THE LILAC LADY FALLS ASLEEP
So the summer swept rapidly on. The remodelled stone mansion was
finished at last and daintily furnished to meet every requirement. There
were school-rooms and work-rooms and play-rooms. There were parlors and
pianos and piazzas. There were long windows and wide doors everywhere.
The whole place was filled with sunshine and fresh air. Rare flowers and
ferns from the conservatory peeped out from every corner; the polished
floors were covered with thick, soft carpets; easy chairs and tempting
couches were harmoniously arranged about the rooms. A wing of the
basement was converted into a gymnasium with a brave array of dumbbells,
Indian clubs, trapezes and ladders. The great house was complete in
every detail, and all Martindale was interested in this unique Home
which the Lilac Lady was founding. But, though the offers to help were
many, the lame girl refused them all and pushed the work with untiring
energy.
Lottie had joined the three waifs already in the Palace Beautiful, as
the Greenfield girls called it, although its real name was to be Oak
Knoll; and one other little orphan maid had slipped in through the open
doors. Aunt Pen had been persuaded to take a flying trip to the southern
Home which Peace had so enthusiastically described, and returned fired
with zeal for the new work which held so many opportunities. Plans were
discussed, a Board of Directors elected, the business routine adjusted,
and everything legalized in order that there might be no hitch in
proceedings after the institution had been opened to the public.
The lame girl developed a surprising business ability, and insisted upon
looking after all the details personally, seeming to grow stronger as
the work progressed, and she saw her plans nearing completion. Even Aunt
Pen was deceived by the delicate flush which tinted the once colorless
cheeks, and the keen, alive look in the deep blue eyes; but the girl
herself understood, and so hurried carpenters and lawyers alike, until
at length everything was done, and Oak Knoll had been formally dedicated
and opened for its noble work.
Autumn lingered long that year, cool and calm, as if to make up for the
fierce heat of the summer months. But at last the frosts came and tipped
every leaf and flower with gorgeous colors; the grass grew brown on the
hillside; the brilliant foliage of the trees fluttered down with every
breath of wind that stirred; and the crisp, hazy air was filled with the
smell of fall. Then, when the chill of winter seemed upon them, the warm
days of Indian Summer again held it in check and revived the fading
flowers for one last bloom before going to sleep under blankets of ice
and snow.
Such a day was it the Sunday following Gail's twentieth birthday; and
after dinner had been served, the family repaired to the wide veranda
with books and papers to enjoy the freshness of the air and drink in the
glories of the autumn afternoon, while they read or talked together,
feeling that this was the last time for many weeks that they could sit
in this fashion out-of-doors.
But Peace was restless. There was a subtle something in the smell of the
hazy atmosphere which appealed to her forcefully, and leaving the family
gathered about the President on the piazza, she wandered down the
driveway to the great bed of chrysanthemums growing in a sheltered nook
where the frosts had not yet found them, and stood gloating over their
splendid blossoms.
"Chrysanthemums, chrysanthemums, oh, you dear chrysanthemums," she
hummed to herself, then stooped and plucked one long spray, another, a
whole armful, and with shining eyes she returned to the porch.
"My, what beauties!" exclaimed Faith, looking up from her book as Peace
passed. "Why didn't you leave them in the garden? They look so cheerful
growing, now that all the other flowers are gone."
"Hicks is coming after me this afternoon to visit Palace Beautiful, and
the Lilac Lady loves chrysanthemums."
She thrust her head deep into her bouquet, and they laughed at the
roguish, round face peeping from between the great yellow and white
balls. It was indeed a pretty picture, for both flowers and face seemed
radiating sunshine.
The chug-chug of an approaching automobile drew their attention to the
road, and Allee exclaimed, "There's Hicks now!"
"It's Hicks' machine, but that ain't him driving," answered Peace,
studying the car slowing up in front of the gate. "Hicks always comes up
the driveway, too. Why, it's Saint John and Elspeth!" They waved their
hands at the little group on the porch, and the doctor walked down to
the gate to meet the minister, who had leaped to the ground from his
place at the wheel.
"Run, get your hat and jacket, Peace," called Mrs. Campbell, as the
child started as if to join her friends in the street, so she darted
into the house for her wraps, impatient to be off in the throbbing, red
car. She was back in a moment, her jacket thrown over one arm and her
hat dangling down her back, but as she leaped onto the step beside
Elizabeth, she was vaguely conscious that both the preacher and his wife
looked strangely exalted, and they greeted her more tenderly and with
less boisterous fun than was usual. Indeed, Saint John hugged her so
tightly that it hurt, but she could not rebuke him, because he was
speaking to the family gathered at the gate, and she caught the words,
"Only an hour ago. We have just come from there."
She wondered a little what they were talking about, but before she could
ask, the preacher sprang to his place, released the wheel, and the car
leaped forward as if alive, toppling Peace into Elizabeth's arms. When
she had righted herself, she demanded, "Where is Glen?"
"We left him with Mrs. Lane."
"That's queer. Is he sick?"
"Oh, no, but we thought it best to leave him at the parsonage this
time," she answered evasively. "Those are beautiful chrysanthemums you
have."
"Ain't they, though? Jud does have the best luck with his asters and
chrysanthemums. These beat Hicks' all hollow. Where is Hicks? I 'xpected
he'd come for me today. I didn't know Saint John could drive well enough
yet."
"Hicks was--busy. So we came."
"I s'pose that's why you left Glen. You didn't want to take the chances
with Saint John driving the car. Is that it?"
Elizabeth smiled faintly. "No, we never once thought of that, Peace.
Mrs. Lane offered to stay with him, and so we let her."
"Oh! Well, I s'pose I would have too, if I'd been you, 'cause 'tain't
often Mrs. Lane makes such an offer," Peace chattered on. "Allee wanted
to come today, but grandma said the Lilac Lady had asked for only me, so
she wouldn't listen to Allee's going, too, I should like to have had
her."
"She can come Tuesday."
"What's going to happen Tuesday?" asked the child, surprised at having
so definite a date named. Elizabeth caught her breath sharply, but at
that moment the auto drew up in front of the iron gates, and there stood
Aunt Pen on the walk waiting for them, smiling her gentle smile of
welcome, a little sweeter, perhaps, and infinitely more tender, for,
like Moses, she had just come from her Mount of Transfiguration.
Peace spied her first. "How is my Lady, my Lilac Lady?" she cried,
springing into her arms and hugging her warmly. "It's been _so_ long
since I've seen her! Is she _lots_ better, Aunt Pen?"
"She is perfectly well now, darling," the woman answered, closing her
fingers tightly over the little brown hand in her own, and leading the
way up the path to the house.
"She's not under the trees, and--"
"It is November, childie. Have you forgotten?" interrupted Elizabeth.
"So it is! Winter is 'most here. But look at the lovely chrysanthemums
I've brought her. It isn't too cold for them yet. Won't she be pleased?"
"I am sure she will," smiled Aunt Pen, and involuntarily she lifted her
eyes to the clear blue sky above.
The hall, as they entered its dim coolness, was deserted, and though
Peace looked inquiringly about her for her small playmates who usually
rushed eagerly to meet her, not one was in sight. From the rooms above,
however, floated the sweet strains of Giuseppe's violin and the
unrestrained, riotous melody of the lame girl's pet canary, and Peace
skipped lightly up the wide stairway, eager to greet each member of this
happy family.
The door of the invalid's chamber stood open, and beside the window,
shaded by the great oak, still hung with autumn colors, lay the beloved
form of the Lilac Lady among her silken cushions. She was clad in simple
white, with the heavy bronze braids trailing across her shoulders, and
the waxen fingers twined in a familiar pose upon her breast. A soft
smile wreathed the colorless lips, but the beautiful blue eyes were
closed in slumber, and she looked as if she were resting after a
hard-fought battle. So lovely a picture did she present that Peace
paused on the threshold, and the gay words of greeting bubbling up to
her lips died away in a deep breath of awe.
The room was flooded with autumn sunshine and banked with the flowers
the invalid loved best; a plate of luscious fruit stood on the table
beside the wheel-chair, a late magazine lay open on the floor close by,
and Gypsy sang deliriously from his perch in the big bay window. All
this Peace saw, and more. The thin fingers clasped a knot of the
once-despised, bright-faced pansies, and a single white one nestled in
the red-brown waves at the left temple.
"Oh," breathed Peace, scarcely above a whisper, "isn't she beautiful?
She got tired of watching and fell asleep while she was waiting for me!"
Softly she tiptoed across the thick carpet and laid her burden of golden
chrysanthemums in the arms of the sleeping girl, and once more repeated
the words, "She fell asleep while she was waiting for me! My Lilac Lady
has fallen asleep!"
"Yes," said Aunt Pen softly. "'He giveth His beloved sleep.'"
THE END