“Oh, I can pack the boxes,” said the girl eagerly. “What nice boxes!”
“Naw, you better let me pack ’em. I’m usedta packing, see, an’ besides, books are too heavy for your little hands to handle.”
So Amorelle opened her father’s bookcase and they went to work, Amorelle flicking a duster whenever she got a chance, though Hannah had always kept her minister’s study well dusted and they didn’t really need it. But Johnny worked fast and skillfully, and the two boxes were tightly filled in no time. Johnny fished out a handful of nails from one pocket and a hammer from the other and nailed the tops on with strong, firm blows. Then he went out to his truck for another box. At last Amorelle gazed at the empty shelves with a sad satisfaction. Now there could be no question about anybody trying to buy her father’s library, the most precious treasure she owned.
Johnny promised to be back again at dark for another load, and Amorelle went into the house to get a bite of lunch. But somehow Mrs. Brisbane’s biscuits didn’t attract. It seemed as if they would stick in her throat. She swept them and the shriveled Spanish omelette into the garbage pail and found herself a glass of milk and some bread and butter. She didn’t want to be reminded of Mrs. Brisbane while she ate.
A letter came from her aunt, special delivery, and Amorelle read it gloomily while she finished her meager lunch. It somehow sounded alien and uncordial, but perhaps it wasn’t meant that way. It read:
My dear niece:
Your uncle wants me to write and second his invitation given by telegraph yesterday. He wants you to come and spend the winter with us, and of course we shall be glad to make a place for you in our home while you look around and see what you want to do.
We are not having any second maid this winter, so you will fit in very nicely and won’t need to feel that you are on charity. Of course, my daughter, Louise, is going out a good deal socially this winter as it is her first winter out of school, and I don’t want her to feel bound too much by home duties, so I shall expect you to do a good many of the duties that she has always looked after, just as an older daughter would do in a home. And, of course, as you haven’t any friends here you won’t mind staying in when it is necessary.
Your uncle wanted me to say how sorry he was that he couldn’t come on to the funeral and to help you settle up things. But I guess you won’t have much to do. Of course, you won’t need to bring anything but your trunk. Your uncle said you better get a second-hand man in and let him give you a price on everything and dispose of it all at once; that will be the easiest. Of course, I don’t suppose you have anything of such value that you would be likely to be cheated.
We thought you’d probably get here around the end of the week. Send us a line to say on what train to expect you. You’ll have to get off at the Westside Station and take a taxi to the house. You might have difficulty in finding it if you tried to take the trolley.
So unless we hear to the contrary, we shall expect you by Friday afternoon at the latest. Your uncle’s knee is somewhat better, but he isn’t able to be out yet. We hope you’ll get along all right.
Yours affectionately,
Aunt Clara
Amorelle drew a deep breath when she had read this and gave a little involuntary shiver. Did she only imagine it or was that letter really cold and heartless? However, it was Uncle Enoch who was father’s brother and who had sent the first invitation. Father had wanted her to go to Uncle Enoch and she was going. She would try and not think about it till she got there. If it proved uncomfortable she didn’t have to stay. She could get a job somewhere and get out. To that end she must get all the money she could from the goods with which she was willing to part. She looked speculatively at the old sideboard and dining room table. She remembered that her mother had always called them ugly. She herself had never liked them. Perhaps even the small sum they would probably bring would be more profitable to her than keeping them. It wasn’t likely she would set up housekeeping and need them. If she did, it would likely be in a little apartment with no dining room. She resolved to sell them if she could. There were no tender memories connected with them as there were with the old rosewood sofa and chairs.
She went around for a few minutes, mentally deciding what to sell in the kitchen and dining room. She must keep her mother’s wedding china, of course, but the kitchenware could be cheaply replaced when needed. Strange how quickly chattels assembled themselves into three classes—those to be kept, those to be sold, and those to be given away.
She was upstairs, packing away table linen, bedding, and towels in the walnut bureau drawers, with bits of cherished bric-a-brac in between, when the doorbell again rang sharply through the silent house.
She cast a quick glance at the clock. It couldn’t be the man for the piano for it was only four o’clock. She hurried down with a little nervous tremor in her heart. Would Mrs. Brisbane and Mrs. Ferguson come so soon? She had hoped to get more things out of sight before they arrived.
But when she opened the front door her heart sank, for there stood pale-faced, weak-chinned Carson Emmons—the widower of a year whom Mrs. Brisbane had recommended that morning as a possible husband for her—and by either hand he held a sallow little twin. Oh could it be that Mrs. Brisbane had dared to talk to him? Her heart failed her, and her knees grew weak. She stared at the man, and he smiled affably and essayed to come in. Of course she couldn’t turn him out. But she felt suddenly as if she might be going to faint! What kind of dreadful meeting was this to be?
“Shake hands with Miss Dean, Annabel, Amelia,” admonished the father suavely, and each apathetic twin stuck forth a bony little hand and surveyed her coldly, almost reluctantly, she felt.
“Won’t you sit down?” said Amorelle, trying to make her shaking voice sound pleasant and casual.
The widower sat down, and the twins drifted into awkward positions on the edges of two chairs and stared around the room.
“It may seem a little soon for us to call,” said the man in some embarrassment. “My excuse is that my business is such that it may be of advantage to us both to transact it soon.”
Amorelle gave him a cold look and tried to keep her lips from shaking.
“Yes?” she managed to say steadily.
“You see, I have thought,” he began again, looking at her with appraising eyes as if he had never quite noticed her before, “that is, it has been suggested to me that on account of my children I should marry again, rather than try to get along any longer with housekeepers, which are most unsatisfactory.”
He paused an instant and looked significantly at Amorelle as though expecting some help from her, but Amorelle sat fixing him with a frozen stare, her whole being up in arms at the awful thing she was being made to endure. She felt chocked with indignation when she thought of Mrs. Brisbane.
“And,” said the man, with a quality in his voice that sounded as if he felt he was getting on very well with his difficult speech, even without her help, “when I looked around I felt there was no one who would be better fitted than you to take the place of my sainted wife and bring up my children. In short, Miss Dean, though it may seem a little out of place so soon after a funeral and perhaps a trifle abrupt, I have come to ask you to marry me. I trust you will pardon my haste. It seemed best to come to the point at once and save both you and me trouble. You will be wanting to move out of here soon, and it would save much trouble and expense to move your things right to my house.”
He cast an interested glance at the rosewood sofa and chairs and, smiling confidently, awaited an answer.
Amorelle looked at his weak chin, at the sparse yellow moustache that surmounted his fulsome upper lip, at the two prominent front teeth that held in the weak under lip and chin, and barely restrained a shudder.
“I was sure you would understand why I am so precipitate,” he added confidently.
Amorelle summoned her voice at last, out of a dry and convulsive throat.
“I quite understand, Mr. Emmons.” Her voice sounded d
ead and far away to her own ears. “But I am not thinking of getting married at present, and when I do it will not be for reasons of convenience.”
The man edged out on his chair and spoke with a trifle more color to his voice.
“Oh, but I assure you that is not the only reason I wish to urge,” he said, looking at her as one might admire a new piece of furniture or an automobile one had decided to purchase. “I have always admired you exceedingly. Why, even when my wife was living we used to speak of you always in the highest terms. She felt that you were a young woman of great promise, and it was for your Christian character and your ability that I have admired you. In fact, when this matter first came to my attention, my heart went out to you at once as one whom I could not only admire and respect but also become very fond of. And I can assure you that my children have the same feeling. Amelia, Annabel, speak up and tell Miss Dean how much you think of her.”
Suddenly the two pale, inanimate twins arose as one man and spoke in concert in monotonous, well-drilled tones. “We like you, Miss Dean, and we want you to come and be our mother. We promise you we will be good, obedient children and try to please you.”
The twins came to an abrupt halt, swaying on their bony little legs and looking timidly toward their father for approval, as if they had just recited a piece and wondered what to do next.
Amorelle had a sudden desire to laugh, yes, and to cry, too. Was it possible she was going to become hysterical?
“That’s very sweet of you,” she said, trying to smile at the two frightened little girls, “but it’s quite impossible. I hope you’ll find a nice mother somewhere whom you will like even more and be very happy.”
Then she turned toward the father quickly.
“Mr. Emmons, I certainly thank you for your appreciation, but I’ll have to refuse. I have other plans, and I do not want to marry anyone.”
The widower gasped slightly and stared at her out of unbelieving eyes.
“But, but—” he said, edging a little farther forward in his chair. “You do not understand. I’m sure you do not understand. I’m very well fixed and my business is growing. In a little while I should be able to offer my wife almost anything she wants. Indeed, even now I would be willing to get you a small car of your own and would allow you a private bank account as well as an allowance with which to run the house. I—”
But Amorelle broke in upon his remarks.
“No, not for a car of my own nor a private bank account nor anything you could offer me, Mr. Emmons. I wouldn’t marry you now or ever. I’m sorry if I’m disappointing you, but I just couldn’t ever marry you.”
But Carson Emmons, in spite of his weak chin, was not in the habit of easily giving up anything he had set out to get, and he simply settled down doggedly to business and proceeded to argue his case, inch by inch, moment by moment, until Amorelle’s lips became a thin, firm line of adamant, and her eyes grew frantic with aversion and horror.
Suddenly she glanced up at the quiet little clock on the mantel and saw that it was ten minutes to five. In ten minutes the piano movers would be here. Must they find this ridiculous person still nagging her to marry him? She looked at him in despair. How could she get rid of him?
Just then he arose and came toward her with a motion almost as if he intended to go down on his knees to implore her to yield to his proposal; and the round-eyed twins sat watching him, fascinated.
Amorelle sprang to her feet and backed off away from him.
“Oh, Mr. Emmons,” she cried anxiously, “please, please don’t say any more! I cannot marry you. I do not want to marry anyone. Really, you are only making it hard for us both. And, Mr. Emmons, I’m sorry to seem rude, but a moving van is coming at five to take some of my things away, and I’m not quite ready for them yet. Would you excuse me now?”
The pale young man paused and stared at her dumbfounded. Could it be that she was really refusing him finally?
“And you really mean that there is no hope for me?” he said reproachfully. “You would leave these two little motherless girls to grow up under the care of servants? What am I to do?”
Amorelle looked at him desperately.
“The little girls are not my responsibility, Mr. Emmons. God has not put it into my heart to marry you nor to look after them. If you would get down on your knees to Him instead of to me, perhaps He would show you what you are to do. But once and for all, no, Mr. Emmons, I cannot marry you, and I wish you would please go and say no more about it.” She was shaken between hilarious laughter and furious tears.
The small, pale blue eyes narrowed almost to the point of indignation, and a baffled look came over the weak face.
“I don’t suppose you realize in the least what you are giving up,” he said, speaking as sternly as a weak-faced man could speak. “You have not seen the addition I have recently made to my house, nor the handsome furniture I bought shortly before my wife’s death. I will go now, but I would like to come after you tomorrow in my car and take you over to my place and let you see how I am fixed before you give your final decision.”
“I shall be busy all day tomorrow, Mr. Emmons, and I prefer not to go to your house. I would not marry you under any consideration.”
Amorelle’s voice had taken on a tragic edge now, like a frightened child, and she felt that if he did not go at once she could not stand it any longer.
He regarded her morosely for a moment and then turned, and taking a twin by either hand, he marched from the door of the manse with haughty mien, down the steps, and out to his car.
Amorelle closed the door quickly, locked it, and fled upstairs. Oh, how much more of this torture had she yet to endure? Would that terrible woman speak to all those men she had suggested? How could she escape?
But there was little time to consider. A large moving van was rumbling up to the door.
Amorelle gave a frightened glance from the window and, seeing the van, hurried down.
When the piano was gone, she looked around the room pitifully. Already the place seemed to have taken on an alien look. The home of her childhood was going fast. In another day or two, all would be changed. In another week she would be gone; sooner, if she could get ready. Well it could not be too soon, if she was going to have many more such callers as she had this afternoon.
She set to work again frantically; Johnny would be coming for a load soon after dark.
When Johnny arrived, backing up his truck in the alley, she had the bureau packed and ready to go.
“I’m taking two loads tonight,” he said. “Mebbe three, I’ll see. We wantta get away with as much as possible before the angry mob arrives!” And he laughed cheerily.
Johnny and Tod hustled things out of the room and stowed them away in the truck, which seemed to hold an amazing amount, and did it all so breezily that Amorelle had no time to feel sorrowful. One minute they were there, the next they were gone, and suddenly she looked around the little parlor that looked so amazingly large and unfamiliar now and found it empty.
She went and sat down on the stairs and tried to stop that sinking feeling that came over her. True, she hadn’t eaten much that day, but she didn’t want to eat. She passed her hands over her tired eyes and then remembered that Johnny and Tod would soon be back for another load and she must get some old quilts to put around the furniture to keep it from getting scratched.
When Johnny came back, he brought a pail of barley soup and a covered dish containing a generous piece of custard pie.
“Miss Landon says you’re to eat that right away,” ordered Johnny. “It’s good. She gave us some, too. That’s why we were so long. Now, can we get that bedroom set?”
Amorelle was very tired when the last load was gone. She had eaten the soup and custard pie with relish, and now she desired nothing so much as to drop into bed and go to sleep. But just as she was locking the front door, she heard footsteps outside and the bell pealed through the house once more. For an instant she looked wildly around her with the idea of tur
ning off the light and stealing away without opening the door, but she knew she could not do that. It might be almost any of the congregation, and she must not hurt the feelings of people who had loved her father and been good to her for years.
So she girded her heart for whatever might be coming and opened the door, and there stood Mr. Merchant, the third of Mrs. Brisbane’s matrimonial suggestions, his big, kindly face beaming genially at her from the dim light of the porch.
Amorelle felt her knees beginning to sag under her. Could she go through another proposal tonight? Wasn’t there some way she could get out of it, excuse herself and say she had to go somewhere immediately? But no, he would only offer to go with her, and she really was too tired to go anywhere. While she tried wildly to think of some excuse, Mr. Merchant stepped in and took off his hat, greeting her delightedly as if his errand was a real pleasure to himself.
In a husky, tired little voice, Amorelle offered him a seat in the dining room, explaining that the parlor furniture had all been sent to storage.
“Oh well, now, now,” said the caller, looking around and blinking at the empty room. “Why, you really are torn up here, aren’t you? Why, I didn’t come any too soon, did I?”
Amorelle sat down in a chair on the opposite side of the table and gripped her cold, young hands together in her lap. She felt a constriction in her throat and a terrible desire to cry again. She looked at the caller with haggard eyes and waited for him to make known his errand.
“Of course I want first to express my sympathy, Miss Dean, in your great bereavement,” he began, resting pleased eyes on her face. “Your father was a good man. The salt of the earth. This church will search long to find another as good. The church has been truly blessed in having his ministry through so many years, and blessed also in having you, his daughter, to help him. You have been a great example to the young in this town!”