Over the next few days, Marigold didn't see Charlie at all, much to her relief. She knew that many people would consider her reaction to a "simple" kiss to be unreasonable and old-fashioned, but she had been brought up with very definite ideas of right and wrong, and it had been rather strictly ingrained into her that only "fast" women allowed men to kiss them before they were engaged. She still felt embarrassed when she thought about it, but was trying to take Murray's advice and look at it as a life lesson.
Murray. Now there was an enigma. For months, she had thought that he didn't like her at all, but he had been so kind and considerate that awful night, and always made it a point now to speak to her whenever she was over at his house. He didn't pay her compliments, like Charlie, but Marigold felt that he respected her and was genuinely interested in her thoughts on various matters.
Still, she was awfully hurt by Charlie's actions, and cried herself to sleep a few nights. She really had thought she meant something real to him, and had let herself fall hard, just like a silly schoolgirl.
Sylvia knew all about it, of course, and tried her best to console her friend.
"Charlie's an idiot," she said, her delicate face marred by a black scowl. "I can't believe he and Rosy acted the way they did! I knew they were a bit too full of themselves, but I had no idea they were as bad as all that. I told Rosy on Boxing Day that I wasn't going to speak to her again until she apologized to Mickey, and I'm not even telling Charlie that I'm not speaking to him until he apologizes to you. He'll just have to figure that out for himself."
Marigold gave a half-laugh, half-sigh, her fingers aimlessly pleating Sylvia's blue-and-white bedspread. "I really liked him, though, Sylvie. That's what I feel the worst about. Am I really that poor a judge of character to fall for somebody like that without even seeing their faults?"
Before Sylvia could answer, a blond head poked in her bedroom door. "Forgive my intrusion, but I couldn't help overhearing," said Sophie. "Do you girls mind if I give you some advice, from someone who has been through all this before?"
Sylvia looked at Marigold, who said, "Of course not! I always wished I had an older sister to help me understand things."
Sophie came all the way in and sat next to Marigold on the bed. Sylvia, in her rocking chair, leaned forward so that all three heads, blond, brown, and black, were close.
"I'm sure you girls are aware of the very great admiration and respect I have for David Morgan," Sophie began, a faint blush illuminating her cheeks. "But I didn't always appreciate his qualities. A couple of years ago, when I was fourteen—that summer you were staying with Aunt Ilse, Sylvia—I fell head over heels in love with a much older man: Uncle Dean's nephew Alex Priest, the one who inherited Wyther Grange from Leslie Priest. He was very handsome and rich, and had those dreamy grey-green eyes like Uncle Dean's…" she trailed off for a moment, before shaking her head briskly and resuming. "Anyway, while Uncle Dean was visiting us, Alex came over to visit him, and, as I said, I fell hard for him. I really thought I was in love. All I could think about was him, morning, noon, and night. I would have even given up my chemistry for him.
"He was perfectly aware of my feelings, and deliberately encouraged me in them. He would take me for long walks, read me poetry, pay me the most romantic compliments…he even kissed my hand a few times, and I, foolish schoolgirl that I was, swallowed it all. Finally, however, Uncle Dean saw what was going on, and sent Alex away. I was heartbroken at first, and was convinced Uncle Dean had ruined my only chance at happiness. I really thought that I was going to marry Alex.
"Then Uncle Dean took me aside one day and gently explained that Alex was engaged to a girl in Charlottetown—had been, for the past few years—and was only amusing himself with me." Sophie drew in a deep breath, as though the memory was still painful.
"Oh, how I cried and cried! I felt so used, so foolish! I told Uncle Dean I would never trust another man, that I was done with love. I remember it so clearly. He smiled gently at me, shook his head, and said,
" 'Dear little girl, this wasn't love. This was infatuation, sprung from a combination of foolishness and physical attraction. Love is not built on romance and butterflies in the tummy. Those are all very well and good, but our emotions lie to us. They tell us one thing is true, when our heads know perfectly well that it isn't.'
" 'How can I know when it is real, then?' I asked him.
" 'Love is built on respect, on mutual admiration, on esteem for the other's character,' he answered. 'Love is a choice, not a feeling, Sophia. We can't always control our feelings, but we can control our actions. We choose to love someone, through the good times and the bad, no matter what our emotions tell us. Romance is all very well and good, and it is good to have in a relationship, but it isn't a good thing to base a relationship on, nor should it dictate our choices. Find a man you can respect and admire for his character, and see if love grows from that.'
"It was only a few months after that that I started noticing David's character, how kind he was, how devoted, how dedicated…" Sophie smiled sheepishly. "I could go on about him forever. The important thing is, Uncle Dean was right. I started to appreciate David for his qualities, not how romantic he made me feel, and first we became better friends, and now I do truly love him." She patted Marigold's hand. "Does this help at all, Mari? I don't want to preach, but I do so hate to see girls wasting their lives falling in and out of love without ever stopping to consider that they can actually control themselves! As Aunt Elizabeth once said to me, when you have butterflies in the tummy, nine times out of ten it isn't love, it's indigestion."
That set all three girls to giggling, and soon Sophie rose and went on her way, leaving two very thoughtful girls behind her, Marigold reflecting on how she had let her emotions run away with her, and Sylvia thinking of the respect and admiration she bore for a certain young man.
It was a few days after that, when the three Kents and Marigold were heading over to the Morgans to see out the old year and welcome in 1932, that Charlie accosted them on the road.
Despite the bitter cold, his jacket was hanging open and his cheeks were unusually flushed, his eyes glittering brightly. "Hello, Marigold," he said with his usual flirtatious manner, smiling boldly at her and ignoring the other three. "I've decided to forgive you, you see, and I'm going to take you into town to celebrate New Year's Eve."
Marigold felt her heart beat a little faster at the invitation. She did still have feelings for Charlie, she had to admit it. However, remembering Sophie's story, she stood her ground, though her voice trembled noticeably. "No thank you, Mr. Miller. As you can see, I already have plans."
"Aw, come on, Marigold," he pleaded, coming a little closer. "Don't be such a stiff. Don't you want to be my girl?"
At those words, so reminiscent of his question at the Christmas dance, Marigold sucked her breath in sharply. As she did so, she caught the scent of something on the frosty air—a smell that reminded her of Phidime Gautier and the inside of Granny Phin's house. In an instant, she knew why Charlie was so red, why his coat was open, and why he seemed to be having a difficult time standing straight.
"You're drunk!" she said in horror.
Charlie grinned. "Not really—just a little. Just enough to have some fun. Aw come on, Marigold baby, loosen up a little. Come have fun with me."
Before anybody could say anything, a lithe figure flew past Marigold. It was Murray, but a Murray none of them had ever seen before. His face was as white as the snow, and in his dark blue eyes was a fearsome glow. He swung his fist back and caught Charlie a blow right on the jaw. Charlie staggered back a few steps and sat down abruptly on the road. Murray grabbed him by the coat collar, hauled him upright, and swung again, this time catching him in the stomach. Charlie's eyes bulged out as he doubled over, coughing and retching.
"You—dog!" thundered Murray, shaking him violently. "How dare you even speak to a lady in such a manner? You ought to be tarred and feathered, you filthy skunk!"
In that moment, watching Murray thrash Charlie for his behavior, Marigold grew up. In one moment, she went from being a child to a young woman, forever. It was as if the scales fell from her eyes, and she saw things clearly for what they were. She saw Murray for the fine man he was, Charlie for the scoundrel he was, and herself for the easily swayed girl she was, with no real fixed principles of her own.
And with that, Marigold grew fully into her Lesley legacy. The strength and purity of her father, combined with the sensitivity of her mother came together at once, shaping her into the woman God had intended her to be from the day she was born.
While she stood there, wondering at the sudden change she felt in herself, Murray finally threw Charlie away from him, leaving him huddled in a heap on the road.
"Get up," he said, his voice filled with icy disdain. "And don't let me ever catch you speaking to one of my sisters or Marigold ever again, do you understand?"
Apparently Charlie did, for he staggered to his feet and ran off down the road, never once looking behind him. Slowly, the fighting light died out of Murray's eyes. He looked down at his hands as if wondering if they were his own.
"Oh Murray," whispered Sylvia, her voice trembling.
"Well," Sophie spoke up, her practicality coming to the rescue. "This has delayed us long enough. I suggest we hurry, so the Morgans don't wonder what happened to us, and I also recommend we put this—unpleasant incident out of our minds as much as possible. Dwelling on it will do no good."
Murray scrubbed his hands over his face. "Sure," he said. "Good idea. Let's go."
As they started off once more, Marigold dropped back beside him. "Thank you," she said shyly. She didn't really know what to say when a gentleman fought for her honor, but she figured thanking him was a good start.
"He deserved it," Murray replied simply. He shuddered. "Never done that before."
"I'm sorry you had to do it now," said Marigold honestly.
"It wasn't your fault," Murray said grimly. "He had it coming." He shook his head. "Sophie was right, we shouldn't let this spoil our evening. Come, let's forget about it and see the old year out with right good cheer!"
His theatrical tone on the last three words made Marigold laugh, her golden tones ringing out across the clear late afternoon sky.
For such an inauspicious start, the evening at the Morgans' turned out to be quite enjoyable. Mr. and Mrs. Morgan were gracious hosts, welcoming them to their home and making sure they had plenty of cocoa and cookies. Marigold expected them to disappear upstairs after that and leave the young people to themselves, but, to her surprise, Mr. and Mrs. Morgan seemed like young people themselves, eagerly participating in all the fun. Even the two youngest members of the family, Daniel and John, stayed up far past their bedtime, thrilled to be a part of things. Marigold had never seen such a close-knit family before, and it charmed her.
They played games long into the night, and as the clock neared twelve, discussion turned to more serious matters.
"What New Year resolutions are you all planning on making?" asked Christine gaily, laying on her back on the floor with her arm around a sleeping John.
Sophie answered first. "To focus less on my work and more on the people in my life. I get so wrapped up in my ambitions that I neglect those I love and am oblivious to their needs. I'd like to change that this year."
"Well," said Christine, "My resolution is to focus more on my goals! I've known for years that I want to be a doctor, yet I've been content to just float along, not doing anything about it, and now suddenly I'm seventeen years old and I haven't made one move toward medical school! This year, that's what I'm going to do."
Marigold was slightly surprised. "You want to be a doctor?" Somehow, Christine didn't seem the type to her mind—although, she granted, Aunt Marigold wouldn't exactly seem the type to most people.
Christine beamed. "A missionary doctor, to be exact. I want to help those who can't help themselves, and show them God's love through my actions."
Marigold was shocked yet further. To her mind, missionaries—except for Dr. Violet Meriwether—were old people, and they walked around preaching endlessly about the needs of the heathens. To see a young lady like Christine talk calmly about being a doctor and a missionary was really shattering all her preconceived ideas.
Before her mind fully wrapped around all that, David spoke up. "I'm not really making any resolutions this year."
"Perfect already, eh?" teased Mr. Morgan.
David grinned. "Not hardly. No, I just want to be open to go wherever I'm led this year. See what's in store for me without forcing circumstances to mold to my expectations."
"I have so many things I'd like to improve about myself I hardly know where to start," said Murray thoughtfully. "I guess my main one is somewhere along the lines of Sophie's. I also get wrapped up in my own thoughts and am oblivious to the needs of those around me. I'm a selfish person, really, and I'd rather not be, if I can possibly help it."
"I don't think you're selfish," said Marigold without thinking, her mind on the events of earlier, as well as the Christmas dance.
Murray gave a half-smile. "It takes me a long time to wake up to the fact that someone might need my help—or friendship."
Marigold didn't know what to say. She felt herself blushing, and was relieved when Sylvia spoke up.
"I suppose," she said with a heavy sigh, "That I really ought to get some direction in my life. I don't know what I want to do or who I want to be or anything. I don't have any particular ambitions, but I guess I probably should. So that'll be my resolution this year. What about you, Mari?"
With difficulty, Marigold dragged her thoughts back to the present. "Uh—my resolution. Well, I'd like to—well, to be more discerning, and to have more backbone. To not be taken in by everything and everyone, and to know when to stand my ground and when to graciously back down."
Mrs. Morgan laughed. "That's a lifelong task, my dear, but I think it's good that you're aware of it and working on it now. My resolution is to seek out where I can be of use to others. I'd like to help young girls reach their potential somehow, or at least be an encouragement to them."
"And as for me," joked Mr. Morgan, "My resolution is to not be as mean to all the students I teach this year. Shrewsbury High students will be safe this year at least."
"Oh but Dad, you'll be so boring then," objected David.
As they were all laughing, the clock ponderously struck: one…two…three…four…five…six…seven…eight…nine…ten…eleven…twelve!
"What a good way to welcome in the New Year!" cried Christine, sitting upright. "With laughter and love!"
Mr. Morgan got up and opened the door wide, letting the cold air rush in. "Welcome, New Year," he said. "1932, what do you bring for us all?"
