Stranger within the Gates (15 page)

Stan departed kitchenward solemnly, but everybody else was looking in astonishment at the new daughter-in-law.

She was very slim. Even in the thick cloth jacket she seemed to be but a sliver. And her face wore the expression of a naughty child. Rex stood there helplessly looking at her, unable to cope with the situation. He scowled at his new wife as if he didn't quite know what to do with her. As if he had suddenly discovered that she didn't belong in this environment where he had brought her, and he was astonished. He had thought that home was a panacea for all that was wrong, and now he found that it wasn't.

But before anybody could say anything more, and while Rance Nelius was trying to think whether he could help more by staying or going, Stan appeared in the hall with a great crystal goblet, one of the very best set of company goblets, full of clear, cold water. He stood stiffly like a butler before his new sister-in-law, offering it to her.

She turned and looked at it and then at the boy curiously.

"What do you want?" she asked, with a hint of annoyance in her voice.

"You said you were thirsty. You said you wanted a drink, and I've brought it," said Stan.

The girl looked at Stan as if she could not believe her senses, and then she burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"And you thought I wanted
water
, you poor boob, did you? Well, if that isn't the very limit for a child your size!" And she went into more uncontrollable peals of laughter.

But nobody else was laughing. They were all very grave. Even Rex was grave and angry looking. His face was red in a great wave.

It was then that Mary Garland stepped quietly up to Stan as he stood there white with anger, wishing with all his heart he dared to throw the contents of that goblet full into the hateful face of Rex's new wife. She put out her hand to take the goblet from him.

"I'll take the water, please, Stan," she said sweetly. "I've been very thirsty for some time."

They stood there while she drank it, every drop, and then handing Stan the goblet, she thanked him again and turned to Sylvia.

"Dear, suppose you take Florimel upstairs to her room. I'm sure she must be very tired."

"Thanks, no!" said Florimel decidedly. "I'll stay down till Rex is ready to go up."

"Oh, very well," said Mary Garland coolly. "Then will you come in and sit down, or would you rather take off your hat first? Sylvia, will you ask Selma to bring some coffee and cakes? I'm sure Mr. Nelius might like some, and I think we all could enjoy them. Rex, find your wife a chair you think she would like. Mr. Nelius, sit there by Paul. I can see he wants to talk to you. Fae, you might run out and help Selma bring in the tray. Stan, pull out the coffee table."

Mary Garland had a way of taking an uncomfortable situation and making it bearable, no matter how twisted it was. Rance Nelius wondered at her calmness. Her children were wondering at her, too. Not that they had ever seen reason to doubt their mother's ability to solve any of their problems, but this was different, and she was managing it with the ease of an angel. Even Rex was impressed and humbled by it. He had come home hoping to show them what a sweet, lovely, smart wife he had found, and now she was no longer sweet nor lovely, and her smartness seemed somehow not to fit into this home environment. He couldn't understand it, and he sat there dumb. He seemed to have stepped off with the wrong foot, when he had been so anxious to have everything all right!

The new member of the family fussed petulantly with her anxious husband about which chair she would occupy, and at last she settled down in a straight-backed chair at the far end of the room from all the rest and sat there staring first at one, then at the other, finally letting her glance rest speculatively on the guest, Rance Nelius. Just who was he, and what relation had he to the rest? There was something about him that made her desire to dominate him, and yet she could see she was not making her usual impression. She was used to making an impression. Rance Nelius's glances were all for Sylvia and her mother, and his understanding smiles went toward everyone but herself.

Finally she turned deliberately and studied Sylvia. Sylvia with no makeup, in a simple dark silk with those gorgeous roses nestling on her shoulder. She decided she was the ingenue type and turned her nose accordingly. Rex had spoken of Sylvia with great fondness and admiration, and Florimel was not prepared to like her.

She turned her attention back to Rance. He looked a cold sort, although he was good-looking, of course. It might be interesting to win him away from Sylvia for a few days, if she was compelled to stay around that long. He wouldn't be hard to seize, she thought. It would make Rex jealous, perhaps, and keep him more thoroughly under her thumb. Maybe she would try it if she got bored.

She didn't look toward Paul. She knew him from her pie shop days and felt it would be wasted time. Paul was indifferent. Probably had some girl he was dead in love with and was too aristocratic to look at a girl who had been a waitress in a restaurant.

But she was no longer a waitress in a restaurant, and she intended to make everyone understand that from now on. She was the wife of a young man who would soon inherit a small fortune. This family probably thought they were something, but she intended to show them that
she
was more than something. Yet here she sat in the heart of the family, just arrived, a bride, and nobody was paying the slightest attention to her! Even the children were seated near this outsider named Nelius, listening openmouthed to every word he uttered, and her own new husband was eagerly engaged in conversation with him.

And of all things, they were discussing music, apparently. Talking in terms that were to her a foreign tongue. Sylvia, with kindling eagerness in her eyes, was describing a lovely pastoral they had heard that evening, and doing it with ease, the kind of ease that Florimel did not understand. Bluntness and impudence had always been her forte. She had been trained in the school of the modern world, and not a very cultured one at that. She resented all these people because they did not talk her language. Because they were not blasé and ill-mannered like the young people she admired so much in the movies and dance halls, which she had frequented as often as she could wheedle anyone into taking her there. Of course, Rex himself was a little soft, too, but she had felt that she could train Rex, and he would soon be able to hold his own in her world. But a long stay here wasn't going to help toward her training of him. She meant to get him away just as soon as she could make him pry enough money from this tightfisted family to finance them. Then she could begin. But it was going to be a terrible bore to stay here even a few days.

She didn't pull off her gloves at once. She didn't want them to see that she was sporting no diamond ring on the third finger of her left hand, just a plain little cheap gold band like his mother's wedding ring. He had bought it at a little hick town on the way and insisted on her wearing it for the time being, at least till he could afford to get her another. By the way, she must keep that in mind, in Rex's mind, and have him get her some good rings the first thing after Christmas!

Her thoughts were rambling on in this way, as she idly studied the room, taking in the old-fashioned furniture, not even knowing enough to recognize that some of it was so old it was almost priceless.

Then the trays were brought in, the coffee was passed, and the talk became more general.

Mary Garland tried to draw her daughter-in-law into the conversation with little pleasant nothings, but Florimel remained rudely hostile.

"No, we didn't have a hard drive," she said definitely. "We started yesterday morning. We stopped several places on the way, places where I had friends. I had another place I wanted to stay over Sunday, but Rex was determined to get here, so we finally came."

She spoke as if it were entirely Mary Garland's fault that Rex would come there. She didn't mention the fact that they hadn't money to stop anywhere else or do any more celebrating than they had done. She didn't say that it took the last cent they had to get into the movie that Florimel had insisted upon before she came on to this that she considered an ordeal.

Mary Garland reflected that perhaps the less she said to this girl before she had a thorough understanding with Rex, the better, so she made no reply to this statement, and the conversation presently languished. But she kept her seat nearby and, not to seem utterly silent, took advantage of a lull in the conversation across the room to speak to Sylvia.

"Sylvia, tell us more about the concert tonight. I'm sure from your face that you enjoyed it."

"Oh, Mother! It was marvelous!" said Sylvia, her face lighting up in a wonderful way that caused the new sister-in-law to reverse her decision somewhat. She decided that Sylvia wasn't so shy and backward as she had thought at first. Instead, there was a loveliness about her, a marvelous quality that she didn't understand. And when Sylvia began to talk about the oratorio and discuss the skill and technique of the musicians and singers, she realized that the girl knew what she was talking about and that she was far above Florimel's head, way beyond her education or comprehension. Was this just a patter that people used to show they understood classical music, or was it real?

Then Rance Nelius was drawn into the conversation and added his impression of the soloists, and Florimel simply sat and stared.

"That's one thing I've missed at college, music," declared Paul. "You know, we scarcely ever had any concerts up in that direction that are worth hearing, except by way of radio. I always have the symphony orchestra on Saturday night, of course. But we're too far from any big city to get the best things, and it takes too long to run back home for an evening. I didn't even take my violin up with me this winter. And Rex didn't have his cello along, either. By the way, Sylvia, we must have some good times playing this holiday. I suppose Rex and I are both out of practice, but we can make a stab at it, with you at the piano."

"Oh, I've been working too hard myself in the university to do anything at practicing either, except a few minutes now and then," said Sylvia.

"Well, that settles what we'll do part of the time on Christmas Day," said Rance Nelius. "I shall be audience and shall simply clamor for music."

Florimel favored him with an angry scowl. Not if she could prevent it, he almost felt she was saying. This was the first she knew about Rex playing the cello. She turned that glare at him. Cello! Sissy instrument, wasn't it? No music for a man, an
athlete
! Well, she'd see that he soon got over that!

But now suddenly Rance realized that it was getting late and took his leave. Paul and Rex immediately followed him to the front door and stepped outside to bring in Rex's baggage, but they didn't come back at once. They stayed for last words. Mary Garland excused herself to go to the kitchen a moment and see if Selma understood about breakfast. Stan strolled outside to be "with the men," and the atmosphere of silence grew tense.

Sylvia unpinned her flowers and released their stems from the confining wires.

"Fae, dear, will you go and get the cut-glass celery dish with some water in it for my flowers?" she said.

"Sure!" said Fae, glad to get away for a moment, and was back again with the dish and a pitcher of water.

Sylvia arranged her flowers and then turned brightly toward her new sister-in-law.

"Don't you want to take your hat off, and your jacket? It's pretty warm in this room."

"No!" said Florimel shortly. "Why on earth don't they come in? What do they find to talk about, anyway?"

She got up and stalked over to the window, but the shades were down, and when she snapped one up to the top of the window, she couldn't see the young men very well, as they were standing at the other side of the front door.

"Oh, heck!" she said furiously and flounced over to Sylvia. "Where's my room? I can't stand around here waiting for Rex any longer!"

"Why, of course," said Sylvia brightly. "I'll take you right upstairs. You must be very tired, of course."

But the visitor said nothing until they had reached the top of the stairs, and then she spoke as to an inferior: "I wish you'd get me a glass of wine, or brandy or something. I don't feel very well!"

Sylvia stared at her an instant, and then she said, "I'm sorry you don't feel well, but I can't get you anything like that. We haven't any in the house. I could get you some aromatic ammonia. Mother always uses that in place of liquor when people feel faint."

"Aromatic ammonia!" sneered the bride. "Oh, heck! Gosh! What are you, anyway? A bunch of lilies?"

Sylvia looked at her aghast for an instant, and then with a kind of dignity that Florimel didn't understand, Sylvia said, "I'm sorry!" And turning, she went downstairs, leaving Florimel standing in the doorway to a big, beautiful guest room, a more beautiful room, perhaps, than Florimel had ever entered before.

Rex was on his way upstairs with his bags and suitcases, and Florimel's heavy coat with its silver fox collar dragging behind him. He gave his sister a shy, wistful, half-apologetic smile, as if he would plead with her not to judge him too harshly, and kept on up the stairs.
It keenly reminded Sylvia of the day in their very early youth. Their mother had made a rule that if they left their things around out of place, they would be carried up to the back attic, a sort of lumber room over the kitchen, which was approached by steep stairs and was dark and dusty. It was a hard jaunt up there to find lost articles. One day she, a little girl, only a year older than Rex, had come down the hall and had seen Rex ascending those back attic stairs. He had given her a quick, furtive look, and she had lingered about. He came down a few minutes later with perspiration dropping from his brow, carrying his ball, his bat, his cap, and a handful of his handkerchiefs crumpled in his hands, grinning shamefully. Sylvia, being nearest in age, had been Rex's confidante in times of stress, and his eyes had a trick of telling her the truth and knowing that she would sympathize.