat. She passed her hands over her tired eyes and then remembered that Johnny and Tod would soon be back for another load and she must get some old quilts to put around the furniture to keep it from getting scratched.

When Johnny came back, he brought a pail of barley soup and a covered dish containing a generous piece of custard pie.

“Miss Landon says you’re to eat that right away,” ordered Johnny. “It’s good. She gave us some, too. That’s why we were so long. Now, can we get that bedroom set?”

Amorelle was very tired when the last load was gone. She had eaten the soup and custard pie with relish, and now she desired nothing so much as to drop into bed and go to sleep. But just as she was locking the front door, she heard footsteps outside and the bell pealed through the house once more. For an instant she looked wildly around her with the idea of turning off the light and stealing away without opening the door, but she knew she could not do that. It might be almost any of the congregation, and she must not hurt the feelings of people who had loved her father and been good to her for years.

So she girded her heart for whatever might be coming and opened the door, and there stood Mr. Merchant, the third of Mrs. Brisbane’s matrimonial suggestions, his big, kindly face beaming genially at her from the dim light of the porch.

Amorelle felt her knees beginning to sag under her. Could she go through another proposal tonight? Wasn’t there some way she could get out of it, excuse herself and say she had to go somewhere immediately? But no, he would only offer to go with her, and she really was too tired to go anywhere. While she tried wildly to think of some excuse, Mr. Merchant stepped in and took off his hat, greeting her delightedly as if his errand was a real pleasure to himself.

In a husky, tired little voice, Amorelle offered him a seat in the dining room, explaining that the parlor furniture had all been sent to storage.

“Oh well, now, now,” said the caller, looking around and blinking at the empty room. “Why, you really are torn up here, aren’t you? Why, I didn’t come any too soon, did I?”

Amorelle sat down in a chair on the opposite side of the table and gripped her cold, young hands together in her lap. She felt a constriction in her throat and a terrible desire to cry again. She looked at the caller with haggard eyes and waited for him to make known his errand.

“Of course I want first to express my sympathy, Miss Dean, in your great bereavement,” he began, resting pleased eyes on her face. “Your father was a good man. The salt of the earth. This church will search long to find another as good. The church has been truly blessed in having his ministry through so many years, and blessed also in having you, his daughter, to help him. You have been a great example to the young in this town!”

Amorelle listened to his words wearily, noticing the gray around his temples, the sagging lines around his mouth. She had always thought of him as a pleasant, harmless, elderly man. But now with the thought of him as a possible suitor, he suddenly seemed very old and tiresome, utterly obnoxious in such a role. If she could only think of some way to keep him from saying what she dreaded. She had a desire to get up and run down to the cellar or out the back door and leave him by himself—but of course she could not treat a respected member of the church that way, and she tried to make her voice pleasant and polite as she answered.

“Thank you, Mr. Merchant. My father always appreciated your friendship.”

“Well, that’s nice to know, but I want you to understand that for a long time I have looked upon you as a most worthy and capable young woman. I—this is—Well, you know—I—”

Amorelle in a panic broke in upon his careful speech.

“That’s kind of you, Mr. Merchant. And how is your mother? Is she suffering as much this fall?”

“Oh, my mother? Yes, my mother. Well, I was coming to her. Yes, I’m sorry to say she is suffering a great deal, but she knows her time is short now, and she is resigned.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” said Amorelle, hoping against hope that she might be able to switch the conversation away from herself.

“Well, as I was saying,” resumed the caller, “she knows that her time is short, and perhaps that is the reason she is so willing that I should make some change in my life at this time. Perhaps you are not aware, Miss Dean, that when my mother was taken so ill, her one obsession seemed to be a dread that I would leave her, or perhaps marry and bring someone home who would not be congenial to her.”

“Oh, poor thing,” said Amorelle, trying to make her voice sound sympathetic and not hysterical.

“Yes, that is the way I felt,” said the man, beaming upon her. “I am glad you feel that way about her, too. It makes me feel that I am right in my conclusions. And so, as I was saying—”

Amorelle caught her breath desperately, but the man went steadily on.

“I promised my mother that I would never leave her while she lived, and that I would never marry without her complete agreement in my choice. So the years have passed happily and I have not been moved to choose a mate for myself until—well—I might say, quite recently.”

He paused to smile at the girl, but Amorelle was struggling with a wave of anger. This, of course, was going to be some more of Mrs. Brisbane’s meddling! How outrageous!

“To make it more definite, it was this very morning that I got to thinking about you and what an excellent wife you would make in every way, and how alone you must be now, and how opportune it would be for you at this time if a home could be offered to you. After casting about in my mind a time, I went and had a talk with my mother, and I found her most agreeable to the idea. She felt that you would be a most suitable wife for me, and she seems quite eager to have the marriage consummated at once. She says that she will be able to help you, teach and advise you in so many ways before she is taken from us, and she desires that no time shall be lost—”

Suddenly Amorelle arose with protest in her eyes, her face very white.

“Please, please, Mr. Merchant, don’t say any more—” she began earnestly, but the man lifted a restraining hand.

“Just a minute, Miss Dean. I would like to finish, if you please!”

There was a slight note of hauteur, almost offense, in his voice.

Amorelle dropped into her chair again, a hopeless look in her eyes. What would it be like to be married to a man who insisted upon finishing all his elaborate sentences with a smile like that on his face?

“And so, as I was saying,” he went on, looking steadily at the impatient girl, “she insists that we lose no time. In brief, Miss Dean, while I fully realize that you may feel it is a little soon after your recent sorrow, I have come here to offer you my hand and heart in marriage, and to suggest that the ceremony be performed at once, so that you can come immediately to your husband’s home for refuge. I shall have a right then to stand between you and the world. I feel that under the circumstances haste is quite justified. I feel that your father would quite approve and be glad to have me take you over and protect you. Now, what do you say?”

He finished with a complacent smile and looked at Amorelle to have his suggestion ratified.

“I shall have to say no, Mr. Merchant,” said Amorelle with her mouth in a little firm line. “I do not wish to get married.”

“Oh, but my dear, you are not going to disappoint me, after I have waited all these years for the right one to come and the right time to ask you.”

“It won’t be a great disappointment if you only thought of it this morning, Mr. Merchant.” Amorelle tried to smile and make light of the matter.

“Oh, but you mistake me, Miss Dean. I have often sat in church and watched you at the organ and thought what an ideal woman you were. I have dreamed about you, thought about having the sunshine of your smile always in my home. I have admired you beyond any woman I have seen in years. I feel sure we should grow very fond of one another. I feel that you are quite queen of my heart.”

He laid his hand on his heart and bowed low in an old-time courtly way that suddenly gave Amorelle that inane desire again to burst out laughing. She restrained herself, however, and felt a touch of pity for him. Poor soul, he had never had any youth of his own and now he was making a snatch at hers; and from horror, her feeling turned to sadness.