“Oh, your father is going, too, of course! It wouldn’t be any fun to leave him behind. He knows all about it. I told him last night, and he was delighted. He said he had been praying for a way to get her out of this climate till the hot weather was over.”
“So have I,” said John sadly, “but I couldn’t let you take all that burden on you. What will your family think?”
“My family will think it’s lovely. I wired Dad yesterday morning when Sam went down to the village for bread, and the answer came just now over the telephone while you were gone. He said, ‘The more the merrier. Give them my hearty welcome!’”
“Does he know who we are?” asked John grimly. His lips were set in a thin, firm line, and Mary Elizabeth felt that this was going to be bad.
“You mean does he know that you are going to marry me?” she asked cheerfully. “Not officially yet; I’m leaving that for you to tell him. But I shouldn’t be surprised if he suspects. He’s a pretty clever man, my father is.”
“Yes,” said John, still more grimly, “and you think I could have the face to go and ask the father of a Wainwright to give his daughter to a penniless man without a flicker of prospect for the future?”
“Why, yes,” said Mary Elizabeth still cheerfully. “That is, if you still want to marry me!”
“I want to marry you, yes, God knows that, but I don’t want you to be tied down to poverty, and I couldn’t ask you, a Wainwright, to marry me, a poor nothing, not until I was sure of a living.”
“Forget that Wainwright business, will you?” said Mary Elizabeth crossly. “It’s the first trace of snobbishness I’ve found in you, and I wouldn’t have suspected it. As if money made one person better than another.”
“You’ll find a father will think so.”
“Not my father,” said Mary Elizabeth. “If he did, I’d disown him. However, of course”—and Mary Elizabeth’s chin went up a little proudly—“if you want to let your mother droop and die in this hot summer climate and want to send me off with a broken heart and, incidentally, maybe nick a little crack out of your own heart, why, keep your old pride!”
She turned her head away from him to hide the tremble of her lip and the blinking of her eyes. Mary Elizabeth was not a crying girl, but she was tired and overwrought, and this man was going to be stubborn.
But John suddenly stopped his car and put his arms around her again.
“Mary Elizabeth,” he said solemnly, “God knows I want to marry you, but I don’t want to take any advantage of you.”
“You already took advantage of me going down that church aisle,” gurgled Mary Elizabeth from the shelter of his arms, “and now you’ve got to bear the consequences! Pride or no pride, money or no money, you’re not going to stand aloof from me for months and years, nor even weary weeks, until you’ve brought your bank account up to mine, for I won’t stand for it. You showed me what I wanted when you walked me down that church aisle, and now I can’t be satisfied with any counterfeit. The men I used to know don’t interest me anymore. Please don’t be difficult, John Saxon. I love you, you know. And you’ll find that that will make all the difference with Dad, too. You see, Dad loves me, and he’s going to love you!”
They got back to the bungalow eventually, though they did not give very satisfactory accounts of where they had been. But everybody was too busy to notice much except Sam, and he kept his own counsel and went around suppressing a perpetual whistle for fear of disturbing the invalid. Twice he went off in the woods by himself just to whistle, he felt so glad.
There was another reason for whistling, too. Just that day the doctor had announced that if the patient’s pulse and temperature stayed as they were for a couple more days, he thought they could plan to take her away. That would mean that the horrible time of anxiety would be over. Sam drew a deep breath and said, “Oh, boy!” out loud to the tall pines, palmettos, and waving moss.
The doctor brought up the subject that very evening while he and the two Saxons and Cousin Richie Wainwright were eating a quiet family meal in the Saxon kitchen, with Sam acting as waiter and Mary Elizabeth doing a tasty bit of experimental cooking.
“By the way, John,” he said genially, “I think it’s imperative that we get that mother of yours away from this heat at once. How about starting day after tomorrow, if she still continues to improve? Mary Elizabeth has invited us all to a wonderful place by the sea, and I think the quicker we get there the better. It will be a lot better for me, too. I need to run up to New York for a few hours and look after some matters, and of course after another week or so I’ll only have to run down to the shore occasionally to look after her. You can do all that is necessary most of the time, and keep a watch on her. We mustn’t stand any chances of relapse. It might go hard with her. What do you think?”
John looked at his beloved doctor with startled eyes, taking in the facts as the doctor put them and realized the good sense of his argument, but there was immediate trouble and anxiety in both his voice and expression.
“I hadn’t thought that far,” he owned. “I didn’t see how anything like that could be. It sounds wonderful, of course, and Mary Elizabeth has been telling me, but I do not see how I could go. I didn’t think I’d be needed. There is work here that I ought to be doing—”
“Certainly you’ll be needed!” said the doctor brusquely. “I couldn’t take the responsibility of the trip without you, nor of leaving your mother in her present condition, even for a few hours, unless you were there. And your father is not able to take the responsibility yet. You are the kingpin of this expedition, young man, and you might as well make up your mind to let everything else go. Groves aren’t in it when we’re talking about life and death!”
“He’s right, Son. Let the grove go. This does seem God sent,” said the father, turning his peaceful eyes earnestly on his son. Since God had given him back his beloved partner, he felt that nothing else mattered.
“But Father, if we lost the grove?” began John.
“I know, Son, but this comes first. And if—when—your mother gets well, there’ll be a way out of our difficulties somehow.”
John looked troubled and was silent through the rest of the meal, his eyes deeply thoughtful, and when they were finished, he stepped out into the dark grove and wandered around among his trees, looking up to the dark blue above him studded with stars.
It was there Cousin Richie found him half an hour later—just strolled around and stood beside him as if that was the most natural thing in the world to do.
“You’ve got a nice grove here,” he said casually, as if groves were only incidental in the scheme of things.
“Yes,” said John, “it will be if it can have the attention it needs. In a couple of years it will keep Father and Mother in comfort.”
“Well, of course, that’s a thing to be considered. Still, I suppose it doesn’t weigh against their health.”
“No,” said John with a sigh, “of course not. I don’t just know what I ought to do.”
Cousin Richie was still for a minute, and then he said, “Nice grove! I suppose the old folks are greatly attached to it, aren’t they? They wouldn’t want to leave it?”
“No,” said John, “I don’t think they are. But it’s all they have, of course, and it would mean a big loss if it died out. They’ve often talked over the matter and sometimes wished they had gone somewhere else when they were buying.”
“They wouldn’t think of selling, I suppose, would they?”
John smiled.
“You couldn’t sell anything now,” he said. “You could hardly give it away. People are not buying. We could never get our money out of it.”
“Some people are buying. Some people think it is a good time to buy when things are cheap. What would you have to get for it to get your money out? Fertilizers, labor, and all, I mean.”
John thought for a minute and then named a sum that seemed so ridiculously low that Cousin Richie almost laughed aloud at how things were being thro
wn into his hand.
“I think I could get more than that for you,” he said thoughtfully, “if you think your father would consider selling at all. I have a friend up in New York who is interested in real estate. You might speak to your father and find out if he would be interested. If you say so, I’ll call up my friend in the morning and see if I can get an offer. How many acres have you? How old are your trees?”
They stayed out in the starlight for some time, John giving information about the grove, details of expenses, etc., telling the price of land in that section when they purchased several years ago. Then he went in and had a little talk with his father. Later he wandered over to the plane and sought out Richie Wainwright again.
“Father says he’d be glad to sell,” said John. “He says Mother needs to get away, and he knows she’s been longing to go north again. He’d be willing to sell at almost any figure that would cover what he’s actually put into it.”
“All right. I’ll see what I can do in the morning,” said Cousin Richie, trying to appear most casual.
“Well, it would be great, of course,” said John, “but I’m not entertaining any very high hopes. Florida has slumped, you know, and people are not running around paying anything for isolated orange groves in the wilderness.”
“You’re sure your mother won’t mind? You don’t have to ask her first?” said Cousin Richie.
“No, we’ll tell her the good news if it ever happens,” said John. “That will be better for her than hoping for something that never could be.”
“Well, we’ll try it out in the morning,” said Cousin Richie dryly. “Now you run home and get some sleep, and don’t fret about things.”
John said good night and went to his bed. He was not taking the matter of a possible sale very seriously. He thought this rich man did not understand the present state of the market for Florida property, and he had even more serious problems to face than the possible loss of the grove. He couldn’t rightly exult in the love of the girl he had chosen, because the way ahead looked dark and blank. He couldn’t possibly marry Mary Elizabeth in his present penniless state, and he had a struggle with himself to lay the whole matter before the Lord and go quietly to sleep, but he finally did, and the new day dawned with a joy over the whole little group that could not be daunted by poverty or pain or anxiety of any kind. John’s mother was getting well, and what more could be desired?
In the morning Cousin Richie borrowed John Saxon’s old jalopy and drove into the village. In about an hour he returned and said that his friend in New York had offered a sum twice as large as the highest hopes of the Saxon family had ever dared go. Old Mr. Saxon sat with an incredulous look upon his face and laughed when they told him. It took a lot of talking to make him understand that the offer was genuine. When he was at last convinced, he sat and beamed.
“How about this furniture?” asked Cousin Richie. “Old family heirlooms? Have to keep it, or want to sell?”
“It’s all very cheap furniture, brought down here, no heirlooms,” said John, looking about him at the things that had made up his home for the last fifteen years. “It’s not worth much, and not worth taking north. But you wouldn’t get anything for it.”
“Well, I told him I didn’t know if you wanted to sell the furniture, of course. I told him it was plain and comfortable, nothing fancy, but it would be worth a thousand more if it was left furnished. He said all right, that would be good. Then I could select a caretaker who could live here and get right to work on the grove. Know any such person?”
“Oh, yes,” said John. “Eric Tanner over in the next county is an expert with orange trees, and he’d be glad to get the job. He lost a lot of money in the slump. But really, Mr. Wainwright, this furniture isn’t worth a thousand dollars. It isn’t worth half that, not even when it was new.”
“That’s all right. It’s worth that much to the new owner, just to get the grove taken over right away. We’ll fix up the papers this afternoon and take them with us to sign in New York. Now, how soon do you think you could get away? Are there any things Mrs. Saxon would want to keep? Better find that out right away, and after lunch I’ll take the car or the plane and go hunt Eric Tanner.”
“Gee!” said Sam, standing in the doorway listening.
“You certainly are a fast worker!” said John, looking dazed. “It seems as if this was too good to be true.”
“It certainly does,” said John’s father. “I’m afraid the man will think he’s been cheated when he gets down here and sees everything.”
“Oh, he won’t get down here,” said Cousin Richie easily. “He’s just buying this on speculation. He’ll put money into it and make it a success. He’ll sell it for a lot more by and by when things come up from the slump again. Don’t you worry about him. He deals in large interests and buys widely. He’s taken my word for it that this is worth buying, and I feel sure it is, if one has the money to develop it. There’s land enough all around to buy up, too, and enlarge, if he wants to. He’s glad to know about it!”
“Well, it’s just a miracle,” said the old man sweetly. “Just another miracle our heavenly Father has let you be the instrument of bringing about. We can never be thankful enough to you for your part in it.”
Cousin Richie hurried away from praise as from a plague, and he came out into the orange grove rubbing his eyes and clearing his throat. He had never met people quite like these before.
Sam watched him go away, and then he slipped out into the kitchen where Mary Elizabeth was doing some work.
“Say, Mary Beth, did Cousin Richie buy this grove himself?”
“Why, he says that man named Westgate bought it,” said Mary Elizabeth, turning a radiant smile on Sam.
“Oh yeah?” said Sam speculatively.
Chapter 25
It was decided that Mother Saxon was well enough to be told one or two of the things that were about to happen. Father Saxon was doing the telling while he sat with her for a few minutes. He was warned that it must be done so that it couldn’t possibly excite her.
“Well, Mother,” said Mr. Saxon, settling down in his chair, “do you feel strong enough to hear some good news?”
“Good news?” said Mother Saxon slowly. “Why, surely. Good news never hurts anybody, does it? I really think, dear, that I’ll be well enough to sit up in a few days, don’t you think so? What better news could there be for me than that?”
“Well, we’ll have to ask the doctor about when you can sit up,” said Father, smiling. “We’re not going to have any relapses, you know. But listen, Mother, the unexpected has happened. We’ve had an offer for the grove. How about it, shall we sell?”
“I suppose they haven’t offered enough to pay half what you’ve put into it,” said the wife. “Are you sure it’s a genuine offer? Or just another one of those fakes, people trying to get property for nothing?”
“No, it’s genuine enough. A man in New York. Mr. Wainwright knows him. I’m pretty well convinced we should sell. I’d like to take you back north, at least for the summer.”
“But Father, not at a great loss! I can’t bear to have you lose everything. And all your hard work!”
But when he told her the price that was offered, she gasped delightedly.
“Why, Father, it’s just like the fairy tales I used to dream out when I was a child going to sleep! You’re not ‘kidding’ me, are you, as John says?”
“No. I’m not kidding you. It’s a genuine offer. He wants to take it over right away. He wants to buy the furniture, too. He’ll pay a thousand more for everything, just as it stands. Of course, you’re to take out anything you very much prize. Or, of course, if you want to keep the furniture, you can.”
“No, there’s nothing but the old clock and Grandmother’s bureau and chair that is worth keeping,” said the pleased old lady, “but I can’t make it seem real. Why would he want furniture he’s never seen?”
“He’s going to put a man in right way to work the grove. He said it woul
d save time and trouble to have a place all ready for him to live.”
“How soon does he want us to get out? We’d have to pack our personal things of course.”
“Yes, but that wouldn’t take long, I guess. The man would like to take over the place this week.”
“But, dear, does the doctor think I’d be able to get up by then? And where could we go, with you not able to walk yet without a crutch?”
“Not to say exactly up,” said the smiling old man. “Yes, up, up in the air, perhaps.” He smiled again. “But he says you’ll be able to be moved. And we’re invited to a house party! Mary Elizabeth Wainwright has invited us to a house party at the seashore, and the doctor says you can go!”
The old lady looked dazed.
“I couldn’t possibly go to a house party,” she said. “I’ve nothing fit to wear. It’s very lovely of her, of course, but I couldn’t possibly do it. Everything I have is quite worn and old. It was well enough for down here, but it wouldn’t do for a seashore place nor a house party. And besides, I haven’t even anything fit to wear traveling!”
“Well, you talk with Mary Elizabeth about it, Mother. She’ll explain it all out to you. And John, he thinks it’s all right!”
“He would!” said the woman who had come back to earth again from the borderland of heaven and realized that her fig leaves were entirely out of date. “John is a dear lamb, but he doesn’t know about clothes!”
“Oh, but I do!” cried Mary Elizabeth, entering at just the right minute from her station outside the door. “I’ll tell you all about it. You see, it isn’t a fashionable summer resort where you are going. It’s a dear old house where I used to go when I was a child, and I love it. There are no fashionable people around, and anyway, our house party is just going to be us, and clothes don’t matter.”
“But I’ve really nothing to travel in, dear,” said the old lady, who had begun to love the lovely girl who seemed to be a sort of assistant to the nurse and was yet a cousin of Jeffrey Wainwright, of whom she was so fond.