Romance Classics

by Peggy Gaddis

  “Was it black? Like a stick?”

  “Oh, yes. That’s why I started to pick it up!”

  “Well, then it was probably a blacksnake, and they are perfectly harmless. He was probably more frightened than you were. He was taking a snooze in the sunlight, and you probably scared him into going back into hibernation!”

  Sam was being deliberately teasing, hoping to bring her out of the near-hysteria. And Alison, sensing his intention, drew a deep, hard breath and drew herself reluctantly from his arms, color rising in her tear-wet cheeks.

  “I suppose it was like that,” she agreed. “But if he was any more frightened than I was, I’m truly sorry for him.”

  Sam laughed comfortingly.

  “Well, now, ma’am, that’s right kind of you,” he retorted, and added, “What are you doing out this early? It’s not seven o’clock yet.”

  “I didn’t sleep very well,” she admitted, avoiding his eyes. “And when the birds started singing, I thought I’d get out and see what it was they were singing about.”

  “Well, it’s the very nicest part of the morning,” Sam told her. “You haven’t had breakfast, have you?”

  “I didn’t even think about breakfast.”

  “Good! Then you can have it with me. I haven’t had mine, either. So come along.”

  Alison’s eyes widened.

  “Your housekeeper won’t mind your bringing a guest home for breakfast without warning her?”

  “Who needs a housekeeper just to prepare breakfast?” Sam asked. He tucked her hand through his arm and, with the horse following them docilely, led the way down the path and to the small white cottage.

  The house was nestled deep in blossoming shrubbery. There were neat flower-beds along the bricked wall, and gigantic clematis vine flung itself riotously across the small front porch.

  “You live here?” Alison asked, enchanted.

  “I was born here,” Sam told her as he guided her up the steps and across the small front porch. “You must have grown very tired of hearing about the people who were born at Oakhill, their parents before them and their parents before them! But that’s the way Oakhill grew from a wilderness into what it is today. Come in.”

  He pushed open the screen door, and Alison stared.

  “You don’t even lock your doors when you go out?” she marveled.

  Sam looked quite honestly puzzled.

  “Now why would I do that? Nobody here ever does. That’s for city folks. Oakhill people know it’s not necessary here, since we are all known to each other and are friends.”

  Alison looked about the neat, small living room, a man’s room obviously. There were comfortable, slightly shabby chairs; a good rug that was worn but whose colors were still bright; reading lamps scattered about; books and magazines spilling from the tables.

  “Now you see why I need a housekeeper,” Sam chuckled. “And she will be very upset that I brought somebody here before she had time to clean the room up. I try to keep her from doing it, because when she gets it all tidied up I have trouble finding things.”

  “It’s so comfortable-looking,” Alison said wistfully, “as if people really lived here, had roots here, and were not just passing through.”

  “Then it’s telling you the truth.” Sam smiled at her. “Come on in the kitchen, and we’ll see about some breakfast.”

  Alison said hesitantly, “I can’t cook!”

  “So what? I can!” Sam told her. “Bachelors usually learn that early; that is, if they have any idea of remaining bachelors!”

  Alison perched on a stool out of his way, her hands folded on her knees, and said, “As of course you do.”

  Sam straightened from the big refrigerator that took up half of the kitchen wall, a bowl of eggs in one hand, a container of meat in the other, and his brows drew together in a faint scowl of bewilderment as he repeated, “As of course I do what?”

  “Intend to remain a bachelor.”

  He put down the eggs and the ham and grinned at her as he lit the gas stove and brought out a heavy blackened skillet.

  “You’re quite wrong there,” he assured her. “I don’t intend to remain a bachelor any longer than it takes me to find a girl who’ll have me.”

  Alison’s smile was faintly mocking.

  “And that’s a terrific task, of course.”

  Breaking eggs into a big yellow mixing bowl, Sam said, unexpectedly grave, “Well, it hasn’t been easy.”

  “And the search still goes on?” The mockery had left her voice.

  Sam nodded as he beat the eggs briskly, while the thick slices of ham gave off a fragrant odor from the stove.

  “The search still goes on,” he repeated. He placed a toaster and a plate containing several slices of bread before her, with a butter dish conveniently at hand. “You mind the toast while I get the coffee going.”

  Working at the stove, seeing that everything was as it should be, he glanced at her now and then, and a tender smile touched his mouth. For she was like a child, so absorbed in the small task he had assigned her that she didn’t even look up at him. She waited, bent over the toaster, and as the toast popped up, she buttered it with a concentrated attention that made him suddenly deeply aware of her as a delightful person.

  When at last the meal was ready and they were settled at the table, she looked across at him and said humbly, “I never realize quite how stupid I am until a time like this. Only there’s never been a time like this for me before. I mean helping to get breakfast, even if all I did was butter the toast. I know all about calling room service and ordering food, and planning menus with a haughty chef and all that. But working with my hands—well, the typewriter is about the extent of my ability.”

  “I missed you last night,” Sam told her quietly, his eyes catching the brief flush that crept over her face.

  “I had some letters to write for Marise,” she explained, and would not meet his eyes.

  “And they couldn’t have been done today?”

  “Marise didn’t think so.”

  Suddenly she put down her fork and the bit of buttered toast and clenched her hands tightly in her lap, as she lifted her chin with a hint of defiance.

  “I suppose you despise me,” she said through her teeth.

  Puzzled, Sam studied her.

  “Now why would you suppose a thing like that?” he asked.

  “For, well, for hanging onto Marise no matter how badly she treats me. Oh, she does; I admit it. She treats everybody shamefully if she can get away with it. And for those of us she calls her entourage—most of all—I have to admit that—” Her voice stumbled and broke and fell into a miserable silence.

  Sam helped himself to more coffee, refilled her cup and asked quietly, “Why do you put up with it, Alison?”

  Puzzled by the question, she looked straight at him, her brows faintly furrowed.

  “But what else can I do? I’ve never been trained for any business or a job that would make it possible for me to earn a living,” she pointed out. “There was never time for that. Uncle Jeff didn’t see any reason I should be trained for anything but to act as a companion and playmate for Marise. And the estate was left entirely to her to do with as she chose. There wasn’t even a legacy for me. Oh, of course I wasn’t really entitled to one.”

  “Be quiet!” snapped Sam so unexpectedly that she caught her breath and could only stare at him, wide-eyed. “Stop being so blasted humble! Entitled to a legacy? Something that would set you free from your dependence on that spoiled, selfish, egotistical brat? Don’t be a fool, Alison! Your uncle should certainly have left you a substantial legacy—enough for you to be able to train for a job.”

  “That would have been the one thing he didn’t want to happen,” Alison told him swiftly. “All he ever wanted of me was that I look after Marise; see that she is never left alone; that her checkbook always balances; that her bills are paid promptly; that when she gets a sudden urge to go somewhere, I make travel arrangements, hotel reservations;
and when she wants to entertain, that I look after all the tiresome details and leave her free just to have fun and enjoy the party.”

  He watched her curiously and did not speak.

  After a moment, her head high, color flowing into her cheeks, she went on, “And in return for doing that for Marise, I have lovely clothes, because she wouldn’t want me to look shabby, and travel first class, and meet a lot of amusing people. Is that so bad?”

  “Not if it’s what you want.” His tone was curt.

  The color deepened in her face.

  “How would I know? It’s all I’ve ever had,” she reminded him.

  For a long moment his eyes on her were curious. Absurdly enough, it was as though he were seeing her for the first time.

  “What about other things that are much more important than luxuries, nice clothes, travel, all that you’ve had?” he asked.

  “Such as?”

  “Such as love and marriage, if you don’t mind my being corny.”

  “What chance would I have for love or marriage competing with Marise; who’d ever give me a second glance?”

  “Any man with a nickel’s worth of brains in his head.”

  Her smile was thin-lipped and faintly bitter.

  “Then I’ve never met a man with a nickel’s worth of brains in his head,” she mocked him.

  “Have you ever given yourself a chance?”

  She hesitated a moment, and then she asked curiously, “How would I be able to do that?”

  “Oh, a beautiful girl like you—” he began, but her words cut him short.

  “Beautiful? Me?” Her tone was one of genuine surprise, and Sam’s brows drew together in a scowl.

  “Well, for the love of Pete, of course you are beautiful,” he all but snapped at her. “Don’t you ever look into a mirror?”

  “Well, of course I do. But Marise is usually there, too, and she is much more beautiful than I could ever hope to be,” Alison pointed out. “And, of course, there is also the fact that Marise is enormously rich and I’m not.”

  “So of course you take it for granted that all men are fortune-hunters,” growled Sam. “With that attitude toward men, no wonder you haven’t fallen in love.”

  Alison, pink-cheeked, eyes faintly frosty, pointed out, “Well, what chance do I have to meet men who are not attracted to a lot of money?”

  Sam nodded a reluctant agreement to that.

  “So your only hope is to get away from Marise, on your own, so the men you meet will see you as you really are, not just as a companion for the wealthy Miss Parker,” he advised her.

  “Get away from Marise?” The thought seemed startling.

  “Why not?” He waited for her to think that over and watched with a curious intentness the various expressions that flitted over her face until at last she shook her head.

  “I couldn’t do that,” she told him, and there was a note of finality in her voice.

  “Then I’m afraid you’ll just have to go on being her favorite whipping boy, if you feel that the rewards for being her companion and letting her shove you around are sufficient to compensate you for what you are giving up,” he said quietly, and smiled a pleasant, though cool smile. “And I do hope you’ll forgive me for my impertinence in trying to talk you into a revolt. I had the crazy idea that you were not entirely happy in your present situation, and no doubt I talked out of turn.”

  He stood up and added with a touch of formality, “And now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to work. Think you can get back to the Manor without trying to pick up any more wiggling sticks?”

  “Of course,” said Alison, and her eyes would not quite meet his. “And thank you for a lovely breakfast I am grateful for your interest and your advice.”

  “Which, of course, you haven’t the faintest idea of taking,” Sam said, and turned as the back door opened to reveal Amanda, his tall, heavily built housekeeper, who stopped short, staring from him to Alison. “Oh, good morning, Mandy. I brought Miss Parker in for breakfast. Alison, this is Amanda, my housekeeper.”

  “How do, Miss Parker.” Amanda’s chocolate-brown eyes surveyed the remains of breakfast and looked accusingly at Sam. “If you’d let me know you was having company for breakfast, Mr. Sam, I’d’ve made you waffles and opened a jar of that honey you like so well.”

  “Miss Parker was taking a walk and encountered a snake. She was frightened, and I brought her here for a cup of coffee, since I knew the staff at the Manor wouldn’t be up yet,” Sam explained, and it seemed to Alison there was a note of apology in his voice to which Amanda responded graciously.

  “You come back for dinner sometime, Miss Parker, and I’ll prove to you I’m a better cook than Mam’ Chloe up at the Manor.” She added quickly, “Don’t you tell her I said that. She’d be madder’n rips.”

  Alison laughed and said, “Of course I won’t. And I’d love to come to dinner any time I’m invited!”

  “That will be any time you want to come, miss. Just give me a little warning so’s I can put the big pot in the little one,” said Amanda expansively. She watched as Sam and Alison left the cottage, smiling to herself as she went briskly about her morning duties.

  As they left the cottage, Alison looked up at Sam.

  “That’s an expression I’d never heard before,” she pointed out. “What does it mean?”

  “Putting the big pot in the little one? Oh, it means making special preparations for a super-duper dinner,” he answered. “With Amanda, I think it means giving her time to run down a couple of yellow-legged fryers, and prepare them with her own secret recipe, mushrooms and the like. Haven’t you been south long enough to know that a company meal always involves fried chicken?”

  “I’ve never been south before, except to Florida,” she admitted.

  “Coney Island with palm trees,” he mocked.

  They had reached the path, and she looked back at the white cottage and said impulsively, “What a lovely place. And to have lived there long enough to put out roots! I’ve never lived in any place more than a few weeks or months at a time!”

  Sam said dryly, “I suppose it would be rather boring for people like you and Marise.”

  She flung up her head. He was startled to see a mist of tears filming her eyes, and her voice was choked when she pleaded, “Oh, Sam, don’t!”

  “Don’t what?” he protested.

  “Don’t go all cold and formal on me,” she stammered. “Back there at breakfast, you were warm and friendly and kind! I’ve never had a friend, Sam; only acquaintances. Please be my friend!”

  And before he could manage an answer, she had turned and was running back along the path that would take her to the Manor.

  Chapter Ten

  Judy sat hunched miserably on the big flat rock beneath the shadow of the giant trees, gazing down at the steep slope of greening meadow, which was star-sprinkled with dandelions and daisies, to where the row of willows bent gracefully to admire their own reflection in the slow-moving yellow river.

  She sat with her knees drawn up, her elbow resting on them, her chin in her palm. And despite the glory of the spring day, that was more like summer than spring, she felt about her a cloud of desolation. Behind her, yellow jasmine flung itself in trumpet-shaped golden blossoms along the fence; dogwood as white as starch gleamed from the woods; here and there a wild crab-apple tree was dressed like a bridesmaid at a formal wedding, and its tangy fragrance mixed with the smells of spring woods that had always delighted Judy. But now she was completely unaware of the flowers or of their fragrance. She was sunk too deeply in miserable thoughts to be aware of the beauty that surrounded her.

  She stiffened and raised her head at the sound of hoof-beats on the path, which ended here at this big rock. Anybody coming along the path would be headed for this spot, because there was nowhere else to go except back.

  She expected that it would be Sam. But when the horseman rode up and dismounted, she saw that it was Bix and caught her breath as he dropped the reins
so the horse could join Starlight at the edge of the meadow.

  “I had a hunch this was where I’d find you,” he said as he came toward her.

  Judy said softly, her eyes wide, “Oh, Bix, you remembered!”

  Bix scowled at her, puzzled.

  “Remembered that you used to have a habit of sneaking off down here when you were in trouble, or thought you were?” he asked.

  Her eyes fell away from his and turned once more to the sloping meadow, the river beyond with its fringe of pale green willows.

  “It was here that you and I said goodbye when you went away to college,” she told him huskily.

  He dropped down on the big flat rock beside her and studied her intently.

  “But Judy, that was years ago,” he protested.

  She nodded without meeting his eyes. “I know. It’s been a long, long time, Bix. But I haven’t forgotten.”

  Bix said awkwardly, “Well, I’m sure there wasn’t such an awful lot to remember.”

  Judy glanced at him and away, fighting against the tears that threatened her.

  “I trailed you, Judy, because there’s something I have to say to you,” Bix said after a moment. He was still speaking awkwardly, as though searching carefully for the right words with which to clothe his thoughts. Judging from his expression, they were not exactly happy thoughts, she noted, and her heart felt as though an iron hand had closed over it, squeezing it until she all but cried out in pain.

  “Well, go ahead, Bix. What have I done to upset the lovely Marise now?” she asked when he still seemed unable to find exactly the words he wanted.

  “It wasn’t about Marise I wanted to talk to you, Judy,” he protested.

  “She’s not in a towering rage because Starlight wasn’t in the stable when Marise wanted to ride her?” Thin-lipped, cold-eyed, fighting tears, Judy’s voice was stiff with scorn.

  “So far as I know, Marise hasn’t made her appearance this morning,” Bix told her. “I just wanted to talk to you, Judy, about—well, about Roger Mayson.”

  Judy blinked in surprise.

  “Roger Mayson?” she repeated as though she had never heard the name before.