Rilla of Ingleside Read online

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE VALLEY OF DECISION

  Susan kept the flag flying at Ingleside all the next day, in honour ofItaly's declaration of war.

  "And not before it was time, Mrs. Dr. dear, considering the way thingshave begun to go on the Russian front. Say what you will, thoseRussians are kittle cattle, the grand duke Nicholas to the contrarynotwithstanding. It is a fortunate thing for Italy that she has come inon the right side, but whether it is as fortunate for the Allies I willnot predict until I know more about Italians than I do now. However,she will give that old reprobate of a Francis Joseph something to thinkabout. A pretty Emperor indeed--with one foot in the grave and yetplotting wholesale murder"--and Susan thumped and kneaded her breadwith as much vicious energy as she could have expended in punchingFrancis Joseph himself if he had been so unlucky as to fall into herclutches.

  Walter had gone to town on the early train, and Nan offered to lookafter Jims for the day and so set Rilla free. Rilla was wildly busy allday, helping to decorate the Glen hall and seeing to a hundred lastthings. The evening was beautiful, in spite of the fact that Mr. Pryorwas reported to have said that he "hoped it would rain pitch forkspoints down," and to have wantonly kicked Miranda's dog as he said it.Rilla, rushing home from the hall, dressed hurriedly. Everything hadgone surprisingly well at the last; Irene was even then downstairspractising her songs with Miss Oliver; Rilla was excited and happy,forgetful even of the Western front for the moment. It gave her a senseof achievement and victory to have brought her efforts of weeks to sucha successful conclusion. She knew that there had not lacked people whothought and hinted that Rilla Blythe had not the tact or patience toengineer a concert programme. She had shown them! Little snatches ofsong bubbled up from her lips as she dressed. She thought she waslooking very well. Excitement brought a faint, becoming pink into herround creamy cheeks, quite drowning out her few freckles, and her hairgleamed with red-brown lustre. Should she wear crab-apple blossoms init, or her little fillet of pearls? After some agonised wavering shedecided on the crab-apple blossoms and tucked the white waxen clusterbehind her left ear. Now for a final look at her feet. Yes, bothslippers were on. She gave the sleeping Jims a kiss--what a dear littlewarm, rosy, satin face he had--and hurried down the hill to the hall.Already it was filling--soon it was crowded. Her concert was going tobe a brilliant success.

  The first three numbers were successfully over. Rilla was in the littledressing-room behind the platform, looking out on the moonlit harbourand rehearsing her own recitations. She was alone, the rest of theperformers being in the larger room on the other side. Suddenly shefelt two soft bare arms slipping round her waist, then Irene Howarddropped a light kiss on her cheek.

  "Rilla, you sweet thing, you're looking simply angelic to-night. Youhave spunk--I thought you would feel so badly over Walter's enlistingthat you'd hardly be able to bear up at all, and here you are as coolas a cucumber. I wish I had half your nerve."

  Rilla stood perfectly still. She felt no emotion whatever--she feltnothing. The world of feeling had just gone blank.

  "Walter--enlisting"--she heard herself saying--then she heard Irene'saffected little laugh.

  "Why, didn't you know? I thought you did of course, or I wouldn't havementioned it. I am always putting my foot in it, aren't I? Yes, that iswhat he went to town for to-day--he told me coming out on the trainto-night, I was the first person he told. He isn't in khaki yet--theywere out of uniforms--but he will be in a day or two. I always saidWalter had as much pluck as anybody. I assure you I felt proud of him,Rilla, when he told me what he'd done. Oh, there's an end of RickMacAllister's reading. I must fly. I promised I'd play for the nextchorus--Alice Clow has such a headache."

  She was gone--oh, thank God, she was gone! Rilla was alone again,staring out at the unchanged, dream-like beauty of moonlit Four Winds.Feeling was coming back to her--a pang of agony so acute as to bealmost physical seemed to rend her apart.

  "I cannot bear it," she said. And then came the awful thought thatperhaps she could bear it and that there might be years of this hideoussuffering before her.

  She must get away--she must rush home--she must be alone. She could notgo out there and play for drills and give readings and take part indialogues now. It would spoil half the concert; but that did notmatter--nothing mattered. Was this she, Rilla Blythe--this torturedthing, who had been quite happy a few minutes ago? Outside, a quartettewas singing "We'll never let the old flag fall"--the music seemed to becoming from some remote distance. Why couldn't she cry, as she hadcried when Jem told them he must go? If she could cry perhaps thishorrible something that seemed to have seized on her very life mightlet go. But no tears came! Where were her scarf and coat? She must getaway and hide herself like an animal hurt to the death.

  Was it a coward's part to run away like this? The question came to hersuddenly as if someone else had asked it. She thought of the shamblesof the Flanders front--she thought of her brother and her playmatehelping to hold those fire-swept trenches. What would they think of herif she shirked her little duty here--the humble duty of carrying theprogramme through for her Red Cross? But she couldn't stay--shecouldn't--yet what was it mother had said when Jem went: "When ourwomen fail in courage shall our men be fearless still?" But this--thiswas unbearable.

  Still, she stopped half-way to the door and went back to the window.Irene was singing now; her beautiful voice--the only real thing abouther--soared clear and sweet through the building. Rilla knew that thegirls' Fairy Drill came next. Could she go out there and play for it?Her head was aching now--her throat was burning. Oh, why had Irene toldher just then, when telling could do no good? Irene had been verycruel. Rilla remembered now that more than once that day she had caughther mother looking at her with an odd expression. She had been too busyto wonder what it meant. She understood now. Mother had known whyWalter went to town but wouldn't tell her until the concert was over.What spirit and endurance mother had!

  "I must stay here and see things through," said Rilla, clasping hercold hands together.

  The rest of the evening always seemed like a fevered dream to her. Herbody was crowded by people but her soul was alone in a torture-chamberof its own. Yet she played steadily for the drills and gave herreadings without faltering. She even put on a grotesque old Irishwoman's costume and acted the part in the dialogue which Miranda Pryorhad not taken. But she did not give her "brogue" the inimitable twistshe had given it in the practices, and her readings lacked their usualfire and appeal. As she stood before the audience she saw one faceonly--that of the handsome, dark-haired lad sitting beside hermother--and she saw that same face in the trenches--saw it lying coldand dead under the stars--saw it pining in prison--saw the light of itseyes blotted out--saw a hundred horrible things as she stood there onthe beflagged platform of the Glen hall with her own face whiter thanthe milky crab-blossoms in her hair. Between her numbers she walkedrestlessly up and down the little dressing-room. Would the concertnever end!

  It ended at last. Olive Kirk rushed up and told her exultantly thatthey had made a hundred dollars. "That's good," Rilla saidmechanically. Then she was away from them all--oh, thank God, she wasaway from them all--Walter was waiting for her at the door. He put hisarm through hers silently and they went together down the moonlit road.The frogs were singing in the marshes, the dim, ensilvered fields ofhome lay all around them. The spring night was lovely and appealing.Rilla felt that its beauty was an insult to her pain. She would hatemoonlight for ever.

  "You know?" said Walter.

  "Yes. Irene told me," answered Rilla chokingly.

  "We didn't want you to know till the evening was over. I knew when youcame out for the drill that you had heard. Little sister, I had to doit. I couldn't live any longer on such terms with myself as I have beensince the Lusitania was sunk. When I pictured those dead women andchildren floating about in that pitiless, ice-cold water--well, atfirst I just felt a sort of nausea with life. I wanted to get out ofthe world where such a thing could happ
en--shake its accursed dust frommy feet for ever. Then I knew I had to go."

  "There are--plenty--without you."

  "That isn't the point, Rilla-my-Rilla. I'm going for my own sake--tosave my soul alive. It will shrink to something small and mean andlifeless if I don't go. That would be worse than blindness ormutilation or any of the things I've feared."

  "You may--be--killed," Rilla hated herself for saying it--she knew itwas a weak and cowardly thing to say--but she had rather gone to piecesafter the tension of the evening.

  "'Comes he slow or comes he fast It is but death who comes at last.'"

  quoted Walter. "It's not death I fear--I told you that long ago. Onecan pay too high a price for mere life, little sister. There's so muchhideousness in this war--I've got to go and help wipe it out of theworld. I'm going to fight for the beauty of life, Rilla-my-Rilla--thatis my duty. There may be a higher duty, perhaps--but that is mine. Iowe life and Canada that, and I've got to pay it. Rilla, tonight forthe first time since Jem left I've got back my self-respect. I couldwrite poetry," Walter laughed. "I've never been able to write a linesince last August. Tonight I'm full of it. Little sister, be brave--youwere so plucky when Jem went."

  "This--is--different," Rilla had to stop after every word to fight downa wild outburst of sobs. "I loved--Jem--of course--but--when--hewent--away--we thought--the war--would soon--be over--and youare--everything to me, Walter."

  "You must be brave to help me, Rilla-my-Rilla. I'm exaltedtonight--drunk with the excitement of victory over myself--but therewill be other times when it won't be like this--I'll need your helpthen."

  "When--do--you--go?" She must know the worst at once.

  "Not for a week--then we go to Kingsport for training. I suppose we'llgo overseas about the middle of July--we don't know."

  One week--only one week more with Walter! The eyes of youth did not seehow she was to go on living.

  When they turned in at the Ingleside gate Walter stopped in the shadowsof the old pines and drew Rilla close to him.

  "Rilla-my-Rilla, there were girls as sweet and pure as you in Belgiumand Flanders. You--even you--know what their fate was. We must make itimpossible for such things to happen again while the world lasts.You'll help me, won't you?"

  "I'll try, Walter," she said. "Oh, I will try."

  As she clung to him with her face pressed against his shoulder she knewthat it had to be. She accepted the fact then and there. He mustgo--her beautiful Walter with his beautiful soul and dreams and ideals.And she had known all along that it would come sooner or later. She hadseen it coming to her--coming--coming--as one sees the shadow of acloud drawing near over a sunny field, swiftly and inescapably. Amidall her pain she was conscious of an odd feeling of relief in somehidden part of her soul, where a little dull, unacknowledged sorenesshad been lurking all winter. No one--no one could ever call Walter aslacker now.

  Rilla did not sleep that night. Perhaps no one at Ingleside did exceptJims. The body grows slowly and steadily, but the soul grows by leapsand bounds. It may come to its full stature in an hour. From that nightRilla Blythe's soul was the soul of a woman in its capacity forsuffering, for strength, for endurance.

  When the bitter dawn came she rose and went to her window. Below herwas a big apple-tree, a great swelling cone of rosy blossom. Walter hadplanted it years ago when he was a little boy. Beyond Rainbow Valleythere was a cloudy shore of morning with little ripples of sunrisebreaking over it. The far, cold beauty of a lingering star shone aboveit. Why, in this world of springtime loveliness, must hearts break?

  Rilla felt arms go about her lovingly, protectingly. It wasmother--pale, large-eyed mother.

  "Oh, mother, how can you bear it?" she cried wildly. "Rilla, dear, I'veknown for several days that Walter meant to go. I've had time to--torebel and grow reconciled. We must give him up. There is a Call greaterand more insistent than the call of our love--he has listened to it. Wemust not add to the bitterness of his sacrifice."

  "Our sacrifice is greater than his," cried Rilla passionately. "Ourboys give only themselves. We give them."

  Before Mrs. Blythe could reply Susan stuck her head in at the door,never troubling over such frills of etiquette as knocking. Her eyeswere suspiciously red but all she said was,

  "Will I bring up your breakfast, Mrs. Dr. dear."

  "No, no, Susan. We will all be down presently. Do you know--that Walterhas joined up."

  "Yes, Mrs. Dr. dear. The doctor told me last night. I suppose theAlmighty has His own reasons for allowing such things. We must submitand endeavour to look on the bright side. It may cure him of being apoet, at least"--Susan still persisted in thinking that poets andtramps were tarred with the same brush--"and that would be something.But thank God," she muttered in a lower tone, "that Shirley is not oldenough to go."

  "Isn't that the same thing as thanking Him that some other woman's sonhas to go in Shirley's place?" asked the doctor, pausing on thethreshold.

  "No, it is not, doctor dear," said Susan defiantly, as she picked upJims, who was opening his big dark eyes and stretching up his dimpledpaws. "Do not you put words in my mouth that I would never dream ofuttering. I am a plain woman and cannot argue with you, but I do notthank God that anybody has to go. I only know that it seems they dohave to go, unless we all want to be Kaiserised--for I can assure youthat the Monroe doctrine, whatever it is, is nothing to tie to, withWoodrow Wilson behind it. The Huns, Dr. dear, will never be brought tobook by notes. And now," concluded Susan, tucking Jims in the crook ofher gaunt arms and marching downstairs, "having cried my cry and saidmy say I shall take a brace, and if I cannot look pleasant I will lookas pleasant as I can."