Stranger within the Gates (2 page)

"
Happening
?" echoed Sylvia in an appalled voice. "I should call it a tragedy!"

"Yes," said the mother, wincing but nevertheless taking a deep breath and going on, "it does look like a tragedy at first sight. There's no point in leaving necessary things undone to make more trouble for ourselves afterward. You know what it will mean to all of you if you don't pass your examinations."

"Afterward!" said Sylvia dejectedly. "It doesn't seem as if there
could
be any afterward."

"Oh, yes," said Mary Garland with a sad look passing over her face, "there is
always
an afterward! Now, finish your breakfast, all of you, and then get away to school!"

"I don't want any breakfast," said Sylvia, "and I'm not going to school. I couldn't think of leaving you alone with this thing to face!"

"Nonsense!" said her mother sharply. "I'll be quite all right! At least drink a glass of milk. I can't let you go without eating something. It's a cold morning!"

"But, Mother, you almost fainted away just now. I'd be seeing you that way all the morning," pleaded Sylvia.

"No, you wouldn't. You'd have your mind too full with your examinations. And besides, I've done my fainting, whatever I'm going to do of it, at the first shock. Come, quickly. I want to get a chance to sit down and think this over."

"But, Moms, what are we going to say to people?" asked Stan with a troubled look.

"Say?" said the mother sharply. "Why should you say anything? Just keep your mouths shut about home affairs. There isn't anything to say."

"But suppose someone should ask us?"

"Why would anyone ask you?"

Stan stood perplexed.

"Well, they might ask when the boys were coming home, or if they were coming home," he explained lamely.

"No one would be likely to do that, but if they did, you'd easily say they hadn't written what train. Now
go
! I don't want to talk any more about it. And don't put on such a hangdog look. You don't want people to ask you what's the matter, do you? For pity's sake, can't you have a little fortitude? Put on a smile and go bravely off."

"Aw gee, Moms, but it's our Rex!"

"Haven't you any
sense
at all?" said the older sister with an angry glance, and then looking down at the stricken eyes of her mother, she said, "Now, Mother dear, you are going up to lie down and rest. Come. I'm taking you and putting you in bed. That's the only consideration under which I would think of going to my class."

Mary Garland arose and faced her fiery young daughter.

"Sylvia, that'll be quite enough! I'm not yet in my old age! Drink that glass of milk, and then put on your coat and hat and go!"

She finished by giving the table bell a sharp tap, which brought the maid at once. "Hettie, bring the toast and eggs. The children ought to hurry. Now, Fae, go put on your boots, and then come back and eat something."

Hettie brought the eggs, and they were soon all back at the table, well shod for the snowy streets. And though they protested they could not eat, their healthy appetites soon asserted themselves and they ate at least a sketchy breakfast before they left, their minds now turned toward the duties next in hand. For the time being they were diverted from the catastrophe that had come upon them.

Mary Garland watched them off from her window, her face as bright as she could force it to be until they were out of sight. Then she turned with swift steps and went up to her room with her letters in her hand, and locking her door, she sat down to read Rex's missive again. This time the tears fell thick and fast upon the page as she tried to think how her loving Rex could ever have been willing to do this to her and the rest of the children.
Rex!

Had she spoiled him? Of course, he was extraordinarily handsome, and they all adored him. Jovial, bright Rex! Always full of fun! But generous and loving. Still, he did like to have his own way.

And he had so longed to go to college, when she had wanted him to wait a year. He was so young, a year younger than Paul had been when he went. Even Paul had been dubious about it. He had felt that Rex should stay at home with her another year. But Rex had been so eager to go. The thought of those days wrung her heart. If she only had him back, just an eager boy of seventeen. He could just as well have waited another year at least and entered college at eighteen. If she only had kept him back, maybe this wouldn't have happened!

Rex had always had more of a social nature than Paul. Paul was graver, more serious, more intent on having a career and getting ready for it.

But she must not waste time in vain regrets. There in her lap was the letter, staring at her with bald, startling facts. Rex was married! Married at eighteen. Poor foolish Rex! She had not thought he could be so weak as to do a thing like that!

She could almost see his handsome eyes looking at her from the hastily scrawled page, the appeal in his eyes, as if he were pleading with her to forgive, to excuse somehow this perfectly inexcusable thing that he had done. That appeal, that memory of the boy's eyes in times past when he had done wrong and had come to her for forgiveness, made it impossible for her to harden her heart now. She had never turned away from an appeal in the eyes of any of her children. Sometimes she had had to deny them, of course, but always they knew that behind that denial there was her warmest sympathy in their desire, even if she felt it was wrong or unwise. There was still a sympathy with the children's desire.

Oh, had it been that quality in herself that had helped to spoil Rex, given him confidence that he could get away with anything if he looked at her with that warmth of appeal? Was she to blame for this? Probably, though she hadn't suspected it till now.

But now what was she to do?

There had never been anything like this before. Always the troubles had been things that could in some way be paid for by money, or an apology, or by some small self-denial required of him, and the would-be crisis averted.

But here was something that could not be paid for by money. She couldn't by paying even a large sum undo this thing and wipe out the memory of it from his life. Not even his most humble self-abnegation could put him where he had been before this happened, with the future still unchanged before him. Of course, the world today might think of divorce in such a situation, but not their family. Not quiet, respectable, Christian people like themselves. Not that they ever made a great point of their Christianity, but they had been fairly regular in church attendance, and such a thing as divorce was scarcely considered decent in their family traditions. With a weight like iron upon her heart, she flung the thought aside and stared at the hopelessness for the situation. Of course, even if the girl was fairly nice, she would feel the same about it. And a girl who would marry a boy not yet out of the teens, not through with his college course, what could she be? No nice girl would do a thing like that. Or would she? Nowadays? Young people did such very different things now, from what they used to do when she was young. But she hadn't yet reached the point of considering the girl, whether or not she was a right girl for Rex. It seemed to be equally terrible for her son, whatever the girl was. Rex! Married at eighteen!

Or was it?
Was it conceivable that Rex would write her a letter like that just for a joke? He couldn't be so outrageous, could he? Though Rex was always full of fun, always planning some wild kind of performance to make them all laugh. But he couldn't be so cruel as to do such a thing as this. She thought she had brought her children up to feel that marriage was a sacred thing!

She groaned and dropped her face in her hands, her heart contracting with the utter futility of all she had tried to do, in the face of this sudden catastrophe.

Selma the cook knocked at the door.

"The butcher's down at the door. He says do you want to pay for the order today or let it go till tomorrow?"

"Let it go, Selma," said Mary Garland. "I'm----very busy just now."

She had sprung up and stood facing the closed door, trying to speak in a matter-of-fact voice, a businesslike tone. Selma had seemed to take it that way. There was no question in her voice as she said, "Yes, ma'am."

Mary Garland listened as Selma walked down the stairs and drew a breath of relief. If only she might be able to keep things this way, with their quiet accustomed tread, as if there were nothing ahead to frighten her. But she couldn't. She had to do something. Perhaps, after all, it would be best to call up Rex on the telephone. Treat it as a joke for which she felt she must reprove him.

No, if it should be true, that might antagonize him. After all, he was her son. She must walk carefully. Oh, if she just had his father to advise her. If she had someone!

But she mustn't call in strangers until she knew the worst and had control of herself. Paul would be the one, since his father was not here. Paul was reasonable, and sane, and had good judgment. His father had always said Paul had splendid judgment for a boy. Yes, Paul would be the one. But she could not call up Paul today. This was his important day, his mid-year examination. Or was it his thesis? But anyway, she knew she must not disturb him now. Not till his important classes were over.

And even if she did succeed in getting him, would that be wise? He would be very angry with his brother for having brought such trouble upon them all, especially her. Even if it turned out to be a joke, Paul would be unmercifully sharp and stern. He would precipitate a quarrel, perhaps, that might keep Rex from coming home at all for Christmas. Oh, there were so many sides to this question!

And even yet Mary Garland had not considered the girl in the question except in the most casual way. Just the fact of marriage in connection with her eighteen-year-old son was all she seemed to be able to think of yet.

But she must do something right away.

She looked around the room frantically and met the clear, calm gaze of her husband's eyes, from his picture on the wall, and somehow that glance seemed to steady her. If he were only here! Then Mary Garland dropped upon her knees beside her bed and buried her face in her pillow. Up from her heart there arose a great cry of need. It was not in words; it was just her desperate acknowledgment that she was helpless to face this terrible thing that had come upon her.

If Rex Garland could have seen his little, pitiful mother as she knelt there bowing in her desperation, he might have understood what a terrible thing he had done to her. His little sweet mother whom he adored.

Mary Garland knelt there for several minutes, just bowing before her humiliation and defeat, and then at last she arose, her face almost calm with a kind of deadly quiet upon it. She walked over to her telephone, dropping down upon the little desk chair beside the telephone table. Her hands were trembling, and her lips were trembling, too, when she called long distance and then the number of Rex's college and waited, but there was about her a look of decision that her children knew well.

Oh, she didn't know just yet what she was going to say to Rex, but she knew she was going to say it, whatever it was that came to be said. And she knew she must speak to Rex himself right away.

It seemed interminable, that waiting, till she heard the operator at the college, and then her voice grew strong for her task; she was able to keep her tone quite steady as she spoke.

"Will you please let me speak with Rex Garland? This is his mother."

There was an instant's hesitation at the other end of the wire.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Garland, but everybody's in class just now. We are not supposed to interrupt classes for anything except a matter of life or death."

"Yes?" said Mary Garland firmly. "Well, this is a matter of life and death. I must speak with my son at once."

She could hear a whispered consultation, a little flurry of excitement, and then the young operator was back again.

"It's out of the ordinary ruling, Mrs. Garland, but if it's quite important--"

"It is," said Mary Garland steadily.

"Very well. I'll see what I can do for you. You'll have to wait till I can send word to his class."

"I'll wait," said the mother firmly.

It seemed forever that she sat there with the telephone in her hand. She could hear occasional talking, some student coming in to ask about a letter. A professor to leave a message. The dean to ask a question. She could visualize it all, for she had been in that office and knew pretty well what went on. She drew a brief quivering breath. She thought to herself that it was like the time she waited at the hospital when Stanley had his tonsil operation and wasn't coming out of it as well as they had expected. She had waited what seemed like eons for word to come from the operating room. Life was full of such breathtaking experiences. There was the time when Paul had been hurt in the gymnasium on the high bar and the doctor was going over him carefully. It seemed forever while she waited. And there was the time Fae ran a needle into her foot and the doctor had to cut her foot to get it out. Then there was the time--and just then the operator's clear-cut voice broke in upon her thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Garland, but we can't seem to locate Rex Garland anywhere. He told his roommate he was going down to class, but he isn't there. Do you want me to give him a message if he should return? Or will you call again?"

"I would like you to find my son, wherever he is, and have him call me on the telephone as soon as possible. It is most important."

"Very well, Mrs. Garland. I'll do my best. If I hear anything before noon, I'll give you a ring, shall I?"

"Please," she said and then hung up. Dropping her face down upon her hands, she wept hopelessly.

"This is ridiculous!" said Mary Garland's cool, calm self that had for so many years carried on through storm and calm alike. "It isn't like you to
cry
about a thing! Get up and wash your face and be ready for the next thing. Likely Rex will call in a few minutes. Get control of yourself!"

It was early yet. Perhaps Rex had gone down to the village to post a letter or buy some fruit or candy. Probably he had been late to breakfast and had gone down to the place they called the "pie shop" to get something to eat before he went to classes. Well, when he came back, they would tell him. He would at least find the message at the desk when he came to the dining hall at noon. But, oh, must she wait so long?