Crimson Roses (27 page)

“Well, she deserves it!” unexpectedly snapped a sharp-faced, elderly saleswoman whose plain face and plainer speech were not relished by the girls, and who seldom had a pleasant word for anyone.

“She certainly does,” agreed the rest. “If anybody can have good times and not be spoiled by them, she can. She’s an angel if there ever was one, and she’ll never be too proud to speak to her old friends, I’ll bet.”

“I don’t believe she will,” said another. “Gee! Wasn’t that a diamond, though? I’d like to get on to a job like that myself, but they aren’t just lying around loose.”

“If they were, you’d never get one, Fan. It wouldn’t go with all those glass rings and bracelets you’ve got on!”

The girl in question looked down on her cheap jewelry, contemplatively chewing her gum.

“Well, I s’pose I wouldn’t fit,” she said, “but I’m real glad she’s got him, anyway. It makes you feel kind of good inside to have things like that happen once in a while. There goes the bugle. Good night, girls; I’m booked for a movie tonight. Billy asked me, and I s’pose Billy’s good enough for me. Anyhow, I like him. Good night.”

The next two days went like a sweet dream. Marion had fully made up her mind what she needed for her wedding day and the journey, and with her two checks she found it quite possible to get these things of the best. The gown she had set her heart upon in her dreams for several weeks was still in a glass case up in the French department. It was a simple affair of dark-blue cloth with lines that only imported things from great artists seem able to achieve, and she knew it was to be marked down on account of the approach of spring. Her discount as an employee would bring it down still lower and put it quite within her means; and she knew its distinguished simplicity would give her the quiet, suitable appearance that Lyman’s wife should have. A black hat from the French room went well with this.

An attractive little dinner gown of georgette; some fine, well-chosen lingerie; and a few other dainty accessories completed her modest outfit. She had promised not to get much, but what she got should be of the best and worthy of the position she was to occupy as the wife of a man of wealth and influence.

She had as yet no adequate idea of how wealthy or influential Lyman was. He dressed quietly, and he never spoke of his circumstances. Indeed, she thought little about it herself except to feel her own unworthiness.

One fact, however, served to open her eyes somewhat. On Tuesday evening, when she reached her lodging-place, she found two large packages that had arrived during the day, addressed to herself. She opened them eagerly and found that one contained a set of beautiful, heavy silver spoons of the latest pattern, engraved with her own initials and bearing the personal card of Mr. Chapman. The other, when unwrapped, proved to be a massive bowl of solid silver, costly and magnificent, and bearing the congratulations of the firm.

She had heard stories of the fine wedding gifts that had been given to employees in the past, but nothing to equal these, and she had sense enough to see that for her own sake such costly gifts would never have been hers. These did more than anything else to fill her with awe and almost dread for her new position, and to make her feel the wide gulf, social and financial, that existed between herself and the man who had chosen her for his wife.

She placed the glittering array of silver on her little white bed and sat down on the floor before it. Then suddenly her head bowed beside it. How could she ever live up to those elegant wedding gifts? Oh, it was all a mistake, a dreadful mistake. She was just a plain little common girl, and she never could be a rich man’s wife.

Then in the midst of her agitation the maid of all work brought up Lyman’s card with three great crimson roses; and she hurried down to him, all fearful as she was.

He heard her protest, and, gathering her in his arms, laid his lips upon hers in token of his love for her and his strength that should be hers to overcome all such difficulties and differences.

“But won’t you be sorry by and by when you know me better and see the difference?” she asked, fearful even yet.

“Will you?” he asked. “Dear, there’s just as much difference between you and me as there is between me and you. Did you never think of that? If there’s anything to feel, you’ll feel it just as much as I.”

“No,” said Marion, shaking her head, “I’m sure you feel it
down
more than you feel it up.”

“It looks to me as though you were trying to feel it ‘up,’ as you call it, more than I do what you are pleased to say is ‘down,’ though that, dear, remember, I deny. You are not down. In real things, I know you are far ahead of me. You have much to teach me, dear, of faith in God. What difference does the rest make? It was nice of the firm to send us that. I’ve known them all always, and they were friends of father’s. Chapman is a good friend also. He would of course send you something nice. There’ll be a lot more things when people find it out. I’ll be interested to see what Miss Cresson will send. If it were in the days of the ancients, it might perhaps be a serpent ring with eyes of rubies and a secret spring concealing a drop of poison, but I scarcely think in these days there’ll be danger of that. She’ll probably content herself with a silver pheasant or a pair of andirons. Come on, let’s sit down and talk business.”

Chapter 17

T
he next morning Marion told the girls that it was her last day with them, and many were the outcries of dismay. They could not get over it and hovered around her between customers, until people looked curiously and wondered why that extremely pretty girl in the plain black dress wore so gorgeous a diamond and how she made her hair wave so beautifully. Before night the news of her marriage on the morrow had spread among all her acquaintances in the store, and they kept coming one by one to wish her well and leave with her some gift or remembrance, until the shelves around her were overflowing with packages little and big, and she had to send a lot of them up to the cloakroom to make room for the ribbons.

It seemed that Marion had more friends than she had known.

There was the pale little girl who carried up the ribbon bows to the millinery department on the eighth floor. She brought Marion a lovely, fine handkerchief with hand embroidery. Marion had taken ten minutes of her lunch hour once to run up in her place when the girl had a headache.

There was the sharp-faced maiden lady who made things unpleasant for the others at the ribbon counter. Her gifts were a collar and cuffs of real lace.

The girl who chewed gum and wore glass rings presented her with a handsome silk umbrella with a silver handle of the latest model. She knew a good thing when she saw it if she did prefer “Billy.”

The floor-walker in her vicinity brought a bronze clock; the head man of the department offered a silver-link handbag; and one little errand boy, whom Marion had kindly helped out of several scrapes brought on by his love of fun, brought her a gold thimble.

There were handkerchiefs and scarfs and pins and bracelets, jardinières and candlesticks and lamps, a book or two, and three pictures, not always well chosen, but all bringing to her a revelation of goodwill and kindly fellowship that made her heart leap with joy. These with whom she had been working during the past year were all her friends. How nice it would have been if she could have understood it all along!

It was being whispered about that she was to marry someone of high degree in social circles, and all of them showed her that they were proud of her for having done so well. There did not seem to be one among them all who felt jealous or hard toward her for having the opportunity to pass into an easier life than theirs. Even the old janitor, who had every day cleared away the trash from the spent ribbon bolts, came with his offering, a little brown bulb in a pretty clear glass of pebbles and water. He told her it would bloom for them in the store, God bless her.

And Marion put her hand into his rough one and thanked him as she might have thanked her own dear father.

But the day was over at last, and weary and happy, Marion went back to her little top-floor room for the last night.

Lyman had promised to come for her at half past eight, and long before he arrived she was ready with her modest outfit packed in her handsome new suitcase and looking as pretty as a bride would wish to look.

Mrs. Nash had sent up a nice breakfast, but Marion was too excited to eat much, though she tried to do so to please the old landlady. Most of the time she spent quietly kneeling beside her white bed, praying to be made fit for the place she was going to try to fill in the world and thanking her heavenly Father.

With the blessings of her landlady ringing loudly in her ears, Marion stepped from that door to behold a handsome limousine waiting at the curbstone. The small children of the street were drawn up in frank amazement to stare. The dark, quiet elegance of the car, its silver mountings and inconspicuous monogram, proclaimed its patrician ownership. A chauffeur in livery stood awaiting orders.

The girl hesitated on the doorstep. Was she to ride in that great, beautiful car to her wedding? A sudden fearful shyness took possession of her. Lyman helped her into the tonneau and, with a word to the chauffeur, took his place beside her. The seat in front of them held a great sheaf of white roses, and beyond the roses loomed the immaculate back of the chauffeur.

She felt out of place amid all this elegance. The newness of her own attire made her feel still more strange. Would she ever be at home in the new world that she was about to enter? Perhaps she had been wrong to accept; perhaps he would be sorry. Oh, perhaps—

Then quietly a hand was laid upon hers.

“Darling,” he said in a low tone, “don’t be frightened! See, the roses. They are white for my bride, but I had one great red one hidden underneath them all. Look!” He reached over with his free hand and lifted the upper rows of heavy white buds; and there, nestling in the hidden green, lay one great deep, dark crimson bud.

The sight of it reassured the girl. With a rush of gladness she turned to him.

“Oh, you are so good to me!” she cried. “Won’t you ever be sorry it was only I? Won’t you ever wish it was somebody wiser and better?”

“Never, darling!” he said, and the look his eyes reassured her more than his words could have done.

Then in a moment it seemed they were at the church.

One white bud broke off as they were taking the flowers from the car, and Marion gave it to a little lame child who was leaning on her crutch to watch them. She smiled on the child, and the little girl answered with such a ravishing smile of thanks that Marion felt it was a kind of benediction.

There were beautiful lights in the empty church from the great stained-glass windows. The spring sunshine lit up the face of the Christ in the window behind the pulpit. There were ferns and palms and white and crimson roses, a few of them around the platform; and the minister stood gravely, smiling with his eyes. The organ was playing, too, softly, as they came in, yet with a note of triumph in the sweet, old wedding march.

Marion, coming shyly up the aisle, her hand resting on the arm of the man she loved, was filled with wonder and awe over it all. Who trimmed the church with roses for her? How did it happen that the organist was there for her quiet little wedding? Oh, it was all his love, his great, wonderful love around her. It was a miracle of love for her. Could she ever be worthy of it all?

As she turned from the minister’s final words and blessing, she felt that the wedding ceremony was the most beautiful she had ever heard. Every word seemed written in her heart, and with her whole soul she echoed the vows she had made.

The minister’s wife blessed her lovingly, and Marion felt as if she were not so friendless after all.

A moment more, and they were back in the car and speeding away. Marion did not question where until they stopped once more, and she looked up in surprise.

“We’re going to have our wedding breakfast now, dear,” said Lyman. “I was hoping you would not eat anything before you left the house. Did you? Come, confess!”

He led her laughing into a small, lovely room where a round table was set for two; and here, too, the table was smothered in red and white roses and asparagus ferns. From a quick glance as they entered she recognized it as the most exclusive hotel in the city, and again her foolish fears came down upon her. She was fairly afraid of the silent servants who did everything with such machine-like perfection. She found her only safety in keeping her eyes on her husband’s face and realizing that he was mast of the situation, and she belonged to him; therefore she need not fear. He would see that she did not do anything out of the way.

After they had been served and were about to go away, Marion looked at the roses lovingly and bent her face down to the table.

“You dear things! I’m sorry to leave you behind, though I’ve so many more,” she said, smiling. Then she said, looking at Lyman, “How I wish the girls at the ribbon counter could have a glimpse of them! They would think this table so wonderful.”