LOVE LAUGHS
When Helen had received a brief note from Tom the night before the election
that he would surely reach home the next day, she snatched his picture from
the library table with a cry of joy and rushed to her room.
She placed the little gold frame on her bureau, sat down before it and
poured out her heart in silly speeches of love, pausing to laugh and kiss
the glass that saved the miniature from ruin. The portrait was an exquisite
work of art on ivory which the father had commisioned a painter in New York
to do in celebration of Tom's coming of age. The artist had caught the
boy's spirit in the tender smile that played about his lips and lingered in
the corners of his blue eyes, the same eyes and lips in line and color in
the dainty little mother's portrait over the mantel.
"Oh, you big, handsome, brave, glorious boy!" she cried in ecstasy. "My
sweetheart--so generous, so clean, so strong, so free in soul! I love
you--I love you--I love you!"
She fell asleep at last with the oval frame clasped tight in one hand
thrust under her pillow. A sound sleep was impossible, the busy brain was
too active. Again and again she waked with a start, thinking she had heard
his swift footfall on the stoop.
At daybreak she leaped to her feet and found herself in the middle of the
room laughing when she came to herself, the precious picture still clasped
in her hand.
"Oh, foolish heart, wake up!" she cried with another laugh. "It's dawn, and
my lover is coming! It's his day! No more sleep--it's too wonderful! I'm
going to count every hour until I hear his step--every minute of every
hour, foolish heart!"
She looked out the window and it was raining. The overhanging boughs of the
oaks were dripping on the tin roof of the bay window in which she was
standing. She had dreamed of a wonderful sunrise this morning. But it
didn't matter--the rain didn't matter. The slow, familiar dropping on the
roof suggested the nearness of her lover. They would sit in some shadowy
corner hand in hand and love all the more tenderly. The raindrops were the
drum beat of a band playing the march that was bringing him nearer with
each throb. The mocking-bird that had often waked her with his song was
silent, hovering somewhere in a tree beneath the thick leaves. She had
expected him to call her to-day with the sweetest lyric he had ever sung.
Somehow it didn't matter. Her soul was singing the song that makes all
other music dumb.
"My love is coming!" she murmured joyfully. "My love is coming!"
And then she stood for an hour in brooding, happy silence and watched the
ghost-like trees come slowly out of the mists. To her shining eyes there
were no mists. The gray film that hung over the waking world was a bridal
veil hiding the blushing face of the earth from the sun-god lover who was
on his way over the hills to clasp her in his burning arms!
For the first time in her memory she was supremely happy.
Every throb of pain that belonged to the past was lost in the sea of joy on
which her soul had set sail. In the glory of his love pain was only another
name for joy. All she had suffered was but the preparation for this supreme
good. It was all the more wonderful, this fairy world into which she had
entered, because the shadows had been so deep in her lonely childhood.
There really hadn't been any past! She couldn't remember the time she had
not known and loved Tom. Love filled the universe, past, present and
future. There was no task too hard for her hands, no danger she was not
ready to meet. The hungry heart had found its own.
Through the long hours of the day she waited without impatience. Each tick
of the tiny clock on the mantel brought him nearer. The hands couldn't turn
back! She watched them with a smile as she sat in the gathering twilight.
She had placed the miniature back in its place and sat where her eye caught
the smile from his lips when she lifted her head from the embroidery on her
lap.
The band was playing a stirring strain in the Square. She could hear the
tumult and the shouts of the crowds about the speaker's stand as they read
the bulletins of the election. The darkness couldn't hold him many more
minutes.
She rose with a soft laugh and turned on the lights, walked to the window,
looked out and listened to the roar of the cheering when Norton made his
appearance. The band struck up another stirring piece. Yes, it was "Hail
to the Chief!" He had come.
She counted the minutes it would take for him to elude his father and reach
the house. She pictured the smile on his face as he threaded his way
through the throng and started to her on swift feet. She could see him
coming with the long, quick stride he had inherited from his father.
She turned back into the room exclaiming:
"Oh, foolish heart, be still!"
She seated herself again and waited patiently, a smile about the corners of
her lips and another playing hide and seek in the depths of her expressive
eyes.
Tom had entered the house unobserved by any one and softly tipped into the
library from the door directly behind her. He paused, removed his hat,
dropped it silently into a chair and stood looking at the graceful,
beautiful form bending over her work. The picture of this waiting figure he
had seen in his day-dreams a thousand times and yet it was so sweet and
wonderful he had to stop and drink in the glory of it for a moment.
A joyous laugh was bubbling in his heart as he tipped softly over the thick
yielding rug and slipped his hands over her eyes. His voice was the
gentlest whisper:
"Guess?"
The white figure slowly rose and her words came in little ripples of
gasping laughter as she turned and lifted her arms:
"It's--it's--Tom!"
With a smothered cry she was on his breast. He held her long and close
without a word. His voice had a queer hitch in it as he murmured:
"Helen--my darling!"
"Oh, I thought you'd never come!" she sighed, looking up through her tears.
Tom held her off and gazed into her eyes:
"It's been a century since I've seen you! I did my level best when we got
into these nearby counties again, but I couldn't shake Dad once this week.
He watched me like a hawk and insisted on staying out of town till the very
last hour of the election to-day. Did old Andy find out I slipped in last
week?"
"No!" she laughed.
"Did Cleo find it out?"
"No."
"You're sure Cleo didn't find out?"
"Sure--but Aunt Minerva did."
"Oh, I'm not afraid of her--kiss me!"
With a glad cry their lips met.
He held her off.
"I'm not afraid of anything!"
With an answering laugh, she kissed him again.
"I'm not afraid of Dad!" he said in tones of mock tragedy. "Once more!"
She gently disengaged herself, asking:
"How did you get away from him so quickly?"
"Oh, he's making a speech to the crowd in the Square proclaiming victory
and so"--his voice fell to a whisper--"I flew to celebrate mine!"
"Won't he miss you?"
"Not while he's talking. Dad enjoys an eloquent speech--especially one of
his own----"
He stopped abruptly, took a step toward her and cried:
"Say! Do you know what the Governor of North Carolina said once upon a
time to the Governor of South Carolina?"
Helen laughed:
"What?"
He opened his arms:
"'It strikes me,' said he, 'that it's a long time between drinks!'"
Again her arms flashed around his neck.
"Did you miss me?"
"Dreadfully!" she sighed. "But I've been happy--happy in your love--oh, so
happy, dearest!"
"Well, if Dad wins this election to-night," he said with a boyish smile,
"I'm going to tell him. Now's the time--no more slipping and sliding!"--he
paused, rushed to the window and looked out--"come, the clouds have lifted
and the moon is rising. Our old seat among the roses is waiting."
With a look of utter happiness she slipped her arm in his and they strolled
across the lawn.