Читать книгу Bright Arrows (Musaicum Romance Classics) - Grace Livingston Hill - Страница 5

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"Hello, beautiful! How are you?" breezed a voice out of the past. "How are you fixed for the day? Ready to run off for a few hours and have a jolly time? I'm here on leave for the day, and I want to make the most of it, if it's okay with you."

Eden was silent for a minute or two, blinking at the instrument in startled bewilderment, unable for an instant to identify the voice, it seemed so much more mature than when she last heard it. Then it came to her. He would be older of course than when he went away to war two years ago, or was it more?

"Oh!" she exclaimed in amazement. "Why, it's Caspar Carvel, isn't it? But I thought you were away in the Philippines somewhere, or even in Japan. How grand to know you're home. How did you get here without letting us know? And where have you been all this time?"

"Oh, here and there," said the laughing voice.

"But you never wrote to us but once!" reproached Eden.

"Well, I know, I never was much of a correspondent, you know. Besides, they kept us awfully busy in the army. I just didn't have time. But anyhow, I'm here now, and I have to leave to-night. I'm due up in New York to do some broadcasting, and I can't tell when I can get back, so I thought I'd call you up. How about it? Can you give me the day, and perhaps part of the evening if we can find some good show or a nice dump for dinner and a dance? Will you go? You know it's a long time since we went gadding together, old girl, and I don't want to waste any time. Hurry up and say yes. I haven't got another nickel handy and I want to get this settled. I'll come for you in three quarters of an hour. And make it snappy. Can you be ready in that time? Wear something pretty smart. I may want to introduce you to a coupla the fellows if we happen to meet them. This all okay?"

Eden caught her breath. Could this really be Caspar Carvel? He didn't sound the least like her old friend and playmate. The handsome boy who had been her playmate in high school, and who had been almost daily running in and out of their house. She hesitated, and the voice on the other end of the wire grew impatient:

"I say! Are you there, Eden! Didn't you hear me? I'm in an awful rush, and I haven't got another nickel handy."

"But–are you really Caspar Carvel? Somehow your voice sounds so different! I didn't recognize it at first. You seem so grown up!" There was a little sad reproach in her tone.

"Well, good night! One does grow up, you know. And I guess there's no place to accomplish that quicker than in the army. Do you mind?"

There was a sharp challenge in his tone now.

Eden still hesitated.

"Why, no, of course not," she said, trying to speak naturally. "It's quite to be expected of course. But somehow you startled me. I wasn't expecting you."

"Well, are you coming with me? Get a hustle on. I only have this day, and I want to make the most of it."

"Why, Caspar, I want to see you, of course, but I couldn't go with you. Nor do all those things you suggested."

"What? You mean go dancing? You mean your dad would object to that? But surely he doesn't attempt to lord it over you the way he used to. You're of age, aren't you? Or almost. I should think you had a right to do what you want to now. But anyway, if you think he would kick up a row, we could steal away to some place he wouldn't know about. Would he really make a fuss now? It's time you made a stand against such petty domineering. If you're afraid of him, I'll tell him what I think of him. Just wait till I get out there."

Eden's voice was choked with sudden tears.

"My father is not here, Caspar."

"Well then, what's the matter? He needn't know where you went. Where is he? Will he be away all evening?"

Eden took a deep breath and choked back the tears.

"Caspar, my father died four days ago. His funeral was day before yesterday." There was a deep sorrow in the girl's voice, and Caspar's lively tone suddenly hushed.

"Oh!" he said, aghast. "Oh, you don't mean it! You see, I didn't know it. I ask your pardon for barging in this way. I'm sorry! Was he sick for long? Somebody ought to have told me. But I really haven't seen anybody from over this way in a long time. I hope you'll understand. Of course, I don't suppose you feel like having fun right away. I understand. Perhaps you'd rather I didn't come over to-day."

"Oh, no, I'd like to see you," said Eden gravely. "I have been wondering what had become of you. Nobody seemed to know."

"Okay, I'll be over for a little while. Bye-bye!"

Eden dropped back on her pillows and lay there staring up at the ceiling. Was that really her old friend Caspar? How strangely different he seemed. Even after she had told him of her father's death his voice was hard and unsympathetic. The words were all right, but he sounded as if he were in a world that was not hers. Of course, that was what people were saying war did to the boys, though some that she knew had come home quite changed in another way, more reliable, more gentle, and sometimes grave.

Well, but this wasn't fair to Caspar. Judging him before she had really seen him at all. It would be natural that one would change to some degree when taken out of a home environment and put among a lot of tough fellows. Although, of course, they were not all tough. Well, she would put such thoughts aside and try to wait until he came, and then perhaps she wouldn't feel he was changed so much after all.

But as she rose and went about the matter of dressing, the brief conversation over the telephone kept lingering in her mind. The way Caspar had spoken of her father, so disrespectfully, suggested that she get out from under his care. How terrible for him to speak that way! Why, he used always to admire her father, to look up to him! And her father had always been so nice and kind to Caspar. Had he forgotten all that? Didn't he remember how her father had gone with him to see the man at the apartment house after he broke two of their windows in the basement, and paid for the windows, and then let Caspar pay him five cents a week out of his allowance until it was all paid for? And Caspar had been so pleased and had understood why Dad didn't pay it himself, because it wouldn't be good for Caspar to get away without paying for his own carelessness. Caspar used to be such an understanding boy. Oh, he couldn't have changed that way. He used to come to Dad for help in things instead of going to his own father, because his own father simply got angry with him and took away his allowance for a while. Well, anyway, she mustn't judge Caspar until she saw him face-to-face and talked with him, and found out whether he was really the fine, upstanding boy he used to be in the days when she thought he was everything a young man should be.

Of course, she had been much upset that he hadn't written to her as he had promised to do, but she had excused that because she knew Capsar hated to write letters. And gradually she had learned to forget the heartaches that had come at first after he went away, and told herself that she was too young to break her heart because of a schoolboy who had forgotten to write letters when he was off fighting battles. And so the days had gone by and the memory of Caspar had gently faded from her thoughts. And now suddenly, with the sound of his voice, the whole vision of his handsome, vivacious face, his fine flashing eyes, his alluring smile came over her, and in spite of all her common sense and her definite resolutions that she was done with Caspar, she couldn't help an excitement thrilling in her veins. Somehow it was great to have her old friend coming back just when she was sad and lonely over the loss of her dear father. She hurried in her dressing to be ready when he should arrive. If he had not much time, she must be ready to see him at once, and of course she must hurry down and tell Janet that he was coming and would likely stay to lunch.

Then right in the midst of her thoughts the telephone rang again.

"Hello, Eden, this is Cappie again. I'm sorry as the dickens, but I find I'll not be able to come this morning. I've just met some old friends, and they are determined I shall go to lunch with them. One of them is my old buddy in the army, and he's going back overseas to-night, so you see, I've simply got to stay with him and see him off."

"Oh!" said Eden coldly. "Then I'm not to see you at all. Is that what you mean? Well, I'm sorry, but of course it's all right."

"Oh, no, I didn't mean that," said the young man amusedly. "You didn't think I'd come all the way down from New York just to see you, and then go off without seeing you, did you?"

"It sounded like that," said Eden with dignity.

"Well, I always was a bungler when it came to talking. Of course I'll be around as soon as he leaves. I haven't found out what train he takes yet, but I'll be seeing you. How about early this evening?"

"But I thought you wanted to go dancing," she said sweetly. "Don't let me hinder you."

"Oh, see here now, that's all off. Of course I wouldn't expect you to go out having fun when you had just had a death in the family. I'm not that crude. And I certainly do want to see you like the dickens. I've been thinking about you all the way home. Yes, I'm all kinds of sorry I had to meet up with this buddy of mine and be hindered in coming directly to you. But you see, I kind of felt under obligation to him on account of things he did for me when I was wounded. But say, are you going to be in this evening?"

"Why, yes, I think I probably shall. Yes, of course, come when it's convenient to you. I'll be very glad to see you." But her tone was cool.

"All righty, I'll be there, and I'm just crazy to see you."

So with a hasty "So long," Caspar hung up, and Eden went back to her precious letters.

The last letters of Mrs. Thurston were written from a hospital. They were full of tender love for her husband and anxious premonitions for her little Eden. And now Eden could read between the lines and sense that her mother knew that her health was in danger and that she might soon be taken away.

There were only a few letters left now, and her heart was longing to read them all and get to know this mother who had gone from her so long ago that she could not remember anything about her but a vague lovely face and a gentle touch.

Curiously enough, the last three letters were filled with a kind of exultant joy in her husband and an overwhelming longing that her little girl might grow up in such a wonderful life as hers had been. And in one letter she said:

I have been praying lately that our little Eden when she grows up may find as fine a man as you are, my beloved. I have been praying much about that and hoping that as she grows up we may be able to teach her that she must take time to be sure about choosing a mate. That she must not be taken by the first handsome face, or a man with wonderful manners, or social standing, or riches, or honor, or physical charm. She must wait and be sure before she joins her life with another life. I shall try with all my heart to make her understand what real love is and that she must not hastily fancy herself in love with somebody who may turn out to be utterly selfish and bring her nothing but sorrow. Oh, I pray that may never be for my little rosebud of a girl. A girl that has such a wonderful father as my beloved should also have just such a wonderful husband.

And now the letters brought a new note, a foreshadowing of change, as if the mother was trying to prepare her dear ones for her going.

In the very last letter she said:

And if it should be that I may have to leave our baby girl before it is time to make her understand how important it is that she should choose the right companion for life, I am asking you, my beloved husband, that you will tell her most carefully, warn her, impress upon her that she must go cautiously and not think of marrying anyone whom she does not love implicitly. And even then, she must not accept love that is not from a man who is good and right and true.

Eden sat for a long time, reading that letter over again, and looking off out of the window, thinking. And then the vision of the handsome boy who had been Caspar Carvel came to her questioningly. Suddenly she realized that when Caspar went away to war she had looked upon him as a man she would eventually fall in love with. Not that he had ever said a word of any such thing to her, or that she had ever put such a thought into logical form even in her own mind, but she had viewed him in her innocent thoughts as a young man who would someday be a friend of whom to be proud. That was how she put it. And why, now, since this brief talk over the telephone, should there be any question in her mind of his suitability as her close friend? She couldn't quite tell, but the very form of his address had seemed crude and over-familiar. And yet that was absurd of course, for they had been very close friends as children, as students in high school, a merry, friendly companionship. Nothing sentimental about it. And he hadn't even written her, just a careless little scrap of a letter, mostly jokes couched in army slang. Well, she would have to wait and see what he had become before she let him take even his old informality with her. She could be friendly, yes, but that was all till she knew him well.

But having gone so far in the analysis of her old playmate, she had a definite feeling of sadness, a sense of loss. Something that she had taken for granted was gone, something that had belonged to her, that had been of real value. Or was it?

Then she gathered up some of the letters that had touched her most and read them over again; as if, were her mother alive, she might have gone to her for advice. What would her mother think of the present Caspar? That would be something that she might always ask when she had any important question to decide. What would Mother say?

It was almost like having come suddenly into the possession again of her own mother. Having read all those letters of hers, she knew pretty well what would be her advice, her decision about a great many questions of the day.

And now as she got up from her chair and went and looked out the window at the beauty of the day, she was glad in her heart that Caspar had not come immediately as he had at first suggested, for now she would come to meet him with the wisdom of her dear mother's judgment upon her.

For she had to own to herself that the little talk she had had with her old friend had not reassured her about him.

Could it be that it was just because she had been close to death, and a thought of the other world had made her more critical? She could not be sure. Of course, her heart was sore, and Caspar had revealed a great lack of respect for the father she loved. She had supposed he loved him also, and that failure to show any love had gone far toward opening her eyes to what he might have become. Certainly she could never be very friendly with one who, having once known what her father was and benefited by much kindness from him, could speak disrespectfully of him, even though he did not know of his recent death. With a sigh she turned away from the window and went back to putting her letters into safekeeping, where no prying eyes could ever bring them out and go through them. She did not yet know that someone in the night had tried to do that very thing to the other drawers in her father's desk.

So she got out a lovely capacious writing desk of quaint old-fashioned design, made of exquisite polished wood, that had been Mother's, and she carefully packed her letters within, locking it and stowing it away on a wide shelf in her own personal clothespress, safely hidden behind a row of hatboxes.

And just then she heard the doorbell. Could it be possible that Caspar had come so early? But, no, he had said he had to see that soldier friend of his off on a train. Well, perhaps he went on an earlier train than was first planned. Eden's heart began to give anxious little uncertain flutters. Would she know just what to say? How to act? Had her mother's letters made her self-conscious? That was not good. She must have perfect poise and dignity if she were to use right judgment, and she must, of course, be friendly and kind as an old schoolmate would naturally be. She must be back exactly where they left off when he went away if she were to judge if he had changed, and if for better or for worse.

And then suddenly Janet broke in upon her thoughts with a gentle knock.

"Miss Eden," she said in a low voice, "Mr. McGregor is doon the stair. He says there are some important questions he must ask ye and would ye kindly coom doon the stair an' let him have a few words wi' ye?"

"McGregor?" said Eden. "Oh, you mean Mike. About the intruder, I suppose. Why, of course, I'll go right down."

So Eden went down to meet the big friendly policeman and the man he had brought along with him. They were sitting stiffly in the little reception room next to the front door, and just in front of the library, as Eden entered wondering, a bit startled by the stranger whom she had never seen before.