Mary Ware in Texas Page 14

  CHAPTER XI

  PHIL GOES TO WARWICK HALL

  Had it not been for that package of letters read aloud before the fireon that stormy March night, this story might have had a very differentending. But for them Phil never would have known what a winsome,unselfish character the little Vicar had grown up to be. The casualmeetings of years could not have revealed her to him as did theseintimate glimpses of her daily life and thought, through her letters toJoyce.

  They showed her childishly jubilant in her delight when the firstmonth's salary was paid into her hands, and yet practical and womanly inher plans for spending it. Like a child she was, too, in her lamentsover some of the mistakes which her inexperience led her into with Brudand Sister, yet he could see plainly underneath her whimsical words herdeep earnestness of purpose. At last she had recognized that thisopportunity to impress them with her high ideals was one of the King'scalls, and she was bending every energy to the keeping of that tryst.It was this development of character which interested Phil, even morethan the news of the letters. Still there were a number of items whichgave him something to think about. Lieutenant Boglin had made a secondvisit. Once she mentioned a book he had sent her, and another time arare butterfly to add to the new collection she was starting. Evidentlythey had found several interests in common.

  On his last visit she had taken him to Fernbank in the boat, and he hadcaptured a fine big hairy tarantula for her from among the roots of aclump of maidenhair ferns. She had been able to enjoy the boat a greatdeal more since the children had learned the meaning of the word obey.She could take them with her now without fear of their rocking the boat,and in consequence they had had many a delightful hour on the water thathad not been possible before.

  "Do you know," said Phil, slowly, when he had listened awhile longer,"it doesn't strike me that those are particularly doleful letters; atany rate, anything to send you into an 'orgy of weeps.' I believe it isnothing but the weather which gave you the spell of doldrums that youwere in when I came."

  "Oh, but you haven't heard the latest ones," Joyce exclaimed. "Mamma'sreports of Jack's condition and Jack's own little pencilled scrawls. Ican read between the lines just what a desperate fight he is making, andthis last one from Mary simply knocked all the props out from under thehope I had been clinging to."

  She picked up the last envelope on the pile, postmarked March first, andturned to the closing pages:

  "'Jack is so much worse that I can scarcely think of anything else. Weare _so_ worried about him. He is in bed all the time now, and isgrowing so thin and weak. He is very despondent,--something new for him.It keeps us busy trying to think of things to tempt his appetite or toarouse him out of his listlessness. He has always been so cheerfulbefore--so full of jokes and so responsive to any attempt to amuse him.But now he doesn't seem to want to talk or to be read to or anything.Once in a while he'll smile a wan little sort of smile when I repeatsome of the children's doings, but he isn't like himself any more.Sometimes I believe he's just worn out with the long effort he's made tobe brave and keep up for our sake.

  "'It is hard for me to keep my interest in the children keyed up to theproper pitch any more, when all the time I am thinking how pitiful andwhite he looks, lying back on his pillows. I am telling you exactly howthings are because I would want you to tell me if I were in your placeand you in mine. I can understand how hard it is for you to be so faraway where you can't see for yourself how he is, every hour. I'll try tosend a note or postal each day.

  MARY WARE in TEXAS.

  "Leaning against the mantel looked down at her thoughtfully"]

  "'He's talked about you a lot, lately. Says you have the pioneer spiritof all our old Colonial grandmothers, to stick to your post the way youare doing for our sakes. He's constantly referring to things thathappened at the Wigwam, and to the people who used to come there,--Mr.Ellested and the Lees and Phil,--especially Phil. I wish he could dropin here to see us daily as he used to do in Arizona. Maybe Jack wouldrouse up and take some interest in _him_. He doesn't take any now in thepeople we have met here, although no one could be kinder than theRochesters and the Barnabys have been to us.'"

  Joyce finished reading, and Phil rose to his feet and began pacing upand down the long room, his hands in his pockets and his eyes fixed onthe floor as if he were considering some weighty problem. Finally hestopped, and leaning against the mantel, looked down at her,thoughtfully, saying, "Joyce, I've about thought out a way to manageit--to take in Bauer on my way to California, I mean. You told me oncethat Aunt Emily calls me her 'other boy.' Well, you all are my otherfamily, and these glimpses you've given me of it make me homesick to seethem. I might be able to help matters some way. I'm almost sure I canarrange to start several days before the rest of the party and go aroundthat way, so if you have any messages or things to send, get themready."

  "Oh, Phil!" she cried, thankfully. "They'll be so glad--I know it willdo them a world of good to see you. Maybe you can cheer Jack up a bit.So much depends on keeping him hopeful." Then she added, wistfully, "Ionly wish you could put me in your pocket and take me along."

  "I wish I could," he answered, cordially. Then more cordially stillafter a moment's thought, "Why, that's the very thing! Come and goalong! Just cut loose for a short visit and let things here go hang! Itwould mean more to them at home to see you again than the few dollarsyou could pile up if you stayed on here."

  "No," she contradicted, sadly, the light dying out of her eyes, whichhad brightened at the mere thought of such a visit. "It's too long atrip and too expensive, and--"

  "But we can easily arrange all that," he interrupted, eagerly. "Underthe circumstances you ought to let me do for Jack's sister what Jackwould gladly do for mine were the circumstances reversed. _Please_,Joyce."

  She shook her head as he urged his plan, but her eyes filled with tearsand she said, brokenly, "You are a dear, generous boy to offer it, andI'll remember it always, but Phil--don't you see--there's too much atstake. I _can't_ leave now. Not only my work in hand would stop, but I'dlose the orders that are constantly coming in, and I can't afford tomiss a penny that would add to Jack's comfort in any way. He may behelpless for years and years, and Mary's salary will stop as soon as theMallorys leave Bauer this summer."

  "Well, think about it, anyway," urged Phil, hopefully. "Maybe you'll seethings differently by daylight, and change your mind. I'll ring you upin the morning."

  "By the way," he said, a few minutes later, when he was slipping intohis overcoat, "don't write to Mary that there is a possibility of mygoing to Bauer. If I should go I want to surprise her."

  "Very well," agreed Joyce. "But I may write about Elsie's wedding andsay that you'll all be going West?"

  "Oh, yes, she'll probably have cards herself soon, for Elsie has neverforgotten her one encounter with the little Vicar, and she wrote for heraddress some time ago."

  It was several days before Joyce saw Phil again. When he did come he wasin such a hurry that he did not wait for the elevator, which seemed tobe stuck somewhere in the basement. After several impatient rings hestarted up the stairs, two steps at a time, and had reached the fifthfloor before the elevator overtook him. He was slightly out of breath,but so intent on his errand that he never would have thought to step inand ride the rest of the way, had it not stopped on the landing foranother passenger, as he was about to pass the cage.

  The janitor was cleaning the halls of the top floor apartments, and thedoor into Joyce's studio being open, Phil walked in without waiting toring. Joyce was at her easel hard at work. Her face lighted up when shesaw his, for it showed so plainly he was the bearer of good news.

  "Daddy's going with me," were his first breathless words of greeting."We--" Then he paused as if some sudden recollection warned him to ask,"What have you heard from home lately?"

  She thought the question was prompted by his fear that it might not beconvenient for them to have guests in the house if Jack were so ill, soshe hastened to reassure him.

  "
Oh, I had the cheerfulest sort of letter from Mamma this morning,written last Sunday, the very day I was crying my eyes out over them.Isn't that always the way? Here it was so bleak and blustery that Icouldn't help imagining that they were as dismal as I. And all the timeit was as warm as summer in Bauer, the country a mass of wildflowers,and they were having a perfectly delightful time with Gay Melville. Andguess who had gone up with her to spend the day there! Alex Shelby ofKentucky!" she added, without an instant's pause for him to answer.

  "Mamma wrote that she didn't know when she had had such an enjoyableday. Dr. Shelby insisted on her going for a little outing with the girlswhile he and Norman took care of Jack. Mary poled them up to Fernbankin the boat, and when they got back they found that, in someunaccountable way, Jack had been wonderfully cheered up. He seemed morelike himself than he had been for weeks. Mamma was so happy over that,for even if he can never be any better physically it is a lot to bethankful for to have his spirits kept up."

  "Is that all?" asked Phil, when she paused at last.

  "Yes. Why? Isn't that _enough_?"

  "I only wanted to find out how much you knew before I broke _my_ news.Now, listen to this! Alex Shelby wrote to Daddy that same night. Youknow they met at Eugenia's wedding, and Shelby who was just beginning topractise medicine then seemed to develop a case of hero-worship forfather. Shelby has taken a great interest in Jack's case ever since heheard of the accident, and the reason he sent Aunt Emily out thatafternoon was that he might have a chance to examine Jack without herknowing it. He didn't want to raise anybody's hopes if nothing can bedone. He thinks that the first operation did not go quite far enough.There is still a pressure on the spinal cord which may be removed by avery delicate bit of surgery. _I_ don't understand his technical terms,but it's one of the most difficult things known to the medicalprofession.

  "Daddy says there are very few cases on record of its having been donesuccessfully, although it has been attempted several times. Personallyhe knows of two cases. One was a football player in this country who hadhis back broken, and one was a man in Germany who was injured in exactlythe same vertebrae where Jack's trouble lies. And--mark this now--_Daddyhelped with that operation_. The surgeon who performed it was a friendof his, and called him in because it was such a rare and peculiar case."

  Joyce was scarcely breathing now, as she listened. She was white to thelips in her intense excitement.

  "Oh, go _on_!" she exclaimed, unable to endure the suspense when hepaused. "Doctor Tremont thinks he can cure him?"

  "No--" was the guarded response. "He is not sure. He doesn't say that.But there is a chance, just one chance, and he is going to take it.We're leaving in a few hours, so I haven't another moment to stay!"

  Joyce, who had risen in her first excitement, dropped back on her stoolagain, limp and trembling. She had thought so long of Jack's illness asbeing hopeless that the possibility of a cure almost unnerved her withthe great joy of it. Phil went on, rapidly:

  "Shelby told Jack of his hope, but evidently he said nothing to the restof the family, or they would have known the reason for Jack's return tocheerfulness. Now, don't go to getting upset like that," he added,holding out his hands for a cordial leave-taking. "I don't want to getyour hopes up too high, but I've always felt that Daddy could come asnear to working miracles as anyone living, and you just rememberthis--he's going to work one this time, if mortal man can do it! Yousee, he knows what the Wares were to me that year on the desert. Hehasn't forgotten how you all saved his motherless boy for him. That'sthe way he puts it. Saved me from my besetting temptation and sent meaway to make a man of myself. If he can put Jack on his feet again hewill feel that he is only paying back a small part of his obligation toyou all--to say nothing of _my_ debt. Lord! I can't even talk about thatnow! It's too big for me ever to tackle myself. But I just wanted you toknow how we both feel about it--"

  He did not attempt to finish, but with a final strong handclasp he wasgone before Joyce could find her voice for more than a falteringgood-by.

  For a little while after he left she sat before her easel, gazingvacantly at the canvas with eyes which saw nothing. She could not settledown to work again with so many exciting mental pictures rising upbefore her: Jack, undergoing the operation at home. The awful suspenseand tension of that time of waiting until they could know the result,and then--Jack, strong and well and swinging along with the vigorousstride she remembered so well. Or would it be--She shut her eyes andshuddered, putting away from her with an exclamation of horror the otherscene that persisted in presenting itself. She had never forgotten thetramp of feet across the threshold of the little brown house inPlainsville the day they carried her father away.

  Presently she could bear it no longer, and pushing back her easel sheslipped off her apron and called to Mrs. Boyd that she was going out forawhile. In her present tremor of nervousness she could not trust herselfto stop and explain. She felt that she could not bear to listen to thelittle woman's platitudes, no matter how sympathetic they might be.

  It was not till she was on the car, half-way out to Central Park, thatshe remembered she had not told Phil of one other item of news in hermother's letter. She wondered if he knew that Gay and Alex Shelby wereengaged. The reason that they had gone to Bauer was to announce itthemselves to the only people in that part of the world who knew andloved Lloydsboro Valley. It was in that happy valley that their romancehad begun, and they both knew that Mrs. Ware had spent her girlhoodthere, that Mary regarded it as her "Promised Land," and that Jack,although his visit there had been limited to one day, had seen therose-covered cabin where Gay and her Knight of the Looking-glass hadfirst caught sight of each other, and where their married life was tobegin.

  It was several hours before Joyce got back to the studio. The longcar-ride and the brisk walk in the park had helped her to regain herusual outward composure, but she was far from being as calm as sheseemed. Alternate moods of hopefulness and foreboding kept her swinginglike a pendulum from exhilaration to a sickening sense of fear. Shecould hardly fix her mind on her work, although her hands movedfeverishly.

  Before starting back to work she hunted up one of Henrietta's railroadtime-tables, and fastened it to a corner of her canvas, so that shecould follow the course of the Texas-bound travellers. At intervals sheglanced from the clock to the card, thinking, "Now they are just leavingthe New York station," or, "Now they are pulling into Washington." Latershe found the time when they would be going aboard the New Orleanssleeper, and from then on a thousand times her thoughts ran on ahead topicture their reception in Bauer, and the events that would follow therein quick succession. Her waking hours were filled with only one thoughttill Phil's first telegram announced their arrival. Then she scarcelyate or slept, so great was her anxiety as she waited his second message.

  As Doctor Tremont and Phil pushed through the crowds at the New Yorkstation, hurrying to reach the Washington-bound train, steaming on thetrack, Phil recalled the last time he had passed through. It was inMarch of the previous year, but later in the month, that he had comedown with Joyce to put Mary and Betty aboard the train, the morningafter they had heard about Jack's accident. It was at that stand that hebought the fruit for them, here he had snatched up the magazines, andthere was where he had stood while the train pulled out, waiting for thelast glimpse of the little Vicar's face at the window, bravely smilingin her efforts to "keep inflexible" for Joyce's sake.

  The scene had been impressed vividly upon his memory, because of the waythe whole affair had touched his sympathies, and now he found himself,after a year, recalling things that at the time he had barely noticed.It was like taking a second look at a snapshot picture, and findingdetails in the background to which he had paid no attention when firstfocussing the camera. There was that wistful look in Betty's brown eyes,for instance. They had been almost as full of trouble as Mary's. Theirappealing sadness came back to him now quite as forcibly as Mary'stearful good-by smile.

  He remembered the protecting way she had
put her arm around her littlepupil. They had been such good comrades all through the vacationpleasures which they had shared, that Christmas and Easter. Heremembered now how far back Betty's friendship with Joyce dated.Suddenly it occurred to him that Betty, of all people, would be mostinterested in what was about to occur in the Ware family. Whateverfollowed the operation, whether it were grief or joy, she would sharewith them.

  Doctor Tremont had some business to attend to which would keep him busyduring the few hours they were obliged to stop over in Washington, and,after a few moments' deliberation, Phil decided to go out to WarwickHall while he waited, instead of spending his time looking up an oldacquaintance, as he had intended doing.

  There was another reason for calling on Betty, which he did notacknowledge to himself as a reason, but it carried weight in helping himto make a decision. That was the knowledge that she would have thelatest news of Lloyd Sherman. He had had six months in which to growaccustomed to the idea that the little unset turquoise he had once givenher could never stand for anything more between them than the "true-bluefriendship stone." He had been so determined to make it more, that hiswhole world seemed jolted out of its orbit when he heard of herengagement to Rob Moore. He could not talk of it at first. Lately,however, he had come to take a more philosophical view of the situation.

  Several hours later, when Phil found himself in front of Warwick Hall,the great castle-like building and beautifully kept grounds seemed asfamiliar as if he had visited it before. The Lloydsboro valley girls hadsung its praises ever since he had known them. Lloyd herself had talkedmuch of it in the days when every subject she mentioned wasinteresting, simply because she chose to talk about it. Mary Ware hadpictured it to him as a veritable paradise, and he had been pressed toadmire so many photographs of it on so many occasions that it was nowonder it had a familiar look, every way he turned.

  He would have been highly amused could he have known what a sensation hewas creating in the school, as he stood on the highest terrace, lookingdown the flight of stately marble steps that led to the river. In thefirst place, the sight of such an unusually attractive man, young,handsome, and with an air of distinction, was a rarity in those parts.That he should loiter down the walk instead of striding straight up tothe massive portal, aroused the curiosity of every girl who happened tobe near a window, and why he should pluck a leaf from the Abbotsfordivy, overhanging the pergola, and then walk along the hedge of thewonderful old garden until he could lean over and read the motto on theancient sun-dial, was more than any of them could fathom. There was aflutter among those who had seen him, when presently the great knocker,echoing through the hall, announced that he was ready to enter.

  The pompous butler opened the door, and for the second time in hishistory nearly fell backward, for the dignified young stranger who stoodthere with the easy grace of at least a viscount, called out as if hehad known him always, "Oh, it's Hawkins."

  When Phil raised his hand to the knocker he was smiling over Mary'saccount of her first entrance through that door. He had teased herunmercifully when he heard of her rehearsals for the purpose ofimpressing the butler, and when the man instantly appeared just as Maryhad pictured him, he was so much like a stiff old portrait bowing fromthe frame of the doorway, that the exclamation slipped from Phil insurprise. Then he smiled again, thinking how inadvertently he had copiedMary.

  At first glance Hawkins thought he must be one of Madam Chartley'srelatives from England, and bowed again, obsequiously this time. But thecard laid on his silver tray was not for Madam. It was for MissElizabeth Lewis, the youngest and most popular teacher in the Hall.

  It was after recitation hours and Betty was not in her room, but shecame in presently from a walk, looking as girlish and rosy as the littlefreshman who had been her companion. The March winds had given hercolor, and blown her brown hair about her face in soft little curls.Phil could see her through the curtained arch as she came into the halland took the card Hawkins presented on his tray. Her face lighted upwith pleasure, and she gave an exclamation of surprise, both of whichitems Hawkins noticed. When she hurried into the reception-room he casta look of discreet curiosity after her. Then he turned away with a wisewag of the head. Of course, one knew what to expect when the youngstranger called her by her first name in such a joyful tone as that, andshe responded cordially that it was such a lovely surprise to see "theBest Man!"

  All the wedding party had called Phil the Best Man, ever since Mary hademphasized the name by her comically reverent use of it, and it seemedquite natural that the next remark should be about her. Phil thought tosurprise Betty by saying, casually, "I've just stopped by to ask if youwant to send any message to Mary Ware. I'm on my own way to Bauer now."

  But he was the one to be surprised, for her face paled and sheexclaimed, in a voice tense with suppressed excitement, "Oh, is yourfather going, too? Has he really consented to attempt the operation?"

  Then, in answer to his exclamation of astonishment that she should knowanything about it, she explained, while the color returned in a rush.She had had a note from Jack that morning, just a scribbled line,telling what Alex Shelby had written to Doctor Tremont, and what theyhoped would be the answer.

  "He hasn't told the family yet," she explained, seeing from Phil's facethat he thought it queer she should know of it. "He didn't want them tosuffer the cruel disappointment it would be should they discover theyhad been cherishing a false hope. But he just _had_ to tell somebody,and he knew I'd understand how much recovery would mean to him, for heused to write me so fully of his plans and ambitions before he washurt."

  She closed her hands so tightly that the pink nails pressed into thetender palms. "Oh, I _hope_ Alex hasn't been mistaken," she exclaimed."I can't think of anything so cruel as to hold out the heaven of such ahope to him, only to have it dashed away."

  "Daddy says there is one chance," answered Phil, "and he is going totake it." Then, with a sudden understanding of the situation as hewatched her face, he began to comfort her with the same words he hadspoken to Joyce. "Daddy can come as near to working miracles as any manliving, and you just remember this, little girl. He's going to work onethis time if mortal man can do it!"

  The ring of certainty in his voice made her look up at him with a smilethat was like an April day, such joy shone through the brown eyes, whicha moment before had been misty with tears. She did not know how much shehad revealed, but as she turned away Phil said to himself, "So _that's_the way the land lies! I must give Daddy a hint of how much is at stake.If he saves Jack it won't be for the Ware family alone."

  Betty had been called aside a moment to speak to a visiting parent, andwhen she came back to Phil, had fully recovered her composure.

  "Come on," she said, gaily. "There are a few things I must show you. Itwill never do for anybody to confess to Mary Ware that he has been toWarwick Hall and missed seeing the things that she particularly adores."

  It was a short pilgrimage she led him on; to meet Madam Chartley first,then to see the great stained-glass window where the motto of Edryn, "Ikeep tryste," flaunted itself in letters of light above the ruby heartand the mailed hand, clasping the spear. Then outdoors they went, pastthe peacocks on the terraces, down the marble steps to the river, wherepretty girls were walking arm in arm, and Phil was conscious of manycurious glances cast in his direction. Then they strolled through thegarden, where the crocuses and early March flowers were making a braveshowing, and out towards the golf links a little way. Betty's cheekswere almost as red as the bright Tam O'Shanter cap she wore, and hereyes shone with a happy, tender light as she talked of Mary and what theschool had meant to her. The pilgrimage, like the bundle of letterswhich Joyce had read, was eloquent with suggestions of Mary at everyturn. He understood now as he had not before how much she had renouncedwhen she left without finishing the year. He began to appreciate thegreatness of her sacrifice, and, guided by Betty at his elbow, he beganto perceive what an influence such a place, with its ideals and itsrefined, old-world fashion
of living might exert on a girl like MaryWare.

  There was not much opportunity to lead the conversation towards Lloyd,with Betty constantly breaking off to say, "Oh, don't forget to mentionthis to Mary," or, "Tell her you saw this and that." He learned verylittle about her, save that she was well and happy. Betty had alwaysknown, she said, that Rob was the one written in the stars for thePrincess Winsome. They knew each other so thoroughly and had such ahappy childhood in common, and in her opinion they had always been meantfor each other from the beginning.

  It was growing late when they came back to the front door, but Bettyinsisted on his coming in for a moment for a cup of tea, "Served from anancestral teacup," she insisted, "so that you can brag to Mary of it."While they waited for it to be brought, Betty hastily summoned severalof the girls whom she wanted him to meet.

  "You'll never remember their names," she said, laughingly, "and Marywill make your life a burden with questions if you can't answer. Give mea pencil and I'll scribble them down for you. Elise Walton, you'llremember, of course, for she was the pretty child with the long, darkcurls, whom you used to meet so many times at The Beeches, the summerEugenia was married. You'll quite fall in love with her, I am sure, forshe is getting prettier every day, and you'll not need any memorandum tokeep her in mind when you've once heard her talk. A. O. Miggs will bethe little roly-poly dumpling of a girl, and Dorene Derwent, the one whogiggles so gurglingly. Cornie Dean you'll remember for the elaborate wayshe does her hair, and the coy way she has of casting meltingside-glances. That's a habit she has acquired just in this last year, soyou might mention it to Mary. She'll be immensely interested in hearingit. See, I have made marginal notes for each one, if you can understandmy abbreviations."

  As she handed him the slip of paper the girls came in, all pleased tomeet "such a fascinating, Lord-Lochinvar looking man," as A. O.described him afterward, and all overjoyed to find that he would be thebearer of messages to Mary Ware. They sent so many that he laughinglydisclaimed all responsibility in case he should get them mixed intransit. He had an odd feeling that he was on exhibition to these girlsas Mary's friend, and that he must do her credit. The few moments hestayed with them he used to such advantage that he was straightwaywritten down in their opinion as the most fascinating man they had evermet. When he took his leave it was with a flattering regret that madeeach girl feel that she was the one who inspired it, and they went backto their rooms to compare notes and to "rave over him," as Doreneexpressed it, for days.

  The twilight was falling when he started back to the station. Bettywalked part of the way with him. Only once they referred to Jack again,and that was not till they reached the bend in the driveway, where Bettyturned back. She put out her hand with wishes for a safe journey, and heheld it an instant to say, "I'm sure it's all going to end happily, andyou shall have the first telegram."