Watertown Republican

MRS. EVERELL'S INVITATION
A Thanksgiving Story.

Miss Ambler lingered after the benediction as long as she could find any possible excuse for it. She put on her rubbers, fumbled with the buttons of her coat, and made believe to fasten her faded mink collar more securely. Then she picked up her umbrella, all the while furtively watching the occupants of certain center pews who were slowly making their way out into the main aisle. Her own seat was at the side, pretty well back under the gallery. On a dark Sabbath she could not see the words of the familiar hymn in which the congregation were invited to join; but by listening closely she managed to limp along after the others, coming in on a missing word before it had been quite dropped for another. Miss Ambler was dissatisfied with her pew, for other reasons, however. It was in a location of cheap sittings, and one set off for those who could pay nothing at all for gospel privileges. She belonged to the latter class, and the proud-spirited, sensitive maiden lady imagined that the whole congregation was aware of the fact, and always had it in mind whenever her personality attracted casual attention. As she loved the church services, this reminder of her poverty, therefore, was a regular weekly mortification. But not always in the same degree. When she was unusually lonely, or felt particularly shabby, the feeling was intensified; but sometimes, when too poor to add even a nickel to the contribution box, or when tortured with anxiety in regard to her overdue rent, then only the free pew almost ceased to be a thorn in the flesh. Miss Ambler was entirely alone in the world. Less than a year before she had lost the only near relative remaining to her, a young niece, who was nearly prepared to support them both by teaching. Her death left the poor lady without companionship, the most essential factor in her sum of happiness. Miss Ambler was sure that if only she could sit farther forward and nearer the prominent members of the church, she should become better acquainted, and that their social life might touch if it did not absolutely include her, which at once betrays this maiden lady's country breeding. Often she would pass out at the close of the morning service without having received a word or even a nod from anyone. When this happened at the Friday evening meeting she would weep all the way home, through sheer loneliness and disappointment. Today the minister's theme was "Christian Fellowship." As a poetical application to his text he urged the congregation not to hasten out as soon as the benediction was pronounced, but pause to grasp him and each other by the hand. Miss Ambler leaned forward, fearful of losing a word. In her eagerness of listening she grasped the back of the pew in front of her, thus betraying a secret, for she usually kept her fingers doubled into the palm of her hand. Now all their bare tips were exposed through her worn lisle gloves. She acquiesced in every word that the minister said. The friendly congregation of a village church was what he was unconsciously depicting, and Miss Ambler could have furnished effective points to his description. It made her both sad and happy to be so reminded of those bygone Sabbath days. The cordial greeting in the aisle as she came out of her father's pew; the respectful inquiries that checked her progress through the vestibule; the lingering messages and goodbys that followed her down the high, old-fashioned steps; and then—companionship all the way home. In those days she could make social advances and proffer friendship instead of waiting patiently and wistfully to receive them. That the sermon would have immediate effect, in kind if not in degree, upon all other listeners, Miss Ambler never doubted. "This will open the eyes of those center aisle folks," she said to herself. "They give so much money to the church every year, and are so well acquainted that they haven't realized that strangers and poor members like me can't have the same home-feeling here that they do." So she waited trustingly, building social air castles meanwhile. Suppose, for instance, that the minister's words should remind Mrs. Col. Everell that Miss Ambler was her neighbor as well as sister in the church. Perhaps then she would come straight to her seat and apologize for not having called and say she was surely going to do so soon. Miss Ambler had long felt that if Mrs. Everell only would pay her a little attention, would act as if their church relation was a bond even if living next door to her was none, she should be happy if everyone else neglected her. She had reached the door now and paused to look back. There seemed to be quite a display of Christian fellowship up near the chancel. The minister was making his way down the center aisle shaking hands right and left. Mrs. Col. Everell was one of a laughing, chatting group bearing down upon him as he drew near, with a confused murmur of observations and congratulations. Miss Ambler watched the scene with self-respect, and her wistful heart pulling two ways. One said, "You have given time enough to anyone who had the least desire to seek you out, so go straight home at once." The other held her irresolute. "I might wait to speak to Dr. Sibley," she thought. "No one could think strange of that," and she turned aside in the vestibule, and stood timidly by the gallery stairs until the minister came out. He caught sight of her at once, and went over to her with outstretched hand and cordial greeting. He spoke of Thanksgiving day as near at hand and added hesitatingly: "By the way, I took the liberty today of reminding Mrs. Everell that you were living quite alone, and probably would not take the trouble of preparing a Thanksgiving dinner for just yourself, and she offered to see to it that you kept the day properly. So, probably you will receive an invitation to dine with the Everells. Ah! There is Mrs. Everell now. Of course, you ladies are well acquainted," he affirmed, and hastening to intercept a gentleman who was passing out, he left the two women together. Mrs. Everell was very gracious. She expressed pleasure in making Miss Ambler's acquaintance, and asked in regard to her health with a show of interest. "You live in the Melton block, I believe," she remarked, inquiringly, and when Miss Ambler answered that she did, and politely invited her to call, she replied, "Thank you!" and added, "I really do not go anywhere, and you must not wait for me. I would be pleased to see you any time." Miss Ambler thought this was putting them on a very neighborly footing, indeed, and her heart, reflecting in her face, glowed with gratitude and pleasant anticipation. She ventured, on the strength of it, to hint at what Mr. Sibley had told her in regard to Thanksgiving day, and the lady smiled and murmured, "Only too happy, I am sure." Col. Everell must have walked home, for his wife was the only occupant of their carriage as it rolled away. The pavement was in wretched condition that day. The soot-blackened snow was melting into a disagreeable slush that gave way to puddles of ice water at every step. It soaked through Miss Ambler's old rubbers, but she plowed along regardless of discomfort and the exposure, her head in the clouds. "To think that I am to take Thanksgiving dinner at the Everells," she soliloquized. "And here I have been dreading the day so, and feeling as if I never could live through it all alone and with nothing to take my mind off of poor, dear Bessie, and whatever was going to become of me." Miss Ambler lived in the third story of an apartment block. It was on a corner, and her two back rooms overlooked the Everell house, which was the finest one on the side street next to the block. A wide strip of lawn and a carriage drive separated the buildings. Usually, the two long stairways she was compelled to climb were very tedious to Miss Ambler. But today she was up to the top of the last one without any effort, and getting her key from its hiding in the coal closet, she unlocked her door, and without taking off her wrap or looking to see how the fire had kept, walked straight to the window and looked down at the Everell house, fancying how it would seem to be inside of it for the first time. "She didn't invite me out and out in so many words. Probably she will send me a written invitation. City ways are so curious. Maybe she thought she must be formal, or I would take offense and not come." And the absurdity of her refusing the invitation, however given, amused her immensely, and she sat down in a little easy chair and rocked, and smiled, and dreamed, forgetting that she ought to put over the teakettle, and letting the fire go entirely out. Miss Ambler sublet from a family who rented an entire suite of rooms. They were much like the other tenants of the third floor, and quite unlike the country maiden lady in their ways, and habits of thought. "I haven't a neighbor that is my kind of folks," she once confided to Dr. Sibley. They were all respectable people, but not by the standard of Sabbath-keeping respectability to which she had been accustomed. On their part they were more curious than friendly, happening in upon her at inconvenient moments and seeking to borrow of her for the sole purpose, sometimes, of convincing each other of her poverty. She was obliged to be reserved in her manner toward them as a defense. The observant eyes of these women had noted the social neglect of her church, which had wounded and troubled her own spirit, and one of them coarsely twitted her of the fact, thereby overflowing Miss Ambler's cup of humiliation, and causing her to hide away from them and keep her door locked continuously. The same person, more to show her own importance and for the pleasure of patronizing the lone lady, came to her room that Sunday afternoon, and after the statement that she expected some married children to eat Thanksgiving dinner with her, added: "I suppose you'll be home, as usual, next Thursday, and if you'd like to drop in I'll set on another plate for you." "Thank you, kindly, for the invitation," was the stately reply, "but," and she tried to say this very quietly, "I shall be spending the day at Col. Everell's." Miss Ambler closed the door after her with shining eyes. Thursday came at last. The formal invitation had not arrived, but she had no doubt it would reach her in due season. She felt the importance of the occasion demanded her best personal appearance, and as none of her own dresses were fit to wear on such an eventful occasion she got out an old-fashioned black silk that had been her mother's. Putting it on, and fussing up something to wear in the neck of it, gave her a strange feeling in keeping with the anticipated events of the day. "I wonder when they will have dinner," she mused, but by 12 o'clock was all ready and watching for the return of the Everell carriage, which had rolled off to the union Thanksgiving service, too great a distance for her to walk, and she had no car fare. "There it comes!" she exclaimed out loud in her excitement. "And she has brought back the Rev. Dr. Thayer and his wife of the Seventh Avenue church. My! My! I've always wanted to know them, and now I am going to, sure enough." After a while Miss Ambler began to listen, and step to the door at every footfall on the stairs. She even went to the length of stealthily leaning over the railing at the sound of voices below, thinking it might be someone enquiring the way to her room. Then a door perhaps would open somewhere, and she would dart back. At length she began to feel uneasy. Mrs. Hone, whose invitation she had declined, caught her tip-toeing to the stairs to listen, and with a disagreeable smile exclaimed, "Not gone yet! You must be very fashionable!" But Miss Ambler made no reply and hurried into her own room. Her heart beat as if she had been badly frightened. Her head began to ache, and a red spot burned on her cheek. She put her feet in the oven of the little parlor cook stove to warm them. It occurred to her that she had eaten nothing since her breakfast of crackers and tea, but though faint the thought of more tea and crackers was intolerable. The clock clicked for five minutes of 4. It had not struck the hour when there was a knock on the door. "It is that prying Mrs. Hone, to make sure I'm here yet," she thought, and was of half a mind not to answer it, but presently relented and opened the door. Col. Everell's colored coachman stood there holding out a basket covered with a large white napkin. She took it mechanically, and stared at him in a daze. "I am to call for the dishes tomorrow," he explained, and as she did not speak or move, he bowed respectfully and turned away. She carried the basket in, set it on the table, and took off the cover. There was a large plate of mashed potatoes, squash, a slice or two of chicken, a spoonful of dressing, one of escalloped oysters and a very large, tough-looking turkey leg, all stone cold. A smaller plate held a piece of pie, some cheese and a sprig of celery. Miss Ambler took plates out of the basket, covering them again with the napkin. Then she began to unfasten her mother's best dress and hung it away in the closet. She put on an old wrapper, and a shawl around her shoulders, then went into the bedroom and laid down, drawing the shawl up over her face. The clock ticked noisily. The teakettle simmered for a long time, then stopped. The rooms grew very dark. After a while the ray from a gasjet in the Everell house was reflected on the window of the little sitting room and from it a corner of the table, revealing the edge of a plate and a turkey leg sticking out from under a napkin.—Gertrude V. R. Wickham in Cleveland Leader.