by Peggy Gaddis
“Thank you.” Her tone was low, well-modulated, but held not the faintest trace of warmth. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m being met.”
“That’s too bad,” said the man, and his smile was a friendly flash of very white teeth against his sun-bronzed, handsome face. “For me, I mean. I’ve just been told the New York train that I’ve come to meet is an hour late, and I can’t think of a more pleasant way to spend that hour than by driving you anywhere you want to go. My name is Wayde McCullers, by the way.”
“Yes, I know,” said Lynn gently, her golden-brown eyes meeting his steadily, with just the hint of a twinkle in their depths. A vagrant dimple danced for an instant beside her mouth, though she was not smiling. “I’m Lynn Carter. You’re here a little early this year, aren’t you?”
Puzzled, Wayde’s brows were knitted in a frown as he studied her.
“We can’t have met,” he stated flatly, “because I couldn’t have forgotten.”
“Oh, I’m sure you could, Mr. McCullers,” she mocked. “We haven’t met formally, no. But I grew up in Oakville, and since you are our one local celebrity, naturally I know about you, even if you only honor us with your presence for three months out of every year, because of your grandfather’s will.”
The puzzled frown left Wayde’s brow, but he still studied her intently.
“You don’t look like Oakville,” he said so suddenly that she knew he hadn’t meant to say that at all.
“Oh, really?” Lynn’s tone was coolly mocking. “But how would you know, Mr. McCullers? You spend so little time in Oakville, and you always bring down a load of friends and have as little contact with the town as you possibly can.”
“I serve a three-months’ sentence here every year,” he pointed out grimly.
“Oh, but you hide yourself on Spook Hill.” She caught herself, and a trace of color touched her cheeks. “I’m sorry — I mean Inspiration Hill, of course.”
“Spook Hill!” Wayde repeated, and suddenly he grinned tautly. “Is that what you call the family manse? A gruesome spot, isn’t it? Spook Hill is a perfect name for it.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. McCullers.”
“Why should you be? It’s perfect!”
“You really hate the place, don’t you?”
“With all my heart!”
“Then why do you serve a sentence there?”
“You obviously know, as the whole town must, that there is a clause in my grandfather’s will that requires it.”
“Oh, yes, if you want to inherit the McCullers fortune, you have to stay those three months at Spook Hill,” said Lynn quietly. “But if you hate it so, surely you’d rather earn your living.” She broke off, and her color deepened. “I’m sorry. That was outrageous of me. Naturally, you wouldn’t want to give up a vast fortune, such as the McCullers estate comprises, just to go somewhere and work for a living.”
“I detect a by no means faint note of disapproval there,” Wayde told her. “I see no reason why I should allow the estate my forefathers have accumulated and handed on to me to be thrown away on a lot of organized charities and foundations. So I serve three months of every year at Spook Hill. And if you don’t think I thereby earn my living, you are very badly mistaken.”
Lynn studied him curiously for a moment as though he were some rather odd and not very pleasant species she had never encountered before. Before she could manage an answer, an ancient pick-up truck racketed up to the platform, and an elderly grizzled man in a suit of overalls somewhat the worse for wear, his battered hat on the back of his head, leaped out.
“Well, now, Miss Lynn, if you ain’t a sight for sore eyes,” he greeted her, and Lynn turned to him, forgetting Wayde McCullers in her delight at seeing an old friend.
“Stebby, I’m so glad to see you,” Lynn said eagerly. “I was afraid you wouldn’t get my message. I did so want just to walk in on Mother and Dad and surprise them!”
“Well, you’re sure gonna do that! They’ll just about have conniption fits, they’ll be that proud to see you.”
Stebbins caught her suitcase in one leathery, gnarled hand, her overnight case in the other and, without a glance at Wayde, strode across the platform and put them into the truck.
“Good-bye, Mr. McCullers,” Lynn said politely, without warmth.
“Oh, this isn’t good-bye,” Wayde protested. “I’ll see you again. Perhaps we could have dinner together soon. I’ll call you.”
Lynn’s eyes swept over him, and once more that tiny dimple danced for an instant at the corners of her unsmiling mouth.
“Yes, you do that, Mr. McCullers,” she mocked. “But I’ll be very busy. I’ve been away for a year, and it’s going to take me awhile to catch up on things.”
She walked away from him, Stebbins helped her proudly into the truck, and it racketed away.
Two
Stebbins placed her luggage on the edge of the wide verandah and chuckled as she waved him away. She waited until the truck had gone, and then she walked across the porch and opened the screen door.
From the dining room, she heard the tinkle of knives and forks, ice in tall glasses, the murmur of voices. Suddenly a tide of happiness swept over her and brought a mist of tears to her eyes, as she moved quietly forward to the dining room door.
She stood there for a moment studying them, the two people she loved best in all the world. Her father, white-haired, a little stooped since his last illness, much thinner than Lynn liked seeing him; her mother, a few faint streaks of gray in her dark brown hair and with a few extra pounds added since she had seen her a year ago.
A lump in her throat prevented her from making a sound. And then Judge Carter looked up and saw her there, and for a moment she had a tardy fear that the shock might not have been the best thing for him. His eyes widened, and his hands dropped to the edge of the table as his eyes clung to her.
She saw him put a fumbling hand up to his eyes, and she caught her breath on the lump in her throat, ran into the room and put her arms about him, holding him close, as her mother got to her feet, pale at the sight of her.
“Dad, Dad,” Lynn spoke tenderly to her father, “I didn’t mean to scare you! I just wanted to surprise you!”
“Lynn, darling,” he reached up and patted her, “who’s scared? I’m surprised right down to my socks — surprised and so happy I can’t see straight. What made you come home, honey?”
“I was homesick, what else?” Lynn hugged her mother, and for the first time became conscious of the man who had risen from the table and who stood watching her owlishly behind his thick-rimmed glasses. “Oh, hello,” said Lynn. “I don’t know who you are, but I’ve met you at my family’s table, so I’m sure you’re all right. I’m Lynn.”
The man laughed. “I’m Steve Blake, and I live here,” he told her firmly.
“Oh, now, do you?” Lynn answered jealously. “Nobody told me.”
“Steve’s reading law in my office, and when I retire, he’s going to take over my practice,” Judge Carter managed to get a few words in.
“Then I guess it’s all right for you to live here,” Lynn laughed.
“I’m glad you approve,” Steve answered, his eyes taking her in from head to foot and obviously finding the appraisal quite rewarding. “Of course I could move out, if you insist.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Lynn’s mother objected sternly. “Heavens, I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. Lynnie darling, you haven’t eaten, have you?”
“Of course not — when I knew I’d be home in time for supper,” Lynn answered gaily. “And you must have guessed I was coming. Chicken pot pie! My very favorite!”
“It’s Steve’s favorite, too,” said Ruth Carter happily as she hurried to lay a place at the table for Lynn.
Lynn studied Steve across the table and smiled.
“I’m sure we’re going to be friends,” she told him firmly. “Obviously we have tastes in common — at least so far as chicken pot pie is concerned.”
> Steve laughed. “Oh, I’m convinced that Miss Ruth could stew up a mess of old corncobs, flavor them with tomatoes and what-not and turn out a dish fit for a king.”
“Oh-ho! Flattery, Mr. Blake,” Lynn mocked.
“Truth, and the name is Steve,” he insisted.
When they were all settled again, Ruth studied Lynn anxiously.
“You look thin, Lynn,” she said quickly. “Have you been sick?”
“Oh, no!” Lynn laughed. “I’ve been on a diet.”
“A diet?” protested Ruth, scandalized.
“Oh, it’s part of my secretarial course,” Lynn answered. “Like how to enter a room, and how to leave it without turning my back on the boss, and flower arranging, and table setting, and how to say ‘no’ and make the client like it, and hair-dos and make-up and the like of that.”
They were staring at her, wide-eyed.
“Well, for heaven’s sake,” Ruth demanded, “what are they training you for — to be a secretary or to marry a millionaire?”
Lynn laughed. “Oh, I suppose they think one thing will lead to the other,” she answered airily.
Steve exchanged an amused glance with Judge Carter.
“Think we ought to ask her to give Stella a few lessons?” he suggested dryly.
Lynn looked across at him.
“Who’s Stella? Or should I know?” she asked.
“She’s our Girl Friday,” Steve grinned. “But I’m afraid about all her secretarial school taught her was shorthand, typing and a smattering of bookkeeping. She runs the office.”
“And us,” Judge Carter contributed meekly.
“I’m afraid she does, at that,” Steve admitted. “But she’s a darned efficient gal, you must admit, sir.”
“Oh, I do, I do,” Judge Carter agreed, and turned back to Lynn. “Stella’s family worked in the mills. Stella did, too, while she went to business college at night. She was determined, as she explained it, to make something of herself. She finished with the highest possible honors at the school, and since she is interested in studying law, she came into our office at a salary less than the mill office was offering her.”
“She sounds like quite a girl,” Lynn commented.
“She is, very. Ambitious and a work-horse of a woman. Never seems to have any interests of her own away from the office, and knows as much about our cases as we do ourselves,” Steve answered.
“More, sometimes,” Judge Carter admitted ruefully. “When the last petition came up, to have Bert Estes committed to the State Mental Hospital, Stella worked nights digging up proof that we couldn’t do it unless someone would prove that he was dangerous. And since poor Bert never raised a finger against any human being in his life, and spends his time wandering the woods and fields and making friends with the wild animals that he calls his ‘little folks,’ well, the petition was dismissed, as others have been before it.”
“I remember Bert,” said Lynn eagerly. “I must meet Stella; I think we could be friends.”
“I’m sure you could,” her father agreed. “I’m a little afraid of her myself, but she and Steve get along beautifully.”
“Afraid of her?” Lynn repeated, outraged. “You mean she bullies you? Now that I won’t allow.”
“She makes him take his pills, and she sees to it that he lies down for a little nap in his office after lunch, and she supervises his lunch to be sure there’s nothing on it that he isn’t supposed to have,” Steve put in quickly. “She just about worships him, and I suppose she fusses over him and that he finds hard to take.”
“Well, if that’s why you are afraid of her, I’m all the more certain she and I will be friends.” Lynn spoke above the sudden anxiety that twisted her heart for her father’s condition and changed the subject abruptly. “But I know somebody here I’m not going to be friends with. And that’s Wayde McCullers.”
They all looked at her in surprise.
“We met at the Junction,” Lynn answered lightly. “He was waiting for guests who were to arrive on the New York train, and it was an hour late, so he very graciously offered to drive me home.”
“But you didn’t let him?” asked Ruth swiftly.
“Of course not. I’d arranged for Stebby to meet me,” Lynn answered, and frowned slightly as she looked around the table. “Why are you looking at me that way? Shouldn’t I have let Wayde bring me home?”
“Oh, it’s silly, darling, only — well, he doesn’t have too good a reputation in town, and I’d rather you didn’t have anything to do with him,” Ruth confessed.
“She’s a big girl now, Ruthie — almost twenty, aren’t you, honey?” protested Judge Carter.
“Twenty? I am twenty-two, going on twenty-three!” Lynn laughed.
“Really? I must have forgotten,” Judge Carter smiled, abashed. “Then you’re quite old enough to make up your own mind about whom you wish to see or not see.”
Lynn nodded cheerfully. “Right! And Wayde McCullers is one I don’t wish to see,” she said, and turned to her mother curiously. “But what did you mean: he doesn’t have too good a reputation? You mean people dare to cast aspersions at our one and only millionaire?”
“Oh, well, it’s the company he keeps at Spook Hill, and the way they carry on. Of course he has nothing to do with any of the local people. But some of the goings-on up there are, according to Mrs. Spencer, pretty scandalous.”
“Of course,” Lynn reasoned thoughtfully, “it doesn’t take much to shock Mrs. Spencer, since she despises him for not being more like his grandfather, whom Mrs. S. just about worshipped.”
She made a little airy gesture, and dismissed Wayde.
When supper was over, and the Judge and Steve had gone into the living room with their pipes, Lynn helped her mother clear the table. In the kitchen, as they started washing the dishes, Lynn put the question that had been frightening her since she had first entered the house and seen her father’s pallor.
“What’s wrong with Dad, Mother?” she asked softly.
Ruth turned a too bright face to her, but her eyes would not quite meet Lynn’s probing gaze.
“Wrong with him? Why, nothing, dear,” she answered hurriedly.
Lynn put her hands on her mother’s shoulders and turned her sternly about so that the light fell full on her face.
“Don’t lie to me, Mother,” she ordered fiercely. “You never have, and this is no time to start. He looks wretched! What does Dr. Anderson say about him?”
“Only that he’s still not quite recovered from that virus pneumonia he had last winter, and that his heart has weakened a little and that he must be very careful,” Ruth began in a quietly controlled voice, which broke suddenly. “Oh, Lynnie, I’m so worried about him.”
Lynn’s arms closed tightly about her and held her for a long moment, and then she said quietly, “And you didn’t care enough about me even to let me know?”
Ruth lifted her face and looked deeply into Lynn’s brown-gold eyes.
“Dr. Anderson said that there was no urgency,” she managed softly. “We knew you were working very hard; we wanted you to finish your course; and there was nothing you could do. That’s when Steve took over. He couldn’t have been more helpful, more devoted, if he had been our own son.”
“And while a stranger was doing a son’s duty, your son was away at college studying to be a farmer; and your daughter was off in Atlanta going to a very fancy secretarial school so she could be a top-flight career girl!” Deep hurt and the bitterness were in Lynn’s voice now as well as in her eyes.
“Oh, now, honey, you mustn’t feel like that,” protested Ruth anxiously. “We realized you’d both come home in a flash if you knew about Dad, but we didn’t want you to. We wanted you to get your education and have your careers.”
“While a stranger came in here and looked after Dad and his business …”
“Honey, Steve isn’t a stranger! Why, we’ve known him for ages,” said Ruth. “Dad took an interest in him when he first decided to study law
. Dad helped him prepare for his entrance into law school. He had to take night courses, because he had to work in the mills daytimes to pay his way through law school. And when he had his diploma, Dad took him into the office.”
“So that when Dad was ready to retire, he’d have somebody to take over his practice, because Dad’s own son hated law and wanted to be a scientific farmer. And Dad’s daughter yearned for a career in the big city.”
Unexpectedly, her mother gave Lynn a hard shake, and there was anger in her dark eyes.
“Will you stop talking like an idiot?” she demanded sharply. “Why do you suppose on the day you were born your father took out a special life insurance policy that would pay your way through whatever training you wanted to take, when you were old enough? And why do you suppose, when Bud was born, your father planted ten acres of pine trees on some wasteland he had bought, so that Bud could go college? Just so that you could both stay home and nurse us in our old age? I’m ashamed of you, if that’s what you thought!”
So rarely had she heard that note of anger in her mother’s gentle voice, so seldom had she heard her mother’s sharp tongue directed at herself, that Lynn cringed a little and grinned ruefully.
“I give up!” She waved the dish-towel above her head in signal of surrender. “But I still think your own children have been …”
“Two children of whom your father and I are very proud,” Ruth retorted.
Three
When they went into the living room, Steve and the Judge broke off their discussion and stood up, smiling.
“I think I’ll go for a walk,” said Lynn lightly. “It’s such a lovely night — full moon and everything — I’d like to smell some fresh air after what I’m used to in Atlanta.”
“I’m not quite sure you should go alone,” Steve said hesitantly. “If you wouldn’t mind my walking with you.”
“Why, no,” Lynn answered, smiling at him. “I was hoping you’d suggest that.”
Steve looked inordinately pleased. A little later, they were walking along the street toward the downtown section; walking in silence, Lynn with her hands sunk deeply in the pockets of her light topcoat. Steve, smoking his pipe, watched her as they strolled.