But Phil was speaking again and she beat down the insistent words in her heart, to listen.
“Perhaps I’ve shocked you, darling, in seeming to believe for a moment that you could marry again,” he said, and she saw the hard set of his mouth. “But, darling, it’s right for a girl like you to have a life of her own — not to shut herself up with memories. I honor you and respect you for your loyalty to Tip’s memory, but if he was the sort of fellow everybody believes, and as I feel he must have been, he would not have wanted you to turn your back on life. He’d have wanted you to pick up the pieces and make something of what was left. Believe me, sweet, it is right and sane and normal for you to marry again. Maybe not me, though I hate to admit that, but someone, soon, darling. If it could be me, then I’d be the happiest man that ever lived. I’d never ask anything of you that you were not ready and willing to give. Unless you find me actually repulsive — ”
“I couldn’t —
ever!”
Her shaking voice thrust that aside.
He beamed at her gratefully. “We
are
companionable, aren’t we? We have enough mutual tastes to keep us interested in each other. I’d rather be with you for a few hours than with any other woman for the rest of my life. All I ask of you is that if you are fond of me a little — I don’t expect your love — ”
She could not bear that he should be so humble. She saw Tip in a flashing vision. Tip — Thomas Inman Parker, Junior — very good-looking, possessed of an enormous amount of charm, with laughter always on his lips and an imp of merriment dancing in his eyes. He found living an enormously exciting
adventure and was almost arrogantly sure of himself and of his charm and appeal. Against that brief, flashing vision of Tip, she looked at Phil.
He wasn’t good-looking; Phil was pleasantly homely, in fact, and
nice!
Thick, crisp reddish hair, a lean, narrow, intelligent face, humorous, friendly blue eyes. He was kind and generous and he had been sane enough to accept the government’s ruling that he was more important to the war effort in his job than he could have been by shouldering a gun, as he had longed to do.
Tip and Phil were as far apart as the poles, yet both had loved her. She felt guilty and a little ashamed that her eyes were wide open enough now for her to realize that the emotion she had felt for Tip had been a young, physical, adolescent thing. And just as surely, she knew with all her heart that what she felt now for Phil was the strongest, sanest, most beautiful thing in all her life.
Misreading her silence, Phil drew a deep breath.
“I’m sorry. It was unforgivable of me to expect you to turn to a poor stick of a guy like me, after Tip. I should have realized you could never have room in your life for any other man.”
“You — don’t understand,” Geraldine’s voice shook and there were tears in her eyes.
“I do, of course,” he was almost brusque. “Forget that I asked you.”
“I can’t forget that, because — I’ll be very happy to marry you,” she told him shakily, but honestly. “If you’re quite sure you want me to.”
She heard his sharp-drawn breath and for a moment he was quite still; she felt his hand tighten on hers until the thin platinum wedding band, the square-cut solitare bit deeply into her flesh. She closed her eyes beneath the radiance and the glory that shone in his own, and she fought for words with which to speak her love for him.
“I do love you,” she said faintly.
“Sweet, you needn’t say that. I know, of course, that it isn’t true,” he stopped her gently. “I couldn’t expect it. People have told me about him — he must have been quite a fellow. I’m — I’ll be only too happy to know that you are — fond of me, and that you will let me take care of you. I
think, on the basis of our being fond of each other and all the rest of it, we can build something very fine of our marriage.”
Through eyes that were filled with tears, she studied him, but she dared trust her voice for no more than a few words, lest she break down completely. “I think so, too,” she told him in a small, soft breath.
So absorbed had they been that neither was conscious of the sudden increase in voices and laughter as the bridge players flowed out on the wide veranda and the loitering waiters sprang to attention and began to seat the chattering guests.
One of the women was a tall stately looking redhead. Not beautiful by strict standards she was clever about clothes and almost inspired about ways to emphasize her good points and minimize her bad ones. Her clothes were always the last word; her hats were the talk of the town — amused talk among the men, envious among the women. She was Sally Walker, a divorcee, who augmented a small alimony by a slightly larger salary as society editor of the Marthasville Ledger. She was feared far more than she was liked, for her sharp, malicious wit and her ruthless, gossiping tongue.
Sally Walker stood for a moment, slim and cool in crisp white sharkskin and a wide-brimmed white hat which no other woman in town would have dared to wear; her expertly made-up face was expressionless but her green eyes narrowed a little. And then she walked over to the table where Phil and Geraldine sat.
“Well, well kiddies,” her voice was a cool, amused drawl, “and what are you two doing, skulking in the corner?”
Geraldine caught her breath and a little of her radiance faded; but Phil stood up, beaming at Sally.
“How you
do
talk, Sal, my gal! Who’s skulking? We’re working people who get hungry and came to a cool spot to be fed!” he said innocently.
Sally looked from him to Geraldine and sniffed.
“And I suppose you are holding her hand to keep her from overeating?” she demanded.
Phil looked down at Geraldine and there was a question in his eyes. Geraldine hesitated, the color sweeping into her face, and then recklessly, she nodded.
“Geraldine says it’s all right for you to be the first to hear our news,” he told Sally happily. “Geraldine has consented to marry me.”
Sally’s eyes flew wide and she looked as though she had received a sharp blow. For a moment Geraldine was startled at the look in the frosty green eyes. But Sally rallied after a moment and whistled under her breath.
“So you finally pulled it off!” she said coolly. “Nice going!”
The words, Geraldine knew, were directed at her. But Phil, masculinely blind to such verbal feminine thrusts, accepted them as his just due and his chest swelled pridefully.
“I finally pulled it off,” he boasted. “It’s the toughest job I ever tackled, but well worth all the time and effort expended. Wish me luck, Sally!”
“Why should I?” protested Sally curtly. “You’ve got all you’ll ever need! I hope!”
She looked down at Geraldine for a moment in silence and Geraldine mentally braced herself for what she knew was coming.
“Wonder what Mrs. Parker Senior is going to say to all this?” she mused significantly.
Geraldine stiffened and paled a little.
“She will, of course, be glad to see me happy,” she said quietly.
“Remember me?” Sally interrupted rudely. “I’m Sally. You know darned well you’ll have to pry the Dowager Queen off the ceiling, she’ll hit it so hard when she hears you’ve forgotten her precious boy.”
“Stop it, Sally!” Phil blazed, so unexpectedly savage that Sally blinked and looked almost apologetic, an expression so utterly foreign to Sally Walker that Geraldine almost smiled.
“Sorry,” said Sally, shrugging. “I always did talk too much. Best of luck to you two and be sure to invite me to the wedding. I’ve still got half a dozen sterling silver pickle forks left over from my own wedding gifts that I’d like to unload on somebody, and you look like just the two to accept them without a battle.”
She turned away, paused and asked over her shoulder, “Is this off the record, or can I spill it?”
Geraldine looked at the five or six tea tables where groups of women were chattering.
“Give us five minutes to make our escape and then spill all you like,” she said with sudden recklessness.
“It’s a deal,” Sally agreed.
Driving down the highway, Phil glanced at Geraldine.
“You dread it a lot, don’t you? Breaking the news to Mrs. Parker, I mean?” he said quietly.
Geraldine looked at him swiftly and he grinned.
“You needn’t, darling, because we’re going straight to her now.”
“Oh, but you don’t have to go!” Geraldine’s voice sounded smothered.
“Think I’m going to let you go through it alone? I can understand how shocked and angry she is going to be to find that after being married to Tip you can think of marrying me. She’s going to resent the contrast and I have an idea the lady can be a bit difficult.”
Geraldine suppressed an almost hysterical desire to laugh at the understatement. She remembered all too vividly the unhappy days after Tip had gone to Saigon and she had tried to make her home with his mother. And how relieved both she and Mrs. Parker had been when Geraldine decided to take a job in the mills. They had agreed politely that it would be absurd for her to make the long drive twice each day to and from the Parker home, and she had gone back to her own home, from which it was only a short walk to her work.
Geraldine had never mentioned to anyone the ugly scene
that followed the shocking news that Tip was dead. She would never forget Mrs. Parker’s ravaged face nor the ugly accusations she had flung at Geraldine.
Phil’s hand found hers and closed on it and held it beneath his own on the wheel of the car. She was unspeakably comforted and warmed by the touch of his hand. There was a deep, abiding feeling of safety, of complete security in his touch. She was going to feel shielded and protected in her marriage with Phil; and she was going to convince him that she loved him deeply and sincerely.
Five miles beyond the city limits stood the Parker house, a handsome yellow brick, solid and substantial; no nonsense or frills about it. The house was enclosed within a wrought-iron fence, and there were impressive grounds, velvety green lawns, fine old trees, bright gardens of flowers.
Phil brought the car to a halt, smiled warmly at Geraldine, and said under his breath, “Chin up, sweet!”
She managed a smile and stepped out of the car. They went up the steps and rang the doorbell and heard soft mellow chimes from within the house. A subdued looking maid opened the door, beamed at Geraldine, and said eagerly, “How you do, Miss Gerry, ma’am?”
“Hello, Maggie,” said Geraldine, but before she could say more she looked beyond the maid and saw a small, compact figure in a neat black dress coming down the stairs.
Mrs. Parker was forty-five but she had aged terribly in the months since Tip’s death. Her thick, soft hair was snowy-white, touched with a faint bluish tone, and softly waved. Her small plump face was delicately powdered and completely colorless. Her dark eyes were frosty and there was a set to her unpainted mouth that somehow made Geraldine’s heart sink a little.
She knows, Geraldine told herself wretchedly. Sally lost no time.
“Good afternoon, Geraldine,” Mrs. Parker greeted her with poised courtesy that did nothing to warm the frosty eyes looking beyond Geraldine with polite inquiry to Phil.
“This is Mr. Donaldson, Mrs. Parker,” said Geraldine, somewhat faintly.
“How do you do?” said Mrs. Parker frostily, and indicated
the living room. “Won’t you come in? We’ll have tea, Maggie.”
“Not for us, please,” said Geraldine swiftly. “We’ve just finished lunch.”
“At almost four-thirty in the afternoon? What an odd hour for lunch,” said Mrs. Parker, leading the way into the living room.
“We were working late,” Phil explained. Mrs. Parker’s eyes flicked him ever so faintly and dismissed him.
“This is quite a surprise, Geraldine,” said Mrs. Parker politely, when they were seated. “I haven’t seen much of you this summer.”
Her cold eyes dared the girl to deny that, or even to remind the older woman that the last time they had stood here in this room, they had all but screamed at each other and that neither of them had ever wanted to see the other again.
“We’ve been very busy at the plant,” said Geraldine from a tight throat.
“Of course, and it’s natural you would want something a little more cheerful than visits to my son’s home, and his mother,” said Mrs. Parker almost pleasantly.
For a moment she and Geraldine looked straight at each other, and the naked sword of enmity flashed between them.
“I didn’t expect very much from you, Geraldine. How could I, knowing you as I do? But I must admit I was a little shocked that you would allow me to hear such an important piece of news from a rank outsider.”
Geraldine set her teeth for a moment before she could steady her voice to say evenly, “Then I suppose that means Sally telephoned you.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Parker’s voice stung like a whiplash. “I have never liked or approved of Mrs. Walker. I can’t understand how she has been accepted here in Marthasville. But I must admit I was grateful to her for sparing me an unpleasant shock. I should have disliked very much reading such an announcement in the newspaper in the morning.”
Geraldine drew a long hard breath. Mrs. Parker had not changed; why should she have expected the grief and shock of Tip’s death to soften his mother? It had only made her colder, harder, more bitter.
“I am sorry that Sally telephoned you,” said Geraldine stiffly. “As you see, Phil and I were on our way to tell you.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Parker’s soft, musical voice went on placidly, as though Geraldine had not spoken, “I told Mrs. Walker that it was unkind of you to make a joke of such a thing. I consider such jokes in the worst possible taste. But I think I convinced her that there was not a word of truth in the story.”
“You’re quite mistaken, Mrs. Parker,” said Phil swiftly, and there was a flash of anger in his eyes. “I am sorry you are shocked, naturally. But after all, you cannot expect a girl like Geraldine to spend the rest of her life grieving for the husband she lost.”
“Geraldine has spent very little time grieving for my son, Mr. Donaldson!”
Phil’s face flushed and his eyes were bright with anger.
“Forgive me, but that’s not quite true,” he said evenly. “I admit that her attitude has been sane and normal; I would consider her morbid and unhealthy if she tried to deny herself to life because she lost her husband.”