Kerry

by Grace Livingston Hill

  She had not expected to sleep, but when the morning dawned and she was awakened by a steady tapping at her door, she found that she must have slept all night.

  She arose hastily and opened her door.

  McNair was standing in the corridor, his wan face gray in the dim light. There was a long black smudge down one cheek, his collar was off, and his hair was rumpled wildly. He had been fighting fire all night.

  For the fire had broken out again in a new place where the oil had seeped through into some flammable stuff. It had eaten its way well into the heart of the ship before it was discovered.

  He told her very quietly, but his anxious eyes belied his tired voice.

  “The captain thinks there may be a possibility that we must take to the lifeboats,” he said. “A fire has broken out in the hold, and if it cannot be controlled pretty soon it will be pleasanter for the passengers in the lifeboats.”

  That was a nice way to put it perhaps, but even as he said it Kerry heard the booming of the large waves and felt the crouching of the ship like a whipped creature under their lashing. As if it could be pleasant out there in that water! That awful water! Could anything be worse than trusting to a little lifeboat in such a raging sea?

  But the young man’s steady voice went on.

  “The captain would like us all to gather on the forward deck and be ready to obey orders. He still hopes it may not be necessary, but if the fire should manage to break through the forward hatchway, there would have to be swift work to get everybody off in time. Will you bring whatever you must have with you in an emergency and come as soon as you can to the deck?”

  “I am quite ready!” said Kerry, swinging on her coat with one swift motion and pulling down her little hat around her face.

  “Where are your valuables? Have you forgotten your book?”

  “Here!” laughed Kerry bravely, laying her two hands on her breast.

  “I fixed them so they cannot get away.”

  McNair looked down at her, a kind of hunger in his tired, worn face.

  “You brave, dear girl!” he said, and suddenly his arm went around her, and stooping, he touched his lips reverently to her forehead. It was as if a benediction had been given her.

  Then suddenly a door far down the corridor snapped open, and a crazy figure burst out, clad uncertainly in stocking feet and trousers, with a dress shirt flapping its tails wildly above it. It staggered frantically down the corridor, bringing up against first one side, then the other, but bumping on, and crying madly in a hoarse maudlin scream, “Fire! Fire! FIRE! This ship is on FIRE!!!”

  Kerry saw to her horror that it was Dawson gone fairly mad with fear.

  From every door on either side there burst other figures now, all in strange array, and began to rush along after him, falling, screaming, climbing over one another, in deadly blind panic, coming on like a stampede of wild cattle.

  McNair pushed Kerry behind him into her doorway, and shielded her by stepping in front of Dawson and extending his arms as he tried to plunge past.

  “Get out of my way!” screamed Dawson, kicking blindly at McNair. But McNair put out his foot and neatly tripped up Dawson, sending him sprawling on the floor. Then holding up his hands to stop the rest, he spoke in a clear, commanding voice.

  “Stop! Right where you are! Don’t go another step!”

  Strangely enough they obeyed him. The motley crowd in nightgowns and pajamas, with hair in curl papers, and one with no hair at all, stopped short and looked at him.

  He seized the instant’s quiet and attention at once.

  “Friends, there’s no such cause for hurry! It may be several hours before a crisis will arise. The warning was only sent out that you all might be prepared for a possible emergency, which we hope will not come. The crew is working hard to make everything safe for us, but the captain thought it best to ask you to get ready if there should be need to take to the lifeboats. He would like you to come on deck within the next ten minutes if possible. Bring any small valuables, and put on warm clothes. You may have to stand in the wind for some time. Go back and prepare yourselves. Go back, I tell you! Look at yourselves! You don’t want to go on deck looking like that!”

  As rapidly as they had come out they all scuttled back, all but Dawson, who was crawling frantically away on hands and knees, casting a green furtive glance back at his late assailant. A more abject ghastly face Kerry thought she had never seen. He disappeared around the corner, and McNair turned to Kerry, reaching out his hand for hers.

  “Come!” he said. “Let’s get on deck before the mob returns. There’s time enough. Don’t get excited—dear!”

  Kerry’s heart beat wildly, but she grasped his hand as if she had been a little child, and let him lead her to the companionway and help her up.

  Just ahead was Dawson, struggling up, lunging full-length on the deck, picking himself up frantically, and backing against the wall of the outer cabins, his hands outspread, his black hair blowing straight up, his eyes distended, his shirttails flapping in the wind. And straight before him as the ship lurched suddenly there rose a mighty sheet of water, towering mountains high, and curved as if it would engulf them all.

  Almost lying on his back against the cabins as the ship heeled over, Dawson sprawled, and uttered another of those unearthly yells, beyond all reason, or thought of sense, just clean frightened out of his wits, a fox caught in a snare.

  “Fire, WATER, FIRE!”

  McNair steadied Kerry against a doorway and seizing Dawson shook him!

  “Look here, man, haven’t you any sense? Shut up! You’ll create a panic. If you say that once more I’ll gag you so you can’t talk!”

  Dawson, too sick to resist, hung there in the grasp of the taller man, and dropped his jaw open, gave a frightened assent, and dropped down on the deck with his back against the wall and closed his eyes. If he had not been such a pathetic sight it would have been funny. Kerry found her Irish giggle coming in her throat, and curving around her lips even in such a time as this. To think a man could become so abject. His shirttails flapped around him, and he seemed to have no thought but fear as he lay back and clutched for hold against the ship.

  And now the others were appearing, in frightened groups, in strange array, but sober, grave, quiet for the most part. A woman fainted when she saw the wall of water as the next wave reared its head above the ship. But for the most part they gathered sanely, quiet enough, some trembling, some crying softly, a man here and there swearing.

  Kerry stood within a sheltered nook where McNair had put her and waited. She felt as if her inner self were hidden yet further in a secret place, where God was guarding. She looked around on those piteous huddled figures in the gray dawn of the morning, their faces wan with terror, some too weak and sick to stand up, and found herself longing to tell them of the refuge that she had found. How many of them were ready to go? How many of them were believers? If a few moments or another hour saw them all laid in watery graves would they be “believing dead”? Oh if she just knew how to go to them and tell them to get ready, to accept the finished work of Calvary before it was too late.

  She slipped down presently beside a little girl huddled on the deck with her mother, who was too ill to know or care what was going on. Putting her arm around the child, Kerry tried to comfort her, and tell her that she need not be afraid, tried to tell of Jesus, and the peace she had found in believing. It was all so new and her tongue so unused to explaining the things of the spirit, but the little girl looked up and smiled, and drew close to her.

  “Will He hear me if I pray?” she whispered, and Kerry bowed her head as the child whispered. “Oh, God make this ship stop rocking and make my mother well, and save us all please, and don’t let there be a fire!”

  The little girl crept away to the side of her mother and lay down, and Kerry looked around. Was there another she could tell? She knew that McNair had gone back to bring others to the deck. She knew that it might be only minutes before it would be
forever too late, and her heart burned within her.

  Close beside her on the other side lay an old woman, wrapped in costly furs, her gray hair straggling around her drawn and frightened face. Kerry crept over to her and leaning down whispered, “Do you know Jesus?” The woman stared at her wildly for a moment and then answered with a moan.

  “Oh, I used to! But I’ve been forgetting Him for years. Thank you for reminding me. I’ll try to pray!” The haggard eyes closed, and Kerry could see the pale lips were moving feebly.

  Looking up, Kerry saw a weird, grotesque figure with flapping shirttails furtively stealing along toward a lifeboat. No one else seemed to be watching him, and with almost uncanny strength he finally succeeded in swinging himself up and dropping into the lifeboat. Poor self-centered soul! All those helpless women and children around and he thought only of himself ! Kerry found herself wondering if anyone had ever told him of Jesus, the Savior from Self.

  Four hours they huddled there on the deck, moment by moment expecting death; while down in the hold the brave crew was working with blistered hands, blinded eyes, and singed faces, risking their lives to save the ship. And Graham McNair worked with the rest.

  From time to time as he could be spared, the captain sent him up to the deck with messages, and at last there came a blessed relief when the captain himself, smoky and disheveled, came up to say the worst danger was over. The fire had been definitely quelled, and all precautions taken that it should not break out again. The leak also had been mended, at least temporarily, and all hands were now working to repair other damages that the storm had wrought.

  He thanked them for their cooperation, and the quiet way in which most of them had obeyed orders, and he had a word of praise for McNair and a few others of the passengers who had come down and worked shoulder to shoulder with the ship’s crew.

  While he talked Kerry happened to be looking toward the lifeboat, and she saw Dawson’s white face lifted above the edge looking down and listening. While the captain still lingered, smiling wearily around on his big family of passengers, Kerry saw Dawson drop stealthily down from the lifeboat, linger behind the rigging for a moment stuffing in his shirttails, and then come boldly down deck in his stocking feet toward the captain.

  “Captain,” he said in a voice quite unlike the one in which he had been screaming a few hours before, “what I’d like to ask is, when do we have something to eat? I’ve been across the Atlantic a good many times, and I never had such treatment as this! We’ve all paid good money for our passage and service on the way, and we haven’t had a bite to eat since last night at dinner. It’s nearly time for dinner again. When do we eat?”

  The captain faced Dawson with a grin, for in spite of having tucked in his shirttails, Dawson still presented a grotesque appearance and seemed utterly unaware of it.

  “Well, brother, suppose you go down in the kitchen and help the cook get up a meal? How about it? We’ve been fighting fire in the kitchen for the last ten hours, and the cook and all the helpers have had to help fight. Would you rather burn alive, man, or get good and hungry? However, I believe there’s plenty of bread down there. Suppose you run down, and get an armful of buns and pass ’em around. How about it?”

  A roar went around the deck, which grew and rippled away into mirth. The strain was broken. The tensity of hours was relaxed. The tired frightened people laughed. They laughed and laughed, and suddenly Dawson realized that they were laughing at him, and with a ghastly look of hate he turned and hurried away.

  The laugh had done more than all words to reassure the frightened people, and little by little they began to get back to normal life again, and to notice their own appearance. They crept away to their rooms, and in an unexpectedly short time hot soup and bread and coffee were served to everybody, and all took courage.

  Chapter 10

  Sometime in the night the wind changed, and the terrible waves grew calmer. When morning broke the clouds were lifting, and those who ventured out reported that the storm was over.

  Kerry and McNair were among the first to go on deck.

  They stood in a sheltered spot watching the majesty of the waves with their backs against a wall, and Kerry’s hand firmly tucked under the young man’s arm. Years of friendship seemed to be knit up between them, as they marveled over their great escape.

  One by one as the sea grew calmer, the passengers crept out on deck and back to their streamer chairs. By noon most of the chairs were filled. The sun had come out, and people were sitting in the sunshine and beginning to smile again. It was rumored that if all went well they would reach New York the next day. Word had come by radio of disaster and storm all over that part of the sea. They realized that theirs had been a real escape.

  The last to crawl out on deck, immaculate as to attire, sour as to expression, belligerent as to attitude, and pea-green as to color, especially around his mouth, was Henry Dawson, PhD.

  There was no gratitude there. He had a personal grudge against the captain for the storm, for all the physical and mental pangs he had suffered, and the indignities he had endured. He was neither a good sailor nor a good sport. He argued that a ship ought to be prepared for emergencies, and there was no excuse whatever for a ship getting as far out of its course as this ship was, even in a storm. Such delay was inexcusable.

  Kerry kept out of his way as much as possible, but whenever she lifted her eyes in his direction she seemed to feel his baleful glance upon her. There was something sinister about it that gave her an inward shudder. It was as if whenever he looked at her he was plotting something against her. That was silly of course. She must stop thinking about it. But how glad she would be when she was safely landed in New York and had that manuscript in the hands of the publisher!

  That evening, that last evening on board, Dawson suddenly changed his tactics. He fairly haunted the steps of Kerry and McNair. He smirked and smiled and made himself as affable to both of them as was in his naturally grumpy power to do.

  Several times they shook him off on one pretext or another, only to find him appearing at another point as soon as they came on deck. He brought magazines to show them, he appeared on the scene with confectionery for Kerry, he even went so far as to attempt to carry her wooly bag for her, but she gripped it fiercely and declined his offer.

  Finally he brought a steamer chair and settled down beside them, next to Kerry, much to her dismay. Whenever McNair talked to her, he would cut in.

  “Where are you going to be in New York, Miss Kavanaugh?” he asked. “I’d like to take you out occasionally while I’m there. See a good show or dine at a roof garden, take in a few night clubs and that sort of thing, you know.”

  “Thank you,” said Kerry, “I expect to be very busy while I’m there. I shall not have time to go out at all I’m afraid. My stay is a little uncertain, and I shall have every minute full.”

  “Oh, well, you have to eat, you know, and we can plan to take dinner wherever it will be convenient for you. All work and no play make the proverbial Jack a dull boy, you know.”

  “Well, I’m afraid it will have to be dullness for me this time,” said Kerry firmly but cheerfully.

  “Well, where are you going to be located?” he asked pointblank. “We surely can make some sort of a date after you find out what your engagements are to be.”

  “I’m not at all sure,” evaded Kerry. “It depends on a number of things.”

  “Well, here,” exulted Dawson eagerly, taking out a pencil and a card from his pocket, “let me suggest then. I know a wonderful stopping place, very reasonable in price and convenient to downtown. I’ve stopped there sometimes myself, and the food is excellent. They have a very nice little orchestra—”

  “Thank you,” said Kerry coldly and let the card lie on her lap where he had dropped it.

  “Let’s take a turn on the deck, Miss Kavanaugh,” said McNair suddenly. “I’m chilly, aren’t you?”

  Kerry rose with relief, and the address dropped to the floor, but Daw
son hurried to restore it to her.

  She took the paper with reluctant hand, and when they had walked near the railing she lifted her hand as if to drop it over the side in the darkness.

  “Don’t be so rash with that!” said McNair, holding back her arm, “Dawson is coming on behind again, and besides, I’m not so sure but it might be as well to keep tabs on that bird. If he thinks you are going there he might turn up and have a rendezvous himself, and we might need to trace him. Suppose you let me keep that paper.”

  Kerry obediently handed it over to him.

  “I’m sure the only use I could possibly have for it would be to keep as far away from that quarter as possible,” laughed Kerry.

  “Come this way, quick,” said McNair. “I believe that fox is following us again. We’ll double-cross him this time, anyway.”

  And then when they succeeded in losing Dawson again he said, “By the way, if I should ask that same impertinent question that our friend the PhD asked would you freeze me, too?”

  “Oh, no,” said Kerry, laughing, feeling a choking sensation of tears behind her laughter, for she realized all too keenly that this was the last night of the voyage. “Oh, no! I would tell you the truth. I haven’t the slightest idea where I’m going. I don’t know any place to go. I haven’t been in New York since I was seven years old. There was an old friend of father’s, a lawyer, if he is even still living. Then of course there is the publisher—I could ask him where was a respectable place.”

  His hand tightened a little on her arm as it rested in his.

  “Who is your publisher?”

  Kerry told him.

  “Well, wouldn’t it be better for your business to have an address you could give them when you first arrived?”

  “I suppose it would,” said Kerry humbly. “I really hadn’t thought much about it. It seemed so unimportant until I got the manuscript safely placed and out of my hands.”

  “Of course,” said McNair. “But you see it is important to me. I hope to be in town for a couple of weeks before I move on to other appointments. Not that I would suggest shows or night clubs as a recreation, but I would like to take you to hear one or two good concerts, and perhaps to a meeting or two if any of the great speakers I know are in town just now. But perhaps you wouldn’t have time for such things either.”