But of course there must have been papers, and now that she thought of it, she remembered he had once told her he had written out some directions for her concerning business. How careless of her not to have gone carefully through everything before she left.
However, there was probably nothing of immediate necessity. The papers were safe and would keep. She had the little key to the secret drawer. She might even send it to Miss Landon and ask her to take out the papers and send them to her—only that seemed rather silly. Her stay here was most uncertain. If things kept on this way, she simply could not endure to remain much longer. She would just wait and keep her mouth shut. Surely she had a right to refuse to talk about her father’s affairs. Let them think, what was obviously the truth, that there had been scarcely anything.
Later, when she was carrying some towels to the laundry chute in the back hall, she heard her aunt come out of her uncle’s library, and Louise, coming noisily up the lower stairs, confronted her mother with a peevish tone, “Ah, say, Clara! What’s the use of arguing poor Enoch deaf and dumb and blind? You won’t get anywhere with him, I’m telling you, not if you talk all night and then some. He’s too old. And say, for Pete’s sake, lay off Amorelle. The next thing you’ll have her running off East again, or getting a job somewhere. She’s not going to stand for you prying into her affairs, can’t you see that? Let her alone, for sweet pity’s sake.”
Amorelle could hear a hoarse sobbing reply.
“That’s a nice way for you to talk, Louise, when you know I’m doing it all for your sake! It was you that said it was poisonous for her to be here and you wouldn’t stand for it. It was you who threatened to run away and marry some good-for-nothing if I didn’t get rid of her somehow.”
“Oh well,” laughed Louise, “that was before I knew what good sandwiches she could make. She really isn’t half-bad, Clara! She’s a sort of a good egg. She’s always willing to make things for us, and she doesn’t seem to want to butt in. The only fella that’s fallen for her at all is George, and he’s been a pest so long I’m sick to death of him. Besides, it’s convenient having her around sometimes when there’s work to be done and I want to go out somewhere.”
Amorelle passed softly into her room and shut the door. Sitting down in her chair, she buried her face in her hands and laughed. So, she had managed to get by with Louise as a good egg who would make sandwiches and not steal her admirers. Well, perhaps if she could weather it a little while longer, she might even win Aunt Clara.
She battled it out on her knees that night before the Lord and decided that He had not yet released her to go back to Rivington. And the possible private papers in the secret drawer of the desk grew hazy and unimportant. How did she know there were any papers?
Chapter 10
The winter came suddenly and with surprise to Amorelle, who was accustomed to the milder climate of Rivington. Deep snow settled down upon the land in a wild blizzard form and was slow in melting. More snow came before it was gone.
Amorelle got out her galoshes and enjoyed the sound of the crunching of her feet in the snow. She wished she were small and had a sled and could go skating and sledding. Louise did all these things, but the crowd didn’t ask her. Once or twice George had asked her to go with them, but she always had some excuse.
She had by this time discovered two interests which kept her busy in her leisure hours and made her less lonely. One was a business school where she found she could take a short course in bookkeeping a few hours each week. The other was a wonderful Bible school with evening classes, and two of her evenings each week were thus delightfully employed. To be sure it was necessary sometimes when she went out at night for her to leave behind her well-prepared provision for a sudden supper when Louise and her crowd should come home, but a little forethought and extra work took care of that matter. As for the rest, nobody seemed to care in the least what she did with her time. Only Uncle Enoch inquired, and he seemed quite satisfied when he saw how she was enjoying herself.
“You’re like your father,” he would say thoughtfully. “You’re going your own way and making good in it. I often wish I had gone with him when I was young.” And then he would sigh wistfully.
Sometimes at their tête-à-tête breakfast she would tell him a little of her Bible lesson of the night before, and he would always listen interestedly, although he seldom made any comment. Often she had opportunity to tell him of the way of salvation, making it so very plain that he could not fail to remember and understand. And he always seemed thoughtful at such times and gentle beyond the usual.
Aunt Clara, for the most part, ignored her now, giving her cold replies whenever she asked her a question, issuing crisp commands for service, like little icicles that seemed to shiver and break as they were uttered.
Louise paid little attention to her except to ask favors when she needed something. And sometimes it was very hard to go on trying to pave Louise’s way to have a good time when she was so utterly unfriendly.
But Amorelle was happy in her Bible school, which filled her heart with new joy and wonder as the old truths opened up into new meanings and made the Bible more precious than it had ever been. And this study was the more delightful to her because she knew it would have pleased her father so much.
There came letters occasionally from Glenellen and Rivington that made her homesick, but it seemed definite now that she was to remain in the West for the winter at least, and the things of the past began to drop away a little. The idea of a will and insurance and important papers were forgotten for the time.
Amorelle found some pleasant people in both her commercial and biblical classes, but she had little time to cultivate friendships, as there were always duties at the house to be done on schedule time. Except when George Horton chose to give her a few minutes of his time while she was preparing late evening suppers for the rest of the young people, she went her way, for the most part alone.
But one evening she had just come down to get ready a tray for a boisterous young crowd who had been practicing tap dancing for a Player’s Club entertainment in which they were involved, and she heard them talking. George Horton was asking Louise to play an accompaniment for a solo he had been asked to sing in church Sunday evening at some special service.
Louise whirled the stool around and turned away from the piano with a shrug. Amorelle was standing in line with the door, setting down a plate of little cakes on the dining table, and saw the whole thing.
“Oh, I can’t be bothered, George! Go get Amorelle!” she said petulantly. “She can play. I heard her the other day when she didn’t know I was listening. She can play swell. She used to play the organ in church.”
George came promptly out to Amorelle with his request, so while the others were noisily gathered around the dining table, Amorelle and George went to the living room. George had a big, deep voice with a rather nice natural tone, and he liked to sing, although he had never had much training. Probably he had never had such accompanying as Amorelle gave him either, and his voice boomed out, hushing even the tempestuous crowd in the other room. At the close they gave him a stormy applause and demanded more, and Amorelle played several other songs for him.
“Say, you’re swell!” he said to her. “Why didn’t I know you played? Say, Amorelle,” he lowered his voice, “I like you a lot, do you know it?”
“That’s nice,” said Amorelle pleasantly in a matter-of-fact tone. “It’s nice to have people like you.”
He looked at her curiously, beaming down upon her with his good-looking smile.
“But it’s more than that,” he said, as if discovering something in himself that he hadn’t recognized before. “You’re a swell looker, do you know it? I never saw you look as pretty as you do tonight!” And then suddenly, without the least warning, he stooped and folded his arms around her, there as she sat at the piano, and put his handsome face against hers softly, as if he were trying her out, though it was done almost reverently for George. Then he laid his stron
g, laughing lips against hers and kissed her!
It was not a quick, light kiss. It was a lingering one with even something of exploring shyness in it, and that was strange for George. He was usually so bold. There was something tender about it, too, as if he sensed the rareness of the girl he had dared approach this way. As if the touch of his lips upon hers this first time had given him a new sense of how delicate and lovely a woman might be.
Now Amorelle had been brought up not to regard a kiss lightly. Being the minister’s daughter and being sweetly serious, she had not been thrown in the way of the light and amorous ways of the world. This happened to be the first time that any man had kissed her this way, and it came upon her weary, lonely soul with a startling sweetness that was so new and unexpected that her soul was off its habitual guard. For an instant her body yielded just ever so little to his embrace, like a tired child that needed comfort, and her lips lay softly against his. Then she came to herself and sprang away from him.
“George!” she said, putting her hands to her flaming cheeks. “Oh, George, why did you do that?” There was reproach in her voice; she was almost in tears. She drew away in the corner of the room far from the hall door where no one could see her.
George came over to her, a light of discovery and possession in his eyes.
“Why shouldn’t I do it, beautiful?” he asked with a love croon in his voice. “I did it because I wanted to. Because I love you.”
“Oh, please, please, George, don’t say any more! They will hear you! I’m afraid they saw—us!”
“What if they did, beautiful? There’s nothing to be ashamed of about it. I don’t care how many people know it.”
“Oh, don’t, George. You mustn’t talk that way! Please, let go of my hand. You have no right—It is so silly—You never thought of such a thing a minute ago!”
“That doesn’t make any difference!” he assured her delightedly. “I’ve thought of it now, haven’t I? You’re mine! You’re my girl! Great Scott, what a looker you are with that pink in your cheeks! I don’t understand why I never saw it before! What are you afraid of? Come, let’s talk it out—”
“We can’t talk here! Please let me go!”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Upstairs! George, you must let go of my wrist. We cannot talk about such things here. We have nothing to talk about anyway. It is all wrong, all a mistake.”
“Not on your life it isn’t. You’re my girl and I don’t intend to let you go! If you won’t talk here, go get your coat and we’ll go outside and walk. I want you to myself anyway. Where is your coat? Down back there in the hall closet? Here, I’ll get it for you. No, don’t you go sliding upstairs. If you do I’ll chase you up to your room and carry you down, and I can do it, too, no kidding! You and I are having this out right now.”
Amorelle stood trembling, frightened, trying to think what she should say to this wild, impetuous youth, the memory of that stirring kiss upon her lips, that handsome face against her own, those strong arms around her. Oh, it would be good to have a friend who really loved her. But this George was one of the wild crowd. He could not be her mate. He had only followed an impulse. She must try to make him see that. She must be kind to him. This was just one of his flirtations. He probably had a great many. Those big blue eyes and long, golden, curly lashes drew admiration from the girls. Even she had considered him unusually good looking. Oh, lovers and marriage. Would they pursue her here? Must her calm, which she was just hoping she had attained, be broken in upon by a disturbance of this sort? Maybe she would have to go away, after all, if he persisted. She must be strong. She must reason with him. Oh God, dear God! Help me! Show me!
George came in his bright, easy way with the coat and put it around her, enfolding her in his arms once more in spite of her shrinking, laid his face against hers again as she retreated where the others could not see her.
“George, I shall not go out with you if you persist in doing things like this,” she whispered, pushing him away.
“Oh, all right!” he laughed. Then stepping back where he could look in the dining room door—“We’re just going out to hunt some salted peanuts!” he explained with a big, handsome grin.
“But you’re missing these sandwiches. They’re great!” called one of the girls who admired him.
“That’s all right. I know where they’re made. I’ll get some when I come back,” he boasted, and with one stride he reached Amorelle’s shrinking side again and took her arm as if it belonged to him.
“Now, look here, George,” she said when they were safe outside the house. “You’ve got to stop acting this way or I shall not go a step with you nor talk to you any more.”
“Won’t you, beautiful?” he said, looking down laughing at her. “Let’s see. You wanted to get away where they couldn’t see nor hear us. Come on!” He put his arm around her and fairly lifted her from her feet so that she was swept down the steps breathlessly and landed on the sidewalk, being carried along at his own pace. She had to make her feet follow him to keep her balance.
“George!” she protested. “George! You must stop! You make me ashamed!”
She found she was crying. He looked down in astonishment and saw the tears glistening on her cheeks and stopped to kiss the tears away. It was a courtship by storm, and there was something so gutsy and genuine about it that Amorelle’s judgment took utter flight. What was this thing that had seized her, these kisses that seemed to thrill her in spite of herself? Was she fighting something perhaps that God had sent her and that she just did not understand?
Then suddenly he set her down upon her feet, took his arm away from around her, and drew her arm within his own. The joviality on his face changed into gravity. She had never seen George Horton so serious before.
“Now, baby,” he said gently, making his voice soft and tender, “we’re going to talk. You and I were meant for each other and we’ve just found it out. Didn’t you find it out yourself when our lips touched that first time? Didn’t you know it when I took you in my arms? Didn’t you feel all rested and happy about it? Didn’t that show you that we were meant for each other?”
Amorelle was silent, owning that somehow he had a strange influence upon her, yet not sure of anything. Warned of danger, yet afraid of throwing away something she did not quite understand, which might be godsent.
“Don’t you love me, Amorelle?” he asked, looking down into her eyes with a look that glowed even in the dark. His hand was on hers, his fingers warm around her own. He seemed to have a strange power over her that made her question her own self, her own fears.
“Answer me, beautiful, don’t you love me? Didn’t you feel it when I did?”
The intimate clasp of her hand, from which she had not been able to withdraw because he was so strong, demanded an answer.
“I have—never—thought about you in that way,” she answered in a disturbed tone.
“Ah! But you’re going to now,” said George earnestly. “And I’ve been thinking a lot about you, although I’ve never seen how beautiful you were till tonight because I was fooling around looking at other people, I guess. But now it’s going to be you and nobody else. We’re going to be engaged, and we’re going to be married pretty soon.”
“Oh, George! You mustn’t talk that way! You mustn’t!” begged Amorelle. “You aren’t—we aren’t—I’m not—”
“But that is all foolishness!” said George happily. “I’m going to show you. I’m a good man for you to tie up to. I’m steady and reliable. Everybody’ll tell you that. I’ve got a good job for a young man like me. I’ve got money saved up. I’m able to buy a nice little home and set you up in fine style, and in a few years we’d be well off. You’re saving and economical, I’ve noticed that. I’ve been watching you. I couldn’t marry any girl who was a spendthrift. And I’m sure we’d get along fine! You wouldn’t mind doing your own cooking, and you are a swell cook. I know I’m making no mistake about my end of the business. And we’d have grand t
imes together. After a little we’d have a car and go places and see things, and your taking this bookkeeping is a good thing, too. You can help me out when I need extra help sometimes in the office. And now I’ve found out you can play for me, why it just shows how well we’re suited.”
She tried to stop the torrent of words but George sailed right on.
“I never found a girl before I felt like I do about you. I’m just crazy about you, and you’ll feel the same way about me, I know. A lot of girls have fallen for me, but I never really fell before. I just couldn’t see them. But now I have. Don’t you worry that you haven’t thought about me before. I like you all the better for that, and I just know we’re going to be crazy about each other. You’ll love me all right. I’ll make you love me!”
Amorelle drew a little frightened breath. Could he? Would he? Did she want him to if he could? She couldn’t understand herself.
“You know, Amorelle, they don’t treat you the way they should at your uncle’s house. They don’t know what a good thing they’ve got in you. You aren’t happy a bit there. I’ve seen it. Don’t you want to get away? Don’t you want a home of your own where you can do as you please, with no one to find fault and kick up a fuss all the time? A home and a man to love you and care for you?”
It was that way he talked, block after block, as they walked down the winter street under the great white winter moon. Her hand was warm in his, his footsteps set to keep pace with hers, the wooing light in his eyes, all his faults hidden under a great overwhelming love that had just struck his fancy and brought the best of him to shine in his handsome eyes.
And it stirred her. It did stir her in spite of all her resolves and preconceived notions of lovers and wooing. When he described that little home that could be theirs, her hand, resting in his big warm one, relaxed and almost nestled there for an instant. All her alarm was forgotten. So much can happen under the moon with a good-looking man suddenly become tender for a love he thinks he has discovered. It was so that Amorelle’s judgment faltered, and she listened to his plea, till almost she felt his love was sincere, and her reasons fled and left her without excuse.