“It is more than forgiveness, Lynn, it is your love back again that I want. Your love and your trust. I cannot live without you. I have found that out during these terrible months!”
He tried to take her hands, but she withdrew them.
“No, Dana, don’t touch me! You do not know what you are saying. It is too late to talk of love. You have no right to do that now. You belong to someone else. It is an insult to me and to your wife to speak of love to me now.”
“You do not understand, Lynn! I am not insulting you; I am offering my purest love. I tell you I never wanted to marry Jessie Belle. I shall have no trouble with her. She is tired of me and restless to get out to Hollywood and get into the movies. I could work it so she would have a good salary and be perfectly happy, and in time she would marry someone else. Thank God we live in a day when it is not a disgrace to get a divorce. Of course, my grandmother was old fashioned, but people nowadays don’t think a thing of it. Why, the New York church had heard about you, Lynn, and that was one of the reasons why they wanted me. Someone who knew your father years ago heard that we were engaged and that was how I came to get the chance to preach there. It is hanging fire, now, because some old fusty from London has to be heard first before they can give me the actual call, but if they knew we were to be married in a year’s time, say, that would turn the trick all right. And I could begin like in earnest. If you say the word I’ll make all arrangements with Jessie and start proceedings for a divorce at once. Mother will finance it, I’m positive, and Jessie will be overjoyed to go to Hollywood at once. It can be done quietly, you know. Scarcely anybody knows we were ever married. I took care of that.”
“Stop! Dana!”
The words came out at last from lips that seemed stiff with agony.
Lynette was standing straight and slim and white by the door, her hands clasped, her fingers gripping till the knuckles showed white. Her face was so pale and her eyes so bright that she seemed like a beautiful spirit, an avenging angel.
“Dana, there can be no talk of divorce and marriage between you and me, ever,” she said in a clear, intense voice. “It is a sin! You and I are children of God. We do not belong to the world. It is a sin!”
Dana swung around angrily and paced the room back and forth.
“There you go,” he broke forth, “condemning me wholesale when you don’t know a thing about it. You don’t know the circumstances. You just swing a wholesale verdict, it is sin! What is sin! What is sin, anyway? That’s a bogey of the past. We don’t push people back into hell nowadays and condemn them to worse than death the rest of their days because they have transgressed some mid-victorian view of hidebound laws. There certainly is more sin in living with someone you don’t love than in breaking a ridiculous law that was made in the dark ages! I have no patience with these people who insist on living in the past. If the Bible were written today you would find it to be a very different book. We are not so gullible as they were in the days of the patriarchs.”
“Dana! God is the same, yesterday, today, and forever! There couldn’t be any change in the Bible because He said that one jot or one tittle, just the little things like the crossing of a t or the dotting of an i, should never be changed until all was fulfilled.”
“Oh, fulfilled! Fulfilled!” he raved. “Don’t go to talking about prophecy to me. Don’t be a fool. I have no patience with the people who try to drag the Old Testament into the New, and try to drag out separate statements and apply them miscellaneously to their lives regardless of circumstances. You have more sense than that, Lynn, and when we get this thing straightened out and I can have time to sit down and teach you, you will understand how narrow and confining all those little musty ideas are you have imbibed. The Bible is a wonderful piece of literature, of course, we must not discount that, but there are many parts that are not to be taken as anything but fanciful imaginings.”
“Dana, please stop! I cannot listen to you. You are beside yourself!”
“No, I’m not beside myself. I’ve had a good many months to think all this over and get calm, haven’t I? And I say that if Jesus were here on earth today He would probably talk quite differently about divorce and a great many other things. We are not under law anymore. He came to put away law and give us love for one another. He wouldn’t want you and me to walk apart all our lives when we love one another.”
Lynette broke in with cool, quiet tones that commanded his attention.
“Dana, you know perfectly well that what Jesus Christ said about divorce is true. He said that even the thought in the heart was impure when one belonged to another. And look at the way he spoke to the woman at the well. He said, ‘He whom thou now hast is not thy husband.’ You remember how she felt. His look must have gone through her heart with condemnation when she went into the village and said, ‘Come, see a man, which told me all things that ever I did.’ Dana, you could never be happy doing a thing like that. You don’t realize what you are saying now; you are all worked up. But you would be feeling the eyes of God upon you continually! The eyes that see all that ever we do!”
Dana’s lip curled, and he whirled on his heel again with his old, impatient motion.
“There you go again,” he said angrily. “That story’s all wrong, too. He never meant that. For how could He possibly know all that ever she did? Oh, of course He might have heard some gossip about her as He came through the village, but that was all. He was just talking on general principles! That is the danger of people who are not students trying to interpret the scriptures. They are always trying to drag in the supernatural where it doesn’t belong. It is a species of sentimentality! Now I can explain—”
But Lynette was interrupting him again.
“Dana, you must stop this. I cannot listen to another word of blasphemy about my Lord. If Jesus Christ did not know the thoughts and acts of the human heart He would not be the Son of God, the Savior of the world. He is my Savior, the Son of the living God, and I cannot let you insult Him in my presence. Once for all, I do not believe in divorce and remarriage because it is wrong! Not because your grandmother or mine or the town might or might not approve! Not because any New York church might wink at it. But because it is against God’s law.
“But Dana, if you were free as air, and if you had never seen any other girl or showed anyone any attentions, I could never marry you. Can two walk together except they be agreed? We haven’t any common ground to stand on. You have questioned my Bible which has come to be to me the guide to heaven, the light of my daily path, and you have discounted my Lord, and we could never agree. You are not the same one whom I used to love!”
“There you go quoting the Bible again,” snapped out Dana furiously. “You never loved me or you would not talk this way.”
“Perhaps not,” said Lynette sadly. “At least we have no common ground to stand on now. My Bible and my Lord are the greatest things in life to me now.”
“And you would rather see me go to ruin than throw aside some of your narrow-minded prejudices!”
“It is not necessary for you to go to ruin, Dana. The Savior is always ready to help you if you will go to Him. But you have made it impossible for me to do anything for you except to pray. I will do that, gladly. You may have to go down into the valley of death, but if you will do that He will show you the power of His resurrection and put you on a new plane of life with Him!”
“Don’t preach!” said Dana sharply, looking with eyes of anguish at the earnest face of the girl he had lost. “Oh, Lynn! I am so miserable without you! Won’t you pull all your hardness away and let us find a way out, somehow?”
He came suddenly closer and put out his arms. He would have taken her in them if she had not with a swift movement flung open the door into the hall.
“I am sorry, Dana,” she said in a voice that a strong mother might have used, “but this is the only way out!” Then lifting her voice a trifle she called, “Elim! Did you call me?”
Dana lifted his haggard face to see El
im standing young and tall and forbidding just outside the door.
“Did you want me, Lynn?” he asked, but he did not take his challenging eyes from Dana’s face.
“Yes,” said Lynette. “I want you to show Dana the lovely ship you have made me for my birthday.”
But Dana was gone, out the front door, down the walk, out of the gate, his shoulders sagging, his hat pulled over his eyes, his whole graceful body expressing utter failure, dejection, fury with his lot.
He almost collided with a stranger who was walking down the street looking intently at the house and did not see him till just as they faced one another. Dana, his eyes full of anger at this interruption, faced the man with the attitude of one who demanded an explanation for such interference, and for one long instant they looked into one another’s eyes, the dark, angry eyes, and the deep blue ones. The stranger was tall also, with finely chiseled features, and a look of knowing demeanor. He gave that long, keen glance and lifting his hat courteously passed on, looking once more intently toward the house, but he did not go in.
Dana, hardly knowing what he was doing, walked on and on up the road where he and Lynette had gone a year ago, not even aware that it was the anniversary, knowing only that he had fought his battle and lost, and that now he must walk, walk, walk, out of the world somewhere and never come back. He was not ready to face the cross. He was angry that there was a cross. His eyes were held that he could not see.
He came at last to the little sanctuary on the mountain, sacred to the memory of Lynette and the years of their friendship, but desecrated by the memory of Jessie Belle.
It had been natural for his feet to walk that way without direction; it was as natural now for them to falter as the memories suddenly rose to torment him and accuse him, and he stumbled in and sank down groaning aloud.
Off in the distance, the blue ruin blossomed lushly and made soft incense rise against the rocky mountainside. Dana presently stood up and looked across unseeingly and moaned to himself in bitter agony, “Ruin! Ruin! Ruin! My life is gone to ruin!”
“And now,” thought he, when the darkness came down around him and hunger was driving him home, “now there is nothing left but Hollywood, unless I can manage to make that New York church and pull myself up. Pull myself up alone!”
That was how he thought to do it, himself alone!
Chapter 25
Mrs. Brooke had hastened lunch and set the table with care, her heart praying while she did it. Grandma sat perfectly quiet taking her little linen stitches and praying, too. Elim took his ship model from the table and put it away elaborately, hovering not far from the parlor door, keeping busy and keeping within call; Elim was not praying. He was doing the things a boy does in his heart when he is too shy to pray and is very, very mad.
Mrs. Brooke had felt that she must be prepared for whatever came. If this was a reconciliation, or even a beginning of that most delicate situation, she must ask Dana to stay to lunch. So she made delicate little popovers, the kind Dana used to like, and got out the last glass of raspberry jam. If Lynette willed to take Dana back again into her life, she would make the way as smooth as might be. No word or act or look of her mother’s should reproach the boy whose face told that he had walked a rough, dark way since last he was there. Still she prayed, and suddenly the rumors that had been afloat about him, the memory of the made-up girl who had gone about with him, began to come to mind, and she shrank inexpressibly from the moment when that parlor door would open and the two would come forth, together or apart, to face the future.
She had a few terror-stricken moments when she blamed herself that she had not sifted down those rumors and found out just how much truth there was to them. She had a wild idea that perhaps she ought to rush forth into the village and gather them up and trace them down to their source, now before that parlor door opened and it might be forever too late. And then she remembered and went on praying. It was too late now to do anything else.
Then at last the door was swung open and there came that clear call; it was not the voice of surrender, nor was it the voice of one whose cup of joy had been suddenly filled. It was a clear, self-controlled voice of one who knew no weak illusions and who was strong to order her life as God would have her do. Just that voice made Mary Brooke murmur softly as she passed her mother’s chair.
“Thank God!” and Grandma Rutherford looked up and smiled.
“You didn’t need to worry, Mary. Lynnie belongs to the Lord. He won’t let her make a mistake.”
Then Dana walked out and down the walk and disappeared out of their sight.
They ate that beautiful lunch together in a kind of holy union with one another. It was as if some great danger had paused at their door and then gone drifting on. They spoke to one another with pleasant voices as people do who have escaped and come out into a surprising relief. They did not talk about the caller. They did not ask Lynette any questions. They just enjoyed the moment together and noted awesomely that Lynette, though very quiet, did not look unhappy. It seemed more as if she, too, had dropped a burden that had long been upon her shoulders.
It was just at the close of the meal that she told them. In a quiet little voice as if she hardly had got used to the fact, but as if it would solve all their problems.
“Mother, Dana has married that girl that was here last summer! He came to tell me!”
Mary Brooke looked startled, but she answered quietly enough.
“I wondered, Lynnie; there were rumors going around, you know. Poor Dana! She didn’t look the right sort. I’m afraid he has made a sorry mess of his life!”
“Yes,” said Lynette, looking up with a sad little smile, “he needs our prayers. The worst of it is, Mother, he doesn’t seem to have any faith in God or the Bible to help him out!”
“Poor Dana!” said Mary Brooke, with a song of rejoicing in her heart that it was not “poor Lynnie” also, for Lynette was not like a girl who had received a sudden death blow. She was calm and sweet and almost placid as she looked up at them.
“Poor Dana!”
“The sucker!” said Elim frowning. “The dirty sucker! He never did have any!”
But before they could reprove him there came a quick ring at the door.
“Good-night!” said Elim furiously. “Can’t we have any peace? On Lynnie’s birthday, I ask you, can’t we have any peace? Has that poor fish come back? Here, Lynn, let me handle him!”
But Lynette arose from the table, a stern look upon her face, and went out into the hall, shutting the door behind her.
“Aw Gee!” said Elim, sinking back into his chair. “Aw Gee! Isn’t that the limit? Now I suppose he’ll stay all the afternoon and Lynn’ll come back looking like two ghosts.”
“Don’t worry, Elim! I think it will be all right!” said his mother, through a trifle anxious. “Lynnie will know what to do.”
“Everything will be all right,” said Grandma placidly. “You see! Lynnie belongs to the Lord. She is shut into the hollow of His hand. Nothing can touch her to harm her anymore!”
Elim blinked doubtfully.
They listened while the door was opened, heard a voice, a strange voice, heard Lynette’s greeting, eager, wondering, joyous. They looked at one another in wonder. What could it mean? Who could it be?
They had gone into the parlor again, whoever it was. It did not sound like Dana’s voice. And Lynette never would have greeted him in that tone, now, knowing all she knew. Who was it?
But in the parlor the two who sat and looked into each other’s eyes and said the pleasant greetings that people who have not seen each other for some days usually say, were utterly oblivious of anything but their two selves.
“I hope you will forgive me. I had to come,” said the tall stranger with the deep blue eyes. “I had to know what kind of a man it was that made the hurt look in your eyes. I’ve been hanging around for two days to see if I could place him. I think I saw him coming out the gate about an hour ago” —he called it “aboot”—“
Am I mistaken?”
“Oh!” said Lynette, her eyes quite bright, the color rushing in waves to her cheeks, “How could you know?” Her voice was wondering, but not offended.
“I knew because I love you,” answered the voice with the burr on the curl of the words. “If he had been all right, if he had been the kind of a man who could have taken the pain out of your eyes, I should have gone on my way without calling and left you to your joy. But when I saw him I felt somehow that I must come. Am I intruding?”
“No,” said Lynette. “Oh no!” and her eyes told him more than her lips.
“Then will you come over here on this couch and sit beside me, and may I tell you how I have loved you since ever I saw you come on board the boat? Or am I too hasty?”
She came, and he told her, in words that transcended all she had ever dreamed that such a tale should be. How tame and flat seemed all else in her life that had preceded this hour!
Two hours later Lynette came suddenly to herself. She had heard the clink of silver and glass and realized that they still lived in a world where people ate, and that the family was awaiting her return disconsolately.
“Oh, but I must tell Mother and Elim and Grandmother!” she cried, starting away from the arms that were around her.
“Why, yes,” said the tall stranger. “Quite so! We should have thought of that before! How selfish we have been! And fancy having all those dear people! I have only an old aunt in Scotland, you know. Someday I must take you over to see her, my darling!”
She led him into the dining room without waiting to announce him, a Lynette whose face was aflame with holy joy and who had no idea that she was flustering them all, from the quiet grandmother who had sat putting in her linen stitches all the afternoon till she had darned up a whole inch beyond the hole and was almost run out of thread, to Elim frowning in the kitchen doorway, restless as an eel yet afraid to leave lest he should somehow be needed, and her mother in the kitchen doorway, her hands all floury and her hair awry.