The Tryst (Annotated) (Grace Livingston Hill Book) (40 page)

But Patty was looking at her wrist watch in a great hurry. 

“I'm sorry,” she said with very red cheeks, “but I must fly. I mustn't miss my boat. Miss Cole is expecting me. Another time, perhaps. It's been beautiful and wonderful -- but I MUST go!” and Patty turned and fairly flew down the long, low staircase and down the hill to the boat landing, looking all the time furtively back, fearful lest she was being pursued. 

But somehow the name of Joyville got fastened to the new village.  

The next morning Patty was sitting by the window with the morning papers around her, waiting for Miss Cole to be ready to have the news read to her. Miss Cole loved to hear Patty read, and they often talked over events together and had a pleasant time of it. But this morning just as Miss Cole seated herself in her willow chair, and drew her shawl around her shoulders to keep office the draught from the open window, Patty suddenly dropped the paper she had been glancing over and stood up. Her face was very white and her lips were trembling: 

“Miss Cole,” she said in a voice that she was evidently having hard work to control “could you excuse me a little while? I --I don't feel very well. I would --like to go to my room!” 

“Why, of course, child!” said Miss Cole looking up anxiously. “Patty was never ill. This was a new development. Isn't there something I can do for you? Some medicine? Shan't I call the doctor?” 

“Oh, no,” said Patty, who was already almost out of the door. “I'll be -- all -- aright -- in a few --minutes!” There was a catch in her voice at the end that sounded almost like a sob. Miss Cole got up and looked down the hall after her, watched until Patty entered her own door, then she turned back puzzled and picked up the paper Patty had been reading, scanning the page where it had dropped. All at once understanding came to her. Down in the lower corner of the last column she found a little item. 

“Daniel P. Merrill, the great western financier, has been lost at sea on his way home from a business trip to South America, where it is rumored he has been investigating silver mines. He leaves a wife and two daughters. The steamer went down off the coast of Brazil and all on board were lost. No trace has as yet been found of the body and it is not expected that it will be recovered.” 

“H’m!” said Miss Cole thoughtfully. Then she went and locked her door and sat down at the telephone table, calling up Western Union. She sent a telegram to her cousin in the West: 

“Find out immediately all you can about Daniel P. Merrill's movements and his family, financially and otherwise, especially the present whereabouts and a description of the daughter Patty. Wire me as soon as possible.” 

Then she sat down to wait. Meantime Patty in her room was weeping her heart out. 

Later in the day the answer arrived. 

“Person in question lost at sea on way home from business trip to South America. Widow handsome, disagreeable, stylish and selfish. Daughter Evelyn more so. Daughter Patricia absent for some time. Can't get explanation of whereabouts. Family seem eager to conceal it. Financial affairs very much involved on account of death of father.” 

“H'm!” said Miss Cole aloud to herself. “I know a lot more, don't I?” 

But Patty had cried out the storm of sorrow in her heart and got control of herself. She had knelt beside her bed and cried with her whole heart to the Helper John Treeves had been preaching about: 

“Oh, Jesus Christ, this is Patty. I’m all alone now, daddy's gone. Won't you help me to bear it? Won't you help me to know what to do? Help me now, because there is no one else to care.” 

Then Patty got up and washed her face, drank the tea that the maid brought to the door with a message from Miss Cole asking how she was feeling, and bravely erased the traces of her recent tear storm. Then with a white face and dark circles under her sad eyes she went back to Miss Cole and asked if she might read to her now. 

“Well, no, not now.”' said that good woman eying Patty keenly. “I don't think you are fit. You need petting up. You found some bad news in the paper this morning, didn't you?”' 

Patty started and looked troubled. 

“Yes" -- she hesitated -–“the death of --a --friend.” 

“I'm very sorry -- dear child!” said Miss Cole in a most unusually tender tone that almost brought the tears again to Patty's eyes. “I won't harrow you by talking about it. Would you like to go away anywhere for a while, or make any change in your plans? You know I can arrange things to suit your convenience.” 

“Oh, no, thank you!” said Patty. “There's nothing I can do. I've decided it's best for me to stay right here.” 

For Patty had been thinking it over and it seemed that she must keep entirely out of the way. The words that Evelyn had spoken about money led her to believe that there must have been financial reverses about which her father had not told her. Very likely he had gone to South America to try and save his fortune, and now that he was dead there would be less money than ever. She would not go back to complicate matters. Let Evelyn and her mother have what there was, she could earn her living. 

Miss Cole watched the white face doubtfully and wished she knew what to do. She was pretty sure that life was not made any easier for the girl by the fact that John Treeves was often at the house to see Marjorie. What a fool a man could be sometimes! She had no patience whatever with him. She had almost a notion to call him into counsel and find out what he knew about Patty Merrill, only it didn't seem quite square to do that, and Miss Cole was always a good sport and tried to play fair. 

That very afternoon John Treeves had left the house in Marjorie’s company and Patty had watched them go up the avenue, having caught a glimpse from the hall window as she passed. It was not easy to put it out of her mind. She began to wonder if her prayer had really been heard. It seemed as if everything that she had ever cared for was taken away from her. Probably John Treeves was taking Marjorie to see his wonderful village, and she turned away and sighed. Then the memory of her great loss would roll over her overwhelmingly and she would draw a deep trembling sigh. 

Those sighs were the only outward sign that she was suffering and they almost drove Miss Cole distracted. She spent her whole thoughts trying to find something with which to cheer Patty, and as soon as she left the room on an errand she sent off another telegram to her cousin: 

“Spare no expense in finding out if the father is really dead. Send some one down there if necessary. Cable for evidences. Say nothing to the family.” 

Meantime Treeves and Marjorie walked up to the Park and sat down behind a screen of spring shrubs all in bloom: 

“Now, Miss Marjorie,” said Treeves, “I’ve had a letter. I didn’t want to tell you at the house because some one might come in while we were talking and it might be misunderstood. You see, I don’t believe in anything underhanded, and your father is my friend. But I promised you I would find out if that young man was worthy of your interest and I’ve kept my promise. I have to tell you that he’s all and more than you said. I’ve made a thorough investigation. I’ve seen his mother, and his home, and I’ve had letters from two old school friends of mine and an army friend who are all located in the Philippines. They all speak of him in the highest terms. They say he's clean and fine and brainy and courageous. They say nothing daunts him, and everybody likes him, and best of all he's being true to you. He's not running around with other girls, nor travelling with the natives. He's told them all he's engaged and coming home to be married some day when he's made his fortune. In fact, they said so many things in his favor that I began to wonder whether you were worth having all that much manliness wasted on you. You’ll excuse me, I promised to be frank. Maybe you'll think I'm brutal, but I'm interested in that chap out there as well as you and I'd like to see you make good, too.” 

“You certainly aren't very complimentary,” said Marjorie, making a wry face, “but I'm not in love with you, so go on. You've been awfully good to me anyway. I guess I can stand it. Probably it's all true. I'm beginning to see I've a good many faults.” 

“Well, now, you're talking,” said Treeves hopefully. “And to tell you the truth it was your telling me the other day that you had decided to try my way and give yourself to Christ, that made me feel I would tell you all this. That and your going over to the works so often and being kind to those people. "When I heard how they called you the lady of the smiling face, I concluded you were beginning to forget your selfishness and think of other people. The fact is, I couldn't stand seeing a nice, clean, fine, unselfish chap like this Winters tied up for life to a lazy society woman who never cared a rap for anything but her own pleasure.” 

Marjorie flashed him a curious look of mingled amusement and anger. “You certainly are frank,” she said, “but you've made one mistake. I've never been over to the works. I hate the place. I've never taken the trouble. I wouldn't know how to go about it. I guess maybe I am selfish.” 

“You've never been? Well, who the dickens is it then? I made sure it was you. But you'll get there now you've given yourself to Him. You can't help it. It goes with the giving of yourself. Good works are no good as a means to get to Heaven, but they are the result of your love for Christ. You can't help loving and helping others when you love Him.” 

His voice had that reverent gentleness that made Marjorie look at him with awe. 

“But I have something more to tell you. I wrote to the man himself, and I mean to let you see the letter. Your parents didn't want you to correspond with him, but I think you have a right to know the result of my investigations. He opened the letter and read: 

“My dear Mr. Treeves: 

I want to thank you for taking an interest in my affairs and for your kindness to Miss Horliss-Cole, for I know you have been kind to bring about even this much communication between us when we are separated in this unpleasant way. 

In answer to your questions I want you to know that I am making good out here as fast and as well as I can, and I am enclosing some letters from my employers to prove that I am not speaking on my own authority. I realize that I did a very audacious thing to fall in love with a girl of such wealth and social position as Marjorie, but we love each other and I am going to make good for her sake. I don't believe in asking her to marry me until I have enough to keep her in comfort and some luxury such as she is used to, but I do intend to accomplish that as quickly as I can and prove to her father that I am fully able to provide for her and take care of her. I think she loves me enough to give up the wealth for my sake, but she is very young and I won't let her do anything like that. I mean to make her father see that I am good enough for her. I MEAN TO BE GOOD ENOUGH. 

Thank you for letting me know that she is well and still remembers, and if you get a chance and think it is all right, give her my great love and tell her I'm doing my best. 

Yours sincerely, 

Allen Winters.” 

Marjorie sat quite still and listened to the letter, her eyes glowing with a deep fire of joy. Then she answered quietly: 

“Thank you. That will keep me for a long time. I’ll be true. I haven’t always been as true as he thought I was. I got discouraged and blue and selfish, I know, and was ready to cut into almost anything to have a good time and forget, but it’s different now. I’m going to get ready to be a woman. I think God is going to help me, too, and I thank you for all you have done. I shall be of age in six months, and I shall have some money of my own left me by my Grandfather Horliss. I’m going to wait until I’m of age, and then I'm going to tell father that I still love Allen. If he isn't willing I should stay at home then and write to Allen, I can go away somewhere and take care of myself. But I'm not going to do anything wild, you needn't be afraid. I'm going to stop being a fool, and learn to live and be happy on a little money, so that Allen won't have to stay away any longer to get rich for me. I'd rather have him poor than be so long apart.” 

“I like the way you talk,” said Treeves. “You're a good sport. Now, if you'll excuse me for not walking home with you, I'll go to a business appointment I have. I'm already late. And here's this letter if you care to have it. I've already answered it, and I'll add a line to tell him about this interview if you wish.”

He handed her the letter and bowed and left her. She wandered happily about the Park for awhile with the precious letter and then walked quietly home by herself with a smile on her face. But Patty didn't happen to see that. She only saw the remnant of the smile a hour later when they happened to meet in the hall, and she thought sorrowfully that she knew what made it.  

There had been a growing unrest at The Plant ever since the murder, and as the day drew near for the trial of Angelo, and it began to be almost certain that he would be convicted of the murder, the feeling of indignation swept over the little community like a wave that could not be controlled, Treeves began to feel it in the air. He heard it constantly in the fiery talk that went on about him in the shop, and in the hot arguments that raged in the evenings when the neighbors dropped in on one another and discussed the matter. In all this talk Treeves kept silent, although it was known that he was working with all his might to help Angelo; still they had no faith that he could do anything. What was he but a poor working man like themselves? “Tree” he was to them all now, nothing more. They did not know that he was the popular preacher in a big New York church, nor yet that he was the owner of a fortune large enough to buy out many times the whole Plant. They would have opened their eyes wide with incredulous scorn if anybody had told them that the new buildings across the river about which they were now beginning to have great curiosity were owned and built by his design. He was just their fellow-workman, in sympathy with them, indeed, and believing he was going to be able to help Angelo, but powerless, they thought. 

There was a man, Ivan, a low-browed foreigner of a mongrel type with hot, red, hurrying eyes and a tongue that flashed forth venom. He was a skillful workman in some special line, and there was none like him when he worked, but he was a dangerous man, and in league, Treeves believed, with some outside order of anarchists or something of the sort. He had watched him much lately and two or three times had been on the point of warning Horliss-Cole about him. Then had desisted, for the man was less dangerous here where he could be watched, than discharged where he could work his will against them without being observed.