In His Steps - New Abridged Editon Read online

  (Publisher's note: About $5,000 in the early twenty-first century -- but see earlier note.)

  "You mustn't ask me to decide for you," replied Virginia. "I believe Mr. Maxwell was right when he said we must each one of us decide according to the judgment we feel for ourselves to be Christ-like. I am having a harder time than you are, to decide what He would do."

  "Are you?" Rachel asked. She rose and walked over to the window and looked out.

  Virginia came and stood by her. The street was crowded with life, and the two young women looked at it silently for a moment.

  Suddenly Virginia broke out as Rachel had never heard her before. "Rachel, it maddens me to think that the society in which I have been brought up, the same to which we are both said to belong, is satisfied year after year to go on dressing and eating and having a good time, giving and receiving entertainments, spending its money on houses and luxuries and, occasionally, to ease its conscience, donating, without any personal sacrifice, a little money to charity. I have been educated, as you have, in one of the most expensive schools in America; launched into society as an heiress; supposed to be in a very enviable position.

  "I'm perfectly well. I can do as I please. I can gratify almost any want or desire. And yet, when I honestly try to imagine Jesus living the life I have lived and am expected to live, and doing for the rest of my life what thousands of other rich people do, I am under condemnation for being one of the most wicked, selfish, useless creatures in all the world. I have not looked out of this window for weeks without a feeling of horror toward myself as I see the humanity that passes by this house."

  Virginia turned away and walked up and down the room. Rachel watched her, and could not repress the rising tide of her own growing definition of discipleship. Of what Christian use was her own talent of song? Was the best she could do to sell her talent for so much a month, go on a concert company's tour, dress beautifully, enjoy the excitement of public applause and gain a reputation as a great singer? Was that what Jesus would do?

  She was in sound health, was conscious of her powers as a singer, and knew that if she went out into public life she could make a great deal of money and become well known. And Virginia -- what she had just said smote her with great force, because of the similar position in which they found themselves.

  Lunch was announced and they went out and were joined by Virginia's grandmother, Madam Page, a handsome, stately woman of sixty-five, and Virginia's brother Rollin, a young man who spent most of his time at one of the clubs and had no ambition for anything but a growing admiration for Rachel Winslow. Whenever Rachel dined or lunched at the Page's, if he knew of it, he always planned to be at home.

  These three made up the Page family. Virginia's father had been a banker and grain speculator. Her mother had died ten years before, her father within the past year. The grandmother, a Southern woman in birth and training, had all the traditions and feelings that accompany the possession of wealth and social standing that have never been disturbed. She was a shrewd businesswoman of more than average ability. The family property and wealth were invested, in large measure, under her personal care. Virginia's portion was, without any restriction, her own. She had been trained by her father to understand the ways of the business world, and even the grandmother had been compelled to acknowledge the girl's capacity for taking care of her own money.

  Perhaps two persons could not be found anywhere less capable of understanding a girl like Virginia than Madam Page and Rollin. Rachel, who had known the family since she was a playmate of Virginia's, could not help thinking of what confronted Virginia in her own home when she once decided on the course which she honestly believed Jesus would take.

  Today at lunch, as she recalled Virginia's outbreak in the front room, she tried to picture the scene that would at some time inevitably occur between Madam Page and her granddaughter.

  "I understand that you are going on the stage, Miss Winslow. We shall all be delighted, I'm sure," said Rollin during the conversation, which had not been very animated.

  Rachel colored, and felt annoyed. "Who told you?" she asked.

  "Oh, we hear a thing or two on the street. Besides, everyone saw Crandall the manager at church two weeks ago. He doesn't go to church to hear the preaching. In fact, I know other people who don't either, not when there's something better to hear."

  Rachel did not color this time, but she answered quietly, "You're mistaken. I'm not going on the stage."

  "It's a great pity," exclaimed Rollin. "You'd make a hit. Everybody is talking about your singing."

  This time Rachel flushed with genuine anger. Before she could say anything, Virginia broke in: "Whom do you mean by 'everybody'?"

  "I mean all the people who hear Miss Winslow on Sundays. What other time do they hear her? It's a great pity, I say, that the general public outside of Raymond cannot hear her voice."

  "Let us talk about something else," said Rachel, a little sharply.

  Madam Page glanced at her and spoke with a gentle courtesy. "My dear, Rollin never could pay an indirect compliment. He is like his father in that. But we are all curious to know something of your plans. Virginia has already told us of your concert company offer."

  "I supposed of course that was public property," said Virginia, smiling across the table. "I was in the News office day before yesterday."

  "Yes, yes," replied Rachel hastily. "I understand that, Madam Page. Well, Virginia and I have been talking about it. I have decided not to accept, and that is as far as I have gone at present."

  Rachel was conscious of the fact that the conversation had up to this point been narrowing her hesitation, concerning the concert company's offer, down to a decision that would absolutely satisfy her own judgment of Jesus' probable action. It had been the last thing in the world, however, that she had desired, to have her decision made in any way so public as this. Somehow what Rollin Page had said, and his manner in saying it, had hastened her decision in the matter.

  "Would you mind telling us, Rachel, your reasons for refusing the offer?" Madam Page asked. "It looks like a great opportunity for a young girl like you. Don't you think the general public ought to hear you? I feel like Rollin about that. A voice like yours belongs to a larger audience than Raymond and the First Church."

  Rachel Winslow shrank from making her plans or her thoughts public. But she spoke now in reply to Madam Page in one of those rare moments of unreserve that added to the attractiveness of her whole character.

  "I have no other reason than a conviction that Jesus Christ would do the same thing," she said, looking into Madam Page's eyes with a clear, earnest gaze.

  Madam Page turned red, and Rollin stared. Before her grandmother could say anything, Virginia spoke.

  "Grandmother, you know we promised to make that the standard of our conduct for a year. Mr. Maxwell's proposition was plain to all who heard it. We have not been able to arrive at our decisions very rapidly. The difficulty in knowing what Jesus would do has perplexed Rachel and me a good deal."

  Madam Page looked sharply at Virginia before she said anything. "Of course I understand Mr. Maxwell's statement. It is perfectly impracticable to put it into practice. I felt confident at the time that those who promised would find it out after a trial, and abandon it as visionary and absurd. I have nothing to say about Miss Winslow's affairs, but," she paused and continued with a sharpness that was new to Rachel, "I hope you have no foolish notions in this matter, Virginia."

  "I have a great many notions," replied Virginia quietly. "Whether they are foolish or not depends upon my right understanding of what Jesus would do. As soon as I find out, I shall do it."

  "Excuse me, ladies," said Rollin, rising from the table. "The conversation is getting beyond my depth. I shall retire to the library for a cigar."

  He went out of the dining room and there was silence for a moment. Madam Page was angry and her anger was formidable, although checked in some measure by the presence of Rachel.

  "I am ol
der by several years than you, young ladies," she said, and her traditional type of bearing seemed to Rachel to rise up like a great frozen wall between her and every conception of Jesus as a sacrifice. "What you have promised, in a spirit of false emotion I presume, is impossible of performance."

  "Do you mean, grandmother, that we cannot possibly act as our Lord would? Or do you mean that, if we try to, we shall offend the customs and prejudices of society?" asked Virginia.

  "It is not required! It is not necessary! Besides, how can you act with any--------" Madam Page paused, broke off her sentence, and then turned to Rachel. "What will your mother say to your decision? My dear, is it not foolish? What do you expect to do with your voice anyway?"

  "I don't know what mother will say yet," Rachel answered, with a great shrinking from trying to give her mother's probable answer. If there was a woman in all Raymond with great ambitions for her daughter's success as a singer, Mrs. Winslow was that woman.

  "Oh, you will see it in a different light after wiser thought of it." Madam Page continued rising from the table. "My dear, you will live to regret it if you do not accept the concert company's offer, or something like it."

  Chapter Twelve

  RACHEL WAS GLAD to escape and be by herself. A plan was slowly forming in her mind, and she wanted to be alone and think it out carefully. 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 and had an idea you might not object. In fact, I've been walking here for a whole block and you haven't objected."

  "I did not see you," said Rachel briefly.

  "I wouldn't mind that, if you only thought of me once in a while," said Rollin suddenly. He took one last nervous puff on his cigar, tossed it into the street and walked along with a pale look on his face.

  Rachel was surprised, but not startled. She was used to Rollin's 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?"

  "Yes. That is ... yes ... I am."

  "What are you thinking?"

  "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 -- oh, I know that's forbidden, but I've got to speak sometime! -- you know how I feel. What makes you treat me so? 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 still spoke in the light, easy way she had used since her first annoyance at seeing him. She was still somewhat preoccupied with her plan which had been disturbed by Rollin's sudden appearance.

  They walked along in silence a little way. The avenue was full of people. Among the persons passing was the author, Jasper Chase. He saw Rachel and Rollin, and bowed as they went by.

  Rollin was watching Rachel closely. "I wish I were Jasper Chase. Maybe I would stand some chance then," he said moodily.

  Rachel colored in spite of herself. She did not say anything, and quickened her pace a little. Rollin seemed determined to say something, and Rachel seemed helpless to prevent him. After all, she thought, he might as well know the truth one time as another.

  "You know well enough, Rachel, how I feel toward you. Isn't there any hope? 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. She was 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 laughing at you! But it is useless for you to speak, Rollin," said Rachel after a little hesitation. "It is impossible." She was still a little agitated by the fact of receiving a proposal of marriage on the avenue. But the noise on the street and sidewalk made the conversation as private as if they were in the house.

  "Would ... that is ... do you think ... if you gave me time, I would..."

  "No!" said Rachel. She thought afterward, although she did not mean to, she spoke harshly.

  They walked on for some time without a word. They were nearing Rachel's home and she was anxious to end the scene.

  As they turned off the avenue into one of the quieter streets, Rollin spoke suddenly. 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?" He asked the question as if he had a right to a truthful answer.

  "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.

  "Because..." she hesitated, for fear she might say too much in an attempt to speak the exact truth.

  "Tell me just why. 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. I'm not so bad as some. I'm glad to know your reasons."

  He suddenly stopped, took off his hat, bowed gravely and turned back. Rachel went on home and hurried into her room, disturbed by the event which had so unexpectedly thrust itself into her experience.

  Chapter Thirteen

  WHEN RACHEL 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? She had been abroad and studied music with one of the famous teachers of Europe.

  She had come home to Raymond and had been singing in the First Church choir now for a year. She was well paid. Up to that Sunday two weeks ago she had been satisfied with herself and with her position. She had shared her mother's ambition, and anticipated growing triumphs in the musical world. What possible career was before her except the regular career of every singer?

  She asked the question once more, and in the light of her recent reply to Rollin asked herself again if she had any great purpose in life. What would Jesus do? 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?

  She sat in her room a long time and finally went downstairs, resolved to have a frank talk with her mother about the concert company's offer and the new plan which was gradually shaping in her mind. She had already had one talk with her mother and knew that she was expected to accept the offer and enter on a successful career as a public singer.

  "Mother," Rachel said, coming at once to the point, much as she dreaded the interview, "I have decided not to go out with the company. I have a good reason for it."

  Mrs. Winslow was a large, handsome woman, fond of company, ambitious for distinction in society and devoted, according to her definitions of success, to the success of her children. Her youngest boy, Louis, two years younger than Rachel, was ready to graduate from a military academy in the summer. Meanwhile, she and Rachel were at home together. Rachel's father, like Virginia's, had died while the family was abroad. And like Virginia she found herself, under
her present rule of conduct, in complete antagonism with her own immediate home circle.

  Mrs. Winslow waited for Rachel to go on.

  "You know the promise I made two weeks ago, mother?"

  "Mr. Maxwell's promise?"

  "No, mine. You know what it was, mother."

  "I suppose I do. Of course all the church members mean to imitate Christ and follow Him, as far as is consistent with our present day surroundings. But 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 have been obliged to say that I do not believe He would, in my case, 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."

  "Do you presume to sit in judgment on other people who go out to sing in this way? Do you presume to say they are doing what Christ would not do?"

  "Mother, I wish you to understand me. I judge no one else. I condemn no other professional singer. I simply decide my own course. As I look at it, I have a conviction that Jesus would do something else."

  "What else?" Mrs. Winslow had not yet lost her temper. She did not understand the situation nor Rachel in the midst of it, but she was anxious that her daughter's course should be as distinguished as her natural gifts promised. And she felt confident that when the present unusual religious excitement in the First Church had passed away, Rachel would go on with her public life according to the wishes of the family. She was totally unprepared for Rachel's next remark.

  "What else? Something that will serve mankind where it most needs the service of song. Mother, I have made up my mind to use my voice in some way so as to satisfy my own soul that I am doing something better than pleasing fashionable audiences, or making money, or even gratifying my own love of singing. I am going to do something that will satisfy me when I ask, 'What would Jesus do?' I am not satisfied, and cannot be, when I think of myself as singing myself into the career of a concert company performer."