If Spring Be Late

By Mabel Harmer

(Previous chapter)

Chapter 5

Synopsis: Maureen Taggart, a librarian, goes to Britain to do genealogical research and look over an estate in Scotland to which she is joint heir with a cousin, Bruce Taggart. Just before leaving, she meets Steve Madsen and is much attracted to him. On board she befriends Diane Curran, a fellow passenger. At the Taggart home she meets Robert McPherson, an artist, who lives on the Taggart estate.

Sunday morning dawned a typical gray November day, but there was no fog, for which everyone was grateful. Sydney arrived in good time to accompany Diane to church, which gave Maureen an added cause for gratitude. She knew that Diane was very definitely interested in learning about the gospel and she knew, also, that it would be most helpful to have a sympathetic interest on the part of Sydney.

They all walked over to the red brick building on Nightingale Lane.

“This doesn’t greatly resemble the usual church building,” remarked Sydney. “I imagine that it was built originally as a home.”

“Yes, I would rather suppose so,” Maureen agreed. “It is still used as a home for our missionaries. I’ve heard some talk of its being torn down and a new one built. The assembly hall is to our right here.”

In the opening exercises, both Sydney and Diane joined in the singing and paid close attention, especially to the short talk given by two young members. Afterwards, Sydney said, “I’ve noticed that your Church gives numerous opportunities for the young people to participate. I suppose that is what distinguishes it most from some other faiths.”

“Well, somewhat,” Maureen replied, “but what distinguishes our faith most is the fact that it is the true restored Church of Jesus Christ, and is not just another man-made faith. However, we do have vast and important programs for the youth.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed. One set of young men played basketball in our town, and there was also a singing quartet at one time.”

“That is only a beginning,” said Maureen. “And, of course, the missionaries can’t spend a great deal of time on these activities. They are encouraged to do only what will interest young people so that they can have the contacts to give them the gospel message.”

Bruce invited two of the missionaries home for dinner, and both Maureen and Diane were pleased to see that Sydney was interested enough to ask some questions.

As soon as Maureen arrived in town on Monday, she went directly to the Art Gallery, hoping to buy the painting of the cottage. To her dismay, it was no longer there.

“Perhaps you will consider something else, Miss?” the attendant suggested.

“I’ll look them over,” she agreed.

For a time she could not be satisfied with any of them, since she had so completely made up her mind to own the cottage. At length, however, she decided to take one of the castle in rather a misty atmosphere, with a vast field of heather in the foreground. She supposed that it was very much idealized. In fact, Robert McPherson had made that quite clear. But it was a very lovely painting, and she knew that she would enjoy having it in her own home.

She decided to go to the British Museum to work today, rather than return to the Public Records Office. For some undefinable reason, she felt that the latter would be too humdrum. She felt as if she couldn’t settle down to the usual routine.

She took a cab to the museum and asked to be shown to the rooms on family records. On the way, she fell in with a group of tourists that was being shown through the building, and decided to follow them. She found herself presently in a large room where there were many important papers and documents in frames upon the walls. As she wandered about from one to another, she saw the order, signed by Queen Elizabeth I, for the execution of Essex, and other orders equally intriguing.

It was all so fascinating that she could not settle down to do any research. This is my British heritage showing through, she decided. I really do have a deep feeling for this land and its history. It was late afternoon before she left to return home.

At the house, she found considerable excitement. Mrs. Murch had been to the bank with Julia and Mr. Edmunds, the solicitor, and they had learned that the account amounted to something over 3000 pounds.

Maureen did some quick figuring and concluded that, at the current rate, it would be just under $10,000 in American money. True, that was not much of a sum to restore a broken down castle, but enough, probably, to put part of it into shape so that it would make an income. The problem would be to find out how much of that would go to the Taggarts for their care of Mrs. Murch during the past twenty-five years, and how much Bruce would be willing to accept if it were offered to him. Maureen knew him to be scrupulously honest and, in addition, the family felt that they had nothing coming to them for giving her a home. It had actually been a labor of love and Christian neighborliness.

As for Mrs. Murch, she was not at all interested in obtaining any of the money for her own use. “As long as I have this nice place and plenty of yarn for my afghans, I don’t need another thing,” she declared.

“How is she to go about getting the money?” Maureen asked. “Evidently she has no passbook or any other proof.”

“They did take a sample of her handwriting,” answered Julia. “I daresay it has changed rather a lot over the years. Then we will have to find someone who knew her before the Blitz. There is a man who built a bake shop where the house used to be. She has been calling there every once in a while but, whether or not he knew her before is something we have to find out. There surely must be someone who would remember her from the old neighborhood.”

“Yes, there surely must be,” agreed Catherine. “It may be that we will have to advertise. I’m sure that Mr. Edmunds can come up with something. No doubt there have been many other cases such as this where people lost their homes and all their belongings in the war.”

“No doubt,” said Bruce. “But I question that many of them would have waited a quarter of a century to put in their claims.”

“I’m sure that we can put in a beautiful youth hostel with all that money,” said Kitty dreamily.

“Just a minute, my chick,” said her father. “We don’t have that money as yet. Even Mrs. Murch doesn’t have it as yet. When, and if, she does get it, we still have to put in a claim through the court.”

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Mrs. Murch. “I’ll just give it to you. I’ve said right along that I don’t need it.”

“True,” agreed Bruce. “But we still want it done legally. The court must decide how much is coming to us and if you may pay it. You could have a covey of second cousins waiting in the shrubbery who would all come forth to put in claims.”

“Well, if there are they have waited too long,” declared Mrs. Murch. “Anyway, I never did care for my cousins, as I remember.”

“I guess there isn’t too much chance that they will appear now,” said Catherine. “However, I’m sure that we must advertise in order to find people who can identify you, if for no other reason.”

At dinner time, Diane had not yet arrived from her work, and they decided to go ahead without her. When she had still not arrived by eight o’clock, Maureen put on her wraps to go and meet her. She had just reached the door when Diane came in and slumped down into a chair.

“What’s the trouble—besides working for twelve hours?” asked Kitty. “Did Mrs. Markham take off for Paris, or something?”

“It was something,” answered Diane. “I only wish it were Paris. That might be more temporary. She has had a stroke.”

“Oh, what a shame!” cried Catherine. “What happened?”

“She said that she didn’t feel too well and would lie down while I got the mail out. . . .”

“As usual,” interrupted Kitty.

“Yes, as usual. Anyway, she did lie down, and when the housekeeper went to call her to dinner she found her lying on the floor and unable to move. Of course we called a doctor and she was taken to the hospital. I have just come from there.”

“And with no dinner,” said Catherine. “Do come and eat. This has been most upsetting, I am sure.”

Diane merely nodded. She ate her lone meal in an abstracted mood. Later Maureen said, “This could go on for a long time. I mean, she could be helpless for months. What do you think will happen to your work?”

“It’s hard to say. She has such a good thing going there that it would be too bad to let it drop. And, of course, once we did let it go, there would be no way of getting it back again. I have done so much of the work by myself that I could actually handle it alone, at least I could with a bit of help. I am hoping that is what can be done. Anyway, I’ll keep it going for a few days until we come to some sort of an understanding.”

“I surely hope that you can. It wouldn’t be easy to find other work that would pay as well.”

“Right. I’ve complained about having to do practically everything but it may have been all for the best. I’m sure that other girls have quit, rather than do so much of the work. I couldn’t quit, so here I am.”

LJ iane kept on as usual, and, sometime later, when Mrs. Markham was able to do so, arrangements were made whereby Diane took over the entire work at a substantial increase in her salary.

“At this rate,” she said to Maureen, “I shall be making money enough so that Sydney and I can be married before he finishes school, just as we had planned when I came over.”

“Would you like that?” asked Maureen.

“Indeed, yes! More than anything else I can imagine. And, anyway, I would simply be following a family tradition. Both of my older sisters worked, at first, to help put their husbands through school. So many girls do, you know. It’s quite the thing for them to receive their P.H.T. — Putting Hubby Through — at the same time he gets his degree.”

“I T ave you thought about where you would like to be married?”

“Oh, at Nightingale Lane. Later on, I hope that we can go to the London Temple to be married. He says that he is willing to do whatever I want, but I hope that he will want it for his own sake and not just to please me.”

“Yes, it should be that way. No one should join the Church, or marry in the Church, simply to satisfy a partner, although it makes for much more harmony in marriage if both are agreed. That is true of any faith — not just ours.”

“I’m sure you are right,” Diane nodded.

Thanksgiving was merely a date on the calendar, since no one in England, except for a few Americans like themselves, celebrated the day. Even the missionaries were working as usual, with simply a festive dinner in the evening.

The Christmas season would be different, however, and both of the American girls looked forward with a great deal of anticipation to celebrating a yuletide in England.

“I hope that you won’t be disappointed,” said Julia. “We won’t, for instance, be going out to cut our own yule log, as you have heard about in song and story. We shall have one, however. Mrs. Murch takes an ordinary log, just big enough for the fireplace, and trims it all up with cones, gilded chestnuts, and what have you. We treasure it for several days and then burn it in glory at the end of the holiday season.”

“But you do have a Christmas tree and carolers, don’t you?” asked Diane.

“Yes, that we do have We shall even take you caroling on Christmas Eve.”

“It sounds enchanting,” said Diane. “I’ll practice up on ‘God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen,’ and make myself merry at the same time.”

Maureen had mailed Christmas cards to her friends at home the middle of November, and had puzzled long and hard over what she should send to Steve Madsen. It couldn’t be a gift, of course, but she wanted very much to send something more than an ordinary Christmas card. She finally decided that it would be entirely appropriate to send a book, and bought one describing London that was lavishly illustrated with photos.

Even after she had it wrapped and addressed, she was dubious about the mailing until one day Diane announced, “I’m tired of seeing that book on your dressing table and if it waits one more day it will be too late for Christmas, so I have taken it to the post office today, along with my other mail.”

“Well, I must admit that I am rather grateful to you for making up my mind,” said Maureen.

“Perhaps I could also help you out with your other admirer,” Diane suggested.

“Thank you, no. We have yet to prove that he is an admirer. And, even so, I doubt if I should greet him bearing gifts.”

“As you will,” shrugged Diane. “I’m glad that I don’t have to wrestle with any such qualms. I have an elegant leather brief case for Sydney, which should go to show my love and devotion and ample salary.”

As the season approached, activities in the family grew more absorbing with every passing day. Mrs. Murch ordered yarn from town until Maureen figured she must be knitting afghans for the entire countryside. She worked on the yule log until it was a thing of beauty.

“It will be much too pretty to burn,” Diane commented. “Why can’t we just keep it as a decoration?”

“Because then Mrs. Murch couldn’t make another one next year, and that would make her sad,” Kitty answered. Then she added suddenly, “I do hope that there is a huge fireplace in the castle, and that we can bring in an enormous yule log, just as they did in the olden days, and burn it for the entire twelve days of Christmas.”

“Especially if the fireplace is in one of the rooms where the wall has fallen out,” commented Julia. “Then we could really make good use of a huge log.”

“There will be a fireplace in every room, of course,” said Kitty with a shrug. “We shall simply choose a room where there are still four walls standing. Our only problem will be to find enough men to cut and bring in the yule log. Because, so far, we have no retainers.”

“We do not, indeed,” said Julia emphatically. “We must include retainers among the host of other assets that we do not have and are not likely to have.”

“I suppose so,” admitted Kitty with a sigh. “I shall have to find some other means of bringing in the yule log.”

“We can deck the hall — meaning this hall,” said Diane. “Mrs. Markham has a great hedge of holly, and she said that I might take all I wished. We can manage that without the help of retainers, I am sure.”

On Saturday, the entire family went over to Mrs. Markham’s house to gather holly, and the house was decked, along with the hall. Mrs. Murch and Catherine supplied red satin bows, and the effect was highly festive.

“In fact,” said Maureen, “this is more holly that I have ever seen in one place, outside of a salesman’s stand. I have always figured I had done well if I could manage one large wreath on my front door.”

The Christmas tree came next and, while the trimmings were rather different from those the girls had used before, they were glad to accept what was in line with British tradition.

Christmas Eve Kitty said, “Now we’ll give you your ‘druthers.’ Would you druther go out caroling in the hopes of picking up a few pennies and perhaps some goodies? Or would you rather stay home, receive the carolers, and be on the giving end. I speak to go out.”

“And I speak to stay in,” said Diane. “I think it much more interesting to meet the carolers. In fact, that was largely the reason why I came to England — to meet people. Sydney first, of course.”

“I can’t understand such reasoning,” said Kitty. “You might collect as much as two shillings and sixpence if you went out. But you must suit yourself, of course. How about you, Maureen?”

“I’m with Diane. I much prefer to stay at home and listen, even at the sacrifice of two shillings and sixpence.”

“But there is no reason why you may not go out with your friends — both you and Julia, if you wish,” said Catherine to her younger daughter. “In fact, you might bring them here for a special treat.”

“That’s what I was leading up to,” said Kitty. “Do please have some hot spiced punch and cakes for us.”

Christmas Eve was very merry indeed, with the blazing fire on the hearth, the troops of carolers coming and, at the end of the evening, Kitty and Julia bringing home their friends.

The next morning was given over to a leisurely breakfast and a walk to church for a special service. Maureen and Diane had been very much surprised to learn that they were not to open the gifts from home until the next day.

“Goodness, no!” Kitty had informed them. “You must wait until Boxing Day. It isn’t cricket to take the smallest peek or even do any shaking. Not that I haven’t in my day, but that was long ago when I was a mere child.”

Only Diane did not have to wait. Sydney had come for dinner and when the two lovers returned from a walk, Diane was wearing a very lovely pearl ring on her engagement finger. Even Kitty forgave her for not waiting until Boxing Day.

I he next morning was given over to opening all of the other gifts. Both girls had numerous ones from home, among them was a box from Steve Madsen that had been on a table in their room for five days, and which Maureen had steadfastly resisted the urge to open.

“Well, the suspense is over now,” said Diane, “or soon will be. Open it quickly, I’m just as curious as you are — almost anyway. I’m dying to see what a near middle-aged suitor considers a suitable gift for a girl whom he admires from a distance.”

“You forgot to put in the middle-aged girl,” said Maureen. “If there is such an one.”

“Goodness, no. I always think of you as practically my own age and, to tell the truth, you really aren’t much older.”

“No. Just a decade or so,” she said as she was cutting the twine. There was a box of her favorite studio candy — and, fortunately, in excellent condition after the long trip from the States. There was also a very handsome calendar on a small . stand with revolving dates, and a small clock with the note “To remind you when it is time to come back home.”

“I think it’s utterly fascinating and practically a proposal of marriage,” said Diane.

“Well, I’ll agree with your first statement,” Maureen replied. “It really is very clever.”

When they returned to the living room where the others were still busy opening their gifts, Mrs. Murch presented each of them with an afghan. “For your wedding chests, dearies,” she said.

Maureen might have protested that the gift was too much, except that she recollected she had bought and paid for most of the yarn. A great deal of work had gone into the gift, and she was most appreciative.

Just before dinner, a messenger arrived with a package for Maureen. She unwrapped it eagerly and found the painting of the cottage at the castle which she had so admired. She was almost speechless with pleasure. ; r
Kitty was not, however. “I think it’s absolutely divine,” she exclaimed, “and so real that you could move right in. But, of course, you can’t. You wouldn’t put that nice Mr. McPherson out in the cold — now would you?”

“I would not,” Maureen answered. “I shall be satisfied with the painting.” But, on second thoughts, she couldn’t help thinking how utterly delightful it might be to live in this charming cottage — and it was hers, really.

(To be continued)