As she hurried along to school in a taxi, she tried to search into her depression and find out its cause and finally traced it back to Laurie. She had an unsatisfied feeling about having promised to go with him tonight. And yet as she thought it over, she couldn’t understand why. She had been plain enough about not going to nightclubs. She had taken her stand about that. And if he was willing to go to the rink and skate for a while instead, she couldn’t really in decency decline, could she? There was nothing wrong in skating. Mother hadn’t ever objected to her going.
Yet again and again that vague shadow of uneasiness kept returning. All during the morning classes it came back, filling her thoughts and making her distraught and inattentive to her class. And the children realized it, of course, and took advantage of it. Her class was a riot once or twice, and she found her temper slipping and a dazed, sick feeling coming over her. The children were restless, too, on their own account, for the long, unexpected vacation had put an unusual spirit of mischief into them.
So it was with a sigh of relief that Marigold tidied her desk at three o’clock and hurried home, puzzling over and over in her troubled mind the exact reason for her worry.
It was Laurie, of course, but what could she do about it now? She had promised to go skating with him. She couldn’t call it off at the last minute. She would not know where to find him. He had never given her his telephone number. Of course, she could easily find the number of his home, but she sensed that he did not want her to call there, and she was too proud to call him, anyway.
After all, she had to see Laurie at least once more, even if it turned out that she was to break things off with him. And perhaps this outing was about as simple a way to see him as any.
So with determined lips she hurried on and went swiftly to work when she reached the apartment, setting things to rights, even doing several things that were not necessary because she could not bear to stop and think.
It was when she was dusting the living room that she suddenly spied a little leather book lying unobtrusively on the floor between the two chairs. Wondering, she stooped and picked it up, and a thrill of comfort went through her as she saw it was Ethan’s pocket Testament that he carried with him everywhere. It must have fallen from his overcoat pocket. That was where he had put his hat and coat while they had been getting dinner ready last night. And it had fallen out when he put on his overcoat in such a hurry!
She held it between her two hands for a moment as if it were a talisman, as if its very contact could give her strength. How she wished he were here and she could talk all this troubled situation over with him.
But, of course, it was her own problem. In a way, no one but God could help her.
She bent her head for an instant and closed her eyes. Touching her forehead softly to the Testament, she sent up an inarticulate prayer. Then she went and sat down by the window and, opening the book, read:
Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness?
She paused and stared at the words, amazed. It was as if the great God had stopped to answer her questions in person, as if He had sent down through the long ages words to that little book for her to read, that afternoon, words that would fit her very situation.
She read on through the passage.
… what part hath he that believeth with an infidel?… what agreement hath the temple of God with idols?
She paused to think. An infidel was one who did not believe in God. But perhaps this went deeper than that. It meant an unbeliever in Jesus Christ as Savior. She knew that Laurie was not a believer. He had often laughingly said he had no religion. He was not bothered with a conscience. He thought you had only one life and you ought to enjoy it as best you could, for you were “a long time dead.” Strange that hadn’t bothered her before. She had never counted herself an unbeliever, although she could see now that she had never before accepted Christ in His fullness, nor really understood what salvation meant until her talk with Ethan. But she had been enough of a believer to be a little shocked at Laurie’s open declaration that he had no religion; that is, the first time he had said it. She remembered she had reproved him laughingly, though, and never taken it very seriously. Laurie’s fine eyes laughing into hers and Laurie’s high-handed way of carrying all before him, of flattering her into thinking he was making her a kind of queen, had erased any feeling of uneasiness she had had. But now suddenly it was very clear to her that Laurie was an unbeliever, quite openly, and she now was one of the Lord’s own. She had surrendered her life to Christ, had asked that she might be counted as crucified with Him. She belonged to Him.
For ye are the temple of the living God; as God hath said, I will dwell in them, and walk in them.
And now she had asked what she was to do in the matter of this friendship with Laurie, and this was her answer.
She was not superstitious. She had never been one who would have lightly settled questions by picking up a book and taking her guidance from the first words her eyes met. It was not like that. No, the Lord had caused this little book to be left here and had brought it to her notice just when her heart was crying for light. And here was the light in these words. The verses were marked heavily with penciled lines and had called her attention to this side of the page instead of the other. She could not help but think that the Lord had intended that, too. Things so startling as this did not just happen!
And now she noticed that there were penciled words written above the passage and down along the margin, very fine but clear. This must have been written by Ethan. She wondered at the comfort that thought brought. It was as if Ethan had come into the room and was helping her to solve her problems.
To Christians! the passage was headed. She paused to think that out. Then she glanced at the writing along the margin.
You never know full privilege until you are a grown son, and a tiny line led to the last two verses of the chapter. Marigold read them eagerly.
Wherefore come out from among them, and be ye separate, saith the Lord, and touch not the unclean thing; and I will receive you. And will be a Father unto you, and ye shall be my sons and daughters, said the Lord Almighty.
Could anything be plainer than that? Such separation was made a condition to experiencing sonship, to close walking in fellowship with God!
There was no longer any question in her mind. She had her answer, and she must break things off with Laurie. But strangely the thought brought no terrible sorrow as she had expected, no great wrench, only sadness for the friendship that had been so pleasant while it lasted. Could it be that she did not care for Laurie as she had shyly dreamed she did? Or was God making it easier for her by thrilling her soul with Himself and the thought of walking with the great God?
She had turned on the light to read the little book, for the dusk had been coming down, and now as she looked up when the clock struck, she saw that it was quite dark outside. Laurie would be coming soon, and she must be ready. Perhaps this was the last time she would go out with him.
She was not sure what the next step was to be or whether the break was to come suddenly or would be gradual. But she was definitely sure there was to be no more compromise and that she must somehow let him know where she stood.
Hurriedly she ate and dressed for skating. She was barely ready when she heard his horn below. He always pulled up with a flourish and plenty of horn as a greeting. And now that horn with its cheery call did something to her heart. Always she had been so happy to hear it. After all, Laurie was dear! So bright and merry and handsome. Oh, was she going to be strong enough to do this thing that she had set out to do?
It was strange that there should come words out of the past few days just at that instant: “Surely he shall deliver thee.” She could envision Ethan’s face as he read them last Sunday night in Washington. “He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.”
As she went down t
he stairs, she had a feeling that a guard was all around her, and a new strength came to her.
But down in the car, it was not the same Laurie she knew so well. It was a scowling, haughty Laurie, with his handsome chin held up and his eyes cold and disapproving.
He was courteous as usual, rather elaborately so, but before they had even started on their way, she was made to feel like a naughty little child who had transgressed the laws of the universe unbelievably.
“What’s the idea, Mara,” he said haughtily, as he stepped on the gas and they dashed down the road, “all this nonsense about you won’t go here and you won’t go there? You never acted that way before. Has your mother been putting the squeeze on you that you don’t dare to call your soul your own?”
Something constricted Marigold’s throat so that for an instant she could not voice the indignant protest that came to her lips, and Laurie went right on: “You surely are old enough to know your own mind and go your own way, and no parent in these days has a right to restrict a child. Such actions are a relic of the dark ages! You have a right to see life as it is and choose for yourself what you will do and what you will not do. It is your life, not hers, and you belong to yourself!”
Suddenly, Marigold spoke.
“No,” she said quietly, “you are utterly mistaken. It is not my mother who has anything to do with my decision that I will not go to nightclubs anymore. She does not even know that I go. I have never told her. But I do not like the way you speak of my mother. You never spoke of her in that way before.”
“Well, as long as she minded her business and didn’t interfere with what I wanted to do, I didn’t mind her,” said Laurie bluntly. “But when it comes to putting fool ideas into your head, I’m done with her.”
“I tell you my mother has nothing whatever to do with this,” said Marigold, her own tone haughty now. This was not her old cheery friend Laurie; this was a stranger, a rude, disagreeable stranger. “My mother would never dream of my going to a nightclub. I am ashamed to say I have never told her that I went with you two or three times. I did not feel happy in going. I went to please you, and I feel I was wrong.”
He swept aside her explanation with an impatient motion of his hand. “If your mother didn’t influence you, who did?”
Marigold spoke in a clear voice. “God did. He made me feel that it was something not consistent with Christian living. You said just now that I belonged to myself. But that is not true. I belong to the Lord Jesus Christ who bought me with His own precious blood. I know I have not been living lately as though I believed that, but I do, and I always have, and now I have come to a place where I can’t go on that way any longer.”
Laurie turned his handsome, steely glance toward her, searching her face as well as he could by the lights that glanced into the car from the street.
“So!” he said after his scrutiny was over. “You have turned fanatical on me! Is that it? Well, I certainly was deceived in you. And who, may I inquire, did this to you? Some fool woman, I’ll bet! If it wasn’t your mother, who was it?”
“I don’t like the way you talk, Laurie,” she said gently. “If you are going to talk that way, I wish you would take me home. I can’t listen to you when you say such things!”
“Oh, you can’t, can’t you? Well, you’re going to listen, and you’re going to like it, too, when I get done with you. I have no intention of having you spoiled. You’re one of the best sports I ever went with, and I don’t intend to give you up. You promised to go skating with me, and you’re going! We’re getting out at the rink and have the time of our life tonight, and when the evening’s over, you will have learned a thing or two, and you won’t be quite so old-grannyfied in your notions, either. I’ll teach you how to forget you ever had a conscience and just be happy.”
Marigold was silent for a moment as they dashed on. She cast a quick glance at Laurie’s face, which was still cold and angry, and finally she spoke. “Certainly, I’ll go and skate. I’ll keep my promise to you and try to have as pleasant a time as we have had in the past, but you’ll have to promise not to speak about my mother that way and not to cast contempt upon my God.”
“Well, I don’t believe in your God, see?” said Laurie contemptuously. “He’s nothing in my young life. But as for the old girl, we’ll leave her out of the matter for the time being, since she isn’t in these parts just now. If you can be a good sport as you’ve always been, I’m willing to go on, but I won’t have whining fanatics around me, and that’s flat!”
Marigold, startled into horror, sat there and stared at him through the darkness. What had happened to Laurie? She had never seen him angry like this. She didn’t know he had a temper. He was always so cheerful and breezy. It is true she had never crossed him before in what he wanted to do, but—something more than that must be the matter.
She did not speak until he stopped the car and left it with a valet at the rink. It seemed there was nothing she could say that would not provoke him more. Perhaps he was ashamed of himself already and would soon apologize.
Silently she walked beside him into the rink. Strains of blithe jazz music floated out to greet them along with the tang of cigarette smoke, and the chatter of young voices and laughter was in the air. But Marigold no longer felt the cheery anticipation of the evening. She was full of trouble. She looked at Laurie and saw that his eyes were over-bright and there was a feverish color in his face. There were heavy shadows under his eyes, too, and his whole manner was unnatural. She did not know what to make of it.
She let him fasten her skates as usual, but there was no happy banter; no lifted eyes full of admiration; no gentle, almost fond lifting of her foot as he laced the boots. Instead, he pulled the laces almost roughly, until she had to tell him he was making them too tight, and then he flung away from her and told her to fix it to suit herself.
Sudden tears sprang to her eyes at that, and her heart was hot with shame and wonder. What had happened to Laurie?
He lit a cigarette and swung away on his own skates while she slowly unlaced and relaced her boots. He returned just as she was ready and stood sullenly in front of her. Then, when she stood up, he caught her hands and swung away into rhythm, but it was not like his usual long, graceful swing. He kept changing his motion and tripping her up. Once she almost fell, and he caught her close to him and swung her along, so that she had no choice but to let her feet follow where he led. But he was holding her close in a way he had never done before, a way he knew she despised, when occasional bold skaters had done it, a way he had been wont to criticize himself. She struggled to get loose, but he held her fast and bent his face over, almost as if he were going to kiss her, murmuring with white set lips, “You little devil, you, I’ll teach you to go religious on me!”
It was then she caught that strong whiff of his breath and knew that he had been drinking.
“Let me go!” she cried, struggling frantically against his viselike grip. Then, suddenly she slumped, relaxing and becoming a dead weight on his hands. Her feet slid out from under her and she went down in a pitiful little heap on the ice. Laurie had to execute a number of frantic gestures to keep his own balance, while other skaters came on and piled up in a heap upon Marigold.
The spill partly sobered Laurie, and looking half ashamed, he picked her up and helped her over to the bench.
“Now,” he said half savagely, “what did you do that for? You know you did it on purpose. Why did you do it?”
“Because I did not like the way you were holding me, the way you were skating. It—wasn’t—respectable!” She was almost in tears. “I—didn’t know you ever acted that way, Laurie! You never did before!”
“No?” he said, lowering his heavy, unhappy eyes. “Perhaps not! I was trying to teach you a few things. Trying to open your eyes to life!”
She stared at him in unspeakable horror.
“Laurie!” she said. “You did it on purpose? You knew how it would look to those around us, and yet you did it? I thought you w
ere my friend!”
The look in her eyes scorched him deeply, but he suddenly tottered to his feet. “Oh heck!” he said. “Have we got to be tied down by little antiquated ideas of propriety? You’ve just spoiled this whole evening for me! I’ll find a real skater who knows how to take things! Just sit here and watch us and see what you think the world cares!”
He flung away from her in a long, sweeping curve, grace and skill in every movement; and darting in among the skaters, he came to a flashily dressed girl who was executing some startling tricks and bore her off in his arms, holding her close and looking down into her impudent face surrounded by bleached hair. A face with a tip-tilted nose and a painted mouth. He caught her around the waist with a daring leap and swung her off with him, drawing her closer and closer until she lay with her face almost against his as they glided crazily on. Everybody was watching them, and they knew it. Marigold’s cheeks burned as she turned her eyes away and began hurriedly to unlace her boots. This sort of thing was not supposed to go on here. As she lifted her eyes after putting on her street shoes, she saw an attendant on skates was approaching the two. Laurie could see him coming, too, but he went right on. Laurie doing a thing like this! Oh, it was unspeakably awful. Laurie who had always been the pink of propriety. Laurie was drunk!
She fastened the buckles of her shoes with fingers that were numb with sorrow and shame, and then with her heart beating wildly, she slipped behind the crowd of watchers and got away out of the building while Laurie and the girl he had picked up were skating off with their backs to her.
She did not realize until she was in the trolley that she had left her skates lying on the bench with the bag she always carried them in. They were a gift from Laurie and, before this, greatly cherished. But now they did not matter. Nothing mattered but to get away, not to have to talk to him again with that awful frown upon his face, that thickness of speech so foreign to him, that roughness upon him. Actually swearing at her once! Laurie had never sworn in her presence before.