Beauty for Ashes (16 page)

“I hope it’s all right,” said Murray, anxiously hovering around. “We just had it tuned last week for Lindsey’s coming. She’s very particular about it.”

“It’s lovely!” said Vanna, noticing what clear, beautiful eyes the young man had, astonished again that there should be two such young men in this out-of-the-way place.

The little audience settled down in the big company room, while Murray tiptoed around to raise the shades and let the sunlight in till a long bright ray rested on Gloria’s golden head.

Murray’s mother came softly in again to listen, sitting in a dim corner with a pleased, tender look on her face. Later, when they spoke of trying to borrow a violin for Gloria to use, she slipped quietly out of the room, returning presently with something wrapped in a soft silk cloth. Walking over to where Gloria sat, she unwrapped it and laid it gently in Gloria’s lap.

“It was my son’s,” she said softly. “I’d like to hear you play on it. I don’t know whether it is in shape to play or not, but Lindsey had it put in good order last summer, and it has been wrapped away from dampness and cold. Perhaps it will need some fixing. Murray will know.”

The little company was silent as she laid one of her treasures down for their pleasure. Gloria was deeply touched, and even Vanna, who had not heard the story of the brother who had died in such a tragic way, brushed her hand across her eyes and thought what tender unusual people these were. Again she had that feeling of being in a dream and expecting to wake up pretty soon and find it all a mirage, everything was so different from all her previous experience.

Gloria took up the instrument and touched it tenderly. “It looks like a very fine one,” she said, looking carefully at it. “It looks—why, it looks like a Stradivarius!”

“Yes, it’s a Strad,” said Murray, coming over to point out an inscription inside, which could be dimly read if turned in a certain way.

Gloria drew her fingers over it softly. “But I’m not a great enough player to play on an instrument like this!” she said softly, bending her head lovingly over it and touching the strings. “The G string is broken,” she said regretfully.

“I think there are some strings,” said the mother. “The case is on the chair in the hall, Murray.”

Presently they had the violin supplied with strings, and Gloria tuned it and played a chord or two.

“Ah!” said Murray, drawing in a breath of pleasure as he realized that Gloria was bringing a great tone from the old instrument.

Then together the girls played snatches of old masters they had learned when they were studying intensively, and the mother sat and wiped a furtive tear away now and then and thought of how her boy used to play for her.

After they had played for some time, Gloria laid the violin down and turned to Murray. “Now, you will please sing! It’s quite your turn to perform, and I’ve been telling Vanna about your voices.”

“Voice, you mean,” said Murray. “I’m not much of a singer.”

“Now, just for that, we’ll make you sing first!” said Carroll.

But it finally ended in Murray selecting some music from the music cabinet and making his friend sing it alone.

Vanna was thrilled to find such a voice, just as she had been astonished to find such a man so far from sophistication. She accompanied him as one who recognizes a truly good singer, and his voice rang out deep and true until it filled the big parlor. Gloria, able to sit and listen now without having to think about her playing was rejoiced to see that her first impression of his singing had not been exaggerated. He really sang wonderfully.

“Now,” said Carroll as he finished the last long note of his solo, “come Murray! We’ll give them a jolly one first, and then ‘What Did He Do?’ ”

Without bothering to hunt any music, the two young men stood together, their arms across one another’s shoulders, and sang a funny little melody, only a jingle really, where the words tumbled over one another so rapidly that one wondered how mortal tongue could speak them and not trip up.

Then while their audience was still laughing over this, and still without accompaniment, the two sounded a soft note and broke into another song:

“Oh, listen to our wondrous story
,

Counted once among the lost
,

Yet, one came down from heaven’s glory
,

Saving us at awful cost!

Who saved us from eternal loss?

Who but God’s Son upon the cross?

What did He do?

He died for you!

Where is He now?

Believe it thou
,

In heaven, interceding!”

From the first note, Gloria had fixed her eyes on their faces, recalling the story Murray had told her of the ship and the lost brother. The meaning he had meant to teach her came more clearly to her now, and it was as if the message came straight to her own heart. “He died for you!” She had heard enough in the meeting last night to understand what that meant, and the message sank deep, taking on a personal insistence that she knew sometime she had to meet and answer.

When the second verse began, as the two voices blended so exquisitely, the enunciation being so perfect as to seem like but one person speaking the words, she glanced toward her sister to see what she thought of this, and found Vanna’s eyes fixed on the singers, a look of utter astonishment and bewilderment on her face.

“No angel could our place have taken
,

Highest of the high, though He;

The loved One on the cross forsaken
,

Was one of the Godhead three.”

Again that striking chorus, those questions and answers! Gloria looked at Vanna again and saw she wore the same almost frightened look that had been on her face at Stan’s funeral. It was getting Vanna, too! She didn’t understand this strange thing that these young men had that made them so different from other young men, but it was getting her!

But when the last verse was reached, it seemed to Gloria as if it were personal, just for herself, and she sat with down-drooped eyes throughout.

“Will you surrender to this Saviour?

To His scepter humbly bow?

You, too, shall come to know His favor
,

He will save you, save you now!

Who saved us from eternal loss?

Who but God’s Son upon the cross?

What did He do?

He died for you!

Where is He now?

Believe it thou
,

In heaven, interceding!”

The room was very still as they finished, and the two stood with arms still around one another’s shoulders, heads slightly bowed for an instant as if a prayer were going up from their hearts.

Then suddenly they dropped their arms and smiled on their guests.

“How about getting out for a little tennis now, and then perhaps we’ll come in later or maybe this evening and do some real practicing together?” suggested Murray.

Out into the bright sunshine they trooped, to the tennis court, where a meadowlark was trilling off in the distance, and lazy little spring clouds were drifting over a blue June sky, but there was a hush over the two girls, a difference that at first they could not overcome. The impression of that last song was still upon them, and Vanna at least felt very much like a fish out of water.

Murray and Gloria played against the other two and found their antagonists were well matched. Almost at once it became obvious that this was going to be a lively set.

Vanna was alert and ready with her play, but she was watching her partner with even more interest than the game. This amazing man who was a farmer and a scholar and a singer yet could take part in a song like the one that had just been sung and get away with it. Religion! And yet a kind of religion that Vanna had never met with before! What did it all mean? Or was that song just a bit of good music that gave a good dramatic effect and showed off their voices? Somehow the way they had spoken those words, earnest, tender, grave, did not seem like an attempt at dramatic effect. Vanna could not make out what it was all about, but she was fascinated as she could not see Gloria had been fascinated.

Well, what was the harm, since it took Gloria’s mind off her own troubles? At least it was interesting.

And so Vanna played on, every now and then meeting the eyes of her partner, in one of those long, interested, searching looks, lit with a smile that took her into his friendship and comradeship in such a pleasant way. She felt more intrigued by it than by anything that had come her way in many a long hectic month.

They had just sat down on the long bench to rest a bit from the third set when Mrs. MacRae came out to tell them that they were all to stay there to supper. She had arranged it with Emily Hastings, and supper would be served on the side porch where they could watch the sunset while they ate.

There was a great scurrying to wash up and brush back untidy hair, and they all came laughing happily back to find their places at the white-spread table. Vanna slipped into her seat and was about to make a cheerful remark, when she felt a sudden hush come over the table.

“You ask the blessing, won’t you, Robert?” asked Mrs. MacRae, and Vanna, bowing her head a trifle tardily because she had never before been at a table where a blessing was asked, heard her recent partner ask a blessing on the food and on them all in such a beautiful, tender way that all her shyness returned to her once more and her remark died on her lips. Who were these people who took their religion with their daily food, and as a matter of course, and were happy over it? How did they get that way?

There was a big brown bean pot standing on a little side table. It was steaming and rich with molasses and had been simmering in the oven all the afternoon and now was sending out a most delicious fragrance. There were big, thick, pink slices of cold ham, delicious fried potatoes with a tang of onion in them, puffy, hot raised biscuits, baked apples with the thickest, richest cream imaginable, and squares of golden sponge cake for desert.

The side porch was wide and spacious and turned a corner of the house, so that the space allotted to the table was large enough for a room. The outlook was over meadows to the mountains, and as they sat down, the sun was just touching its ruby rim to the top of a mountain, a great ball of fire sliding down the west in a chariot of glory. It was the most magnificent banqueting hall that one could desire, and the sun seemed here to meet one on intimate terms.

“One feels almost embarrassed, certainly privileged,” said Vanna suddenly as she gazed, “to be looking in on the sun in this private life this way. I don’t think I was ever so near to a sun before!”

Robert Carroll looked up and smiled. “It is a privilege indeed to be where one can watch God’s handiwork, isn’t it? That’s one reason why I decided on living in the country. I always feel so sorry for the folks who live in the city and never see a sunset!”

“And it is so still here!” said Gloria, watching the red ball slip slowly down. “One can almost hear the sun slipping away. That was the first thing that impressed me when I got here. Did you notice it, Vanna, how very quiet it is?”

“Why, yes, that must be it,” said Vanna, laughing. “I noticed there was something big missing. It must be the noise. But really, you know, we’ve kept things pretty lively ever since I came. I haven’t had much chance to hear the quiet!”

Then they all laughed and began to be busy about the supper, passing the delicious foods and eating as if they were hungry little children.

“I don’t know why it is,” said Vanna, “but I don’t remember that food ever tasted so good before!”

“Yes, isn’t that so!” said Gloria.

The sun slid swiftly out of sight but waved a flag behind it, a panorama of color. Everybody kept still for a moment, watching the last red gleam of the sun disappear. Suddenly Vanna spoke. “I hear it!” she said, her eyes large with wonder.

“What?” they asked her.

“The silence!” she said. “Listen! I never heard anything like that before, and didn’t the sun seem to make a little sliding noise as it slipped over?”

They laughed together over this, but Gloria, turning back, caught the look in Robert Carroll’s eyes as they rested on Vanna, and she felt suddenly glad that her sister was making a good impression. But she wondered what Vanna thought of these people who so interested herself. She was playing up to them of course. Vanna was like that, adaptable. It was a part of her training. But what did she really think of them in her heart? Would she rave about them or laugh at them when she got back where they were alone together? Something within Gloria shrank from the thought. She did not want these people misunderstood.

The tennis court presently receded into twilight, and the supper table had to be provided with candles before they had finished.

“We must have some more tennis together,” said Murray as they rose from the table at last.

“Yes,” said Vanna. “It was gorgeous! I haven’t enjoyed a tennis game so much in ages, and it’s awfully good for Gloria.”

“Well, how about tomorrow then?” asked Murray. “Can you come, Bob? Why not stay over here tonight and be ready to play early?”

“Sorry,” said Carroll, “but you know I’m a working man. I’m planning to plant corn tomorrow. My men are coming early, and I’ll have to be on hand.”

“Corn?” said Vanna wonderingly. “Do you plant it yourself? How I’d like to see you do it! Could Gloria and I drive over and see you, or is it a secret ceremony?”

“No,” laughed Carroll with slightly heightened color. “There isn’t anything secret about it, but I’m afraid there isn’t much to watch. And—one doesn’t wear full dress to do it you know.”

“I’ll put on the plainest thing I have with me,” said Vanna earnestly. “May I plant one corn myself if I’m good?”

Gloria watched her sister and wondered. Was Vanna trying to mortify Robert Carroll, or was she really interested? Gloria couldn’t tell. She was almost vexed with her for suggesting this thing. But Robert Carroll was looking at her with that keen, questioning glance again and then grinning at her suggestion.