She caught her breath and turned to fly, but her hands were caught in a big, firm grasp like a vise, and a flashlight blazed into her frightened eyes for an instant. She closed the lids involuntarily and shrank away, with a dizzy feeling that for the first time in her life she must be going to faint.
Chapter 4
About half past seven the next morning, Nannette was going distractedly around the disheveled kitchen attempting to get a semblance of a breakfast for the irate Eugene and at the same time deal with her two unruly children who, half dressed, were fighting about the cat.
The telephone suddenly rang out sharply, and Eugene dropped the morning paper with a snap and sprang to take down the receiver, an arrogant frown appearing at once on his face and dominating the anxiety that had been there ever since the evening before. “Hello!” he said insolently in the voice he meant to use for Joyce in case it was Joyce.
“Hello!” came back a voice equally insolent with the effect of having been the same word thrown back resentfully. A man’s voice. Eugene was puzzled.
“Who are you?” he challenged with a heavy frown. Nannette paused in the kitchen doorway and listened, and the children suspended operations on the cat and tried a bit of eavesdropping.
“Is Miss Joyce there?” The voice held authority and denied any right to interference by a third party.
“Who is this?” demanded Eugene angrily.
“A friend of Miss Radway’s,” came the prompt dignified reply. “I wish to speak with Miss Radway.” There was coldness in the tone. The voice had a carrying quality and could be heard distinctly across the room.
“There, I told you so!” cried Nannette hysterically. “The whole town will hear of it!”
Eugene made a violent gesture with his foot equivalent to telling her to go into the kitchen and shut the door, and Nannette retired out of sight with a listening ear.
“Joyce is busy,” said her cousin in a lordly tone. “She can’t be interrupted now. You can leave a message if you like that can be given her when she gets her work done.”
“I see,” said the calm voice after a moment of what seemed thoughtful silence, and there came a soft click.
“Who is this? Say! Who is this? Operator! Operator! You’ve cut us off. What’s that? Who’s calling? That’s what I want to find out. You cut us off before the man told his name. Look that up and let me know at once where it came from. What’s that? What number? Why, that’s your business. You ought to know where a call came from just two minutes ago. You’ll look it up? All right. Get busy then. I have to make a train.”
“Who was it?” demanded Nannette, appearing wide-eyed with dishcloth in one hand and a piece of burnt toast in the other.
“Shut up!” said her husband rudely. “Don’t you see I’m busy? I never saw such service as we have here in this town; can’t find out who a call came from.”
“Was it a man calling or a woman?”
“A man, of course. Isn’t there always a man where a girl is concerned?”
“I never saw a man come to see Joyce,” said Nannette wonderingly.
“Joyce was sly. Haven’t you learned that yet? You women are all fools about each other anyway. This was a man, and a young one. I’ve heard his voice, but I can’t place it. Hello! Central! Central! Are you going to keep me waiting all day? What? You can’t trace it? That’s all bosh. Oh! You say it was a local pay station? Well, ring it up at once. What? You don’t know the number—Aw! That don’t go down with me. Give me the chief operator. Operator! Operator!
“Hang it all, she’s hung up again! What time is it anyway? Gosh, hang it, I’ve missed my train. No, I don’t want any coffee. Give me my hat; I must make that train. No, I can’t stop to tell you anything! Where’s my coat? It’s strange you never can help me when I’m in a hurry. Get out of my way, Dorothea! Dang that cat—I believe I’ve broken my toe.”
He was gone, leaving an agitated family and a breathless cat emerging from the lilac bush where he had been savagely kicked.
“Well, anyhow, I bet I can find out who was on that wire,” said Dorothea maturely. “I bet they’ll know down to the drugstore. I bet I can get Dick Drew to tell me. Most everybody phones from the drugstore. They ain’t but two or thee local pay stations.”
“Be still, Dorothea. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” reprimanded her mother sharply. “Don’t you go to talking or you’ll make your father awfully angry. You go wash your hands and get off to school. You’re going to be late. No, Junior isn’t going to stay at home. He’s perfectly able to go to school, and I’m not going to be bothered this morning. I’ve got too much to do to have either of you around.”
The telephone rang again at this moment, and Nannette hastened to answer it.
It was a woman’s voice this time. “Is this you, Joyce? Oh! Is that Mrs. Massey? May I speak to Miss Radway?”
“Why, Joyce isn’t here just now,” answered Nannette sweetly. “Is there any message? Anything I can do for you?”
“Why, no, I guess not, thank you. How soon will Joyce be back?”
“Why, I’m not just sure,” shifted Nannette uneasily. “Couldn’t I give her a message?”
“Well, you might tell her Martha Bryan called up to know if she would take her Sunday school class next Sunday. I know it’s a little hard on her to ask her to do it just now when she’s been through trouble, but she isn’t one to sit down and eat her heart out when there’s work to be done, and I thought perhaps it would help her over a hard day to feel she was doing the Lord’s work. She and her aunt Mary always were ones you could rely on to help. And I wouldn’t ask, only my daughter has been taken sick up at Watsonville, and she wants me. I do hate to go without seeing to my class, and I’m just sure Joyce’ll take it. But I’ve got to leave by three o’clock. Joyce ain’t going to be gone all day, is she?”
“Oh, I think not,” said Nannette nonchalantly. What if Joyce should stay all day! How dreadful!
“Well, you ask her to call me just as soon as she gets in. I want to relieve my mind of that class.”
“I’ll tell her,” said Nannette ungraciously, “but she’s got a lot to do at home. I doubt if she can manage it.”
“Oh, but she promised me six weeks ago she would if I had to go.”
“Well, I’ll tell her.” And Nannette hung up snappily. She didn’t exactly relish everybody in town expecting that Joyce would go right on doing what she always had done, as if her circumstances in life were just as they had been. It was time people began to understand that Joyce was a dependent, and as such was not at the beck and call of every old woman and Sunday school class. She was tired and angry from loss of sleep last night, and it was high time Joyce came home and did her work. Of course she must be out there in the barn asleep somewhere. Probably she was waiting for somebody to come out and coax her in. Well, she would go out and find her. There was the harness closet and there was the hayloft. Probably Eugene didn’t look very far. She would find her and teach her duty once and for all, and there wouldn’t be any question about it either.
Nannette marched out of the kitchen door with the air of a conquering hero and sailed into the garage, the very crackle of her step on the gravel foretelling what was in store for any luckless miscreant who might be found lurking in the hay.
But though she searched vigilantly and thoroughly, there was no sign anywhere of Joyce. Out behind the barn a fluttering paper caught her eye, and stopping to pick it up, she found it was an examination paper with answers scribbled after each question in Joyce’s fine script. Angrily she tore it in half and in half again and scattered it on the ground, scanned the meadow for an instant and the distant road, and then went back into the house just in time to hear the telephone ringing again.
It was a man’s voice this time, a strange, dignified, young voice, a voice that spoke as from authority. “I would like to speak with Miss Joyce Radway.”
The sense of panic returned to Nannette, but she summoned her voice to deman
d sharply, “Who is this?” At least she would not make Eugene’s mistake and let anyone get away without complete identification.
“This is J. S. Harrington, acting superintendent of the high school. I wish to speak to Miss Radway with regard to her examination paper. Is she there?”
“She is not,” said Nannette with asperity.
“Perhaps you know if she is already on her way to school?” Nannette wished she did.
“She’ll not be able—” she began and then reflected that perhaps Joyce was on her way to school. No telling where she had spent the night with this in view. At least she must not give away the present situation to the whole village. Especially not to this interesting stranger. He must be the man they were talking about at the station last night, young and good-looking. What could he want with Joyce?
“I’m not sure whether she is going over to the school today or not,” she equivocated. “Is there any message?”
“Just ask her to step into my office if she is coming to school. If not, I shall be glad to have her call me as soon as she comes in. Thank you. Good morning.”
The click of the telephone was almost immediately followed by a knock on the kitchen door, where stood a small boy with a basket of luscious strawberries covered over with dewy leaves. He was freckled and cross-eyed, with two upper teeth missing, but he had a most engaging smile, and he wanted Joyce very much. He seemed dubious about leaving the strawberries when he heard she was not at home, and almost decided to sit down and wait, but Nannette explained that it might be some time, and he surrendered the basket reluctantly with the message that “Ma” had “thent ’em for Joyth and wanted the rethipe for her aunth’s maple cake.”
Nannette regarded the strawberries with a vindictive glare. Why should Joyce have so many friends? Since Mother Massey died, everybody seemed so interested in doing things for Joyce and nobody seemed to bother about her in the least, although she was the son’s wife. It certainly wasn’t going to be pleasant living in this town until she had made Joyce’s position quite plain. But then, after everybody understood that Joyce couldn’t go out as much as she used to and wasn’t wearing such fine clothes nor having leisure for picnics and Sunday school classes and the like, people would soon realize that Joyce was nothing.
The next call on the telephone came from the minister’s wife. She wanted Joyce to come and take lunch with her. She thought it might take her mind off her sorrow a little and help her to get back into natural living again.
Nannette was furious, but she managed a vague reply. Joyce was away. She wasn’t sure whether she would be back in time for lunch or not. No, she wasn’t gone to visit friends. She went—well—on business.
The minister’s wife was surprised but courteous. Later in the afternoon, the minister called. He said he had been unusually busy since the funeral or he would have been there sooner. He said he wished to talk with Joyce about a little matter her aunt had been interested in, and had hoped to find that she had returned.
The new school superintendent called up again while the minister was there and seemed quite upset that Joyce had not returned, and when she finally got rid of the minister and went out to the kitchen to consider the possibility of having to get dinner without Joyce’s help, she was called back three times to the telephone. First, Susie Bassett wanted to know if Joyce couldn’t come over and spend the night with her; she wanted to ask her advice about something. Then Mr. Elkins called from the store and said his wife was all alone and not feeling very well, and he would be so grateful if Joyce would run down and sit with her a little while till he could get away from the store. Then Patty Bryson from up in the country called to ask Joyce to come up and spend a week with her and the children while her husband was away. She thought it would be a nice little change for Joyce.
With flashing eyes and sullen mouth, Nannette turned back to her kitchen only to find Mrs. Pierce, her next-door neighbor, standing on the doorstep just entering with a warning tap to borrow a cup of sugar—hers hadn’t come yet—and to ask if Joyce was sick; she hadn’t seen her around all day.
Nannette was almost reduced to tears when she finally got rid of the woman who was a regular village gossip and had the real vulture smile on her face. But it was almost time for Eugene’s train, and he was not noted for being patient at mealtimes. She flew around preparing what she could briefly, a can of soup, improvised salad out of odds and ends, a hastily concocted custard poured over some stale sponge cake she had hidden from the children a week ago and forgotten till necessity brought it to light. None of the articles were particular favorites of Eugene. He would miss Joyce’s tasty cooking, but it could not be helped.
Meantime, where were the children? Six o’clock and they hadn’t returned since schooltime! What would Eugene say if they were not here when he got home? She hastened to the telephone to call up their familiar places and get track of them, and almost every house she called either had some message for Joyce or wanted to know how she was bearing her trouble, and had some good word of sympathy for her. It was maddening to Nannette in her frantic haste, with one eye on the clock, the smell of the soup burning. Now she would have to open another can. There was only a vegetable can left, and Eugene hated that.
Then just as she was looking up the number of the last place where she might hope to find her missing family, they trooped in.
“Ma, is Joyce here yet? ’Cause our teacher’s coming down to see her right away. Say, Ma, can’t I put on my new organdy dress? The superintendent’s coming along with her. I heard them planning it when I was in the cloakroom. And say, Ma, that must have been him phoned Daddy this morning, ’cause I heard him say she had awful good exams. He said they were ‘very clever,’ just like that. I’m going up to change my dress before they get here. I’m going to wear my new patent leathers, too. And, oh yes, Mrs. Bryan says for you to call her up right away and tell her what Joyce said about taking her Sunday school class. She’s going to take the evening train, and she’s got to know before she goes.”
Dorothea’s voice trailed off up the stairs as Junior stamped in angrily. “Say, Ma, what did Joyce do with my baseball bat? I wish she’d leave my things alone. Where is she anyhow? Steve Jenkins says he saw her walkin’ along the state road last night with her hat in her hand. And the minister asked me when she was comin’ back, and Miss Freedley told me to tell her she was comin’ over after supper fer her to teach her how to knit her sweater sleeves. And say, Ma, ain’t there any more jelly roll? I’m hungrier’n a dozen wolves. You didn’t have hardly anything fer lunch. I don’t see why you let Joyce go away. There goes the telephone. I ‘spect that’s Ted Black. He wants to know if Joyce can help out on the country week picnic committee—”
His mother swept him out of the way and answered the phone just as Eugene entered with an angry frown. “Where is Joyce?” he called out imperatively, just as a strange voice over the phone asked, “Has Miss Radway returned yet?”
Nannette, her nerves having reached the verge of control, snapped out an answer. “No, she hasn’t. I don’t know when she’s coming back. She’s away on a visit.” She hung up the phone with a click.
“Do you mean to tell me Joyce hasn’t come back yet?” roared Eugene ominously as his wife turned to meet him.
“If you ask me that question again, I’ll die!” screamed Nannette. “I’ve had to answer it all day long. One would think Joyce Radway was the most important person in this town. I think it’s ridiculous, your mother letting her get into everything this way, a charity girl! Well, you needn’t look so cross. She was, wasn’t she, even if she was your cousin. Everybody in this whole town is wanting that snip of a girl for something. I told you you ought to go out last night and make her come back. She’s as stubborn as a mule, and we’ve got a pretty mess on our hands. One would think she was a princess or something, the way folks act. And the new superintendent is coming to see her tonight, and the minister wants—”
“There’s something far more important than thos
e trifles,” glowered Eugene. “Judge Peterson has rallied, and the doctor says he may read the will this evening. We’ve got to go over there exactly at seven and not keep him waiting. The doctor is awfully particular about exciting him. And I want to get this thing fixed up right away. They say the judge has heart trouble and might drop off at any time now, and that would make no telling how much more delay. This is serious business for us, and you needn’t sit there and trifle about the village people! Joyce has got to be found, and found right away. Do you understand?”
“Well, find her then!” retorted his wife. “You talk as if it was my fault she went away. Haven’t I slaved all day doing her work? And I’m done now. I’m just done!” And Nannette burst into angry tears and ran upstairs to her room, slamming the door and locking it behind her.
Not Under the Law Page 4