Not Under the Law

by Grace Livingston Hill

  “Don’t look like any name at all to me,” she said contemptuously. “Looks like just a piece of writing. Where’d you get it?”

  “That I ain’t tellin’ till I find out what you know about it. If you can tell me the name, I’ll tell you something your uncle would like real well to know. Most like he’ll give you a box of candy if you tell him.”

  Lib tossed her head angrily.

  “My uncle ain’t that kind, and I can get candy when I want it. I tell you that ain’t anybody’s name at all. It’s just scribbling. Come on, Dorrie, we’ll be late to school.”

  But Dorothea had got a good vision of the writing at last.

  “Why, that’s my cousin’s name!” she exclaimed eagerly, wondering if she could possibly get that box of candy. “Joyce Ra—”

  But a firm little hand was laid smotheringly over her mouth.

  “Shut up!” said Lib Knox fiercely. “Don’t you know you mustn’t talk to strange men on the street? Come on, I hear the last bell ringing.” And she seized her young slave and dragged her full tilt down the street.

  Tyke stood on the pavement, his red hair reflecting the morning sun and his unholy face broad with a leer of triumph. Let them go. He had his clue, Joyce! Strange he hadn’t thought of that name before. Even when he used the whole alphabet, somehow he didn’t figure out that name. The rest would be easy to get. He sauntered down after the flying children and noted the location of the schoolhouse. School would be out at noon, of course—or would afternoon be better? Ah, there was a tall hedge across the way, an excellent point of vantage to watch as the children filed out at the end of the day.

  And so it happened, quite late in the afternoon after Lib Knox and Dorothea had written their misspelled words five hundred times and stayed in an extra half hour for misbehaving in class, and when they had visited the public garage for an hour and played with the five blind puppies that had recently arrived there, and had said a lingering and fond farewell for the afternoon and parted, that Dorothea started on her reluctant way home to supper.

  As she turned the corner out of sight of Lib Knox, Tyke stepped up as if he had just been walking down that way.

  “Hello, kid,” he said in his insinuating way. “I jest been lookin’ fer you. Bought that box of candy awhile ago an’ thought I’d like to give it to you. You like chocolates, don’t you, kid?”

  Dorothea quickly assured him that she did, her eyes round with eagerness.

  He produced a pound box tied with a red ribbon.

  “Well, you’re a nice kid,” he went on. “I knowed it the minute I saw you. So that girl was your cousin, was she? Joyce, what did ya say her name was? I ferget without the writin’ in front of me.”

  “Joyce Radway,” eagerly supplied Dorothea, her eyes on the candy box.

  “Yes, that’s it, Joyce Radway. Of course. How did I come to ferget that? Well, now, this Joyce Radway, she’s a great friend of that other girl’s uncle, ain’t she?”

  “Why, I guess so,” said Dorothea. “He came to the house to see her the other night.”

  “Oh, he did, did he? Yes, of course he would. Then your cousin is home, ain’t she?” insinuatingly.

  “No, she ain’t home, not now,” said Dorothea, annoyed, wondering when he was going to give her the box. “She’s gone away.”

  “Oh! She has?” His eyes narrowed as he watched her. “Did she go away with him?”

  “Oh no,” said Dorothea quite earnestly, trying to think how to answer so that she would get the candy quickly. “She never had any boys. It was just the ‘lectric light. Daddy said she burned it too much, and he didn’t like her taking ‘zaminations and all. Where’dya get the candy? I saw a box like that down to the drugstore.”

  “Yes, that’s where I got it. It’s good candy. I suppose you’ll give your cousin some when you get home.”

  “Oh, she hasn’t come home. I couldn’t,” said the little girl with virtuous satisfaction.

  “Hasn’t got home? Why, where is she?” plied her questioner.

  “Why, we don’t know. Daddy’s ‘most crazy. Say, if you know where she is, you better tell me, fer there’s something ’bout her having to be home for Judge Peterson to read the will and give us our house. Do you know where Cousin Joyce is?”

  “Why, I might be able to find out, kiddie,” said the oily voice. “Where do you live? You tell me where you live, and I’ll let you know if I find she’s in the place I think she is.”

  “Why, I live right up there in that white house with the green blinds,” said Dorothea eagerly. “I wish you’d let me know tonight. I’ll come out to the gate and wait for you if you will. Daddy would be awful pleased with me if I told him where Joyce was. I think he’d get me a new bicycle if I did.”

  “Well, we’ll see what can be done,” said Tyke wickedly. “Here’s your candy, kid, and p’raps ye’ll hear from me soon.”

  Tyke handed over the candy, and Dorothea flew home, pausing behind the lilac bush to extract one luscious mouthful from the box, then rushing up to her room to secrete the rest where Junior would not find it, under the mattress of her bed.

  Tyke went on his evil way rejoicing. Shrewd little Lib Knox saw him as he passed her house, and scuttled behind the hedge, sticking out her tongue behind his back as he passed, and thought she had frustrated his intentions, while five blocks away Dorothea was gorging herself on Dutch creams and wondering why Lib didn’t like that nice young man.

  Chapter 20

  Six weeks later found Joyce well established in her comfortable little home and spending her mornings teaching in a summer Bible school connected with the church she found that first Sunday evening of her stay in Silverton.

  It came about in this way. Christian Endeavor was in session when she entered the church, and an enthusiastic set of young people were conducting it. The pastor sat in front near the leader in pleasant accord with all that went on. He seemed to be an intimate friend of every boy and girl present. Joyce looked on wistfully. This was like home. Dr. Ballantine had been like that with all the young people of the town.

  At the close of the meeting, he made several announcements. One that interested Joyce was that there was need of another teacher in the Bible school to take the place of Miss Brown, who had recently lost her health and been obliged to go away for a year. He told them to remember that it meant giving every morning for five days in the week for six weeks to actual teaching and some time to preparing for teaching; that there was a remuneration of ten dollars a week for the work; but that no one need apply who was not a Christian, or who did not intend to be present at every session, or who had not had some experience and preparation for teaching.

  The pastor, by some magic, was at the door as soon as the meeting was over, and took Joyce’s hand cordially in welcome. She looked into his grave, pleasant face and impulsively spoke the wish that had been in her heart since she had heard the announcement.

  “I’m so interested in your Bible school! I wish I could teach in it, but I don’t suppose you’d care to try a stranger, would you?”

  The minute she had spoken, the color flooded her face, for she felt as if she had been presumptuous, but the minister’s eyes lighted, and he smiled in a kindly way.

  “Are you a Christian?” he asked, his pleasant eyes searching her face.

  “Oh yes,” said Joyce, with a proud ring to her voice as if he had asked her if she were the daughter of some great man.

  “Have you ever taught in public school?”

  “No,” said Joyce wistfully, “but I’ve been preparing to teach for several years. I love it. I’m hoping to get a position near here this fall. But I haven’t any credentials yet. I would have to take examinations—”

  “Come and see me tomorrow at my house. Anytime. It’s right next door to the church. If I don’t happen to be there, Mrs. Lyman will talk with you. It’s all the same. Can you come at nine o’clock? Well, I’ll be there then. Glad to have you come. Perhaps the Lord has sent you in answer to our pr
ayer.”

  So Joyce went to see the Lymans and, as a result, was engaged to teach in the Bible school, which would begin as soon as the public schools closed and be in session for six weeks. She would have to be at the church at half past eight and stay until half past eleven. The pay wasn’t great, but it took only half her day, and she loved the work. She might be able to get something else afternoons occasionally to help out. In the meantime, she could live on that ten dollars if she had to, and she meant to. As for the interval before the Bible school opened, there would be something to do, she was sure. And, anyhow, the barrel of meal hadn’t wasted yet, and she felt sure the Lord would take care of her. Besides, she needed some time to fix up her little home and make it livable. One couldn’t just exist if one was working; one had to have things tolerably comfortable for resting and eating or one couldn’t do good work.

  So she went back to her little house and sat down to think. The conclusion of her meditation was that she decided to buy a saw.

  Consulting Mrs. Bryant that Monday morning, she finally decided on a trip to the city, and armed with minute directions about stores and prices, she took the noon train.

  Her first purchase was a Bible.

  She had asked about a bookstore where things would not be expensive, and Mrs. Bryant had named a secondhand place where things were very nice and very cheap, she said. Joyce found a Scofield Bible, new and clean, and scarcely used at all, it seemed. It had an inscription on the flyleaf: “To Mary, from Mother, December 25, 1922.”

  Joyce felt a pitiful joy in buying that particular Bible. It seemed so sorrowful that a Bible from a mother to her child should be lying out in the open on a bookstall like that, and only two years after it was given. What if it had been Aunt Mary’s Bible? She fell to wondering about that other Mary. Was she dead, or didn’t she care about the book? Were they both dead, mother and child, in those two brief years? How did a precious, intimate thing like a Bible get to be sold in a secondhand store? It seemed almost indecent. Surely some relative or even a trustee who had to sell things at auction would have had the decency to give a Bible to some friend who would care for it, or to some mission that would use it for the glory of God. So she bought the Bible and carried it tenderly with a thought for its unknown owner and donor.

  Joyce had a great many bundles when she had finished her purchases. She looked at them in amazement when she finally settled herself in the train once more for her return trip to Silverton. She really had spent very little money for all those big packages. She began to count up. The Bible had cost fifty cents, and she knew it was very cheap. The saw was a dollar and a half, but it was the best of steel. There was a big bundle of gray denim for upholstery. She got it at a reduced rate by taking all that was left of the piece. Two or three yards of flowered cretonne to cover her box dressing table. Perhaps she could have waited for that, but it wasn’t good policy for her to seem too poverty-stricken if she expected to get a position in school, and what she bought must be the right thing so that she would not have to renew it right away. She must make her little house look cozy if the minister and his wife dropped in to call or any of those nice young people at the church should run in.

  That big, bulky package with the handle contained a lot of wire springs, some upholstery webbing, and twine, a long, double-pointed upholstery needle, and several pounds of curled hair and cheap cotton. This constituted Joyce’s venture. With it she meant to make a bed and perhaps two chairs. Maybe it was foolish, and she ought to have bought a cot for five dollars and let it go at that, but she would have had to buy a mattress or something to put over it, and when it was done, it would not be so comfortable as one that she could make. For Joyce had often watched an old neighbor of theirs in Meadow Brook who was an upholsterer. She knew all the little tricks. She knew how the webbing should be nailed on taut, how the springs must be sewed to the webbing and then tied down level, and the padding of cotton and hair put on the top of that. She was sure she could do it, though she had never tried it. Joyce was not beyond trying anything if necessity drove her to it. She had once made a lovely feather fan out of chicken feathers and an old ivory frame. She felt she could make a bedstead if she tried hard enough. There was yet the frame to be dealt with, but she had her saw, and anyhow, the springs and webbing and hair had cost but very little, and it would surely be much more comfortable than a hard cot, besides looking a great deal better in her room and costing no more than, nor as much as, a cot.

  She had bought a few necessities for her wardrobe also, a couple of remnants to make more thin dresses and a pair of fifty-cent slippers from the bargain counter to save her shoes while she was working. In fact, most of her purchases were from the bargain counters, a hairbrush and comb, a change of undergarments and nightwear, two pairs of stockings, and some towels. What a lot of things one needed to live! And when she counted up, there was just twenty-four dollars and eighty-seven cents left of her small capital. It made her gasp as she thought of the weeks ahead before her engagement in the Bible school would commence, and how was she to live? She must be very, very economical. But yet she need not be afraid. The barrel of meal had not wasted so far. God would take care of her, and her heart began to sing as she remembered how He had brought her safely so far out of her difficulties.

  Then when she got home, she was hailed by Mrs. Bryant. Mrs. Ritter, down the street, wanted to know if Joyce would be willing to come in and sit with her sister for the evening. She had made an engagement to go to the city with her husband, and now her sister was sick and she didn’t like to leave her alone in the house. There was really nothing to do but give her medicine every hour and answer the telephone and the doorbell. Mrs. Ritter would be glad to pay her for her time; fifty cents an hour was what she thought would be fair. She wouldn’t be home till the midnight train, but Mr. Ritter would walk down with her after they got back, so she needn’t be afraid to come home.

  Joyce thanked Mrs. Bryant for speaking of her. She said of course she would go, and went about her little house with shining eyes, singing. The barrel of meal was filling up again. How wonderful! There would be three more dollars! She had taken a good dinner in the city at an automat restaurant that Mrs. Bryant had recommended, and she did not feel the need of an elaborate meal that night. So she drank some milk and finished her crackers and cheese, rolled up one of the remnants with her scissors and thimble and thread, and started out to Mrs. Ritter’s. If all went well, she might be able to get another dress started during the evening.

  The next day she invested in some boards and went to work sawing. It was rather rough work, and she got splinters in her hands and sawed some very creditable corners together, sawing off parts of each and dovetailing them into one another as she had seen carpenters do, until she had a good, strong framework a little over six feet long and thirty inches wide, which was the size of the space in which she could put her bed without running across the windows.

  When she had satisfied herself that the framework was strong, she began nailing webbing across the bottom, interlacing it rather closely, as she had seen old Mr. Carpenter do. When it was finished, she lifted the structure onto the two boxes and sewed the springs into place at regular distances.

  It took two days to get those springs tied down satisfactorily on a perfect level, and Joyce had had several pricked fingers before she was done, and was almost wishing she had bought a hard little army cot and learned to enjoy it. But the third morning she covered the springs with a layer of cheap cloth, then the cotton, and lastly the hair, covering the whole with ticking. Then, with her big needle, she tied this down every three or four inches until she had a soft, firm mattress, fine enough for a princess. The work really, though crude in some ways, was a great success and one to be proud of, and when it was done she put it on the floor and threw herself down upon it with a great sigh of relief. Now, at last, she had a spot where the tired would be taken out of her when she had worked to the limit of her strength, something to look forward to when she came
to her lonely little house at night after a hard day.

  By this time, Mrs. Bryant had managed to do a good deal of talking in the neighborhood about the bright young teacher who had come there to live and was having a little spare time this summer to help people out in an emergency, and several calls had come for her.

  Once she had had to drop her hammer and saw and go to help Mrs. Smith finish canning cherries. She succeeded in being so satisfactory that she was engaged to help with the strawberry preserves, gooseberry jam, and currant jelly.

  Mrs. Jennings, on the next block, heard of her and engaged an afternoon a week at fifty cents an hour to take care of her children while she went out to the club meeting, and sometimes an extra evening. During these evenings, she got quite a lot of sewing done, gradually acquiring a complete little wardrobe of plain, simple clothing made all by hand, but quite serviceable and pretty.

  She met the gray-haired librarian of the Silverton Memorial Library and was asked to come in and help with the new cataloging. This took several afternoons and evenings, and meanwhile the furnishings of her little home grew slowly.

  Once she was called in for three days to take care of some children while their mother went to the hospital for an operation on her throat; and several times after that she went to help nurse someone in a slight illness, where training was not required. She began to be known as the “Emergency Girl,” and thought about putting out a sign and getting a telephone.

  Meantime, she had met a kind old man who was on the school board and had arranged to take examinations and put in her application for a position should any be vacant for the next winter. This necessitated the purchase of some books and another trip to the secondhand bookstore.

  She had been living most economically, getting one meal a day usually at a little restaurant among the stores where the tradespeople ate and good wholesome food could be had at most reasonable rates. This gave her always something hot once a day. For the rest, she was living on ready-to-eat cereals, fruit, bread and butter, and milk, or if it rained too hard to go out, she would cook an egg on her little alcohol can and eat her dinner at home. It really cost very little to live when one was careful. As for heat and light, she did not need either at this time of year. A candle did for emergencies. The twilight was long, and the electric light in the street was quite enough to go to bed by. Often she was out at somebody’s house for the evening, caring for a child or an old person while the family amused themselves in the city, and there was always plenty of time then to read or study or sew.