The Silver Star

by Gilbert, Morris

  Dorothy could not say anything for a moment. It had been so long since Andrew had played with the children. From the look on his face, she knew he had still not forgiven her for their quarrel. Ever since then, they had been sleeping in separate bedrooms. Avoiding his eyes, she turned to leave, murmuring to herself. Leaving the playroom, she went to her bedroom. When she closed the door behind her, her hands were shaking. She had the tremendous urge to throw herself on the bed and give way to mindless weeping, but somehow she held a tighter rein than that on herself. I can’t face him, she thought miserably. How can I look him in the eye—knowing what I’ve done?

  The rest of the evening was abject misery for Dorothy Winslow. She said very little during the meal and excused herself to clear the table. As they sat in the living room afterward with the children, she was silent most of the time. The children were loud and noisy, and Andrew paid more attention to them than was customary. Occasionally he glanced at her.

  Finally, when the children were in bed and Dorothy started down the hall, he stopped her. “You’re looking pale,” he said. “Are you sick?”

  “No, I’m fine,” Dorothy said briefly. She saw that he was looking at her in a peculiar fashion, and once again the sickening guilt rose in her throat, burning, and she quickly left, saying, “Good night.” She closed the door and stood there waiting. Part of her hoped that Andrew would come to her, but if he did, she didn’t know what she would do. She stood listening and heard his footsteps as they approached. Her breath caught, and she bit her lower lip as the footsteps stopped outside of her door. For a long moment she knew he was going to come in, but she did not know what she would say. A yearning rose in her to find some sort of peace with him—and with God. Then the footsteps moved away, and she heard the sound of the spare bedroom door closing gently.

  She rose late the next morning, deliberately staying in bed until she heard Andrew leave his bedroom. She dressed slowly and went to the kitchen just as he was leaving. He was kissing the children and turned to look at her. He looked haggard and tired. He had lost his vitality, and she wondered how much of his strength had gone into the stones and brick and mortar of the church building. He looked at her for one moment, and she could not meet his eyes but heard him say, “Good-bye, Dorothy. I’ll see you this evening.”

  “All right.” The answer had been barely audible, she knew, but she could say no more. Her heart ached from the burden of her sin. She hurt with an indescribable pain such as she had never known before.

  All morning long she felt like an animal in a trap. Again and again she thought of Nolan Cole telling her, “I love you, and I want to marry you. . . .” The words repeated themselves in her mind, and she worked frantically around the house trying to occupy herself.

  Midafternoon, while the children were taking their nap, the telephone rang. She almost didn’t answer it but finally picked it up. In the back of the house she could hear Mrs. Kennedy, who had come to help with the laundry as she sometimes did. Quietly Dorothy said, “Hello?”

  It was Nolan. “I’ve got to see you, Dorothy.”

  “No, we mustn’t!”

  “Either you come to my house, or I’ll come to yours. We’ve got to tell Andrew what’s going on.”

  Terror flooded Dorothy Winslow. She had a sudden picture of herself being pinioned by Andrew’s penetrating eyes and knew that she could not bear the shame. “No, don’t do that!”

  “Then come and we’ll talk.”

  Dorothy hesitated for a moment, then said, “All right, but we’ll have to go where we’re not seen.”

  “Nobody ever comes by my house. I’ll pick you up at the old place and bring you here.”

  Dorothy steeled herself. “It’s all over! I’ve been wrong, but I’m not going to do this anymore!”

  A silence seemed louder than words, and then he said, “Come to my house and we’ll talk. If that’s your decision, then that’s the way it will be. But I love you, and I’m not giving up easily.”

  Dorothy felt another wave of fear and futility, but she knew she had to see him one more time. “All right. I’ll come, but I can’t stay long, and I won’t change my mind.” She put the telephone receiver on its hook with trembling hands. Her knees were weak, too, but she knew she had to go. Quickly, she told Mrs. Kennedy she would be gone for an hour or two, then left the house. When Nolan came by, she got into the car silently and said nothing as he drove along the back roads and finally stopped in front of his house. She stepped out and walked stiffly to the door. As soon as they were inside, she turned around and faced him squarely. Her eyes were enormous, her voice as firm as she could make it. “It’s all over, Nolan. . . .”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Nero

  Jolie’s twentieth birthday was not what she had hoped. Peter and Easy had gone off to a car race, and she felt lonely. It had been too far for her to make the trip. When she got up that morning, the first thing she thought of was the wonderful surprise party she had enjoyed so much the previous year. A smile spread across her face at the fond memories. She got up, washed her face, and dressed, but the day held no similar promise of surprise. By the time Tom Ziegler came by at two o’clock for her lesson, Jolie was tired of her own company and glad to see him. “Come on, Tom,” she said. “Teach me something wonderful today.”

  Ziegler smiled and said, “Happy birthday, Jolie. How does it feel to have been on planet earth for twenty years?”

  She laughed. “I don’t feel much different. Somehow I thought I would. Come and sit on the swing.”

  When they reached the swing on the porch, Tom stopped in surprise and said, “That’s a new cover for the swing, isn’t it?”

  “Isn’t it awful?” Jolie said. “My landlady thought it was wonderful, but somehow it makes me nervous to sit on George Washington.”

  The cover for the swing had a large embroidered portrait of George Washington that ran long ways. Jolie laughed, saying, “You can sit on his chin, and I’ll sit on the top of his head.”

  As they sat down, Tom shook his head. “It doesn’t feel right sitting on George Washington’s chin.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a small package with gaily wrapped paper and handed it to her. “Happy birthday!” he said again.

  “Oh, Tom, you shouldn’t have! But I’m glad you did,” Jolie said. She tore open the package and stopped abruptly as her eyes fell on the beautifully designed broach with small green stones set in gold. “Oh, it’s . . . it’s beautiful, Tom!” she whispered. Picking it up she stared at it and then immediately pinned it on her blouse. “There. How does it look?”

  “It sets off your eyes beautifully,” he said. “It makes them look just like the sea.”

  “Now, you stop that, Tom Ziegler! You’ve practiced enough on me. What about that girl you’re interested in? You’ve been quoting poetry and kissing my hand and spouting pretty speeches for a long time. Have you said anything to her yet?”

  Tom grew strangely silent. He sat tensely in the swing, then suddenly he turned toward Jolie. His brow was furrowed, and his mouth drew tight as he said, “I have a confession to make, Jolie.”

  “You, a confession? You couldn’t have! You’ve never done anything wrong!” she teased him.

  “No, I’m serious. I have done something wrong, and I’ve got to tell you about it.”

  Jolie paused, somewhat taken aback by his solemn expression. She saw something like fear in his eyes, and she said quickly, “What is it, Tom? What’s wrong? What have you done?”

  Ziegler swallowed hard and then said hoarsely, “I’ve lied to you.”

  “Lied to me? About what?”

  “About . . . about that girl I told you I liked.” He hesitated, then shook his head. “It was a foolish thing to do.”

  “It’s not foolish for you to admire a girl. I think it’s what you should do, a young man like you.”

  “You don’t understand, Jolie. I just made up that story about a girl.” Suddenly he reached out, took her hands, and held them tigh
tly. “The truth is,” he said, his voice slightly above a whisper and his face contorted with an emotion she could not understand, “you’re the girl, Jolie.”

  Jolie stared at him, unable to speak for a moment. She liked Tom Ziegler immensely, but to her he was a friend, and she had never once thought of him as having romantic inclinations. “Why, that’s not possible, Tom,” she said.

  “Why isn’t it?” He kept her hands locked tightly in his and then began to speak more freely. “You know what my life’s been like. I’ve been shut up in the house with my mother for most of my life, and I’ve been spending all of my time at my studies. There’s never been any time for me for anything else, but since I started coming over here, it’s been different. I can talk to you in a way I can’t talk to other girls. I hope you’ll think of me as the man you might marry in two or three years when I’m out of school and have established myself in my profession enough to be able to take care of you as you should be.”

  “Marry you?” Jolie was astonished, and her face grew pale as she stared wide-eyed into Tom’s eyes. “Why, Tom—!”

  “You don’t have to say anything right now except one thing. Do you like me at all, Jolie?”

  “Why, of course I do, Tom. But that’s not the same thing.”

  “It’s enough for me—for now.” He suddenly leaned forward, giving her time to draw back. When she didn’t move, he kissed her gently on the lips. It was a light caress, and he drew back almost frightened. “Well,” he said, blinking with surprise. “That’s out of the way.”

  “What? What’s out of the way?” Jolie asked.

  He smiled suddenly, looking almost handsome. “Why, the first kiss. That can never happen again. It can come only once. And . . . and I wanted it to be with you.” He straightened up and picked up a book and stared at it for a moment. Then looking at her he said, “I won’t bother you in any way, of course, but I thought you ought to know how I feel.”

  Jolie could not for the life of her think of a thing to say. His kiss had left her in a daze. When she knew he was going to kiss her, a slight shiver had run through her. Other than Peter and Easy, never in her whole life had a man treated her with such respect and tenderness. Normally they had made demands, leaving her afraid. But Tom was so different.

  As Tom began to talk about the history of Greece, she understood not one word that he said, so confused was her mind. For the rest of the lesson she could not give an intelligent answer to any of his questions. Finally when he left, she threw on her hat and coat and went out for a walk, trying to still the swirl of thoughts in her mind. Marry him! she thought. Tom Ziegler? Why, it was so sudden, so unexpected, that it was a thing to wonder at and to marvel about. Why would someone so educated be interested in me? I barely know anything, and this scar . . . Jolie stopped in the middle of her thought and reached up to touch the ugly red scar. She shook her head and knew that for weeks she would not be able to face him without seeing his earnest face and hearing the plea in his voice as he had spoken to her of his love on the swing. It was the first time a man had spoken to her of honorable love, although many had spoken to her of another kind. She could not help but have a tender and good feeling about the fact that this young man, so strange and shy, had offered to share his life with her.

  ****

  Jason Ballard stood staring at the huge black-maned lion as if hypnotized. A trainer named Charlie Paddock had been working for several days with the crew creating the setting for the last stunt in the serial. Jason had known that there would be a lion involved. Now, however, as he stood there beside Peter and Easy, an uneasiness stirred in him, and he muttered, “That’s a terrible-looking beast!”

  Peter shook his head. He was also shocked at the size and apparent ferociousness of the animal. “I don’t like this one bit, Jason. How is it supposed to work, anyway?” He had come onto the set for the first time, having taken two days off to go to a race with Easy, and now the two men had returned, along with the rest of the crew who were fascinated by what they had heard.

  Jason swung his arm around. “Well, here’s the way it’s supposed to work. They made this set to look like part of a jungle. Most of it’s potted plants, I guess, and artificial vines. That over there looks like a rock face, but it’s not. It’s artificial, too. What happens is that Priscilla falls down from what is supposed to be the top of a cliff and lands on this flat spot. Then that lion comes out of the jungle, sees her, and she sees him and screams. She can’t escape because the rock behind her is too steep to climb, so the lion comes and makes a jump at her.”

  “And the episode stops with that?” Peter questioned. “How does she get out of it?”

  “I don’t know,” Jason said. He locked his lips together and would say no more, listening with half an ear as Easy began to speak.

  “That’s an awful-looking critter. Why, look at the size of those teeth! And here it is Friday the thirteenth! Sure is a bad day to try to do a thing like this.”

  “It’s a bad day any day!” Peter said. “What idiot thought up this idea?”

  “Who knows?” Jason shrugged. “Of course, it’ll be filmed in segments. Part of it will show Priscilla falling off, when she’ll only fall a couple of feet. Then they’ll cut to the floor, and she’ll fall down sprawled on the ground. They’ll get a scene of the lion coming closer, and then they’ll take the picture when she’s supposed to see the lion and scream. She’ll get out of there then, and they’ll take the footage of the lion.”

  “Well, as long as she won’t actually be in there with that beast, I suppose it’s all right,” Peter said.

  “I guess so,” Jason said grudgingly. He moved over to Paddock, whom he had met earlier, and asked, “You’re sure you’ll have that lion under control, Paddock? If he got loose, I hate to think what could happen to Priscilla.”

  Charlie Paddock was a short, well-built man. He traveled with a circus doing his wild animal act. He had black curly hair, sparkling black eyes, and was rather handsome. He looked over toward the lion pacing back and forth in the cage and grinned. “You’re not afraid of Nero, are you?”

  “I’ll tell the world I am!” Jason said frankly. “I had a tangle with a grizzly bear once and just barely got away, but this beast looks worse than any bear I’ve seen.”

  “Nero is a pretty bad actor,” Charlie said, “but he knows who the boss is.” He picked up the whip and cracked it at Nero, who had been staring out of his cage with brilliant green eyes. Suddenly he opened his mouth, exposing tremendous white teeth and a red tongue, and let out an ear-splitting roar, which made everyone around jump.

  Paddock laughed. “It’s all right, Jason. Relax. I’ll be there all the time. Look, let me show you again how it works.” He took them around through the set and showed them a wire cage of heavy steel that led into the jungle. “There’s a gate on the other end of this,” he said. “It’s wired to a switch. Can’t open until somebody pulls that switch. What we do is pull Nero’s cage around here”—he pointed at the end of the runway—“lock it in, then I pull the door here on Nero’s cage. He’s trained to do that. He’ll go out, someone will open the door, and he emerges out on the floor of what’s supposed to be the jungle. Of course, Miss Winslow won’t be out there. Nobody will be. They’ll already have shot the scenes with her. She goes out the door right over there.” He led them back, turned a key and opened it, then shut it and locked it again. Turning to them, he said, “Don’t worry. Nothing can go wrong.”

  Paddock went about checking on some details, and Jason looked up to see that Priscilla had come onto the set. She was wearing a pair of black jodhpurs with her customary white long-sleeved silk shirt. It was a man’s shirt, and two of the buttons at the top were unbuttoned. She wore a sun helmet, and her honey-colored hair caught the lights overhead as she walked toward them.

  “Hi there, fellas,” she said. She gave a look at the lion and seemed as impressed as the others. “He’s huge, isn’t he? And look at those teeth! I don’t see how Mr. Paddock g
ets in the cage with him. Have you ever seen his act?”

  “Not me, but I wouldn’t get in a cage with a beast like that for a million dollars!” Peter said.

  “It’s not just him. He gets in the cage full of lions and tigers, about ten or fifteen of them.”

  “You mean he turns his back on some of them?” Jason asked. He shook his head. “He must be crazy! It’s a wonder he’s not clawed all to bits.”

  “Oh, he’s been clawed several times! Look at his right forearm sometime. He’s got a terrible scar there, and he said he had others, too.” Her eyes sparkled, and she looked at Peter. “I told him you’d be nervous about me getting close to that lion, and that you wouldn’t get in a cage with a ferocious beast like that.”

  Peter shook his head and said, “Charlie just said he takes more risks than when I drive those race cars as fast as I do.”

  “Well, I guess we’re ready to start.” Stan Lem had come over and nodded. “You ready, Priscilla?”

  “All ready, Stan.”

  “Paddock, we’re ready to do Priscilla’s segment. You can get the lion in place, but unlock the door and let Priscilla in so we can film her scenes first.”

  “Sure, Mr. Lem.” Paddock struggled for a moment with the catch and muttered, “This thing needs some work.” He yanked it open finally, and when it gave, the door swung open, creaking with an eerie sound.

  “There you go, Miss Winslow. If some of you fellows will help me,” he said to the stagehands, “we’ll pull Nero back and join his cage to the runway.”

  Priscilla stepped inside, and the cameraman moved in to get the shots. The first was a simple shot made at the top of the cliff, then they cut away as she teetered and seemed to fall. Next, they cut away to the floor, and Priscilla came down into the artificial pit and glanced apprehensively at the green leaves, trying to ignore Nero’s loud roar that came to her through the scenery. Following Lem’s directions, she made a slight jump and sprawled on the hard surface.