The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 27 March 1913, Page 5

The Storyteller

THE HAPPIEST WOMAN Miss Lucy Connolly laughed softly— laugh that was half a sigh of perfect happiness. From the vinecovered shelter of the Larneds' porch she could look out over the city that stretched away below her, afloat on a lake of moonlight. The famous view was at its best, but more than the beauty of the night stirred in the girl's heart. 'Only a month and two days!' she said. 'Mrs. William Staunton! I wonder how it will feel to be called that.' Mrs. Lamed touched the firm young hand that lay on the chair arm beside her. Miss Connolly smiled at the caress of the delicate, slender fingers. 'I wonder!' she repeated. 'Oh, you'll feel ever so important and dignified—after you're through giggling.' 'I shan't giggle at all protested Miss Connolly. 'l'll be too proudoh, you must meet him!' ' Indeed, I should be glad to. I've had only occasional glimpses of him. There are so many newnewcomers at least to me—that I'm often quite bewildered with them.' 'Don't you think him wonderfully handsome?' Lucy's adoring little soul was tremendously in earnest. ' Ravishingly!' agreed Mrs. Larned, in a drawl tinged with friendly irony. Well, he is!' asserted Miss Lucy, with a suggestion of defiance. 'And he's just as nice as he is handsome ! ' 'I don't doubt it, my dear. I've heard nothing but pleasant things from every one who knows him. Only -' ' Well only ! Don't dare tell me he has a flaw.' Mrs. Larned hesitated, and patted Miss Lucy's hand. ' Only,' she said after a pause, ' I wish tie were a Catholic.' Miss Lucy sat erect in her eagerness. Her attitude was that of one accepting a, challenge.

'Oh, he's not at all like most. non-Catholics!' she cried. 'He has the greatest respect for the Church. He is glad that I have my religion. He says that is my province, that he isn't worthy, to enter it.' ' That's all very well, but it doesn't alter the fact that he disagrees with you on the most fundamental matter in the world.' 'But I'm sure I can convince him of the Truth.' Other women have been sure, my dear—failed.' t . J -"; Had any one but Mrs. Larned spoken the words Lucy would have fancied a shade of sadness in them, but Mary Larned's happiness spread a radiance round her wherever she moved. ' And if I do failthough I won't admit the pos—what then You never converted your husband, and everybody said you're the happiest person they know.' • * * 8 ■ The moonlight, flickering through the vine leaves, threw a very strange expression over the tender autumnal beauty of the elder woman's face. Lucy did not notice that the hand upon her own tightened and then released its hold. She thought that her friend's long silence meant that this latest argument could not be refuted. It was quite a while before Mrs. Larned spoke, but Lucy was too oblivious to everything but her own joy, and both were too deeply attached to . each other, for all the score or more of years between them, for a pause ever to grow constrained. 'Even if I am happy,' said Mary presently, ' it only makes me an exception. How many such marriages are successes? Not one in five. Look at Eileen Rourke, for example.' ' The idea !' retorted Lucy. 'As if Will were anything like him! Will's different.' 'They're always different, my dear. That's why girls marry them. When are you going to bring him to see me ?' ' Let me think. To-morrow we're invited to the Nortons' to dinner. Wednesdayoh, I promised Nell Washburn I'd stay with her Wednesday night. Will didn't like it, because he wanted to go to Glenwood Beach that night, and now he says he'll have nothing to do. Thursday—well, how would Thursday be?' Mrs. Larned appeared to ponder the question. ' I think,' she said, ' if you'll not be too frenziedly jealous, I'll ask Mr. Staunton to spend Wednesday evening with me.' ' Oh, I know he'd love to,' said Miss Lucy. It was fully an hour later when she rose with an air of protest, declaring that she knew it must be dreadfully late. 'l'll walk home with you,' said her hostess. Miss Lucy scouted the idea; it was bright moonlight and only three blocks, but Mrs. Larned prevailed, and the two walked away into the night with their arms twined round each other's waists. When Mrs. Larned returned she found her husband on the verandah in his favorite wicker rocker, puffing lazily at his pipe. ' Hello said he. 'Been taking a constitutional 1 Not much of one. Lucy Connolly was here and I took her home.' ' So she's going to marry young Staunton, is she V .'Yes. Next month.' 'Poor chap!' Her husband's laugh came jarringly. 'Poor chap, indeed!' she flamed. 'He's marrying the sweetest girl in this town or out of it!' 'True enough. I was merely thinking of all the fool things he'll have to promise the priest, and how he'll kick himself afterwards.' Mrs. Larned drew herself up, and her eyes glittered. ' Whatever he promises I'm sure he will fulfil !' she answered. Meaning, I haven't fulfilled mine, eh?' growled her husband. ' That question has been worn rather threadbare, don't you think?' replied Mary, and went inside to write" a note to Mr. Staunton.

Two nights later she sat waiting behind the vines, waiting and wondering what she should say when the man appeared to whom Lucy was about to trust her happiness. She knew that during her comparatively short stay in the flourishing Middle Western town he had built up an excellent reputation as to morals and manners, and he Was certainly handsome; there her array of relevant facts came- to an end. He was different, said Lucy. A wan ghost of a smile glimmered across the. perfectly formed lips. The woman in the shadow of the vines could remember making that identical remark twenty —well, more years ago than she cared to reckon up; only, she had spoken of Philip Larned. The past came very clearly before her while she waited, the hopeful fragrance of years long withered came back to her; the joy of young love mating, the pain and glory of motherhood, the sweet responsibilities that seemed so light because there was always one to share them. The lights beginning to break out among the trees in the city below blurred and grew dim for a moment. It was hard, sometimes, to remember that she was the happiest woman in Glen wood. She conquered her emotion, as she had schooled herself to do, promptly, mercilessly. She must greet her visitor with no trace of bitter feeling, no hint of useless regret. ***** Presently a tall, lithe, masculine figure came into view. She recognised him, and rose to welcome him. As she stood at the top of the steps, the last faint radiance of the afterglow touched the face that still was beautiful in spite of all that she hid beneath it. Mr. Staunton allowed a shameless admiration to show in his own countenance as he came toward her, and could watch the pale rose light upon the gray hair, the soft, gentle eyes, and the clear, pale complexion, milkwhite save for the color the dying sunset lent it. 'How do you do, Mr. Staunton It's very good of you to be willing to spend an evening with an old woman.' Her visitor, holding her hand in his, pretended to misunderstand 'An old woman?' he asked. 'Why, I thought I was to spend the evening with you.' She made him a half-mocking bow. ' That's very nice of you. No wonder you succeeded in turning Miss Lucy's head.' 'That. was in revenge for her turning mine,' said Mr. Staunton, following his hostess' gesture to a comfortable chair. * * *'■'■■# * For, perhaps, half an hour the conversation concerned itself with the polite generalities in which people indulge who scarcely know each other. Beyond the fact that Mr. Staunton's taste in literature was original and amusing, Mrs. Larned gleaned nothing from it. She broke into a brief silence by unmasking her real •intention. ' Mr. Staunton, you must have guessed that I didn't ask you here merely to meet Lucy's fiance, or to discover whether you thought Jane Austen superior to Dickens.' He bowed in affirmation. She went on a little hurriedly, as if not quite certain of her courage. ' Lucy is very dear to me,' she said. ' Her mother and I were playmates, and I've always felt that when she died she wanted me to watch over her daughter. Of course, Lucy has had the kindest of guardians in her uncle, so I've had no reason nor opportunity to fulfil the trust. Indeed, she has been away so much in the last few -years that I've hardly seen 'her. But for all that, she is dear to me, because of her mother, because she is a lovely girl, and, most of all, I think, because I've never had a daughter of my own.' Perhaps he was dimly aware of the depth of the wound laid bare, for his voice was grave as he'answered : . 'I know your fondness is most heartily returned.' 'Because of our love for each other, I feel free to speak to you as her mother miglit have done, on something that is vital to her future and yours.'

' I'm glad that you do feel free, Mrs. Larned.'"'.•--. ' Thank you. That something is religion; No doubt you think I'm an old fogey a woman can be one— thinking it so essential.' ; C. 'Not at all. ' -I—-' > V Lucy is a Catholic, Mr. Staunton. Will you forgive my asking you if you have any intention of being received into the Church?' - * * * * ■■."-. * For a moment the young man did not reply. 'l'll state my position as clearly as I can, Mrs. Larned. I have the greatest admiration for the Church as a historical institution. I would lose my arm rather than speak slightingly of the faith of the woman I love. But I, personally, cannot accept it.' 'Have you ever studied it deeply?' He fancied that there was a suggestion of gentle sarcasm in her question, but she was far too much in earnest to risk offending him with such a weapon. ' Perhaps, not deeply. I think I am fairly familiar with the main arguments.' For the first time there was a hint of stiffness in his manner. ' Don't be alarmed, Mr. Staunton. I shan't ask you to listen to a reading from the catechism, or to take part in a theological discussion. I'm afraid you would vanquish me in debate. All I want to say is this: think a long while before you ask a woman to share your life when there is so tremendous a difference of opinion to divide you.' 'My dear lady,' protested Staunton, surprised at her intense earnestness, ' isn't it rather late to give such advice to a man in my position ?' Moreover, I cannot admit that the difference of opinion is tremendous, as you call it,' pursued Staunton, not heeding her interjection. And surely you don't think __we are going to sit down after we are married and commence to quarrel about all the things we disagree on.' .-.'-■'-. ■'" ' Of course not, .but you're making the mistake of many people of the present day. You lump religion with a score of other matters, as if it were no more important than a taste for music or the latest microbe theory.' Oh, I say—that's hardly fair!' He laughed politely at_the sharpness of her attack. 'You 'know it's the truth,' she retorted.... -If it were not, you could see how tremendous the difference is. Religion should be the strongest bond between man and wife; in a mixed marriage it is merely an apple of discord.' ' But surely, Mrs. Larned, you do not mean to say that all mixed marriages turn out unhappily. Why, if you will pardon" the personality, you yourself have been repeatedly pointed out to me, as an ideally happy wife and mother.' Mrs. Larned was silent so long that Staunton began to fear that he had offended her. ' Mr. Staunton,' she said, presently, the calm voice giving no hint of what she must have felt as the forthcoming revelation rose to her lips, ■ did it never strike you that other people might not know so much concerning my life as I do?' 'Mrs. Larned!' cried the young man, amazed at her frankness, ' you don't mean ' ' I mean, she interrupted with perfect coolness, coolness that cost who knows how much determination, ' that I would not wish the worst of women to suffer what I suffer. Shall I tell you something of what my life has been?' 'I should be very proud to have you.' answered Staunton, recovering from his astonishment, and touched beyond measure at her simple trust in his honor. Her low, musical tones neither rose above nor fell below the level of ordinary conversation as she showed to this stranger the agony she had till now concealed from all the world. 'My husband and I were married twenty-four years ago this summer. Mr. Larned thought very much as you do about the Church. My friends did everything to dissuade me, for the feeling against mixed marriages was stronger then, but people in love do not listen to reason, do they? I remember the look of anxiety in Father Flynn's tired, old blue eyes as

he watched us. God forgive me, I thought him a foolish old man ! Well, tor a while, we were happy, radiantly 5 happy, as young people are in the first nush of their new life. We would have laughed at the idea of my religion ever coming between us. We used to talk it over in the friendliest of spirits. " I think it must have been three or four years before we quarrelled about it. We had been arguing ? good-naturedly, I think it was in regard to confession. He did not like the idea of his wife telling her inmost secrets to another manthat's the only way he could see itit strikes you in the same fashion, doesn't it? At any rate, he lost his temper, and flung some sneer at the faith, a sneer that showed all too plainly his real opinion of Catholicism. I answered him, naturally, with some heat, and our first real marital wrangle followed. Of, course, we made it up, we were still too much in love to allow it to drag on, but we discussed religion no more. A constraint crept between us, a feeling that there was one topic we must not touch upon. Our love only made the constraint harder to deal with. I could not fulfil the simplest religious duty without feeling that he mocked it. I could not pray at night in his presence without fearing to catch that sneer .on his face if I looked up too quickly. Are you ever going to let Lucy feel so toward you?' ;' No cried Staunton. 'Never that!' ' I pray that you may not!' After a pause: ' We had no serious trouble till our two sons were old enough for' school. Then my husband refused to send them to be taught, as he expressed it, by a lot of nuns. He said that the ante-nuptial agreement did not cover the point, and that as long as he did not interfere with their religious training he could send them where he chose. If I had been stronger I might have carried my wish against him, but I yielded. Of course, I saw that they were properly instructed, though even then it was not always easy to explain why, if mother's faith was so plainly true, their father should not believe it. Then they were thrown entirely with non-Catholic children, and, gradually, as they grew up and began to go about with the girls and boys in society—save the mark ! —they became ashamed of their religion. First Communion and Confirmation had strengthened their faith for a time, but it was only for a time. Phil, junior, the elder, when he reached eighteen, had begun to be slack in receiving the sacraments, even in attending Mass. .... I appealed to my husband, finding my own pleas unavailing, but he refused to compel the lad to his duties. Mr. Larned thought his own obligations accomplished in not persuading Phil to adjure. 'No doubt this is a very stupid story to you. You cannot know the agony that a mother suffers when she sees her children drifting away from her, further and further, and doing so under the covert encouragement of her husband. What do you know of the mother's countless pitiful stratagems* that fail, the countless prayers that seem of no avail, the tears, the heartache that never ceases. Take care that the woman you love may never come to know of them. I —l have gone down on my knees to the son I bore, and have been asked to please stop fussing, been told that he was a man, not a child.' The slim taper fingers crushed the lace handkerchief in her palm into a ;ball ;•■ still the voice did not quiver as she went on. ' Phil is twenty-two and has entirely renounced the Church, and John is following in his brother's footsteps, to their father's open satisfaction. I do not blame Mr. Larned. He thinks, as you do, that his son has emerged from intellectual bondage into freedom. He is entitled to his exhortation. For fifteen years there has been a duel between —for our children, and he has won. I've, been defeated at every turn. I've been weak when I should have been strong, cowardly when I should have been brave. Yet even the faith has given me strength to face the world with a smile to hide the tears, and so—ours, is an ideally happy marriage to everyone except myself, my husband, and my confessor and you.' The low, rich tones.ceased, and for a moment-even the warm summer night noises seemed hushed in sympathy.

Then Staunton spoke, unsteadily. •-■' '■■-■-- -..,-*=.--.""/ ;'...'■ ' I shall keep your story sacredalways,' he said. 'I knew that you would.' Another pause. , ' I suppose,' remarked Staunton, more easily, '.that theological questions have their place, but as far as I'm concerned, women like Lucy — youare the Church's most unanswerable argument.' An hour afterwards Mr. William Staunton was walking homeward through the night. He was thinking of many things." He wanted to hold his sweetheart in his arms, to assure her with passionate asseveration that there was no danger to be feared, that she would be safe with him forever. As he kept his way the spires of St. Patrick's loomed upon his sight, the gray facade glorified by the moonlight on the stones. Mr. Staunton, passing the high, closed portals, raised his hat in half-unwilling reverence for the unseen presence within. .''"'"" ***** Mary Larned watched till he was out of view, then went slowly to her room, and knelt down before the little silver crucifix that hung beside her bed. : V ; ' Oh, Christ, my Saviour,' she . prayed, ' Who sought out the one sheep that wandered, bring back my children to Thy true fold. They are lost and cannot find the way. And if they have merited Thy wrath, oh, I pray Thee, suffer me, through whose weakness they have strayed, to bear whatever punishment Thy mercy shall deem just. And help me, O Lord, to follow wherever Thou leadest, and not to falter nor stumble on the path. Amen.' As she prayed, a shaft of moonlight, sweeping across the floor,, reached her, and seemed to linger lovingly upon her bowed and weary head. Extension.