Beauty for Ashes (29 page)

Gloria flashed an understanding look. “He might have phoned her from wherever he was,” she said. “Is it Mother calling? Well, don’t be too much upset. Ask for Dad if she gets imperative.”

But Vanna came back from the upper hall where the telephone was located with a troubled look in her eyes.

“Mother says Dad is very sick and we must start home right away tomorrow morning. They brought him home unconscious from the office and he’s in a raging fever. They have a trained nurse and two doctors. Dad keeps asking if you are all right, Glory.”

Gloria gave her sister a stricken look. “You don’t think this is something that Emory Zane is trying to put across do you?” she asked anxiously.

Vanna shook her head. “No, Mother didn’t mention him. I doubt if he’s been back. She said we’d better drive down if we could get somebody reliable to come with us who could drive part of the way, as she couldn’t spare the chauffeur now to come after the car. But if we couldn’t get an escort, we were to come on the train and leave the car anyway. She said we needn’t worry. The doctor said there was no immediate danger, but it was better for us to be at home as soon as we conveniently could. She made me promise we wouldn’t fly. She’s terribly afraid of flying, you know.”

“Well, I think we ought to go at once!” said Gloria, rising excitedly. “Do you know if there is a train yet tonight? That would be the fastest, wouldn’t it? If Dad is sick, I want to get to him as soon as possible, especially since he has asked for me.”

“The only night train has gone,” said Murray. “There’s nothing now till ten tomorrow morning. Our fastest train leaves Ripley at six in the evening. That makes good connections. The day train is slow and uncertain. I believe you could make better time driving. Of course Bob and I would go with you. How far is it? Bob, haven’t you got a road map in the car?”

“I have one,” said Gloria.

“If we start at daylight,” said Robert, lifting his eyes from the map and looking at Vanna, “we ought to make it by evening, and that’s as well or better than you can do by train. If you want to start within an hour and travel all night, why that’s so much to the good.”

Vanna looked at Gloria, and Gloria looked at Murray.

“It would be awfully hard on you boys,” she said, “but I do wish we could start right away.”

“It won’t be hard on us,” said Murray. “We can take turns sleeping. I’m only wondering if you girls won’t stand the trip better with a good sleep before you start.”

“I’d rather be on the way,” said Gloria, drawing a quick, sorrowful breath that sounded all a-tremble.

“Then we’ll go!” said Murray. “How about it, Bob, don’t you say so?”

“Of course,” said Robert, looking at his watch, “how soon can you girls be ready?”

“In less than an hour,” said Vanna quickly. “We’ve only suitcases to pack, you know.”

“I’ll put you up a lunch,” said Emily. “That helps a lot when you have to keep awake at night.”

“It sure does,” said Murray cheerily.

“Are you sure the neighborhood won’t be scandalized at our starting off at night with two young men?” asked Gloria, looking toward Emily and John.

“Of course not,” said Emily, “not in a case of emergency like this anyway, and if they did, let them be. But of course there’s no need in their knowing. Leave that to me. I’ll fix it. Run along and get your things together. Boys, you go home and get your baggage. I’ll have some hot coffee for you to start on.”

So, just a few minutes before midnight, the big Sutherland car silently slipped out the driveway, down the mountain road to Ripley, and out into the world, with Murray driving. The girls in the backseat agreed to sleep at least till daylight. The two young men were to take turns driving.

But curled into comfortable positions in the luxurious back seat, neither one of the girls found it easy to go to sleep, though their eyes were closed. Gloria kept going over the way step-by-step since she left her home, burdened, shamed, distracted, her life broken. And now she was going back with the burden gone from her heart, the shame lifted by a new joy, and life all made new. She was going back into the life she had left so hurriedly and so frantically. There would be the room where the wedding dress hung and all her trousseau and those colorful bridesmaids’ dresses! Would Mother have done anything with them yet? She hadn’t thought of them since! And the wedding presents, too. Stacks and stacks of them! What had been done about them? But their horror had gone. They meant nothing to her now. She was no longer a heathen widow to be burned on a funeral pyre with a husband who had not thought it worthwhile to be true to her even until they were married.

Poor Stan. She could feel sorry for him now. He never had half a chance with a family like that and an upbringing like that! Still, no one was without excuse. But he didn’t know the Lord. She wished she might have told him. Only if she had known the Lord herself, she never would have engaged herself to him. She saw that now.

Yes, she was going back to the old house and the old friends but not to her old life, thank God! She had found something new! Even if Murray hadn’t told her he loved her and filled her life with a new interest and wonder, she knew she would never have gone back to the old life. Murray had given her a taste of better things. She would have gone searching for them the rest of her days, even if she never saw Murray again, she told herself. Then she opened her eyes a tiny crack and watched Murray through the fringes as he sat there gravely talking, the dear outline of his head and shoulders against the luminous sky where the moon was about to rise.

And Vanna just frankly arranged herself so she could watch her Robert, and she hugged herself to think he was hers. Soon she meant to own him before her world, just as soon as Father was better. Father had a right to know first. She must not, if possible, battle with her mother about anything like that until Father was thoroughly out of danger. She would probably have to tell Gloria though. Gloria would be in sympathy.

Then she fell to wondering about her sister’s affairs. Did Gloria realize what adoring glances Murray MacRae cast in her direction? Poor Murray! Of course Gloria wouldn’t think she could look at anybody for a long time. It hadn’t probably occurred to her that she might be hurting Murray. Perhaps it was a good thing for Murray that the summer had come to so abrupt an end. And yet—who could tell? Dear Gloria! And Murray was delightful. He was a dear! Next to Robert he was the finest young man she had ever met.

And just that minute, Gloria, in her corner, was feeling sorry for Robert and wondering whether Vanna had promised to write to him.

Then she fell to worrying about her father once more, her heart gripped with fear about him. If he should die! Oh, if he should die! Dear Dad! And he had been brought up to go to church and hear prayer and Bible reading. Did he know the Lord? She feared not. She had never heard him talk about being saved. Dared she say something to him sometime? Oh, if she could only take Murray up to see him when he got better! Ah, there was going to be much to worry about unless she learned to trust and pray the way Murray did.

And then there was Nance! Poor Nance! She would be another problem! Gloria wondered if she could ever get a bit of the Word of God across to Nance who needed it so sorely.

But about that time, both of the girls went soundly asleep.

Sometime in the night, the two in the front seat changed places according to schedule, and once when Robert was driving and Murray had dozed off, they passed through a mountain resort and Robert saw among a line of cars parked in front of a brilliantly lit hotel, a long cream-colored car bright with chromium, but he shot on ahead and said nothing about it, tenderly glad that it was he and not that other man who was taking Vanna to her home tonight.

At daybreak the girls roused cheerfully and distributed sandwiches and hot coffee from Emily’s thermos bottle, and three hours later they stopped for a regular breakfast at a hotel.

There Gloria telephoned home, having to talk to the nurse because her mother was not yet up. The nurse said her father was doing as well as could be expected. He was a very sick man, but the doctor felt that he had a good chance to recover. He was still delirious and probably would be so for several days until the fever broke, but they were hoping for the best.

Gloria went back a little comforted and brave to go on with the journey. At least she did not have to have that continual fear that her father would be gone before they got home, which fear had haunted her the night before. Then she looked into Murray MacRae’s eyes and knew that he would be continually praying with her for her father’s life, yes, and for his salvation! What a thought! To belong to a man who was great with God!

The girls insisted on taking their turns at driving during the day, but they were not allowed to stay at it long, and there was continual pressure brought to bear upon them both to rest.

“We can rest afterward,” Robert said. “We shall have nothing to do when we get home without you there.”

“Nothing to do but plant corn and preach!” mocked Vanna tenderly, and then she let her eyes linger on Robert’s face with her heart all out there written for him to read. It was hard to think of those two carrying on and she and Gloria not there to help!

“We’d like to cry, you know, but we won’t,” Robert said grinning, as he saw the look in Vanna’s eyes. “Better days may come later, bless the Lord!”

And Gloria, who was sitting just then in the backseat with Murray, stole her hand out and crept it into Murray’s quite out of sight of the rest, and he held it hard and fast. Gloria was having to wink very hard to keep the tears back now that she had thought of Murray going back to Afton without her. Why did one have to be separated from loved ones? She had never felt this, especially before! In her old world, one didn’t care much. One went and came and didn’t feel much at all. But all things were different now, and besides, she had never before loved anyone as she loved Murray.

They arrived at home a little after nine o’clock in the evening, having been delayed by three detours and the traffic of a couple of cities through which they had passed.

The butler opened the door for them and seemed relieved that they had come. He said their mother had retired with a bad headache and had given orders that she should not be disturbed. He said he believed that Mr. Sutherland was no worse, and a moment later the nurse came down and confirmed the word; Mr. Sutherland was about the same. They did not look for an immediate change.

Murray and Robert had come in with them to learn how the sick man was, and they lingered a few minutes to speak last words.

Brandon came in looking glum and unhappy, like a stray cat, and was introduced against his will to the two strangers. He lingered, watching them furtively.

“Why don’t you come on up and visit me for a while when your father gets better?” said Robert, turning his winning smile toward the lad. “I’ve got a farm I’m playing with, and I could use another man. In between there’s hunting and fishing. Murray here shot a bear last winter, and we have deer in plenty, and wild birds. Like to shoot?”

“I sure do!” said the boy eagerly, his face lighting. “Sure I’ll come! Anytime you invite me I’ll come, as soon as Dad gets better. I’m sick ta death of sticking around here all summer!”

“I can offer a tennis court and a mother who makes ginger-bread and cookies,” laughed Murray. “I might rake up a girl or two if I tried.”

“No girls!” said Brand with a frown. “I’m sick ta death of girls! They spoil everything!”

Brand’s sisters laughed amusedly. They knew he was pleased with their two men, and they were glad.

The girls had told the chauffeur to be ready to take Murray and Robert into the city, but Brandon insisted that he would take them himself in his own car, and he did, driving them to their hotel and going in for quite a visit and a midnight supper with them. He came home loud in his praise of them.

“They are fine men,” he said, frowning at his sisters as if they had scorned them.

Murray and Robert each called up the girls next morning, which greatly lifted the gloom in which they had been plunged. The young men gave blessed Bible verses for the girls’ comfort, and they promised to keep in touch by letter and telephone, and to be ready to come whenever or whatever the need should be. They promised to pray, moreover, and the tone of their voices was as good as a morning dose of joy. Each came away from the telephone with sparkling eyes and more cheerful countenances.

“You don’t seem so very much depressed,” said Gloria’s mother later in the day when she arose with the shadow of her headache still hanging over her spirit.

“No,” said Gloria with a wistful smile. “Did you want me to be, Mother dear?”

Her mother watched her for a minute with a puzzled frown.

“You always were an odd child!” she said. “I’m sure I don’t know what to make of you.” She sighed deeply. “You’re hopelessly like your father!”

“But you love him a lot, don’t you, Mother?” said the girl with a yearning tenderness.

“Why, certainly,” said her mother, brushing away the moisture in her eyes and speaking crossly to hide her emotion. She was cold by nature, and it annoyed her to be caught showing any tenderness. It wasn’t good form in these days.

“That reminds me, Vanna,” she said quickly as her other daughter entered the room, “Emory Zane told me he was going up to call on you sometime this summer. What a pity he hadn’t got there in time to bring you home. I’m sure he would have been so glad. He has been kindness itself, stopping every day or two to ask after you.”

Vanna and Gloria exchanged significant looks.

“He did come, Mother,” said Gloria with a stern expression on her usually gentle face. “He came and took Vanna to ride one day and treated her outrageously. He promised to bring her back in time for an engagement she had to play, and then he refused absolutely to turn around, and took her miles and miles away, and she had an awful time getting home. If it hadn’t been for a kind neighbor who finally met her near home, I don’t know what might have happened to her.”