Silver passed quietly downstairs and found an unobtrusive resting place for hat and gloves on the table in the depth of the wide hall and then went on to a door that opened to a wide bricked terrace with the garden just below, reached by mossy brick steps set in the sod and edged by crocuses and daffodils. Beyond, a flare of color and the perfume of hyacinths and tulips lured the senses, and the subtle breath of lilies-of-the-valley stole from out of the deep-green border of the terrace. Silver stood for a moment looking out and trying to quiet the excited beating of her heart from the encounter. Trying to think what she ought to do. Wondering why her father had said nothing about this strange inmate of the house. Wondering why she had forgotten to ask him who the girl was she had seen on the stairs when she arrived. Thinking that in all likelihood the attitude of this other girl would make even a visit to her father impossible and grieving at the thought.
Already Molly and Anne Truesdale were bustling around, setting out a leaved table on the terrace, spreading it with fine old embroidered linen and delicate cups of other days, quaint heavy silver, plates of delectable cookies, and squares of spicy gingerbread. The pleasant garden and the bright show of flowers, the coming guest, and the air of happiness seemed not to belong to her. She felt a sudden loneliness, as if she were intruding, abashed in the presence of the things she could enjoy, appalled by the fact of this other girl in the house. The story then had been true that they had heard—that there had been a child by her father’s second marriage. And she must have lived instead of dying as rumor had brought to them. Her father had never written a word about either birth or death to her grandfather and grandmother. She wondered again, why? Her loyal heart refused to admit that her father had been wrong. He was her father. Perhaps there was some excuse. Perhaps there was some explanation.
Sudden tears came at this juncture and threatened to overflow. In a panic she withdrew into the shadows of the hall, lest the servants should see her, and almost ran into her father’s arms as he came down toward the door to see if his orders had been understood. He passed a loving arm around her, gently, as if he were almost afraid to touch her, almost shyly, she thought, and he whispered very low: “I’m glad you’ve come—Silver-Alice!”
Then Anne bustled in to ask some question and Silver slipped back to the library for a moment searching for her handkerchief, and so got control of herself. She came back to walk down the terrace with her father and see the places where he used to play as a child and hear all about the old fountain and the fairy tales he used to make up about it. Walking like that she almost forgot the sister upstairs who was so ungracious, almost forgot that sometime she would have to speak about her if her father did not speak first.
There was a cloud on her father’s brow. She noticed it first as they paused beside the sundial and she traced the line of clear-cut shadow half between the four and five of the quaint old figures. A sundial. How delightful! It was like digging up antiquities. Her heart leaped to the poetry of it. Then she looked up and saw the shadow on the stern sad face above her. Something was troubling him. What was it? Her presence here? Perhaps he knew how distasteful it was to the girl upstairs, and he did not know what to do. Perhaps it was best for her not to stay at all—perhaps—!
She put out a wistful hand and touched his sleeve. “Father!”
“Yes,” he said as if answering the thought of her heart. “There is something I must tell you, child. Come over to the old arbor and let us sit down. It is—unpleasant.”
“Is it about—Athalie, Father?” she asked as she turned to follow him.
He stopped and looked at her astonished.
“How did you know? Had anyone sent you word she was coming?” with quick suspicion in his voice. Lilla was quite capable of preparing such a setting for the arrival of her daughter. She seemed to have a sort of demoniacal insight into what would be exquisite torture for him. But Silver shook her head.
“Oh, no. But I saw her standing on the stairs behind you when I arrived, and again upstairs just now. She was moving her things into the room where I had taken off my hat. She asked me who I was. I am almost sure she does not like my coming. I think—Father—it isn’t quite convenient for you to have me visit you just now. I believe it would be better if I went back tonight and perhaps came again later, in a few years when she is older, or away on a visit or something. I would not like to make you trouble. And it has been wonderful to see you and to talk with you for even this short time. I shall never feel quite alone in the world again now that I know I have a father—such a father!”
“Stop!” His voice was choked with consternation, anger, something else that sounded almost like humility! Strange to see that expression sitting unaccustomedly on Patterson Greeves’s haughty features.
“Don’t say any more things like that, Silver,” he said brokenly. “I can’t bear them. It is bad enough to have got in such a mess. Bad enough to have a daughter like that! Bad enough to have her come here unannounced—she came only a few minutes before you did—without having you reproach me by flying up and leaving. You cannot leave me now, my child! You must stay by and help me. I need you!”
“Oh, Father!” She put out a loving hand to his arm again, and he drew her within his embrace and down the path toward the summerhouse.
Athalie saw them, coming to the window of her own room her arms full of more finery, and she stood and gazed. Suddenly she dropped her armful, and great jealous tears of rage welled into her large bold eyes. From her handsome full lips a smothered sound almost like a roar of some enraged young animal came and was quickly suppressed. For a moment she watched, then she turned around and began to search wildly among the confusion of clothing on bed and chairs and to hastily dress herself in other attire.
Chapter 10
About this time also, Blink, having received the invitation by word of mouth from the minister and not having declared himself either way about accepting it, repaired to the meadow lot opposite the Silver place and proceeded to fill a large tin can with the choicest bait the town afforded from a private and secret source underneath some old rotting logs that had long furnished him with better angles than any other boy was able to produce. He was not yet sure whether he would go to the party, but he would at least be ready with an offering should the fates, when the time arrived, seem propitious.
Sooner than he had expected the can was filled, and he lay back on the sweet-smelling turf of the meadow and gazed up at the blue of the sky, watching the tiny, lazy, gauzy clouds that floated slowly, drifting like thistledown. It was easy to feel he was floating on one of them, drifting, too. He often did that. It was his way of reading poetry. He read a great deal of living poetry at that stage of his existence.
Lying so with a clump of blue violets close to his hand and the tinkle of a cowbell not far away, he could drift and think of a great many things that an ordinary boy in the everyday of life wouldn’t consider profitable for one of his standing.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the minister going in the white gate between the hedges. He thought of the little grave covered with violets and the young mother, a social outcast, with her new sorrow and bewilderment in her face. No one had told him about it. It was one of those things that Blink always knew. Before long he would slip back to the cemetery and water those flowers. It wouldn’t be necessary for the minister to bother with that. The flowers would just grow all right, and he could let them off his mind. Blink knew how to relieve him of odd little jobs. The minister was a good sport. If Silas Pettigrew made any more of those pharisaical remarks about the minister letting handsome young women of the street go to some “mother in Israel” when they were in trouble, he would see that he found a way to tell Silas where to get off. Silas wasn’t such a saint anyway if he was an elder in the church! There was that time when he bought Widow Emmet’s house for twenty-five hundred dollars and then discovered the very next day that the railroad would buy it at twelve thousand to complete their new franchise, and he never let the widow
in on the deal! Old cottonmouth! Thinking he could put one over on the town and get the minister in trouble with the old tabbies, just because that poor girl—when everybody knew young Sil Pettigrew—but there!
He watched with satisfaction as the great door opened with a glimpse of Anne in black silk and sheer collar. He, too, might be received there later in the evening if he so chose. He reflected that “the girl” would be there. It seemed a pleasing circumstance. She liked dogs. She was all right.
Then suddenly his attention was attracted to a motion, a shadow—what was it moving at an upper side window of the house?
Someone was climbing out to the pergola below, a boy it looked like, heavily built with a shock of football hair, knee trousers, and a strange belted kind of jacket.
He sat up stealthily, leaning on one elbow, his young face growing grave as he watched. Now who could that be? Not a burglar, this time of afternoon, sun still up? Still. That wasn’t any town figure, none of the boys’ shoulders that shape, nor hair. It might be a disguise, but—how pink the face looked, like a Chinese painting on a fan!
Without taking his eyes from the object of his attention he made ready to take a hasty departure. One hand went out and secured the can of bait. His mind turned over the available hiding places where he might store it safely. How clumsy that guy was! Wasn’t much of a climber. What in the world was he doing up there in that house anyway?
Slowly the figure crept to the front of the pergola, glanced cautiously around, peeked back and over the vines as if watching someone, and then dropped heavily down among the myrtle beds. A moment more and Blink saw it rise, jam a curious-looking mushroom hat down over the shock of hair, and come out the gate to the street, with furtive glances back toward the house. The whole attitude of the person showed secrecy and stealth. Once outside the gate it turned toward the direction of the town and walked rapidly with a free stride despite its stocky build.
Blink rose from his bed of green and lost no time in following. The can of bait was deposited in the hollow of a tree a few feet from the street, and Blink was over the fence and making good time in an instant. The stranger was still in sight, had passed the first cross street, and was almost to the drugstore. Blink fell into an easy stride and reached the garage diagonally across from the drugstore just as the figure paused, one foot on the step, one hand on the latch, and looked up and down the street. He had a full view of her face.
Good night! It was a girl! A girl in knickers! They passed through the town sometimes, girls like that, out on walks with men Sundays and holidays, but there were none indigenous to the soil of Silver Sands. It was not done! And look at her face! Fell in the flour barrel! Painted like an image! Good night! Did a girl think she was nice looking that way, he would like to know? And coming from the Silver house! How was it possible? Blink did not use the word “incongruous,” but it was the way he felt. For one awful second he experienced deep and horrible disappointment. The girl. She liked dogs, but she was like that! Then instantly the thing was impossible. No, she hadn’t been a fat thing like that. She wasn’t the same one. But who was she? Some interloper? How did she get there without his knowing? Did the family know? What did she have to do with them? Oughtn’t something to be done about it?
Since he had been able to walk alone Blink had been a self-constituted member of the police force of Silver Sands. He belonged to a clan who seldom said what they meant, seldom talked but in parables, and kept their eyes open. Many a wrong had been righted and a petty criminal saved through their ministrations to become a worthy citizen after due chastisement and discipline. They reserved the right to use their own judgment, and on occasion had been known to evade the law for their own wise and worthy reasons, to save an underlying principle that in their opinion would be lost if the law had its course. The strangest part of it all was that the outcome usually would seem to warrant the venture, and occasionally the chief of police himself had been known to wink at some open break on the part of the boy because he had come to have utter faith in his working principle. Blink had been known to search out the criminal and the facts in some mystery more than once where others had failed to get a clue, and the chief always felt it well to keep in with Blink. He took him with him now and again when a raid on some lawbreaker was imminent. He had faith in Blink’s intuition.
Blink himself had unerring faith in his own judgment. It was to him like a clear magnifying glass that had been given to him at birth, which showed up Truth, and he couldn’t see why other people didn’t exercise the same faculty. They all must have the same thing if they only used it.
Athalie, seeing nothing else down the principal business street more attractive than the drugstore, opened the door and went in. Blink leaned up against the show window of the garage in front of a large poster of a new kind of tire, looked idly up and down the street, and saw every move the strange girl made.
She looked around the store with that curious appraising glance she gave to everything the first time of seeing and then turned into one of the two telephone booths that huddled by the corner window, close to the entrance door. She took the front one facing the door and seemed to be looking through the book for a number. When she had lifted the receiver, Blink, without seeming to have been looking that way, sauntered thoughtfully across the street and entered the drugstore most casually, taking one full impersonal look at the girl’s face as he passed. No, it was not the girl. He had been pretty sure before, but he was glad to know.
And this one was pretty enough, if she hadn’t worn so much ghastly makeup and such funny eyebrows, almost as if she wanted you to see she didn’t have them in the right place. She had big brilliant white teeth, with those vivid red lips like the clowns in the circus, and she had a hard, bold look in her eyes. When he entered she was talking and laughing boisterously. She could be heard all over the store, if there had been anyone around to hear but stupid Sam Hutchins, the soda clerk.
Blink stalked over to the counter and threw down a nickel for a package of Life Savers, and then as if he had had no other purpose in entering, he sauntered straight to the other telephone booth and shut himself in to a careful inspection of the W’s in the telephone directory. Not that he wanted anyone with a name beginning with W. It was just the first page he happened to open.
Clear and distinct came the voice from the booth ahead: “Now Bobs! You don’t mean you didn’t know my voice! Well, I’ll say that’s a slam! I’m off you for life! Oh! Really? Awwww—Bobbbbs! Now, that’s awfully darling of you!”
Blink was disgusted. Just one of these foolish Janes. He had heard them talk before, only why did they want to dress like a man, and why should one of them climb out of a second story window in the Silver house? He slammed the book shut and called up the captain of a neighboring baseball team in the next township. He was disgusted with himself for caring. He would listen no more. It was likely some odd visitor. But one thing was settled: he was not going to the Silver house that night. Not with so many girls around. He couldn’t stand girls!
“Is that you, kid? Oh, isn’t he? Well, call him, won’t you? I’ll wait. This is Blink. I said it.”
Boom! came the girl’s voice into the silence. “Well, you’ve got to come and get me, Bobs. You said you would if I sent for you. I’m having a horrid time. No, I haven’t gone down to dinner. I didn’t have any success at all. If it hadn’t been for your five-pounder I’d have starved. Yes, been on a hunger strike. But honestly, Bobs, it’s no use. I simply can’t stick it out! I shall die. Can’t you come down this evening and take a ride? No, he’d never find out. I’ve gone to my room with a sick headache, see? He expected to hear nothing more from me till morning. I’ve shocked him so hard he would be glad if he never had to see me anymore. I’ll make him sit up and take notice yet. I promised Lilla I would, and I mean to keep my word. But Bobs, you’ve simply got to stand by or I shan’t survive.
Aw, come on, Bobs! I’ve found a way to get in the window. We can stay as late as we like. Nobody w
ill ever find out. I can shimmy up the pergola. Oh, sure! I useta do it in gym…. Aw, why Bobs? … I think you’re too mean! … Well, then, how about t’morra? … You won’t stand me up? … Well, if you do, all right for you! … Where will I meet you? … Why, I’m down at the drugstore now. Couldn’t you come here? … Aw, why? … I don’t see. What do I care for these country simps! Let ‘em tell Dad! I’ll have the fun first, won’t I? Leave it to me. I’ll get away with it…. What is it you’re afraid of, you poor fish? Your reputation? Well, I like that! I didn’t know you had any! … All right, Bobs. I’ll come. Where did you say it is? Walk over the bridge at the other end of the village? … Yes … Woods? On the right-hand side? … I didn’t get that. Oh, you want me to walk in a little way from the road, out of sight? … I see. Yes, sure. All right, I’ll be there, Bobs. Four o’clock sharp! But don’t you be late or fail me. If you do I’ll never speak to you again, Bobs. And I’ll tell Lilla how mean you were. No. I’ll tell her you said she was getting old. That’ll get her goat! Then she won’t speak to you either! … All right, Bobs. I’ll be there!”
The receiver hung up with a click and the girl adjourned to the soda counter where she tried various flavors and chatted affably with Sam Hutchins in a lofty patronizing tone, telling him how to prepare the special concoctions they used to get at school. She made out quite a respectable lunch, what with the sponge cake they kept in a glass showcase and several chocolate ice-cream sundaes. Certainly enough to keep the breath of life in her plump well-cared-for body until the next morning, and then she left and stalked on down the street to the end of the village and crossed the bridge. Blink went across to the garage, borrowed a motorcycle, and took a breezy turn that way himself. He felt that this young adventuress needed a chaperone. She came from the house of a man he liked, and loyalty to his friends, even his very new friends, was one of Blink’s specialties. He felt instinctively that Patterson Greeves would not like a guest of his, whoever she might be, to be sailing through the open countryside alone in such an outfit at the hour when the workmen from the quarry half a mile below the town would be coming home.
Tomorrow About This Time Page 9