Coming Through the Rye (37 page)

Shortly before ten o'clock there came a long-distance call for him, and Chris was on the wire.

“Well, I got my little wildcat caged at last,” he said nonchalantly. “Has the car gotten there yet? They will be in a few minutes now. I told 'em they had to make it by ten. Anything you want done back here? Who? Bronson? Oh, yep. I'll have her available when you get here. Need me to meet you or anything? Well, so long. Take it easy on the way back!” And Chris hung up.

The limousine appeared almost on time, and Sherwood, fortified by breakfast, handed over the Humdinger to the two officers, who grinned an approving welcome with a somewhat-overdone deference, he thought, said they were mighty glad he had turned up all safe after the scare, and then without further explanation stepped on the gas and shot away. But Evan Sherwood did not notice that they had not spoken of the result of the election. It had not once entered his mind since he started on his quest. He was only impatient now to be off and rescue the princess from the castle.

Alida Freeman was standing on the balcony when he drove into sight in the great beautiful car that Chris had somewhere dug up for the occasion, a car that Evan Sherwood's modest income could in no way have provided for years to come. She was surrounded by three or four other young people, with Mrs. Whitman and Jack nearby. Romayne was nowhere in sight. The young people were just straggling down to breakfast. It was after eleven o'clock.

“Oh, who is that stunning-looking man, Gloria?” called out Alida. “It looks like—why—I believe it is, that Sherwood fellow that's head of that ridiculous League. They say he's going to be the next mayor. I suppose he just went into all this notoriety for the sake of getting elected, don't you, and when he gets the position he'll be worth knowing. I'm just crazy about him, and Uncle Jud has promised me an introduction if he really gets the nomination. How did he come to be here? Do you know him?”

Her words were so loud that the rest of the group on the balcony turned to look as he drew up in front of the door and stopped his engine. Mrs. Whitman and Jack hastened forward to greet so interesting a visitor, wondering whom of their guests he had come to see.

As Evan Sherwood stepped out of the car and came deliberately up the steps, looking around him coolly in search of someone, he knew he made a tremendous impression on the little jazzy-jaded assembly of pleasure hunters, who were waiting for a new thrill each day.

“I am looking for Miss Ransom,” he said in a clear voice, purposely raised so that Romayne might hear him if she were in the vicinity.

“Oh,” said Mrs. Whitman speculatively. “She—you—”

“Yes,” said Evan Sherwood as if she had asked him a definite question. “She is my fiancée. I have come to take her home this morning.”

And then, while the astonishment was still upon the group, Romayne appeared with her suitcase and her little handbag.

“Mrs. Whitman, this is Mr. Sherwood,” she said gravely. “I am sorry to have to leave you without anyone, but it is impossible for me to remain any longer. I will try to send you someone if you are to have me do so.”

“Oh!” said Mrs. Whitman in a small voice. “You didn't tell me.”

“No,” said Romayne, smiling pleasantly. “What difference would it have made?”

Then Evan Sherwood gathered his fiancée and her belongings into the big limousine and whirled her away through the forest into the glorious day.

“And that,” said Mrs. Whitman, turning thoughtfully away from the last look down the winding trail, “is probably our future mayor's wife, and we shall have to invite her to everything—or move away!”

“Well, Mamma, she's really quite attractive—you must admit,” said Gloria.

“I told you she was a peach!” said Jack glumly.

Said Alida, “I always loved her dearly, and felt so sorry for her when she went through her trouble. But isn't it strange! I'm just crazy about him!”

They rode away into the day, and neither of them knew how long the miles had been for the glory of the way.

It was not until they rode quite into the city that they began to take account of the time and place. A noisy hurdy-gurdy was playing an old tune in wild time, and the madness of it went to their hearts.

“If a body meet a body, coming through the rye,” sang the hurdy-gurdy, and Evan turned laughing to Romayne and hummed in a clear tenor voice: “If a body kiss a body, need a body cry?”

And right there, passing in the street, he stooped and kissed her quickly.

“I guess we've come through the rye at last, dear,” he said, and, as if to give him glad assent, a newsboy came flinging round the street corner crying: “All about Evan Sherwood nominated for mayor by large majority!”

They stopped and bought a paper and read it on the way, and Evan turned to his smiling bride and said, “Yes, we seem to have come through, so far. Now, how soon can we be married? I want to take you to see my Aunt Patty.”

“Why, I have an Aunt Patty, too,” said Romayne happily. “At least she said I might call her that.”

Evan Sherwood looked at the sweet face and began to speak, then closed his lips again. Why not keep that for a sweet surprise? So when he spoke, he only said, “Have you?” and reached his hand to gather hers in a quick little grasp, before he stopped the car at Grandma Bronson's house.

G
RACE
L
IVINGSTON
H
ILL
(1865–1947) is known as the pioneer of Christian romance. Grace wrote more than one hundred faith-inspired books during her lifetime. When her first husband died, leaving her with two daughters to raise, writing became a way to make a living, but she always recognized storytelling as a way to share her faith in God. She has touched countless lives through the years and continues to touch lives today. Her books feature moving stories, delightful characters, and love in its purest form.