CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 7
Rachel was glad to escape and be by herself to carefully think out a plan that was slowly forming in her mind. But before she had walked two blocks, she was annoyed to find Rollin Page walking beside her.
“Sorry to disturb your thoughts, Miss Winslow, but I happened to be going your way. In fact, I’ve been walking here for a whole block, and you haven’t objected.”
“I did not see you,” said Rachel briefly.
She had known Rollin as a boy. She was used to his direct attempts at compliments and was sometimes amused by them. Today she honestly wished him anywhere else.
“Do you ever think of me, Miss Winslow?” asked Rollin after a pause.
“Oh yes, quite often!” said Rachel with a smile.
“Are you thinking of me now?”
“Do you want me to be absolutely truthful?”
“Of course.”
“Then I was thinking that I wished you were not here.”
Rollin bit his lip and looked gloomy. “Now look here, Rachel, you know how I feel. You used to like me a little, you know.”
“Did I? Of course we used to get on very well as boy and girl. But we are older now.”
Rachel spoke in a light, easy way, still somewhat preoccupied with her plan.
They walked along in silence a little way. The avenue was full of people. Among them was Jasper Chase, who bowed as Rachel and Rollin went by. Rachel colored in spite of herself.
“You know well enough, Rachel, how I feel toward you. I could make you happy. I’ve loved you a good many years—”
“Why, how old do you think I am?” broke in Rachel with a nervous laugh, shaken out of her usual poise of manner.
“You know what I mean,” went on Rollin doggedly. “And you have no right to laugh at me just because I want you to marry me.”
“I’m not! But it is useless for you to speak, Rollin,” said Rachel after a little hesitation. “It is impossible.”
“Would—that is—do you think—if you gave me time, I would—”
“No!” said Rachel. She spoke firmly.
They walked on for some time without a word. As they turned off the avenue into one of the quieter streets, Rollin spoke suddenly and with more manliness than he had yet shown. There was a distinct note of dignity in his voice that was new to Rachel.
“Miss Winslow, I ask you to be my wife. Is there any hope for me that you will ever consent?”
“None in the least.” Rachel spoke decidedly.
“Will you tell me why?”
“Because I do not feel toward you as a woman ought to feel toward the man she marries.”
“In other words, you do not love me?”
“I do not and I cannot.”
“Why?” That was another question, and Rachel was a little surprised that he should ask it. “Tell me. You can’t hurt me more than you have already.”
“Well, I do not and I cannot love you because you have no purpose in life. What do you ever do to make the world better? You spend your time in club life, in amusements, in travel, in luxury. What is there in such a life to attract a woman?”
“Not much, I guess,” said Rollin with a bitter laugh. “Still, I don’t know that I’m any worse than the rest of the men around me.”
He suddenly stopped, took off his hat, bowed gravely, and turned back. Rachel went on home and hurried into her room, disturbed in many ways.
When she had time to think it all over, she found herself condemned by the very judgment she had passed on Rollin Page. What purpose had she in life? There was a fortune in her voice. She knew it, not necessarily as a matter of personal pride or professional egotism, but simply as a fact. And she was obliged to acknowledge that until two weeks ago she had purposed to use her voice to make money and win admiration and applause. Was that a much higher purpose, after all, than Rollin Page lived for?
After much thought, she finally resolved to have a frank talk with her mother. Mrs. Winslow was a large, handsome woman, fond of much company, ambitious for distinction in society, and devoted to the success of her children. Rachel’s father, like Virginia’s, had died while the family was abroad. Like Virginia, she found herself, under her present rule of conduct, in complete antagonism with her own immediate home circle.
Rachel came at once to the point. “Mother, I have decided not to go out with the company.”
Mrs. Winslow said nothing but waited for Rachel to go on.
“You know the promise I made two weeks ago?”
“Mr. Maxwell’s promise?”
“No, mine.”
“What has that to do with your decision in the concert company matter?”
“It has everything to do with it. After asking, ‘What would Jesus do?’ and going to the source of authority for wisdom, I’m obliged to say that I do not believe He would make that use of my voice.”
“Why? Is there anything wrong about such a career?”
“No, I don’t know that I can say there is. As I look at it, I have a conviction that Jesus would do something else.”
“What else?”
“Something that will serve humanity where it most needs the service of song. Something that will satisfy me when I ask, ‘What would Jesus do?’ I have been unable, since I made my promise two weeks ago, to imagine Jesus joining a concert company to do what I should do and live the life I should have to live if I joined it.”
Rachel spoke with a vigor and earnestness that surprised her mother. But Mrs. Winslow was angry now.
“It is simply absurd! Rachel, you are a fanatic!” Mrs. Winslow rose and then sat down again. With a great effort she composed herself. “What do you intend to do, then?”
“I shall continue to sing for the time being in the church. During the week I am going to sing at the White Cross meetings, down in the Rectangle.”
“What? Rachel Winslow! Do you know what you are saying? Do you know what sort of people those are down there?”
For a moment Rachel shrank back and was silent. Then she spoke firmly. “I know very well. Mr. and Mrs. Gray have been working there several weeks. I learned only this morning that they want singers from the churches to help them in their meetings.”
Rachel cried out with the first passionate utterance she had yet used. “What have we done all our lives for the suffering, sinning side of Raymond? How much have we denied ourselves or given of our personal ease and pleasure to bless the place in which we live or imitate the life of the Savior of the world? I want to do something that will cost me something in the way of sacrifice.”
“Are you preaching at me?” asked Mrs. Winslow slowly.
Rachel rose. “No. I am preaching at myself,” she replied gently. She paused a moment as if she thought her mother would say something more, and then went out of the room.
About seven o’clock Virginia and her uncle, Dr. West, appeared, and together the three started for the scene of the White Cross meetings.
The Rectangle, close by the railroad shops and the packinghouses, was the most notorious district in Raymond. The great slum and tenement district was shut in by rows of saloons, gambling halls, and cheap, dirty boarding and lodging houses.
Into this heart of the coarse part of the sin of Raymond, the traveling evangelist and his brave little wife had pitched a good-sized tent and begun meetings.
It was after eight o’clock when Alexander Powers opened the door of his office and started for home. He was going to take a car at the corner of the Rectangle, but he was stirred by a voice coming from the tent.
How did Rachel Winslow happen to be down here? Her voice struck through his consciousness of struggle over his own question that had sent him into the Divine Presence for an answer, though he had not yet reached a conclusion.
Several windows nearby went up. Some men quarreling near a saloon stopped and listened. Other figures walked rapidly in the direction of the Rectangle and the tent.
Surely Rachel Winslow had never sung like that in the First Church. What was it she was singing?
“Where He leads me I will follow,
Where He leads me I will follow,
Where He leads me I will follow,
I’ll go with Him, with Him
All the way!”
After a minute of indecision the superintendent went on to the corner and took the car for his home. But before he was out of the sound of Rachel’s voice, he had settled for himself the question of what Jesus would do.