GI Brides

by Grace Livingston Hill

  She went downstairs and began to get breakfast ready. Not that her unwelcome guests deserved it, but she would not let any failure on her part be the cause of unpleasantness. Soon they would be gone—that is, she hoped they would—and she did not want to spend her time afterward regretting any sharp words she might speak. After all, they were related to her, and her cousins’ father’s first wife had been her own mother’s beloved sister. She must not let the fact that Aunt Blanche was a second wife influence her. And she had a very pleasant memory of her uncle, their father, when she was a very little girl. Once he had brought her a peach, the very first peach she had ever had all her own. And once he had sent her a funny postcard. But that was so very long ago, and her thoughts faded into precious memories of her own father, whom she had dearly loved.

  Well, these people were all she had left, and not at all precious at present. But she would have one more try at doing her best to like them and make them like her.

  So she squeezed glasses of orange juice and prepared delicate slices of toast, piling it in front of the toaster so it would not dry up and still keep warm. She made the coffee with the greatest of care, put as many ice cubes in the glasses as they would hold, set the table with nicety. Laid out eggs for scrambling when the relatives should come, and then having drunk a glass of milk herself, she hurried upstairs to put herself in battle array for the day that was going to be so filled with perplexities.

  She had scarcely had time to change into a clean white morning dress and to smooth her hair when the telephone rang. With a troubled frown, she hurried to answer it. Would that be Hattie? Or Aunt Blanche?

  But it was neither. Instead, it was a man’s voice—young, friendly, courteous.

  “Good morning!” it said. “You are Miss Huntley, aren’t you? I thought I recognized your voice. This is David Kenyon. I wanted to thank you again for letting me in on that wonderful service yesterday and to ask if you are all right after the hard strain you must have had.” There was such genuine friendliness in the words that just hearing his voice comforted her. He was almost a stranger, of course, but somehow she felt a kinship with him. He seemed to have such an understanding of the things she had been brought up to believe.

  “Oh, David Kenyon! How kind of you to call,” she said in a truly welcoming voice. “This will make my day seem more friendly and pleasant. And I certainly think it was wonderful of you to go out of your way when you were on leave and come to a funeral of someone you did not know, when you might have been enjoying yourself somewhere.”

  “You forget,” said David Kenyon, “that you were very kind and friendly to me the last time I came to town, and I was an utter stranger to you. But now I sort of feel as if we are friends; that is, if you don’t mind.”

  “Mind!” said Dale happily. “Why, I’m delighted that you feel that way. And of course I’m glad to have you for a friend. Only I’m just sorry that I had to be so busy while you were here and we had no chance to talk. But then I felt you understood.”

  “Of course I understood. And I was glad that you took me right into your household that way and let me be a part of things as if I had known you always. I liked that part the best. You know, I haven’t anyone who really belongs to me on this earth anymore, that is, not around here anyway, and it was nice to get that home feeling. You see, I took a great liking to you that first night I met you, and I felt I’d like to know you better. You were somehow different from so many of the girls I met. And I’m partly calling up now to ask you whether—in case there is another opportunity for me to come up to your city—you would mind if I came again to see you. I’ll be going back overseas pretty soon, I suppose, and I’d like to have another pleasant memory to take along with me. Do you mind if I come?”

  “Mind?” said Dale again, almost breathlessly, her heart giving a little pleasant twirl and the color dancing up into her cheeks. “Why, I would just be delighted to see you. When can you come?”

  “I don’t know yet. It may not be possible at all, but if it is I’ll call up and find out if it is convenient for you.”

  “I’ll certainly make it convenient,” said Dale joyously. “It will be something nice to look forward to. I’ve got a hard few days ahead of me just now—relative-guests, business to talk over and settle, some unpleasantness to face perhaps—and this will be a pleasant something to think about and look forward to in the intervals, something to be glad about.”

  The voice at the other end of the wire was warm and glad. “That’s nice,” he said. “You’ve made me feel as if I would really be welcome. I shall look forward to it myself and only hope I may not be disappointed about being allowed to come. Now, I won’t take any more of your time. If you have guests you are busy, I know. I’ll hang up now, but I’ll be ringing you up pretty soon perhaps. Good-bye.”

  Dale turned away from the telephone with a smile on her lips and a sudden joy in her heart. She wondered why a little thing like that should make her so exceedingly glad.

  Then the doorbell pealed through the house, as if manipulated by a cross, impatient soul, and she hurried to the door. She hadn’t had time before to open it. This would be her guests, of course.

  She swung the door open and summoned the smile she had been readying herself all the morning to give.

  But there was no answering “Good morning.”

  “Doesn’t your royal princess of a maid ever sweep the front porch?” snapped Aunt Blanche. “Usually maids are very careful about front porches and sidewalks, and ours looks scandalous.”

  “Yes?” said Dale, trying to keep her cheerful manner. “It does need attention. But I just haven’t been able to get to it yet. I’m afraid I overslept.”

  “Well,” said the aunt hatefully, “I should think Hattie was the one to do it. You better send her out right away. It looks terrible here for the lawyers—and the purchaser—when they come.”

  “Sorry,” said Dale, summoning her strength, “I’ll do the best I can. But I’ve been concentrating on getting some breakfast ready for you before the lawyers arrive. I’ll get to the sidewalk as soon as you sit down. The breakfast is all ready but the eggs. Will you come right in?”

  “Why, of course! That’s what we came over for. I’m half starved. You must remember that we had no dinner to speak of last night. But why should you have to go out and sweep the porch? That doesn’t look at all good to the neighbors the day after a funeral. Send Hattie. Lazy thing! She ought to have done it without telling.”

  “Hattie is not here,” said Dale quietly.

  “Not back yet? Well, the idea! I should think she was taking advantage of you. You better let me get after her; I’ll soon whip her into shape. But meantime, you’ll certainly have to get someone else for the time being, and if she turns out to be better than Hattie, you better dismiss Hattie and keep the new one.”

  Dale took another deep breath and tried to steady her voice. “I’m sorry, Aunt Blanche. You just don’t understand. Hattie is like a part of our family. I couldn’t think of dismissing her. And of course I’ll do anything in her place that has to be done until she gets back. She is having trouble herself and has always stood by me when I was in trouble. She’ll be back as soon as she possibly can come. I’m sure of that.”

  “Yes? You’re very sure of yourself! But remember, you are young. You haven’t learned yet that servants are never dependable. They pretend to think a lot of you, but then when the stress comes, they take time off and go and visit with their friends. You take my advice and get somebody else.”

  Dale gave a half smile. “There wouldn’t be anybody else to get,” she said gently. “They’ve all gone into defense work. And anyway, your breakfast is getting cold. Won’t you all come right in and eat?”

  “Who said eat?” said Powelton noisily. “I’m starved, and that’s a fact! I hope you have beefsteak and hotcakes. I remember we used to have those when we came to see Grandma.”

  But Dale led the way quietly to the dining room and made no reply. She moti
oned to the table and went on toward the kitchen door.

  “Sit down, and I’ll bring the cereal and eggs,” she said sweetly and vanished into the kitchen.

  “I don’t want eggs!” complained Corliss, shouting after her. “I just hate eggs. I prefer bacon or creamed beef.”

  But Dale went on to get the cereal and paid no further attention. Let her mother deal with Corliss. She had enough to do to keep other things going.

  Presently she brought in the cereal and a large dish of golden scrambled eggs, piping hot and very tempting looking, and then she hurried out of the room and upstairs as Corliss continued to wail that she didn’t like eggs. What was she going to do if this kept on for many days? Just ignore it and provide what she could and let it go at that? Well, what else could she do? And she must not carry this matter as a burden during the day, either. She would just do the best she could and then take what came of blame or faultfinding. They didn’t need to stay if they didn’t like it. And she wouldn’t go and complain to her heavenly Father, either. After all, He had allowed these things to come into her life, and He must have some good reason for it.

  The doorbell interrupted her thoughts, and she glanced out the window. Could that be Mr. Granniss already? He was ahead of the time he had said he would come. Ten minutes. That wasn’t usual with him, for he was a busy man. He must have something to say to her before he was ready to read the will. She hurried downstairs, and there stood her lawyer-friend.

  Chapter 5

  Am I too early, Dale?” he said apologetically. “There are a few questions I want to ask you. Have you a copy of the last interview we had with your grandmother?”

  “Oh yes,” said Dale and, turning, swiftly closed the dining room door where the relatives were all agog listening for all they were worth. Dale led the lawyer into the living room and closed the door opening into the hall, which maneuver definitely quickened the tempo of the breakfast that was being eaten to the last crumb.

  Aunt Blanche wasn’t long in appearing, and when she found the door to the living room closed, she promptly turned the knob and came in, gazed at the strange man sitting by the table leafing over a pile of papers, and then said sharply, “Oh, excuse me! Have I interrupted a conference?”

  The lawyer looked up, and Dale rose and came forward. “It’s all right. Come right in. We were just about through. Aunt Blanche, this is Mr. Granniss, my former guardian and now my lawyer. This is my aunt, Mrs. Huntley, Mr. Granniss.”

  The lawyer rose and bowed courteously, glancing at the lady with a keen appraising look, which caused Mrs. Huntley to draw her shoulders up and stick her chin out assertively. She was not accustomed to having anyone look at her with question in their eyes, as if she might not really be all that she asserted herself to be. So in turn, Aunt Blanche put more haughtiness into her own glance, a look that almost dared the lawyer to differ from her.

  “Won’t you sit down, Mrs. Huntley?” he said courteously and brought forward a chair for her.

  The lady sat down as if she were doing him a favor and kept her belligerence in evidence. “Just how long have you been associated with my niece?” she asked arrogantly.

  The lawyer did not smile. He answered in clear, clipped tones. “Well, practically ever since she was born,” he said coolly. “Her father and I were close friends before he was married. Then after her mother died and her father found it necessary to go abroad on confidential business for the government, he asked me to take over for him.”

  “Really! I never heard that my brother-in-law was connected with government work. Are you quite sure of that?”

  Mr. Granniss looked at her with lifted eyebrows. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “It is a matter of record. If you want that verified, you might write to Washington. I’ll give you the address.” And he took out his fountain pen and wrote an address on a small pad he took from his pocket, and tearing off the page, he handed it to the lady. “Of course the matter was not generally known, as it was confidential business,” he added, “but I supposed his own family would be likely to know the fact. However, I suppose you may not have been interested in the matter at the time, and Mr. Huntley was not one who blazoned widely matters of business.”

  Aunt Blanche was a bit taken aback by the calmness of the lawyer’s statements. She had expected him to be awed by her cold manner. She was not by nature very well versed in matters of business and was not capable of doing much logical thinking for herself. But she had always depended upon this haughty manner and her sharp tongue to overawe people in any matter of business with which she had to deal. It had been her experience that if most men were treated in her peculiar style that they would give in on any point they considered “minor” rather than to continue to deal with her longer.

  But Mr. Granniss was not one of the superficial kind of businessmen, and he was not overawed by her.

  “And now, Mrs. Huntley,” went on the lawyer, “are we ready to read the will? Are your children here? Should we call them?” He looked toward Dale.

  “Yes, yes,” said Aunt Blanche, rising quickly, certain that Powelton would never answer a summons unless she pressured him. She cast a quick, triumphant look toward Dale as she went out. Perhaps, after all, this lawyer was going to have sense enough to realize that she knew what she was talking about. The will? Yes. She had been exceedingly anxious to hear that will read. She hadn’t been quite sure whether there really was a will, until now.

  She came back into the room with a firm hand on an arm of each of her offspring and ushered them to chairs near her own. “Now,” she said, “we’re ready. And kindly get at it as quickly as possible. I have callers coming, and my own lawyer will be here soon.”

  Mr. Granniss looked at her with surprise, but he did not hurry with the business. “I think there is one more to come, isn’t there, Dale? Hattie Brown? Isn’t that her name? Your grandmother’s old servant?”

  “Why, the idea! What on earth would a servant have to be here for?” snapped Aunt Blanche. “I insist that you don’t wait any longer. I have important business that cannot be delayed.”

  “I am sorry, Mrs. Huntley,” said the lawyer, “but I would prefer that the servant be called. Dale, will you call Hattie Brown?”

  Dale rose anxiously, about to explain that Hattie had been called away by her sister’s illness, but suddenly a shadow darkened the doorway.

  “I’s right here, Mr. Granniss,” said Hattie as she slung off her hat and sat down in the chair by the door.

  “But I don’t understand!” said Aunt Blanche indignantly. “Why should a mere servant be present?”

  But Mr. Granniss’s calm voice rose above the indignant scream of the aunt. He went right on with the business in hand, ignoring the visiting aunt with a dignity that made Dale admire him even more than she had learned to admire and trust him during the years. An instant more, and the solemn phrases of the law broke upon their unaccustomed ears, until everybody, even the aunt, hushed down.

  The reading of the will did not take long. The entire amount of the grandmother’s estate was only a few thousand. Of that she had left a thousand apiece to each of her three grandchildren—Corliss, Powelton, and Dale. At that the aunt looked sharply, suspiciously, at Dale, as if Dale had had something to do with this. As if she did not believe that was all Dale had received. As if she felt there was some crookedness about it somewhere and her children were being cheated out of their just rights. But she sat back with pursed lips and listened for the rest. But there wasn’t much else at all. Just a gift of five hundred dollars to the old servant Hattie and a few smaller bequests to the man who had worked in the garden and other people who had served her in various lesser capacities. Then the lawyer folded the paper and said quietly, “And that is all.” Aunt Blanche sat up with a snap. “Why! Why! I don’t understand. You haven’t mentioned the house.”

  “The house?” said the lawyer with raised eyebrows. “What house?”

  “Why, this house. Wasn’t that mentioned in the will?”r />
  “Oh no,” said the lawyer. “Why should it be? Mrs. Huntley never owned this house. She was only given a life residence in it, the privilege of living here all her life.”

  “But I’m sure you are mistaken!” snapped Aunt Blanche. “I am quite sure my late husband purchased this house, or at least helped largely to purchase it for his mother’s residence during her lifetime. I was given to understand that it would come to us as next in line. I am quite sure there must be papers somewhere to that effect. Unless—of—course—they have purposely been destroyed. But in that case, of course, there’ll be some way to prove that and to find out the criminal.”

  “I do not understand you, madam,” said Randall Granniss with that stern, authoritative manner that had won so many cases for him before famous judges. And before that look even Aunt Blanche stopped—astonished, startled—and her belligerence oozed out of her like gas out of a balloon.

  “Well, I wasn’t of course making my remarks personal. I am simply saying that if there has been any crooked work going on, of course you would be able to detect it and trace it to its source.”

  Mr. Granniss’s steely glance became no less severe, and his voice lost its soft geniality as he answered her. “My dear madam,” he said, “there has been no crooked work in connection with anything about this house. It was bought the year that Dale’s mother and father were married. The down payment was made by Dale’s father, Theodore Huntley, and I myself negotiated the sale for him. His endorsed check, endorsed also by the trust company that was in charge of the house for the estate of M. J. Eaton, the former owner, is now in the bank, in the safe-deposit box belonging to Dale Huntley and can be examined by you at any time that you would care to come down to the bank with me. Your husband’s name does not appear anywhere in connection with this sale, and there were no checks from anyone else but Theodore Huntley in payment for this property. I have some of the original papers here with me, and if you or your lawyer would care to look further into the matter, I can arrange for a meeting at the bank where you can see them. I have with me, however, the bill of sale and several other documents that ought to be sufficient proof to you of the truth of what I have said. Moreover, madam, as I understand it, your marriage did not take place until after Theodore Huntley had gone abroad, for I remember he was unable to attend the ceremony because his business was very insistent, and that was two years after this property was purchased. I have here on this paper the dates relative to the matter and shall be glad to have you examine them at your leisure. You will note that the clause concerning Dale’s ownership and her grandmother’s life-occupation of the house was not added until five years later, at the time of the death of Mr. Huntley’s wife, when he returned to this country to make arrangements to leave his young daughter with his mother. Those are the facts, madam, and I shall be glad to substantiate any of them that you do not understand. Also, if you wish to go to the city hall and look into the records of property owners, you will find that the house is now listed under the ownership of Miss Dale Huntley.”