CHAPTER IX
The Bird of Prey
Not until another sunny day had passed uneventfully did Geraldinerealize how much hope she was hanging upon the knight of themotor-cycle. Despite his youth, his manner and voice had been those ofone accustomed to exercising authority. He certainly had had somethingdefinite in mind when he wrote that message to her. She knew so wellPete's stupid demeanor, that, as she roamed in the meadow that secondday, she meditated on the probability that the visitor had despaired ofher receiving the message, and had concluded to abandon his idea,whatever it might have been.
It was at least a relief from odious pressure to be out in the fieldalone. The soft-eyed cows, an occasional bird flying overhead, and theintermittent clicking of Pete's lawn-mower as he kept his respectfuldistance were all peaceful. There was not a tree for a bird to lightupon. Even birds fled from the Carder farm. The great elm could havesheltered many, but the feathered creatures seemed not to trust it.Perhaps a reason lay in the fact that numbers of cats lived under thebarn and outhouses. Nearly always one might be seen crouching andcrawling along the ground looking cautiously to the right and left. Nonewas ever kept for a pet or allowed in the house or fed. They lived onrats, mice, birds, and the field mice, and were practically wildanimals. In their frightened, suspicious actions at sight of a humanbeing, Geraldine recognized a reflection of her own mental attitude; andshe pitied the poor things even while they excited her repugnance.
Spring and no birds, she thought sadly, gathering her few wild flowerswhen the cows had gone home that second afternoon. She strained her eyesdown the driveway, Blankness. Blankness everywhere. At the house,misery.
The old fairy tales came to her mind. Tales where the captive princesspines and hopes alternately.
"'On the second day all happened as before,'" she murmured in quotation.It was always on the third day that something really came to pass, sheremembered, and she scanned the sky for threatening clouds. Ah, if itshould rain to-morrow and the leaden hours should drag by in that odioushouse! After having indulged a ray of hope, such a prospect seemedunbearable.
In her role of trusty she had constrained herself to civility. She hadtaken Mrs. Carder the flowers last night, and Rufus had put some tinyblooms in his buttonhole and caressed them at supper-time withsignificant glances at her.
When she awoke on the following day her first move was to the windowwith an anxious look at the sky. As soon as she was satisfied that itwas not threatening, a reaction set in to her thought. She alwayshastened to dress in the morning, for her compassion for Mrs. Cardermade her hurry to her assistance. Pete's eyes in this few days had takenon a seeing look and he worked with energy to follow every direction ofhis golden-haired goddess. In the kitchen he did not avoid her eyes, andthe smiles he received from her were the only sunbeams that had evercome into his life.
She was in many minds that morning about going again to the meadow. Itseemed so absurd, so humiliating to costume herself as for privatetheatricals, and to go repeatedly to keep a tryst which the other party,and that a man, had forgotten.
Would the princess in the fairy tale do so? she wondered; but then ifshe had not persisted the story could never have been written.
"Ain't you sick o' that meadow and the cows?" asked Rufus at thedinner-table. "Hadn't you better go drivin' to-day? I've got an errandto the village and just as lieve do it myself as send one o' the men ifyou'll go."
Geraldine, the two braids of her hair brought up around her head in agolden wreath that rested on fluffy waves, was looking more than usuallyappealing, he thought, and he congratulated himself on the restraintwith which he was allowing her mind to work on the proposition he hadmade to her. She was evidently becoming more normal, finding herself asit were. Those flashes of red and white that had passed across her facein her intensity of feeling had ceased. Her voice was steady and civil.
"The meadow seems to agree with me," she answered. "Why should my notgoing with you prevent you from doing your errand at the village?"
Why, indeed? thought Carder, regarding her. She had no money, she was ina part of the world strange to her. If she again strolled forth arrayedin the white costume in which her girlish vanity seemed to revel, howcould she do anything unsafe during the short time of his absence,especially with Pete to guard her? The dwarf had had it made perfectlyclear to him that his life depended on Geraldine's presence.
However, it was Carder's policy never to take a very small chance of avery big misfortune. 'Safe bind, safe find,' was a favorite saying ofhis.
"As soon as you feel thoroughly rested, we must take a trip to town," hesaid, and he advanced a bony, ill-kept hand toward hers as if he wouldseize it. "I think Ma works too hard," he added diplomatically asGeraldine slid her hand off the table. "We must go and see if we can getthe right kind of help. You'll know how to pick it out. Then what doyou say to havin' an architect come out and look over the old shack hereand see what he thinks he can do with it, regardless of expense?"
Geraldine felt that unnerving nausea again steal around her heart.
"It isn't too late for us to take a little flyer in to-day," he addedeagerly, and the suggestion made the meadow and its cows look like aglimpse of paradise. Supposing _he_ should come and she be gone! Thiswas the great third day. "I--really--I"--stammered Geraldine--"I feel alittle shaky yet."
"Oh, all right," Rufus laughed leniently. "Be it ever so humble and allthat you know. _Home_ for you, eh, Gerrie?"
She longed to rise and strike his ugly smile at the sound of herfather's pet name, and she trembled from head to foot. "A trusty," shesaid to herself commandingly. "A trusty."
She did not hear another word that was said during dinner, and when shewas free she flew up to her room and put on the poor littlegrass-stained dress and the rich crepe of her mother's heirloom.
"O God, send him!" she prayed, as her fingers worked on the fastenings."O God, let him come"--then with tardy, desperate recollection, sheadded--"and O God, save his life!"
It seemed difficult for Rufus Carder to separate himself from her thatday. When she emerged from the house, she found him watching for her andshe reminded herself again that if she angered him he might prevent herfrom doing as she pleased. It seemed to her now so intensely vital thatshe should get to the meadow that she felt panic lest something happento prevent it.
"You don't want to go down there again to-day," said Rufus coaxingly."Let's take a walk up to the pond."
"Is there a pond?" asked Geraldine quickly. She had often wondered ifthere were any body of water about the place deep enough for a girl tobe covered in it if she lay face down.
"Oh, yes, I have a cranberry bog with a dam. Makes a pretty decent pondpart o' the year. How would you like it if I got you a canoe, Gerrie?Say! would you like that?" The interest that had come into the girl'sface at mention of the pond encouraged him. "Come on, let's go. You'vehad enough o' the cows."
He grasped her arm and she set her teeth not to pull away.
"Would you mind waiting?" She put the question gently and even gave hima little smile, the first he had ever seen on her face. Theexquisiteness of it, her pearly teeth, the Cupid's bow of her lipsflushed him from head to foot. "I seem to be getting attached to thatmeadow," she added. "You'd better have one more buttonhole bouquet,don't you think?"
The delight of it rushed to Carder's head. He, too, had to put a strongrestraint upon himself to let well enough alone. All was going sonicely. He must not make a false move.
"Well," he responded with a sort of gasping sigh, the blood in his face,"as I've always said, suit yourself and you'll suit me. Wind me rightaround your finger as you always have done and always will do."
He walked completely down the incline with her to-day.
She wondered if he had any sense of humor when she heard the clicking ofPete's lawn-mower behind them and knew that he was following. Carder didnot seem to notice it; but he said: "I've a great mind to stay down herewith you to-day and find out what the charm is."
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"I suppose it is just peace," she answered, and she was so frightenedlest he carry out this threat that she felt herself grow pale to thelips. "I've passed through a great deal of excitement," she addedunsteadily. "The silence seems healing to me."
"Oh, well, little one," he replied good-humoredly, "if it's doing yougood, that's the main thing. You have had it pretty hard, I know that.I'm goin' to make it up to you, Gerrie, I'm goin' to make it up to you.Don't you be afraid. You're safe to be the most envied girl in thiscounty. You'll make some splash, let me tell you, when my plans arecarried out." He patted her cringing shoulder, and with one more longinglook turned and left her.
Her knees were still trembling and she sank down on her rock and watchedCarder's round shoulders and ill-fitting clothes as he ascended theincline to the office.
Pete was using a sickle on the stubbly grass, too stiff andinterspersed with stones for the mower.
The cows' big soft eyes were regarding Geraldine, as they always did fora time after her arrival.
She turned her tired, listless look back to them and wondered what theydid here for comfort in the heat of summer. There was no shade, and nocreek to walk into.
When Rufus Carder arrived at his office he found the telephone ringing.The message he received necessitated sending some word to a man out inthe field.
He went to the window and looked down at the white spot which wasGeraldine. He saw her rise and walk about. Perhaps she was pickingflowers. The distance was too great for him to be certain.
"I shall be right here," he muttered. Then he went to the corner of theoffice and picked up a megaphone. Going outside the door he called toPete. "Come up here!" he shouted. The boy dropped his sickle and beganto amble up the hill as fast as his bow-legs would permit.
Geraldine heard the shout, and turning saw the dwarf obeying thesummons.
"Nobody but you to guard me now," she said to the prettiest of the cowswith whom she had made friends.
She watched Pete reach the summit of the incline and vanish into theyellow office.
Presently he came out again and started off in the direction of thefields.
"I think there is some one beside you to guard me now," went onGeraldine to the cow, who gave her an undivided attention mindful of thebunches of grass which the girl had often gathered for her. "I think theogre has come out to the edge of his cave and is scarcely winking as hewatches us down here. Oh, Bossy, I'm the most miserable girl in thewhole world." Her breath caught in her throat, and winking backdespairing tears she stooped to gather the expected thick handful ofgrass when a humming sound came faintly across the stillness of thefield. She paused with listless curiosity and listened. The buzzingseemed suddenly to fill all the air. It increased, and her upturned facebeheld an approaching aeroplane. Before she had time to connect itspresence with herself it began diving toward the earth. On and on itcame. It skimmed the ground, it ran along the meadow, the cowsstampeded. She clasped her hands, and with dilated eyes saw the aviatorjump out, pull something out of the cockpit and run toward her. She rantoward him. It was--it couldn't be--it was--he pushed back hishelmet--it was her knight! Her excited eyes met his. "I've come foryou," he called gayly, and her face glorified with amazed joy.
"He'll kill you!" she gasped in sudden terror. "Hurry!"
Ben was already taking off the crepe shawl and putting her arms into thesleeves of a leather coat. A shout came from the top of the hill. RufusCarder appeared, yelling and running. His gun was in his hand. The menfrom the fields, who had heard and seen the aeroplane, and Pete, who hadnot yet had time to reach them, all came running in excitement to seethe great bird which had alighted in such an unlikely spot.
"He'll kill you!" gasped Geraldine again. A shot rang out on the air.
Ben laughed as he pushed a helmet down over her head.
"It can't be done," he cried, as excited as she. He threw the shawl intothe cockpit, lifted the girl in after it, buckled the safety belt acrossher, jumped in himself, and the great bird began to flit along theground and quickly to rise.
Another wild shot rang out, and frightful oaths. Geraldine heard theformer, though the latter were inaudible, and she became tense from herhead to the little feet which pushed against the foot-board as if tohasten their flight. She clutched the side of the veering plane. Withevery rod they gained her relief grew. Ben, looking into her face forsigns of fear, received a smile which made even his enviable life betterworth living than ever before. No exultant conqueror ever experiencedgreater thrills. Up, up, up, they flew out of reach of bullets and allthe sordidness of earth; and when the meadow became a blur Geraldinefelt like a disembodied spirit, so great was her exaltation. Not avestige of fear assailed the heart which had so recently wondered if thecranberry pond was deep enough to still its misery. She rejoiced to benear the low-lying, fleecy clouds which a little while ago had arousedher apprehensions for the morrow. Let come what would, she was safe fromRufus Carder and she was free. Her sentiment for her leather-coateddeliverer was little short of adoration. Gratitude seemed too poor aterm. He had taken her from hell, and it seemed to her as they went up,up, up, they must be nearing heaven. At last he began flying in a directline.
Below was her former jailer, foaming at the mouth, and Pete, poor Pete,lying on the ground rolling in an agony of loss. "She's gone, she'sgone," he moaned and sobbed, over and over; and even Carder saw that ifthere had been any plot afoot the dwarf had not been in it. So long asthe plane was in sight, all the farm-workers stared open-mouthed. Noneof them loved the master, but none dared comment on his fury now or aska question. His gun was in his hand and his eyes were bloodshot. Hisopen mouth worked. They had all seen the beautiful girl who had now beensnatched away so amazingly, and there was plenty to talk about andwonder about for months to come on the Carder farm. Rufus Carder, whenthe swift scout plane had become a speck, tore at his collar. The veinsstood out in his neck and his forehead. He felt the curious gaze of hishelpers and in impotent fury he turned and walked up to the house. Hismother, still in the kitchen, saw him come in and started back with acry. His collar and shirt flying open, his face crimson and distorted,his scowl, and his gun, terrified her almost to fainting. She sank intoa chair. Her lips moved, but she could not make a sound.
"What did the girl tell you!" cried her son.
She clutched her breast, her lips moved, but no sound emerged.
Rufus saw that she was too frightened to speak.
"Don't be scared," he said roughly. "All you've got to do is to tell methe truth." He made a mighty effort to control his rasping voice. "Didyou know Geraldine was goin' away?"
Mrs. Carder shook her head speechlessly.
"Sit up, Ma. Talk if you've got any sense. What did the girl tell you?Why was she dressin' up every day?"
"I--I thought"--stammered Mrs. Carder, "I thought she wanted to lookpretty. I--I thought you were goin' to marry her. She never told meanything. Gone away?" Some curiosity struggled through the old woman'sparalyzing fear. "How could she go away? She hadn't any hat on." Shespoke tremulously.
"Come up to her room," said Rufus sternly.
He flung his gun into a corner and strode toward the stairs, the shakyold woman following him.
Up in Geraldine's chamber he stood still for a moment scowling andviewing its neatness, then strode to the closet and opened the door. Hershabby suit was hanging there, and the pale-green challie gown she hadworn in his office. He grasped its soft folds in crushing fingers. Thegingham dress in which she worked every morning was also hanging on itshook. Her hat was on the shelf. That was all. Her few toilet articleswere neatly arranged on the shabby old bureau. He opened its drawers andtossed their meager contents ruthlessly, searching for some letter orscrap of paper to throw light on her exit. He went to the trunk whichcontained some sheets of music and a few books. These he scatteredabout searching, searching between their leaves.
His mother, trembling before him, spoke tremulously. "Did she have anymoney to go away?"
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No," he growled.
"You can see she didn't expect to go, Rufus," said the old womantimidly. "All her things are here. Why--why don't you take the carand--and go after her?"
"Because she went up in the air, that's why; and I'll kill him!" Heshook his fists in impotent rage. "He'll find he didn't get away with itas neat as he thought."
He stormed out of the room, and lucky it was for Pete that thatthreshold could tell no tales.
The old woman stared after him in a new terror. Her son, the mostimportant man in the county, had lost his mind, and all for the sake ofthat girl who had managed in some mysterious way to give him the slip."Gone up in the air!" Poor Rufus. He had gone mad. She managed thatnight to get an interview in the woodshed with the grief-stricken Pete,and in spite of his incoherence and renewed sobs she learned what hadhappened. The dwarf believed that his goddess had been kidnapped. Itnever occurred to his dull brain to connect her disappearance with theletters he had conveyed to her.
The next day Carder was amazed to have the boy seek him. Never beforehad Pete ventured to volunteer a word to him. He was sitting in his dengnawing his nails and revolving in his mind some scheme for Geraldine'srecovery when the dwarf appeared at the door. His shock of hair stood upas usual and his eyes were swollen.
"Can't we--can't we--look for her, master?" he asked beseechingly. "Theymay hurt her--the man that stole her. Can't you--find him, master?"
Carder's scowl bent upon the humble suppliant.
"I ought to have shot him the first time he came," he said savagely.
"Did the--the areoplane ever come before?" asked Pete, amazed, hisheart's desire to see again and save his goddess supplying him withcourage to speak. His dull eyes opened as wide as their puffiness wouldpermit.
"No," snarled Carder; "but it was that damned fool on the motor-cyclewithout a doubt. I don't see how he got at her. No letter ever came."
The speaker went back to gnawing his nails in bitter meditation andforgot the mourner at his door whose slow wits began toremember--remember; and who, as he remembered, began to shake in hispoor broken shoes and feel nailed to the ground. At last he ambled away,thankful that his master did not recur to the questioning of that otherday. His dull wits received a novel sharpening.
Carder's few words had transformed the situation. His goddess had notbeen stolen. He recalled that first night when he had forced her backinto her room to save his own life, unmoved by her pleading. Hersweetness had given him courage to risk concealing the tall visitor'sletter and conveying it to her.
If Carder should suddenly revert to that day and cross-question him, hemust have his denials ready. He must show no fear.
He fell now on the ground and rested his head on his long arms to think.It was so hard for him to think, and dry sobs kept choking him; but thewonderful fact slowly possessed him that he had served her. Pete, thestupid dwarf, butt of rough jokes and ridicule, had saved the brightbeing he adored. He understood now her fervent efforts to convey thanksto him. He felt dimly that the angel whose kindness had brightened hislife for those few days had gone back to the skies she had left. The manof the motor-cycle had looked stern as he slipped the letter into hisragged blouse and said the few low words that imposed secrecy and theimportance of the message.
"I'm sure you love her," the man had said. "I'm sure you want to helpher."
The words had contained magic that worked; and Pete had helped her, andoutwitted the man with the whip who owned him body and soul.
Henceforth the dwarf had a wonderful secret, a secret that warmed hisheart with divine fire.
Remembering how his goddess had wanted to go out into the night alone toescape, he realized that she must have been as unhappy as himself. Whenhe prevented her from departing, she had not hated him. Compassion wasstill in her eyes and voice when she spoke to him that next morning.
Now he had helped her. An angel had fallen into that smoky kitchen andtoiled with her white hands. He had helped her back to heaven. Pete, thedwarf had done it: Pete.
He rolled over on his back and looked up at the sky. Clouds weregathering, but she had gone into the blue. She was there now, and it wasthrough him. Perhaps she was looking at him at this moment. He knew howher face would glow. He knew how her voice would sound and her eyeswould smile.
"Thank you, Pete. Thank you, good little Pete."
He gazed up at the scudding clouds and his troubled soul grew quiet.
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