Ransom

by Grace Livingston Hill

  But oh, it was terrible that in the midst of their frantic trouble they had to stop to dicker with people like this. Christobel felt deeply for her father.

  Then came the question if they could have the house, furnishings and all, just as it stood, and when they could have possession? They were evidently eager to bind the bargain and move in as soon as possible.

  “He’ll likely be a bootlegger got sudden rich!” whispered Maggie, coming out of the pantry for a peep at the strangers and stealing up behind Christobel.

  Philip came seeking her presently, and she heard her father say, “I think we can get out by the end of the week. I shall have to consult my daughter. I’ll ask her if there is anything she wants to reserve. If not, it is as I stated, everything but the furniture in the master bedroom, second floor front, and a few books and pictures and personal belongings.”

  So Christobel came out of her seclusion for a moment and stood with her father at the back of the hall while Philip took the strangers upstairs to look once more at the reserved furnishings of Mr. Kershaw’s room.

  They all came noisily down again in a moment, at least as noisily as anyone could on the thick Turkish rugs that covered the stairs.

  “It’s all right,” said the man loudly. “The wife says there ain’t a thing in that room worth having. We’ll have to get new things for that room, but I guess that won’t bother us any.”

  Christobel retreated once more from the prying eyes that would have studied her coldly and curiously, and the bargain was bound, to be consummated in the presence of a lawyer the next day.

  Christobel and Maggie went down to Seneca Street the next morning and began to clean the old house.

  There was a certain relief and pleasure in having something really necessary to do.

  But Maggie would not let her nursling put her hands in water. She said it would roughen them. And though Christobel protested and wanted to do whatever Maggie was doing, she saw that it gave the faithful old nurse such pain, that she finally consented to confine her labor to looking out for clean sheets and table linen and getting out blankets and airing them on a line in the old backyard where she used to play as a child.

  Maggie had a regular system for housecleaning. The kitchen had to be cleaned first, and she lost no time in getting all the dishes out and piling them on the tables in the dining room and kitchen while she washed all the shelves in the china closets and cupboards.

  Then she let Christobel help with drying the dishes and putting them back. The girl did it most reverently, for she remembered helping her mother put away the clean dishes when she was a little girl.

  The gas and water had been turned on before they came, so there was plenty of hot water, and when they went back to the big house that night they left behind them a clean kitchen and cupboards. Curtains of starched cheesecloth, yellow with age but crisp as the day Maggie had packed them away in the big sideboard drawer, were hanging at the windows. The kitchen, at least, was ready to live in.

  When Christobel went back in the late afternoon, she began to hope and pray that there might have been news, wonderful news of Rannie while she was gone, but her father’s face was as white and drawn as ever, and the three policemen who sat at the library desk with three telephones beside them seemed as busy and anxious and aloof as they had been the night before. There was nothing definite to tell, though the evening papers again flaunted rumors wild and tragic and unfounded, and people still kept coming to bring what they thought were new clues about the lost boy.

  After dinner Christobel took refuge again in the little white room, for since the prayer yesterday, it seemed to have lost its alien air and have become a sanctuary. The doll, too, had disappeared, for Maggie, in her scrupulous rounds, had told herself it was an outlandish, heathenish hussy and had tucked it away behind some books in the angular boxlike case of inlaid wood that Charmian had called a bookcase. She’d stood a priceless sofa pillow up in front of it for safekeeping.

  So Christobel sat beside the crystal light and looked out on the street with eyes that unconsciously scanned every passer, hoping to see Rannie, and constantly she prayed her little untaught prayers.

  Philip found her there late in the evening and came and sat beside her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously, studying her face in the flickering light of the street that came in over the crystal flowers.

  “Yes, I’m all right,” said Christobel softly. “I’ve just kept trusting all day, or I couldn’t have stood it.”

  “Bless you, child,” he breathed, and it seemed like a benediction. “Keep on praying. I’m praying for you all the time. Don’t forget that. I may have to go away tomorrow on an errand for your father, but I will be praying all the time I am gone.”

  “You are such a comfort to Father,” she said. “He told me.”

  “Thank you for telling me. I want to help all I can. Is it going to be hard for you to leave this magnificent home?”

  “Oh, no, I’m so glad to go,” said the girl quickly, with a little involuntary shudder. “I never felt at home here. In fact, neither Rannie nor I were ever here more than a day or two at a time. This house was bought for my stepmother. I don’t believe even Father ever was fond of it. I have been longing all these years to go back to our dear home on Seneca Street, and now I’m so glad we can go. If Rannie were only here I would be happier than I have been since before my own mother died. Maggie and I were down there nearly all day getting the house cleaned. We finished the kitchen, and tomorrow we do the dining room and then the bedrooms. If I wasn’t so sorrowful about Rannie, it would be lovely fun. It is so wonderful to touch the things my mother owned.”

  “It is wonderful of you to feel that way about leaving a palace like this. I am so glad you are that kind of girl. One would have expected you to be spoiled by wealth and the world. I am glad you are real,” said the young man, with deep admiration in his eyes. “And so glad,” he added in a low tone, “so glad you know my Lord.”

  “I shall always owe that to you,” breathed Christobel earnestly.

  “It’s a great joy for me to know you feel that way,” said Philip, watching the lovely outline of her head against the brightness of the windows. “There is no joy on earth like being allowed to help someone find the way to Him.”

  The suddenly a call came distantly from the hall.

  “Mr. Harper? Is a Mr. Philip Harper in the house? Mr. Kershaw wants him on the phone.”

  Maggie came bustling down the hall to find him.

  “Coming!” said Philip, hurrying across the big room and meeting Maggie at the threshold.

  He came back from the telephone booth in a moment, his overcoat on, his hat in his hand, and smiled at her gravely as she stood in the doorway waiting to see if there were any new developments.

  “I’m off,” he said in a low tone. “It’s a good lead. It may mean something real. I may be gone several days. But pray! Pray hard. ‘With God all things are possible’!”

  Then he was gone, and Christobel crept back to the white sanctuary to pray. It was all so new and strange to her, to feel that God was really watching over the affairs of the earth and caring for individuals. She had to reassert her faith whenever she prayed on her own account. But somehow she felt when she prayed for Philip that it was more sure, for he had known God for a long time, whereas she was only a beginner in faith.

  The next day Maggie and Christobel worked on the dining room. It was to them both a great boon to have something legitimate in which to absorb themselves. Otherwise the long strain would have been terrible. For even the old nurse was suffering intensely from the anxiety about the missing boy.

  They washed the paint, they took out the rug and hung it on a line, and gave a passing boy a quarter to come in and beat it and sweep it clean. They scrubbed the floor and washed the windows—at least Maggie did, and she set Christobel to ironing out the creases from the sweet old embroidered muslin curtains that belonged at the windows.

  �
�They are so precious,” said Christobel as she worked away, running the rods into the smooth curtains that Mother had. “They make the home so much more dear.”

  “Yes, they’re fine,” said Maggie, blinking back the tears that would come whenever they talked of the old days. “I mind when yer mommie bought thae curtains. She was that proud o’ them, an’ she had a red geranium on the winder shelf, an’ a hangin’ basket wi’ wanderin’ Jew an’ ivy. Oh, it was a pretty room. I mind when we got thae curtains first. I helped her hemmin’ them. They was that pretty! That was only six months afore she died. I laundered thae curtains meself an’ put ’em away, but I never dared hope I’d be here to see ’em put up again in the same hoose. Oh, yer mommie’d be that glad ta see ye comin’ back again!”

  One good thing about working hard was that Christobel would be so tired out when she got back to the big house, she would fall asleep in spite of her anxiety and the excitement that seemed to be in the very air the minute they opened the door.

  For there were always strangers there, people of all classes come to bring word of having seen a mysterious car, or an unaccountable airplane, or an unidentified coat hanging over their back fence; anything that might possibly be connected with any kind of mystery, just so they might come to the notice of a possible reward. It was pitiable how many poor creatures there were who had come miles to give some trifling bit of information that could have no possible connection with Rannie’s disappearance and who professed not to have money enough to get back home again.

  At first Rannie’s father insisted on giving each one something, but gradually the number increased so alarmingly that it became impossible to reward them all, or to judge rightly which deserved to be rewarded, for each bit of information that was run down proved to be worthless. The informants were carrion crows, each hunting for gain and using the slightest thread of a story to get entrance into the great house.

  The third day, Christobel and Maggie started in with the bedrooms, one at a time, cleaning paint and rugs and curtains, and oiling furniture. Christobel had never known before how much work there was to a house, just to put it in order for living, but she loved doing it all. It seemed as if for the first time since her mother died there was really some interest in living. If only Rannie were back! That thought put a blight upon everything she did. Yet she continually bolstered her hope by the thought that she was helping to get ready the house for Rannie’s homecoming.

  Mrs. Harper came over that third afternoon. She said she had meant to come sooner, but Mr. Harper had been suffering a great deal, and she could not leave him.

  Christobel loved her at first sight. She seemed to remember those sweet brown eyes out of her past, though they were tired and somewhat faded looking now. She said to herself that Philip’s mother was dear.

  Maggie asked questions about “yer gude mon,” as she called Mr. Harper, and told how kind she remembered he always was to “the childer.” And Mrs. Harper seemed relieved to have someone to speak to about him. She said the doctor had been there that day and mentioned a great nerve specialist who was to visit the city in the spring, and said he wished his patient could see him, that he was a man who almost wrought miracles and it might be that he could find a way to cure Mr. Harper.

  “But we could never afford a great specialist of course,” sighed Mrs. Harper, “and I suppose I mustn’t even think about it. But when I remember what he used to be before he was hurt—” Her kind brown eyes filled with tears.

  “Oh, but,” said Maggie, wiping her ever-ready tears with the corner of her apron, “when Mister Phil hears of it, he’ll find a way to manage it, I’m thinkin’. Mister Phil is a fine young mon. He’s one ta be prood of.”

  “Yes,” beamed the mother, “he is. But Phil is already carrying a heavy burden. And now, with his new wonderful position, I don’t see how he can manage any more than he is carrying.”

  “Oh, there’ll be a way!” insisted Maggie. “If only our Mister Rannie would come home, I’m sure there’d be a way. Don’t you get downhearted.”

  Before Mrs. Harper left she spoke of June and how she was longing to renew her childhood acquaintance with Christobel. The lonely, sorrowful girl’s heart warmed with pleasure at the thought of having a girlfriend who was brought up by a mother like this one.

  Christobel had girlfriends at school of course, but not intimates. She had been a shy child when she first went away from home and had acquired a habit of reserve. Moreover, she had not liked many of the ways of the modern girls who were in her classes, and so, though she had mingled with them of necessity and taken part in all of the social activities and festivities of the school, she had kept much to herself, and as far as one could do so, she had gone her own ways, shy, grave, wistful, and not at all a real part of the wild, eager, tempestuous youth that swarmed around her. For the truth was that her stepmother’s act of sending her away from her home and father had so utterly made her feel like an alien everywhere, that at times her aloofness acted as a protection against the evil influences of the world.

  But now, with the old home life again in view, suddenly that inferiority complex that Charmian had imposed upon her was being torn away, and the sweetness of her nature was being revealed. It seemed, too, that since she had found the Lord Jesus and begun to pray, her outlook on life had changed, and what had been blank and uninteresting before, had suddenly become vivid with interest. So that if only Rannie had been at home, she would have felt that her cup of joy was overflowing.

  But when they went back to the house that night, they found excitement at the top heat. Two men had been arrested driving a car that bore the serial number of the Kershaw car. They were even now in custody and going through a grilling questioning. Mr. Kershaw was closeted with the detectives, and when he appeared for a moment, he looked so worn and sick that Christobel was frightened.

  Christobel and Maggie worked late that night, for Mr. Kershaw had come out long enough to drink a cup of coffee and tell them that the house was sold and the new owners would take possession in five days. Christobel must go through the big house that evening and take anything that she wanted to keep and either pack it with her own personal baggage or put it in her father’s bedroom, which would be locked, for tomorrow the new owners were to go through the house again, and it was understood that everything that was left out was to go with the house. He mentioned a few articles, most of them trifles that he had himself purchased, and one or two more rare paintings that he had brought home from a recent trip to Europe that he wished to put away in his room for safekeeping.

  If the daughter of the house had had her way, almost nothing would have been carried with them into the new life, but Maggie quite sensibly pointed out a few things in the kitchen and here and there that would save new purchases for the other house, electrical appliances that would greatly reduce their labor and would save much expense in many ways. So Maggie had her way, and several boxes and crates came up from the cellar and were neatly packed, ready for moving.

  Charmian’s things had already been sent their various ways, and her room was ready in outlandish modern extravagance for its next crazy occupant—black bathtub, taffeta hangings, velvet-carpeted dais, and all.

  It was a strange house, so little in it that any of the present occupants seemed to care in the least about. It was not until they went up in the great attic, floored for dancing and arranged with game tables about, that they found in some of the closets a few old trunks and boxes containing possessions that were distinctly Mr. Kershaw’s and had nothing to do with his second wife. A good many of the trunks held worn-out clothing, but down beneath the clothing there were rolls of flannel containing Christobel’s mother’s wedding silver, marked with her mother’s maiden name. Not a great deal of it, but lovely and heavy, and worth a great deal to the girl, who unwrapped some of the teaspoons and cried over them and thanked God for saving them for her.

  Mr. Kershaw had scarcely time to eat. A letter had arrived bearing another scrap of blue sil
k purporting to be another bit of Rannie’s necktie, the only trouble being that it did not match the first sample sent. The pity of it was that neither Christobel nor her father were familiar enough with Rannie’s ties to know whether either of the bits of silk was a part of the tie that he had worn the day he disappeared. His sister had cried over the silk and spent time going over the blue ties in his room, but neither she nor her father nor Maggie, who professed to have noticed every thread the lad had on when she first laid eyes on him, could be sure about it.

  The letter, however, had demanded a still larger ransom than the first one, and went into further details as to how it should be delivered, and Rannie’s father was in a feverish haste to gather enough money together to have in readiness. Oh, the weary waiting hours! Oh, if Rannie would only come back! Oh, if Philip Harper would come back. It was so much easier when he was around to pray and to believe that God was hearing.

  Quite early the next morning a large moving van arrived and took all that was to go to the other house except a few clothes and toilet articles, and when the new owner of the house arrived, the place was ready for inspection and approval, and the bargain was completed. Mr. Kershaw had the check in his possession, and Rannie’s ransom was materially increased.

  There were still some possessions in various parts of the world that might possibly be disposed of. There were Charmian’s jewels to be appraised, and a substantial amount might be raised from many of her other possessions. There was a riding horse expensively housed at a riding club. There were two cars, practically new, that she had bought and tossed aside like toys. There was Mr. Kershaw’s own life insurance. He would lose heavily, of course, if he cashed it in, but every penny had to count now, for the ransom must be ready.