“A little bit swanky for a Salvation Army lassie,” Lenora smiled. “You’ll have to let me out down the street so they won’t think the queen of England’s come to join the Army.”
“Got some belated presents for all of you,” Amos said. As he moved to the rear of the low-slung car and opened the trunk, he talked rapidly. “I had to get old 1921 out of the way and get the new year in. Stayed pretty busy—but better late than never.” He piled packages into Lenora’s lap, then loaded Will and Christie down with more. “Let’s get inside,” he said, “My hands are frozen solid. I wish they’d found a way to put a stove in this thing! Guess they will someday.”
When they stepped inside the house, Amos looked around, asking, “Where’s Agnes, Pa?”
“She’s over at Rogers. She wanted to see her folks this Christmas.”
Amos sat them down, and they all began opening the presents he had brought. He enjoyed the cries of joy from his sisters as they opened their gifts—mostly clothing that Rose had selected and wrapped. When his father opened a large box and stared at it, Amos said, “It’s a wireless set, Pa. They’re broadcasting ball games now. I think you’ll be able to hear the Cardinal games from St. Louis.”
Will ran his fingers over the smooth walnut sides of the case and said softly, “Son, I can’t think of anything I’d of wanted more.”
“Well, now you can catch up on some of this modern jazz the country’s going mad about.”
“Humph!” Will snorted. “I’d just as soon listen to a pack of wild monkeys as listen to that—that stuff!” He loved music, mountain music, but he hated the jazz movement fiercely. “But that would be something to hear a ball game.” He shook his head sadly, adding, “I give up on baseball after the White Sox sold out the Series in 1919—but I guess a few bad apples didn’t spoil the whole barrel.” He stroked the sides of the radio, adding, “Gets a little lonesome out in these hills, Son. Guess you know that. This here wireless will sort of bring the world in, won’t it, Christie?”
“Sure will, Pa.” Christie had opened another large heavy box and cried out when she saw the contents, “Oh, Amos, it’s a phonograph player!” She looked up at Amos with a brilliant smile. “How did you know I wanted this?”
“Just a wild guess.” Amos gave Lenora a sly wink, for she had written him suggestions of what to get the family for presents. “And this is for you, Lenora—” He bent over and opened a large box, then lifted out a typewriter. “Guess this might help you do some of your correspondence when you get to Chicago.”
“Why, Amos, how nice!”
“And that’s not all.” He picked up a smaller package, and when she opened it she stared at him in bewilderment. He smiled. “I notice Salvation Army bands playing on the street. Got this little gem for you so you could join the band.”
Lenora took the shining brass trumpet out of the case and held it reverently. She was very musical, as were all the Stuarts, and had learned to play a little on a trumpet that a neighboring youth used in the high school band. Her eyes sparkled as she lifted the trumpet to her lips, then made the room fairly quake with a tremendous blast.
“Holy smoke!” Amos cried, putting his hands over his ears. “I hope you don’t toot that thing all the way back to Chicago!” He looked around at the small mountain of gifts and said suddenly, “Wish all the family were here, Pa.”
“Don’t guess the room would hold ’em all now, Amos.” He looked sad for a moment, then managed a smile. “I’m about to run out of young’uns—and now you go taking another one off the farm.”
“You’ve still got me, Pa,” Christie said quickly. “And even after I’m married, I’ll just be over at Mountain View. I wish you’d come and live there with Mel and me.”
They all knew that their father would never leave the farm, and he said quietly, “No, guess I’ll stay here. I wouldn’t feel like myself anywhere except this place.”
Amos knew how his father felt and said only, “Well, we’ve got to get an early start in the morning, Lenora.”
“I’ll be ready by sunup!”
Later that night Amos had a chance to talk with his father. “How’s Christie doing, Pa? She still working in Mountain View?”
“Yup, she goes in three or four days a week.”
“She likes it, does she?”
“Can’t say, Amos.” Will ran his hand over his hair, a puzzled look in his eyes. “She don’t seem happy to me. Can’t say she’s not—but me and Lenora have been uneasy about her.”
“You don’t like Mel Tolliver, do you?”
“Nope.”
“What’s wrong with him, Pa?”
“Oh, he’s got his good points, Amos. Works hard, got ambition—maybe too much of it. Seems like all he thinks about is having the biggest store in the state. Everything comes second to that.”
“Not a very good prospect for Christie,” Amos frowned. He had learned from their letters that his father and Lenora were not satisfied with Christie’s engagement. “I wish she’d wait. I asked her to come and visit Rose and me in Chicago. She might find someone there.”
“She’s got her mind set, I reckon.”
The next morning at dawn, Amos lifted Lenora into the car, then stepped back as his father and Christie came to kiss her. “Be sure to write,” Christie begged, then she turned to hug Amos. “I wish you didn’t have to go,” she whispered.
Amos held her tightly as his father said his good-bye to Lenora and whispered, “Christie—don’t go too fast, will you?”
Christie blinked back the tears, knowing instantly what he meant. She knew that none of her family approved of her engagement, but she had made up her mind. “I’ll be fine, Amos,” she said brightly.
Amos wanted to say more, but he knew it was useless. He got into the car and sent it out of the yard with a muffled roar. “Why do we all have to be so blasted stubborn, Lenora?” he said. “All stubborn as mules!”
“You mean Christie?”
“Yes. She shouldn’t marry that fellow!”
The yellow Pierce-Arrow flew down the winding mountain road, a plume of white dust billowing up behind it. The cold wintry air leaked into the car, and the two inside wrapped in heavy robes to keep off the chill. As they sped along, Lenora said softly, “I’ve prayed for Christie, Amos—that God will keep her from making a ruin out of her life.”
Amos thought about that, then shook his head. “God gave us the power to choose, Lenora. He even lets us choose the wrong way—as I well know from hard experience.”
“Yes, he does. But I’m praying that God will do whatever he has to—even if it hurts Christie for a time.” She snuggled down into the heavy wool coat, adding, “I’d rather Christie were hurt for a little while than to be miserable for a lifetime.”
Fort Smith, Arkansas, was not overcrowded with private detectives. Lorene Stevenson knew practically everyone in town and finally failed to find even one of this species. She did, however, have an old acquaintance in Dallas, Nancy Henderson, who worked in a minor position in city government.
One afternoon Nancy opened a letter, noting that it was from Lorene. The two had kept in touch, seeing each other every two years when the Stevensons came to Dallas to visit Lorene’s family. Prepared to read the usual boring sort of letter that Lorene wrote, Nancy read carelessly at first—then her eyes narrowed. Carefully she read the letter, then smiled bitterly. “So Lorene is ready to dump her hubby,” she murmured. “I always knew it would come to that.”
She thought about the letter from time to time as she worked, and by the time she left the office she knew what to do. She got into her Ford and went to a seedy section of town. Parking the car, she entered a shabby two-story office building and climbed to the second floor. The corridor was dimly lighted, so she had to peer at the names until she found the one she sought: Ralph Vallentine. Opening the door she found herself in a tiny outer office with a small desk and several chairs. The door to another office stood open, and a heavy-set man with a crop of thick bl
ack hair turned from the window.
“Why, Nancy,” he said, a smile creasing his rather thick lips. He came to her at once and squeezed her upper arms with his massive hands. “Been thinking about you,” he said.
“I’ll bet,” Nancy said cynically. “My phone’s been ringing off the hook.” She drew away from his grip, saying coldly, “This is business, Ralph—get that straight.”
Vallentine was an olive-skinned man with dark moody eyes and heavy jowls. He had been trim and handsome when the two of them had been lovers, but now he had gone to seed. “Business?” he asked. “I could use some. Sit down, Nancy.” He waited until she sat down in one of the two chairs in front of his desk, then sat down on the edge of the desk looking down at her. She still looks good, he thought.
Nancy knew Vallentine well enough to read his thoughts, and she shook her head with distaste, “Business, Ralph—and that’s all.”
“Sure, sure,” Vallentine nodded. “If you want to change the rules, let me know. We had some good times together, didn’t we, Sweetheart?”
“Peachy. Now here’s the job. I have an old friend who lives in the sticks of Arkansas. Her name is Lorene Stevenson. She’s married to a wealthy man named Clyde Stevenson.”
“Where’d he get his money?”
“Timber at first, and he owns several stores. He’s got the money all right.”
“And what’s the play, Nancy?”
A rather cruel smile twisted Nancy’s lips. “She always put me down because she married a rich man—and I didn’t. Oh, not really mean, Ralph, but she never let me forget that she was in the money and I wasn’t.” Nancy pulled a cigarette case from her purse, extracted one, and leaned forward as Vallentine pulled out a lighter and held it. Blowing a plume of smoke into the air, she leaned back and studied the big man. “She wants out, Ralph.”
“Dump the husband?”
“That’s it.”
Vallentine rose and went to sit in his chair. He’d been on the police force in Detroit until he was fired for taking kickbacks. Now he made ends meet by doing a little private investigating and doing whatever the big oilmen needed done. Some of it was illegal, and he was interested in any scheme that involved money.
“What’s her problem?” he asked softly.
“The guy’s a real straight arrow, Ralph. Goes to church, doesn’t drink—and won’t even look at another woman.”
“She better hang on to him.”
“That’s what I thought—but she’s going crazy in that hick town, and he won’t move to the big city.”
Vallentine leaned back, hunching his big shoulders together. “What’s the law on divorce in Arkansas?”
Nancy blew a puff of smoke toward the ceiling. “You have to prove adultery,” she said evenly.
“And the husband ain’t going to give her that kind of grounds?”
“No, he’s not. He’s kind of a nice guy—but he’s always been dull. Lorene says she’s got to get out of the backwoods or she’ll go crazy. But he won’t give her money, and he’s too clean for her to get a divorce.”
Silence fell over the room. Vallentine looked over Nancy’s head at a picture on the wall. It was an English hunting scene filled with dogs and horses crazy to jump over fences. He hated the picture and resolved for the hundredth time to throw it into the trash can. But his mind was working with the information Nancy had given him. He had no illusions about what the job would be, and he made up his mind at once.
“I got nothing big going here. How much will she pay?”
“She’s got a thousand squirreled away—but she could pay big if she gets the kind of settlement she wants—maybe two, three thousand more.”
Vallentine grinned. “Maybe if I could squeeze her after she gets the dough, me and you could take a trip to the coast, Nancy. Remember those warm nights down there?”
Nancy smiled suddenly. “You get the money and we’ll talk about it, Ralph. But be careful. Those hicks sometimes can be pretty tough if they catch a city man fooling with them.” She puffed on the cigarette, leaned back, and murmured, “Those were pretty good times, Ralph. I think about that white sand and blue water sometimes.”
Vallentine came and put his heavy hand on her shoulder, caressing it. “We’ll be there before you know it, Sweetheart!”
Christie had never liked the idea of going to the Stevenson home to work on the books, but Clyde had several ventures and had made himself an office in a small room off the back of the house. As they approached the house, she listened as her employer explained how the new bookkeeping system would work.
“The old system was all right when I had just two or three operations,” Stevenson shrugged as he drove down the road that went by his house, “but I’ve got so many things going now, Christie, that we’ve got to step things up.”
“I’m not sure I can do it, Mr. Stevenson,” Christie said nervously. “Don’t you think you ought to get a regular bookkeeper to do the changeover?”
“No, you and I can handle it.”
Stevenson was a good businessman and a good husband—but his wife was difficult. The one time Stevenson had brought Christie to his home—just to get some papers—Lorene Stevenson had been insolent to her. And now as they pulled into the driveway to the big house that lay far back off the main road, Christie dreaded the visit. She had tried to get out of it, but Stevenson had insisted.
He stopped the car, got out, and came to open the door for her. “We’ll work for awhile, and then Lorene will fix us something to eat.”
The two went inside, and Lorene came to meet them. She was wearing a pink organdy dress trimmed in matching velvet ribbons on the skirt and poufed sleeves. To Christie’s surprise, Lorene greeted her rather warmly. “Good to see you again, Miss Stuart.” She turned to her husband, saying, “I let the servants go for the day, Clyde. But I’ll have a good meal when you two are ready.”
“Why, that’s wonderful, Lorene!” Stevenson went to his wife and kissed her, then said, “We’ll be in the office. Call us when dinner’s ready.”
“I will. You two work up an appetite.”
Christie followed Stevenson to the office, and the two of them went to work at once. The room grew cold, and he made a fire in the wood-burning stove. Christie felt the pressure of learning the new method, but Stevenson went over it slowly and methodically.
Finally they looked up to see Lorene put her head in. “Dinner’s ready,” she said. As the two rose and followed her, she seemed nervous, Christie thought. She talked rapidly in an artificial voice, and her hands fluttered as she sat them down.
“Looks good,” Stevenson nodded. “You cook all this yourself?”
“Not the roast. Millie did that—but I did the rest of it. And I got a bottle of that wine you like so much, Clyde.”
“Fine!”
The meal went well enough, though Christie felt ill at ease. She ate enough of the roast and vegetables to satisfy appearances and commented on how good it was to Mrs. Stevenson. She noted again how nervous her employer’s wife seemed to be and was puzzled. Why would she care what I think? She’s used to entertaining lots of people.
But Clyde did not appear to notice his wife’s nervousness. He ate a huge meal and drank liberally from the bottle of wine that sat beside him. “Better try some of this, Miss Stuart,” he urged.
“No, I’d rather not,” Christie said quickly.
“Oh, you must!” Mrs. Stevenson urged. “I can’t drink it myself, but you must try it.”
But all her urging was to no avail, and Christie saw that she was angry. “I just don’t drink—not ever, Mrs. Stevenson,” Christie finally explained. “You’ll just have to excuse me.”
The apology did not seem to soothe the woman, and after the meal, she said, “Well, you might as well finish the bottle, Clyde.”
But Stevenson shook his head. “I guess I’ve had enough,” he said, a queer look on his face. “Matter of fact—I think I’ve had too much. Didn’t ever get woozy with this stuff befor
e!”
“Do you feel bad, dear?” Lorene gave her husband a sudden look. “There’s some sort of flu going around. I hope you’re not getting that.”
“No, no! I’m just dizzy and a bit warm. Too much wine.”
“Go lie down while Miss Stuart and I do the dishes. You’ll feel better.”
“Guess maybe I better.”
As Stevenson, removing his shirt, moved slowly out of the dining room, Christie said, “Let me do the dishes, Mrs. Stevenson. I don’t mind.”
“Well, if you don’t mind. I have to go check on my greenhouse. The temperature’s dropping, and I wouldn’t want to lose any of my flowers.”
“Glad to have something to do,” Christie said reassuringly. “Just show me where the dishes go.”
For the next thirty minutes Christie cleaned the table and washed the dishes. She once thought she heard a voice calling, but when she listened carefully, she didn’t hear it again. She was just putting the glasses back on the shelf when she heard a car start, then leave the driveway. Who could that be? she wondered. She ran from the kitchen to look out of the front window. But darkness had fallen, and she saw only the twin red taillights disappearing into the night.
The front door opened and she turned, expecting to see Mrs. Stevenson, but she found herself looking at a burly man wearing a dark suit and a fedora. Christie had never seen him before and asked, “Do you want to see Mr. Stevenson?”
“I guess so, girlie.”
Something about the big man was threatening, and Christie said hastily, “He’s lying down—but Mrs. Stevenson is in the greenhouse—”
She broke off, for the big man came toward her, moving deliberately. “What do you want?” she demanded, fear now threading her voice.
“I got a job to do, girlie,” he said. “It’s not a nice job, but you can make it easy—or hard.”
“What . . . what do you want?” Christie asked again. She tried to turn and run, but he moved swiftly, capturing her arm with a terrible strength. “Let me go!” she cried. “I’ll scream!”
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