A WOMAN IN THE CHURCH
And there was a woman in the church.
There always is,--one who stands apart, distinct, different,--in the
community but not with it, in the church but not of it.
The woman in David's church was of a languorous, sumptuous type, built
on generous proportions, with a mass of dark hair waving low on her
forehead, with dark, straight-gazing, deep-searching eyes, the kind
that impel and hold all truanting glances. She was slow in movement,
suggesting a beautiful and commendable laziness. In public she talked
very little, laughing never, but often smiling,--a curious smile that
curved one corner of her lip and drew down the tip of one eye. She had
been married, but no one knew anything about her husband. She was a
member of the church, attended with most scrupulous regularity,
assisted generously in a financial way, was on good terms with every
one, and had not one friend in the congregation. The women were afraid
of her. So were the men. But for different reasons.
Those who would ask questions of her, ran directly against the concrete
wall of the crooked smile, and turned away abashed, unsatisfied.
Carol was very shy with her. She was not used to the type. There had
been women in her father's churches, but they had been of different
kinds. Mrs. Waldemar's straight-staring eyes embarrassed her. She
listened silently when the other women talked of her, half admiringly,
half sneeringly, and she grew more timid. She watched her fascinated
in church, on the street, whenever they were thrown together. But one
deep look from the dark eyes set her a-flush and rendered her
tongue-tied.
Mrs. Waldemar had paid scant attention to David before the advent of
Carol, except to follow his movements with her eyes in a way of which
he could not remain unconscious. But when Carol came, entered the
demon of mischief. Carol was young, Mrs. Waldemar was forty. Carol
was lovely, Mrs. Waldemar was only unusual. Carol was frank as the
sunshine, Mrs. Waldemar was mysterious. What woman on earth but might
wonder if the devoted groom were immune to luring eyes, and if that
lovely bride were jealous?
So she talked to him after church. She called him on the telephone for
directions in the Bible study she was taking up. She lounged in her
hammock as he returned home from pastoral calls, and stopped him for
little chats. David was her pastor, she was one of his flock.
But Carol screwed up her face before the mirror and frowned.
"David," she said to herself, when a glance from her window revealed
David leaning over Mrs. Waldemar's hammock half a block away, doubtless
in the scriptural act of explaining an intricate passage of Revelation
to the dark-eyed sheep,--"David is as good as an angel, and as innocent
as a baby. Two very good traits of course, but dangerous,
tre-men-dous-ly dangerous. Goodness and innocence make men wax in
women's hands." Carol, for all her youth, had acquired considerable
shrewdness in her life-time acquaintance with the intricacies of
parsonage life.
She looked from her window again. "There's the--the--the dark-eyed
Jezebel." She glanced fearfully about, to see if David might be near
enough to hear the word. What on earth would he think of the manse
lady calling one of his sheep a Jezebel? "Well, David," she said to
herself decidedly, "God gave you a wife for some purpose, and I'm slick
if I haven't much brains." And she shook a slender fist at her image
in the mirror and went back to setting the table.
David was talkative that evening. "You haven't seen much of Mrs.
Waldemar, have you, dear? People here don't think much Of her. She is
very advanced,--too advanced, of course. But she is very broad, and
kind. She is well educated, too, and for one who has had no training,
she grasps Bible truths in a most remarkable way. She has never had
the proper guidance, that's the worst of it. With a little wise
direction she will be a great addition to our church and a big help in
many ways."
Carol lowered her lashes reflectively. She was wondering how much of
this "wise direction" was going to fall to her precious David?
"I imagine our women are a little jealous of her, and that blinds them
to her many fine qualities."
Carol agreed, with a certain lack of enthusiasm, and David continued
with evident relish.
"Some of her ideas are dangerous, but when she is shown the weakness of
her position she will change. She is not one of that narrow school who
holds to a fallacy just because she accepted it in the beginning. The
elders objected to her teaching a class in Sunday-school because they
claimed her opinions would prove menacing to the young and uninformed.
And it is true. She is dangerous company for the young right now. But
she is starting out along better lines and I think will be a different
woman."
"Dangerous for the young." The words repeated themselves in Carol's
mind. "Dangerous for the young." Carol was young herself. "Dangerous
for the young."
The next afternoon, Carol arrayed herself in her most girlishly
charming gown, and with a smile on her lips, and trepidation in her
heart, she marched off to call on her Jezebel. The Jezebel was
surprised, no doubt of that. And she was pleased. Every one liked
Carol,--even Jezebels. And Mrs. Waldemar was very much alone. However
much a woman may revel in the admiration of men, there are times when
she craves the confidence of at least one woman. Mrs. Waldemar led
Carol up-stairs to a most seductively attractive little sitting-room,
and Carol sat at her feet, as it were, for two full hours.
Then she tripped away home, more than ever aware of the wonderful charm
of Mrs. Waldemar, but thanking God she was young.
When David came in to dinner, a radiant Carol awaited him. In the
ruffly white dress, with its baby blue ribbons, and with a wide band of
the same color in her hair, and tiny curls clustering about her pink
ears, she was a very infant of a minister's wife.
David took her in his arms appreciatively. "You little baby," he said
adoringly, "you look younger every day. Will you ever grow up? A
minister's wife! You look more like a little girl's baby doll."
Carol giggled, and rumpled up his hair; When she took her place at the
table she artfully snuggled low in her chair, peeping roguishly at him
from behind the wedding-present coffee urn.
"David," she began, as soon as he finished the blessing, "I've been
thinking all day of what you said about Mrs. Waldemar, and I've been
ashamed of myself. I really have avoided her. She is so old, and
clever, and I am such a goose, and people said things about her,
and--but after last night I was ashamed. So to-day I went to see her,
all alone by myself, without a gun or anything to protect me."
David laughed, nodding at her approvingly. "Good for you, Carol," he
cried in approbation. "That was fine. How did you get along?"
"Just grand. And isn't she interesting? And so kind. I believe she
likes me. She kept me a long time and made me a cup of tea, and begged
me to come again. She nearly hypnotized me, I am really infatuated
with her. Oh, we had a lovely time. She is different from us, but it
does us good to mix with other kinds, don't you think so? I believe
she did me good. I feel very emancipated to-night."
Carol tossed her blue-ribboned, curly head, and the warm approval in
David's eyes cooled a little.
"What did she have to say?" he asked curiously.
"Oh, she talked a lot about being broad, and generous, and not allowing
environment to dwarf one. She thinks it is a shame for a--a--girl of
my--well, she called it my 'divine sparkle,' and she said it was a
compliment,--anyhow, she said it was a shame I should be confined to a
little half-souled bunch of Presbyterians in the Heights. She has a
lot of friends down-town, advanced thinkers, she calls them,--a poet,
and some authors, and artists, and musicians,--folks like that. They
have informal meetings every week or so, and she is going to take me.
She says I will enjoy them and that they will adore me."
Carol's voice swelled with triumph, and David's approval turned to ice.
"She must have liked me or she wouldn't have been so friendly. She
laughed at the Heights,--she called it a 'little, money-saving,
heart-squeezing, church-bound neighborhood.' She said I must study new
thoughts and read the new poetry, and run out with her to grip souls
with real people now and then, to keep my star from tarnishing. I
didn't understand all she said, but it sounded irresistible. Oh, she
was lovely to me."
"She shouldn't have talked to you like that," protested David quickly.
"She is not fair to our people. She can not understand them because
they live sweet, simple lives where home and church are throned. New
thought is not necessary to them because they are full of the old, old
thought of training their babies, and keeping their homes, and
worshiping God. And I know the kind of people she meets down-town,--a
sort of high-class Bohemia where everybody flirts with everybody else
in the name of art. You wouldn't care for it."
Carol adroitly changed the subject, and David said no more.
The next day, quite accidentally, she met Mrs. Waldemar on the corner
and they had a soda together at the drug store. That night after
prayer-meeting David had to tarry for a deacons' meeting, and Carol and
Mrs. Waldemar sauntered off alone, arm in arm, and waited in Mrs.
Waldemar's hammock until David appeared.
And David did not see anything wonderful in the dark, deep eyes at
all,--they looked downright wicked to him. He took Carol away
hurriedly, and questioned her feverishly to find out if Mrs. Waldemar
had put any fresh nonsense into her pretty little head.
Day after day passed by and David began going around the block to avoid
Mrs. Waldemar's hammock. Her advanced thoughts, expressed to him, old
and settled and quite mature, were only amusing. But when she poured
the vials of her emancipation on little, innocent, trusting Carol,--it
was--well, David called it "pure down meanness." She was trying to
make his wife dissatisfied with her environment, with her life, with
her very husband. David's kindly heart swelled with unaccustomed fury.
Carol always assured him that she didn't believe the things Mrs.
Waldemar said,--it was interesting, that was all, and curious, and gave
her new things to think about. And minister's families must be broad
enough to make Christian allowance for all.
But, curiously enough, she grew genuinely fond of Mrs. Waldemar. And
Mrs. Waldemar, in gratitude for the girlish affection of the little
manse lady, left David alone. But one day she took Carol's dimpled
chin in her hand, and turned the face up that she might look directly
into the young blue eyes.
"Carol," she said, smiling, "you are a girlie, girlie wife, with
dimples and curls and all the baby tricks, but you're a pretty clever
little lady at that. You were not going to let your darling old David
get into trouble, were you? And quite right, my dear, quite right.
And between you and me, I like you far, far better than your husband."
She smiled the crooked smile and pinched Carol's crimson cheek. "The
only way to keep hubby out of danger is to tackle it yourself, isn't
it? Oh, don't blush,--I like you all the better for your little trick."