Chapter XIII: A Box of Violets

Luke was surprised not to find Rachel waiting for him after Church, but as he made his way down the aisle, he caught sight of Mrs. Stone.

"I was hoping to see your wife," she said. "Is she not with you?"

"No, she must have gone home."

"I expect she was tired after all her efforts this afternoon; I hope she has not caught cold." They were making their way out of the Church.

"Caught cold," said Luke alarmed.

"It will be a wonder if she hasn't. It simply poured with rain all the time. I knew it was useless to try and stop her as she was bent on getting up this choir. What a charming girl you have given us in your wife."

"I only trust she has not done herself any harm," said Luke anxiously. He hardly heard the praise of Rachel.

"I daresay she is stronger than she looks. I wanted to congratulate her on the success of her efforts. The choir really sang remarkably well. I was feeling quite anxious about it as I knew how keen her disappointment would be if it turned out a failure. I thought it so plucky of her to walk all that way to fetch those girls."

"How far did she walk?" enquired Luke.

It struck Mrs. Stone that it was rather queer that she seemed able to give him more information about his wife than he had already; but then perhaps Rachel had not had time to tell him about her afternoon's work.

"The girls she found up lived all over the town. She must have run part of the way; that is to say if she got home in time to give you your tea. But nothing would daunt her. She was so bent on you having a choir to-night. I don't know many wives who would have taken that trouble even if it had not been pouring with rain. I thought it very plucky and very devoted of her. But I must leave you here. Please ask her to run in to-morrow, that is to say if she has not caught cold, and tell me all her experiences. I don't suppose she has had time to tell them to you yet."

Luke hurried home full of remorse. So Rachel had been running risks for him and he had never thanked her, nor asked a single question as to what she had been doing. All the thanks she had had for her love and devotion had been severe criticism and vexation on his part. He had felt that she had needed a lesson so as to guard her against any mistakes she might be inclined to make in the future; and he had given her the lesson in no tender frame of mind.

She must be either tired or feeling ill as she had not waited for him; or worse still, she might be too pained with his criticism of her conduct to meet him as if nothing had happened between them.

Luke hurried home in no easy frame of mind. That he could ever have willingly given her a moment's pain was a terrible thought to him.

The mistress had gone to bed with a headache, Polly informed him, but she hoped that the master would not forget to eat a good supper.

Luke sprang upstairs two steps at a time and opened Rachel's bedroom door. The blinds were up, and the moon, which had just emerged from a dark cloud, lighted up the room and was shining full on her face. Luke stood and looked at her, and as he looked he could not think how he could ever have felt vexed with her and have spoken to her so coldly and severely.

At first he thought she was asleep; but then he noticed a tear slowly coursing its way down her face. Kneeling down by the bed he took her in his arms. No words were spoken, but the silence said more than any number of words could have expressed. Both felt that explanations were unnecessary, for Rachel knew that his action was meant to express both sorrow and remorse for his want of appreciation of her efforts on his behalf, and her own pride was conquered by love.

The subject of the girls' choir was never mentioned again between them.

The choir men turned up the following Sunday. They were really attached to the Church and to their Vicar, and found the concert did not make up for either; and Luke put the whole tiresome incident out of his mind, in fact it was crowded out by the hundred and one things that he had to do and think about.

But Rachel did not forget quickly. She had been so shocked and astonished to find how easily she had felt hard and cold towards Luke when he disappointed her, that it had frightened her, knowing that in all probability it would be easier still the second time. She determined that there should be no second time; but she did not forget. It was borne in upon her that she had idealised Luke, and had been blind to his imperfections, save in a few small matters, that though they worried her were too insignificant to count. Faults, though apparently very few compared to her own, were there; and in order to avoid the constant sparring she often noticed going on between other husbands and wives, she realised that she must be careful to give no occasion for it herself in future. She was determined that what seemed to be an ideally happy marriage should not become prosaic and loveless, which would inevitably be the case if love were strained by constant friction. It should not be her fault if they ever swelled the crowd of unsatisfactory and unhappy married couples.

When Rachel went the next morning to enquire after Mrs. Greville's cold, she was agreeably surprised at the welcome she received.

"So you filled the empty choir benches last night," she said, after answering Rachel's questions as to her health. "I have heard all about it from Mrs. Stone."

"I hope it won't prevent the men from returning," answered Rachel, flushing at the remembrance of what it had cost her. "It may I fear offend them. I didn't think of that possibility at the time. I am afraid I was rather rash."

"On the contrary. I was delighted to hear of it, and it will do the men good, I am sure. I hope Luke was properly grateful," she added laughing.

"He was a little anxious about the consequences of my action," said Rachel. "I do hope it won't have done any harm."

"Stuff and nonsense, of course it won't. It's the best lesson the choir could have had. And I think it was very plucky of you, particularly as the rain came down in torrents. You must have got drenched."

"I did; but it has done me no harm; and I was bent on getting the girls."

"After all," ruminated Mrs. Greville when Rachel had left, "there seems to be the making of a good parish worker in that child. She will never neglect her duty, anyhow, because of a shower of rain, which many do now-a-days. I shouldn't wonder if one day Luke will find her really useful."

The next morning Rachel found a box of flowers awaiting her at breakfast. She opened it quickly and plunged her face into a mass of violets and primroses.

"How lovely! How lovely!" she exclaimed. "Come Luke and smell them."

Luke did as he was bidden.

"Are you so fond of flowers?" he asked.

"Fond of flowers! Of course I am and so are you. Don't tell me you don't care for them or I shall never love you again."

"I like them in the fields; but I can't truthfully say that they ever give me the joy that they evidently give you; and they mean little to me in the house."

"I don't think I could live without them. The primroses in my garden and the blue hyacinths are witness to that," she added laughing.

And Luke stood and watched her bury her face again in the flowers and wondered for the hundredth time however she had made up her mind to leave all such things.

"They are from Gwen," added Rachel, "and here is her letter." It happened to be an answer to his unspoken question, if Rachel had allowed him to see it, but at a glance she saw it was one of Gwen's nonsensical letters.

"I know what you will do when you open the box." she wrote, "you will bury your face in the flowers and try and imagine yourself in the woods, and when you raise your eyes they will be full of tears. But apparently Luke makes up for it all, so I am not going to worry about your tears. He makes up for mother and me, and Sybil! Not to mention the bluebells in the wood and the scent of the violets and primroses and everything lovely here. It's all quite amazing to me, but you would tell me that that is just because I do not know what love is. I hope I shall never know as I don't want to lose all the things which I now adore. Don't give my love to Luke, for I don't like him. He's just an ordinary man, and I thought you would have chosen one out of the common. I owe him a grudge for taking you away. I do hope he knows what a treasure he has and is taking care of you, but I don't for a moment suppose that he is. All men are selfish and certainly Luke is."

Rachel laughed, and as Luke tried to catch hold of the letter to read it, knowing that it would amuse him, Rachel tore it quickly into pieces and threw it into the fire, saying triumphantly, "You were just too late. Besides the first part would have made you so conceited that there would be no holding you, and the last part so depressed that it would have unfitted you for your work."