Not Under the Law

by Grace Livingston Hill

  She paused for encouragement, but the doctor, with set lips and stern eyes, was watching her, saying nothing. Nan began to catch her breath again in a trembling sob and went on. “When it began to get dark, I got worried and told Gene he simply must go out to the barn and bring her in. It was too damp and chilly for her to stay out there after dark. That was where she always went when she got in a fit, and we expected, of course, to find her in her usual place. But when Gene went out with his flashlight, there wasn’t a trace of her anywhere, and he came back all upset.”

  She paused to observe the impression she was making, but the minister’s face wore a mask of dignity, and she hurried on.

  “I wouldn’t tell you these things, of course, for it is terrible to me to reveal the little weaknesses of my husband’s family, but I must tell someone and get some help, for I am nearly crazy. I sometimes think my husband will lose his mind. He is naturally very fond of Joyce, for she was brought up like his own sister, you know, and he is almost breaking under the anxiety.”

  The minister said nothing to help her.

  “We have searched the world over, every place we can think of, and no trace whatever of her. It is almost like the case of Charlie Ross, and now Gene can’t sleep at night, he is so anxious.”

  She paused and wiped her eyes.

  “I want my husband to get the detectives at work after her, but he keeps hoping we shall hear. He simply can’t bear the publicity of it all, and for my sake especially. So I decided this afternoon to just come and confide in you. You’re so wise and kind.”

  The minister arose with that compelling look that makes a caller rise also.

  “Mrs. Massey,” he said, “I wish there were some comfort I could give you. I will think this matter over and will talk it over with my wife. I never keep anything from my wife, but be assured it will go no further. Meantime, I advise you to go home and tell your husband what you have done. There is nothing to be gained by keeping it from him, and I most certainly cannot enter into any plan whatever to help without his full knowledge and sanction. Meantime, of course, Mrs. Ballantine and I will consult, and if there is anyone that we think might help in this matter, we will let you and Mr. Massey know. I don’t mind telling you that we have been anxious about our young friend even before you came. It seemed so utterly unlike Joyce to go off that way without a word to us. She is not like that. There must have been some reason—something more than you have stated—perhaps more than you understood—perhaps some misunderstanding on her part. Really, Mrs. Massey, Joyce is not like that. I have known her a long time.”

  “That’s what I say, Dr. Ballantine. That’s what I’m afraid of. I’m just afraid to mention it to my husband. It would be so perfectly terrible to him to think of such a thing in connection with his family, but sometimes … sometimes I’ve really been afraid—now, of course, I wouldn’t want you to mention this even to Mrs. Ballantine—unless you simply have to—but sometimes I’ve been afraid that Joyce was … losing her mind.

  “Now I know you’re shocked, but I simply had to tell you, and I thought if you could just kind of quietly inquire around among the insane asylums in this neighborhood and see if any young person has been brought in like that. You, being a minister, can get entrance into these places—”

  “Mrs. Massey!”

  The minister’s voice was stern. Nan hardly knew him.

  “Mrs. Massey, nothing like that has happened! Joyce Radway has never lost her mind! She is too much God’s child. There is nothing like Jesus Christ to keep a mind sane and steady. Don’t ever utter that thought to any living being again!”

  Nan cringed as she stood by the study door. His voice was almost like the command of one who had authority over her.

  “Oh, are you sure?” she managed to say weepily. “That’s such a comfort. That thought has tormented me night and day, perhaps Joyce was shut up in some awful insane asylum—”

  “Hush!” said the doctor sternly. “That could never be. She may have fallen into some danger or be sick in some hospital, but never that!”

  Nan slid out of the door like a serpent, rebuked, murmuring.

  “Well, I’m glad I came; you’ve given me so much comfort!” But she walked down the street with angry eyes and set mouth. Her mission had been a failure so far as winning over that old dolt was concerned. What a fool he was over Joyce! What a fool everybody was over her! What did they see in her anyway to be so crazy about? She couldn’t understand.

  Nevertheless, as she drew toward her own home, meditating on her recent interview, something in her heart told her exultantly that she had not failed entirely, for she had managed to give a different coloring to the situation, much as the old minister had hated to accept it. He would think it over, and he would presently come to be uncertain, and perhaps to half believe what she had told him. And when, later, other developments occurred, he might give credence to the thought she had put into his mind. Nan was not extremely clever, but somehow the devil in her shallow heart comforted her with this, and the hope that someday, if trouble really broke, Gene would thank her and be proud of her for having prepared the way for a creditable story that would not reflect upon them.

  By the time she had got supper ready, she was quite pleased with her afternoon’s work. She had planted the seed in Dr. Ballantine’s subconscious mind, and it would grow. By the time he told his wife, it would even so soon have begun to grow. She need not worry about developments. Perhaps even Gene would never have to know that she had had anything to do with it.

  Chapter 24

  So far Lib Knox had resisted all attempts to be friendly with Tyke. He had tried candy, a little white kitten, and a fox terrier poodle, but Lib only turned a cold shoulder.

  Even the day when he arrived in a motorcycle with a sidecar and offered her a ride he almost failed, although he could see that it was hard for her to refuse. It was when at last he told her that she was afraid and dared her to come with him for a five-mile spin that she finally yielded. Lib never could take a dare.

  Seated in the chariot, she surveyed her comrades with superior arrogance and enjoyed to the full her triumphal departure from the district where she lived. But once out on the highway, Tyke let out all the power and shot through space as if he had suddenly taken leave of his senses. Lib gripped the sides of her car and sat erect, her eyes bulging, her white lips set in a frightened smile. She was badly scared, but she was game.

  For several miles he tore away at this mad pace, seeming to graze telephone poles, and almost telescope automobiles, and just escaped killing men and dogs. Then he slowed down and turned into a side road where there was comparatively little traffic, a crossroad leading to another highway.

  Lib, breathless, still gripped the car, obviously speechless.

  “Now, look here, kid,” said her captor, bending toward her insinuatingly, “you thought that was fast, didn’t you? But that ain’t nothin’ to what I kin do with this here rig. Why, I kin go so fast it’ll take the hair right off ‘n yer head and leave yer bald like a old man. It’ll take yer breath out’n ya so that ya can’t speak right fer a week, an’ it’ll maybe sweep ya right out in the field and leave ya fer the crows ta pick. An’ that’s what I’m a-gonta do’ith ya, kid, ef ya don’t tell me where that doggone uncle of yourn is hanging up. See? I’m givin’ ya time till I get ta that highway out there t’ consider. Ef ya don’t come across with what I want, y’ll be slung like an arrow through the air, an’ ya won’t know yerself. Y’ll wonder where’s yer daddy an’ yer ma, and yell like a little baby, but it won’t do no good, fer nobody can’t hear ye when you’re goin’ like a wildcat. Now, what say? Are ye giving me the necessary information, ur shall I let ‘er go?”

  Lib was gripping the sides of her car with small, wiry fingers that were white and tense. Her little freckled face was white beneath its tan, and the bronze-gold of her bobbed curls ruffled above eyes that were wide with fear. She swallowed to get her voice, and suddenly her sharp little lips trembled into
an impish grin, taunting him.

  “The devil you do!” roared Tyke angrily. “I’ll give ye enough, then, you little runt, you,” and they shot into the highway into the midst of the worst traffic they had yet seen. Tyke was so angry he could scarcely see where he went, and he let out the power till they seemed to be but a streak in the air as they flew along to what seemed like destruction.

  It seemed to little Lib of the fiery heart that she was aging as she went, that if she ever stopped she would be old and tottering, that her hands were numb and her face stung with the wind, and she was cold to her soul through the thin little clothing she wore. But she gave no sign as the car went on and on and miles of trees and meadows and houses and towns shot by in the flash of an eye. Lib wondered if it would go on forever. And then, just as she thought she could not hold on another minute, as she wished she might drop from the back and be crushed into insensibility by the fall and never come to life again anymore because her heart hurt so in her breast and her eyes were going to cry (which to Lib was the worst thing that could ever happen to her, that she should be weak enough to cry)—just then, when things could not have gone on any longer and she exist, they came to a road leading into the woods and the motorcycle slowed down and bumped into the rough road and up a hill into dense woods, suddenly coming to a standstill.

  Tyke turned upon her with an evil look.

  “You little devil, you!” he said, glaring at her with the glare of one who had been baffled.

  Lib was too frightened to speak, and her teeth were chattering with the cold, but she lifted her game little face toward his evil one and suddenly stuck out her tongue and made an impish face at him, expressing all the hate and loathing of her little courageous soul. The man looked down at her, astonished, blinking, scarcely believing that such daring could come from a baby.

  “I c’d kill you, you young’un,” he muttered.

  “I don’t see what good that would do,” said Lib unexpectedly, her quick mind intrigued by the situation. “You couldn’t find out where my uncle lived by killing me, could you? It isn’t written inside my head anywhere,” and she laughed a ghoulish little laugh made all the more weird by the tremble of her voice.

  “Well, I’ll be—”

  But Lib was gathering her strength with her breath as it returned.

  “I never said I wouldn’t tell you where my uncle was, did I?”

  The man was speechless. Could it be that this mere infant was kidding him? Not scared at all, but just putting one over on him? He stared at her in bewilderment. Lib, eyeing him, knew that she had gained a point. She summoned her voice again.

  “But I ain’t going to tell you till I get back home again. If you had asked me polite like a gentleman when you first took me, I might uv; but now I shan’t tell ya a thing till I’m back home. Come on, get a move on. I’ve gotta get back and study my spelling fer tomorrow. Can’t you get through this road, or do ya have to turn around?”

  The nonchalance of her! Tyke couldn’t help but admire it while yet his anger smoldered. It was for all the world like her cool, collected uncle, white and calm under fire. He was amazed, but somehow he was conquered.

  “You swear you give it to me straight ‘f I take you home?”

  “I don’t swear,” said Lib coolly. “It’s naughty. My mother doesn’t like me to.”

  Tyke grew black and swore under his breath.

  “I ain’t takin’ no nonsense!” he glowered. “You gimme that address ur I’ll kill ya yet. I swear I will.”

  Lib was getting her second wind. She eyed him furtively. She was not nearly so frightened now. She was trying to think what to do.

  “Well, it’s up in Canada somewhere,” she said, “a name that begins with a Q. If you’d start the car home, I could mebbe think. Quebec. That’s it. I never can remember that name. But I can’t think of the street until we get back home. There’s a street there by the same name. You run back, and I’ll show you where to find it. It’s seven hundred thirty-seven that street. Now will you take me back?”

  The motor began to rumble again.

  “You tellin’ me straight, you little devil?”

  “Sure!” said Lib, settling back and trying to still her teeth from chattering and her weak little knees from trembling. “Let’s go fast again like we did. I’m getting hungry, and my mother won’t like you if you keep me away so long.”

  Tyke glared at her, but he put on his goggles and started toward home. When they reached the edge of the town, Lib sat up straight and directed his movements.

  “You go up that street and down the first turn to the right,” she said. “No, it was the next street I meant, I guess.” She studied the street markers thoughtfully while she made him go past the houses of her most intimate friends, and enemies, casually greeting them as she passed by in this her triumphal procession through her own domain.

  And so when she had traversed them all, the streets of those she wished to impress, she exclaimed, “Oh yes, there ‘tis! State Street. That’s it. Seven hundred thirty-seven State Street. Now you c’n let me out here, if you please. My mother don’t like me to be out with strangers, and she mightn’t be nice to you.” And Tyke wisely let her out and went on his way wondering, saying over to himself, “She’s a little devil, but she’s a tough one. She’s a tough little nut, that’s what she is. I wonder now if she’s makin’ a monkey out o’ me! Guess I’ll get some gas and take a try at Canada. Better to tend to such business myself. ‘Tain’t safe to trust ta ennybody these days. Wonder now ef I could get a warrant. Guess not, seein’ it’s Canada. He’s a swindler, all right. He lit out to a safe place, all right, with his dame. Guess I’ll have to go up. No other way. Have to put one over on him somehow and get him back where we can do something under the law of the United States.” He swelled himself proudly at that as if he himself were a worthy citizen. Then he went to one of his haunts to prepare for the journey.

  In her little nightgown beside her bed, little Lib Knox knelt down for perhaps the first time in her life to pray. She had not wanted her supper though there were griddle cakes, and Lib dearly loved griddle cakes. But she had something on her mind, and her primitive soul took the old, old way to the only Power she knew for help.

  “Oh, God,” she prayed, “that’s a bad man after my uncle, please, and I don’t know where he is. Won’t you just please take care of him? I don’t know what he wants, but Uncle Darcy ought to be told he’s coming, and I don’t know how to do it. Won’t You please try. I s’pose You can see in the dark and know where he is, and if You’ll just please hide him when that man comes, I’ll be glad, and I’ll try to do something for You.”

  She half rose in the darkness, shivering in her little thin gown that was too short for her growing length. Then she slid down on one knee again and spoke in a whisper. “And say, God, You knew that was a lie I told, didn’t You? That about Quebec? I just got it outta my geography lesson we had today, You know. I thought I oughtta tell You, seeing You’re going to help. You won’t mind a lie for once, will You? You see, I had to or he mighta killed me. You wouldn’t a wanted me killed, would You, God? Or else why did You make me? Besides, what would Mother uv done? So please won’t You kill that naughty man if You can? If not, keep him away from me anyway. Good night.”

  Having paused a moment with a crown of moonlight on her little rebel curls, she crept into bed and was soon asleep.

  The next morning, Lib awoke very early, and procuring a paper and pencil from her geography, which she had placed under her bed the night before, she wrote in crooked little handwriting:

  Dere Unkle Darcie:

  Ther is a bad man cums here to find out whar yoo ar. He tuk me a rid on a motrsikle, I didunt lik it but I didunt let hym no. He thretend to kyl me if I didunt give hym yor addres, so I maid upp one and he brot me home. I wisht that yoo wud cum home so I cud tak ker of yoo. It is offul hard takan ker when I don’t no whar yoo ar.

  I wish yoo wer here. It is lonesum. From Lib.

&n
bsp; P.S. I was skard, but he didunt no it.

  Lib had found an envelope in the table downstairs, and she sealed the letter and took it to her father to address, but her father shook his head.

  “I don’t know, Lib. Uncle Darcy didn’t leave his address. He’s traveling, I reckon. But we’ll send it where he goes sometimes.”

  And so the letter started on its warning way to Darcy.

  Chapter 25

  The winter had come on introduced by a long and brilliant autumn, and Joyce was so engrossed in her work that she scarcely realized how long it was since she had left Meadow Brook.

  In addition to her work, she had become deeply engrossed in Bible study.

  In one of her trips to the city, she had discovered a Bible school of national renown and found that she could so arrange her schedule as to make one or two evening classes a week possible. Thereafter when she was not actually busy with her schoolwork or doing some little helpful thing for somebody else, she could be found studying her Bible. It had become a fascination, this searching for new riches in the Book. She had always enjoyed studying it but never before with such a hunger for it as came now. Day by day gave her new wonders, a new opening up of the revelation of God to His children.