The Flower Brides Read online

  “Well, that is all right, my dear,” said Madame soothingly. “We do not as usual thing exchange exclusive garments, but you so soon return, and I have only just now receive request by telephone for a gown of same type. You bring it with you?”

  “No, but I can go after it.” She glanced anxiously at her watch. Could she get back to the house, fold it, and return it without being late to school?

  “If you can have here before eleven o’clock—well, yes, I will take back. I think I have customer who will take it.”

  Marigold gave another frightened glance at her watch.

  “I’ll go right back and get it,” she said breathlessly.

  She hurried out of the shop and up the street, fairly flying, her contradictory heart sinking. The dress was gone, her beautiful dress! But she was rid, at least, of the awful burden of self-reproach for having bought it.

  She would not let herself think of anything as she flew back to the house, except the dress and how to fold it safely. She would take a taxi back to the shop so that she would not have to carry the big box in such a hurry. And would her mother be there still to question her?

  Fortunately, Mrs. Brooke was already starting to her work at the library. She stood on the corner waiting for her bus as Marigold came up.

  “Is anything the matter?” she asked anxiously.

  “No,” said Marigold, “I’m just going back for something that I had to have. Are you all right, Mother?”

  “Yes, dear. You won’t forget the telegram?”

  Marigold smiled and shook her head. She was almost too out-of-breath to speak and was glad that the bus pulled up to the curb just then and her mother waved her hand and was gone. Now she could fold that dress without fear of her mother finding out. She wanted the deed to be irrevocably done before her mother knew, because she would surely suspect it was done for her sake and protest. She simply mustn’t find out until it was all over.

  She rushed upstairs and found her mother had covered the dress with the satiny tissue paper, and it hung there like a white ghost, so out of keeping with the plainness of the rest of the room.

  Marigold gave one gasp of sorrow and renunciation, lifted down the papers carefully, and arranged then in the big box that still stood on the little table by her bed. She took down the dress, held it up for a second, taking one last look at it, and then began swiftly to lay it in the wrappings, as nearly as possible as it had been wrapped at the shop, touching it tenderly, like some pretty dead thing that she was folding from her sight forever. While she did it she would not let herself think of Laurie or the party or any of her grand aspirations of yesterday. She was intent only on one thing: to see that dress safely back in the shop and its burden off her conscience. As she laid the last folds of paper carefully over the lovely silk, tucking in the last dripping crimson thread of the sash fringe and patting it down, it came to her that this was all like her dream of the night before. She had started out to walk a narrow highway, far above her own natural little sphere, and had found it too far and too high for her. She sensed vaguely that she had almost gotten to a place where disaster might have come to her soul, and now she had to get back and start over again. If she was still going to the party, or if she was not, what would happen next she could not consider now. When she got that dress back and her hundred and fifty dollars in her purse, then she could think of the next move. She had known all the time that it wasn’t right for a girl in her position to spend so much for one dress.

  But now she had to move so swiftly, so carefully—oh, if anything should happen to that dress before she got it safely back! Or if Madame should profess to find a tiny spot of dirt! Oh, suppose she had let a tear drop on the silk! A hundred-and-fifty-dollar tear!

  She giggled as she tied the cord around the big box, slipped into her coat, grabbed her purse, and went out the door. She felt as if she were a little bit crazy, but she was getting that dress taken back! It was too good to be true. And she was doing it, without Mother having to worry about it either!

  She was unprepared for the smiles that wreathed Madame’s face when she got back to the shop.

  “I thank you a thousand times,” she said graciously. “My customer is on her way, and I had nothing to show her. She is a very wealthy woman, and very particular. She buys many garments from me. I like to please her, and I thank you for your promptness in bringing it. And now, I shall return your money—or can we serve you further?”

  “Why, I cannot stop now. I have an appointment to which I must not be late. Perhaps I had better take the money now, if you don’t mind. But—would you just tell me the price of the suit in the window?”

  “Oh, that brown? Yes, that is lovely for you; it will just suit your type. That is now fifty dollars. If you like it, I give you a discount on it, for returning the evening dress so quickly.”

  “Oh!” gasped Marigold. “I—could you hold it until I can return this afternoon? I would want to try it on, you know.”

  “Certainement!” Madame said, smiling. “I give you an option. You come in about four to five? Oui! I shall keep. Good morning, ma’moiselle!”

  Marigold found herself in the street breathless, wondering. What did it all mean? She had returned the evening dress without any trouble, and here was this wonderful suit, furred and exquisite, at such a reasonable price—that is, it was reasonable for garments at François’s. But she must think it over and do some calculating before she even considered this, bargain though it was.

  She cast one appraising eye at the window as she signaled a taxi. The suit was wonderful. It did not shout its price to the world, either. Her practiced eye saw at once that the material was of the best and the fur was lovely. Moreover, she knew that it was her type, a garment she could wear for several years, conservative, yet nice enough for anywhere. Only, of course, it would not do for the party!

  She winced a little as she realized that the wonderful white-and-crimson gown was no longer hers.

  Did that mean that she was not going to the party? That perhaps she would be going with Mother down to Washington for Aunt Marian’s birthday?

  Her heart quivered and fairly turned over at that.

  Or did it mean that she was to buy some little cheap evening gown, which everyone acquainted with the stores of the city could immediately price, or that she was going to slave at night making a dress for herself—or—? Or what?

  Marigold didn’t answer that question to herself. She got into the taxi and looked at her watch. If this taxi didn’t get caught in traffic, she might make the school door by the time the last bell rang! That was important.

  But what about the party?

  Chapter 3

  During the morning, in the intervals of work in the library, Mrs. Brooke wrote a letter to her sister, intended to supplement the telegram that she thought she had sent.

  Dearest Marian:

  It almost broke my heart to send you that telegram this morning, declining your wonderful invitation. I wanted to fly to you. I’m sure you know how hard it was to say no.

  But, you see, my little Marigold is passing through a new experience, and how much it is going to mean in her life I do not know. For the past three years, she has been happy with a lot of young people in her church circle and in her school circle and has not seemed to think further than each day.

  But for several months now, her circle has been narrowing down more and more to those who move in a group with a certain young man, named Lawrence Trescott. His people are wealthy and worldly. I have been much worried. They neither know nor care anything about our Christ. They may attend church sometimes, I don’t know, but I should judge their only reason would be a wedding or funeral, or possibly a christening.

  I have not mentioned this young man to you before because I hoped the friendship meant nothing but an occasional good time, but quite lately he has singled out my little girl for his attentions, until I have come to fear for her.

  There is nothing the matter with him that I know, except t
hat he isn’t of our world, and I don’t think he knows much about it either, now or for eternity. But that’s enough, isn’t it?

  Yet he’s handsome, charming, seems devoted. And she? I’m afraid she’s more interested than I thought.

  And three days ago there came an invitation to a glamorous party at his home. My girl wants, of course, to go, and the party is on your birthday! Do you see, Marian, why I cannot leave her now? Why I must be on hand?

  For I am afraid for my girl. Afraid of the letting down of standards, afraid of the worldliness into which she seems to be hurrying.

  I might oppose her going, yes, but I’m not so sure that would be wise. Perhaps I should have started before it ever grew into a problem, only, of course, I didn’t realize. Or perhaps I, too, was a little flattered that a handsome, wealthy, well-mannered youth seemed interested in my child. But I didn’t stop it, and now it is a problem. Or—is it? How I wish I had you here to tell me and to advise. You have piloted your one daughter into a safe harbor with a fine husband. Oh, pray that my dear child shall not shipwreck her happiness.

  You will understand, won’t you, Marian, and know that it is not because I do not want to come that I am staying at home with my child?

  I shall be thinking of you on your birthday, and as soon as I feel I can, I will come and see you.

  But you will understand—as you always did understand.

  With a heart full of love and longing to see you, and many birthday wishes,

  Mary

  Mrs. Brooke folded the letter and addressed it. She would mail it on her way home that night. Then she put it safely into her handbag and went about her work, trying to forget her problems and her longing for things it seemed she could not have, counting up the future possibilities and wondering how long it would be before she could afford to set aside a little every month in anticipation of another chance to go to Marian.

  Meantime Marigold, in her classroom, air-conditioned and furnished with all modern equipment for teaching the young mind, was trying to make clear to her class of well-dressed, well-groomed, adoring little girls the difference between adjectives and adverbs, and trying to keep her mind on what she was doing. But in spite of herself, white silk evening gowns with long velvet sashes would persist in parading up and down the aisles in range of her vision, and the grand party, which had for the past few days been the background of her thoughts, whirled nearer and nearer to her view. And now it was Laurie’s smiling face that came questioning her thoughts, demanding to know why she had taken that wonderful dress back to the shop. Laurie’s face as he smiled down upon her at the arena, skimming along over the crystal surface of the ice. Laurie with admiration in his eyes. How could she have so forgotten it and her longing to please him and see the surprise in his eyes when he first viewed her in that wonderful dress? Had she actually taken the dress back? She must have been crazy! Surely there would have been some way to keep that dress and send Mother to Aunt Marian’s besides! There was nothing anywhere in the city that could equal that dress! She must have it! She simply must! She could not go to the party without it! As soon as this class was over, she would slip out into the hall and telephone the shop that she had changed her mind and would keep the dress! It would not do to wait until recess time. The other woman might come and buy it! She could never go to the party without that dress to give her confidence.

  But when the class was over at last, a visiting mother appeared and had to be taken around on a tour of inspection. Then another class claimed her attention, and before long with a dull thud it came over her that it was almost noon and she hadn’t been able to telephone yet.

  And now her common sense was asserting itself again. She must not spend so much for a dress for one evening’s pleasure! She must find another less expensive! And her mother must go to her sister’s birthday party.

  The last period in the morning was a study period in Marigold’s room. She had nothing definite that had to be done, yet she must not leave the room, for it was her duty to see that the young people under her care were diligent in their work.

  So she sat with pencil and paper at her desk and began to make some plans. She wrote down a list of things her mother needed for the trip and their probable cost. She speculated on what it would cost her to buy some other less expensive dress for the party, a wrap and accessories, also the relative cost of buying material and making a dress. She added it all up and puzzled over it until her head ached. Why, oh, why did this, her first wonderful party, have to be so complicated with duty and disappointment to others?

  At noontime she was frantic. She must get her lovely dress back at all costs. She would somehow manage to work a few evenings in the library or somewhere and get enough to send Mother properly provided for, too. She couldn’t go to the party without that dress, and of course she must go to the party or Laurie would be offended. Although Laurie hadn’t said anything about it the other night. Perhaps he didn’t know yet that she had her invitation. However, she had to look right at that party.

  So she went without her lunch and took a taxi back to the shop.

  As she entered, the saleswoman who had sold the dress to her yesterday came smiling toward her.

  “It’s sold!” she announced cheerfully. “The customer was crazy about it the minute she saw it and it fit her all right, although I must say she didn’t have as good a figure as yours. I thought it was a little snug. She’s taller than you are, too, and the hem had to be let down a trifle for her. But she was tickled to death about it. She said it was just what she’d been looking for and she had begun to think she couldn’t get it this side of Paris. And wasn’t it wonderful you should have brought it back just in time for Madame to make that wonderful sale! She charged her more for it than she did you. She knew she wanted it so much. Don’t tell her I told you that. But I’m sure she’ll give you a good price on that brown suit if you want it. You came back to try it on, didn’t you? Just go into the fitting room there and I’ll bring it to you. Madame is out to lunch, but she’ll be back before we get it on you; she never stays long.”

  Marigold, with her heart drooping down heavily, walked into the fitting room without a word. Her dress was gone, her beautiful dress, thrown away by her own hand. This morning it was hers, hanging in her modest closet with her plain little wardrobe. And now it was gone, to some rich, arrogant stranger, and she would never likely see nor hear of it again! She wanted to sit down on the gray upholstered chair and cry! Her lovely, lovely dress that she had discovered and paid for with her own money and rejoiced in! And now, by her own silly act, she had thrown it away! Could she ever forgive herself?

  While she unfastened her plain little school dress and got ready to try on the brown one, she was staring at herself in the mirror and trying to remember what had worked on her to make her do this foolish thing. And as she looked at herself she caught a glimpse of her background—the gray velvet carpet, the ivory woodwork, and the delicate rosy tint of the walls—and suddenly it reminded her of the walls of her dream, and with strange whimsy she stood again on that narrow ledge, with the ivory and rose of the walls above her and below her the grayness of the tiled floor so far away, and only vast space between. Her heart contracted. Laurie had been down below there, somewhere, in her dream, and had deserted her; and in the dim quiet of the room beyond the arches, her mother had sat working away at her library records, while she had hung in peril on that fantastic ledge of plaster and swayed between heaven and earth!

  It was all fanciful, of course, yet there was something uncanny about it, like a warning of some peril that she could not see, and suddenly she was under the power of that dream again. Whatever the feeling might be, whether of peril to her dear mother or of some danger connected with Laurie, she could not let it go unheeded. No future happiness founded on a mistake could make up for torture of soul. Well, she must be calm about it. The dress was gone, and the saleswoman was bringing the brown suit. She would try it on as if that was what she had come for, and then she
would go her way back to her school, and perhaps this chaos of mind would finally subside. When she became normal again, she would try to plan for Mother and for another dress for herself, but now she was simply dazed with her various emotions. Was one dress and one party worth so much?

  But when the brown suit was put on her, her mood changed again. It was lovely and sensible, a garment she could wear for years because the style was not extreme. And it was flattering. Yet what good would it do for the party? If she were going to Washington with Mother it would be ideal, but what would she do for the party?

  “It’s just your style, you know,” said the saleswoman.

  “Yes,” said Marigold thoughtfully. “I like it, and I’m sure Mother will like it, but I’m not sure I should pay so much for such a suit.”

  “You wait till Madame comes,” said the woman with a knowing wink. “I’m sure she’ll make the price right. You know, it’s getting late in the season now, and Madame always puts down the winter things. This is really your style. You just wait! Madame ought to be here any minute.”

  “Well, but I can’t wait,” Marigold said, smiling. “I have to be back at once. And besides, while I’d love the suit, it’s an evening gown that I set out to buy, and I’m not sure how much that’s going to cost.”

  “I’ll tell you what!” said the woman in a low tone. “I’ll put this aside for you, until you can run in this afternoon. Meantime, I’ll be looking up something nifty for you in an evening dress at a low price and see what we can do. Do you like green? There’s one that would be wonderful with your hair. It’s quite simple. I’m sure it would be better for you than that sophisticated white one with that startling red sash! It’s just a little importation that was ordered in blue by a customer and it came in green by mistake. It has a high back, too, and that’s what you like. I think Madame would give you a good price on it. You know, the season is coming to a close, and Madame never likes to carry stock over. You come in this afternoon, and I’ll see what I can do for you.”