CHAPTER XIII
Unknown
Brent made many more trips from Marchton to Canada and back again, and each time he had no good news to bring the people waiting so eagerly for a word of encouragement. Gale had disappeared as neatly as if the earth had opened and swallowed her. The wreckage of his plane had been removed from the spot where he had crashed and there remained now only a few trees whose bark had been scraped off by the falling plane to mark the spot. He had visited every nearby farmhouse and personally inquired for news of Gale. To all his efforts he had received the same result—nothing. But Brent was nothing if not dauntless. Not for nothing had he flown thousands of miles, in sun and storm. He had gained a courage and determination scarcely to be equalled. Now he could put his determination to good use. He needed it all to keep him from giving up the search. Give up? He could not! He meant to find Gale. How or where he did not know, but he would find her. He had to. He had learned a lot of things since that night by the hangar when he and Gale had exchanged confidences. He certainly could not give up now when he did not know what had happened to her. Day after day he visited the French towns and farms in the surrounding country.
“Do you think you will ever find her?” Phyllis asked him wearily on his next trip to Marchton.
He smiled confidently, much more confidently than he felt. “Of course. You know the saying—‘There’ll come a day.’”
“But it seems so hopeless now—after all this time!” Phyllis said. “Sometimes I think—”
Brent smiled at her, his light quizzical smile. “You are really fond of Gale, aren’t you?”
Phyllis nodded, a lump in her throat so that she could not speak.
“So am I,” Brent said, his eyes on the automobiles passing in the street. “I won’t give up until I find her.”
Phyllis pressed his arm. “I hope you find her—truly I do. I know she likes you—a lot.”
Brent smiled upon her again. “You make me feel a lot better,” he said. “I really needed some cheering up—more than I would admit.”
Soon after that he was off for Canada again. At first he went to the hotel in Quebec where he had made his headquarters. There was no mail for him nor any word of Gale. He went down to the street and found the car and chauffeur he had hired until his shoulder should be well enough for him to drive himself. He directed the man to drive north. He had no specific destination, he proposed to merely drive through the northern roads again in the hopes of meeting someone or finding something that would lead to Gale.
It was late in the afternoon when they came to a small French village where they stopped for the luncheon they had missed. The chauffeur had much more of an appetite than Brent and while he waited for the man Brent decided to explore the little village. The streets were quaint and expressed the simplicity and charm of the inhabitants. He turned from the contemplation of an old Frenchman, who was sunning himself in the doorway of his home, to look at two girls making their way out of town. Their arms were laden with bundles and a small collie scooted ahead in front of them. But Brent had eyes merely for one of the girls. Was it possible? He passed a dazed hand across his eyes. Could he be mistaken?
“Gale!” he called. Did he fancy that the girls hesitated for a moment and then went on? He called again but they did not turn. Starting after them he reached the turn in the road just in time to see the girls climb into a farmer’s wagon and the wagon start off down the road.
Brent went back to the old Frenchman and asked him if he knew the girls. In these small towns nearly everybody knew everybody else.
“It is François Bouchard’s sister,” the old man nodded. “She lives with her brother on a small farm east of the village.”
“And the other girl?” Brent asked.
“I do not know, Monsieur.”
That was that Brent decided. He would have no rest now until he learned if the girl really was Gale. Certainly the likeness had been astonishing. The girl had seemed in the height of gay spirits. But if it really had been Gale, well and strong as this girl, wouldn’t she have sent word to her parents? Tried to get back home? He rumpled his hair in perplexity and replaced his hat. He would start after them and ask questions. He might discover something. But when he returned to the inn where he had left his chauffeur, the man was gone. For an hour Brent fumed in impatience until the man finally reappeared. To all Brent’s upbraidings the man turned a deaf ear. He merely climbed into the car and sat waiting. Without further waste of time Brent climbed in beside him and, having secured directions from the old man, set off in the direction of Bouchard’s cottage.
The car bumped along over ruts hidden by the snow and ice. The driver might just as well not have been present for all the company he was to Brent. He uttered not one word from the time they left the village, replying to all Brent’s attempts at conversation with grunts. Brent had always thought the French-Canadians friendly, sociable people, but this man irked him. Soon he forgot his companion, however, forgot about the uncomfortable car in which he rode and which jolted his shoulder, causing it to pain him, and concentrated on the object of his search.
For days, weeks, he had been traveling, seeking some touch, some clue to the whereabouts of Gale. Yet not three hours before he had seen her, apparently well and happy. There must be some explanation!
His musings were brought to a sudden halt and he was thrown so far forward as to almost bump his nose on the windshield. Brent could speak fluent French and he used it to good advantage. He poured a tirade out on the head of the driver. The man merely gestured to the trees and the end of the road to which they had come. Brent had to see that it was impossible for the car to go any farther.
The driver signified his intention to remain in the car by slumping down in the seat and pulling his cap over his eyes for a quiet nap.
In disgust Brent jumped out and started to tramp across the road and into the clump of trees, stripped now of all autumnal glory and black with the cold of early winter. The snow lay in deep drifts in several places and these Brent avoided to the best of his ability. He hoped he was still going in the right direction. That driver was as good as nothing. He had assured Brent he had heard of Bouchard’s cottage and with his hand had gestured widely to the right. That was as well as he could do.
The wind up here was cold and Brent buttoned his coat more tightly as best he could, using one hand. It put new life into one, though. The air was keen as a knife and the sky as clear as crystal water. Brent remembered the exhilaration he had experienced last night flying through the star-studded sky. It had been keen! But a most cruel reminder of his last flight with Gale. Then, too, in the beginning the stars had been close and friendly.
Brent halted in his stride and knit his brows in perplexity. Had the plane crash occurred near here? No, he corrected himself. It had been much farther south. How then, had Gale wandered way up here? He shook his head and went on.
Ahead a thin blue column of smoke drifted up from beyond a slight rise in ground. He redoubled his efforts. That must be Bouchard’s cottage. He came to the hill and leaned momentarily against a tree to get his breath, looking down at the log cabin and the open clearing before him.
A girl was romping with a dog. The same girl whom he had seen in the village. There could be no doubt, it was Gale. The way she lifted her head, the laugh that floated up to him when the dog in play nipped her fingers. All of them bespoke Gale. He stood there watching, for it was a charming scene. In the snow the dog and girl, when she suddenly stumbled over the former, rolled over and over.
When Gale sat up there was a glow in her cheeks and a laugh bubbled in her voice. Toto stood, legs slightly asprawl, gazing at her, his red tongue dangling from between white teeth, his eyes dancing with mischief. François appeared in the cabin doorway, leaning upon his improvised crutch. After a brief greeting to him Toto trotted back to Gale and put his front paws into her lap, looking up into her face with a doggy smile.
Brent started toward them and when Gale saw
him she stood up, shaking the snow from her coat and attempting to straighten her disheveled cap. François had disappeared within the cabin again and from there came the sound of Antoinette, humming at her work.
“Gale—don’t you know me?” Brent asked, as soon as he was within speaking distance.
Gale merely stared at him. She recognized him as the strange young man who had called after them that morning in the village—but that was all!
“Gale! I’m Brent—surely you haven’t forgotten me!” he said, half laughing. He went toward her, seeking to touch her, but she eluded him.
She ran for the protection of the cottage with Toto at her heels. Brent had no course but to follow. He stood in the doorway and looked at the others before him. It was a homelike, cozy, if crude room. François sat in a chair by the fireplace. Gale stood behind his chair while in the corner Antoinette was watching him in surprise, her sewing now forgotten.
“How—how do you do,” Brent began uncertainly. “I—”
“Enter, Monsieur,” François invited courteously, “and be seated by the fire. The day is cold and you have come a long way?” The last of his speech was a question.
Brent inclined his head and took the chair opposite François, his eyes on Gale. In the half daylight and glow from the fire he was more certain than ever of her identity. Yet if it were Gale, surely she would know him?
Without preliminary Brent spoke in French. “That girl,” he nodded toward Gale, “is she—your sister also, Monsieur Bouchard?”
François smiled faintly. “You know me, Monsieur? Yet I do not know you.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I quite forgot myself. I am Brent Stockton,” Brent continued. “You see, for weeks I have been searching Canada for a girl. We crashed in an airplane some little distance from here. I left her in the plane and went for help, but while I was absent she disappeared. Since then I have not been able to find her. This young lady is very much like her—very much,” he murmured again.
François nodded and frowned into the fire. “I was afraid we were causing someone a great deal of anxiety, but it could not be helped. You see I injured my foot the day after, and I have not been able to go to the village to notify the authorities. My sister knows very little about such things.”
“Yes?” Brent murmured. He was waiting impatiently.
“I found Mademoiselle, here,” François looked up at Gale and the two exchanged smiles, though she did not understand his French words, “in a wrecked airship weeks ago. She was pinioned in her seat by a fallen tree branch which I moved.”
“My plane!” Brent gasped.
“As you say, Monsieur. I brought her here. She seemed unhurt, but her mind—”
Brent grasped the edge of his chair. “What was it?”
“Her memory, Monsieur, it is gone. Do you understand? We could not notify anyone because we did not know who she was. She has remained here ever since.”
Brent sat stunned. It was hard for him to grasp the fact. No wonder Gale hadn’t recognized him! His glance wandered to the girl. She was standing slim and straight behind François. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, her skin creamy, she was as he had seen her last except for a slight shadow in the depth of her eyes.
“She seems all right,” he said finally.
“Yes, Monsieur,” François said. “She is in perfect health except for—it is sad.”
“She must go back with me,” Brent said finally. “Her parents are frantic—her friends—we will have the best doctors in the land.”
“Time and peace will heal her,” François said. “I studied medicine, Monsieur, I know.”
Brent stood up. “I have no words with which to thank you, sir. It is a debt which can never be repaid. If it had not been for you—”
“It is nothing,” François said, with difficulty rising and holding out his hand to Brent. “We have loved her as a sister, Monsieur.”
Brent silently wrung the Frenchman’s hand and felt he must burst with gratitude. To think at last he had found Gale! He took a step toward her and she backed away. She seemed curiously afraid of him.
“Gale,” and now François spoke in English, “this young man has come to take you back to your parents and friends.”
“He knows—” Gale started in a whisper.
François nodded. “He knows you. He has come to take you back to those who love you.”
“I must leave?” Gale wanted to know. She glanced first at François, at Antoinette and then down at Toto.
“Yes,” François said sadly.
“Come, Gale,” Brent said gently, holding out his hand.
But Gale did not put hers into it. Instead she backed away into a corner, Toto moving instinctively with her. Brent moved towards her, talking slowly, gently, but she was terrified. Why, he could not understand.
Toto, puppy that he was, seemed to know his friend’s fear and bared his teeth savagely at Brent.
Brent stopped, torn between conflicting emotions, and looked helplessly at François.
Antoinette ran to Gale and took the trembling girl in her arms.
“Gale, ma chérie, you must go back to those who love you. They are lonely without you.”
But Gale shook her head determinedly. She didn’t want to go off with this strange young man, nice as he seemed, and nothing they said could change her mind. For an hour Brent, François and Antoinette urged, coaxed, and pleaded with her. But Gale held Toto in her arms and refused to budge from her corner. Finally they gave up in despair and she watched with frightened eyes while Brent conversed with François. Every time they glanced at her her heart almost stopped. She was so afraid she would have to leave these people who had been kind to her, who understood her, to go to strangers.
At last Brent moved to the door. On the threshold he turned to look at her and the picture he carried away was of a frightened girl clutching her beloved dog in her arms as her sole means of comfort.
CHAPTER XIV
Another Attempt
All the way back to Quebec Brent thought of Gale, trying to devise some way to bring back her memory. He thought of her parents and wondered how he would ever break the news to them. How, too, he would tell the other Adventure Girls.
That night he and his pilot flew back to Marchton. Early the next morning he went to Gale’s parents and told them. The decision made was that they should fly back to Canada with him the same night.
When school was out and the Adventure Girls and three boys wended their way to the Kopper Kettle they found Brent already there awaiting them. Eagerly they crowded round him, welcoming him back and asking the now almost hopeless questions about Gale.
He was silent, answering not one question until they were all seated about a table in the corner. Then he began slowly:
“Yes, I was successful. I’ve found Gale.”
“She isn’t—” Valerie began fearfully.
“She is perfectly happy,” he said.
“Thank goodness!” Carol sighed, inadequately expressing the feelings of them all.
“But you don’t look very happy about it,” Janet put in. “Did you bring her home with you?”
“No, I couldn’t bring her home with me,” Brent said, carefully tearing a straw into minute bits with his finger, “you see, she didn’t know me.”
The others waited, instinctively guessing there was more important news to come.
“Why not?” Madge finally ventured.
“In the crash of the plane she—lost her memory. She has been living all this time with a Canadian man and his sister in their cottage. She is perfectly well except for the fact that she doesn’t remember a thing about who or what she is.”
“Poor Gale!” Carol murmured.
“Can’t anything be done?” Bruce asked.
“I am flying her parents and a doctor back with me tonight,” Brent answered. “Her memory may come back to her all in a flash, a sudden shock might do it, or it might take time. I don’t know.”
“Can’t we do so
mething?” Janet wanted to know anxiously. “I mean, do you think she might remember if she saw one of us?”
“Show her Janet, that would be a shock!” Carol suggested, daringly impudent.
Brent laughed with the rest but then he shook his head. “When she sees her parents she should remember—if anything familiar can restore her memory.”
“If she didn’t know you—” Phyllis began.
“What was it, Brent?” Bruce asked. “The shock of the crash? The limb of the tree that fell upon the plane or what?”
“I suppose we will never know,” Brent said. “It must have been one of those.”
“Isn’t it terrible?” Valerie murmured with a little shiver. “Think of Gale, not knowing who she is, where she came from. I wish I could go to her.”
The others were silent until Brent rose saying he must get back to the Howard home for dinner. Phyllis went out with him. He left her at the corner and entered the yard of Gale’s home. Strange she could remember none of this, he thought. The flowers which in summer ran as a border to the walk, the old tree by the fence, her home, the place where she had lived all her life.
Dinner was a hurried, hap-hazard affair. Gale’s parents and Brent were eager to be off to the airport. He told them again of his finding and by that time they were ready to leave.
Upon coming out to the porch they discovered Phyllis in woolly coat and beret with a small bag at her side sitting on the top step.
“Where do you think you are going?” Brent demanded.
“With you, please, mayn’t I?” Phyllis begged. “I’ve told my Aunt I’m going and she didn’t stop me. Please take me, I want to see Gale.”
Brent looked at the Howards and back to Phyllis.
“Oh, well, come along,” he said gruffly.
They climbed into the Howards’ automobile and five minutes later picked up the grey-haired family doctor who had known Gale since she was three. He had helped her through every sickness but nothing as serious as this. It did not take long after that to reach the airport.
The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 273