The Story of a Whim Read online

  And now she came, at this quick turn, upon Christie standing, sun-glorified, his head inclined in deference, his eyes pleading, his whole bearing one of reverence.

  She looked at him, started, and knew him. That was plain. Then, her face a deadly white, her eyes straight ahead, she rode by majestically, with a steady, unknowing gaze that cut him like a knife just glinting by from her in passing.

  He bowed his head, acknowledging her right to do thus with him. But all the blood in his body surged into his face and then, receding, left him as white as the girl who just passed by him.

  Victoria and Ruth, behind, saw and grieved. They bowed graciously to him as if to try to make up for Hazel’s act. But he scarcely seemed to see them, for he was gazing down the narrow shadowed way after the straight little figure sitting her horse so resolutely and riding now so fast.

  “I didn’t know you could be so cruel, Hazel,” said Victoria, riding forward beside her. “That fellow was just magnificent, and you have stabbed him to the heart.”

  But Hazel had stopped her horse, dropped her bridle, and was slipping white and limp from her saddle to the ground. She had not heard.

  It was Sunday morning before they had time to think or talk more about it. Hazel had made them very anxious. But Sunday morning she felt a little better, and they were able to slip into her darkened room, one at a time, and say a few words to her.

  “Something must be done,” said Victoria decidedly, scowling out the window at the ripples of the blue lake below the hotel lawn. “I can’t understand how this thing has taken such a great hold on her. But I feel sure it’s that and nothing else that’s making her so ill. Don’t you think so, Ruth?”

  “It’s the disappointment,” said Ruth, with troubled eyes. “She told me this morning that it almost shook her faith in prayer and God to think she prayed so for the conversion of that girl’s soul—”

  “And then found out it was a creature, after all, without a soul?” laughed Victoria. She never could refrain from saying something funny whenever she happened to think of it.

  But Ruth went on.

  “It wasn’t his being a man, at all, instead of a girl. She wouldn’t have minded who he or she was, if it hadn’t been for the deceit. She says he went through the whole thing with her, professed to be converted and a very earnest Christian and to pray for other people, and talked about Christ in a wonderful way. And now to think he did it all for a joke, it just crushes her. She thinks he deceived her of course in those things, too. She says a man who would deceive in one thing would do so in another. She doesn’t believe now even in his Sunday school. And then you know she’s so enthusiastic that she must have said a lot of loving things to him. She’s just horrified to think she’s been carrying on a first-class, low-down flirtation with an unknown stranger. I think the sooner she gets away from this part of the country, the better. She ought to forget all about it.”

  “But she wouldn’t forget. You know Hazel. And, besides, the doctor says it might be death to her to go back into the cold now with her present health. No, Ruth, something else has to be done.”

  “What can be done, Victoria? You always talk as if you could do anything if you only set about it.”

  “I’m not sure but I could,” said Victoria, laughing. “Wait and see. This thing has to be reduced to plain, ordinary terms and have all the heroics and tragedy taken out of it. I may need your help, so be ready.”

  After that, Victoria went to her room, from which she emerged about an hour later and made her way by back halls and bypaths and finally, unseen, down the road.

  She wasn’t quite sure of the way, but by retracing her steps occasionally she arrived in front of Christie’s cabin just as Aunt Tildy was settling her spectacles for the opening hymn.

  She looked around for a few minutes until the singing was well along and then slipped noiselessly through the sand to the side of the house. After a few experiments, she discovered a crevice through which she could get a limited view of the Sunday school.

  A smile of satisfaction hovered about her lips. At least the Sunday school was a fact. So much she learned from her trip. Then she settled herself to listen.

  Christie was praying.

  It was the first time Christie’s voice had been heard by anyone but his Master in prayer. It happened simply enough. Uncle Moses had been sent away to the village for a doctor for a sick child, and there was no one else to pray. To Christie it wasn’t such a trial as it would have been a year ago. He had talked with his heavenly Father many times since that first cry in the night. But he was not an orator. His words were simple.

  “Jesus Christ, we make so many mistakes, and we sin so often. Forgive us. We’re not worth saving, but we thank You that You love us, even though all the world turn against us, and though we hate our own selves.”

  Victoria found her eyes filling with tears. If Hazel could only hear that prayer!

  Chapter 10

  Victoria Has a Finger in the Pie

  During the singing of the next hymn, the organist came within range of the watcher’s eye, and she noted with surprise the young man, Mr. Mortimer, to whom she’d been introduced in the hotel parlor a few evenings before. He was a cousin of those Mortimers from Boston who roomed next to Ruth. He would be at the hotel again. He would be another link in the evidence. For Victoria had set out to sift the character of Christie Bailey through and through.

  She was chained to the spot by her interest during the chalkboard lesson, which by shifting her position a trifle she could see as well as hear. But during the singing of the closing hymn, she left in a panic. And when the dusky crowd flowed out into the road, she was well on her way toward home, and no one save the yellow-footed chickens that clucked around her feet were the wiser.

  Victoria didn’t immediately make known to Ruth the afternoon’s events. She had other evidence to gather before she presented it before the court. She wanted to be sure of Christie before she put her finger in the pie at all. Therefore she was on the lookout for young Mr. Mortimer.

  She hoped he’d visit his aunt Sunday evening, but if he did he wasn’t in evidence. All day Monday she haunted the porches and entrances, but he didn’t come until Tuesday evening.

  Victoria, in the meanwhile, made herself agreeable to Mrs. Mortimer, and it didn’t take her long to monopolize the young man when he finally came. Indeed, he was attracted to her from the first.

  They were soon seated comfortably in two large porch chairs, watching the moon rise out of the little lake and frame itself in wreaths of long gray moss, which reached out lacelike fingers and seemed to try to snare it. But always it slipped through until it sailed high above, serene. Such a great moon and so different from a Northern moon!

  Victoria did justice to the scene with a fine supply of adjectives and then addressed herself to her self-appointed task.

  “Mr. Mortimer, I wonder if you know a man down here by the name of Bailey, Christie Bailey. Tell me about him, please. Who is he, and how did he come by such a strange name? Is it short for Christopher?”

  She settled her fluffy dress around her in the moonlight and fastened her eyes on Mortimer with interest. He felt he had a pleasant task before him to speak of his friend to this charming girl.

  “Certainly, I know Chris well. He’s one of the best fellows in the world. Yes, his name is an odd one, a family name, I believe—his mother’s family name, I think he told me once. No, no Christopher about it, just plain Christie. But how in the world do you happen to know anything about him? He told me once he hadn’t a friend left in the North.”

  Victoria was prepared for this.

  “Oh, I heard someone talking about a Sunday school he had started, and I’m interested in Sunday schools myself. Did he come down here as a sort of missionary, do you know?”

  She asked the question innocently enough, and Mortimer waxed earnest in his story.

  “No, indeed! No missionary about Christie. Why, Miss Landis, a year ago Christie was one
of the toughest fellows in Florida. He could play a fine hand at cards and drink as much whiskey as the next one. And there wasn’t one of us with a readier tongue when it was loosened up with plenty of drinks—”

  “I hope you’re not one of that kind?” said Victoria sincerely, looking at the fine, restless eyes and handsome profile outlined in the moonlight.

  A shade of sadness crossed his face. No one had spoken to him like that in a long time. He turned and looked into her eyes.

  “It’s kind of you to care, Miss Landis. Perhaps if I’d met someone like you a few years ago, I’d have been a better fellow.” Then he sighed and continued: “A strange change came over Christie about a year ago. Someone sent him an organ and some things for his room, supposing he was a girl—from his name, I believe. They got hold of his name at the freight station where his goods were shipped. They must have been uncommon people to send so much to a stranger. There was a fine picture, too, which he keeps on his wall, some religious work of a great artist. He treasures it above his orange grove, I believe.

  “Well, those things made the most marvelous change in that man. You wouldn’t have known him. Some of us fellows went to see him soon after it happened. We thought it would be a joke to carry out the suggestion that came with the organ that Christie start a Sunday school. So we invited neighbors from all around, went up there Sunday and fixed seats all over his cabin.

  “He was as mad as could be, but he couldn’t help himself. So, instead of knocking us all out and sending the audience home, he just pitched in and had a Sunday school. He wouldn’t allow any laughing, either. We fellows had taken lunch and a case of bottles over to make the day a success. When Armstrong—he’s the second son of an earl—came in with the case of liquor, Chris rose up mightily. Perhaps you don’t know Christie has red hair. Well, he has a temper just like it—and he suddenly rose up and fairly blazed at us, eyes and hair and face. He looked like a strong avenging angel. I declare, he was magnificent. We never knew he had it in him.

  “Well, from that day forward he took hold of that Sunday school, and he changed all his ways. He didn’t go to any more ‘gatherings of the clan,’ as we called them. We were so proud of him we wouldn’t have let him if he’d tried.

  “Some of the fellows come to the Sunday school and help every Sunday—sing, you know, and play. We all stand by him. He’s good as gold. Not many could live alone in a Florida orange grove from one year’s end to another and keep themselves from evil the way Christie Bailey has. Wouldn’t you like to see the Sunday school sometime? I’ll get Chris to let me bring you if you say so.”

  Victoria smilingly said she would enjoy it. Then, her interest in Christie Bailey satisfied, she turned her attention to the young man before her.

  “You didn’t answer my question a while ago, about yourself.” There was pleading in Victoria’s voice, and the young man before her was visibly embarrassed. The tones grew more earnest. The moon looked down upon the two sitting there quietly. The voices of the night surrounded them, but they didn’t hear. Victoria had found a mission of her own while trying to straighten out another’s.

  But the next morning early, Victoria laid out her campaign. She took Ruth out for a walk, and on the way she told her what she intended to do.

  “And you propose to go to Christie Bailey’s house this morning, Victoria, without telling Hazel anything of it? Indeed, Vic, I’m not going to do any such thing. What would Mrs. Winship say?”

  “Mrs. Winship will say nothing about it, for she will never know anything about it. Besides, I don’t care what she says so long as we straighten things out for Hazel. Don’t you see that Hazel must understand that she hasn’t failed, after all—that the young man was sincere and really meant to be a Christian, and that the only thing he failed in was in not having courage to speak out and tell her she’d made a mistake? He didn’t intend any harm, and after it went on for a while, of course, it was harder to tell. Now, Ruth, there’s no use in your saying you won’t go, for I’ve got to have a chaperone, you know. I couldn’t go alone, and I shall go with or without you; so you may as well come.”

  Reluctantly Ruth went, half fearful of the result of this daring girl’s plan and only half understanding what she meant to do.

  Christie came to the door when they knocked. He looked eagerly beyond them into the sunshine, hunting for another face, but none appeared. Victoria’s eyes were dancing.

  “She isn’t here,” she said mockingly, rightly interpreting his searching gaze. “So you’d better ask us in, or you won’t find out what we came for. It’s very warm out here in the sun.”

  Christie smiled a sad smile and asked them in. He couldn’t guess what they’d come for and waited solemnly for them to speak.

  “Now, sir,” said Victoria with decision, “I want you to understand that you’ve been the cause of a great deal of suffering and disappointment.”

  Christie took on at once a look of haggard misery as he listened anxiously, not taking his eyes from the speaker’s face. Victoria was enjoying her task immensely. The young man looked more handsome wearing that abject expression. It would do him no harm to suffer a little longer. Anyway, he deserved it, she thought.

  “You were aware, I think, from a letter Miss Summers wrote you, that Miss Winship was very ill before she came down here—that she almost died.”

  Here Ruth nodded her head severely. She felt like meting out judgment to this false-hearted young man.

  “Perhaps you don’t know that the long walk she took from your house last week, after the startling revelation she received here, was enough to kill her in her weak condition.”

  Christie’s white, anxious face gave Victoria a flitting twinge of conscience. Possibly the young man had suffered enough already without her adding anything to it, but she went on with her prepared program.

  “You also probably don’t know that the other day when she was riding horseback she controlled herself until she passed you—and then was utterly overcome by the humiliation of seeing you and slipped from her horse onto the road, unconscious. Since that time she has been hovering between life and death—”

  Victoria had carefully weighed that sentence and decided that, while it might be a trifle overdrawn, the circumstances nevertheless justified the statement; for truly they had feared for Hazel’s life several times during the last two or three days.

  But a groan escaped the young man’s white lips, and Victoria, springing to her feet, realized that his punishment had been enough. She walked toward him involuntarily, with pity on her face.

  “Don’t look like that!” she said. “I think she’ll get well. But I also think, since you’re to blame for a good deal of the trouble, it’s time you offered to do something.”

  “What could I do?” said Christie in hoarse eagerness.

  “Well, I think if you were to explain to her how it all happened it might change the situation somewhat.”

  “She has forbidden me to say a word,” answered Christie in clear misery.

  “Oh, she has, has she?” said Victoria, surveying him with dissatisfaction. “Well, you ought to have done it anyway! You should have insisted! That’s a man’s part. She has to know the truth somehow and get some of the tragedy taken out of this, or she’ll suffer for it, that’s all. And there’s no one to explain but you. You see, it isn’t the pleasantest thing to find one has written all sorts of confidences to a strange young man. Hazel is blaming herself as any common flirt might do if she had a conscience. But that, of course, though extremely humiliating to her pride, isn’t the worst. She feels terrible about your deceiving her and pretending you were a Christian, and she was all the time praying out her life for you, while you were having a joke out of it. It’s hurt her self-respect a good deal, but it has hurt her religion more.”

  Christie raised his head in protest, but Victoria went on.

  “Wait a minute, please. I want to tell you I believe she’s mistaken. I don’t believe you were playing a part in telling
her you’d become a Christian, were you? Or that you were making fun of her enthusiasm and trying to see how far she would go, just for fun?”

  “I’ve never written anything in joke to Miss Winship. I honor and respect her beyond anyone else on earth. I have never deceived her in anything except that I didn’t tell her who I was. I thought there was no harm in it when I did it, but now I see it was a terrible mistake. And I feel that I owe my salvation to Miss Winship. She introduced me to Jesus Christ. I’m trying to make Him my guide.”

  The young man raised his head and turned his eyes with acknowledgment toward the pictured Christ as he declared his faith. Victoria and Ruth were awed into admiration.

  “I almost expected to see a halo spring up behind his copper hair,” said Victoria to Ruth on the way home.

  Victoria had arranged to send him word when he could see Hazel, and the two girls went away, leaving Christie in a state of conflicting emotions. He could do nothing. He sat and thought and thought, going over all his acquaintance with Hazel, singling out what he’d told her of his own feelings toward Christ. And she thought he did it all in joke! He began to see how hideous his action was in her eyes. Knowing her pure, lovely soul as he did through her letters, he felt keenly for her. How could he blame her for her condemning him? And that day he found in the breast pocket of his old working coat the photograph of Hazel so prized and so sadly missed since the day of her visit. He had supposed Victoria took it, but now he recalled her words about it as she ran after Hazel. Smiling into the sweet, girlish face, he wondered whether she would ever forgive him.

  The next day a note came from Victoria, saying he might call at seven o’clock on Saturday evening, and Hazel could likely see him a few minutes. A postscript in the writer’s original style added: And I hope you’ll have sense enough to know what to say! If you don’t, I’m sure I can’t do anything more for you.