The Tin Soldier Part 75

"There must be a table for the Log-Fire Room," Jean told her husband, "and a fire-bench, not too high, and a big chair for you, and another chair for me--"

"And a stool for your little feet--."

"And a desk for you, Derry."

"And an oval mirror with a gold frame, for me to see your face in, Jean-Joan--"

Then there was a four-poster bed with pineapples, and an Adams screen, an old bra.s.s-bound chest, the most adorable things in Sheffield and crystal, and to crown it all, a picture of George Washington--a print, faintly colored, with the country's coat of arms carved on the frame.

Yet not one thing did they buy except a quite sumptuous and splendid marriage coffer which suggested itself at once as the only wedding present for Emily.

The price took Jean's breath away. "But, dearest--"

"Nothing is too good for Emily, Jean-Joan."

That night Derry drew a picture of the house in Jean's memory book.

"I'll put a garden in front--"

"How can you put in a garden, Derry, when there isn't one?"

She wore a lace robe and a lace cap, and there were pink ribbons threaded in, and her cheeks were pink. "You can't put in a garden until there is one, Derry. When we find it, it must be a lovesome garden, with the old-fashioned flowers, and a fountain with a cupid--and a fish-pond."

With this settled, he proceeded, with facile pen, to furnish the house.

There was the Log-Fire Room, with the print of George Washington over the mantel, with Jean's knitting on the table; m.u.f.fin on one side of the fire, and Polly Ann on the other. He even started to put Jean in one of the big chairs, but she made him rub it out. "Not yet, Derry. You see, I am not living in it yet. I am living here, with you alive and loving--"

He caught her to him. "When you are away from me," she whispered, "I'll live in it--and you'll be there--and I shall never feel alone--"

Yet later, Derry coming in unexpectedly after a talk with his father, found her sobbing with her head on the fat old book.

"My darling--"

"It isn't that I am unhappy, Derry--. It is just for that one little minute, I wanted it to be real--"

THE SEVENTH DAY

It was on the morning of the seventh day that a letter came from Drusilla.

"_Dear Babes in the Wood_:

"I am writing this to tell you that the next time I see Captain Hewes, I am going to marry him. That sounds a little like a hold-up, doesn't it?

But it is the way we are doing things over here. He has wanted it for so long, and I am beginning to know that I want it, too. It has been hard to tell just what was really best in the face of all that is happening.

It has seemed sometimes as if it were a sacrilege to think of love and life in the midst of death and destruction.

"I shan't have any trousseau; I shan't have a wedding journey. He will just blow in some day, and the chaplain will marry us, and the little old cure of this village will give us his blessing.

"I never expected to be married like this. You know the kind of mind I have. I must always see the picture of myself doing things, and there had always been a sort of dream of some great church with a blur of gold light at the far end, and myself floating up the aisle in a cloud of white veil, and a hushed crowd and the organ playing.

"And it won't be a bit like that. I shall wear a uniform and a flannel shirt, and I'll be lucky if my boots are not splashed with mud. It will seem queer to be married with my boots on, as men died in old romances.

"Perhaps by the time this reaches you, Drusilla Gray will be Drusilla Hewes, and so I ask your blessing, and your prayers.

"I should never have asked for your prayers a year ago. I should have been thanking you for your wedding present of gla.s.s and silver, and asking you to dine with me on Tuesday or Thursday as the case might be.

But now, the only thought that holds me is whether G.o.d will give my Captain back to me, and the hope that if not, I may have the strength to bear it--.

"I am sure that Derry will feel the sublimity of it all when he comes--death is so near, yet so little feared; the men know that tonight or tomorrow they may be beyond the shadows, and it holds them to something bigger than themselves.

"But be sure of this, my dears, that when Derry goes the seas will not part you--. Spirit touches spirit, s.p.a.ce has nothing to do with it.

Often when I am alone, the Captain comes to me, speaks to me, cheers me; I think if he should die in battle, he would still come.

"If ever I have a home of my own, I shall build an altar not to the Unknown G.o.d but to the G.o.d whom I had lost and have found again. I go into old churches here to pray, and it is no longer a matter of feeling, no longer a matter of form, it is something more than that.

"And now I can't ask you to dance at my wedding, but I can ask you to wish me happiness and a long life with my lover, or failing that, the strength to give him up--"

She signed herself, "Always loving you both, DRUSILLA."

"Such a dear letter," said Jean.

"And such a different Drusilla. Do you think that the Drusilla of the old days would have built an altar?"

And it was because of Drusilla's letter that Derry took Jean that afternoon to the great Library with the gold dome and guided her to a corridor made beautiful by the brush of an artist who had painted "The Occupations of the Day"; in one lunette a primitive man and woman knelt before a pile of stones on which burned a sacred flame. Above them was blue sky--flowers grew within reach of their hands--the fields stretched beyond.

"We must build an altar, dearest."

"In our hearts--"

"And in our House of Dreams--"

THE EIGHTH DAY

There was no getting out of the Witherspoon dinner, and it was when Ralph greeted Jean that he said to her, "You are lovelier than ever."

She smiled at him. "It is because my heart is singing--"

"Do you feel like that?"

She nodded. "In three days the song will cease--the lights will go out, and the curtain will fall--the end of the world will come."

"Drake goes in three days?"

"He goes back to camp. I don't expect to see him again before he sails."

"Lucky fellow."