by Peggy Gaddis
“You aren’t, I’ll grant you that!” Lynn answered. “But all this palsy-walsy business between you and the McCullers is a bit hard to take.”
“I can’t see why,” Ruth said, as she scooped generous spoonfuls of peach ice cream into a capacious glass bowl. “I like the boy. And he needs friends badly. Tomorrow I’m going up to see Mamie Spencer and give her a piece of my mind about the way she’s been treating him in his own home.”
“Well, since he’ll be leaving in another six weeks, why spoil your friendship with Mrs. Spencer?” Lynn wanted to know, placing cake dishes and ice cream bowls on a big tray.
“Oh,” said Ruth innocently, “didn’t you know? He’s going to stay all summer.”
Lynn gasped, and her eyes flew wide.
“He’s what?” she gasped.
“Didn’t you hear me, dear? He’s going to stay all summer, so Mamie Spencer’s going to get a flea in her ear. It won’t be the first time I’ve read the law to Mamie Spencer, and I don’t suppose it will be the last.”
She smiled at Lynn and said briskly, “Bring the tray along, dear — home-made ice cream melts so fast. And it’s your father’s favorite. We don’t want it to be soup by the time he gets it.”
And with her head high, a smile that was very like Lynn’s dancing at the corners of her mouth, Ruth led the way into the dining room.
Eleven
In mid-afternoon when Stella rose to leave, Wayde suggested lightly, “Why don’t you let me drive you home, Miss Mabry? I know Steve would be delighted to, but since I must leave, why don’t we go together?”
Stella’s eyes widened and she glanced at Steve and then at Wayde.
“Why, that would be very kind of you, Mr. McCullers,” she replied, “if you’re sure it’s not a bother.”
“I’m quite sure it will be a pleasure, Miss Mabry,” Wayde assured her, smiling warmly.
Lynn watched the two of them leave. And when the convertible had slid down the drive, Ruth, the Judge, Steve and Lynn stood on the verandah for a moment before they turned to go back into the house.
“You run along for your nap, Pops,” Lynn ordered firmly. “And, Mom, you have earned one, too. I’ll do the dishes.”
“Nonsense, dear. I won’t let you. There are too many of them.”
“Nonsense, Mom, you can’t stop me,” Lynn said firmly. “You trot right along and tuck Pops into bed!”
“I know you’re tired, Miss Ruth,” Steve offered. “It was a marvelous dinner and you’ve earned a rest. I’ll help Lynn with the dishes.”
Lynn eyed him warily and then looked at her mother.
“They’re your wedding-present dishes, darling,” she warned. “Can we trust him not to break them?”
Steve made an effort to match their frivolous mood.
“I resent that!” he protested. “I haven’t broken a dish in ages, have I, Miss Ruth?”
“Well, not recently,” Ruth conceded, her eyes merry. “But this would be a bad time to start. These are cherished heirloom dishes which I intend to save for Lynn when she marries.”
“Then feel free to break as many as you like, Steve, old pal,” Lynn said firmly, “because I have no intention of marrying.”
“Pay her no mind, Steve. She has been talking like that for so long that I have a firm conviction she’s just about to announce her engagement. ‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much.’ ”
Despite their attempted lightness, the gaiety was heavy-handed, and when Lynn and Steve were in the kitchen, she looked up at him.
“Steve, what’s the matter with all of us today? We’re as stiff and awkward as though we’d all just met!”
Steve grinned wryly.
“Could be the effect of the McCullers having dinner with us,” he admitted. “Us not being accustomed to such distinguished guests.”
“Could be,” Lynn agreed, and sprinkled soap flakes into the hot water in the dishpan. “What do you really think of him, Steve?”
“I don’t know him well enough to think much about him, Lynn,” Steve answered thoughtfully. “He seems to have got off on the wrong foot with you, but he’s certainly making time with Miss Ruth.”
“He is, isn’t he?” Lynn spoke between her teeth.
“Well, Miss Ruth is such a kind-hearted, wonderful person, she’d shake hands with the Devil himself and give him the benefit of the doubt,” Steve answered. “And, of course, McCullers isn’t the Devil himself.”
“No, he hasn’t that much energy,” Lynn all but snapped. She was instantly ashamed of herself and rushed on before Steve could comment, “I like Stella.”
“I’m glad. She’s a fine person,” said Steve. “I don’t know what the Judge and I would do without her.”
Lynn looked up at him swiftly.
“Don’t let her slip away from you, Steve,” she said, and could have kicked herself for the impulsive words.
“Oh, Stella’s the loyal kind,” Steve laughed, obviously misunderstanding her meaning. “I don’t think anybody could hire her away from us. From the Judge, anyway. She just about worships him.”
“And she’s very fond of you, Steve.”
“I hope so, because I’m very fond of her,” Steve said quietly.
“I’m glad,” Lynn told him, and her smile was warm. “You’ll make a wonderful team.”
“That’s what we’re both counting on,” Steve said eagerly. “As soon as she passes her bar examinations, the Judge is going to take her into the firm; and when he retires, she and I will manage the firm together.”
Lynn studied him for a moment and then said dryly, “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for you and Stella.”
Steve very carefully repolished the plate he had been polishing for the last two minutes, and then he said quietly, “I know it wasn’t, Lynn. But it’s the best we can hope for, for a while. It takes time to get established as a lawyer in Oakville, even with the Judge’s support. It may be years before Stella and I can think of anything except being law partners.”
“But surely, Steve …” Lynn began impulsively, bit her tongue and started over, “Sorry. I’m sticking my nose in where I have no business. Who am I to be trying to shove other people into marriage when it’s something I have no intention of entering myself?”
Steve grinned at her and very carefully put down the polished plate in its proper place.
“I wouldn’t worry about that, Lynn,” he said, and there was a faintly mocking note in his voice. “One of these days, while you’re scurrying about being the perfect secretary to some lucky executive, some man will reach out and lasso you and before you know it you’ll be Mrs. and loving it! You’re just the type, Lynn, to be caught off base like that, when you least expect it.”
“You make it sound very frightening,” Lynn answered his mockery with more of the same. “I’ll be on my guard, I promise you!”
“Won’t do you a bit of good,” Steve assured her firmly. “When the right time comes, the right man is there, and that’s it. You’ve had it! If you’re lucky and somebody else hasn’t copped him first.”
“Now I am frightened,” Lynn managed a laugh and switched the subject, trying to escape their heavy-handed attempts at gaiety, “Did you know Wayde McCullers had decided to spend all summer here?”
“No!” Steve was as surprised at the news as she had been. “When did he tell you?”
“He didn’t. Mother did.”
“Well, now, I wonder what made him decide to do that!”
“I wonder, too. And I’ll believe it when I see it! I still believe that when the clock strikes midnight on his ‘sentence’ here, he’ll be off like a scalded cat!” Lynn hadn’t meant to sound vicious, but there was a bite in her tone.
“Well, I imagine we’d do the same in his place,” Steve suggested comfortably. “After all, Oakville can’t be very exciting to a man brought up the way he was.”
“I’m sick to death of people making excuses for him,” Lynn heard herself saying, and was appalled.
Steve studied her for a long moment and then he said quietly, “It couldn’t be, could it, that you like him more than you’re willing to admit?”
“Like him?” Lynn flung furiously at him. “I detest him!”
Steve nodded sagely.
“That’s what I meant. Because of course the two strongest emotions are love and hate. And sometimes there’s only a hair’s breath between them and it’s hard to tell one from the other,” he pointed out.
Lynn stared at him, wide-eyed.
“Oh, you can’t possibly believe that!” she gasped.
“Why not?” Steve argued, and smiled at her.
“That you could loathe somebody …”
“Oh, I’m not saying you are in love with McCullers.”
“Well, I should hope not!”
“But it’s a well-known fact that sometimes one may mistake one emotion for the other,” Steve pointed out.
“That’s utter nonsense,” Lynn protested, and did not realize that there was too much heat in her protest. “Why — why — it’s ridiculous!”
“Maybe,” said Steve, grinning at her angry amazement “And on the other hand, maybe not.”
Lynn turned back to scrubbing out the sink and to rinsing the dish towels, her head bent in the hope he would not see her flushed face.
Steve watched her for a moment, and then he said quietly, “Lynn, don’t be afraid.”
She whirled on him furiously.
“Afraid of what, for goodness sake?” she demanded sharply.
“Of being a woman, Lynn,” Steve said slowly. “It’s all very fine to be a smart, sophisticated ‘executive’s executive,’ but it’s much more important to be a woman.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
Steve grinned at her and shook his head.
“Sorry, I’m out of line again,” he offered tacit apology. “Some day I may learn to keep my big mouth shut. But I’m afraid it won’t be any time soon. Now will you excuse me?”
He indicated the kitchen, in perfect order, and Lynn nodded.
“I’ll excuse you.”
Steve laughed and went out of the kitchen.
Twelve
Wayde was at dinner that evening when Fitch came in to say, “There’s someone to see you, sir. Sheriff Tait and a young person. I told the sheriff you were at dinner, but he said it was important. I put them in the gun room. Will you see them?”
Wayde looked up, his expression dry.
“No hint of a tar-and-feathers party, Fitch?” he drawled.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” Fitch looked justifiably startled.
“Skip it, Fitch,” Wayde smiled as he stood up. “Somehow I get the impression we’re not so very popular in these parts, but I hadn’t anticipated a visit from the sheriff.”
He crossed the hall to the small gun room, whose walls were lined with old Mr. McCullers’ famous collection of trophies, and Sheriff Tait stood up to greet him. Behind the sheriff, a sullen, frightened boy of fourteen or fifteen stood eyeing the guns.
“Sorry to bother you, Mr. McCullers,” said Sheriff Tait, and accepted the hand Wayde extended and gave it a firm shake. “Ever seen this boy before?”
Wayde glanced curiously at the boy, who turned and faced him, sullen, wary as a captured animal, his eyes dark with an animal’s hatred for all humankind.
“Am I supposed to have seen him? He’s very much like a lot of youngsters I’ve seen around, but I don’t think I recall his name,” Wayde answered.
“You didn’t give him permission to drive your convertible?” asked the sheriff.
“What?” Wayde was shocked and angry. “I most certainly did not!”
“We picked him up out on the river road with a bunch of his pals, driving your car and having a high old time,” Sheriff Tait said dryly. “He was fool enough to tell us you’d loaned him the car.”
“Why, you young hoodlum!” Wayde said savagely, and took a step toward the boy, who retreated and put up a defensive hand.
“You got no business leaving the car in the drive with the key in the switch if you don’t want folks to drive it,” the boy snarled. “I didn’t hurt it none. I drive good.”
Sheriff Tait said quietly, “The car wasn’t damaged, I’m glad to say. No telling what might have happened, though, if somebody hadn’t recognized the car and reported to us. Of course, Larry Holland’s own car is a beat-up jalopy. I suppose finding your convertible with the keys in the switch was more temptation than he could resist.”
“But the car was here in my drive,” Wayde protested hotly. He turned to the boy. “How did you get it?”
Larry’s sullen young mouth twisted in a faint grin.
“Just took the brakes off and let it roll down the drive’s all,” he answered sulkily. “It was your own fault.”
“Shut up, Larry, or I’ll belt you one.” The sheriff tossed the threat over his shoulder, then addressed himself to Wayde. “Kid’s been in trouble before, Mr. McCullers. He’s on probation. Judge Carter takes an interest in the kids and tries to give ‘em a break. Larry’d be in reform school now if it hadn’t been for the Judge; and if you want to prefer charges against him for taking your car, that’s where he’ll go. And maybe be a good thing, too.”
Wayde studied the sullen face, the murky, hate-filled eyes; and somehow it seemed to him that far back in those eyes there was a plea the boy’s angry pride would not let him articulate.
“Who is he?” Wayde asked the sheriff.
“Larry Holland,” Sheriff Tait answered. “His father runs a tavern just outside the limits of Rivertown. The kid’s mother died when he was a little shaver; his father just about worships the kid and can’t be as tough on him as he should be. It was his father that managed to persuade Judge Carter to get the kid put on probation instead of sending him to reform school.”
Wayde studied the boy again, and after a moment he said, “Well, if Judge Carter feels there’s a chance for the boy, I won’t prefer charges. Not this time, anyway. But you watch your step after this, boy. If ever you lay a finger on anything that belongs to me again, you’ll find yourself in a reformatory so fast it won’t even be funny. Is that clear?”
Larry’s face was pale with fury beneath its dark sun-tan and his eyes were bitter. But he mumbled a word that could have been mistaken for thanks as he turned and lounged toward the door.
Sheriff Tait watched him as he walked through the door, and then he turned back to Wayde.
“Tell you the truth, Mr. McCullers,” he admitted slowly. “I don’t know whether we’re doing the right thing or not, letting the kid go. Maybe a stretch in reform school might straighten him out; on the other hand, it could turn him into a hardened criminal. But it was your car, so if you want to let him go, there’s nothing I can do about it.”
Wayde nodded thoughtfully.
“You said there was no damage to the car, and after all, a kid like that could easily be tempted by a fine car, if he’s accustomed to driving a beat-up jalopy, as you described it,” he said. “I suppose he felt pretty important, loading the car up with his friends.”
Sheriff Tait grinned in relief.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t understand that, Mr. McCullers,” he admitted. “You see, Larry’s on probation; he has to be home and off the streets by eleven, and some of the others razz him about that. So driving a fine car and telling the other kids that you’d loaned it to him set him up in their eyes. And to a kid like Larry, that’s very important.”
“I can see that,” Wayde admitted, smiling at the picture. “And when you stopped him and arrested him, I suppose that deflated him again.”
“Oh, no, he kept insisting you’d loaned him the car, and I suppose the others thought so, too. Or at least they’d pretend they did,” Sheriff Tait grinned. “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time, Mr. McCullers. Thanks for seeing us. I hope your dinner isn’t spoiled.”
“Thank you for looking after my property, sheriff,” Wayde told him. “I suppos
e I couldn’t offer you a drink?”
“Well, no, not with Larry in my custody!” Sheriff Tait grinned.
“Some other time, then.” Wayde shook hands with him and said good night.
A moment later, Sheriff Tait was marshaling Larry into his car, and they were driving off.
“You owe Mr. McCullers a heap of thanks, Larry,” Sheriff Tait began sternly.
“Him?” Larry jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the house they were leaving. “I don’t owe him anything.”
“You owe him the fact that you’re not on the way to reform school right this minute,” snapped the sheriff, “where you’d have been a long time ago if it hadn’t been for Judge Carter.”
“It sure burns you up that you can’t clap me into a chain gang and turn the guards loose on me with a leather strap, don’t it?” sneered Larry.
Sheriff Tait turned on him fiercely. His hands gripped the steering wheel and his foot trod hard on the accelerator, lest he forget himself and give this smart-aleck kid the trouncing he was obviously spoiling for.
“You keep on the way you’re going, you little punk, and the chain gang will get you soon as you’re old enough,” he ground out through his clenched teeth.
The car whipped through Rivertown, and as they approached the limits, where the county line marked the boundary, Larry leaned forward swiftly and touched the button that released the car’s siren. It screamed furiously through the night, and Sheriff Tait swore under his breath as he stopped it.
“Giving your old man a warning so hell be sure to be obeying the law by the time we get to the tavern?” he barked.
“Why not?” sneered Larry. “You got nothing on him.”
“If I catch him breaking the Sunday laws about the sale of alcoholic beverages …”
“You won’t! My old man’s one smart cookie,” Larry drawled infuriatingly.
The tavern was set back from the road, with ample parking space in front, and a neon sign above it glared in reds and blues and greens: “Home of Good Eats. Beer. Cabins.”
Sheriff Tait drove in to the parking space, got out and barked, “Well, come on, you little punk.”