Patrick burst through the sheltering boughs of the weeping willow to discover his sister sitting dejectedly at the foot of the tree.
“What in the world are you doing here?” he cried in astonishment, for fourteen-year-old Carol, though little more than a year his senior, was usually busy in the kitchen or caring for their invalid mother as soon as school was over.
“I have been hunting all over the place for you!” the boy exclaimed. “Come and play ping pong with me instead of moping in this gloomy place. I have just been writing a two-hour essay entitled ‘Eulogy on Dreaming!’ What could you say on that stupid subject?...What is the matter? Why don’t you speak?... You are crying! Whatever has happened?”
Receiving no reply, he went on somewhat impatiently: “You got nothing in arithmetic, I suppose? No need to despair. You are brainy enough in other things to make up for that.”
“Let me alone,” said Carol hoarsely. “It’s not that. I don’t want a game. I must finish my homework, and Mother will need me soon.”
“But tell me why you are crying,” insisted Patrick, really concerned at such an unusual event. “Some girl’s thing I suppose. You have fallen out with your dearest friend, that minx Colette? No? Then you were cheating, and the teacher caught you? Own up!”
“No, Patrick; don’t tease me. I will tell you all about it tonight-not now.”
“All right, I won’t bother you; but don’t cry any more. I had better go around to John Garnier; I forgot to take down the homework for tomorrow. Come, Ralph!”
Patrick let fall the long branches, whistled to his dog, and ran out of the garden slamming the gate behind him.
Carol also emerged and went slowly towards the house. She paused by the flower borders, well stocked with autumn flowers which she loved so dearly and had tended so carefully. Her great pleasure was filling the vases, and she gathered a lovely bunch of the rose-colored dahlias, bronze chrysanthemums and purple asters.
Just then a window opened, and a plaintive voice called, “Carol, someone is at the door. Go and answer it please; I cannot stand on my feet.”
With her bouquet in her arms, Carol ran up the terrace steps, through the dining room and into the hall. At the door she found a stranger carrying a heavy suitcase.
“May I speak to Mr. Garnier?” he asked.
“Mr. Garnier does not live here,” replied Carol in surprise.
“Oh pardon! I thought my friend had already moved. It is my mistake. Forgive me for disturbing you.”
The stranger turned to go, when an enormous sheep dog bounded upon him. Taken by surprise he let fall his bulging case, which burst open, discharging a torrent of little books on the path.
Carol rushed to pick them up, while firmly holding Ralph, who was growling angrily.
“How clumsy of me!” cried the gentleman. “Let me pick them up if you will hold your dog.”
“No, no!” said Carol. “I must help you. It was Ralph’s fault. He is young and does not know how to behave. I thought he had followed my brother as he always does.”
When all the books were put back, Carol and the old gentleman had a good laugh. Before leaving he insisted on giving her, “as a souvenir of the accident,” a New Testament out of his stock. Carol admitted that she had never read it, and did not think it would interest her very much.
“It is the Word of God,” said the stranger, looking earnestly at her. “Keep it, read it, and learn to understand it. You will find happiness in it, a loving Savior and a heavenly Father to care for you.”
Carol ran to her room and threw the little book into a drawer. How could one find good news or happiness in words written long ago? The only news that could console her now would be to keep their home, have father and mother reconciled, and a return of their old happy life when Mother was well.
The grief from which Patrick had aroused her again swept over her. As she had entered the house on returning from school, she had heard her father say, “Everything is settled. I have found a purchaser; the house is sold. As you know, we can no longer live together. My employer has offered to send me to America, and I have accepted. So you will be freed from my presence until the divorce is arranged.”
There had been not a word of protest from her mother. Carol had heard her father turn to the door and had escaped to the garden to avoid meeting him.
Now in her room her thoughts turned back to her parents. For a long time her father had been constantly away, pre-occupied, indifferent to his family. Her mother, constantly ill, had neglected the household. As soon as she returned from school, it was Carol who had to tidy the house, wash the dishes, and prepare supper while her mother lay in a dark room with a wet cloth over her eyes. The doctor came and went but did not seem able to do anything. Then the child thought of her father. How proud she had been of him, his strength, his intelligence; and yet she never seemed to be intimate with him. And now, for months past, hardly ever did he show any interest in his children or spend any time with them. The only thing that could draw a smile from his hard face was her success at school. Did he really love Patrick and herself? How could he abandon them, and sell the house where they had been born? House sold, family broken up, Mother sick-it was too much!
Carol opened her books and plunged herself into a geometry problem, trying to forget the cares which rested too heavily on her young shoulders. Soon her mother called her again. “Find something for your supper and Patrick’s,” she said. “Father will be out, and I cannot eat anything. I shall try to sleep now, so be very quiet.”
Carol went to the kitchen, where a mountain of used dishes awaited her. She set to work in a spiritless way, and as Patrick arrived, she was drying the last plates.
“As usual, you come when the work is done,” she reproached him bitterly. “Boys have a lovely life. It is always I who have to do this job while you amuse yourself. At least you can help me find the solution to this problem in my math. I have lost an hour with this detestable work and still have to finish my homework.”
“All right, if you will translate my German for me.”
“Well! I like that! Come on, we will have supper first. I have not cooked anything. I hope this will be enough for you. Tell me what you have been doing.”
“We spent our time on problems, John and I. He is a brainy fellow, never one to fool around. Today he was quite excited because his father is going to buy a house in our neighborhood, it seems. Now tell me why you were crying in your tree this afternoon.”
He will have to know it soon, thought Carol. I had better prepare him. Aloud she said, “I cried because Dad is going to America.”
“To America! Why, what for?”
“I do not know. When I came home today I heard him telling Mommy that he did not want to stay with us and that he has sold the house.”
“Sold the house! That is too much,” cried Patrick indignantly. “Why couldn’t we stay here in his absence?”
“I do not think we could afford it.”
“Is Dad not going to take us with him?”
“No, we should be a burden, no doubt; and Mommy is not well enough.”
“When is he coming back?”
“I do not know. I believe he will be gone for a long time.”
Patrick’s rosy face grew pale. “He has been away almost all the time lately, and now he is leaving us altogether! It does not make any difference to him, I suppose.”
Carol’s lips tightened; she did not reply.
“John Garnier told me that his father goes out with them every Sunday. He is a bit strict, but he is always fair. I would like it better if Dad scolded me sometimes, if only he took some notice of us. Once we used to go out for an excursion together, but now ... ”
“Daddy may have worries that we do not know of, Patrick, for he gets worked up over the least thing. In any case, we must try to help poor Mommy; she must be feeling dreadful. We will not increase her trouble by our moaning. Let us go very softly to see if she is asleep, shall we? We will take her a cup of tea.”
The two children crept on tiptoe into the darkened room. Under the shaded lamp, they could see Mrs. Demier’s face more worn and troubled than ever. She was sleeping; so Carol, with finger on lip, placed the tea on the table, and they crept out, noiselessly closing the door.
“It is Dad who has brought this trouble and sorrow on us,” exclaimed Patrick bitterly. “Dad, our father, who should have cared for us.”
The words of the stranger echoed in Carol’s memory. “A heavenly Father to care for you.” What did it mean?