Chapter IV: The Danger Zone

The stealthy dawn was just laying its gray hand on the slowly waking world as I crept the next morning into my mother's room. I was shivering a little, for our April mornings are often far from warm. Besides, I was excited--and the night had been passed in sleeplessness.

"Is that you, child?" my mother asked, starting suddenly.

"Yes, are you asleep?"

"What's the matter? Are you sick?"

"No," I answered, creeping in; "but I want to talk to you. I'm frightened."

"What frightened you?" and my mother's tone was louder--"anybody trying to break in?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that," as I cuddled closer. "But I want to talk to you--Mr. Giddens frightened me."

My mother was all awake. "Mr. Giddens, child," she exclaimed, rising a little on the bed; "how on earth could he frighten you? Tell me how," the note in her voice more imperative now.

I was silent a moment, not knowing just how to begin. Perhaps I felt a little ridiculous too.

"Tell me, Helen," my mother said presently, and quite firmly; "I'm waiting."

"Well," I began hesitatingly; "well, it's this--he wants me to get married."

My mother made an impatient poke at the bed-clothes. Then she partly rose on her elbow. Then she turned her pillow, finally laying her head back upon it.

"Helen Randall," she broke out, and her voice, like the dawn, had a gray tinge about it, "Helen Randall, you're a silly little goose--coming in here trembling, and waking me up and scaring me half to death, only to tell me that the man you're engaged to wants to marry you."

"But, mother," I began earnestly, "it's different--you don't understand."

"Nonsense, child," she interrupted, "there isn't anything to understand. What do folks get engaged for? What does any lover want, except to get married? And this is the great fright you got; it seems that you got engaged to a man, and then he alarms you by suggesting you get married! Let's go to sleep," and my mother patted the pillow with her cheek, preparing to resume the operation I had interrupted.

"But I won't go to sleep," persisted I. "You don't understand--Mr. Giddens wants to marry me right off--right away soon." My mother turned her head a little on the pillow. She was wakening fast.

"What's that you say?" she said.

I knew she had heard me quite well, but I repeated it willingly enough. "I say he wants to get married--very soon. His family is going to Europe shortly--and it seems his father says we can spend the first part of our honeymoon on the _Sea-Nymph_, and then join them all in Europe later on. And so Charlie has quite made up his mind that----"

"What's the _Sea-Nymph_?" interrupted my mother eagerly.

"It's the name of the yacht--a new yacht they've got."

"A yacht? A private yacht?" breathlessly asked my mother.

"Yes, a private yacht," I answered, not much elated about it either.

"I knew a family in Norfolk once that had a private yacht," my mother reflected, just a little reverently. "And all those rich New York people keep yachts at Newport," she added in a kindred tone.

"That doesn't matter much," I said, a trifle acridly; "half of the people on them seem to be divorced, if you can believe the papers. But Charlie's quite set on this plan of his--of theirs--and I'm distressed to death about it. I don't want to just go right away so soon," and my voice shook in spite of myself as I nestled a little closer to my mother.

"What did you tell him, Helen?" she asked in a whisper.

"I said no--at first."

"And what after?"

"Nothing--that's the worst of it."

"Why? Why the worst of it?" pursued my mother.

"Because he thinks I will--and it frightens me."

"Helen," and mother's voice was quite reproachful, "I can't make you out at all, child. You've promised to marry him--and I can't understand you. Why, when your father wanted me to marry him I couldn't get too early a day--and we didn't have any yacht either."

"No, but you had father," I interposed.

"That's foolish," said my mother. And I thought it was myself, although I felt my rejoinder had a meaning I couldn't just explain.

We talked till the sun was pouring in through the eastern window; yet we determined little else than this--that mother thought I should and I was almost sure I couldn't.

I think we all felt better in the morning. Mother and I certainly did; even Europe and a yacht didn't impress me so formidably as in the ghostly dawn. We had shad for breakfast, fresh from its briny home; and if shad be skillfully cooked it can colour all the succeeding day. Wherefore, when we were all gathered on the porch in the glorious sunshine mother immediately became communicative. She had previously advised me that it would be better to say nothing to Uncle Henry or Aunt Agnes about the subject that engrossed us both; this of itself was almost a guarantee to me that mother would tell it all, for she generally took this means of reserving that luxury to herself. So it wasn't very long till she had told them all about it. Before she was through, the private yacht had grown to dimensions of a man-of-war fitted up in oriental splendour--and I had been all but presented to half the crowned heads in Europe.

"And I've been telling Helen how foolish she is," she concluded earnestly, looking to my aunt and uncle for confirmation of her view. "It isn't every girl gets a chance of a honeymoon on a yacht, is it, Henry?" nodding towards me over her shoulder.

But uncle didn't seem as agitated as he should have been. "Oh, I don't know," he replied drawlingly, "it depends on your position on the yacht. I suppose there'll be women aboard, cooks and such like, that nobody'd envy very much."

"Position!" my mother ejaculated vigorously; "I should think the wife of the owner would have position enough for anybody."

"Yes--if she owns _him_," replied my uncle slowly.

"Owns what?" echoed my mother. "What do you mean, Henry?"

"I mean if she owns _him_," repeated uncle cheerfully; "if she loves him enough, you know--and if he does the same. Sooner be on an old raft--if they really own each other," uncle went on quite seriously, "than the finest ship in the world--if they don't."

"You're great on love," said mother; "and that's all right for a beginning--but there are other things besides. I think love needs a good solid foundation to build on," as she nodded emphatically towards my uncle.

"Yachts aren't very solid things," retorted the latter calmly; "and Europe's a long piece away. And if my views on love aren't what they ought to be, blame Agnes there," as he looked in unevasive tenderness towards his wife.

I caught the look she cast back at him; it made me think of the lonely bridge. I glanced, too, at the bloom-laden magnolia--and the thought flashed through my mind that an old raft, as uncle said, might be made heavenly enough.

"When is Mr. Giddens going to call again?" my mother suddenly enquired. "I heard him say he was going home on Monday."

"He's coming now," Aunt Agnes announced in a low voice; "yonder, look--he's just coming past the Hickey's boat-house," her keen eye studying the distant figure. "And who's that with him?" she exclaimed a moment later; "why, it's Mr. Furvell, sure as the world. I reckon he's coming here too--some news about the elder, likely enough. I didn't know he and Mr. Giddens were acquainted."

"Neither they are," said my mother. "I reckon they just happened in with each other."

"Shouldn't wonder if the dominie's shadowin' him," uncle ventured gravely; "lookin' for a job, you see--this'll be worth two hundred to him at the least, won't it, Helen?" as he looked quizzingly at me.

"At the very least," I answered; "I'm pretty expensive--as well as dear," which little playfulness seemed to tickle uncle immensely. He was proceeding to expound the humour to the others when mother interrupted.

"Run to the door and meet them, Helen. And bring them right out to the porch."

"I'd rather not," I demurred--"I'm shy." But the knocker had already sounded and Lyddie had already started for the door. Uncle Henry immediately arose and made his way to meet our friends. A minute later we were all mingled in a kind of hand-shaking reel on the piazza.

"Mr. Giddens and I met at the wharf," explained Mr. Furvell; "we were both taking a look at our noble river--it's superb in the morning sunshine. So we walked up together."

"Most happy to see you both, I'm sure," said my Aunt Agnes cordially.

"Quite appropriate, I think, that we should hunt in couples," continued Mr. Furvell, a significant twinkle in the minister's eye; "we're here in different capacities--yet they naturally go together," he enlarged, evidently desiring to be questioned.

Everybody waited. "Miss Helen will understand," he then went on facetiously; "you see, I'm here as a preacher, and Mr. Giddens as a worshipper," wherewith, much pleased at the success of his little jest, Mr. Furvell led the chorus of applause himself.

"Well, if you're as earnest about your part as I am in mine, we've both found our proper callings," rejoined Mr. Giddens, making a courtly bow.

"Let's take up the collection," said I, blushing furiously, and not knowing what else to say.

"That'll come later," interjected my uncle, winking reverently at the pastor. The pastor seemed to understand right well and took it nothing amiss.

My mother's gaze was directed in undisguised admiration upon Charlie. And very handsome he looked, I must admit, his face a little flushed by the satisfaction of his happy speech, his eyes bright and tender, his whole frame lithe and strong with abundant health. Then, besides, he had lovely clothes, even though he was disfigured by two or three blazing diamonds, two in his shirt-front, if I remember right, and one on the little finger of his left hand. But I shouldn't complain; for I had one brilliant beauty on my own hand--and he was its devoted source.

I think Charlie must have noticed my mother's steadfast gaze. In any case her question came very suddenly, as if to relieve embarrassment: "I hope your folks are all well at home, Mr. Giddens."

"Oh, yes, thank you, ma'am," he replied promptly; "they're busy preparing for a long trip to Europe--they sail next month."

Whereat my mother quite involuntarily threw a swift glance at me. And I believe, I'm almost sure, that Charlie's eyes followed hers.

"Oh, Mr. Giddens," I broke in, my burning cheeks attesting that it was high time, "you don't know who's coming to be our guest to-day--we're going to have an elder."

"What on earth's that?" said Charlie, twirling an ebony cane about with his fingers.

"Oh, I forgot, you're not a Presbyterian. It's a man," I elucidated, "a kind of an unordained minister. And he's going to stay here while the Presbytery's meeting."

"Are they very solemn?" Charlie enquired; "they sound solemn. I suppose he's about the same thing as we call a warden," for Charlie was an Episcopalian.

"A notch higher," ventured Mr. Furvell; "they're in for life. I fancy an elder's more like a bishop than anything you've got in your church."

"And he's going on the bridge deck," I added, pointing upward through the porch roof.

"Helen means the attic," explained my Aunt Agnes; "and it does seem too bad--but we can't help it without turning everything upside down."

"He'll never notice it," Mr. Giddens remarked assuringly. "I know in Savannah, when we have those church pow-wows, half the householders have to sleep in the bath. Is this bishop from the country?"

"I believe so," informed Mr. Furvell. "I think the Pollocksville elder is to be your man."

"You'll have no end of fun with him," Charlie predicted. "Those old Rubes are great. I hope you've got your bootjack handy, Mr. Lundy," addressing my uncle; "the old chap will need it sure."

"I'm not reckonin' on much fun with him," Uncle Henry answered dryly; "that's not our custom with our guests. And I haven't got the instrument you mention--but I'll pull his boots off myself, if he wants any help."

There was just the slightest flush on uncle's cheek; hospitality was a sacred thing to him.

"Oh, by the way," broke in Mr. Furvell, willing enough to turn the talk into another channel, "I've just had word that we're going to have an outsider at the Presbytery. Dr. Paine notified me to-day that he's bringing an intimate friend that's visiting him for a while. I rather think he's from Edinburgh--but I'm not sure of that. In any case, he's a cleric--and one of our own kind. A young man, I rather think; he wants to see something of our Southern life, Dr. Paine's letter said."

"Where's he going to stay?" Aunt Agnes enquired briskly. My aunt kept the census of hosts and visitors for half the town.

"Well, that's just what I was going to speak about," replied the minister. "You see, we'll have to get a place extra for him--unless he can be billeted along with Dr. Paine, which I think rather unlikely. And, if you all prefer it, I could send the elder somewhere else, and give you the foreigner--just as you like, though."

"Whatever you think best," said Aunt Agnes, drawing her chair a little closer. Such problems were the luxuries of life to her.

I know not what impulse prompted me, but I recall, as though it all happened yesterday, the quick way I spoke up and said: "I believe we'll take the Scotchman--I vote for the clergy."

"You can't," said my mother archly smiling. "You're not attentive enough to them when we have them here--your preference runs too distinctly along other lines."

"Oh, I don't know about that," said I. "Anyhow, I'm for the clergy this time; I reckon it's the Scotch flavour that catches me--and then perhaps he knew Carlyle," for this latter had been long a favourite of mine and I had enjoyed many a good thrill--and many a good snooze--over his books.

Mother smiled. "That's a little conceit of my daughter's," she said apologetically to our visitors; "she thinks she'll write a book herself some day." Ah me! how little she knew then that my only book would be the story of my life, or so much of it as is worth the telling. And as I write the words I wonder if any one will ever really read them--in a real book.

"No, I fear he never saw Carlyle," informed Mr. Furvell; "he's too young, I fancy. At least, that's the impression I got."

"Is he married?" Charlie suddenly broke in, holding the ebony cane out before him as if in deadly earnest.

"No, he's not--I'm quite sure of that part," the minister answered promptly; "for Dr. Paine said I mustn't have him stay where he'd be liable to catch any affection of the heart."

"Then don't send him here," cried Charlie Giddens, "for this is the danger zone." And everybody laughed but me.

"But really, speaking seriously, what do you think we'd better do about it?" pressed my Aunt Agnes, rising to adjust an awning that had got awry. Mental intensity with some women always runs to domestic observation. "I'd hate to put an Edinburgh minister in the attic," she continued thoughtfully.

"The attic hasn't anything to do with it," pronounced Uncle Henry, silent hitherto. "But I say--I say," as he looked around the company, "it's going to be the elder. I've made up my mind to that--I took a notion to this Pollocksville elder as soon as I heard of him. So we'll consider that settled, Mr. Furvell, if you please. I've got a queer kind of a notion he's going to do us all good. When does his train arrive, sir?"

"This evening at five," said Mr. Furvell. "I'll have him driven up to the house."

"Thank you, I'll meet the train myself," said my uncle.

"But, Henry," his wife expostulated, "I made an engagement for you for that very hour--Judge Burton and his wife are coming to call."

"Can't help it," said my uncle firmly; "not when there's a guest to be met. I'll have to leave them to the ladies," from which resolve my aunt knew well no argument could turn him.

It was only a few minutes before our little company broke up when Mr. Furvell rose to go. Charlie took advantage of the confusion to suggest that we two should retire to the parlour. "And you'll sing for me," he said.

Half-way along the hall he remarked merrily: "Now's your chance to begin your book, dear. Put your elder in it--and make the Edinburgh parson die of a broken heart--and put me somewhere in the introduction."

"Maybe I will," I answered a little defiantly. "You think I can't write, don't you?"

"You could do anything you like with anything--or anybody," he answered gallantly; "but don't begin your literary work till we come back from Europe," and his voice was all thrilling as he spoke, his eyes ardent as they turned on me. And his hand went out and rested lovingly on mine as I turned the music over--for we were now at the piano--and I wondered why it was that I didn't lean forward like he did with eager outstretched arms. But I didn't. Yet he kissed me--then I said I was going to sing, as he had asked me, so it was all over in a minute.

"Sing that about the tresses," he whispered, bending over me. So I did as he bade me. And the words came softly:

"Still must you call me tender names,
Still gently stroke my tresses."

But somehow I kept thinking about the elder that was so soon to come. I know not why--it was through no will of mine--but the elder would take shape before me as about five-and-twenty years of age; and he was fair; and his accent was like to that of the Scotch Carlyle; and he had a low-crowned hat of felt--and a coat of clerical design.