The Beloved Stranger (4 page)

Sherrill’s mind was so keyed up that she thought of little painful things that at another time would not have attracted her attention.

“But I can’t do this!” said Arla Prentiss, suddenly backing away from the lovely folds of ivory satin that Sherrill was holding for her to slip into. “I couldn’t ever get away with it! Cart would kill me if I tried to do a thing like this!”

“Well, you were talking about killing yourself a few minutes ago,” said Sherrill sharply, wondering at herself as she said it. “It would be only a choice of deaths in that case, wouldn’t it? For mercy’s sake, stand still so I won’t muss your hair! This dress has
got
to go on you, and mighty quick, too!”

“But I couldn’t get away with a thing like this!” babbled Arla as she emerged from the sweeping folds of satin and found herself clothed in a wedding garment, drifting away in an awesome train such as her wildest dreams had never pictured.

“Oh yes, you could,” said Sherrill, snapping the fastenings firmly into place and smoothing down the skirt hurriedly. “All you’ve got to do is to walk up the aisle and say yes to things.”

“Oh, I
couldn’t
!” said Arla in sudden terror. “Why, they would know the minute I reached the church that it wasn’t you! They would never let it get even as far as walking up the aisle. They would
mob
me! They would
drive me out
—!” She paused with a great sob and sank down to the chair again.

“Get up!”
said Sherrill, standing over her fiercely. “You’ll ruin that dress! Listen! There is someone coming to the door! Hush! Yes? Are you calling for me?” Sherrill spoke in a pleasant casual tone. “Is the car ready for me? You say it’s been ready ten minutes? Oh, well”—she laughed a high little unnatural trill—“that’s all right! They always expect a bride to be late. Well, tell the man I’ll be down in a minute or two now!”

The maid retreated down the stairs, and Sherrill flew over to the bed and took up the wedding veil carefully.

“Now, stand there in front of the mirror and watch,” she commanded as she held the lace cap high and brought it down accurately around the golden head. “Stand still, please. I’ve got to do this in just a second. And now listen to me.”

“But I can’t! I can’t really!” protested the substitute bride wildly. “I couldn’t let you do this for me!”

“You’ve
got to!”
said Sherrill commandingly. “I didn’t get up any of this mess, and it’s up to you to put this wedding through. Now listen! The man who is to take me
—you
in—is a stranger to me. His name is Nathan Vane. He’s a second cousin of my mother’s family and he’s never seen me. He hadn’t arrived yet when I came up to dress. Neither had the maid of honor, and she’s a stranger to me, too. Her name is Rena Scott. They’ll both be waiting at the door for you and will be the only ones who will have a chance to talk to you. All you’ll have to do will be to smile and take his arm and go up the aisle. This is the step we’re taking.” Sherrill stood away and went slowly forward. “You’ll see how the others do it. You’re clever, I can see. And when you get up there, all you’ve got to do is answer the questions and say things over after the minister, only using your
own
name instead of mine. Ten to one nobody will notice. You can speak in a low voice. The maid of honor will take your bouquet, and you’ll need to put out your left hand for the ring. Here! You must have the diamond, too!” and Sherrill slipped her beautiful diamond engagement ring off her finger and put it on Arla’s.

“Oh,” gasped Arla, “you’re wonderful! I
can’t
let you do all this!”

“Hold your head still!” commanded Sherrill. “This orange wreath droops a little too much over that ear. There! Isn’t that right? Really, you look a lot like me! I doubt if even the bridegroom will know the difference at first—wedding veils make such a change in one!”

“Oh, but,” gasped Arla, “Carter
will
know me; I’m
sure
he will! And suppose, suppose he should make a scene!”

“He won’t!” said Sherrill sharply. “He hasn’t the nerve!” she added cryptically, and suddenly knew that it was true and she had never known it before.

“But if he should!”

“He won’t!” said Sherrill more surely. “And if he does we’ll all be in it, so you won’t be alone.”

“Oh! Will you be there, too?” Arla said it in a tone of wonder and relief.

“Why, of course,” said Sherrill in the tone of a mother reproving a child. “I’ll be there, perhaps before you are.”

“Oh, why don’t you go
with
me?”

“That would be a situation, wouldn’t it?” commented Sherrill sarcastically. “Former bride and substitute bride arrive together! For heaven’s sake, don’t weep on that satin—it’s bad luck! And don’t talk about it anymore, or you’ll have me crying, too, and that would be just too bad! Here! Take your bouquet. No, hold it on this arm, and your veil and train over the other, now! All set? I’m turning off this light, and you must go out and walk right down the steps quickly. They are all the caterer’s people out there; they won’t know the difference. You really look a lot like me. For mercy’s sake, don’t look as if you were going to your own funeral. Put on a smile and
wear it all the evening.
And listen! You tell Mr. McArthur as soon as you get in the car on the way back with him, that if he plays any tricks or doesn’t treat you right, or doesn’t bring you back smiling to your reception, then I’ll tell everybody here the whole truth! I’ll tell it to everybody that knows him! And I mean what I say!”

“Oh!” gasped Arla, with a dubious lifting of the trouble in her eyes, and then, “
Oh!
Do we
have to come back
for the
reception?
Can’t we just disappear?”

“If you disappear, the whole story will come out in the papers tomorrow morning! I’ll see to that!” threatened Sherrill ominously. “I’m not going to be made a fool of. But if you come back and act like sane people and go away in the usual manner, it will just be a good joke that we have put over for reasons of our own, see? Now go, quick! We mustn’t get them all worked up because you are so late!”

Sherrill snapped out the light and threw open the door, stepping back into the shadow herself and watching breathlessly as Arla took the first few hesitating steps. Then as she grew more confident, stepping off down the hall, disappearing down the stairs, Sherrill closed the door and went over to the window that overlooked the front door.

The front steps were a blaze of light, and she could see quite plainly the caterer’s man who was acting as footman, standing by and helping a vision in white into the car. The door slammed shut, and the car drove away with a flourish. Sherrill watched till it swept around the curve and went toward the gateway. Then she snapped on a tiny bed light and gathered in haste a few things, her black velvet evening wrap, her pearl evening bag, a small sheet of notepaper, and her gold pencil. She would have to write a note to Aunt Pat. Her mind was racing on ahead! The keys to her own little car! Where had she put them? Oh yes, in the drawer of her desk. Had she forgotten anything?

The bride’s car had barely turned into the street before Sherrill went with swift quiet steps back through those two rooms again, into the back hall, cautiously out through the window that Arla had left open, onto the fire escape, and down into the side yard.

It was but the work of a moment to unlock her door of the garage. Fortunately the chauffeur was not there. He had taken Aunt Pat, of course, and everybody who would have known her was at the church. With trembling fingers she started her car, backed out the service drive, and whirled away to the church.

She threaded her way between the big cars parked as far as she could see either way from the church. Could she manage to get hidden somewhere before the service really began?

Breathlessly she drove her car into a tiny place on the side street, perilously near to a fire hydrant, and recklessly threw open her door. The police would be too busy out in the main avenue to notice perhaps, and anyway she could explain to them afterward. Even if she did have to pay a fine, she must get into that church.

A hatless young man in a trim blue serge suit was strolling by as she plunged forth from her car, and fortunately, for she caught the heel of her shoe in the billowy taffeta that was much too long for driving a car, and would have gone headlong if he had not caught her.

“I beg your pardon,” he said pleasantly as he set her upon her feet again. “Are you hurt?”

“Oh no!” said Sherrill, smiling agitatedly. “Thank you so much. You saved me from a bad fall. I was just in a terrible hurry,” and she turned frantic eyes toward the looming side of the church across the street. The young man continued to keep a protective arm about her and eye her anxiously.

“You’re sure you’re not hurt?” he asked again. “You didn’t strike your head against the running board?”

“No!” she gasped breathlessly, trying to draw away. “I’m quite all right. But please, I must hurry. I am late now.”

“Where do you want to go?” he asked, shifting his hand to her elbow and taking a forward step with her.

“Over there”—she motioned frantically—“to the church. I must get in before the ceremony begins.”

“You ought to wait until you get your breath,” he urged.

“I can’t! I’ve
got
to get there!” and she tried to pull away from him and fly across the street. But he kept easy pace with her, helping her up to the curb.

“Don’t you want to go around to the front door?” he said as she turned toward the side entrance.

“No!” she said, her heart beating so fast that it almost choked her. “This little side door. I want to get up to the choir loft.”

“Well, I’m coming with you!” he announced, fairly lifting her up the steps. “You’re all shaken up from that fall. You’re trembling! Can I take you to your friends? You’re not fit to be alone.”

“I’m—all—right!” panted Sherrill, fetching a watery smile and finding the tears right at hand.

“Don’t hurry!” he commanded, circling her waist impersonally with a strong arm and fairly lifting her up the narrow winding stair that led to the choir loft. “You’ve plenty of time. Don’t you hear? Those are the preliminary chords to the wedding march. The bride must be just at the door! Take it slow and easy!”

They arrived at the top of the stair in an empty choir loft. It was a church of formal arrangement, with the organ console down out of sight somewhere and the choir high above the congregation, visible only when standing to sing, and then only to one who dared to look aloft.

The whole quiet place was fully screened by plumy palms, and great feathery tropical ferns, and not even a stray from the street had discovered this vantage point from which to watch the ceremony. They had it all to themselves. No curious eyes could watch the face of the agonized bride-that-was-to-have-been.

Sherrill nestled in wearily against the wall behind the thickest palm, where yet she could peer through and see everything. She thanked her unknown friend pantingly with a hasty fervor, and then forgot he was still beside her.

Breathlessly she leaned forward, looking down, catching a glimpse of the bridegroom as he stood tall and handsome beside the best man, a smile of expectancy upon his face. Her bridegroom, watching for
her
to come! Her heart contracted and a spasm of pain passed over her face. She mustn’t, oh, she mustn’t cry! This wasn’t
her wedding!
This was something she must nerve herself to go through. This was something tragic that must move aright or all the future would be chaos.

Then she remembered and her eyes turned tragically, alertly, down the aisle to the front door, her hand unconsciously pressed against her heart in a quick little frantic motion.

Yes, the bride had arrived! Of course she might have known that or the wedding march would not be ringing out its first stately measures! Yes, there was the huddle of rainbow-colored dresses that were the bridesmaids. How glad she was that none of them were really intimate friends. All of them new friends from Aunt Pat’s circle of acquaintances. Her own girlhood friends were all too poor or too far away to be summoned. The first of them, the pink ones, were stepping forward now, slowly differentiating themselves from the mass of color, beginning the procession with measured, stilled tread; and back in the far dimness of the hall, silhouetted against the darkness of the out-of-doors, she could see the mist of whiteness that must be the bride, with the tall dark cousin beside her. Yes, the bride had come. Sherrill’s secret fear that she might somehow lose her nerve and escape on the way to the church was unfounded. This girl really wanted Carter enough to go through this awful ordeal to get him! Besides, a girl couldn’t very well run away and hope to escape detection in a bridal gown. Sherrill felt a hysterical laugh coming to her lips that changed into a quiver of tears, and a little shiver that ran down her back. And then suddenly she felt that strong arm again just under her elbow, supporting her, just as her knees began to manifest a tendency to crumple under her.

“Oh, thank you!” she breathed softly, letting her weight rest on his arm. “I’m—a little—nervous—I guess!”

“You aren’t fit to stand!” he whispered. “I wonder if I couldn’t find you a chair down there in the back room?”

She shook her head.

“It wouldn’t be worthwhile,” she answered, “the ceremony will soon be over. You are very kind, but I’ll be all right.”

He adjusted his arm so it would better support her, and somehow it helped and calmed her to feel him standing there. She had no idea how he looked or who he was. She hadn’t really looked at him. She just knew he was kind, and that he was a stranger who didn’t know a thing about her awful predicament. If he had been a friend who knew, she couldn’t have stood with him there. But it was like being alone with herself to have him staying there so comfortingly. After it was over she would never likely see him again. She hoped he would never know who she was nor anything about it. She hadn’t really thought anything about him as a personality. He was just something by the way to lean upon in her extremity.