“Yeah, he said he had to go back to stay with his mother. She wasn’t well, and he didn’t like to leave her alone way out there near the woods.”
Patricia was glad that he had been there that she might speak to him in that way, since there was no other. Their paths would probably meet no more, but she had let him know she was doing her best to walk God’s way, the way his father had started her on that day last year when it rained and the rainbow shone over the garden walk.
But there were other pleasant things to think about also. Patricia’s father and mother had both been at commencement and had enjoyed it. Mrs. Prentiss had been very proud of her daughter, even if she was arrayed in an absurdly simple dress, with a soft white sash around her waist and a wreath of tiny rosebuds binding her hair. Perhaps it was just as well she was simply dressed. It gave her even more distinction! And on the whole, it was a rather pleasant thing to look back upon. The public school had been a trial but it was over now, and she need have no further thought about it. She must begin on Patricia at once and get her ready to go into the social world in the proper manner. Perhaps she wasn’t so harmed by the school as she had feared. At any rate, she would say no more, and likely Patricia would be all the more tractable now this ordeal was so beautifully over and she had nothing to regret.
Alone together the next day, Mr. Prentiss told his daughter how pleased and proud he had been and shyly commended the subject of her address.
“I liked it, Pat. I’m glad you had the nerve to say those things about God and trying to serve Him. It made me feel I’d done right after all to insist you should go to that school. I used to worry about it sometimes when Mother would rave so. I would get to thinking maybe it wasn’t important after all to keep you out of that nonsensical world your mother had got into after we began to have money. But now I’m glad. I wouldn’t choose anything better in all the world than to have you feel that way about life, and I mean it. I don’t want you ever to forget how I liked that, Pat! And I’m glad you’ve had the discipline and training of that school. I feel you’ve got hold of something that makes you see things in their proper values. I’m glad we stuck it out, Pat, and I think your mother doesn’t feel so bad about it now, either. Especially since she got acquainted with some of your classmates.”
But Patricia in her heart knew it was not any school that had taught her the things her father was glad about. She knew it was that day in that sweet home with the man who knew God and talked with Him so intimately. She knew it was the sweet Scotch mother, and the boy who loved the Lord, too, who had led her to study the Bible and pray for guidance. Though if she hadn’t gone to that school she probably never would have known John Worth and would never have gone to his home that day in the rain to hear the truth. So in a way the dear old school that she loved so truly had been a strong element in the shaping of her life thus far.
It was quite late the next afternoon before Mrs. Prentiss came back to the daily order of life enough to remember about Thorny and his party, which did not seem to have materialized. At least Thorny had not appeared on the horizon so far. What had happened? Perhaps she should call up her friend and find out. It might be that she had been unpleasantly hurried when Mrs. Bellingham came in to give the invitation and she was hurt. She must apologize, but first she must tell Patricia and get some adequate expression of regret from her and of gratitude for the honor, and so on.
But even the possibility of Thorny appearing on the scene could not dim Patricia’s happiness. She had accomplished her aim. She had graduated with honor from the same school her father had attended, and he was pleased. Whatever lay in the future did not so much matter now. There would be a way out of hard things, and she was learning to trust unpleasant things to God. He always helped when she called upon Him.
“Oh!” she said, looking blankly at her mother when she told her. Then her face cleared and shone radiantly. “Oh, mother dear, I’m so glad you didn’t tell me before. It would have spoiled everything to be afraid all the time that Thorny would turn up and ruin things the way he spoiled the picnic that day. I could hardly have stood it. I’m so glad it’s over and you didn’t try to make me go. That would have been awful!”
“Of course, dear, I understand that,” said her mother with an appearance of always having been right in her judgments and decisions. “But you just must get over that idea about Thorny. You know, it was really my fault he went that day. I was afraid to have you off there in the woods without anybody to guide you. You must understand that, little girl. Of course I didn’t realize that these other young people were as nice as they are. But you will feel differently about Thorny when you get a little older and realize how truly fine he is and what a family and station in life he has, and all that. So do be polite to Mrs. Bellingham, and tell her how honored you feel that she wanted you for hostess and how sorry you are that it wasn’t possible for you to come.”
But Patricia shrank back.
“I couldn’t, Mother, really. You don’t know how I feel. And if you had been there for just a minute and seen how Thorny hugged me up and—oh, Mother, I can’t tell you. It was too horrible—! It was so much worse than any snakes or tramps or anything could have been.”
“Silly little girl!” said her mother indulgently. “Someday you will understand that that was only admiration and real liking that made Thorny want to kiss you. He is growing up himself, you know, and you really are a very beautiful girl. I’m sure it won’t make you proud for me to tell you so. You are foolishly backward and have quite an inferiority complex. Someday you’ll get over that and want Thorny to show you attention. Now, dear, go tell Mrs. Bellingham!”
“No!” said Patricia sharply. “I will not talk to Mrs. Bellingham. I don’t feel honored and I am not sorry, and I can’t say what isn’t true. You’ll have to tell her what you feel, or else let it go as it is. I wish you would do that. I don’t want to have anything more to do with the Bellinghams.”
“Well, all right, dear,” said her mother fondly, “have it your own way for the present. You are all wrought up, anyway, with all the excitement. Never mind, I’ll talk to Mrs. Bellingham myself.”
So Patricia went up to her room and took her turbulent young heart to the throne of God where she was learning to find quietness and peace. And her mother went to the telephone and discovered from the maid that Thorny Bellingham had not come home at all. He had gone straight up to Nova Scotia and had telegraphed his mother he would not be home until fall. Mrs. Bellingham, the maid said, had gone into the city shopping, to send Thorny a lot of fishing tackle and sports clothes he had ordered her to get.
Mrs. Prentiss hung up the telephone. Well, that was that! Now she had gone on record calling up, and a few days later she would invite Mrs. Bellingham over for tea, and everything would be all right.
That evening Mr. Prentiss came home and suggested that they take a trip somewhere. They could go to the mountains and get a real rest for Patricia for a few days, and then they could drive around in the car and stop wherever they liked. How about day after tomorrow? Could they start as soon as that? He wasn’t sure yet that he could make it but he would try, and if they couldn’t go then they would start the next morning, though late afternoon was a nice time in hot weather to start on a trip. A short drive the first night, then dinner in some hotel, and a nice quiet night in the mountains.
Patricia’s face shone. That was so nice, and no one around to have to go along. Mrs. Bellingham had gone west to visit her sister. She had called up to say good-bye.
So Patricia began the next morning to get ready. There was a little shopping to be done, at least her mother thought so, and Patricia loved to shop.
They got home late that afternoon, and Patricia was pleased with all her purchases. Her mother hadn’t insisted as much as usual on dressy things. Patricia really was more of the ingenue type, she decided, after meditating on commencement and its simple tailored styles. Perhaps those things really suited her best.
So Patricia wa
s allowed to pick out the things she liked best and came home delighted with her new clothes.
A couple of the girls from her class ran over that evening together to visit, and just as they were leaving, as the three walked slowly down from the house to the gate, one of them said, “Oh, Pat, you remember John Worth in last year’s class, don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Patricia quietly. They were passing by the spot where John Worth had planted the valley-lilies and she felt as if they could hear.
“Well, had you heard that his mother died? You know, she wasn’t well the night of our commencement and he had to go back home after just a few minutes.”
“Yes,” said Patricia, “I heard he was there a few minutes. When did she die?”
“This morning. Jim Tanner heard it and told my brother. He said she had some heart trouble.”
“Oh, I’m sorry for John,” said Patricia, trying to keep her voice steady. “She was such a sweet woman!”
“Oh, did you know her?” asked the other girl, looking at her curiously.
“Yes,” said Patricia. “She helped me get dry after I was out in that awful storm. She was a dear lovely lady. She was Scottish and had such a pleasant voice. His father was a college professor. Did you know that? They had a picture of the college and a picture of his mother’s home in Scotland. It was a lovely place.”
“Say, that’s tough luck for John, though,” said one of the girls. “They say he was just devoted to his mother.”
“Yes, I guess he was,” said Patricia. “His mother loved him very much, too.”
“Well, he was some kid. My brother says he was the best all-around man our high school ever had,” said the girl Jennie. “Well, I’ve got to get going. I promised my parents I wouldn’t stay late. Hope you have a lovely time, Pat. Give my love to all my friends you meet.” She giggled, and then they went away.
And Patricia, with a sudden heavy load of sorrow upon her heart, went softly in between the trees and the hedge and knelt down by the broad dark leaves of the valley-lilies, laying her hand upon one leaf as if it had been a child’s head, and prayed softly, “Dear God, comfort John, and help him in this hard time.”
Then she went into the house and up to her room.
A long time she lay there in her bed before she went to sleep, thinking about the sweet mother who had gone home to heaven and had left her wonderful boy all alone. What would John do now?
The next morning she went down to the village quite early. She told her mother she had an errand she wanted to do before she went away. Her mother was busy with the dressmaker, who was altering a dress she had bought the day before, and didn’t pay much attention, so Patricia slipped away without any trouble.
She went down to Mr. Mathison, her florist friend, and bought a big box of Madonna lilies and blue delphiniums the color of Mrs. Worth’s eyes. Then she took the box herself and walked up the long dusty road to the place where she and John had climbed the fence. Would she know the way to the house again? Oh, she must find the way! If Daddy hadn’t had to hurry away so early this morning to make the arrangements for them to leave on their trip that night she would have asked him to take her. Or would she? Somehow she felt she might be embarrassed to go with her father, and she hadn’t any idea how to reach that cottage where they lived except across the meadows. So she plodded on, soft tears falling now and then, and great pity growing in her heart for John, who was alone now, with his own life to shape and his own way to make. What could she say to comfort him if he was there?
But he knew the place of comfort, better even than she did.
Perhaps he would not be there, and then she would just leave the flowers to speak for her. She had brought a card with her name written on it and just the words, I am so sorry for you. She was dear, and I loved her. But she had hidden it shyly in her pocket where she could get it if he wasn’t there.
She found the fence where they had crossed that evening under the rainbow. She tried to climb and found it more difficult than when he was helping her, but at last she swung her feet over and clambered down into the soft grass. She had dropped the box over first. Then she picked herself up and took her box, starting toward the brow of the hill over which they had come from the house. The distant gray chimney against the sky guided her.
But she walked slowly, finding tears in her eyes continually. What was she going to find in the little gray house over the brow of the hill? Death was there, and she had never seen death. In all her sheltered life, death had not come her way. When it touched her family, or sometimes her acquaintances, her mother had always been there to decree that it wasn’t necessary for her to go to funerals yet. Life was sad enough later on, and the young should keep away from the thought of death as long as possible.
So as she walked slowly over the uneven ground she was trying to prepare herself for the dreadful phenomenon of death.
It was very quiet as she at last reached the garden and walked up the path from which her own lily-bells had come. The house seemed still, as it would be, of course, when it had to entertain a guest like Death.
And yet the sun was shining and there was a quiet hominess about the place, the dear place that had seemed so sweet and charming that one afternoon that she had spent there. Her heart suddenly smote her that she had not come sooner. She had fully intended to come again, of course, but the winter had been so full, and she had felt shy about going, almost as if that other visit had all been a dream. But why hadn’t she come right after commencement, after she heard that John’s mother wasn’t well? Oh, why hadn’t she come then to see if there was anything she could do? How sweet it would have been to see her once more and get a little word from her to remember.
So she came to the door, the plain little cottage door. There was no crepe on it, no elaborate wreath of flowers. It did not need that sign to tell that the house mistress had gone Home. There were perhaps very few friends to come way out there. Nobody but John to see after the tender rites!
How her heart ached for John. Would the lamps in his eyes have gone out, quenched by his sorrow? For she seemed to know his sorrow would be very great, especially coming as it did a little less than a year after the death of his wonderful father!
And now she was standing before the door! She felt uncertain what to do. Did one knock? There was no doorbell.
While she hesitated, puzzling over what to do, the door opened, and there stood a rugged-faced woman with toil-worn hands. She knew at once that it must be Mrs. Miller, the farmer’s wife at the farm where John worked. She had seen her once when she came to school to see about why her son Charlie didn’t get promoted. Patricia was sure it was the same one.
The woman eyed her with a stolid glance, taking account of her dainty garments, wondering. Patricia felt suddenly confused. She lifted a pleasant, wistful look to the woman’s gaze.
“I’ve brought some flowers,” she said gently. “Is—can I see—? Isn’t John here?”
The woman gave her another searching glance and stood back.
“They’re in the living room,” she said drearily. “You c’n go in ef you like.”
The girl hesitated. Should she venture to go in without being announced?
But the woman had no intention of announcing her. She wiped her hands on her apron and went back into the kitchen, turning as she closed the door to say, “Just go right on in!”
Patricia felt a great awe upon her, but she walked slowly over to the door and turned the knob, opening it just a crack and then a little wider.
The casket was in the middle of the room, almost where the table had been spread that night. Just a plain wooden box with a scant black drapery put around it by the undertaker. Beside it knelt the boy, his head down on his hands that rested on the edge of the casket. The fire was out on the hearth, and there was a desolate emptiness about everywhere. Patricia noticed that the pictures were gone. It gave her a sad, lonesome feeling as she drew near to the casket and stood looking down at the sweet face that lay there
, so still and lovely, like an angel. Did death always do that to people, make them look like supernatural beings? She stood silently before the evidence of death and saw in it more than death. Life! A new kind of life, eternal life, which could never fade away.
Then as she continued to stand gazing at that sweet dear expression that she would always remember, after a moment John raised his head and looked at her. And suddenly the lamps in his eyes lit for her.
“You have come to her!” he said in a great wonder. “She will be so pleased—if she knows—and I think she does!”
“Oh, how I wish I had come before!” said Patricia, coming closer. “I loved her, and I thought about her a lot and how sweet she was to me. I always meant to come, but I wasn’t quite sure whether—that is—if she would like me to.”
“She would,” said the boy earnestly. “She often spoke of you. She thought you were very lovely. She enjoyed that day you were here. She loved getting supper for you.”
“Oh, and how I loved being here and having her doing nice sweet things to help me. I shall never, never forget her.”
Patricia was weeping now, the tears splashing down her cheeks.
“How sweet she looks,” she said huskily, “just as if she were walking into heaven.”
“She did!” said the boy, and his voice choked. “She knew she was going. She said good-bye, and she said, ‘I’ll tell feyther all aboot ye, laddie!’ She was a wonderful mother!” The boy’s face suddenly went down on the casket, and his shoulders quivered with his sorrow.
Patricia came over quite near to him and laid her hand upon his bowed head.
“Yes, she was!” she said softly.
The boy reached up his hand and laid it gently upon hers, pressing it lightly as if to show her that it comforted him.
They stood so for an instant, and suddenly he lifted his tear-wet face and smiled at her.
Then Patricia gravely stooped and laid a kiss softly on his forehead. It seemed a right and holy thing to do.