Catch-As-Catch-Can

by Charlotte Armstrong

  “I never wanted to be a teacher,” she confessed.

  “Dr. Stirling has got to let you off this job. If you won’t tell him so, I will.”

  “Don’t do that, Andy. It is my job.”

  “Not so. He’s her legal guardian. It’s up to him. There’s plenty of money. He can hire it done.”

  “It’s not so easy,” murmured Dee. “Laila at least feels trusting toward me. Dr. John seems to frighten her. I don’t.…”

  “Why does it fall on you?” he said, stubbornly. “What about Clive, who is equally her cousin? What about that Pearl Dean who says she was a friend of Laila’s mother, or something like that …?”

  Dee stiffened. “I’d just as soon throw the poor child to a pack of wolves. No, I’m to take care of her. Jonas asked me to. I can’t help it, Andy. There it is.”

  “You won’t concede there comes a time to turn things over to other people …?”

  “You don’t give up in the middle,” Dee said hotly. “You can’t just stop and say ‘I’m through.’”

  “Well, then,” he said, sinking back, “There it is. You’re proud, Dee. You’re reckless, too.” His face brooded, the argument lost, the vehemence gone.

  “I don’t see how …” she faltered.

  “Yes, you do. You must know Laila’s taken quite a lively fancy to … me.”

  “Perhaps,” said Dee faintly.

  “Not her fault,” he said, looking white around the mouth. “I’m the only youngish man she knows, to speak to, in this hemisphere, not counting Clive. Dee, won’t you look at it from where I sit? I can’t see you at the office. You’re never there. I come to the house. There’s Laila. I take a day off, try to fix it so we get one Wednesday afternoon. But Laila’s coming, too.”

  “You don’t dislike her,” Dee said, a trifle bitterly.

  “No,” he said soberly. “Maybe I better tell you this. Teaching may not appeal to you. It appeals to me.”

  “What do you mean, Andy?” Dee’s heart jumped.

  “It’s an attraction,” he said. His face was somber and he looked off at the sky. “A man almost can’t stand not to take that girl in his hands and mould her into what he’d like a girl to be. Maybe you don’t understand that.”

  “I do understand that,” Dee said gravely, proudly.

  “Then will you please tell Stirling the job’s too much for you, which it is.…”

  “I can’t.” Her fists were clenched in her lap.

  He brought his own clenched fist down on the steering wheel. “You don’t like to admit anything’s too much for you, do you, Ma’am?”

  She said, “I have to do this, Andy, the best I can.”

  “Drop it, Dee.” His voice shook a little. “Walk out on it. I’m begging you.…”

  “I can’t walk out on her,” said Dee sadly, “until she’s … raised, as you say.” Her heart flopped. Her head tilted proudly. “Unless someone I admired and trusted were to take the job. Unless … you took it, Andy. You can teach her, if you like. Jonas approved of you, and it’s a free country.”

  He turned the sharp silver of his eyes. “No I cannot,” he said furiously. “Do you think I’m going to take advantage of a childish crush? What do you think I’m going to do? Throw you over and marry half a million dollars?”

  “Whatever I think,” said Dee steadily, “it isn’t that. I just think she’s … very attractive.”

  “You make it tough,” he said, and stared at the view.

  “I don’t find it easy. I’m jealous, sometimes. But I love the little thing, Andy; that’s a part of it. And she is my job. Jonas said so. How can I do anything else but what I’m doing?”

  “I don’t suppose you can,” he said slowly. “Not even to help me. So I do this alone. Well,” he murmured, “it’s a free country.”

  “Yes,” she said proudly, “that it is.”

  “All right. I’m just giving notice, Dee,” he told her, still staring at the sky, “that until something happens to break up this weird triangle where everybody loves everybody else, I won’t marry you. I won’t move in there.”

  “I don’t suppose you can,” she agreed sadly.

  He slammed the car into motion and whipped it backwards. They rolled off the plateau, down around the mountain, through the tunnel, back on down.

  “Free country,” Andy murmured. “Everyone does what he thinks is best and takes the consequences. Not so?”

  “That’s so, I guess,” Dee said.

  CHAPTER 2

  Uncle Jonas Breen’s big yellow stucco house was almost invisible from the street, all choked away by the wild growth of neglect. The car burrowed into the semicircular driveway, and only as it rolled before the portico, where the paint peeled, could they see a shabby little coupe pulled up behind a black sedan.

  “La Pearl,” said Andy grimly. “And Dr. Stirling. What do you want to bet? Complications!”

  “Do you suppose somebody’s ill?” Dee flashed out of the car and up to the door.

  Lorraine, the housemaid, who opened it as if she had been waiting behind it, was a large woman who carried herself high. Now she seemed on tiptoe with tension.

  “Oh, Miss Dee, I’m glad you’re back. It’s Mrs. Vaughn.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “There’s something wrong with her eyes.”

  “Eyes!”

  “She doesn’t feel a bit well. Been lying down. Maybe it’s nothing but I finally … I hope I was right, Miss Dee … I called Dr. Stirling.”

  “You did just right, Lorraine,” said Dee warmly. “Where’s Miss Laila?”

  “In there.” Lorraine made a backward movement of her head. “Miss Pearl Dean is with her. They just came in a few.…”

  “Do they know Mrs. Vaughn isn’t well?”

  “Oh yes, Miss Dee, but Dr. Stirling …” Lorraine looked worried, “wouldn’t let them near her.”

  It crossed Dee’s mind that perhaps whatever ailed the housekeeper was contagious. “All right, Lorraine.”

  “Oh, Dee?” said the sweet high voice of her cousin Laila. Dee felt, almost physically, the darling burden fastening down upon her.

  “I’ll come in a minute.” Dee nodded at the maid and moved across the wide entrance hall toward the big room at the left. She thought again that she must confer with Dr. Stirling about this place, about chopping the muffling shrubbery ruthlessly away, about new color on the dull walls, and the dark massive furniture, about new light and new grace let in here somehow.

  It took time.

  Laila came dancing across the somber rug. “I’ve been out with Pearl. To lunch. Wasn’t it kind of her, Dee?”

  “Hi, sweetie,” said Dee with a melting heart. The child was so easily, so pathetically delighted by anyone’s kindness. “Why aren’t you wearing something cooler, you little goose.”

  All the way around the world with Uncle Jonas, Laila had worn a tailored suit as was proper for a traveler. Now she seemed to think it was the only proper garment, although her lithe little body denied the whole idea of formality, and her long dark hair that never seemed to need a ribbon or a pin to keep it away from her flower face was a shock of loveliness and incongruity. She was all contradictions. Her feet that somehow ought to have been bare were in nylons and pumps. Her hands, that now reached for Dee in affection, were tough calloused little hands.

  Laila was altogether a tougher little body than she appeared. It’s her spirit, thought Dee, that is frail and defenseless.

  “Coolness,” said Pearl Dean in her soft booming voice, “is only an attitude. Are you well, Dee?”

  “I’m well. And you?” said Dee mechanically. She was watching Laila’s face transformed with radiant surprise.

  “Oh, Andrew!” The little girl clasped her hands as if the sight of him was a gift. It was innocent. It was lovely. It was appealing.

  “Hiya, Laila.” Andy came up behind. “Pearl?” He bowed and there was mockery in the bow. “Are you well?” he inquired.

  “I am
always well,” said Pearl, rolling her great cow eyes. “I am leaving now.”

  Andy said, “Good. Excuse me, Pearl. We are going to the beach. If you are leaving, then Laila can come along. I’ll wait.”

  He walked past the girl and Pearl Dean and pushed through a glass door out into the patio.

  The effect was a little rude, a little arrogant. But Dee knew he did it because of the churning turbulence of his mood. She stood still and forgave him and understood him—and watched her cousin Laila go dancing after him as if she were a little toy with wheels drawn by a string at his heels. She met the liquid roll of Pearl Dean’s remarkable eyes.

  The woman stood with her fat heels planted. The lank drab hair, cut short, grew sparsely from her big skull from which the dome of her abnormally high forehead shone forth like marble. La Pearl was a great one for intuitions. Dee wondered whether the woman could divine how often Dee had discussed with Dr. Stirling the problem of weaning Laila away from her peculiar influence.

  “Andrew Talbot is not right for her, you know,” said Pearl with her insufferable air of having been told these things by invisible angels.

  Dee said sharply, “What do you mean?”

  “They must not marry.”

  “Since he is engaged to marry me,” said Dee flushing, “you’re not very flattering, Pearl.”

  “Oh, time,” said Pearl in her grand manner, “corrodes a promise. He is too old for her, too cold, too dedicated to the brain.”

  Dee winced. Pay no attention, she told herself sternly, don’t bother to get mad.

  “It’s a free country,” she said airily. “If you’ll excuse me.…”

  Pearl took a step and grasped Dee by the wrist.

  “She must have young love, Dee. The sun and the sea are well enough but love is her food. She can die without it.”

  “I hope she’ll have it,” said Dee politely. She couldn’t follow. She never quite knew what Pearl Dean was talking about.

  “I feel danger, like an evil perfume, all around her.”

  The woman moved still closer. The mass of her body was overpowering.

  “Danger?” said Dee numbly.

  “Yes, danger. Dee, I am a gypsy, as you know. Soon I shall run away from this city. Let me take her.”

  “Pearl, I can’t.”

  “But Jonas knows I love her. Jonas understands. Dee, I could protect her. Dee, I must have her. Laila would be happy.”

  For a moment, Dee could see the two of them rocketing off, living on the fringe of the solid world, eating herbs, worshipping the sun. Oh yes, Laila would be happy enough. And Laila would be—somewhere else.

  She said quietly, “Jonas didn’t say you could have her, Pearl. I’m sorry. And I don’t know what you mean by danger.”

  Pearl Dean dropped Dee’s wrist as if she flung it down.

  “Why is Dr. Stirling Laila’s guardian?”

  “Because Jonas said so,” said Dee, shortly. As usual, she was being reduced to bluntness with this woman.

  “Jonas has no faith in doctors. I cannot understand his faith in that man.”

  “The man was his oldest friend,” Dee said. She resented Pearl’s use of the present tense. Jonas was not present. She wished he were, but he was dead.

  “Ah,” said Pearl, “but each chooses his illusion and there is a V in time. Jonas Breen is a man of wisdom. So mellow and wise. And open-minded.” The great eyes rolled. “He and John Stirling are poles apart.” She held her plump hands apart to illustrate.

  “Pearl,” said Dee wearily, “there are some kinds of wisdom—” She took a breath. “Do you know what crosses my mind about you sometimes?” The woman simply waited. “Whether you ever knew Laila’s mother at all. Or whether you just picked up Jonas and his daughter on shipboard three months ago.”

  The woman’s quick intuition flew to the point. “Because he was rich, you think? Yes. That is the superstition. But I don’t care for money. I am not possessed. I have the sun and the sky and the gift of wonder. And so does Jonas Breen for all his prosperity. We must not quarrel, Dee, you and I.” The big voice purred. “I don’t think you care for money. I think you care for And——”

  “Why, I like it fine,” said Dee flippantly. “Very pleasant stuff, money. What’s the matter with it?” She grinned at the woman.

  “You are saucey,” said Pearl, “but I will tell you something. If Andrew Talbot were not afraid of money, if money were merely pleasant stuff to him, instead of standing in his heart’s way—”

  “I don’t think his heart is your business,” Dee flared and then snatched at her temper. “Pearl, I don’t want to quarrel with you, either, but it’s the dickens of an effort sometimes. Andy isn’t your business and neither, I’m sorry to have to say so bluntly, is Laila.”

  Pearl had closed her eyes. “For your own sake, you should let her go. You are blind when you will not see,” she intoned.

  “You haven’t answered me,” said Dee sharply. “Did you know Laila’s mother?”

  The white eyelids trembled. “In a way you would not understand. In another world.”

  “I thought so,” said Dee flatly, “but not in this world. And Jonas left her in this plain world that we see, Pearl. So you can’t have her. And—will you please excuse me. Mrs. Vaughn is ill.…”

  Then Pearl’s eyes came wide open like oysters in her heavy face. “I could have helped poor Berta Vaughn,” she said contemptuously, “if your Dr. Stirling were not such a narrow man. You disappoint me, Dee. You don’t trust me? You think the world’s so plain? Very well, I am leaving.” Without turning her head, Pearl called, “Laila?”

  Dee heard Laila answer, saw her come in from the outer air to this gloomy room. She didn’t like the obedience, the reverence and trust.

  “You will see me on my way?” said Pearl.

  “Yes, Pearl.”

  Pearl touched her, like a benediction. “You will take strength from the sun and the sea and the blessed wind, little darling?”

  “Yes, Pearl.”

  “You will be happy.”

  “Yes, Pearl.”

  “Come.” Pearl’s ponderous figure began her waddle to the door and Laila went after.

  Oh, thought Dee, anyone can lead her. Anyone can teach her. Anyone who wants to try. That’s dangerous.

  She whirled around. By the tall clock, it was a little after one. Things for Dee to do. See about the ailing housekeeper. Talk to the doctor. And somehow do something about Pearl Dean.

  Then she saw Andy, standing against the light in the narrow French door and for one quivering moment they looked at each other. He seemed to be saying, “See what I mean?”

  Dee thought defiantly, But I am responsible.

  Dr. John Stirling’s rasping querulous voice came ahead of him out of the pantry. “Carelessness. Ignorance. Absolutely unneccesary.” He came fuming. He glared at Dee as was his custom. “Tell you in a minute, Dee,” he said. “Got to phone for the ambulance.”

  Dee stepped backwards and touched her hand to the wall. Whatever ailed Mrs. Vaughn, it was not “nothing.” Dee must go to her at once.

  She heard the doctor bark some medical terms into the phone. She heard him say, “No, too late for that. Symptoms are violent already. Get the ambulance along and take over as soon as they bring her in.… No, I’ll be along later. I’ve got to find it.”

  Find what, Dee wondered.

  CHAPTER 3

  Old Mrs. Vaughn lay on the coverlet with her eyes shut.

  “Are you in pain, Mrs. Vaughn?”

  The woman couldn’t seem to swallow or bring herself to speak. Her eyes opened but they were queer and wild. Dee put her hand on the crumpled skin of the cheek and the pale forehead. It did not seem to her to be feverish at all. She looked around at Lorraine. “When did she begin to feel ill?”

  “The middle of the morning, Miss Dee. It was her eyes.”

  “Eyes,” Dee shook her head. There was nothing she could do here. “I think the doctor has called an ambulance. I�
�d better talk to him. You’ll stay?” Lorraine nodded and Dee withdrew softly. She started back through the kitchen and at the pantry door she met the doctor.

  “Dr. John, what is it? What can we do?”

  “Hospital’s the place for her,” he barked. “Get the phone, Dee.”

  “Oh?”

  “Clive,” he said. “You talk to him.”

  So Dee went through the pantry, walking like an automaton. Yes, take the phone call. The day was broken into pieces. She no longer knew what was going to become of it. No one was there in the gloomy hall.

  She took up the phone. “Clive?”

  “Dee? I didn’t especially want to talk to you, Dee. Where’s Laila?”

  “What do you want with Laila?”

  “I want to talk to her, naturally.” Clive’s voice was unfriendly on the wire.

  “What’s happened now,” said Dee patiently, “that you need money for?”

  “All right, listen, girl scout. They just repossessed my car.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Too bad! It’s outrageous. A lousy two hundred dollars. Listen, Dee, how about you? I’d.…”

  “Not me,” said Dee crisply. “Not Laila, either.”

  “Dee,” said her cousin Clive, “what’s the matter with you? You’re getting to sound more and more like an old-maid chaperone. Listen, if Laila’s got a little milk of human kindness in her, I can’t see what business it is of yours. She’d lend me two hundred dollars, if you’d let her alone. Now let me talk to her, will you?”

  Clive was wound up in his own troubles.

  “She’s out saving good-bye to Pearl Dean at the moment. I’ll advise her not to lend you anything, Clive. You might as well.…”

  “I’m coming up there.”

  “Well, I can’t stop you,” said Dee wearily, and hung up.

  She wondered how Clive had managed to get rid of his legacy so soon, before it had even come physically into his hands. She knew he had. She thought for a moment, rebelliously, that she was tired of sounding like an old-maid chaperone. Maybe she ought to let Laila do as she would impulsively please. Laila had a frightening bank account. She didn’t know how to spend money. It was one more thing to teach her.