--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Creager, Eunice collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 22 number: 1 published: 1918-11 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Creager, Eunice, "The Great Gift," *Improvement Era* 22, no. 1 (November 1918): 41–48.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2201unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2201unse start_page: 41 end_page: 48 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1918-11) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2201unse publication_year: 1918 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1918, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # The Great Gift The Great Gift By Eunice Creager A brakeman on passenger train Number One of the Balti- more and Ohio Southwestern walked briskly down the aisle of the day-coach. "Washington! Washington! Next stop, Washington!" he called. The fat drummer, awoke, suddenly, rubbed his eyes sleepily, and reached for his grip in the parcel rack. The usual stir and bustle of preparation prevalent in all railway cars began. In the seat behind the fat drummer, a trim little figure had suddenly grown tense at the word "Washington." With a deft movement of her small body, she leaned out the window and peered eagerly at the whirling landscape. Her face framed in its soft brown curls was adorably child- like, the pink and white apple-blossom type that is so rare and so exquisitely beautiful. At first glance one would instantly place her as the petted idol of some rich man's home. A second glance would reveal the squareness of the firm little chin; the independent upward tilt of the small nose; the eyes that were caluclating and a trifle cold. Just now the brown eyes were warm and tender for, as the train sped by, they had rested a brief moment on Margaret's familiar bungalow. The memory of it had stood out like an oasis in a desert of desolate years. On sped the train, past the Hincher Manufacturing Plant, past — there it was at last the house on the hill !A brief glimpse of a big, gloomy, house— the house that once was hers; a bit of neg- lected lawn; and the train drifted down the hill to the station. Rita Morrison pushed the rebellious brown curls from her face with a cool little smile of self-contempt. She was more moved than she had thought possible. "Washington! Washington! All out for Washington!" sang the brakeman. The fat drummer looked down at the red-haired man who shared his seat. "Well ta, ta, pardner! Here's where I get off. Don't envy you your trip to St. Louis, believe me! Too many washouts for yours truly! Looks like it's goin' to rain again. Gosh darn the luck! Will it ever stop?" Rita's eyes idly followed the departing drummer. What caprice had led her to forsake the pullman for the day coach as 42 IMPROVEMENT ERA the train neared the Washington station? Suppose Larry dead- heading somewhere, should walk down the aisle. The thought sent a shivery thrill' down her spinal column. She smiled iron- ically at it. Five years! How long ago it seemed. After all she had — attained what she had sought freedom, success as an individual. Her body was well preserved; her mind keen and alert. If she hud stayed with Larry and catered to his ever-varying moods, no doubt she would have been as worn and nerve-racked as the little woman approaching down the aisle. Rita observed that the woman's clothes were neat and at- tractive her face sweet and madonna-like. ; In her arms she car- ried a sleeping infant. Two sturdy little boys followed close at her heels. The young mother hesitated by the seat in front of Rita. Their eyes met. Suddenly Rita's face went white. "Margaret," she gasped. "Rita! Is it possible?" Mechanically Rita pulled Margaret down beside her. The little boys perched themselves on the seat in front and looked back, round-eyed and curious. For a moment Margaret was speechless, her face a battle ground on which various emotions waged war. "Rita," she managed to say at last. "How could you? Five years and not a word! Where have you been all these years? Why did you leave Larry? Why didn't you write to me?" Rita leaned over and patted her friend's hand. She was fighting an emotion the strength of which amazed her. "Margaret, are these your children?" she evaded. "What a lovely baby! Is it a boy or a girl?" Margaret looked with pride at the soft little bundle of help- lessness in her arms. "A girl. Yes, they are all mine three of them in five years" — — ; she smiled a little ruefully "but they are well worth the struggle." Rita marveled at Margaret's attitude, recognizing that qual- ity in her that, even as a girl, had lifted Margaret Brown just a little bit above ordinary mortals. Margaret's sons were inspecting Rita carefully; her eldest gravely and dispassionately, her youngest with round-eyed eager- ness. "Muvver!" the latter broke out, suddenly, "am her our wel- litive?" He pointed a chubby finger at Rita. "No, dear, a life-long friend." "How long is dat, muvver?" "A long time, son. You and Rob look at the funny-paper, THE GREAT GIFT 43 dear." Then as he subsided obediently, "That is Charles, Rita. We hope to make a lawyer of him. Isn't Robert a big boy now? He is over five you know. Don't you think he is the very image of Rob?" Rita looked at the grave little face and smiled. "Yes, he has his father's fair hair and eyes. How is Rob? Is he on pas- senger or preferred runs yet?" "Neither, Rob is not running now. He has an official job road foreman of engines with headquarters at Cincinnati. He has a good prospect of promotion soon." "How lovely, Margaret ! I am so glad for you," Rita heard herself say. All the while her brain was pondering the reason for this amazing fact. Vacillating, careless Rob Brown in a position of that kind! Five years ago everyone had conceded Larry to be the man for the place should a vacancy occur. What had become of Larry? She wanted so badly to ask, but pride locked her lips. Suddenly Margaret leaned forward and scrutinized her friend's face. "Rita," she demanded sharply, "why these eva- sions? Not one question about Larry!" Margaret's eyes trav- eled from Rita's chic little Paris hat, to the expensive tailor- made suit, and back again to her friend's face. There was con- straint in Margaret's voice as she faltered: "Oh, Rita! You have married again!" Rita laughed shortly. A hard glint crept into the brown eyes. "No, Margaret," she answered cooly, "I owe no man for my finery. It is the result of the toil of my own hands, or brain. I have a Ladies' Shop in New York where I design gowns for the very wealthy. It has been very successful. I marry again? No. I leave that for Larry to do." "As if he would! You are the one woman in all the world for Larry Morrison. Tell me, Rita, what was the trouble? Surely, you can trust me?" Rita turned her proud face away. It was some moments be- fore she spoke. "Didn't Larry show you the letter I left him?" "No, I am quite in the dark. Five years ago you and Larry seemed to be doing better than any of us railroad people. You were renting out your first home and paying for your big home on the hill. Apparently you were devoted to each other. It was a shock to everyone when you left him. The only thing Larry would say was that you wanted to be free to live your own life, and it was all his fault. What got into you, Rita?" Rita Morrison's eyes followed a fellow-traveler, who was staggering down the aisle for water. From the woman's touseled 44 IMPROVEMENT ERA hair to her bedraggled skirt she was typical of all that dainty Rita Morrison disliked. It was some moments before she turned and met the beautifully sympathetic eyes of her friend. A great longing to unburden her heart to Margaret bore down upon her like a rushing river. It beat upon the dam of pride and reserve she had builded for herself and found it to be strong indeed. "What got into me? Discontent," she answered shortly. "I do not want to be a slave to any man. I want to live my own life." "But Rita," Margaret protested, "you can live your own life. Marriage is not a slavery. It is a partnership." Her friend's proud lips curled. "Partnership!" she cried bitterly. "I have heard that argument before. Margaret, after all your work for Bob, have you one penny you can really call your own? One penny for which you do not have to account to him?" "Yes, now I have a regular amount each month for my per- sonal expenses, Rita. But it was not always that way." Mar- garet smiled reminiscently. "However, I kept pegging away until we made that arrangement." Rita's firm little chin squared itself. "I did not care to peg away," she observed quietly. Margaret smiled serenely into the sleeping face of her child. "It is worth it, Rita. After all, a great part of life is made up of concessions and forbearance. It does not pay to be a quitter." "It is good to be free, Margaret.Freedom is a great gift." "And are you happy with your freedom, Rita?" Her friend's face underwent a subtle change. It was some moments before she replied. "Happy? Why shouldn't I be happy? I have a beautiful apartment in New York, a limousine, a host of friends, and Madam Rita's salon of fashion is the most frequented place in New York." There was something like pity for Rita in Margaret Brown's eyes. She pressed her sleeping child closer to her heart and looked down into its rosy baby face. "Money and things do not make happiness, Rita. If I didn't know you so well, I would say you were quite heartless. Not a single question have you asked me about Larry." Rita's voice when she replied was carefully schooled to in- difference. "I suppose he is still on the road and the same old Larry?" "Larry is the oldest man in the pool now. No, he is not the same. Somehow he has lost his old assurance and grip on life. He laid off so much to hunt for you that his reputation as THE GREAT GIFT 45 an engineer has suffered. He told me the other day that he had about come to the conclusion that you were in England with your Aunt Ellen, but he could not locate her or get word to her. He said at one time in his life he had lived only to accumulate money. Now that he knew the worthlessness of it, he lived only to find you." "That is like Larry," commented Rita. "He was ever an extremist." In spite of herself, however, a faint color stole into her cheeks. "Wheatland! Wheatland!" interrupted the brakeman. The train was slowing into a little station. "Oh, muwer! muvver!! Him said 'Wheatland; Wheat- land! We haf a dit off! Dis is danma's town. Dit yo' tap, Wob! Tuick! Hurry, muwer!" Charles was dancing up and down in his excitement. "Oh Rita," said Margaret hurriedly, "listen. Mother lives at Wheatland now. Come and get off with me. I cannot bear for you to go out of my life like this. Rob is there, now. They will be so glad to see you. Come Rita, please!" Rita looked into Margaret's pleading eyes and slowly shook her head. "It is impossible, Margaret. I have a business ap- pointment in St. Louis that cannot be postponed. Promise me you will not mention this meeting to Larry." "I shall not do anything of the kind!" exclaimed Margaret, indignantly. "You are heartless! Oh, Rita, do you honestly think Larry altogether to blame? Were you not a little in fault?" The baby awakened by the sudden noises stared wide-eyed up into Rita's face. Its rosy little face suddenly dimpled into a bewitching babv smile. Rita experienced a quick stirring of the heart at which she vaguely wondered. "Yes, Margaret," she replied, quietly. "When we get older we see things differently. I was much at fault." "Then come, Rita, and get off with me. We'll send for Larry. God alone knows how glad he'll be to see you." Rita laughed a hard little laugh. "How ridiculous you are, Margaret! I do not care to part with my freedom. I have made more of a success of my life than Larry ever will of his." Two red spots began to flame on Margaret's cheeks. "That isnot true!" she flared hotlv. "You have lost all your sense of values. You are a miserable failure! Not only that, but you have made Larry fail. In time he could have been superintend- ent of this road, if you hadn't been a emitter when he needed you most. Freedom may be 'a great gift,' but it is also a great hur- loneliness," and gathering her children together Margaret back. ried down the aisle. At the doorway, however, she looked 46 IMPROVEMENT ERA face flushed, eyes filled with tears. Her lips framed the words. "Write to me." Rita nodded. More moved than she would confess even to her own heart, the miserable events of her married life began to flash like a panorama before her mental vision: the purchase of the house on the hill — a place far above their means; Larry's over-mastering passion to save money, to accumulate; the soul- crushing grind of making one dollar serve the purpose of two; the daily strain of her desperate effort to please her husband; his refusal to sell and his dogged determination to win out; his unreasonable exactions and irritability of temper under the strain of it the daily grumbling and fault-finding that fell to her ; peace-loving lot; and, last of all, Mrs. Larhurt's suffragette speech, "The Great Gift," falling like a match into the powder can of long pent-up emotions and ambitions. Again she was walking slowly homeward from that meeting, acutely conscious of her run-down heels and a three-year-old tailor-made. Larry had said there was no money for clothes that — winter the house was ruining for paint. As she let herself into her big, spacious kitchen, Larry's familiar grip and bundle of soiled overalls loudly proclaimed his presence. He had worked in on number 88 and was at the din- ing room table poring over the bills. With a queer sinking of the heart, she realized it was pay-day. "What does this mean?" he demanded, "silk— $3.25." "Why I made me a little blouse, Larry," she faltered, "I had — to my waists are all worn out." He scowled. She looked down upon him as he sat going over, item for item, the month's bill. What a faculty he had, she thought bitterly, of making her feel like a thief. Their lives had narrowed down to nothing but money and bills. She felt that, struggle as she might, the net was slowly closing up around her. Like a trapped animal she stood at bay. A wild longing flamed up in her soul for freedom from it all. Freedom to live her life as she wished it to be lived. They quarreled long and bitterly. The brakeman's voice, sharp and decisive, brought Rita's thoughts back to the present. "All aboard," he cried. The train was pulling out of the little station of Wheatland. With a start Rita Morrison looked out the window for Mar- garet. A man, happy-eyed and eager was helping her friend and the children into a carriage. He stooped and kissed Margaret. She said something. He turned quickly, and looked toward the train. Why it was Rob ! ! A new Rob, self-assured, confident. The train sped westward leaving their faces only a memory. Other memories crowded upon Rita as she sat. Like soldiers they stepped from out the army of her thoughts, and passed in THE GREAT GIFT 47 silent review before her: her flight; her two years struggle, alone in New York; her financial aid from Aunt Ellen, and the little shop as a result; the success of all her plans. She a failure? What foolishness! She must invite Mar- garet up and have her see what a personage Madam Rita, the designer, was in New York. But Margaret had been right about tiie loneliness — it had been lonely. The train lurched around a curve; the engine shrieked out a challenge to the gray sky. Rita observed idly that it looked like rain. Strangely enough she could not drive the thought of Margaret's baby from her mind. A curious warmth enveloped her at thought of it. If she and Larry had not quarreled How faded and tired Margaret had looked! Poor girl! Yet when she thought of her friend in the years to come, Rita knew it would be of Margaret surrounded by her happy little family; of Margaret with her husband's arm about her waist. Rita pictured her own journey's end. She smiled a little bitterly. No warm, loving greeting awaited her. Only a bunch of cool-headed business men, against whom she would match her woman's wit, and wrest a well-earned victory. And Larry had said he was to blame. He loved her still. Here was the Vincennes station at last. Several persons got off, as many more got on, but still the train tarried. Rita glanced impatiently at her watch. Ten minutes past time now. What was the trouble? Outside an excited conductor ran toward the engineer, wild- ly flashing some orders. A brakeman ran through the car. Pas- sengers began to sit up and question. What was the trouble? No one seemed to know. The red-haired man went out to investigate. He soon came back pale and agitated and bent over his wife. "A bad wreck ahead," Rita heard him say, "washout in the Aliston Bottoms. Freight train went into the water. Engineer Morrison killed. We might as well get out of here. We'll have a long wait." Rita clutched at his shoulder. "What was the name?" she broke in, "the engineer?" The man turned and looked at her curiously. "Morrison. A fellow by the name of Morrison." A mist swam before her eyes. She moistened her dry lips. Larry ! Oh God, Larry Already the car was thinning. Mechanically she reached for her purse, beaten by an overwhelming sense of defeat. In that self -revealing moment she realized that back of all her 48 IMPROVEMENT ERA arrogant pride and hard selfishness had been the thought of a reconciliation— some day, somewhere with Larry. "Too late! Too late!" puffed the engine. "Too late! Too late!" echoed the scurrying feet of the passengers. Somehow she found herself outside. Larry dead! Surely it could not be. She, an engineer's wife, knew the false rumors circulating at such times. There had been an engineer on the road by the name of Morrison. A wild hope shook her. She clutched at the arm of a passerby. "What was the name of the engineer that was killed?" "Morrison. Fine fellow, they say. It's too bad, too bad!" She walked blindly on. Somewhere there was a ladies' waiting room. She must sit down before her limbs refused to carry her. Farther down the track on the siding which ran parallel with the station, a freight engine stood panting at the water crane. The fireman was taking water. The engineer, oil can in hand, was carefully inspecting his engine. Suddenly there was a loud outcry. The oil can fell to the ground. Startled, Rita wiped the tears from her eyes and looked up. She groped blindly forward. "Larry," she sobbed, "Larry!" T In an instant he was at her side, his steadying arms a .)out her. The hurrying crowd passed by unheeded. They were alone in the universe together, for Knowledge had brushed them as she passed bv, and they knew that love is the greatest gift of all. Washington, Indiana Photo by Leland B. Anderson.