Read Ebook: Ruth Erskine's Crosses by Pansy

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Ebook has 861 lines and 83878 words, and 18 pages

"I should think not!" said Eurie. "And then to deliberately desert her afterward! living a lie all these years! I must say I think Judge Erskine has behaved as badly as a man could."

"Still, if the Lord Jesus and his own daughter can forgive him, I think we ought to be able to do so."

It was Flossy's voice again--low and quiet, but with that curious suggestion of power behind it that Flossy's voice had taken of late. It served to quiet the two girls for a minute, then Marion said:

"Is she so very dreadful?"

This was Eurie's insinuating question.

"Father and Nellis called, but I could not bring myself to go with them. I was sure I shouldn't know what to say to Ruth. I tried to have them describe her, but father said she must be seen to be appreciated, and Nell would do nothing but shrug his shoulders and whistle."

"She is simply terrible!" Marion said, with emphasis. "I didn't stay fifteen minutes, and I heard more bad grammar and bad taste in the use of language than I hear in school in a week. And her style of dressing is--well," said Marion, pausing to consider a strong way of putting it--"is enough, I should think, to drive Ruth Erskine wild. You know I am not remarkable for nervousness in that direction, and not supposed to be posted as to styles; but really, it would try my sense of the fitness of things considerably to have to tolerate such combinations as she gets up. Then she is fussy and garrulous and ignorant, and, in every way, disagreeable. I really don't know how I am ever to--"

And at that point Marion Wilbur suddenly stopped.

"What about the daughter?" Eurie asked.

"Well," said Marion, "I hardly know; she impresses you strangely. She is homely; that is, at first sight you would consider her very homely indeed; red hair--though why that shouldn't be as much the orthodox color as brown, is a matter of fashion I presume--but she is large featured, and angular, and has the air and bearing that would be called exceedingly plain; for all that, there is something very interesting about her; I studied her for half an hour, and couldn't decide what it was. It isn't her smile, for she was extremely grave, hardly smiled at all. And I'm not sure that it is her conversation--I dare say that might be called commonplace--but I came away having a feeling of respect for her, a sort of liking that I couldn't define, and couldn't get away from."

"Nellis liked her," said Eurie. "He was quite decided in his opinion; said she was worth a dozen frippery girls with banged hair, and trains, and all that sort of thing, but he couldn't give a definite reason, any more than you can, why he 'approved of' her, as he called it."

"I don't know what her tastes can be," continued Marion. "She doesn't play at all, she told me, and she doesn't sing, nor daub in paints; that is one comfort for Ruth; she won't have to endure the piano, nor help hang mussy-looking pictures in 'true lights'--whatever lights they may be. But I should imagine she read some things that were worth reading. She didn't parade her knowledge, however, if she has any. In short, she is a mystery, rather; I should like you to see her."

"Perhaps she is fond of fancy-work," suggested Flossy, somewhat timidly; whereupon Marion laughed.

"I don't fancy you are to find a kindred spirit in that direction, my dear little Kittie!" she said, lightly. "No one to glance at Susan Erskine would think of fancy-work, for the whole evening. There is nothing in her face or manner, or about her attire, that would suggest the possibility of her knowing anything about fancy matters of any sort. I tell you her face is a strange one. I found myself quoting to my 'inner consciousness' the sentence: 'Life is real, life is earnest,' every time I looked at the lines about her mouth. Whatever else she can or can not do, I am morally certain that she can't crochet. Girls, think of that name--Susan Erskine! Doesn't it sound strangely? How do you suppose it sounds to Ruth? I tell you this whole thing is dreadful! I can't feel reconciled to it. Do you suppose she will have to call that woman mother?"

"What does she call her now?"

"Well, principally she doesn't call her at all. She says 'you' at rare intervals when she has to speak to her, and she said 'she,' when she spoke of her to me; not speaking disagreeably you know, but hesitatingly, as if she did not know what to say, or what would be expected of her. Oh, Ruth does well; infinitely better than I should, in her circumstances, I feel sure. I said as much to that disagreeable Judge Burnham who keeps staying there, for no earthly reason, that I can see, except to complicate Ruth's trials. 'How does your friend bear up under it?' he asked me, with an insinuating air, as though he expected me to reveal volumes. 'She bears it royally, just as she always does everything,' I said, and I was dreadfully tempted to add: 'Don't you see how patiently she endures your presence here?' Just as though I would tell him anything about it, if she tore around like a lunatic!"

"Oh, well, now," said Eurie, oracularly, "there are worse crosses in life, I dare say, than Ruth's having to call that woman mother."

At this point Flossy interrupted the conversation with one of those innocent, earnest questions which she was always in these days asking, to the no small confusion of some classes of people.

"Are these two women Christians?"

"That I don't know," Marion answered, after staring at the questioner a moment in a half dazed way. "I wondered it, too, I remember. Flossy Shipley, I thought of you while I sat there, and I said to myself, 'She would be certain to make the discovery in less time than I have spent talking with them.' But I don't know how you do those things. What way was there for me to tell? I couldn't sit down beside them and say, 'Are you a Christian?' could I? How is it to be done?"

Flossy looked bewildered.

"Why," she said, hesitatingly, "I don't know. I never thought there was anything strange about it. Why shouldn't those things be talked of as well as any others? You discovered whether the young lady was fond of music and painting. I can't see why it wouldn't have been just as easy to have found out about her interests in more important matters."

"But how would you have done it? Just suppose yourself to have been in Judge Erskine's parlor, surrounded by all those people who were there last evening, how would you have introduced the subject which is of the most importance?"

"Why," said Flossy, looking puzzled, "how do I know? How can I tell unless I had been there and talked it over? You might as well ask me how I should have introduced the question whether--well, for instance, whether they knew Mr. Roberts, supposing they had come from the same city, and I had reason to think it possible--perhaps probable--that they were his friends. It seems to me I should have referred to it very naturally, and that I should have been apt to do it early in our conversation. Now, you know it is quite possible--if not probable--that they are intimate friends of the Lord Jesus. Why couldn't I have asked them about him?"

Marion and Eurie looked at each other in a sort of puzzled amusement, then Marion said:

"Still I am not sure that you have answered my question about how to begin on such a subject. You know you could have said, 'Did you meet Mr. Roberts in Boston?' supposing them to have been in Boston. But you could hardly say, 'Did you meet the Lord Jesus there?' I am not sure but that sounds irreverent to you. I don't mean it to be; I really want to understand how those subjects present themselves to your mind."

"I don't believe I can tell you," Flossy said, simply. "They have no special way of presenting themselves. It is all so new to me that I suppose I haven't gotten used to it yet. I am always thinking about it, and wondering whether any new people can tell me anything new. Now I am interested in what you told me about that Susan, and I feel as though I should like to ask her whether there were any very earnest Christians where she used to live and whether they had any new ways of reading the Bible, and whether the young ladies had a prayer-meeting, and all those things, you know."

They were silent for a few minutes. Then Eurie suddenly changed the current of thought: "How strange that these changes should have come to Ruth and we know nothing about it until a mother and sister were actually domiciled! We are all so intimate, too. It seems that there are matters about which we have not learned to talk together."

Marion rose up and went over to Flossy, and, bending, kissed her fair cheek.

"You little pink blossom," she said, with feeling, "I'll tell you all the nice things I can think of, one of these days. In the meantime I must go home; and remember, Eurie, you are not to do anything dreadful of any sort without telling Flossy and me beforehand."

"I won't," said Eurie, with a conscious laugh, and the trio separated.

Two hours later Marion Wilbur was the recipient of the following note:

"DEAR MARION:--

"I promised to tell you--though I don't intimate that this comes under your prescribed limit of things 'awful.' Still, I want to tell you. I am almost sorry that I have not been like little Flossy, and talked it all over freely with you. Someway I couldn't seem to. The truth is, I am to be married, in six week's time, to Mr. Harrison. Think of my being a minister's wife! But he is going away from here and perhaps I can learn. There! the ice is broken; now I can tell you about it. Come as soon as you can, and, as Flossy says, 'Have a quiet little confidence.' Lovingly,

"EURIE."

It was about this very hour that Eurie opened and looked at, in a maze of astonishment and bewilderment, a dainty envelope, of special size and design, from which there fell Marion Wilbur's wedding-cards!

A CROSS OF LEAD.

He detained her one morning in the library, with that special word of detention which as yet he had never applied to any one but her.

"My daughter, let me see you a moment before I go out. Do you think we ought to try to have some friends come in, in a social way?"

"I don't mean a large party," her father hastened to explain. "Just a few friends--not professional ones, you know, but some of your new acquaintances in the church, perhaps. I thought you might like to have a gathering somewhat like that which you told me of at our little friend, Flossy Shipley's."

"We couldn't do the things that she did," Ruth said, quickly. "The elements which we would have to bring together would be too incongruous."

"No," he answered, "not exactly like hers, of course, but something simple and informal. I thought your three friends would come, and Dr. Dennis, you know, and people of that stamp, who understand and will help us. Wouldn't it be well to try to do something of the kind, daughter, or doesn't the idea meet with your approval?"

"Oh, yes," she said, drawing in her breath. "Yes, father, we must do something. I will try. But I hardly know how to commence. You know I am not mistress of the house now; it makes it difficult for me."

"We can not hasten this thing," she said. "There will need to be some shopping done, and some dress-making--that is, I should think there would need to be."

She corrected herself, and the embarrassment involved in the fact that she was not the mistress of the new comers presented itself. Suppose they chose to think they had clothes enough, and proposed to appear in any of the ill-made, badly-selected materials which seemed to compose their wardrobe! If they were only two children, that she might shut up, in a back room up-stairs, and turn the key on outsiders until such time as they could be made presentable, what a relief it would be!

Evidently her father appreciated that embarrassment.

"I tried to arrange that matter before I came home," he said. "I furnished money and suggested as well as I could; but it didn't work. I hardly know what was the trouble. They didn't understand, or something. Ruth, what can you do about it? Is there any way of managing?"

Ruth tried to consider, while her cheeks flushed, and her heart beat hard, in what way she could suggest to her father to manage his wife and daughter.

And then she broke off, and recurred to another of the endless trials of this time. If she and her father were to be compelled to hold conversations concerning this woman, it was absolutely necessary that they come to an understanding as to what to call her.

"No," he said, quickly. "Surely not, unless"--

"Well, then," Ruth said, after waiting in vain for him to conclude. "Am I to say 'Mrs. Erskine?'"

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