Patricia (16 page)

But there was no time to regret anything now. Down the stairs in hastily improvised costumes, some of which had been thought out beforehand and left convenient for the purpose, came the people who had gone upstairs to get ready for their charade, and Patricia had to hurry into the room and shout out, “And the stagecoach tipped over!” Then she told them that a charade was to follow, a word of five syllables, in six acts, the last one portraying the whole word. Everybody settled down to one of the funniest performances they ever saw, with Mr. Prentiss as chief actor taking the part of an old-fashioned country schoolteacher.

When the word was finally guessed, and it wasn't an easy one either, ten more of the company were sent upstairs, in charge again of Mr. Prentiss as coach, and mysteriously a formation of chairs took shape straight across the room, set in place by alert boys. One of the teachers announced that they were going to play “Musical Chairs.” Old stuff, of course, that they all used to play in their kindergarten days, but it seemed just the thing with which to fill in the two or three minutes until the new set of charaders appeared. Patricia had another laugh of joy as she saw her stout mother, marching around the line of chairs to the music, grappling each chair as if it were her last hope of safety, and finally plumping down almost on top of the boy whose mother was a dressmaker. And it came to her suddenly, almost tenderly, that her mother was nothing but a grown-up child, getting back to play again and really enjoying it. So was Father! And her heart thrilled again. They were really having a good time, and no Thorny Bellingham in on it either!

It was later, while they were seated at the long, long table in the dining room, eating the delightful refreshments—which began with fruit salad and dainty sandwiches and ended with ice cream molds and delightful cakes—that the doorbell pealed through the house. The servant whispered to Mrs. Prentiss that there was a lady at the door who wanted to see her just a moment on some important business.

Patricia saw her mother frown, and look perplexed, and then slide her chair back and go out as quietly as possible. She wondered if the fly in the ointment had arrived at last. It seemed there had always been a fly in Patricia's ointment no matter how carefully she guarded it.

Mrs. Prentiss patted her hair into place as she crossed the living room and stepped out into the hall, brushing a possible cake crumb from her garments. And there was Mrs. Bellingham! Standing on the porch in the shadow, trying desperately to twist her neck so she could see into the dining room.

“Oh, my
dear
!” she said gushingly. “So sorry to have troubled you. I though, of course, you'd be upstairs and the maid would tell me to go right up where we could talk uninterrupted. I hadn't an idea you'd be down here participating in the festivities!”

“Oh, why
certainly
, I had to be down. I couldn't let Patricia have a gathering here of her schoolmates and not be present, you know. Sorry, but won't you come in? I really must go back to the dining room before they miss me.”

“Oh no, I couldn't, thank you. I just ran in to tell you that we're expecting Thorny back next week and I'm arranging to give him a welcoming dinner. I wanted to ask if Patricia will be the hostess for me. I think it would be so precious to have one of his old girls for a hostess, and I had to be sure Patricia would do it before I go ahead. I want to send out the invitations early in the morning, and I thought I'd put her name in the paper as hostess. Just some of Thorny's old friends, you know. People darling Patricia knows well. She will, won't she?”

“Oh, my dear! That's so sweet of you, but—what night did you say it is? Thursday? Now, that's too bad! That's the night of Patricia's commencement, and of course as she's graduating it's most important to her. I know she will be heartbroken, but she really couldn't, you see. If it was only the next night, you know—”

“It couldn't be the next night,” said Mrs. Bellingham coolly. “Thorny is going on a fishing trip up to Nova Scotia and he leaves early Friday morning. Couldn't Patricia possibly get excused from that commencement? It's only a public school, and I know you don't think much of it. I don't suppose Patricia would care about staying for the exercises, would she? She'd get her diploma just the same, and the exercises wouldn't matter, would they?”

“Oh, my dear! Patricia would be utterly heartbroken to miss her commencement. It is the goal for which she has striven all the years, and besides, they are really very nice young people indeed. We have been having a delightful time with them. Just come in and meet them, won't you, and you'll understand.”

“No, really, I couldn't,” said Mrs. Bellingham, quite coldly. “I didn't suppose you felt that way. I supposed, of course, I would be doing you a favor to get her out of it. I thought you didn't approve of the public school.”

“Well, I didn't
choose
it, of course, but since Patricia has been working so hard through all these years, it would be quite disappointing to her to be unable to finish in the regular way. And, I must admit since I have come to know the young people, they really are quite charming. Sorry to disappoint you, darling.”

“Yes? Well, I think Thorny will be deeply disappointed in your daughter if she refuses the highest honor I could give her at his coming-home party. I'm sure he has counted on Patricia. But people change. As I said when I heard you had consented to letting that sweet little girl attend a public institution, people change. And environment has a great deal to do with it. Well, good-bye. I won't detain you any longer.”

Mrs. Prentiss went back to the dining room with a troubled expression. She was distressed that she had had to refuse her friend, and dear Mrs. Bellingham didn't seem to understand!

After she got back to her seat in the dining room and was finishing her ice cream, which was in the form of a white dove with a leaf of green in its yellow bill, she began to think it over. That would have been a wonderful chance for Patricia to shine, being hostess at Thorny's party. But of course, there would have been a terrible uproar if she had tried to put that over in the face of all her husband had said. Besides, it would be a pity to disappoint Patricia; she seemed so fond of all these nice young people and it was the last time she was to be with them. And really, if Mrs. Bellingham wanted Patricia so much she could have managed it so that Thorny would stay over another day. Surely she would do something about it. Anyhow, tomorrow would be time enough to think up a solution.

So Mrs. Prentiss enjoyed her ice cream and laughed with the rest over the comical after-dinner speeches. For Mr. Prentiss was acting the part of the toastmaster now and calling on different ones to make speeches. And George was really very clever! His wife had never had a chance to hear him, when he went out to business dinners and banquets, though she had heard now and then that he had to speak and she had often wondered what he would find to say. But now she could see he was quite versatile, and it surprised her, for he had been so silent through the years, except when he now and then broke forth in argument. She looked up at him in wonder and admiration. She almost fancied she saw in him some semblance to the George she married. Why hadn't he ever been willing to go out with her in her set, attend dinners and shine among the people she liked?

So she watched in wonder as George little by little got a speech or a funny skit from everyone present. Even the shyest girl among them sang a frightened little song. Several of the boys made good impromptu speeches on subjects he gave them. They really had a nice time, and Patricia's mother beamed around on Jennie McGlynn and Della Bright and all the others and quite enjoyed the admiration they gave her as Patricia's mother and the mistress of this lovely mansion. Mrs. Prentiss couldn't remember when she had had as good a time. It was just as interesting as a bridge party, and one didn't have to think half as hard nor worry so much about whether one was doing the right thing.

So the evening went on to the last half hour when the young people gathered around the piano and sang school songs, until even Mrs. Prentiss began to see why they loved their school. Patricia stood in the doorway with her father's arm around her and sang with all her might, and her father was singing, too, some of the old songs that he used to sing when he was young; and how he enjoyed them.

They trooped out into the night under a bright moon, and after calling good night they stood in front of the house and sang:

Good night, Patricia, good night!

We've had a lovely time, Patricia,

We like your people fine, Patricia,

Good night, Patricia, good night!

The words rang out sharp and clear in the still moonlight and echoed all along the street, and even Mrs. Prentiss felt a thrill of exultation, during the instant of stillness after the last note had died away. And then sharp and clear there came:

Pat, Pat, Patricia!

Rah, rah, rah!

You're the real thing

And that is why we sing!

Pat, Pat, Patricia!

Patricia stood there with her eyes shining and tears very near the surface. When they began “Pat, Pat, Pat,” Patricia winced. She was so afraid her mother would object to their calling her that.

But Mrs. Prentiss, with her head high and satisfaction in her eyes, only said, “There! I hope Mrs. Bellingham heard that!”

The actual commencement was almost a heartbreak to Patricia. Now that she had just come to the place where they loved her and seemed to believe in her and understand her, it was the end, and she would see them no more. But she went quietly, sweetly through the rest of the days. The class day had its sad pleasantries, when all of them felt their relationship together in a class as they never had before, looking into a new, strange, almost awesome future and wondering what it was to hold for them. College for some, business for others, teaching and perhaps homemaking for most of them. They realized as they gathered for the final evening event that they were standing at that strange place between childhood and grown-up life; that tomorrow, when though they might look the same, act in the same way, even feel the same, they would be different. Life would be all changed for them. They would no longer make their way in the early mornings down the wide pleasant street to the wide brick schoolhouse to spend their days, happily working and playing, learning and being merry. They would no longer meet one another day after day, knowing pretty well what was to be in the next hour, the next day, the next month. The future was all untried for them, and Hope stood wide-eyed at the door to lead them on, to joy or disappointment.

Patricia had an essay to read on the meaning of life. She had written it with much care, finding many things in her Bible reading that helped her to write. Her English teacher had looked at her curiously after reading it and asked her if she really believed in God as she had said in her essay, or whether that was just imagination. Patricia looked at her with earnest eyes and said that she really did believe, that God had seemed to be very near her as she wrote, and she honestly believed that God had a plan for each life, and if one missed it by wanting one's own way instead of His, it was harder in the end.

The teacher looked at her almost wistfully and said, “Well, Patricia, it is very beautifully written, and since you really believe that, we'll leave it as it is. I wish I could believe that myself.” And she sighed heavily and looked very sad. Patricia prayed about her that night when she got home, but at the time she only answered:

“Well, it's only what the Bible says. It's all there. I think if you will look for it you will find it yourself. It makes life a lot lovelier, for then you find out it's all true.” And then with a smile she had slipped away with her paper. But she had studied her essay a great deal and prayed over it, too, and when the time came for her to give it she did not need to read it. With her wide eyes upon that unexpectedly large audience, she simply spoke those words that were written from her heart, for somehow she had a feeling that she must bring them all her message and convince them of its truth.

And once as she looked around upon that sea of faces, she was sure she saw John Worth's face, way at the back under the gallery in a shadow. He was tall and a good deal thinner, as if life had taken hold upon him and there were grown-up trials he had to face. But the lamps were in his eyes, lit, and shining straight into hers for a single brief second as their glances met. It was just as she was giving her last few words, and somehow she knew he liked what she had said. Then she was done and had to bow and go back to her seat while the hushed audience suddenly broke forth into applause. She didn't want that applause. It seemed so out of place. Their silent listening had been so much better.

And then when attention was taken from her and she might look for John again, he was no longer there. Afterward she heard one of the sophomore boys say, “John Worth was here. Did you see him, Sam?” And Sam replied, “Yep, I saw him once, but then he disappeared.”

“Yeah, he said he had to go back to stay with his mother. She wasn't well, and he didn't like to leave her alone way out there near the woods.”

Patricia was glad that he had been there that she might speak to him in that way, since there was no other. Their paths would probably meet no more, but she had let him know she was doing her best to walk God's way, the way his father had started her on that day last year when it rained and the rainbow shone over the garden walk.

But there were other pleasant things to think about also. Patricia's father and mother had both been at commencement and had enjoyed it. Mrs. Prentiss had been very proud of her daughter, even if she was arrayed in an absurdly simple dress, with a soft white sash around her waist and a wreath of tiny rosebuds binding her hair. Perhaps it was just as well she was simply dressed. It gave her even more distinction! And on the whole, it was a rather pleasant thing to look back upon. The public school had been a trial but it was over now, and she need have no further thought about it. She must begin on Patricia at once and get her ready to go into the social world in the proper manner. Perhaps she wasn't so harmed by the school as she had feared. At any rate, she would say no more, and likely Patricia would be all the more tractable now this ordeal was so beautifully over and she had nothing to regret.

Alone together the next day, Mr. Prentiss told his daughter how pleased and proud he had been and shyly commended the subject of her address.

“I liked it, Pat. I'm glad you had the nerve to say those things about God and trying to serve Him. It made me feel I'd done right after all to insist you should go to that school. I used to worry about it sometimes when Mother would rave so. I would get to thinking maybe it wasn't important after all to keep you out of that nonsensical world your mother had got into after we began to have money. But now I'm glad. I wouldn't choose anything better in all the world than to have you feel that way about life, and I mean it. I don't want you ever to forget how I liked that, Pat! And I'm glad you've had the discipline and training of that school. I feel you've got hold of something that makes you see things in their proper values. I'm glad we stuck it out, Pat, and I think your mother doesn't feel so bad about it now, either. Especially since she got acquainted with some of your classmates.”

But Patricia in her heart knew it was not any school that had taught her the things her father was glad about. She knew it was that day in that sweet home with the man who knew God and talked with Him so intimately. She knew it was the sweet Scotch mother, and the boy who loved the Lord, too, who had led her to study the Bible and pray for guidance. Though if she hadn't gone to that school she probably never would have known John Worth and would never have gone to his home that day in the rain to hear the truth. So in a way the dear old school that she loved so truly had been a strong element in the shaping of her life thus far.

It was quite late the next afternoon before Mrs. Prentiss came back to the daily order of life enough to remember about Thorny and his party, which did not seem to have materialized. At least Thorny had not appeared on the horizon so far. What had happened? Perhaps she should call up her friend and find out. It might be that she had been unpleasantly hurried when Mrs. Bellingham came in to give the invitation and she was hurt. She must apologize, but first she must tell Patricia and get some adequate expression of regret from her and of gratitude for the honor, and so on.

But even the possibility of Thorny appearing on the scene could not dim Patricia's happiness. She had accomplished her aim. She had graduated with honor from the same school her father had attended, and he was pleased. Whatever lay in the future did not so much matter now. There would be a way out of hard things, and she was learning to trust unpleasant things to God. He always helped when she called upon Him.

“Oh!” she said, looking blankly at her mother when she told her. Then her face cleared and shone radiantly. “Oh, mother dear, I'm so glad you didn't tell me before. It would have spoiled everything to be afraid all the time that Thorny would turn up and ruin things the way he spoiled the picnic that day. I could hardly have stood it. I'm so glad it's over and you didn't try to make me go. That would have been awful!”

“Of course, dear, I understand that,” said her mother with an appearance of always having been right in her judgments and decisions. “But you just must get over that idea about Thorny. You know, it was really my fault he went that day. I was afraid to have you off there in the woods without anybody to guide you. You must understand that, little girl. Of course I didn't realize that these other young people were as nice as they are. But you will feel differently about Thorny when you get a little older and realize how truly fine he is and what a family and station in life he has, and all that. So do be polite to Mrs. Bellingham, and tell her how honored you feel that she wanted you for hostess and how sorry you are that it wasn't possible for you to come.”

But Patricia shrank back.

“I couldn't, Mother, really. You don't know how I feel. And if you had been there for just a minute and seen how Thorny hugged me up and—oh, Mother, I can't tell you. It was too horrible—! It was so much worse than any snakes or tramps or anything could have been.”

“Silly little girl!” said her mother indulgently. “Someday you will understand that that was only admiration and real liking that made Thorny want to kiss you. He is growing up himself, you know, and you really are a very beautiful girl. I'm sure it won't make you proud for me to tell you so. You are foolishly backward and have quite an inferiority complex. Someday you'll get over that and want Thorny to show you attention. Now, dear, go tell Mrs. Bellingham!”

“No!” said Patricia sharply. “I will not talk to Mrs. Bellingham. I don't feel honored and I am not sorry, and I can't say what isn't true. You'll have to tell her what you feel, or else let it go as it is. I wish you would do that. I don't want to have anything more to do with the Bellinghams.”

“Well, all right, dear,” said her mother fondly, “have it your own way for the present. You are all wrought up, anyway, with all the excitement. Never mind, I'll talk to Mrs. Bellingham myself.”

So Patricia went up to her room and took her turbulent young heart to the throne of God where she was learning to find quietness and peace. And her mother went to the telephone and discovered from the maid that Thorny Bellingham had not come home at all. He had gone straight up to Nova Scotia and had telegraphed his mother he would not be home until fall. Mrs. Bellingham, the maid said, had gone into the city shopping, to send Thorny a lot of fishing tackle and sports clothes he had ordered her to get.

Mrs. Prentiss hung up the telephone. Well, that was that! Now she had gone on record calling up, and a few days later she would invite Mrs. Bellingham over for tea, and everything would be all right.

That evening Mr. Prentiss came home and suggested that they take a trip somewhere. They could go to the mountains and get a real rest for Patricia for a few days, and then they could drive around in the car and stop wherever they liked. How about day after tomorrow? Could they start as soon as that? He wasn't sure yet that he could make it but he would try, and if they couldn't go then they would start the next morning, though late afternoon was a nice time in hot weather to start on a trip. A short drive the first night, then dinner in some hotel, and a nice quiet night in the mountains.

Patricia's face shone. That was so nice, and no one around to have to go along. Mrs. Bellingham had gone west to visit her sister. She had called up to say good-bye.

So Patricia began the next morning to get ready. There was a little shopping to be done, at least her mother thought so, and Patricia loved to shop.

They got home late that afternoon, and Patricia was pleased with all her purchases. Her mother hadn't insisted as much as usual on dressy things. Patricia really was more of the ingenue type, she decided, after meditating on commencement and its simple tailored styles. Perhaps those things really suited her best.

So Patricia was allowed to pick out the things she liked best and came home delighted with her new clothes.

A couple of the girls from her class ran over that evening together to visit, and just as they were leaving, as the three walked slowly down from the house to the gate, one of them said, “Oh, Pat, you remember John Worth in last year's class, don't you?”

“Yes,” said Patricia quietly. They were passing by the spot where John Worth had planted the valley-lilies and she felt as if they could hear.

“Well, had you heard that his mother died? You know, she wasn't well the night of our commencement and he had to go back home after just a few minutes.”

“Yes,” said Patricia, “I heard he was there a few minutes. When did she die?”

“This morning. Jim Tanner heard it and told my brother. He said she had some heart trouble.”

“Oh, I'm sorry for John,” said Patricia, trying to keep her voice steady. “She was such a sweet woman!”

“Oh, did you know her?” asked the other girl, looking at her curiously.

“Yes,” said Patricia. “She helped me get dry after I was out in that awful storm. She was a dear lovely lady. She was Scottish and had such a pleasant voice. His father was a college professor. Did you know that? They had a picture of the college and a picture of his mother's home in Scotland. It was a lovely place.”

“Say, that's tough luck for John, though,” said one of the girls. “They say he was just devoted to his mother.”

“Yes, I guess he was,” said Patricia. “His mother loved him very much, too.”

“Well, he was some kid. My brother says he was the best all-around man our high school ever had,” said the girl Jennie. “Well, I've got to get going. I promised my parents I wouldn't stay late. Hope you have a lovely time, Pat. Give my love to all my friends you meet.” She giggled, and then they went away.