Amorelle (6 page)

“No, Mr. Merchant,” she said, shaking her head earnestly. “You have made a mistake. I am nothing but a child compared to you. I don’t want to be unkind or ungrateful for all the nice things you have said, but I must speak frankly if you insist on talking any more about this. I have always looked upon you as my father’s friend, not mine. I would never feel that you were a suitable person for me to marry, even if I wanted to marry anybody. There is far too great a difference in our ages. I don’t want to hurt you, but I can remember when you used to buy me dolls and fur bunnies for Christmas and Easter.”

She tried to smile. But the complacent smile did not fade from the man’s face.

“That is to me but one more advantage,” he answered. “I feel that I know you thoroughly, and you know me. We shall the more easily adjust ourselves to one another. And it may surprise you that the very fact of your youth was the thing that most recommended you to my mother as suitable. She felt that you being young would be the more pliable and easy to be trained by her than an older woman. You satisfy my mother fully, Miss Dean.”

“But I don’t care to marry your mother, Mr. Merchant. I think we need say no more.” And Amorelle arose.

Yet still he lingered, unable to grasp the fact that she had really, definitely refused him. Even when he stood reluctantly at last upon the doorstep saying good-night, he turned back to say, “Well, if after thinking it over you change your mind, please feel perfectly free to let me know. I shall be anxiously awaiting a word from you, and I shall not consider that this is final. Good-night!”

He was gone at last, and Amorelle closed and locked the door firmly, snapped out the hall light, and walked back into the kitchen where she paused in the dark, clenched her hands, and stamped her foot angrily.

“Oh, that
woman!”
she said between shut teeth. “That woman! And to think I’m helpless! I can’t do a thing about it!”

Then after a pause, she said aloud again, “Well, thank goodness there’s only Mr. Pike left, and I’ll take care that he never gets in the house while I’m here. If I see him I’ll run away, or go upstairs and lock myself in!”

She said it with determination, and then a sudden horror came to her. Perhaps the woman would think up some more bachelors to add to her list. What a thought!

Eventually Amorelle went up to bed and, kneeling, tried to commit herself to her heavenly Father, tried to put aside her anger and worry and just trust herself in the only hands that could protect her. But after she lay down to rest, it was long before she could get to sleep in spite of her weariness. As her mind threshed over and over the scenes through which she had passed that day, she wondered anxiously what trying things were to be her portion for the morrow.

“Oh, I’m not trusting God the way Father taught me to do.” She sighed wearily as she turned over for what seemed like the thousandth time and wished for day.

Amorelle did not know that, though she had carefully drawn down all the shades in the lower floor to protect herself from prying eyes, she had gone upstairs and left two lights burning—one in the kitchen and the other in the study— without in the least realizing that she had done so. If she had not been so distraught, she would never have been so careless. But the fact that the lights were burning saved her from one more unwelcome visitor who was not yet aware that Hannah the faithful was still nursing her sister, and that the minister’s orphaned daughter was alone in the manse again that night.

J
ohnny brought two barrels on his first round in the morning and left them in the dining room for Amorelle to pack the china she wanted to keep. She went straight to work, carefully wrapping each delicate cup and plate of her mother’s wedding china and stuffing in the straw and wood shavings that Johnny had provided. Dear Johnny! Good Johnny! If all the would-be lovers took their rebuffs as pleasantly and helpfully as Johnny had done, life would have less perplexities and problems for her.

She worked rapidly to get done. The sooner she got out of the town, the sooner such exciting episodes as had filled yesterday would be over.

When the last bit of her mother’s china was packed, she flew around getting together articles she wished to sell. This proved to be a trying matter to decide just what to keep and what to sell. But the man arrived in the midst of it and settled several troublesome problems by offering more than she expected for some things and refusing to take others. She was agreeably surprised, when he had gone the rounds from cellar to attic and set down the articles with the prices that he was willing to give, to find that it all amounted to a little over fifty dollars. Her heart grew somewhat lighter as she ate her lunch. She would surely be able to pay all her indebtedness and have enough left for a ticket to her uncle’s.

But her lunch hour was cut short by callers again, and with trepidation she saw Mrs. Ferguson’s firm, uncompromising countenance through the front door glass as she went to answer the bell.

There were three ladies standing on the porch—Mrs. Ferguson, Mrs. Woods, and Mrs. Brisbane. The representatives of the Ladies’ Aid had arrived. Like a soldier girding on armor, she lifted her heart for help from above and went forward to let them in.

“I’m rather torn up here,” she apologized with a faint smile. “I’ll take you into the study. I guess that is the least unsettled.”

“Torn up?” said Mrs. Ferguson in her deep bass voice, casting a swift, scrutinizing glance into the empty parlor. “Why, not torn up already?”

“There wasn’t any point in waiting,” said the girl, trying to speak cheerfully. “It was easier to go right to work. It had to be done!”

“But, my dear!” reproached the deep voice, fixing her with hard eyes through double lenses. “You should not have gone ahead without advice. You are very young, and it is our place to see that you do the wisest thing. I thought I sent word to you through Mrs. Brisbane that we were coming for that purpose. I don’t understand why you had to be in such a hurry. Of course, I had to have a little time to consult with some of the other members of the Society.”

“Mrs. Brisbane spoke of your coming,” said Amorelle with a sweet dignity, “but I didn’t want to be a trouble to anyone. I didn’t want you to feel that I was a burden you had to carry. I’m quite able to see to things, and Father and I talked some things over together, too. Come into the study, won’t you? I’ll bring in a couple of dining room chairs and we can all be comfortable.”

But the self-appointed committee stood immovable.

“But what have you done with your parlor furniture?” demanded the deep voice of the general, looking hard around the little, empty parlor, as if expecting to find it hidden in some of the empty corners.

“I have sent it away to a friend of Mother’s who is going to keep it for me until I know just where I am to be permanently,” said Amorelle sweetly.

“But my dear! You should not have done that!” said the chairman of the committee. “We have been considering buying it for the ladies’ parlor in the church, unless the Society should decide to partly furnish the manse for a very young minister who may be called, in which case, of course, it could stay right here. And Mrs. Woods also has been thinking of buying it herself for her east room. She wanted to look at it carefully and see if it was really in as good repair as she remembered it. What a pity you should have sent it away and made us all the trouble and expense of bringing it back again. I hope it has not gone far. Mrs. Brisbane, didn’t you make her understand that we were coming here for that purpose?”

“I certainly did!” said Mrs. Brisbane with set lips.

“But I had no intention of selling that furniture, Mrs. Ferguson. It was old and very precious, a part of my mother’s possessions that had been in the family for generations. I would not sell it under any considerations. I’m sorry you are disappointed.”

“But can you afford to keep for sentimental reasons, my dear, anything that would bring you money at this time?”

Amorelle merely smiled.

“I think so,” she answered quietly. “Will you step into the study, Mrs. Ferguson?”

“Well, you’re a very silly child!” said Mrs. Ferguson, following her with her chin in the air. “We shall have to talk of that later.”

“But Amorelle,” protested Mrs. Woods, suddenly entering into the conversation, “you really don’t understand what you are doing, I suppose. I was willing to pay quite a little. I had thought of offering you fifteen dollars for that sofa and perhaps two and a half apiece for the chairs. I might even be willing to make it twenty-five for the sofa and five apiece for the chairs if I found them in justifiable condition for the investment.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. Woods, but Father told me never to let those pieces go under a thousand dollars, as they are very rare. But personally I wouldn’t sell them at any price. Not if I hadn’t a cent in the world left, and I’m not quite down to starvation yet.”

All three ladies gasped.

“How ridiculous!” snorted Mrs. Woods, her face growing red with disappointment. “I’ve heard that you had an unbalanced judgment, and I begin to think it is true.”

But Mrs. Ferguson diverted attention now in her deep, throaty voice.

“Oh, and yes, there’s the desk, Amorelle. Now, I’ll tell you, we had thought if we bought a number of your things from you that, being as the desk was given to your father by the church, you would want to leave it here in the manse as a donation from him.”

“Oh, but it wasn’t given to him by the church, Mrs. Ferguson!” said Amorelle quickly. “It was a personal gift from Judge Rivington.”

“I beg your pardon, Amorelle. I was not so informed. You have probably forgotten. I was told that the church came here as a surprise party and brought the desk with them on the occasion of some anniversary.”

“I am sorry to have to contradict you, Mrs. Ferguson,” said Amorelle. “The church did give us a surprise party and brought a little desk light for Father. It was on his fiftieth birthday. But the desk was given privately about two months before that. Have you never seen the inscription? Here, let me show you.”

“Inscription?” said Mrs. Ferguson. “If there was an inscription, why, of course it was given by the church.”

Amorelle went to the desk and drew out the upper right-hand drawer.

“There it is, Mrs. Ferguson. You can read it for yourself,” she said, lifting a pile of writing paper and revealing a silver plate set deep in the wood and engraved in clear script.

Mrs. Ferguson leaned over and brought her severe gaze to bear upon the words.

T
O MY BELOVED FRIEND AND PASTOR
,
R
EV
. J
OHN
A
NDERSON
D
EAN
,
I
N LOVING RECOGNITION OF THE
SPIRITUAL HELP AND COMFORT
I
HAVE DERIVED FROM HIS TEACHING OF THE
B
IBLE,
AND FROM PERSONAL ASSOCIATION WITH
HIS BEAUTIFUL
C
HRISTLIKE LIFE.
FROM
R
EAVER
R
ATHBONE
R
IVINGTON

Mrs. Ferguson read it through twice, carefully weighing each word with a hope that she might find a loophole to bear her out in her statements.

“Well,” she said straightening up, “that is most extraordinary! I certainly was informed—Just when was that plate put in there?”

She fixed Amorelle with a gimlet stare.

A wave of scarlet swept over Amorelle’s white face and her eyes suddenly flashed angrily.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” she said haughtily. “It was in there when the desk came to the house, and it happened to be on the anniversary of Father’s wedding day, so I can tell you the date of the arrival. If you doubt my word you might write to Mrs. Loomis Rivington. She and her husband came along with Judge Rivington when he presented it to Father.”

“Oh, no, I don’t doubt your word, of course,” said Mrs. Ferguson, “but it does seem strange! But even so, Amorelle, Judge Rivington was a member of our church, and in a way that desk was a gift from the church, you know, and I thought it would be so appropriate for you to present it to the church study or the manse study. We could of course pay you for it, if you felt you could not afford to give it entirely. I suppose you’ll have to sell it. It’s a handsome thing and ought to bring you in something, and of course you could not use it yourself, a man’s desk!”

“No, Mrs. Ferguson, I couldn’t sell it. Father gave it to me. He spoke about it. He wouldn’t have liked me to give it away even if I were willing. It is one of the precious things that I want to keep always. Besides, I don’t think the Rivingtons would like it either.”

“Well, you’re a strange girl!” said Mrs. Ferguson, setting her lips disagreeably. “Well, now about your father’s library. We’ll buy that anyway. Why—What have you done with his books? I thought we’d just buy the bookcase and all as it was! We were going to put a memorial plate on it and put it in the church study for the use of all ministers, you know, and it would serve as a memorial for your father.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” said Amorelle in a weary little voice, “but I couldn’t really think of parting with my father’s books.”

“But my dear child!” exclaimed the woman aggressively, as if this was entirely too much to stand. “A theological library! What could a girl possibly do with a theological library?”

“You don’t understand, Mrs. Ferguson,” said Amorelle gently. “It is not just that to me, although a theological library is to me the most interesting kind of library there could be. But, you know, almost every one of those books I have read aloud with my father. We have talked them over for days at a time, and they have grown precious to me. I could not think of giving them up! Besides, Father and I went without something to save the money for almost every one. You know each of the books has an individuality to me. They are almost like people, friends of my father’s and mine.”

“Well, upon my word!” boomed the deep voice. “I never heard of such sentimentality! Fancy! Just books! And some of them very valuable books indeed, I suppose; that is, to the proper person. You certainly have been brought up most unpractically.”

“I always said a man wasn’t a proper person to bring up a girl, anyway,” put in Mrs. Brisbane.

“Well, it’s too late to consider that now, of course,” said Mrs. Ferguson, “but I certainly wish we had come over yesterday morning. It is really going to be quite awkward, after the whole Society had such a time deciding what they would do about it, and Mrs. Skelly starting things off finally with that five-dollar donation. A good many people are going to be disappointed, and after so many of them being so generous, too. Well, Amorelle, how about your piano? Or are you attached to that, too?”

“No, Mrs. Ferguson, that is sold,” smiled Amorelle feebly. It seemed as if her nerves were being extracted one at a time and she had to smile to the last. She wondered if she could hold out.

“Sold! Oh, what a pity! Not definitely, I hope. Well, you probably have been cheated on that. I suppose you got a mere pittance. Why, Amorelle, we were prepared to offer you twenty-five dollars for the piano, and that’s more than you could have gotten at the piano store for it. We inquired before we came.”

“But I got thirty-five for it, Mrs. Ferguson,” said Amorelle quietly.

The lady stared.

“You don’t mean it? Well, it certainly must have been somebody who was no judge of instruments who paid that. Well, what is there left, Amorelle, that you are willing to part with? We came here to help you out but it seems you didn’t need us.”

“Thank you for your kind intention,” said the girl gravely, “but I expected to have to make my own arrangements, of course. I don’t really believe there is anything that is worthwhile. I have disposed of all the things I did not wish to keep. I was anxious to get everything settled. I understood that the manse might be wanted soon. I am hoping to have everything out of the way and the house pretty well cleaned by the first of next week, perhaps sooner if Hannah is able to help me.”

“It seems to me you are in a great hurry,” said Mrs. Woods offendedly. “I supposed we would be in plenty of time. By the way, didn’t you have a walnut bedroom set? I was prepared to pay a good price for that if I found it what I remembered it to be.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Woods, but my walnut bedroom set is not for sale!”

“Oh! Indeed! Well, it really doesn’t seem necessary for us to stay any longer, does it?”

“Won’t you sit down for a little while?” asked Amorelle wistfully. She could not bear that even these women, unpleasant though they had been, should leave in a huff. They were members of her father’s church. It seemed a desecration to fight over his precious books and desk.

“Well, no, I think not,” said Mrs. Ferguson. “I really left very important matters to come here to do what I supposed was a kindness, but it seems it was not needed. Now, if there is anything more I can do, perhaps you will suggest it, Amorelle.”

“Oh,” said the girl, almost ready to burst into tears, “I just want your kindly thought. I don’t need to bother you with the other things, but I do appreciate your love of my father, and your intention to help, even though I didn’t need it. I know I’m young and I’m quite liable to make mistakes, but you see, most of these matters I had talked over with Father, and they were practically settled before he went. But I know he would appreciate your thoughtfulness for me.”

Then suddenly her eyes rested on Mrs. Brisbane, and a quick, startled remembrance of all the mortification that mistaken woman had brought upon her hardened the smile which she had tried to muster.