“You too?” said Luther. “That’s great! And say, isn’t there one more sister? Emmy Lou, where is she?”
Emmy Lou came into the doorway, having been just out of sight nearby, and lifting the edge of her skirt, made a formal little curtsy. Luther saluted her in a most military manner.
“Your meat’s about to burn,” said Emmy Lou cryptically, and Erminie fled in haste.
When she returned she said with a glance that included Luther, “The lunch is about ready. Timmie, will you take Mr. Waite up to your room? He may want to wash his hands.”
“Oh, but I didn’t intend to intrude upon you now,” said Luther. “Timothy was going to show me where the hotel was. Then you can send him over, or telephone if there is anything I can do.”
Erminie regarded him gravely.
“It’s all right of course, if you prefer. We mustn’t keep you, but we hoped you’d stay at least to lunch.”
Blossom sidled up to him and took hold of his big warm hand.
“It’s a nice lunch,” she offered, looking up wistfully with her big beautiful eyes. “I peeled the beets my own self!”
“You did!” said Luther. “Why I’d love to stay of course if you are sure I won’t be in the way!”
“Course we want ya, Luther,” said Timothy earnestly. “Come on if ya wantta wash yer hands. Only—my room isn’t sa hot. I kinda left things in a mess when I went away in a hurry. If ya’ll wait a minute down here I’ll run up an’ put a few things away.”
“Your room is all right, Timmie,” called Erminie from the dining room. “We cleared it up.”
“I vashed the baseboards my own se’f,” said Billy, plodding up the steps beside his brother. And Timmie unwontedly took hold of the small hand comfortably and said, “Okay, kid! Did ya? That was swell!”
The children trailed upstairs to see what Timothy would say to his fine room, the new curtains they had helped to put up, the set of brushes Erminie had contributed.
“There’s p’fumery in the soup!” announced Blossom. “Just smell it!”
But Timothy stood in the doorway of his new-old room and stared about him.
“Gee! Luther! It never looked like this before!” he exclaimed wonderingly.
Luther looked around approvingly.
“Nice, isn’t it! And you thought they didn’t care anything about you, kid! See how wrong you were!”
Billy was presently heard ringing the lunch bell. Luther and Tim came down promptly, Luther coming out in the kitchen and offering to carry in the hot platter with the sizzling steak.
They had a pleasant meal, with Emmy Lou and Mariana serving importantly, and doing very well at obeying the high signs that Erminie gave. Before they were done they all felt better acquainted, and Timothy was beaming at the way his family had accepted Luther as a part of themselves. He felt more at home with all of them than he had ever felt before.
The teacher came while the children were hurrying through the work of clearing the table and washing their special dishes, and it wasn’t long before Luther was taking Erminie and Tim over to the hospital.
The nurse reported that the patient was very low, but she was rousing now and then and asking if her son had come.
They went in to see her, Luther standing in a corner out of sight of the patient; nearby if he should be needed.
Erminie went forward to the bed and Mrs. Lazarelle looked up.
“Here’s Timmie, mother!” she said, and laid the boy’s hand in the sick woman’s grasp.
The mother looked up with dull eyes.
“Timmie!” she said, “You’ve—come—at last!”
Her breath was coming in short gasps.
“I’m glad.” She looked at him bewildered, trying to focus her gaze. “You look nice, Timmie!” She spoke slowly. “All fixed up real pretty!” Then her eyes dropped shut again, and her breath was shorter.
Timothy stood looking down at her in great distress. This didn’t seem like his mother who had been so cross and exacting.
“I’m glad I came, mom!” he murmured awkwardly and slipped sown on his knees beside the bed, stooping over and laying his lips in an unaccustomed kiss upon hers.
She opened her eyes again, eyes that were already looking into a world that she had not known.
Erminie slipped over to the door and met the doctor as he was coming in, whispered a word or two to him. He nodded, stepped over to the bed, touched the fluttering pulse, and looked at Erminie again with another nod. Then she motioned to Luther.
Luther took a step nearer to the bed, and bowing his head, prayed:
“Our loving Father, we want to speak to Thee about this dear soul who is coming over there. We don’t know whether she has ever taken Thy Son Jesus Christ for her Savior, but we are asking Thee now to speak to her and make her understand that it is not too late even yet. Help her to know that Thou dost love her with an everlasting love, that Thou didst put all her sin upon Thine own beloved Son, and judged it there. We, her friends, and her children are here together pleading Thy precious promises of salvation for her, and asking Thee to make it plain for her to understand. Show her that Thou are waiting to welcome her into loving arms if she will now just let her heart call upon Thee. Help her to take the precious gift of salvation Thou dost offer, right now, and be safe and happy with Thee forever!”
The dying woman stirred, opened wild astonished eyes for an instant, with a look around for the voice that was praying. They searched and came to rest on Luther’s face, with a startled wonder. She held her gaze upon his face an instant more, with hunger in her eyes.
“Help her to say yes to the Lord Jesus,” went on Luther tenderly, “and to find Thy great peace and rest in trusting Thee. May she just put her hand in Thine and go with Thee into her everlasting Home, not to be afraid any more. We ask it, claiming Thy word that ‘God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.’”
The eyes closed, and a soft breath of a sigh that sounded like assent came. She was gone!
Timmie was weeping now. It was the first time he had ever seen anyone die. It was also the first real gospel he had ever heard, and his young heart was deeply stirred. Tears on his face, and on his sister’s face, even for an unbeloved mother!
Luther led them away, back to the house, and to the little children who seemed to sense the tenseness of the atmosphere.
There were arrangements to be made, and Luther made them, taking Timothy with him, after they had talked things over with Erminie.
It was that same afternoon that the message came from the ship on its way to China.
Mr. Lazarelle died of pneumonia two days ago. Was buried at sea. Details follow in letter.
And now how they all leaned on Luther, Timmie most of all! Though he seemed to have grown older and more dependable in the last two days. He went about gravely and wisely consulting with his sister, being gentle with his younger sisters and brother, but depending on Luther. More than the death of their mother, they seemed to sense the changes that would come with the death of their father, in spite of the fact that they had seen him so seldom, and then only for brief intervals.
Luther and Timmie had browsed around and discovered a minister to conduct a Christian service for the forlorn family. And when it was all over and they sat down together for a quiet meal, the excitement past, a new order of things begun, all of them, even the younger children began to wonder what they would do now if Luther went away from them.
It was after the supper was out of the way, and the younger children put to bed that Luther sat down for a talk with Erminie.
“Now,” he said gently, “had you thought at all what you are going to do? Were you planning to stay here?”
“Oh, no!” said Erminie with a shudder. “Not if we can help it. Of course we’ll have to wait to hear what arrangement father left, whether he had any directions that I would feel obliged to carry out. Of course he was my own father,
though he never acted much like a father. But as far as I am concerned I think we should get away as soon as possible. You wouldn’t want to live in a forlorn town like this, would you, after what has happened here?”
“Well, I should scarcely choose it,” said Luther. “But what is your idea? Have the children other near relatives who would want them? Or what were you thinking of doing with them?”
“Why, we would all be together, of course. No, there are no relatives on either side who would want any of them, but I wouldn’t think of letting them go anywhere anyway. We have grown to be very near to each other during these awful days since I came back home, and they are my responsibility. Father would have expected it, even if I hadn’t wanted it, which I certainly do!”
Luther’s eyes lighted. Then she wasn’t the selfish creature he used to think her.
“That’s right of course,” he said. “It wouldn’t be right to leave them stranded, or put them with strangers.”
“Certainly not!” There was a quiet dignity about her bearing as she said it that made her seem rare. “Of course you don’t understand, but our home life was rather a mess. Nobody made a real home for any of us, and I’d rather like to plan to have one for the children before they get too old to be influenced by it!”
“Grand! I hoped you’d feel that way!” said Luther. “Had you thought where you’d like to be?”
“Oh, we would all choose the east, I am sure. I think Timothy must have made you understand that. About the place I’m not sure. Tim would love to go back to the old home, I suspect. He has a lot of friends there. Personally if I had my choice I’d like a house out in that suburb where the Silverthorns live, only I know they’d all hate my coming there now. Nobody likes me in that crowd now because of the way I acted when I was among them the last time, and I don’t blame them,” she said sadly. “But I thought perhaps it might be best to go somewhere else for a while till they forgot about me the way I used to be. I suppose some house in the village where we used to live. For I’m quite sure that’s where Tim would like to be, and I’d like to make him happy.”
“You got another guess coming,” said Tim suddenly emerging from the dark dining room door. “I useta wanta go back there, but I’d rather be in the city somewhere near Luther. He’s gonta get me a job there somewhere, and I’d like that better than anything else.”
“Come here, son,” said Luther, making a place beside him on the couch and putting a brotherly arm about Tim’s shoulder. “Let’s talk this thing over and find out just what is the best thing to do.”
So Tim nestled up to his new friend with his head against Luther’s arm, and utter confidence in his expression as he watched Luther’s face.
“It’s wonderful for him to have a friend like you,” said Erminie. “I can’t thank God enough for that. I’d be willing to live anywhere for Timmie to be near you where he could see you sometimes. Perhaps there’s some other suburb that would be all right for the children, and near enough to the city for Tim to be able to come in and see you sometimes if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Wouldn’t mind?” said Luther, drawing the boy closer to him. “Erminie, don’t you know how much you all are to me? Don’t you know that it seems to me that you have grown to be my own? Just in these few short days the tie has become strong. There’s nothing like going through trouble together to bring hearts together, especially hearts of those who belong to the Lord. Now just put such an idea out of your head, please. Don’t you know I haven’t any family left of my own, and didn’t I make a promise with your young sisters and brothers? Please understand that I belong!”
Suddenly the tears came smarting into Erminie’s eyes.
“Thank you!” she sobbed softly. “I never expected to hear you say that.”
“Well, it’s true!” said Luther vehemently.
But suddenly Erminie put her face in her hands and cried, her slender shoulders shaking.
“It’s beautiful!” she gasped. “And we needed a friend so much! It’s been just like heaven having you here to help us and care for us—”
Luther’s voice was suddenly very husky.
“Timmie,” he said, his hand on the boy’s shoulder, “would you run up to my suitcase and get me a clean handkerchief. Get me two, in fact. You’ll find them in the little pocket under the tray. And then would you please look around and find that bunch of timetables I have? They’re somewhere in the room. And would you stop up there and look up the trains home? I want to talk to your sister a minute.”
Timothy was all alert.
“Sure!” he said, and flew up the stairs. He didn’t care for sob-scenes much and was glad to get away.
“Listen, Erminie,” said Luther as the boy’s footsteps were hard on the floor above, “I’m a strange fellow and I don’t do things the way other men do. When I want something I go for it right off. Maybe I ought not to say anything about this yet, not at a time like this when you’ve been through all sorts of trouble, and you don’t know me very well, but, it’s just this, Erminie. I love you, and—if you don’t mind, that is, if you think you could learn to love me, why don’t we get married? That would solve the whole problem.”
Erminie sat up and brushed a torrent of tears away with the backs of her hands.
“Don’t, please, Luther,” she said, between the catches of sobs in her breath. “You’re just saying that because you pity me.”
“Erminie!” said Luther. “Indeed I’m not. I’ve known for two whole days that I loved you with all my heart and meant to marry you if you were willing. And of course I don’t want you to say yes to me just because I’ve asked you unless you think you could love me too, but I’m sure there’ll never be anybody else for me but you. Come, Erminie, come over here and sit beside me on the couch and let’s talk about it. Could you ever love me enough to stand me all your life, do you think?”
He brought her over with his arm about her and seated her beside him with his arm still about her shoulders.
“Could you?”
“Yes,” said Erminie, “I could love you. I do love you. But I couldn’t marry you, because I can never leave my sisters and brothers. They are my responsibility. God gave them to me.”
“Oh, that’s no reason!” said Luther drawing her closer. “Because they are my responsibility too. Didn’t I make a life contract with them the other day? And I love them too. They’d be my brothers and sisters then, too, and of course I’d look after them and support them, and do everything for them as if they were my own. Why we’d have fun, Erminie, bringing them up.”
“Oh, Luther! You’re wonderful! I shall love you forever for saying that. But Luther, all your crowd at home would despise you. Do you know what I heard Carey Carewe say two years ago? I heard her telling one of the other girls that I was setting my cap for you, and I would drag you off, no matter what you did. She said Paul Redfern or Lincoln Silverthorn ought to do something to get me away from you. That I was a cormorant and a lot of other terrible things! Luther, I couldn’t marry you and have them all pitying you for having me on your hands. They’d say I had burdened you with my family, and it was dragging you down to be old before your time. Oh, I know what they’d say, and I couldn’t bear it to do that to you!”
Luther’s answer to that was to throw his head back and laugh with all his might.
“You think I care about that?” he said. “Just let the poor things talk! Let ’em say all the fool things they want to, and then I’ll take them out in a ten acre lot and thrash every one of them. Yes, girls and all. And we’ll show ’em. I’d have you to know that I’m marrying who I want to, and I’m not asking one of them. But I’ll just tell you there are a few of my friends who won’t say a word like that, nor even look it, not after I’ve told them that I love you and all your family, and that if they can’t see it that way I’m done with ’em. But Erminie, you and I love each other. Or do we? Perhaps there’s someone else you love. If there is, say so now, and clear the atmosphere.” He held her off at arm’s
length and looked at her steadily.
“No! No!” she laughed between her tears. “There’s nobody else. It’s you I’ve loved ever since we went to that picnic two years ago, but you can’t say you loved me then, for I know you didn’t. I saw how you looked once when I came back after you thought I was gone, and I heard what you said about me once. But it doesn’t matter if you really love me now. I know what I used to be, and while I don’t know that I’ve had much chance to change, still I do love your Lord, and that ought to make some difference after a while.”
“”That has made a difference, Erminie. It has made all the difference.”
Then suddenly he caught her close and smothered her face with tender kisses, and Erminie sank down in his arms faint with the joy of it.
Till all at once they heard Timothy’s footsteps pounding down the stairs, and Erminie tried to straighten up and be decorous. But Luther held her fast, and drew her close.
“Come in, brother!” he cried joyously, “and it’s really brother, this time. How will you like that? Your sister and I are going to be married! What do you say to that?”
“Swell!” said Timothy. “No kidding?”
“No kidding, boy! Now, get to bed and to sleep, and tomorrow we’ll make plans.”
Timothy flung himself upon them in happy demonstration, and then suddenly he came to his feet and looked down at Luther.
“But say, Luther, what becomes of us? Are you both going away to leave us?”
“Not on yer life, boy! We’re going back home and buy a house, and all live together! Now, beat it, boy!”
Timothy went whooping up the stairs and collected his sleeping brothers and sisters to tell them the grand news.
When they were left along again Luther held his dear girl close.
“You’re sweeter than I ever dreamed you were,” he said softly, and kissed her very thoroughly. “Now, when can we get married? Tomorrow?”
“Oh, no!” said Erminie quickly, “not yet. I think I’d better go back and buy that house out at Birchwood, just beyond Silverthorns, that long old white one with the avenue of maples, and the evergreens all around the terrace. I’ve always wanted it. Then I will take the children and go there and live for a little while till everything quiets down, and you can come and see us now and then. Then after people have forgotten all about the way I used to be we can get married.”