Girl Alone Part 31

David's hand shook noticeably as he drew the precious doc.u.ment from his breast pocket and offered it to the minister. Through old fashioned gold-rimmed spectacles the minister studied the paper briefly, his lips twitching slightly with a smile.

"Well, well, Mama," he glanced over his spectacles at his beaming wife, "everything seems to be in order. Where is Cora? She's going to enjoy this wedding enormously. The more she enjoys it, the more she weeps," he explained twinkling at Sally and David. When Mrs. Greer had left the room, the old minister bent his eyes gravely upon David. "Do you know of any real reason why you two children should not be married, my boy?"

David flushed but his eyes and voice were steady as he answered: "No reason at all, sir. We are both orphans, and we love each other."

Mrs. Greer and her daughter-in-law entered before the old preacher could ask any further questions, but he seemed to be quite satisfied. Taking a much-worn, limp leather black book from his pocket, he summoned the pair to stand before him. Sally tremblingly adjusted the little dark blue felt hat that fitted closely over the ma.s.ses of her fine black hair, and smoothed the crisp folds of her new blue taffeta dress.

"Join right hands," the minister directed.

As Sally placed her icy, trembling little hand in David's the first of the younger Mrs. Greer's promised sobs startled her so that she swayed against David, almost fainting. The boy's left arm went about her shoulders, held her close, as the opening words of the marriage ceremony fell slowly and impressively from the marrying parson's lips:

"Dearly beloved-"

Peace fell suddenly upon the girl's heart and nerves. All fear left her; there was nothing in the world but beautiful words which were like a magic incantation, endowing an orphaned girl with respectability, happiness, family, an honored place in society as the wife of David Nash-

A bell shrilled loudly, shattering the beauty and the solemnity of the greatest moment in Sally's life. Behind her, on the sofa, she heard the faint rustle of Mrs. Greer's stiff silk skirt, whispers as the two witnesses conferred. The preacher's voice, which had faltered, went on, more hurried, fl.u.s.tered:

"Do you, David, take this woman-"

Again the bell clamored, a long, shrill, angry demand. The preacher's voice faltered again, the momentous question left half asked. He looked at his wife over the tap of his spectacles and nodded slightly. Mrs.

Greer's skirts rustled apologetically as she hurried out of the room.

Sally forced her eyes to travel upward to David's stern, set young face; their eyes locked for a moment, Sally's piteous with fright, then David answered that half-asked question loudly, emphatically, as if with the words he would defeat fate:

"I do!"

A clamor of voices suddenly filled the little entrance hall beyond the parsonage parlor. Sally, recognizing both of the voices, was galvanized to swift, un-Sallylike initiative. Stepping swiftly out of the circle of David's arm, but still clinging to his hand, she sprang toward the preacher, her eyes blazing, her face pinched with fear and drained of all color.

"Please go on!" she gasped. "Please, Mr. Greer. Don't let them stop us now! Ask me-'Do you take this man-? Please, I do, I do!"

"Sally, darling-" David was trying to restrain her, his voice heavy with pity.

"I'm sorry, children," the old preacher shook his head. "I shall have to investigate this disturbance, but I promise you to continue with the ceremony if there is no legal impediment to your marriage. Just stand where you are-"

The door was flung open and Mrs. Stone, matron of the orphanage, strode into the room, panting, her heavy face red with anger and exertion. She was followed by a fl.u.s.tered, weeping Mrs. Greer and by a small, smartly dressed little figure that halted in the doorway. Even in that first dreadful moment when Sally knew that she was trapped, that the half-performed wedding ceremony would not be completed, she was conscious of that shock of amazement and delight which had always tingled along her nerves whenever she had seen Enid Barr. But why had Enid Barr joined in the cruel pursuit of a luckless orphan whose worst sin had been running away from charity? If David's arms had not been so tightly about her, she would have tried to run away again-

"Are we too late?" Mrs. Stone demanded in the loud, harsh voice that had been a whip-lash upon Sally Ford's sensitive nerves for twelve years.

"Are they married?"

"I was reading the service when you interrupted, madam," the Reverend Mr. Greer said with surprising severity. "And I shall continue it if you cannot show just cause why these two young people should not be married.

May I ask who you are, madam?"

"Certainly! I am Mrs. Miranda Stone, matron of the State Orphans' Asylum of Capital City, and Sally Ford is one of my charges, a minor, a ward of the state until her eighteenth birthday. She is only sixteen years old and cannot be married without the permission of her guardians, the trustees of the orphanage. Is it clear that you cannot go on with the ceremony?" she concluded in her hard, brisk voice.

"Is this true, Sally?" the old man asked Sally gently.

"Yes," she nodded, then laid her head wearily and hopelessly upon David's shoulder.

"Mrs. Stone," David began to plead with pa.s.sionate intensity, one of his hands trembling upon Sally's bowed head, "for G.o.d's sake let us go on with this marriage! I love Sally and she loves me. I have never harmed her and I never will. It's not right for you to drag her back to the asylum, to spend two more years of dependence upon charity. I can support her, I'm strong, I love her-"

"Will all of you kindly leave the room and let me talk with Sally?" Mrs.

Stone cut across his appeal ruthlessly. "I may as well tell you, Mr.

Greer, that my friend here, Mrs. Barr, a very rich woman, intends to adopt this girl and provide her with all the advantages that wealth makes possible.

"She has been hunting for Sally for weeks, and it is only through her persistence and the power which her wealth commands that we have been able to prevent this ridiculous marriage today."

"We shall be glad to let you talk privately with the young couple," the old minister answered with punctilious politeness. "Come, Mama, Cora!"

"Will you please leave the room also, Mr. Nash?" Mrs. Stone went on ruthlessly, without taking time to acknowledge the old man's courtesy.

Sally's arms clung more tightly to David. "He's going to stay, Mrs.

Stone," she gasped, amazed at her own temerity. "If you don't let me marry David now, I shall marry him when I am eighteen. I don't want to be adopted. I only want David-"

"I think the boy had better stay," Enid Barr's lovely voice, strangely not at all arrogant now, called from the doorway.

When the minister and his wife and daughter-in-law had left the room, Enid Barr softly closed the door against which she had been leaning, as if she had little interest in the drama taking place, and walked slowly toward David and Sally, who were still in each other's arms. Gone from her small, exquisite face was the look of aloof indifference, and in its place were embarra.s.sment, wistful appeal, tenderness and to Sally's bewilderment, the most profound humility.

"Oh, Sally, Sally!" The beautiful contralto voice was husky with tears.

"Can't you guess why I want you, why I've hunted you down like this? I'm your mother, Sally."

"My mother?" Sally echoed blankly. Then incredulous joy floated her pale little face with a rosy glow. "My mother? David-Mrs. Stone-oh, I can't think!"

David's arms had dropped slowly from about her shoulders and she stood swaying slightly. "But-you can't be my mother!" she gasped, shaking her head in childish negation. "You're not old enough. I'm sixteen-"

"And I'm thirty-three," Enid Barr said gently. "There's no mistake, Sally, my darling. I'm really your mother, and I'd like, more than anything in the world, for you to let me kiss you now and to hear you call me 'Mother'." She had advanced the few steps that separated them and was holding out her delicate, useless-looking little hands with such humility and timidity as no one who knew Enid Barr would have believed her capable of.

Sally's hands went out involuntarily, but before their fingers could intertwine, Enid flung her arms about the girl and held her smotheringly close for a moment. Then she raised her small, slight body on tiptoes and pressed her quivering lips softly against Sally's cheek. At the caress, twelve years of loneliness and mother-need rushed across the girl's mind like a frantically unwinding spool of film.

"Oh, I've wanted a mother so terribly! Twelve years in the orphanage-Oh, why did you put me there?" she cried brokenly. "It's awful-not having anyone of your own-no family-and now, when I have David to be my family, and I don't need you-so much-you come-Why didn't you come before? Why?

Why did you put me there?"

Her words were incoherent, and at the bitter reproach in them Enid tried to hold her more closely, but Sally, scarcely knowing what she did, struck the small, clinging arms from her shoulders and whirled upon David, her mouth twisting, tears running down her cheeks. "I don't want anyone but you now, David. Don't let them separate us, David. We're half married already! Make the preacher come back and finish marrying us, David-"

Enid Barr, looked wonderingly upon her arms, as if expecting to see upon them the marks of her daughter's blows. A gust of anger swept over her, leaving her beautiful face quite white and darkening her eyes until they were almost as deep a blue as Sally's.

"You cannot marry the boy, Sally! I'm sorry that almost my first words to you should be a reminder of my authority over you as your mother.

Come here, Sally!" But almost in the moment of its returning the arrogance for which she was noted dropped from her, and humility and grief took its place. "Please forgive me, Sally. It's just that I'm jealous of your love for this boy and grieved that you want to leave me for him. But-oh, why _should_ you love me? G.o.d knows I've done nothing yet to make you love me! I can't blame you for hating and reproaching me-"

"Oh!" Sally turned from the shelter of David's arms and took an uncertain step toward her mother, pity fighting with rebellion and bitterness in her overcharged heart. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Barr-Mother-"

"I think you'd better tell her your story as you told it to me, Mrs.

Barr." Mrs. Stone could keep silent no longer. "Now, Sally, I want you to listen to every word your mother says and bear in mind that she is your mother and that she has been hunting for you for weeks, her heart full of love for you because you were her child."

For twelve years Sally had obeyed every command uttered in that harsh, emphatic voice and she obeyed now, allowing herself to be led by Mrs.

Stone to the sofa. Enid Barr took her seat on one side of the girl and David without asking permission of either of the two older women who watched him with hostile, jealous eyes, took his place on the other side, his hand closing tightly over Sally's.

Jealously, Enid Barr reached for the girl's other hand and held it against her cheek for a moment before she began her story, her contralto voice low and controlled at first. Mrs. Stone sat rigidly erect in an old-fashioned morris chair, her lips folded with an expression of grim patience, as if she regretted the necessity of once more hearing a story which affronted her Puritanical principles.

"I was just your age, Sally," Enid began quietly, "just sixteen, when I met the man who became your father. I was Enid Halsted then. He was fifteen years older than I. I thought I-loved him-very much. He was-very handsome."