by Peggy Gaddis
“Then we’ll have to hide Starlight!” Judy said hotly. “I will not let Marise ride her.”
Sam looked down at her, his expression touched with a tenderness she was too upset to realize or to understand. Her thoughts were chaotic and her spirits were very low, he knew.
“Sam,” she said unexpectedly, “what are you going to do when the Old Gentleman is gone and Bix sells Oakhill?”
Sam’s brows drew together in a slight frown, and he was very thoughtful for a long moment.
“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it, shall we?” he answered at last. And there was a faint wariness in his voice, of which, like the tenderness that had been in his eyes, she was not quite aware.
Judy nodded soberly. “It seems so awful to be sitting here planning what we will do after the Old Gentleman is gone,” she said huskily. “Dr. Dellinger says he could live for years as he is—but, oh, Sam, I don’t want him to! He’d not want just to be a sort of vegetable! He’s always been so strong and energetic and so in love with life and living. The nurse says he is not conscious. I hope he isn’t, because if he is, how he must hate being like this. It would humiliate him unbearably to be so helpless.”
“I know, Young ’Un, I know,” said Sam, and dropped his arm about her shoulder as though she had been a small, grieving child. “Tell you what. I have to go in town on a couple of errands. How’d you like to go with me? We could have a bang-up lunch, and you could window-shop, and I’d bring you back in time for dinner. How about it?”
“Oh, Sam, I’d love it!” She sprang to her feet, scrubbed the backs of her hands against her tear-stained cheeks and managed a small, shaky laugh. “But give me time to clean myself up a bit. I must look a mess.”
“Shouldn’t take you more than an hour.” Sam grinned at her. “I’ll pick you up on the drive.”
Impulsively she flung her arms about him and kissed his cheek and said, “Oh, Sam, you’re a sweetie-pie, and I love you to pieces.”
He stood quite still when she danced off toward the house, and then he touched the cheek she had kissed as though he hoped to find there some tangible evidence of the kiss. And then he swore softly under his breath.
“Don’t be a fool,” he told himself savagely. “That was exactly what she would have said to an older brother. It didn’t mean a thing. She’s all for Bix, even though at the moment she thinks she hates him! She’s as much in love with him as ever, and don’t build up any false hopes!”
But the memory of that impulsive kiss went with him as he swung into the saddle and went trotting back to the cottage that was his home, to get himself ready for the trip to town.
Chapter Seven
Judy was on the wide verandah beside the drive, dressed and ready. Though town was only a few miles away, she went in so seldom that it was still an exciting treat for her. She could have gone every day if she had wanted to, of course, but she rarely saw any need for it. There was always so much to do at Oakhill that she was perfectly content. But today it was going to be good to get away for a while, and lunch in town with Sam was going to be nice.
She looked very pretty in a thin wool dress of pale pink, her slippers and bag white. Her thoughts were on the coming trip, and she turned, startled, as a voice spoke behind her, and faced Alison Parker, whose eyes widened as she smiled at her.
“My word, but you are pretty!” Alison said pleasantly. “You must be going somewhere. Lucky you!”
“I’m going in town to lunch with a friend,” Judy said curtly.
Alison smiled.
“Oh, is there a town? I wondered,” she answered lightly just as Sam drove up in his car.
Judy said unwillingly, “Would you like to come along?”
Startled, Alison glanced at Sam and then at Judy.
“Oh, but I’m sure you’d rather be alone,” she protested.
“Not at all,” Judy assured her coolly. “Sam and I are very old friends; we grew up together. I don’t believe you two have met.”
Alison’s eyes inspected Sam, who had gotten out of the car and was now standing on the lower step, looking at her admiringly and with warm friendliness. Judy made the introductions, and Sam said heartily, “Be happy to have you with us, Miss Parker. I have some errands to do, and Judy will be alone until lunch-time, and for a while afterwards.”
Alison said eagerly, “I’d love it, if you’re sure three isn’t a crowd.”
“Not a bit of it,” Sam assured her, and held the door of the car open for her as Judy slid into the front seat and made room for Alison beside her. “Delighted to have you, aren’t we, Judy?”
“But of course!” Judy responded, eyes straight ahead.
Alison laughed lightly.
“Which is a lie, of course. If you’ll stop here at the gate, I’ll take myself back to the house,” she told them.
Color flowed into Judy’s face, and she turned impulsively and laid her hand on Alison’s in apology.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be a witch,” she said quickly. “I just happen to be in a foul mood this morning and am taking it out on anybody who comes within reach of me. Sam and I will love having you. I’ll show you some of the sights while he’s busy with his errands. It’ll be fun.”
Alison closed her hand on the one that had touched hers, and her smile was warm and friendly, as was her voice when she answered.
“I’m almost afraid to ask what brought on the foul mood, but it seems to be contagious. Marise was in a towering rage when she came back from her ride, and Bix was glowering as if somebody had stolen his lollipop.” She looked down at Judy, and her eyes twinkled. “If it’s any comfort to you, anybody who can put Marise in a towering rage and not show signs of the battle must be very smart indeed. May I congratulate you?”
Judy was staring at her, and Sam had taken his eyes off the road ahead long enough to glance at Alison beneath brows drawn together in a surprised scowl.
“I know,” Alison answered their startled glances before they could put their thoughts into words. “I’m Marise’s cousin, and I live off her charity, and I should be ashamed to do anything but lie at her feet and beg her to walk on me. But now and then she goes a bit too far, and I can’t take any more. Today is one of those days.”
“Then I’m glad you’re coming in town to lunch with us,” Judy said firmly, “because it’s one of those days when I can’t take any more of her, either. Or, come to think of it, of Bix!”
Sam shot her a swift glance, but her eyes were on the road ahead and her chin was tilted at a defiant angle.
“Oh, Bix is a nice guy when she lets him be,” Alison retorted. “But she wants him tied to her apron strings. Which is a pretty silly, as well as an unkind thing to say about her, isn’t it? So let’s drop the subject, shall we? I’m sure you’ll both be glad to!”
She looked about her at the rolling countryside, took a deep breath to inhale the fragrance of new-turned earth and of some flower fragrance that crept across the freshly plowed fields and into the car.
“This is lovely country!” she said happily. “I can’t think why anyone lucky enough to live here would ever want to live anywhere else!”
Judy’s mouth thinned and she said curtly, “Neither can I.”
Alison dropped a glance at her set face and looked swiftly at Sam, who raised his eyebrows in a quizzical glance. Alison looked away, not quite sure what subject to bring up, since so far none she had offered had seemed to be well received.
Sam said, as the road unrolled before them and they came to a wide-barred gate set in a chain-link fence, “If you girls don’t mind, I’d like to stop here for a moment. Steve Jordan’s training one of the Graham entries for the Carolina Cup, and I want to see what prospects he has of winning.”
He got out, swung the gate open, drove the car through and closed the gate once more. As the car rolled along the wide, winding, unpaved but carefully raked dirt road, Alison looked about her at the rolling green fields, dotted here and there with grazing catt
le that did not even look up as the car drove by.
The stables were elaborate, yet functional. There were a dozen or more thoroughbreds looking over the low doors of their stalls, and half a dozen stable boys busily attending to them. As the car rolled to a halt, a tall, well-built man in his mid-thirties, wearing well-worn riding gear, came toward them.
“Hi, Sam. Hello, Judy!” the man greeted them. His admiring eyes clung to Alison as Judy presented them. “And Miss Parker. Nice to meet you. Care to have a look at the winner of the Carolina Cup?”
“Wait, up, Stevie me boy,” Sam said firmly. “You haven’t seen our entry. It’s several weeks until the running of the Cup, and a lot of things could happen by then.”
He was out of the car. He excused himself to Judy and Alison, and he and Steve Jordan walked down to the end of the row of stalls, where they stood for a moment chatting, looking over the low door at the horse inside. When they came back to the car, Sam was laughing, and Steve was looking very resentful.
“You just wait, boy!” snorted Steve. “We’ll show you the cleanest pair of heels you ever saw win a race!”
“I’ll look forward to that,” Sam mocked him. “Care to place a small bet on the race?”
“Certainly not!” Steve protested. “You know gambling is against the law!”
“Why, so it is! Guess we’ll have to wait for the Kentucky Derby to risk our bankrolls.” Sam agreed as he slid behind the wheel and lifted his hand in a goodbye salute.
“I don’t like to reveal my ignorance,” Alison said as they drove back to the highway. “The Kentucky Derby I know about. But the Carolina Cup? Fill me in, please!”
“Well, it’s one of the most exciting steeplechase races in the country,” Sam told her. “Only three miles, but a grueling course over brush and timber. Brings thousands of racing fans to the town every year. It’s been run since 1930, and the cup is a trophy that is rich in history and highly prized. In fact, it’s supposed to be the most valuable trophy in American racing.”
“The cup was made in Ireland in 1702,” Judy chimed in eagerly. “It’s made of Queen Anne silver. The way it got down here is interesting, I think. It’s a perpetual trophy, and each year’s winner gets a replica. But the original stays here. It came from an exhibition of silver and art objects at a famous London art dealer’s. It was seen and admired by a man who helped establish the Cup Race. He felt that the cost of the cup was too much, that $1,000 should be the cost of a trophy for the track here. Later on, the other partner who had helped to establish the track came across the cup in a chest of old silver at an art gallery in New York and, without knowing that his friend had seen and admired it, bought it expressly as the trophy of the race. It’s dedicated to Thomas Hitchcock, of Aiken, who was considered the dean of American steeplechase horse breeders.”
Sam looked down at her and laughed.
“How much does the Chamber of Commerce pay you for learning that spiel by heart and reciting it at the drop of an adverb?” he demanded.
Judy grinned, completely unabashed.
“Well, I did learn it by heart from one of the Chamber’s brochures,” she admitted. “And it saves a lot of time when you’re trying to explain the race to strangers from out of town.”
“And I should think it would fascinate them,” Alison observed. “It fascinates me, and I only hope Marise will be willing to stay on long enough for me to attend the race.”
Judy and Sam exchanged a swift glance, and it was Judy who put the question that was in both their minds.
“How long is she planning to stay?” Judy wanted to know. And so did Sam, although he had let her put the question.
Alison made a slight gesture. “Only Marise knows,” she said frankly. “She’s a creature of impulse. She may stay on for weeks, or she may be ready to leave tomorrow. There’s no way of knowing.”
Judy’s expressive face altered slightly, and before she could speak, Sam said quickly, “Well, let’s hope she’ll stay until after the race, since you want to see it. Why don’t you tell her?”
Alison’s laugh was tinged with bitterness.
“So she’ll pack and leave tomorrow?” she drawled. “She would, you know. She has to be the one to call the shots—anything else would be unthinkable! No, I’d better just be very quiet and hope that Bix won’t be leaving before the race. She’ll stay as long as he does, unless they have a knock-down-and-drag-out fight. Which, of course, could happen at any minute.”
She glanced at their faces, and her own colored. Then she straightened her shoulders, tilted her chin and said briskly, “And now let’s talk about something or somebody else. I get very witchy when I talk about Marise, and I shouldn’t, because I do have to depend on her for bread and butter and a bit of jam to go with it.”
She looked from one to the other and there was a faintly defensive tone in her voice as she went on, “I’m sorry. I know I’ve behaved abominably. I’m spoiling your fun. Forgive me and let me out here, and I’ll walk back to Oakhill, as penance.”
“Nonsense!” Sam protested. “Neither Judy nor I know Marise, and you do. We aren’t having our trip spoiled by hearing what I am sure are a few homely truths about the imperious Miss Parker—”
“Thanks,” said Alison briefly. “You’re a sweet, but I know what a no-good I am to take from her and then stick a knife in her back. What’s that ahead—that pretty church there?”
Sam explained the church, set in a neatly trimmed green lawn, shaded by ancient magnolias and backed by live-oaks just turning green. The patio, with its blossoming azaleas and the quaint little Mission style church, made a lovely picture in the brilliant spring sunlight.
“And it has a beautifully toned bell called Gabriel,” Judy announced happily, and smiled at Alison.
“Don’t forget to show her the grave of Agnes of Glasgow,” Sam reminded Judy as they drove into town.
Alison glanced at him, startled. “What a cheerful sound that has!”
“Oh, it’s on all the sight-seeing cruises,” Judy assured her lightly. “Nobody really knows much about it, but there is a legend that Agnes was a girl whose lover was with the British here during the Revolutionary War. She was brought up-river by an Indian in his canoe, and she died a little later of a fever. The stone says only, ‘Here lies the body of Agnes of Glasgow, who departed this life Feb. 12, 1780, of a fever, aged 20.’”
“There’s the legend, of course,” Sam told them as he negotiated the midtown traffic and drew in to the curb to let them out. “There are people who say that because the grave doesn’t point in the conventional direction, it really points to buried treasure.”
Alison stared at him, wide-eyed.
“And nobody has ever tried to find out if there is buried treasure?” she asked.
Sam shook his head. “Nobody has dared; or at least if they have, it’s been kept very, very quiet!”
“Sounds a little like Evangeline of the Acadians,” Alison said softly, “except that Evangeline found her love after twenty years and learned he was a husband and father of several children. But nobody has ever hinted that Evangeline’s grave points to buried treasure.”
They were on the sidewalk now, and Sam said cheerfully, “You girls have a nice time and meet me at the hotel for lunch at one o’clock! Right?”
“Right,” said Judy happily, and turned to Alison. “Let’s go shoplifting.”
Alison looked startled. “Shoplifting?”
Judy chuckled. “Oh, it’s just a crazy phrase some of the girls use when we really are just window-shopping or browsing through the stores. A friend of mine says she goes into the stores to see what they have that she can do without and is always pleased that there is so much that comes under that heading! She has three small children, and by the time she gets them outfitted there’s not much of her husband’s salary left over for shopping.”
Alison smiled at the explanation, and they moved on down the street. Alison’s thoughts were busy, and as they reached the first shop
she turned quickly to Judy and said, “Sam’s nice, Judy, isn’t he?”
Puzzled at her vehemence, Judy said, “Well, of course! He’s a lamb and a sweetie-pie. I adore him.”
“Then don’t let Marise meet him! If you love him, go in and get him before she so much as sets eyes on him,” Alison urged her.
Judy stared at her, and suddenly she laughed.
“Alison, for Pete’s sake, I’m not in love with Sam! I just meant he’s like the big brother I never had and that every girl wishes she had!”
“Oh, said Alison and managed a smile. “Well, you could do a lot worse than fall in love with him, my girl. He’s quite a lad.”
“Of course he is and I don’t know what I’d do without him,” Judy answered frankly. “He’s always been the one I ran to when things got out of kilter, from the time he used to mend my broken dolls until now.”
Alison eyed her as they walked into the store.
“Until now?” she repeated curiously.
Judy made a slight gesture of dismissal.
“Oh, I still run to him when things aren’t the way I’d like them,” she drawled, unwilling to make any further confidences to a girl she knew so slightly.
“And he puts things right? My, my, aren’t you lucky to have somebody around like that?” Alison seemed to understand Judy’s unwillingness to make any further confessions, and from then until they met Sam at the hotel for lunch, theirs was the casual kind of girl talk two women exchange on a shopping tour.
Sam was waiting for them when they came into the lobby and grinned at the packages they carried.
“I can see that our merchants benefited by your visit,” he told them as he walked between them into the dining room. “I therefore forgive you for being late.”
“Oh, are we?” Alison smiled up at him. “I’m so sorry. I’m afraid it was my fault. I simply couldn’t make up my mind about a couple of things, and Judy wasn’t much help. She suggested I buy both. But then Judy doesn’t understand my financial situation! Just because I’m Marise’s cousin, people think I control her pursestrings! Which just isn’t so!”