Invitation to Live

Lloyd C. Douglas

Description

A poor little rich girl gets a lesson on getting through the camel's eye, and gets matched up on a Nebraska ranch with a poor little rich boy who had ducked his responsibilities. This frivolous heiress goes on a curious adventure that affects the lives of many others. 

Sujets

• Fiction
• Romance
• Christian

Informations

• Publié par: Rare Treasure Editions
• Date de parution: 06 novembre 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781774643211
• Langue: English

Extrait

Invitation to Live
by Lloyd C. Douglas

First published in 1940
This edition published by Rare Treasures
Victoria, BC Canada with branch offices in the Czech Republic and Germany
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, except in the case of excerpts by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
INVITATION TO LIVE


by

LLOYD C. DOUGLAS

TO MY WIFE

I. Legacy
It was a serious occasion and Barbara’s eyes were misty,but she couldn’t help smiling when she heard the concludingarticle of her great-grandmother’s will.
Even Mr. Leighton himself, though he did not alterthe prudential tone with which he had done appropriatehonor to this lengthy instrument, grinned dryly whilereading the final paragraph.
‘And it is my further request that at eleven A.M., on thefirst Lord’s Day subsequent to her graduation from college,the said Barbara Breckenridge shall present herself, unaccompanied,at divine services in Trinity Cathedral,Chicago.’
Resuming his gravity, Mr. Leighton folded the impressivedocument, pocketed his pince-nez, and said, ‘I wish toextend my congratulations, Miss Barbara, upon your veryvaluable legacy.’
Barbara accepted the distinguished old attorney’s felicitationwith a little nod and an inarticulate murmur ofthanks. She had made no pretense of being surprised tofind herself the heiress to approximately half a million, forthere never had been any secret about Grandma’s intentionsin this matter.
The vivacious and expensively gowned Alicia Grayson,Barbara’s mother, beamed happily on her lucky child.Though Alicia had been bequeathed a mere fifty thousandby her grandmother, she wasn’t jealous; for Peter Graysonwas immensely wealthy and Alicia had all the money thatwas good for her. And perhaps a little more.
‘But how quaint!’ she remarked. ‘How very odd—Grandmasending you to church—in her will!’
‘You may have noted,’ observed Mr. Leighton, ‘thatthis final provision is in the nature of a recommendationrather than a requirement. If Miss Breckenridge shouldfind it inconvenient——’
‘No, no,’ interposed Barbara. ‘I’ll do it. It’s littleenough, after all she has done for me.’
‘Of course, dear, that changes our plans for your house-party,’Alicia reminded her—‘but I daresay that can bearranged. We’ll have to notify everybody that it’s postponeda week.’
‘Thought you were sailing for France on the twenty-fifth,’said Barbara.
‘So we are, but you can have your house-party withoutme. You can ask Aunt Marcia to come and chaperon you.’Alicia laughed. ‘Fancy your going all the way from NewYork to Chicago—to attend church! Grandma certainlywas a queer old darling. Did you ever know anyone justlike her, Mr. Leighton? Brimful of the funniest littlenotions.’
Mr. Leighton made a small basket of his interlacedfingers, gazed into it reminiscently, and replied, ‘MadameBreckenridge did occasionally express some unique ideas—butthey usually made sense. Now—take this one, forexample. It is not as strange as it seems. You may recall,Mrs. Grayson, that about two years ago your grandmotherspent several months in the home of your Aunt Victoria inChicago. While there, she was a regular attendant at theCathedral services, and was deeply impressed by the wisdomof Dean Harcourt. And it occurred to her that MissBarbara, at the close of her college days, might be greatlybenefited by one of these inspiring talks.’
‘Oh, I agree that the request is not unreasonable,’ saidAlicia, ‘and Barbara should by all means comply with itfor Grandma’s sake, though it is a bit of a nuisance that ithad to come at this particular time. Perhaps some otherSunday would do as well. And what assurance did Grandmahave, six months ago, that this Dean Harcourt would bein town—and in his pulpit—on the—what is it?—twentiethof June?’
‘Dean Harcourt is a cripple, Mrs. Grayson,’ explainedMr. Leighton, patiently. ‘He does not travel. He is invariablyin his church on Sundays. I think MadameBreckenridge felt quite safe in her forecast that the Deanwould be on hand.’
‘But——’ pursued Alicia, in a puzzled voice, ‘havinggone that far in planning some good advice for Barbara,why didn’t the precious old dear notify Dean Harcourt ofhis opportunity to recondition this young flibbertigibbet?’She patted Barbara’s hand and smiled fondly into her eyes.
‘Motherrr!’ scoffed Barbara. ‘How silly! Grandmawouldn’t have dared to suggest such a thing. Imagine—askinga clergyman to single out some person in church—andgo for him! Grandma was brave, but she would neverhave had the nerve to do that!’
‘Well,’ drawled Mr. Leighton, ‘she did; for I helped hercompose the letter. It was done the same day she addedthis last paragraph to her will.’
Barbara’s blue eyes widened.
‘Do you mean to say that I’m expected to sit there inchurch and have this man preach at me —as if I were theonly one present?’
Mr. Leighton said he supposed that was one way ofputting it, and there was quite a little pause before Barbarafound her voice again. She glanced up anxiously at hermother, and said, ‘Of all things!’
‘Perhaps there won’t be many there,’ consoled Alicia.‘I don’t believe you’d be so dreadfully self-conscious, darling.Likely there will be just a handful of people—scatteredabout—in a big church.’ She turned to Mr. Leighton,who had drawn a little smile. ‘That’s the way it would be,don’t you think, Mr. Leighton? Barbara could sit quiteapart from anyone else. How many people will be there?’
‘Probably about two thousand,’ he replied casually.‘The Dean is quite a popular preacher, it seems.’
‘Two thousand! Holy Saints!’ Alicia stared into herdaughter’s incredulous face. ‘Your great-grandmammacertainly did arrange something nice for your moral improvement.Dreadful! Well—I’ll go with you, darling,and hold your hand. And we’ll ask Aunt Vic to comewith us.’
Mr. Leighton slowly shook his head.
‘Sorry, Mrs. Grayson, but she is instructed to go alone....And now, Miss Barbara, may I venture to inquire whetheryou confidently intend to do this? For I am expected tonotify Dean Harcourt of your decision.’
‘You may write him,’ muttered Barbara, mechanically,‘that I’ll be there. And if he wants to identify me—in theaudience—tell him I’m the one that looks scared.’
And she was scared, too. The Breckenridges were not achurch-going family. Barbara’s father, who had died whenshe was twelve, was a lovable and generous man, consideratein his treatment of the people who worked with him andfor him, and wisely known for his philanthropies, but hewas an agnostic, as his father had been.
Peter Grayson, Barbara’s stepfather, was an excellentfellow, but all the days of the week were alike, except thatthere was usually a little more social activity in his houseon Sundays. And if Alicia thought about the church at all,it was in connection with weddings, christenings, funerals—andthe Easter parade. They owned an expensive pew in afashionable church, but the ushers felt quite safe in seatingstrangers in it.
Barbara had arrived in Chicago late Saturday afternoon.Aunt Vic had not been notified of her coming. It was muchbetter to stop at a North Side hotel and say nothing toanyone about her presence in the city. She had her returnreservation on the Limited for three o’clock Sunday afternoon.It was a shabby way to use Aunt Vic, but Alicia hadagreed that this plan would obviate a lot of explaining.Vic would make a joke of it, and probably tell everybody.
As the hour drew near, Barbara’s nervousness increased.She had risen early and dressed with care—in unrelievedblack crêpe. It seemed a suitable costume. And she wore asmall black veil which, fortunately, was modish at themoment. There wasn’t a scrap of color on her, or in hercheeks either, as she set forth on foot for the Cathedral.
Mr. Leighton’s disquieting prediction about the size ofthe crowd was correct. While still a full block away,Barbara could see them pouring out of private cars, taxis,and busses, and streaming across the park, hurrying upthe broad stone steps, and funneling through the greatGothic doors—hundreds upon hundreds of people massingto hear poor, defenseless little Barbara Breckenridge learnwhat was good for her frightened soul.
Wouldn’t it be dreadful if this Dean Harcourt had announced,a week ago, ‘Next Sunday we will have with usa young lady who hasn’t been inside a church—exceptonce, as a bridesmaid—since she was christened. I havepromised one of her relatives that I will preach a sermondirectly to her. All the rest of you will be welcome, ofcourse.’ ... Oh—he couldn’t have done a thing like that!It wouldn’t be fair! But maybe he had! Barbara’s kneeswere trembling, and her steps grew slower and shorter asshe joined the throng. Nobody had paid any attention toher yet, but they probably would—the people seatedwith her—when they saw her agitation.
The organ—hidden away some place high up—wasplaying softly. Almost everybody seemed to know wherehe was going and needed no direction. Barbara hesitatedand an usher beckoned to her. She followed him, hoping hewould seat her in one of the rear pews, but he kept goingon and on—and on. It did not occur to her that the blackensemble, mistaken for mourning, was entitling her tospecial consideration. Her steps lagged, but the usherstood waiting for her at the third pew, almost directlybeneath the massive pulpit. She took the only unoccupiedspace beside an elderly couple. The old lady leaned forwardand gave Barbara a sympathetic little smile thatstartled her. The smile seemed to say, ‘Well—you’rehere—poor child. But don’t worry too much about it.We’re a