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  Amorelle listened to his words wearily, noticing the gray around his temples, the sagging lines around his mouth. She had always thought of him as a pleasant, harmless, elderly man. But now with the thought of him as a possible suitor, he suddenly seemed very old and tiresome, utterly obnoxious in such a role. If she could only think of some way to keep him from saying what she dreaded. She had a desire to get up and run down to the cellar or out the back door and leave him by himself—but of course she could not treat a respected member of the church that way, and she tried to make her voice pleasant and polite as she answered.

  “Thank you, Mr. Merchant. My father always appreciated your friendship.”

  “Well, that’s nice to know, but I want you to understand that for a long time I have looked upon you as a most worthy and capable young woman. I—this is—Well, you know—I—”

  Amorelle in a panic broke in upon his careful speech.

  “That’s kind of you, Mr. Merchant. And how is your mother? Is she suffering as much this fall?”

  “Oh, my mother? Yes, my mother. Well, I was coming to her. Yes, I’m sorry to say she is suffering a great deal, but she knows her time is short now, and she is resigned.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” said Amorelle, hoping against hope that she might be able to switch the conversation away from herself.

  “Well, as I was saying,” resumed the caller, “she knows that her time is short, and perhaps that is the reason she is so willing that I should make some change in my life at this time. Perhaps you are not aware, Miss Dean, that when my mother was taken so ill, her one obsession seemed to be a dread that I would leave her, or perhaps marry and bring someone home who would not be congenial to her.”

  “Oh, poor thing,” said Amorelle, trying to make her voice sound sympathetic and not hysterical.

  “Yes, that is the way I felt,” said the man, beaming upon her. “I am glad you feel that way about her, too. It makes me feel that I am right in my conclusions. And so, as I was saying—”

  Amorelle caught her breath desperately, but the man went steadily on.

  “I promised my mother that I would never leave her while she lived, and that I would never marry without her complete agreement in my choice. So the years have passed happily and I have not been moved to choose a mate for myself until—well—I might say, quite recently.”

  He paused to smile at the girl, but Amorelle was struggling with a wave of anger. This, of course, was going to be some more of Mrs. Brisbane’s meddling! How outrageous!

  “To make it more definite, it was this very morning that I got to thinking about you and what an excellent wife you would make in every way, and how alone you must be now, and how opportune it would be for you at this time if a home could be offered to you. After casting about in my mind a time, I went and had a talk with my mother, and I found her most agreeable to the idea. She felt that you would be a most suitable wife for me, and she seems quite eager to have the marriage consummated at once. She says that she will be able to help you, teach and advise you in so many ways before she is taken from us, and she desires that no time shall be lost—”

  Suddenly Amorelle arose with protest in her eyes, her face very white.

  “Please, please, Mr. Merchant, don’t say any more—” she began earnestly, but the man lifted a restraining hand.

  “Just a minute, Miss Dean. I would like to finish, if you please!”

  There was a slight note of hauteur, almost offense, in his voice.

  Amorelle dropped into her chair again, a hopeless look in her eyes. What would it be like to be married to a man who insisted upon finishing all his elaborate sentences with a smile like that on his face?

  “And so, as I was saying,” he went on, looking steadily at the impatient girl, “she insists that we lose no time. In brief, Miss Dean, while I fully realize that you may feel it is a little soon after your recent sorrow, I have come here to offer you my hand and heart in marriage, and to suggest that the ceremony be performed at once, so that you can come immediately to your husband’s home for refuge. I shall have a right then to stand between you and the world. I feel that under the circumstances haste is quite justified. I feel that your father would quite approve and be glad to have me take you over and protect you. Now, what do you say?”

  He finished with a complacent smile and looked at Amorelle to have his suggestion ratified.

  “I shall have to say no, Mr. Merchant,” said Amorelle with her mouth in a little firm line. “I do not wish to get married.”

  “Oh, but my dear, you are not going to disappoint me, after I have waited all these years for the right one to come and the right time to ask you.”

  “It won’t be a great disappointment if you only thought of it this morning, Mr. Merchant.” Amorelle tried to smile and make light of the matter.

  “Oh, but you mistake me, Miss Dean. I have often sat in church and watched you at the organ and thought what an ideal woman you were. I have dreamed about you, thought about having the sunshine of your smile always in my home. I have admired you beyond any woman I have seen in years. I feel sure we should grow very fond of one another. I feel that you are quite queen of my heart.”

  He laid his hand on his heart and bowed low in an old-time courtly way that suddenly gave Amorelle that inane desire again to burst out laughing. She restrained herself, however, and felt a touch of pity for him. Poor soul, he had never had any youth of his own and now he was making a snatch at hers; and from horror, her feeling turned to sadness.

  “No, Mr. Merchant,” she said, shaking her head earnestly. “You have made a mistake. I am nothing but a child compared to you. I don’t want to be unkind or ungrateful for all the nice things you have said, but I must speak frankly if you insist on talking any more about this. I have always looked upon you as my father’s friend, not mine. I would never feel that you were a suitable person for me to marry, even if I wanted to marry anybody. There is far too great a difference in our ages. I don’t want to hurt you, but I can remember when you used to buy me dolls and fur bunnies for Christmas and Easter.”

  She tried to smile. But the complacent smile did not fade from the man’s face.

  “That is to me but one more advantage,” he answered. “I feel that I know you thoroughly, and you know me. We shall the more easily adjust ourselves to one another. And it may surprise you that the very fact of your youth was the thing that most recommended you to my mother as suitable. She felt that you being young would be the more pliable and easy to be trained by her than an older woman. You satisfy my mother fully, Miss Dean.”

  “But I don’t care to marry your mother, Mr. Merchant. I think we need say no more.” And Amorelle arose.

  Yet still he lingered, unable to grasp the fact that she had really, definitely refused him. Even when he stood reluctantly at last upon the doorstep saying good-night, he turned back to say, “Well, if after thinking it over you change your mind, please feel perfectly free to let me know. I shall be anxiously awaiting a word from you, and I shall not consider that this is final. Good-night!”

  He was gone at last, and Amorelle closed and locked the door firmly, snapped out the hall light, and walked back into the kitchen where she paused in the dark, clenched her hands, and stamped her foot angrily.

  “Oh, that woman!” she said between shut teeth. “That woman! And to think I’m helpless! I can’t do a thing about it!”

  Then after a pause, she said aloud again, “Well, thank goodness there’s only Mr. Pike left, and I’ll take care that he never gets in the house while I’m here. If I see him I’ll run away, or go upstairs and lock myself in!”

  She said it with determination, and then a sudden horror came to her. Perhaps the woman would think up some more bachelors to add to her list. What a thought!

  Eventually Amorelle went up to bed and, kneeling, tried to commit herself to her heavenly Father, tried to put aside her anger and worry and just trust herself in the only hands that could protect her. But after she
lay down to rest, it was long before she could get to sleep in spite of her weariness. As her mind threshed over and over the scenes through which she had passed that day, she wondered anxiously what trying things were to be her portion for the morrow.

  “Oh, I’m not trusting God the way Father taught me to do.” She sighed wearily as she turned over for what seemed like the thousandth time and wished for day.

  Amorelle did not know that, though she had carefully drawn down all the shades in the lower floor to protect herself from prying eyes, she had gone upstairs and left two lights burning—one in the kitchen and the other in the study— without in the least realizing that she had done so. If she had not been so distraught, she would never have been so careless. But the fact that the lights were burning saved her from one more unwelcome visitor who was not yet aware that Hannah the faithful was still nursing her sister, and that the minister’s orphaned daughter was alone in the manse again that night.

  Chapter 5

  Johnny brought two barrels on his first round in the morning and left them in the dining room for Amorelle to pack the china she wanted to keep. She went straight to work, carefully wrapping each delicate cup and plate of her mother’s wedding china and stuffing in the straw and wood shavings that Johnny had provided. Dear Johnny! Good Johnny! If all the would-be lovers took their rebuffs as pleasantly and helpfully as Johnny had done, life would have less perplexities and problems for her.

  She worked rapidly to get done. The sooner she got out of the town, the sooner such exciting episodes as had filled yesterday would be over.

  When the last bit of her mother’s china was packed, she flew around getting together articles she wished to sell. This proved to be a trying matter to decide just what to keep and what to sell. But the man arrived in the midst of it and settled several troublesome problems by offering more than she expected for some things and refusing to take others. She was agreeably surprised, when he had gone the rounds from cellar to attic and set down the articles with the prices that he was willing to give, to find that it all amounted to a little over fifty dollars. Her heart grew somewhat lighter as she ate her lunch. She would surely be able to pay all her indebtedness and have enough left for a ticket to her uncle’s.

  But her lunch hour was cut short by callers again, and with trepidation she saw Mrs. Ferguson’s firm, uncompromising countenance through the front door glass as she went to answer the bell.

  There were three ladies standing on the porch—Mrs. Ferguson, Mrs. Woods, and Mrs. Brisbane. The representatives of the Ladies’ Aid had arrived. Like a soldier girding on armor, she lifted her heart for help from above and went forward to let them in.

  “I’m rather torn up here,” she apologized with a faint smile. “I’ll take you into the study. I guess that is the least unsettled.”

  “Torn up?” said Mrs. Ferguson in her deep bass voice, casting a swift, scrutinizing glance into the empty parlor. “Why, not torn up already?”

  “There wasn’t any point in waiting,” said the girl, trying to speak cheerfully. “It was easier to go right to work. It had to be done!”

  “But, my dear!” reproached the deep voice, fixing her with hard eyes through double lenses. “You should not have gone ahead without advice. You are very young, and it is our place to see that you do the wisest thing. I thought I sent word to you through Mrs. Brisbane that we were coming for that purpose. I don’t understand why you had to be in such a hurry. Of course, I had to have a little time to consult with some of the other members of the Society.”

  “Mrs. Brisbane spoke of your coming,” said Amorelle with a sweet dignity, “but I didn’t want to be a trouble to anyone. I didn’t want you to feel that I was a burden you had to carry. I’m quite able to see to things, and Father and I talked some things over together, too. Come into the study, won’t you? I’ll bring in a couple of dining room chairs and we can all be comfortable.”

  But the self-appointed committee stood immovable.

  “But what have you done with your parlor furniture?” demanded the deep voice of the general, looking hard around the little, empty parlor, as if expecting to find it hidden in some of the empty corners.

  “I have sent it away to a friend of Mother’s who is going to keep it for me until I know just where I am to be permanently,” said Amorelle sweetly.

  “But my dear! You should not have done that!” said the chairman of the committee. “We have been considering buying it for the ladies’ parlor in the church, unless the Society should decide to partly furnish the manse for a very young minister who may be called, in which case, of course, it could stay right here. And Mrs. Woods also has been thinking of buying it herself for her east room. She wanted to look at it carefully and see if it was really in as good repair as she remembered it. What a pity you should have sent it away and made us all the trouble and expense of bringing it back again. I hope it has not gone far. Mrs. Brisbane, didn’t you make her understand that we were coming here for that purpose?”

  “I certainly did!” said Mrs. Brisbane with set lips.

  “But I had no intention of selling that furniture, Mrs. Ferguson. It was old and very precious, a part of my mother’s possessions that had been in the family for generations. I would not sell it under any considerations. I’m sorry you are disappointed.”

  “But can you afford to keep for sentimental reasons, my dear, anything that would bring you money at this time?”

  Amorelle merely smiled.

  “I think so,” she answered quietly. “Will you step into the study, Mrs. Ferguson?”

  “Well, you’re a very silly child!” said Mrs. Ferguson, following her with her chin in the air. “We shall have to talk of that later.”

  “But Amorelle,” protested Mrs. Woods, suddenly entering into the conversation, “you really don’t understand what you are doing, I suppose. I was willing to pay quite a little. I had thought of offering you fifteen dollars for that sofa and perhaps two and a half apiece for the chairs. I might even be willing to make it twenty-five for the sofa and five apiece for the chairs if I found them in justifiable condition for the investment.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. Woods, but Father told me never to let those pieces go under a thousand dollars, as they are very rare. But personally I wouldn’t sell them at any price. Not if I hadn’t a cent in the world left, and I’m not quite down to starvation yet.”

  All three ladies gasped.

  “How ridiculous!” snorted Mrs. Woods, her face growing red with disappointment. “I’ve heard that you had an unbalanced judgment, and I begin to think it is true.”

  But Mrs. Ferguson diverted attention now in her deep, throaty voice.

  “Oh, and yes, there’s the desk, Amorelle. Now, I’ll tell you, we had thought if we bought a number of your things from you that, being as the desk was given to your father by the church, you would want to leave it here in the manse as a donation from him.”

  “Oh, but it wasn’t given to him by the church, Mrs. Ferguson!” said Amorelle quickly. “It was a personal gift from Judge Rivington.”

  “I beg your pardon, Amorelle. I was not so informed. You have probably forgotten. I was told that the church came here as a surprise party and brought the desk with them on the occasion of some anniversary.”

  “I am sorry to have to contradict you, Mrs. Ferguson,” said Amorelle. “The church did give us a surprise party and brought a little desk light for Father. It was on his fiftieth birthday. But the desk was given privately about two months before that. Have you never seen the inscription? Here, let me show you.”

  “Inscription?” said Mrs. Ferguson. “If there was an inscription, why, of course it was given by the church.”

  Amorelle went to the desk and drew out the upper right-hand drawer.

  “There it is, Mrs. Ferguson. You can read it for yourself,” she said, lifting a pile of writing paper and revealing a silver plate set deep in the wood and engraved in clear script.

  Mrs. Ferguson
leaned over and brought her severe gaze to bear upon the words.

  TO MY BELOVED FRIEND AND PASTOR,

  REV. JOHN ANDERSON DEAN,

  IN LOVING RECOGNITION OF THE

  SPIRITUAL HELP AND COMFORT

  I HAVE DERIVED FROM HIS TEACHING OF THE BIBLE,

  AND FROM PERSONAL ASSOCIATION WITH

  HIS BEAUTIFUL CHRISTLIKE LIFE.

  FROM

  REAVER RATHBONE RIVINGTON

  Mrs. Ferguson read it through twice, carefully weighing each word with a hope that she might find a loophole to bear her out in her statements.

  “Well,” she said straightening up, “that is most extraordinary! I certainly was informed—Just when was that plate put in there?”

  She fixed Amorelle with a gimlet stare.

  A wave of scarlet swept over Amorelle’s white face and her eyes suddenly flashed angrily.

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” she said haughtily. “It was in there when the desk came to the house, and it happened to be on the anniversary of Father’s wedding day, so I can tell you the date of the arrival. If you doubt my word you might write to Mrs. Loomis Rivington. She and her husband came along with Judge Rivington when he presented it to Father.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t doubt your word, of course,” said Mrs. Ferguson, “but it does seem strange! But even so, Amorelle, Judge Rivington was a member of our church, and in a way that desk was a gift from the church, you know, and I thought it would be so appropriate for you to present it to the church study or the manse study. We could of course pay you for it, if you felt you could not afford to give it entirely. I suppose you’ll have to sell it. It’s a handsome thing and ought to bring you in something, and of course you could not use it yourself, a man’s desk!”

  “No, Mrs. Ferguson, I couldn’t sell it. Father gave it to me. He spoke about it. He wouldn’t have liked me to give it away even if I were willing. It is one of the precious things that I want to keep always. Besides, I don’t think the Rivingtons would like it either.”