Stranger within the Gates Read online

  "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.'"

  Chapter 12

  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.

  "Oh, you little tin god!" she hissed furiously. "You thought I was an angel! You thought I would stand for anything you chose to put over on me, didn't you? You thought I'd be so glad to get away from that miserable little hash house that I'd just smile and take any old thing you handed me! And you never thought how you were deceiving me! Taking me out of a good job where I had my freedom and played around wherever I liked. Where I was independent, with nobody telling me what I should wear and how I was to act and whether I could smoke or drink or not."

  "Florimel! You never either smoked or drank in my presence! I thought you were different from other girls. I thought you were good and pure and well brought up. You gave me the impression that you disliked such things. You didn't even wear makeup the way you've got it on now. I thought you didn't do things like that! I thought you were a dear little lonely girl, with no mother and no home and--"

  "Oh, yeah?" mocked Florimel. "And what did you look like yourself? A million dollars! Ready to give all that you had to make me happy! Ready to take me on and take care of me! Ready to spend plenty on me! You wore good clothes and took me to see shows and let on you were no end wealthy. You--"

  "Florimel! Look here, did I ever say I was wealthy? Did I ever talk about money?"

  "Sure you did!" The battleship-gray eyes were flashing now like hot metal, the lips curling wide, the teeth with a snarl in their tiny white points. "You told me to wait till you got me and you'd see that I never wanted for anything! You told me you had an allowance and we'd never need worry. You said you would always want me to have the best. And when I asked you, you said, yes, your father had been well off and you'd have plenty! You said someday I should have a limousine and diamonds."

  Rex's dark eyes were wide with amazement.

  "Why, Florimel! We were only kidding that night. I thought you knew I was only telling you what I would do in the future years. I thought you loved me, Florrie! I didn't know you thought so much about money and automobiles and jewels and things. I was only trying to tell you what I meant to do for you in the future years. Oh, Florrie, don't talk that way! Don't spoil all our dreams!"

  "Dreams, bah! It's you that's spoiling our dreams. You made me think you're rolling in wealth and I was going to live in a palace on easy street, and then you bring me to a dump like this, with weird old sticks of furniture that must have come out of the ark. Look at that bed. Did you ever see a bed like that in any of the big department furniture stores?"

  Rex cast a glance at the rare old colonial furniture with which the room was filled.

  "What do you mean, Florimel? Don't you know that's a very specimen of antique mahogany? That's fairly priceless. It belonged to my great-great-grandmother."

  "I should think it did!" Florimel burst into loud ridiculing laughter. "That's just what I'm saying. Putting your wife into a room where the furniture came practically out of the ark. Antique-your-grandmother! Not for me! I want everything up to date. I just adore modern things. I like those modern beds that practically don't have any legs at all and are set up on a platform. Dais, they call it. They have them in the movies. I like the mirrors done in sort of steps up, and when I plan a bathroom, it's going to be all done in black and red! The bath and washstand black, you know, and the trimming and walls red, with mirrors set in. This room is what they call 'Victorian,' all little bunches of pale pink flowers and washed-out colors. It makes me sick! I just screamed to myself when I saw it. There seems to have been practically nothing done to it for thousands of years. Everything old style! Gosh, I'd go mad if I had to stay here!"

  Rex gave a hurt look around the room that had always seemed to him the height of refinement and perfection.

  Then he turned back and looked at the sharp, petulant little face of his furious wife, and suddenly she seemed a great deal older to him than she had ever looked before. It came to him in a flash of wonder how he had ever thought her sweet and pitiful. How had he ever supposed her gentle and refined? Just because she had told him her pitiful story and seemed to dread an evil man, he had thought her so superior to everybody else. He had supposed she would be one who could appreciate his lovely home and mother and all that they as a family held dear.

  And now, how was he ever to get over this thing that had happened this morning? Those things she had done and said? How could his sweet mother ever take her in and make her a real daughter as he had hoped? Oh, surely, surely this was some horrible mistake. Somehow Florimel had misinterpreted the family and the lovely way they had treated her. She thought she ought to resent everything. If only he could get her calmed down and quieted and
make her understand that the things she was raving about were fine and precious. Poor child, she just hadn't been taught right in the first place! She hadn't had proper friends and companions!

  Still, that didn't excuse her present attire. Wherever did she get those awful garish pajamas? And how did she dare to wear them downstairs before his lady-mother! Nor did it excuse her insolent remarks to his mother.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the distant tinkle of a silver bell. He was alert at once, rising from the chair where in his feeling of helplessness he had dropped down in a moment. He assumed the attitude of command.

  "There!" he said. "There goes the dinner bell, and you aren't ready! Hurry, Florimel, and take off those outlandish clothes. Put on something decent, if you have such a thing!"

  "There you go! Criticizing my clothes! When I spent almost a whole month's salary on these perfectly spiffy lounging pajamas, just to please you."

  "Well, you needn't bother wasting money on togs like that to please me!" said Rex thoroughly disgusted. "It wouldn't be so bad if you wore them when it was just you and I, though I think a perfectly simple plain nightgown would be much more attractive on anybody. But when it comes to putting on clothes that were meant for night wear and going into the family circle with 'em, I draw the line at that! Get up and get something decent on right away! And make it snappy! I don't like this business of your not being down to meals on time. You can't ever win over my family acting like that!"

  "Oh, you and your family!" sniffed Florimel. "If I ever saw such misplaced devotion! I ought to have known better than to come here with you! I told you we'd better keep this thing quiet for a year or two, and now look what a mess you've got me into! But you just might as well understand now as later that I don't intend to be ordered around and made to go in a certain pattern. I'm coming to meals when I like, or have them sent to my room if I choose! And you're not going to bring them, either. Those lazy servants will have to do it. And as for my clothes, I'll wear what I like! What do you know about what a young woman should wear, anyway? I suppose your ideal is that dowdy Sylvia. My, I wouldn't look the way she does for a million dollars!"