CHURCH AND STATE
THE family and a number of the servants from Kent House were on their
way to the small Episcopal church at the edge of the estate.
Jack and Frank were walking in front, with Olive and Frieda strolling a
little more slowly behind them, and the rest of the company followed in
scattered groups.
At the beginning of her marriage the English Sundays had been a trial to
Jack. They were so much more quiet, so much more sedate than those of
her rather too unconventional girlhood in Wyoming. Then they had
sometimes held church in the open air, or if they wished to go into the
nearest town, a big wagon was loaded with as many persons as could be
persuaded from the ranch, and ordinarily they stopped on the way back
and had lunch somewhere. Now and then Jack even remembered having ridden
on her own broncho to the church door and fastened it on the outside,
while she went in to the service in a costume which was an odd cross
between a riding habit and a church outfit.
But now, although the walk across Kent Park was only a short one, Jack
was as correctly attired as if she were in London. Beside her brown
velvet costume which was very smart and becoming, she wore a hat with
feathers, which she particularly disliked. The hat was of the kind
affected by Queen Mary of England, who always wears feather-trimmed
hats.
However, the mere matter of her hat would not have made Jack feel out of
sorts, if she had not had another more potent reason. Frank was nearly
always cross on Sunday mornings and this morning was no exception.
It is strange that Sunday should have this effect on many persons, when
one should be more cheerful than usual, and yet it does.
Frank was really worn out with all his worries and responsibilities,
Jack decided to herself, as she had a number of times recently. It was a
privilege many people take advantage of, by saving their bad humors for
their families.
"But, Frank, I don't think you understand the situation in the United
States," Jack argued, speaking good naturedly. "You see, we represent
so many nationalities, so many differences of opinion and training, that
we can't all think alike. The President is supposed to represent
everybody."
"Nonsense," Frank interrupted his wife not too politely. "The United
States has been thinking about nothing but getting rich. They are a
nation of shirkers, willing to stand back and let others do the work and
suffer the loss."
"There are a good many millions of us for us all to be shirkers, Frank,"
Jack answered, still speaking quietly, although her cheeks had flushed
and her eyes darkened.
Really she and Frank tried very hard not to discuss any differences of
opinion they felt concerning the war. During the last few years the
marriages between men and women of different nationalities have had a
great strain put upon them. At present, Frank as an Englishman, thought
that the United States should immediately have gone in upon the side of
the Allies, while Jack did not; and now and then they unfortunately fell
into a discussion of the subject.
Therefore, when they entered church this Sunday morning, neither Jack
nor Frank were in a good humor toward each other. Jack felt that, as
she was doing all she could in the service of his country, he should
have made no unkind criticism of hers. Frank did not think at all,
except to wish that Jack would refrain from argument. Certainly a man
wished for peace in his own home when it was nowhere else. But it did
not occur to Frank that it takes two to keep peace as well as two to
make a quarrel; nor did he begin to realize how trying he had been at
home during the past few months.
As a matter of fact Frank was spoiled, as many Englishmen and some
American men are. He had been an only son who was to inherit the family
title, and his mother and sisters had always put him first in all
things. It was true that when he came to the United States he had fallen
in love with Jacqueline Ralston because, for one reason, she did not
treat him differently at the beginning of their acquaintance from any
cowboy on her ranch. That is, she was perfectly polite to him, when she
remembered his existence; but then she was polite to everybody and
recognized no social distinctions. She liked her own freedom, allowed
other people theirs, and went her way untroubled by the opinion of
others.
But, at present--as is often the case with men after they marry--the
very things in Jack which had attracted Frank before marriage annoyed
him now. He believed she ought to be more influenced by his views. Of
course, she ordinarily gave in to his wishes. However, he seldom felt as
if she were convinced, but believed she yielded through sheer sweet
temper.
Moreover, Frank's irritability continued all day, so that several times
after their return home, Jack found herself mortified before Olive and
Frieda. Not that she minded so much about Olive, since Olive and Frank
had always understood each other. But, as Frieda had announced herself
as being disappointed with marriage, Jack did not wish her to think that
her own was also a failure.
After their midday luncheon on Sunday it was always Lord and Lady Kent's
custom to walk over their estate during the afternoon, visit the stables
and see as much of the condition of the place and the people on it as
was possible.
This Sunday afternoon Frank arose and started to go on his usual rounds
without suggesting that Jack accompany him.
However, she paid no attention to this, but followed him. Outdoors he
changed into a better mood.
There were not many horses left in the stables, as most of them were
being used by the army. But when Jack and Frank went into the kennels,
which adjoined the stables, a dozen great dogs began leaping over them
at once.
Frank drew a little aside to watch his wife.
Jack stood in their midst laughing and protesting a little when one big
hound stuck its great head, with wide open jaws and lolling tongue, too
near her face. Yet she managed to make them all happy and quiet again by
patting and stroking each one, or by calling each dog by name.
"You are not afraid of anything in the world, are you, Jack?" Frank
remarked admiringly, as they again got safely away from the kennels,
Jack finding it necessary at the last moment to remove two large paws
from her shoulders in order to settle a dispute between two of the other
dogs.
Jack laughed. "Goodness, Frank, what an extraordinary opinion you and a
few other people have of me! I am one of the biggest cowards in the
world about the things I am afraid of. I simply don't happen to be
afraid of animals, as so many women are. And that is not a virtue, but
because I was brought up with them."
"I should like to know what you do fear, then?" Frank demanded.
Instead of answering at once Jack slipped her arm inside her husband's.
"I am dreadfully afraid of the people I care about being angry with me,
though you and the rest of my family may not believe it, as I am
supposed to have once been a wilful person," she returned unexpectedly.
"Sometimes I wonder, Frank, just how much of a coward I would be, if I
had either to give up what I thought was right or else to have some one
seriously angry with me. I have not the courage of my convictions like
Frieda."
In response Frank uttered a half growl, which was not very complimentary
to Frieda or her convictions. However, Jack went on almost without
pausing.
"I wonder, Frank, if it is fair to Frieda not to let her know what has
happened to Professor Russell? Sometimes I have thought she has worried
more over his silence than we imagine."
Frank shook his head.
"Frieda deserves whatever may come to her. It is an old-fashioned
axiom, dear, but all the more true for that reason: Frieda has made her
bed; now let her lie upon it."
"But Frieda is hardly more than a child," Jack protested. "Besides, that
is a pretty hard rule to apply to people. I don't think you and I would
like to have it applied to us if we were ever in any difficulty."
As it struck Frank as utterly impossible that he and Jack ever could
have a disagreement, which could not be settled amiably in a few hours,
he paid no attention to her last statement. Nevertheless he added:
"After all, Jack, it is not for us to decide anything concerning Frieda
and her husband. That is for them. We are simply doing what Professor
Russell has requested of us."
"Yes, but Frieda," Jack expostulated more weakly.
"Frieda is receiving just what she asked for--silence. But you must not
worry over Frieda. She will solve existence happily for herself soon
enough. Almost any man would do anything and forgive anything in behalf
of such blue eyes and yellow hair as Frieda's to say nothing of her
Professor. I may pretend to be severe but I should probably forgive her
as readily."
"Sooner than you would me?" Jack inquired and laughed. "Oh, of course,
you would. Everybody always has as long as I can remember."
Frank looked more closely at his wife and his face softened until his
eyes held their old expression of boyish admiration. Always he had been
pleased by her intense loyalty to the people she cared for. It had made
him forgive her in the past when she had some mistaken idea of loyalty
toward Olive.
"I am afraid you have had to do the forgiving recently, Jack. I expect I
have been difficult. But I feel so torn these days wanting to be over in
France doing the real work with fellows like Bryan, and at the same time
wanting to be here with you and the babies and knowing I am perhaps more
useful in London than I would be elsewhere."
Jack's clear grey eyes were full of the spiritual understanding that had
made her always so valuable a friend, and a woman must be a friend to
her husband as well as other things.
"I know, Frank," she answered, "but you are doing the right thing. If I
didn't think so, no matter how I should suffer, do you believe for a
moment that I would stand in your way?"
And catching her look, Frank replied.
"No, Jack, I don't; but I thank you for understanding."
There were no letters delivered at Kent House on Sunday, but on each
Sunday afternoon one of the men drove over to the post-office, which was
open for an hour, and returned with the mail. It was important that Lord
Kent should be kept in touch with every situation that arose, as there
might be grave and tragic developments in the course of the hours he
sometimes spent away from London.
As he picked up the mail which was lying on the table in the hall as
they entered, Frank extended a letter to his wife.
"This is from Bryan, I believe, Jack. Do tell me what he says."
They went into the library where Frieda and Olive were already waiting
for tea to be served.
Jack walked over to the fire and, before taking off her hat, read her
letter through quietly.
Then she looked up happily.
"Bryan says he is all right and sends his love to the family, but more
especially to his Lady Vive. He asks us all to write to him oftener if
we can manage it, as we are his adopted family and he has no other.
Frieda, he says your gift of socks is the most wonderful in all France.
I actually believe Bryan is almost having a good time; but if he is not
he is awfully brave."
Making no effort to conceal her emotion, Jack's eyes suddenly filled
with tears.
"Gracious, Jack," Frieda exclaimed. "As long as there is nothing the
matter with Captain MacDonnell, I wouldn't shed any tears over him. You
so seldom cry, it always makes me wretched when you do. I'll bet Jack
has never shed any tears over you, Frank."
Frieda was not like a kitten in appearance alone. She had also soft
little claws with which she scratched a tiny bit now and then. She had
been entirely conscious that her brother-in-law considered that she was
to blame in a large measure for her trouble with her husband, although
he had never said so to her. Yet she had a desire to get a little bit
even with him now and then.
Frank's face did flush slightly, although he smiled good humoredly.
"Oh, I am nothing but a civilian these days and Bryan is a soldier. I
can't expect the same interest to be bestowed upon me, even by my own
wife."