Stranger within the Gates (18 page)

"Don't blame yourself, Paul," said his sister. "Rex isn't a baby. He knew better than to get married in a hurry, no matter how crazy he was. And it's likely that girl hasn't ever showed her unpleasant side to him. He couldn't admire that. Rex has good taste and refinement."

"Well," said Paul, "it's too late to talk about that! He did it, whatever made him do it, and we've got to stand it."

"Oh, but he's got to stand it, too, remember," said Sylvia, shaking her head sadly. "Do you realize what it's going to be for him when he goes out with Florimel and meets all his old friends? You know, last week before his letter came I almost wrote a note to Natalie asking her to come over to a party we were going to have during Christmas week. My, I'm glad I didn't! Imagine what that would have been! Natalie's wide brown eyes looking in unbelievable horror at Florimel! Florimel's hard gray slits leering in contempt at Natalie. I'm quite sure Florimel wouldn't hesitate to tell her just where to get off. If she had the least suspicion that Rex used to be fond of Natalie, she certainly would."

"Well, we'd better take care that she doesn't, then. Fae! Stan! Hear that? Look out that you don't mention Natalie Sargent before our new sister-in-law."

"Whaddya think we are, brothah?" flashed back Stan contemptuously. "Don'tcha think we have any sense at all?"

"Well, yes, I've always supposed you had a lot," responded the older brother, "but then I used to think Rex had, too, and look what he's done."

"That's right, too!" said Stan with a grave, sad look in his eyes. "I suppose you can't be sure what any of us will do now."

"Oh, dear!" sighed Fae with big tears suddenly darting out and rolling down her cheeks. "Won't we ever get over this awful thing?"
"Hi, there, kid!" cautioned Paul. "No sob stuff! Besides, there come the Hartleys. You don't want them to see you bawling."

Fae broke into a nervous little giggle and quickly dashed the tears away.

"I guess," said Sylvia thoughtfully, "I shouldn't have brought Rance Nelius into the picture at this time."

"Why not?" asked Paul quickly. "I thought that was the best thing that happened. It put Rex right at his ease and filled in the awful space when they first arrived. Rance is a prince, Syl. He has what you call understanding. Don't worry about Rance. He's a thoroughbred!"

"Yes, I thought he was," said Sylvia, her cheeks a sudden pink, "but somehow I was afraid afterward it only made you all feel more self-conscious. And it certainly was terrible that he had to hear everything."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that. I'll tell him a word or two that'll make him understand."

"I did," said Sylvia in a worried tone. "I was afraid they would get there just when we came in, and so I told him my brother Rex had just got married, and we were all worried because he was so young and we didn't know the girl."

"Well, that was the right thing to do, of course. Rance would understand. Say, Syl, where did you pick him up? I certainly admire your choice."

"Why, he's in one of my classes, you know. We just naturally drifted together now and then. I really don't know him awfully well. This was the first time I ever went out with him, but he seemed very nice. And Mother said it was all right for me to go."

"You couldn't make a mistake going with the guy. He's A-number-one!" said Paul enthusiastically.

"Well, I certainly was glad you knew him. I was just scared when I heard that taxi drive in and knew they must be coming. But, Paul, how do you figure we're going to get through Christmas with that Florimel?"

"Well, I don't figure it," said Paul with puckered brows. "I reckon that's something God will have to work out for us. And we've got to walk mighty carefully and not give way to our feelings. Poor Mother! It's going to be hard on her. I wonder how she made out this morning."

"Mother's simply great!" said Sylvia. "If anybody can take the wind out of that girl's sails, she can, but I'm afraid it will make Mother sick. We've got to help her every way we can. Only I can't quite figure out how that's to be. I'm afraid tomorrow is going to be an awful Christmas! If it had been any other time than Christmas! I always thought that Christmas was the best day there was!"

"It
is
!" said Paul thoughtfully. "But at that maybe it won't be so bad. You know Rance and Marcia will understand, and they've both got a heap of sense. In a way it will be better than if we were alone. It
may
hold Florimel somewhat in check."

"Oh, yeah?" said Stan suddenly under his breath. "If anything'll hold that baby in check, lead me to it!"

"Stan, I'm surprised that you'd speak of your sister-in-law in that disrespectful way." Paul grinned. "But, no kidding, topper, we've got to watch our words and our steps, or we're going to hurt old Rex beyond reparation."

"I know!" sighed Stan and kicked a chunk of snow ahead of him viciously.

"Do you s'pose we'll ever be happy again?" asked Fae wistfully, lifting eyes that were very near to tears again.

"Why, sure thing, kiddie," said Paul with sudden compunction. "Most hard things pass sometime. But, you know, you've got to be strong and brave and go through them, not around them, fairy child!" The brother spoke with a courageous attempt at a merry smile. The little sister answered it with a trembling teary one and assented. Then they turned into the driveway and walked solemnly up to the house, half afraid to go in, fearful, hopeful, wholly embarrassed.

Inside the hall it seemed very still except for a loud murmur of voices up in the region of the guest room. A petulant, angry voice, rising, complaining, casting contempt. A deep rumbling voice of protest, command, argument, sometimes almost pleading, broken in upon with another tirade from that high querulous tone.

They drifted into the living room, but even there the voices could be heard distantly, a rumble of discord in the house that had always been such a haven of peace to them all.

Paul sat down for a moment and put his head back on the chair, closing his eyes wearily. He had been working very hard in college the last three weeks and had counted so much on the rest and joy of home. Now to find it all tumult and discord was such a disappointment!

Sylvia stood in the doorway a moment, glancing up the stairs and dreading to go up lest she should hear words that were not meant for her ears, dreading to stamp indelibly on her memory anything that would leave a mark of sorrow for the future. Poor Rex! Poor,
poor
Rex!

She went over to the piano and sat down, removing her hat and coat and flinging them on a chair. As she laid her hands gently on the piano keys, very softly a melody stole out. A sweet old sacred classic, so quietly played that it scarcely seemed possible for it to reach the floor above, yet it served to drown the loud, angry voices.

And presently Mary Garland came downstairs with a troubled look in her eyes. Paul sprang to his feet at once and went over to his mother, putting an arm around her and drawing her gently over to the couch by the piano.

"Sit here and rest with us, Mother," he said tenderly, for the haggard look in her eyes went to his heart. He had been the one of all the children who had most comforted his mother after their father died, and now he was back again in his role of tender comforter.

"Don't worry so, Mother," he said in a very low tone. "It'll all come out somehow. I'm sure it will."

"Yes," she breathed softly, "it will come out in God's time. I've been telling myself that. I came down to talk to all of you a minute. There's something I want to tell you while we have the chance alone."

Low as she spoke, Sylvia caught the words and whirled about on the piano stool, her fingers holding the last notes as a sort of sound screen in case anyone should come into the room.

Mary Garland lifted her hand with a motion, and Stan and Fae drew near, Stan sitting on the arm of the couch on the other side of his mother, and Fae dropping down at her feet with her chin resting on her mother's knee.

"I want to ask you all," she said in her low, clear voice, "to be on your guard every minute!"

"Oh, yes!" assented the four, their eyes watching her lovingly.

"I am afraid that there are going to be many things that will be very trying for you all and sometimes make you very angry. You will be tempted to judge this stranger very harshly and perhaps attempt to set her right."

The four pairs of eyes promised instant allegiance to her, but Mary Garland went on.

"I know you all understand and will want to guard your lips and tongue and even the glances in your eyes. But, you know, we are all human, and the old human nature can't stand much, even when it tries hard. You can't do it alone. I've found that out myself in the last twenty-four hours."

The eyes searched her face anxiously and wondered what had happened while they were at church, but they found only that lovely chastened, humble look that Mary Garland wore like a crown.

"So," she said tenderly, "I want to ask you one thing. I want to ask each of you to do one thing when you feel yourself tempted to be angry, or if you find unwise words springing to your lips, or even when you just see something coming that will make you feel so. I want to ask that you will quite quietly and quickly get out of that room, go up to your own room, lock your door, and
pray
! You can carry that appalled, angry feeling to the Lord, and He will show you how to deal with it and get your own spirit utterly under His control. That is the only possible way we can hope to conquer."

"But, Mother, suppose there is something that ought to be said! Suppose, like last night, questions are asked and have to be answered, just for courtesy?" Stan asked with troubled brow. "Do you mean we must keep our mouths shut and not answer?"

"Oh no," said Mary Garland. "I mean that if you make a habitual practice of running to God for strength and the time should come when you
have
to answer something, your lips will be under God's control so utterly that you will answer only the words that He gives you, and not the words your wishes prompt you to give--your angry wishes, you know."

"Oh!" said Stan, with eyes down. He was still feeling the weight of his responsibility as a man of the house that he had borne while his two brothers were away at college. He was thinking back into last night. And his mother seemed to read his thoughts.

"Like last night, Stan," said his mother gently. "God taught you just what to say and do when you brought that goblet of water." And she smiled understandingly. "You knew just what she meant, I think, didn't you?"

"Sure!" said Stan with downcast eyes.

"Well, that's what I mean. Keep on God's side of all questions, and if the time should come for rebuke or setting right, God will surely teach you how. But not if you do not keep in constant touch with Him. Now, are you all willing to do that?"

"Sure," said Stan, and they all assented.

"That's all, then. I just felt that if you would all do that, I had done all the warning and cautioning I could. If you do that, then I can be sure that nothing that happens will be our fault. And, you know, Rex is
our own
, and we must try to make everything right for Rex. He must realize that we love him and he can depend on us to be loyal to him whatever comes!"

"Oh,
sure
!" They breathed it almost in chorus.

Mary Garland smiled.

"Then God bless you all and give you a real Christmas, dear children!" she said, and her eyes were dewy with unshed tears.

Mary Garland left them presently and went to the kitchen for a consultation with Selma about arranging the supper trays in the refrigerator before she went out in the afternoon. Her children sat thoughtfully quiet in the living room, hearing the distant rise and fall of the discussion that was raging upstairs and troubling their young souls. Then suddenly Paul got up and went over to his violin.

"Have we got any strings, Syl?" he asked, taking out the instrument and twanging the one remaining string.

"Oh yes," said Sylvia, springing up. "Mother had me get a lot of them last week. She's been counting on hearing you and Rex play. They're over here in the drawer of the music cabinet. Some for the cello, too."

Paul busied himself for a few minutes with putting on some new strings, and Sylvia, as the voices grew stormier upstairs, began to play again. At last Paul had his strings on.

"Give me an A," he demanded and twanged away for a few minutes getting in tune.

"You know, Stan and Fae are doing pretty well on their instruments, too," said Sylvia. "Go get your horns, kids! Let Paul hear how well you can do!"

"Aw, he won't think it's anything!" said Stan with a studied indifference.

"Oh yes, he will," said their sister. "They've both been playing in the school orchestra, you know, and I think they've improved a lot."

"Great news!" said Paul. "Bring on your music boxes, and let's make the hour ring. What's your best number?"

"Christmas carols!" said Fae proudly as she hurried to get her cornet. "Any one!" she announced proudly. "I know them all."

"Great work!" said Paul. "How about 'It Came Upon the Midnight Clear'? That ought to sound well on trumpets."

And so, suddenly the rumbling sound of voices above was drowned out by the sweet clear tones of the old carol, as the children stood together, heads up, shoulders in good form, trumpets lined up. Paul played, too, as he watched the two, his look commending them.

"That's great!" he said as they finished. "Let's try another. Say, folks, we'll have a real orchestra by and by. Let's have a try at 'Joy to the World.'"

 

Upstairs Rex had caught his breath in the midst of an angry, pleading word, looked with rebuke at his bride of a week, and then lowering his tone almost reverently, finished his sentence.

"I never thought that you would say such things to me. I never expected you to take a dislike to my wonderful mother and say such awful things to her. I didn't suppose you could speak like that! I thought you were like an angel!"

The bride of a week looked him in the eye with her slow, sullen, battleship-gray eyes and gave contempt from her too-red lips that were made up fuller than they should have been even for smartness.