The Flower Brides (14 page)

“I’m glad you were willing to go tonight,” said Ethan suddenly, guiding his car skillfully through traffic. “I took a chance buying these tickets. I didn’t know whether you cared for music or not.”

“I love it!” said Marigold enthusiastically. “Only I don’t have many chances to hear it. Mother and I don’t go out very much. Mother is often tired. And most of the young people I know don’t seem to be interested in music. They like wild parties and jazz and nightclubs and things.”

“And you? Don’t you go in for those things?” He studied her face keenly in the dim light of the car.

Marigold sat in a troubled silence.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly at last. “I’ve only gone once or twice, and then I felt very uncomfortable and out of place. I don’t just know why. It didn’t seem real.”

He was still studying her. At last he said slowly, “You
would
be out of place. It wouldn’t fit
you
. It
isn
’
t
real.”

She expected him to say more, but he didn’t. Just drove on and sat quietly, now and then looking at her furtively.

“Well,” said Marigold at last with a little lilt in her voice, “I know I’m going to enjoy it tonight. Though I may not feel quite at home—I think it will be something like the outside door of heaven.”

He looked at her and smiled. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

When they were in the concert hall at last and the first great strains of the opening number were thrilling through the air, Marigold tried to think over their conversation on the way, and somehow she couldn’t remember much that was said, but it had left a nice, comfortable, pleasant impression, as if they were in accord.

Occasionally when something in the program especially pleased her, she glanced up at him with her eyes full of delight, and every time she found his pleasant glance upon her, evidently enjoying her pleasure. There was none of that aloofness, that disapproval, she had felt at intervals all day, and she was relieved and content.

He was enjoying the music, too. She knew it by the way his glance met hers at the most exquisite climaxes. On the way home he spoke about certain phrases, the way the woodwind instruments echoed the melody in the symphony, the technique of the solo artist, the depth of insight into the meaning of the score shown by the conductor. She listened to his comments with interest. She had never heard anyone talk of music in this way. None of Laurie’s friends knew or liked any music but the weirdest jazz, and then only as an accompaniment to dancing or as a shield for their wild, hilarious conversation. She felt as if this young man regarded it almost as a holy thing, music.

Marigold was sorry when they got back to the house and she had to go to bed. She didn’t want to be by herself. She was afraid she was suddenly going to realize that the party was now going on and she was missing it. But instead, when she slipped quietly in beside her sleeping mother, all the thinking she did was to wonder about the look Ethan Bevan had given her when he had said good night. Did it have withdrawal again in its quality, or was it just pleasant approval? Almost he had looked as if he were sorry to have to say good night so soon. Buy why should she care to discuss the matter with herself? Miles away at home there was a wonderful party going on now to which she had been invited and might just as well have gone! And here she was off spending her time with a young man she had never seen before and hadn’t at all liked at first. One who had decidedly disapproved of her at first, too, she was sure.

Things were strange. Why was she here? She had no one to blame for it but herself. And why did she puzzle over this young man? Let him think what he chose. He had admired her dress, anyway. Or had he? Sometimes she thought he was just poking fun at her, laughing in his sleeve at her all the time. Perhaps he thought she put on that dress to charm him. Why should she want to charm him? She had Laurie. Or
did
she? Was he not perhaps even at this moment dancing with that other girl, giving that long adoring look into her eyes that Marigold knew so well and up to two days ago had considered all her own?

Oh well!

Marigold drew a deep sigh, turning softly over, and suddenly there came to her the memory of those strong arms around her that had rescued her from that terrible sense of falling and brought her to earth so safely that her fear was lost! In the memory of that, she drifted peacefully off to sleep.

It was late when she awoke. Her mother had dressed and gone to eat breakfast from a tray with her sister. Marigold dressed hurriedly and went down, wondering if Ethan Bevan would be gone.

He had finished his breakfast, that was evident, for there was only one place set at the table.

As she drank her orange juice, she wondered about him. Perhaps he had gone back to his boardinghouse. It might be that she would not see him again before she left. He had said he had important things to do.

“Mr. Ethan had his breakfast early,” remarked the maid as she brought the cereal and cream. “He went out to the breakfast mission, I think he said.”

Breakfast mission
. What might that be? Well, she would probably not need to worry anymore what he was thinking; she could go her own way now and see the city as she pleased without having to wonder whether she was pleasing his highness or not. There must be some old churches. She would look some of them up and find quaint old-time landmarks—sacred, historic places of worship. She might have asked Ethan yesterday about them, but she was glad she had not. He would have thought he had to attend her again, and he had certainly served his time at being host to her. She would just wander out and find them for herself. There must be churches all around, and certainly a lot of places she would like to see at her leisure.

She had just finished the last bite of her delicious breakfast and was about to go upstairs to see her mother and aunt before sallying forth on her voyage of discovery, when Ethan walked in at the front door and flung his hat on the hall table.

“Oh, you’re down,” he said casually. “I didn’t know whether the household had waked up yet or not. I had to go out on an early quest. One of my men, my laborers at the job, has been absent for nearly a week, and I wanted to hunt him up. He has been off on a drunk, I suspect, for he left with his pay envelope last Saturday. I had a notion he must be about out of funds by this time, so I went the rounds of the usual rendezvous and found him at last at the Sunday morning breakfast mission. I thought he’d be about ready for that by this time. I gave him a lecture and fixed him with the mission for the day, arranged with another fellow to bring him to the job tonight, and he promised me he’d keep straight and be on hand bright and early tomorrow morning. I hope he will, but you are never sure.”

“Oh, that was kind of you to go after him.”

“Nothing kind about it,” said Ethan gruffly. “It’s my job, isn’t it, to look after my fellow men? Especially those that are under me in my work. I only wish I could reach deeper down than just the surface and get their feet fixed on solid rock where they can’t be moved. I’m always glad when that can be done!”

She looked at him in surprise. This was a new view of this young man. A man as young as he to care what became of his workers!

But before she could make any remark about it, he got up suddenly and started toward the stairs; then glancing at his watch, he turned back to her and said hesitantly, almost brusquely, “I suppose you wouldn’t—care—to go to church—with me, would you?” He lifted his eyes and looked straight into hers, almost piercingly. The question was like a challenge. She had a feeling that he expected her to make some excuse and get out of it, but she lifted her eyes with sudden resolve.

“Why, yes,” she said gravely, “I would, very much. I was just wondering where to find a church.”

He seemed almost surprised at her answer.

“But I won’t be taking you to any grand church,” he said, again with a challenge in his glance.

“What makes you think I want to go to a grand church?” she parried. “I’d like to go with you; that is, if I won’t be in your way.”

Did his eyes light up at that, or did she imagine it? And why was there something like a little song in her heart as she ran upstairs to get her hat and coat?

T
he church to which Ethan took Marigold that morning was a plain little structure, not even in the neighborhood of handsome buildings, but the sermon was one that she would never forget, for it seemed to be a message straight from God to her own soul. Afterward she couldn’t quite remember what the text or main theme of the sermon had been. It had only seemed to her as if God had been there and had been speaking directly to her.

She was very quiet all the way home. Ethan did not seem to notice. He was silent, too, perhaps watching her furtively.

Just as they came in sight of the house she spoke, thinking aloud. “I’m glad I heard that sermon. It made me think of things I had almost forgotten, things I can remember my father saying when I was a little girl and he was preaching.”

“Was your father a minister?” asked Ethan in surprise. “I may have known it once, but I certainly had forgotten.”

“Yes,” said Marigold, looking up with dreamy memory in her eyes. “He was wonderful, and he preached real things. I was only a child, but I remember a lot of them, and I needed to have them brought back to my memory.”

He gave her another surprised look, mixed, she felt, with something like tenderness.

At last, just before they reached the house, he said, “I’m very glad you felt that way. I’m always encouraged when I go to hear that man preach.” And as he helped her up the steps there seemed to be somehow a bond between them that had not been there before, a kind of new sympathy. Yet he said nothing more. Just looked at her and smiled as they entered the house together.

In the afternoon they took Aunt Marian for another short drive because the day was fine and the ride to Mount Vernon had seemed to do her so much good. They wound up at a street meeting held by one of the missions in the lower part of the city. Marigold was greatly interested. She had never been to a street meeting before. She studied the faces of the young people who were conducting it, giving their simple testimonies, and reflected on the contrast between them and Laurie’s crowd. Yes, she had been getting afar off from the things her dear father would have wished for her, just as her mother had hinted. She was very thoughtful after that.

They stopped for a few minutes at the breakfast mission for Ethan to see if everything was going to be all right for the worker to get back to camp that night, and then they went home and had a lovely buffet supper served in Aunt Marian’s room with Ethan for waiter. They all sat awhile afterward listening to Aunt Marian’s favorite preacher on the radio. By common consent they lingered with the dear invalid as long as she was allowed to stay awake, feeling that their time together was not to be long and wanting to please her as much as possible. The nurse was out, and the patient begged them to remain a little longer, saying she was not tired, but at last when they insisted that she ought to be asleep, she said, “All right. But first let’s have a bit of Bible reading and a prayer! Ethan, you get my Bible.”

Marigold sat down again and watched Ethan in surprise as he quietly got the Bible and sat down to read. Imagine such a request being made of Laurie! How he would laugh and jeer if anybody thought of asking him to do such a thing. A pang of troubled doubt went through her soul with the thought. Had she been brought here to watch this most unusual man and see the contrast between him and Laurie? She pushed the thought away in annoyance.

Ethan opened the Bible as if it were a familiar book. He didn’t ask his aunt where he should read. He turned directly to the ninety-first psalm and read in a clear voice, as if he loved what he was reading: “‘He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust….’”

Somehow as he read on, Marigold felt as if he were reading the words just for her. As if in his mind, they had some special significance for her. She sat there listening, thrilled with the thought.

“‘Surely he shall deliver thee—’”

Was he trying to remind her that when earthly friends were not by to help she was not alone?

“‘Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night—’”

And now he did lift his eyes and look straight into hers, with a light in them that surely he meant her to read and understand. He was thinking of the dream she had told him and the terror that possessed her sometimes when she woke in the night. It could not have been plainer if he had said it in his own words, and suddenly she blushed in response. Yet it was all unobserved by the two dear women who were sitting by listening, though they would dearly have loved to have caught that look that passed between the two beloved children.

And the steady voice went on: “‘…he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee—’” It was like a benediction, and Marigold felt she never could forget it as his voice read on to the end of the psalm.