Crimson Roses (6 page)

She felt it would be like being smothered both mentally and spiritually, out in the country, away from all opportunities, with no books except the few she owned, no lectures or courses of study open to her, few chance meetings with helpful people, not even a church within walking distance. Marion’s church life, quiet and unobtrusive though it had been, was very dear to her—the church of her father and mother, the church of her childhood. The prospect looked utterly dreary to her. And yet, if she refused, what was she to do? Demand her part of the money and buy another house, a smaller one? And try to keep house all by herself? That would be dreary, lonely, but peaceful perhaps. But Tom would not be able to purchase his farm, unless he had all the money that came from the sale of this house, and Tom would be bitter about it. Jennie would, anyway. Jennie’s people lived in New England. She had always longed to go back.

For the first time since her father’s death, Marion considered seriously the matter of her inheritance.

Tom had said there was no will and seemed to consider that it meant that they had all things in common. That might be all very well while they remained in the old home, but if they separated what ought she to do about it? Demand her share? Of course her father had intended that she should have her part. Almost his last words had been about the home. Poor Father, he would not have liked Tom to sell the house. He had loved it as much as she did. But surely she had some right in things. What ought she to do about it?

She had willingly signed all the papers Tom had brought to her at the time the estate was settled up, and asked no questions. She had been too sorrowful to care. Tom would, of course, do the right thing. Naturally, Tom would be terribly upset if she asked for money. He wanted to put everything into that farm. Also, he would think that Marion ought to stay with them and be taken care of. She did not like to stand in the way of his desires. Perhaps if she made no trouble about the sale of the house, if she quietly gave up her share, he would the more readily agree to her staying in the city. In fact, after her long vigil she began to see clearly that if she could not bring herself to go with the family to the country, it was plainly her duty to give up her share of the property. This was not, of course, according to her father’s plan for her, but it seemed the only way without coming to an open clash with Jennie and hurting her brother irretrievably. If she gave up her claim, surely there was nothing left for Tom to say. She had a right to live her own life and do the things her father had planned for her to do.

Of course, she reflected, it would be a great deal harder to accomplish anything in the way of education without money. She would have to earn her living, and that would leave little time for study. But there would be a way. She was sure there would be a way for her to be independent. It was the only thing possible. It would be equivalent to mental and spiritual death to live her life out with Jennie. They had not a thought in common. She must get out and away and breathe the free air. She must live out some of the longings of her soul, or she would die of stagnation. Life was not merely a round of household duties spiced with gossip and blame. Why Tom and Jennie scarcely ever even went to church. Sunday was like every other day to them, a day to get more done. They wondered at her that she cared to waste her time in teaching a Sunday school class and why she was interested in a church that brought her no social life.

If they had stayed in the dear old home where all her precious memories clung, she might have endured it, but since they were going to a strange place, it was far better she should leave them. And she was conscience-free, surely, if she gave up her share of the property. If Father had left a will it would have been different, perhaps, but since he had not done so, it was better to say nothing about it. Just let it all go. There would be some way. She would not ask for a penny.

Marion came down early the next morning and got breakfast. There were dark rings under her eyes, and her lips were white; but otherwise she wore the same quiet calm that had been on her face during the patient years of serving her mother and father.

Jennie eyed her sharply and drew a breath of relief that there was no sign of rebellion on the sweet, sad face.

Tom came in with his boisterous “good morning” and appeared to have forgotten all about the little outbreak of the night before. He ate his breakfast hastily and hurried off to find Matthews.

Marion washed the breakfast dishes as usual. Jennie was impatient with her that she did not talk. It seemed sullen and ugly of her. Jennie wanted to bubble over about the prospect of the farm and was annoyed that she could not. She did not understand Marion’s attitude of quiet resignation. Jennie had never cared for red brick with marble trimmings. She had lived in a suburb before she was married and had ideas about a single house and a Dutch hall, but a Vermont farmhouse might have possibilities of spaciousness beyond even a Dutch hall.

Tom came home at noon in high glee. Matthews had paid a hundred dollars down to bind the bargain. He was to pay the remainder in ten days and wanted possession at the end of the month.

Marion said nothing but wore a white, pained look as if she had braced herself to receive this blow and would not wince. Jennie and Tom stole furtive glances at her but made no reference to her words of the evening before.

Marion ate but little lunch and hurried through the dishes afterward. Jennie watched her uncertainly. At last she said, “Marion, what if you and I take down the curtains and wash them this afternoon? We can’t begin too soon to get packed. A month isn’t long.”

“I’m sorry,” said Marion gently as she washed her hands and hung up her apron, “but I have to go out this afternoon. I’ll try to help tomorrow morning.”

Then she went up to her room, leaving Jennie vexed and mystified and worried. What in the world could Marion have to go out for? Why did she have to be so terribly closemouthed? She was acting very strange indeed, Jennie decided. Maybe she was going to make trouble after all. Tom was always so cocky about everything. He ought to have had a good talk with his sister and let her get her grouch out of her system. This silent gentleness was dangerous.

She watched behind the parlor curtains and saw Marion signal a trolley going downtown, and went back to her work with uneasiness. She wished Tom would come back. He ought to know Marion had gone out.

Half an hour later Marion entered the imposing building of a great trust company down in the city and timidly approached the clerk behind the steel-grated window, frightened at her own nerve, so that her voice fluttered as she asked for the president of the great company.

“Mr. Radnor is very busy today,” said the brusque young clerk eyeing her doubtfully, noting her shyness and shabbiness, and growing haughtier. “He has a meeting of the board of directors at three o’clock, and it is a quarter to three now. I doubt if he can see you this afternoon.”

“Oh,” said Marion with a quick little movement of her hand to her fluttering throat. “Oh, I won’t keep him but a moment. If you would just tell him my name and ask him if I can see him just for a word—it won’t take long.”

The clerk hesitated but wrote down her name and gave it to a messenger, who departed through a great mahogany door into the inner regions. Marion stood palpitating. Now, if he shouldn’t be able to see her today she would have to come again, and there was so little time! Each day counted for a lot. And when Jennie got started at tearing up the house it would be next to impossible to get away without explaining, and that would be fatal to her intentions. She felt her only chance for success was to keep her plans to herself until they had matured. Tom would surely find some way to frustrate them unless she did.

But suddenly the messenger returned through the heavy door and nodded to the clerk, who turned with a more respectful look and informed Marion that Mr. Radnor would see her for a moment if she would be brief.

Now it happened that the president of the trust company, who was also superintendent of Marion’s Sunday school and senior elder in the church to which she belonged, had known and respected Marion’s father for a good many years, and was also a kindly soul. So when Marion, fairly frightened out of her senses to think that she had dared to come into such a distinguished presence, was presently ushered into his inner sanctum, he greeted her with great cordiality and seated her in one of his big leather chairs.

“Good afternoon, Miss Marion,” he said, beaming pleasantly upon her. He prided himself that he knew the entire Sunday school by name and never made a mistake, although there were some fifteen hundred on the roll. “I am glad to see you, although I have but a few minutes to spare before a most important meeting. Is there anything that I can do for you? Your father was a man whom I greatly honored and whose friendship I prized beyond most. He was a man of God if there ever was one.”

Marion looked up with a sudden light in her eyes and forgot her fright.

“And he had a great admiration for you, Mr. Radnor,” she said shyly. “He once said he would rather ask a favor of you than of any man he knew, because he said you treated a poor man as if he was a prince.”

“Well, he was a prince if there ever was one,” said the bank president heartily, “and I feel honored that he so honored me. Now, if there is any service I can render his daughter, I shall be doubly pleased.”

“Well,” said Marion, with a sudden return of her embarrassment, “I want to get a position as a saleswoman in a department store. Could you give me a letter of introduction somewhere to someone you know? I think I could be a salesgirl. It seems to me the work would be easy to learn, and I would try with all my ability to do credit to whatever recommendation you feel you can give me.”

“Why, surely,” beamed Mr. Radnor heartily.

He delighted to do favors to members of his Sunday school, and it happened that this request was one that he was peculiarly able to grant just at that time. One of the chiefs in a great department store was under heavy obligation to him. He felt reasonably sure that anything he asked of the man at that time would be readily granted. Moreover, he was one who delighted to please others, especially when it cost him little trouble. He turned to his telephone and called up his man.

Marion’s cheeks glowed with pleasure as she listened to the one-sided conversation and heard the glowing praise of her father’s sterling character and the kindly words about herself. In wonder she listened, and knew the gate of her desire had swung wide at the magic touch of this great man’s word.

It was just one minute of three when the bank president hung up the receiver and turned to Marion, graciously smiling.

“It’s all right, Miss Marion,” he said in the same tone he used to announce the annual Sunday school picnic. “You can have a position as soon as you are ready to take it, I think. You’ll need to answer a few questions, of course, but they are mere formalities. Mr. Chapman has promised to give you something worthwhile. You had better go right over and make out the application while it is fresh in his mind. He said he could see you in half an hour. You are to come to the second-floor office and inquire for Mr. Chapman. Here, I’ll give you my card.” He hastily wrote across the top of his card, I
NTRODUCING
M
ISS
M
ARION
Warren, and handed it to her.

“Don’t think of thanking me. No trouble whatever. I’m only too glad that it was possible for me to do it. It is fortunate that you caught me just at this time, as I am usually out of the office before this hour. Now I must go to my appointment. Sorry I can’t visit with you a few minutes. I hope you’ll have no trouble in securing just what you want at a good salary. He promised me he would do his best for you financially for a start and give you opportunity to rise. Come back if you have any trouble, but I don’t think you will. Good afternoon. So glad you came.”

It was over, the dreaded interview.

Marion stood on the steps of the great building and looked back at it with awe as an employee lazily closed and fastened the great gate of shining steel bars. The massive stone building seemed to tower kindly above her as if it had been a kind of church in which some holy ordinance had been observed, so truly she felt that God had been kind to her and helped her in her need.