Chapter XXVI

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

　　Harvey was clamoring for an early wedding. And indeed there were fewarguments against it, save one that Sara Lee buried in her heart.Belle's house was small, and though she was welcome there, and more thanthat, Sara Lee knew that she was crowding the family.

　　Perhaps Sara Lee would have agreed in the end. There seemed to benothing else to do, though by the end of the first week she was no longerin any doubt as to what her feeling for Harvey really was. It waskindness, affection; but it was not love. She would marry him becauseshe had promised to, and because their small world expected her to do so;and because she could not shame him again.

　　For to her surprise she found that that was what he had felt—a strange,self-conscious shame, like that of a man who has been jilted. She feltthat by coming back to him she had forfeited the right to break theengagement.

　　So every hour of every day seemed to make the thing more inevitable.Belle was embroidering towels for her in her scant leisure. Even Anna,with a second child coming, sent in her contribution to the bride'slinen chest. By almost desperately insisting on a visit to Aunt Harrietshe got a reprieve of a month. And Harvey was inclined to be jealouseven of that.

　　Sometimes, but mostly at night when she was alone, a hot wave ofresentment overwhelmed her. Why should she be forced into the thing?Was there any prospect of happiness after marriage when there was solittle before?

　　For she realized now that even Harvey was not happy. He had at lastdefinitely refused to hear the story of the little house.

　　"I'd rather just forget it, honey!" he said.

　　But inconsistently he knew she did not forget it, and it angered him.True to his insistence on ignoring those months of her absence, she madeno attempt to tell him. Now and then, however, closed in the librarytogether, they would fail of things to talk about, and Sara Lee'sknitting needles would be the only sound in the room. At those times hewould sit back in his chair and watch the far-away look in her eyes, andit maddened him.

　　From her busy life Belle studied them both, with an understanding shedid not reveal. And one morning when the mail came she saw Sara Lee'sface as she turned away, finding there was no letter for her, and madean excuse to follow her to her room.

　　The girl was standing by the window looking out. The children wereplaying below, and the maple trees were silent. Belle joined her thereand slipped an arm round her.

　　"Why are you doing it, Sara Lee?" she asked.

　　"Doing what?"

　　"Marrying Harvey."

　　Sara Lee looked at her with startled eyes.

　　"I'm engaged to him, Belle. I've promised."

　　"Exactly," said Belle dryly. "But that's hardly a good reason, is it?It takes more than a promise." She stared down at the flock of childrenin the yard below. "Harvey's a man," she said. "He doesn't understand,but I do. You've got to care a whole lot, Sara Lee, if you're going togo through with it. It takes a lot of love, when it comes to havingchildren and all that."

　　"He's so good, Belle. How can I hurt him?"

　　"You'll hurt him a lot more by marrying him when you don't love him."

　　"If only I could have a little time," she cried wildly. "I'm so—I'mtired, Belle. And I can't forget about the war and all that. I'vetried. Sometimes I think if we could talk it over together I'd get itout of my mind."

　　"He won't talk about it?"

　　"He's my own brother, and I love him dearly. But sometimes I think he'shard. Not that he's ever ugly," she hastened to add; "but he's stubborn.There's a sort of wall in him, and he puts some things behind it. Andit's like beating against a rock to try to get at them."

　　After a little silence she said hesitatingly:

　　"We've got him to think of too. He has a right to be happy. SometimesI've looked at you—you're so pretty, Sara Lee—and I've wondered ifthere wasn't some one over there who—cared for you."

　　"There was one man, an officer—Oh, Belle, I can't tell you. Not you!"

　　"Why not!" asked Belle practically. "You ought to talk it out to someone, and if Harvey insists on being a fool that's his own fault."

　　For all the remainder of that sunny morning Sara Lee talked what was inher heart. And Belle—poor, romantic, starved Belle—heard andthrilled. She made buttonholes as she listened, but once or twice anew tone in Sara Lee's voice caused her to look up. Here was a newSara Lee, a creature of vibrant voice and glowing eyes; and Belle wasnot stupid. She saw that it was Henri whose name brought the deeper note.

　　Sara Lee had stopped with her recall, had stopped and looked about theroom with its shiny new furniture and had shivered. Belle bent over herwork.

　　"Why don't you go back?" she asked.

　　Sara Lee looked at her piteously.

　　"How can I? There is Harvey. And the society would not send me again.It's over, Belle. All over."

　　After a pause Belle said: "What's become of Henri? He hasn't written,has he?"

　　Sara Lee got up and went to the window.

　　"I don't know where he is. He may be dead."

　　Her voice was flat and lifeless. Belle knew all that she wanted to know.She rose and gathered up her sewing.

　　"I'm going to talk to Harvey. You're not going to be rushed into awedding. You're tired, and it's all nonsense. Well, I'll have to runnow and dress the children."

　　That night Harvey and Belle had almost a violent scene. He had takenSara Lee over the Leete house that evening. Will Leete's widow had metthem there, a small sad figure in her mourning, but very composed, untilshe opened the door into a tiny room upstairs with a desk and a lampin it.

　　"This was Will's study," she said. "He did his work here in theevenings, and I sat in that little chair and sewed. I never thoughtthen—" Her lips quivered.

　　"Pretty rotten of Will Leete to leave that little thing alone," saidHarvey on their way home. "He had his fling; and she's paying for it."

　　But Sara Lee was silent. It was useless to try to make Harvey understandthe urge that had called Will Leete across the sea to do his share forthe war, and that had brought him that peace of God that passeth allunderstanding.

　　It was not a good time for Belle to put up to him her suggestion for adelay in the marriage, that evening after their return. He took itbadly and insisted on sending upstairs for Sara Lee.

　　"Did you ask Belle to do this?" he demanded bluntly.

　　"To do what?"

　　"To put things off."

　　"I have already told you, Harvey," Belle put in. "It is my own idea.She is tired. She's been through a lot. I've heard the story you'retoo stubborn to listen to. And I strongly advise her to wait a while."

　　And after a time he agreed ungraciously. He would buy the house and fixit over, and in the early fall it would be ready.

　　"Unless," he added to Sara Lee with a bitterness born ofdisappointment—"unless you change your mind again."

　　He did not kiss her that night when she and Belle went together up thestairs. But he stared after her gloomily, with hurt and bewilderment inhis eyes.

　　He did not understand. He never would. She had come home to him allgentleness and tenderness, ready to find in him the things she needed sobadly. But out of his obstinacy and hurt he had himself built up abarrier.

　　That night Sara Lee dreamed that she was back in the little house ofmercy. René was there; and Henri; and Jean, with the patch over his eye.They were waiting for the men to come, and the narrow hall was full ofthe odor of Marie's soup. Then she heard them coming, the shuffling ofmany feet on the road. She went to the door, with Henri beside her, andwatched them coming up the road, a deeper shadow in the blackness—tiredmen, wounded men, homeless men coming to her little house with itsfirelight and its warmth. Here and there the match that lighted acigarette showed a white but smiling face. They stopped before the door,and the warm little house, with its guarded lights and its food andcheer, took them in.