Stranger within the Gates

  She hurried to put away her work so that Fae wouldn't see it. She could finish it tonight after Fae had gone to bed.

  The children hunted her up at once.

  "Anything happen yet, Syl?" asked Stan.

  "Not that I know of," said Sylvia. "There's Mother's note I found when I got home. I haven't seen her yet, of course."

  "Heck! How long's this thing going to last?" said Stan with a frown. "Seems like it wasn't worthwhile planning any fun or anything."

  "It can't last much longer," said Sylvia. "Tomorrow's the last day of school. I should think they'd be coming home tomorrow night, or Saturday morning at the latest."

  "Well, it's the limit to have our holidays spoiled this way," said Fae. "Other people are having good times, and we just have to hold our breaths all the time. I don't see why Rex didn't know what he'd done."

  "Maybe he does," said Stan soberly. "Maybe he's sorry as the dickens by this time. Maybe he's sore at himself. I've felt that way myself when I know I've done something wrong. Say, I'm going down to get an apple. Who wants one?"

  "I do," said Fae.

  "Bring me one, too, Stan," said Sylvia.

  And presently Stan came back with a plate of shining red apples, and they all fell to enjoying them.

  When they sighted their mother turning into the gateway, they all raced down the drive to meet her, even Sylvia. But they did not talk about their worries on the way to the house. They smiled and talked cheerfully, for they all saw their mother was very tired. Fae told about how the play was going and that she had to make a presentation speech tomorrow for the teacher's present. It was a beautiful, big photograph album of real leather, with the picture of the whole class pasted in the front. Fae was very much excited about it. And then Stan had to tell about the tree he trimmed and how Mary Elizabeth Remley had helped him. Fae chimed in again about how mean Betty Lou had been about wanting to wear her new pajamas, how she stayed away from rehearsal, how Miss Jenkins had made Fae take Betty Lou's part, and how if Betty Lou didn't turn up and apologize, she would be cut and Fae would have to keep it.

  Mary Garland listened to them all, smiling, gentle, her tired eyes on first one and then the other. Then she looked at her eldest girl. Sylvia wasn't saying anything, but her face had happy curves, and the strained, anxious look was gone. The others sighed as she entered the house and looked anxiously on the hall table for a letter. But there was no letter. Too many things going on at college for Paul to think of writing, and, of course, she hadn't called him again. She was glad of that, for now she wouldn't have to worry about his trying to discipline Rex. Undoubtedly, Rex needed discipline, but college was not the place to give it, under the circumstances, and Paul was not the one to administer it at present. She was, however, feeling the strain of Rex's silence greatly. It had seemed to her that the hours since Rex's letter had first arrived had been the longest she had ever experienced, the days interminable and the nights a torture. There was a sad, sweet, strained look on her face that the children could readily read, and their resentment against their once adored brother was growing day by day.

  They ate their supper quietly. Mother was not eating much. They all noticed that, and they got up from the table with a kind of apathy toward the evening. Mary Garland saw that their nerves were getting raw, too, and that she must rise to the occasion; so she rose. It was what she had been doing ever since their father had died, rising to occasions, and somehow doing that had the power to erase from her brow the new lines of care and give her a kind of loving radiance that drew them all within its power.

  "Now, boys and girls," she said playfully, "have any of you any homework that has to be done tonight?"

  "Not a scratch," said Stan triumphantly.

  "Oh, no!" laughed Fae.

  "I got it done early this morning," said Sylvia.

  "Very well, then, I want you all to come up in my room for a conference. I'm going to lie down a little while. My back is tired, and there are a few things we've got to settle. Stan, bring a pencil and a tablet, and you be secretary. Sylvia, you and Fae get pencils, too. We've got to get organized and be sure everything is in working order, if we are to have unexpected things sprung on us. We won't have brains to remember everything if it isn't all set down in black and white."

  They all came eagerly. Perhaps Sylvia suspected her mother's brave gesture, but she said nothing and came along joyously enough, as if it were a game.

  "Now," said Mary Garland as she settled herself comfortably on her bed with the three young people around her, "we want to see if we are all ready. Suppose, Stan, you write down a list of all the names, and then we'll check up and see if we all have our presents ready, wrapped and labeled, for each one. That includes the maids and outsiders, too. Then as you go along and something comes up that isn't done, Sylvia, you write it down. And suppose you undertake to remind the different ones and see that matter is attended to at once. And Fae, if anything occurs to you as we go along that needs attention or investigation, suppose you write that down."

  They spent an absorbed half hour doing this, and there was a practical result when the checking was done. Stan handed each one a bit of paper on which was written the number of things that still needed their attention.

  "But what I'd like ta know," said Stan, "is, what are we gonta call that girl? That new girl of Rex's. We don't know her name. Or do we have to give her a present?"

  They all looked appealingly at their mother. It was a question that she had already sidestepped in her own mind several times, but now she saw it had to be met.

  "Why, if she comes for Christmas, yes, I suppose we must give her a present. It would not be courteous not to, and it would certainly hurt Rex deeply if he cares for her. I think it would hurt him anyway, even if he didn't, since he has chosen to make her his wife."

  "Mother," said Fae, looking up, with her chin in the air, "I think it is enough for us to stand her, without giving her presents that won't mean a thing. We give presents because we love people, don't we? Well, we don't love her! And I don't guess we ever will."

  "Sometimes," said Mary Garland thoughtfully, "we give presents for the sake of other people. In this case, we would be giving something for Rex's sake, at least until we have had time to know her and love her for her own sake."

  "Well, I'll never, never do that!" said Fae, shutting her childish young lips firmly. "Taking my brother away and letting him get married when he had no business to. No, I won't love her!"

  "Well, I'm afraid you never will if you start out that way, Fae. I thought you went and asked God to make this thing right somehow and to make you feel right, didn't you?"

  "Well, I prayed some of those things," said Fae. "But I don't think it's right to love her. And I don't know as it's right to give things to her for Rex's sake, either. He did wrong, didn't he? Well, ought he to have a lot of love spent on him when he did that?"

  Mary Garland sighed.

  "If God did that way with us, when we have done wrong, there are a good many gifts we wouldn't get from Him. I guess perhaps we all need to go and pray again."

  "Well, Moms, what would you think we could give her? Would a box of candy be all right?"

  "Yes, I should think so," said the mother.

  "I have a pretty scarf I got for Cousin Euphrasia, and then I decided on a book instead. I could give that," said Sylvia.

  Fae was very sober and thoughtful for a moment, and then she said, "Well, I could give her a pretty handkerchief. I've got enough money left from my Christmas fund for that. Would that be all right, Muvver?"

  Mary Garland drew her youngest child within her arm and kissed her round, pink cheek.

  "Yes, dear. I think that would be nice."

  They scattered presently to their rooms, but their mother lay still a long time, thinking of her own problem. It hadn't been as simple as the children's. It wasn't just a matter of a present. It involved too many questions that might affect a whole lifetime if she went astray in her judgment.


  She fell asleep at last, comforted by the thought that at least the strain of not knowing could not be much longer. Paul, anyway, would surely be coming home tomorrow night.

  Chapter 5

  About two weeks before the letter came that so disturbed the Garland family, Rex stamped into the pie shop of the college town around ten o'clock one night, when most of the other students were attending a fraternity dance. It didn't happen to be Rex's fraternity, and anyway, he didn't care much for dancing. Besides, he was trying to study hard and make really good marks.

  He had been working away in his room since dinner that night, and now he was suddenly hungry, so he had come down to the pie shop to get a bowl of soup.

  It happened that there was no other customer in the shop but himself, and a blond waitress was the only attendant that night. One got extra pay for evening work, and she was buying an expensive suit on an installment plan. Another installment was due in a few days now, so she had offered to work that evening.

  The waitress was seated behind the counter on a high stool reading a movie magazine when Rex came in, but she cast the magazine aside and came forward eagerly. This was Rex Garland, already famous as a probable athletic star. He had dark, crisply curly, well-cut hair and eyes that were deep blue, darkly fringed.

  "Ice cream?" she said cordially. "We have fresh strawberry, vanilla, chocolate, caramel custard--"

  But he held up his hand to check her list.

  "I want something real," he said. "I'm hungry. I want a bowl of soup. We had a rank supper tonight at college. Sauerkraut, and I never could abide it."

  "Is that so?" The girl smiled indulgently. "Well, I don't like it either. I don't think it's fit to put in a human stomach. What kind of soup do you want? Tomato or mushroom?"

  "Haven't you got plain vegetable soup?" he asked eagerly. "The kind they make at home? I'm hungry for my mother's cooking!"

  "Isn't that the truth!" sympathized the girl. "Does your mother cook? Most ladies don't have time for that nowadays, what with all the bridge parties and clubs and things."

  "Oh, my mother doesn't go to clubs much, and she doesn't play bridge. Yes, she can cook, though she doesn't do much of it anymore, but she's taught the servants to cook as well as she ever could."

  All the time this idle conversation was going on the girl was working rapidly, manipulating a can of soup and a bright kettle on the gas hot plate, and now she set the bowl of steaming soup before him and brought a plate of crackers and a glass of ice water.

  "Do you have many servants?" she asked casually.

  "Only three now--a cook and a maid and a gardener."

  "You're lucky to have a home like that!" said the girl with a wistful sigh. "Take me, now, I haven't got any mother, nor any home, either." And she sighed deeply.

  "Say, now, that's hard luck!" said Rex pleasantly. "It doesn't seem as if one could half live without a mother."

  "Ain't it the truth!" said the girl.

  "Has your mother been dead long?" asked Rex, because she still lingered around, and it didn't seem kind to not say something.

  "Yeah. She's been dead since I was a little kid. My aunt brought me up, and she wasn't very motherly. We lived in one room, and she went to work in a department store every day, so, you see, I really never had a home at all."

  "That's bad!" said Rex between hot mouthfuls of soup. "Your father dead, too?"

  "I don't know," said the girl shyly, wiping a furtive tear. "He went away when my mother was very sick, and we never heard from him again. I don't suppose he was worth much. He was the son of a rich man, but it just about killed my mother, having him go off like that."

  "Well, that must have been pretty terrible," said Rex, reaching for another handful of crackers. "Haven't you ever heard from him?"

  "No," said the girl sadly. "Well, only just once after he went away, he sent me a little locket and chain, but that's all. And we don't even know he sent that. It was after my mother died, and we weren't sure it was his handwriting. But there wasn't anybody else who could have sent it, so we gave him the credit of it. But after my aunt died that was the end, I guess. He probably thought I'd try to get supported by him. But, you know, it's awfully hard. Being all alone in the world that way and having to earn my living."

  "It must be," said Rex sympathetically. "I think you deserve a great deal of credit the way you've got along. I guess they think a lot of you here."

  "Oh, well, it's not so hot here, you know," said the girl with a toss of her head and a contemptuous look on her very red lips. "You know, in a place like this where so many men come in, you have to watch your step. They aren't always so respectful as they might be, either, and a girl has to run all sorts of risks to keep on going from day to day. There's a fellow now that's got me on the spot. He's been trying to make me go with him, but I don't like him. And anyway, he's already married. At least I think he is, and he gets so mad when I don't accept his invitations. He's got so now he watches for me when I go home at night, and three times already I've had to change my rooming house because he follows me and just hounds me to go to dances and things with him. I'm afraid to stir anywhere for fear I'll meet him. He carries a gun, too. He told me that, and sometimes he gets it out and fools around with it and scares me out of my life."

  "Who is this fellow? Does he live around here?" Rex asked angrily.

  "He says his name is Rehobeth. Harry Rehobeth, but I'm not all that sure that's right. I think he just changes his name on occasion, if you know what I mean. And he might be hiding from justice for all I know. The first time he came in here to get something to eat was way late at night. They had asked me to keep open here till midnight that night, and when he came in he was wound up, if you know what I mean, really wound up! And when I brought him his order, he just reached over and caught my wrist and kissed me, just like that! Well, I wasn't used to that sort of thing and I told him so, and I shied off him and kept in the background. But the next day he came in again and said he was going to take me to a nightclub in the city, and he wouldn't take no for an answer. And he got furious when I wouldn't promise to go. A few nights after that he met me halfway home and grabbed me and tried to kiss me hard, but I screamed, and we heard a policeman coming, so he beat it. But I've been deathly afraid of him ever since. He declares he's going to get me yet. And I've always been respectable, even if I was poor and alone."

  By this time the girl was crying. Great crystal tears like beads rolling down her cheeks. She put up her hand and tried to wipe them off and turned her head away to hide them from him.

  "Say!" said Rex. "That's pretty tough! Is there anything I could do for you? If we knew where to find him, I could get a bunch of the fellas together, and we'd whale him within an inch of his life and make him lay off you!"

  The girl buried her face in her hands for a minute while her slender shoulders shook with sobs, and then she turned a teary smile on Rex.

  "You're sweet!" she said under her breath. "But I wouldn't want to make you all that trouble."

  "Why, that's no trouble at all," said Rex. "The fellows would just love to fight a guy like that and scare him to death. Tell me where you think we could find him. Do you think he'll be around tonight?"

  "Oh, I'm afraid so," said the girl, shivering fearfully, "but he wouldn't show himself, of course, if there were college boys around. Besides, you mustn't think of doing any such things! You'd get in bad at the college, you know, and it would get in the papers and all. Why, he might even shoot you, and I'd never forgive myself if he did."

  "Oh, I'd risk that!" said Rex gallantly. "Suppose you get me a cup of coffee and some of those cinnamon buns, and we'll make a plan to catch that guy and bring him to justice."

  The girl cast a look of deep admiration at him that made him feel a real hero, and then her eyes grew frightened again.

  "No!" she said. "No, I couldn't let you do that! I really couldn't! But there's one thing you could do for me, if you don't mind. Wait! I'll get your coffee, and then I'll tell
you."

  Rex watched her as she flew around getting his cinnamon buns and pouring his coffee, and he thought how pretty she looked in that blue print dress that fitted her so well and made her look so frail and delicate! What a shame any fellow was bad enough to torment a girl like that, just because she was alone in the world with nobody to protect her. What a rotter her father must be that he didn't hunt her up and look out for her!

  The girl was back in a moment with the food, telling him again how grateful she was for his kind thoughts of her.

  "You don't know what it means," she said with an adorable expression in her wide gray eyes, "to have someone offer to do a thing like that. After all these days and years of fending for myself, to have someone actually sorry for me! I just can't thank you enough."

  "Oh, forget it!" said Rex royally. "Anybody that was halfway decent would do the same. Forget it, and tell me what it was you were going to ask me to do for you."

  "Oh, but I can't ever forget it," she said softly. "You're so good! But what I was going to ask you was, would you mind so very much walking home with me tonight? I'm just scared to death; I really am! And if I could be walking with some man, I know he wouldn't dare touch me. Not tonight. And maybe by tomorrow I could find me another room, then I'd be free from him for a while, and he'd get tired trailing me."

  "Sure, I'll walk home with you! What time do you leave here?" He gave a quick look toward the clock. He was supposed to be in bed by a certain time since he was in training, but perhaps he could do it without being caught; and if he were, he could explain that it was a matter of life and death, something he had to do for a lady.

  "Sure," he said again. "When do we leave? Do you have to stay here late?"

  The girl cast a look at the clock.

  "Why, I'm expecting the proprietor here any minute now. He's always in by quarter past eleven. He knows I want to go home by that time at the latest tonight. And if you would be so good as just to hang around till he comes--? Then you could pay your check sort of as if you were through here, and go outside, and in a minute or two I could get away. I'd meet you up at the corner by the drugstore. Would that be all right with you?"