Romance Classics

by Peggy Gaddis

  “Come and meet our new guest, Loyce,” she called.

  Startled, the woman lifted her head and looked sharply at Jonathan and then at Cherry as she came forward with obvious reluctance.

  “You weren’t supposed to bring a guest back, Cherry,” she protested. “There are no reservations until next week-end.”

  “Mr. Gayle wanted very much to meet Gran’sir and had traveled all the way from Chicago for just that purpose, and I couldn’t refuse to let him ride back with me,” Cherry explained. And then to Jonathan, “Mr. Gayle, my sister, Loyce.”

  “How do you do?” said Loyce frostily.

  “I promised I’d go away as soon as I’d met the Judge if you found my presence unwelcome,” Jonathan said stiffly, irritated at her manner.

  “That will be for Gran’sir to say,” Loyce told him coolly, and walked into the house.

  Cherry drew a deep breath and turned to Jonathan apologetically.

  “I’m sorry Loyce was rude, Mr. Gayle,” she apologized. “She’s never reconciled herself to the place being turned into a hunting and fishing Lodge. After all, it’s our home and she thinks we should have privacy. But Gran’sir feels that since the creek has been stocked with rainbow trout and the hunting is so good, we have no right to be selfish with it.”

  Jonathan nodded. “That sounds like the man I want so much to meet,” he said quietly.

  Cherry looked up at him and smiled.

  “Then come along inside and meet him,” she invited, and led the way up the wide, shallow steps, across the verandah that was floored with native stone and into the house.

  They entered a huge living room that took up one whole side of the house. There were panels of glass that could be pushed back in warm weather. Today, since there was still a nip in the air, the panels were closed. An enormous double fireplace occupied the center of the room, and there was a vast stone chimney above each fireplace. There was a big fire of logs blazing in one fireplace, and despite its size the room was pleasantly warm.

  A man whose thick white hair matched a clipped white mustache sat in a wheel-chair beside the fireplace, a book open on a reading stand across his knees, which were covered with a thin plaid blanket.

  He looked up as Cherry came in, and his thin, white face was touched with a welcoming smile that faded slightly as he saw Jonathan behind her.

  “Oh, there you are, my dear. “His voice still held a hint of depth and richness that had been such a professional asset.

  “Gran’sir, this is Mr. Jonathan Gayle, who has come all the way from Chicago for what he calls the ‘privilege’ of meeting you,” Cherry told him severely. “Seems from what he says that you’re a very famous guy. How come you never told me?”

  The Judge chuckled as he held out a thin hand to Jonathan, his blue eyes twinkling.

  “How do you do, Gayle?” He shook hands and laughed. “Hard to keep women folks properly respectful. If I’d tried to tell you I was famous, chick, you’d probably have looked down your nose at me and said, Oh, yeah? I bet!’ Matter of fact, I rather doubt that I am, if it comes to that.”

  “But you are, sir,” Jonathan assured him earnestly. “Your decisions are quoted as authority by any number of legalistic authorities, and most of us in the profession have a terrific respect for your accomplishments and your wisdom and powers. This is a great moment for me, sir. I mean that with the utmost sincerity.”

  Cherry stared at him, her brows drawn together in a puzzled scowl.

  “I believe he really means it, Gran’sir,” she said in a tone faintly touched with awe.

  “I believe he does,” said the Judge, and smothered a chuckle. “In future, young lady, I trust you will accord me the respect due me.”

  “Whoosh!” scoffed Cherry inelegantly. “Which would you rather have: my respect, or my undying adoration?”

  “I don’t suppose it would be possible for me to have both?” asked the Judge cautiously.

  Cherry thought about that for a moment while Jonathan looked from one to the other, not quite sure whether they were really as serious as they seemed.

  “Um, well, now, I don’t know!” Cherry drawled. “Respecting somebody means you’re just a teensy-weensy bit afraid of them. Adoring somebody — well, that’s different.”

  “Don’t pay any attention to her, Gayle,” said the Judge cheerfully. “She’s a scatterbrain and a disrespectful little minx. But she’s a nice child at heart.”

  “I’m sure she is, sir,” Jonathan answered hastily, and flushed as Cherry threw him a mocking glance.

  “Well, Gran’sir, do we let him stay or do we toss him out?” she asked her grandfather. “He hasn’t a reservation and he hasn’t a reference, and we are always most particular about demanding both from our prospective guests.”

  “I can furnish all the references you could possibly want,” Jonathan protested, nettled by the girl’s manner.

  “I’m sure you can, Gayle,” said the Judge soothingly. “I told you to pay her no mind. How long are you planning to stay?”

  “All summer, sir. That is, if I may?” There was frank anxiety in Jonathan’s tone.

  The Judge’s bushy eyebrows went up slightly.

  “You’re not retiring from the practice of law at your age?” he protested.

  Jonathan hesitated. And then he answered quietly, “I’m not sure, sir. I want a few months of quiet and peace in which to make up my mind.”

  “Disillusioned with the legal profession, son?” asked the Judge gently.

  Jonathan hesitated and his jaw set hard.

  “A little, sir, I’m afraid,” he admitted.

  “How old are you, son?” asked the Judge.

  “Twenty-six, sir.”

  The Judge nodded, sighed and glanced at Cherry.

  “Run along and get a room ready for our new guest, chick,” he ordered.

  Cherry’s brows went up slightly.

  “He’s staying?” she asked.

  “Well, of course.” The Judge was obviously surprised at the question.

  As Cherry turned, Jonathan said anxiously, “I hope you don’t mind?”

  Cherry glanced at him. “Why should I? Gran’sir is the boss. If he says you stay, then you stay.”

  “I wouldn’t want to stay if it would upset you or your sister,” Jonathan assured her earnestly.

  For a moment Cherry eyed him, and then she smiled; a smile that lit her lovely face arid put a sparkle in her eyes.

  “It won’t,” she drawled, and walked away and up the stairs.

  “Sit down, son,” she heard the Judge say, “and tell me about it.”

  She went down the corridor that bisected the guest wing upstairs, and a pretty, buxom girl in a blue uniform beneath an immaculate white apron called to her through an open door.

  “Hey, Cherry, this room all right for the new boarder?”

  Cherry paused in the doorway and surveyed the small but cheerfully furnished room; a corner room with windows that looked out over the bold sweep of the mountains and the rushing creek below.

  “Well, why wouldn’t it be? The best room in the wing,” Cherry answered. “After what he’s had in Chicago he ought to be tickled simple with this. Here, let me give you a hand.”

  “Well, now that’s neighborly of you,” laughed the other girl. “Just check on the clean towels in the bathroom. I’ve already made the bed fresh and added an extra blanket. Who said it was spring? It gets real nippy up here at night.”

  “Makes the fish bite better.” Cherry laughed. “I hope your mother didn’t mind my bringing up a new guest when she had expected to have the next few days free of guests.”

  “Oh, shucks,” laughed the girl. “You know Muv. The more the merrier. How that women loves to cook is something I’ll never understand. She’s going to make things tough for me if I ever find a man of my own and he expects me to be the cook she is!”

  “Give yourself time, Elsie m’ girl; you’ll learn.” Cherry grinned.

  A tall, rangy
man who could have been anywhere from thirty to sixty, judging by his looks, appeared at the end of the corridor, laden with Jonathan’s luggage, and grinned bashfully at Cherry as he sidled into the room and put down the bags and the elaborate fishing gear.

  “Figger this fellow’s aimin’ to catch hisself a real mess o’ fish,” he drawled as he eyed the gear. “Maybe somebody better tip Job off to see to it fellow don’t catch no more’n his legal limit.”

  “Job met him this morning, and I’ve got a date with Job tonight, so he’ll have a chance to tip Mr. Gayle off to what is the legal limit,” Cherry answered.

  “You reckon fellow’ll be needin’ a guide, Miss Cherry?” asked the man hopefully.

  “I imagine so, Eben, and I’ll tell him about you,” Cherry promised.

  “I’d appreciate that, Miss Cherry,” Eben answered gratefully as he left the room.

  Cherry followed him downstairs.

  The Judge and Jonathan were deep in earnest conversation, and Cherry paused only long enough to say, “Your room is ready, Mr. Gayle. It’s the corner room at the end of the corridor. Go up when you are ready.”

  She smiled at them and went on out of the house and into the warming sunlight, scarcely pausing for Jonathan’s thanks.

  Chapter Two.

  Cherry went down the drive around the house and on to the barn. She slid open the big door and saw, at the far end of the building, Loyce bending above a big incubator from which came the cheerful cheeping of newly hatched baby chicks. Loyce was lifting them in gentle hands, transferring them to a big brooder and removing the emptied shells from which they had emerged.

  She looked up from a kneeling position as Cherry came toward her, and slid the last handful of newly hatched babies into the brooder before she rose.

  “They hatched about ninety per cent,” she said happily. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “No more than I would expect from eggs produced by chickens you have raised, honey,” Cherry told her with a fond smile. “You work yourself half to death looking after them. The least they can do is hatch and grow up and make toothsome yellow-legged fryers for the Lodge.”

  Loyce said crossly, “Oh, don’t be silly.”

  “Sorry,” Cherry apologized, and added soberly, “I do feel guilty, honey. You work harder than anybody on the place and seem to get less out of it.”

  “I’m doing what I want to do,” Loyce told her curtly. “Who has the right to ask anything more out of life?”

  “Oh, darling, don’t grieve so!” The words burst from Cherry against her will, and Loyce gave her a cold, frosty glance.

  “That man you brought back from town — ” she ignored Cherry’s words and changed the subject so abruptly that it was like a slap in the face — “I suppose he’s staying?”

  “I’m afraid so, Loyce,” Cherry answered. “He and Gran’sir are hitting it off like two kittens in a basket on a cold night. Gran’sir’s calling him ‘son’ and they’re sitting with their heads together and talking up a storm.”

  Loyce stood for a moment above the feed she was carefully mixing for the afternoon feeding of the poultry. She seemed to have forgotten what she was doing, and for a moment there was a lost look on her thin face.

  “Like Weldon and Gran’sir?” she murmured barely above her breath.

  Before Cherry could answer, she had jerked herself back to the present and once more was absorbed in mixing the feed.

  “Well, of course if Gran’sir wants him here, there’s really nothing you and I can do about it, is there?” she said over her shoulder.

  “I’m afraid not,” Cherry answered, and added in a little rush, “Loyce, he’s really very nice. I think you’d like him if you gave yourself the chance.”

  Loyce flung her a bitterly derisive glance.

  “Really?” she mocked.

  Cherry shrugged slightly and made a little gesture that admitted defeat.

  “You will come in to lunch and meet him, won’t you, Loyce?” There was a plea in her voice.

  “Afraid not,” Loyce said coolly. “I have to get those turkey poults settled down, and I’m going down to the south field to plan the garden there.”

  “Then you can meet him at dinner,” said Cherry.

  Loyce grimaced. “Oh, I’ve already met him. But I’ll be at dinner. You should know Gran’sir wouldn’t permit us not to appear at the dinner table, all ‘gussied up’ in pretty dresses and with our hair in curls.”

  “It’s only because he loves us and is proud of us,” Cherry protested.

  “Of course, of course,” drawled Joyce. “Run along now. I’ve got work to do. I’ll see your handsome new guest at dinner.”

  “He is handsome, isn’t he?” Cherry asked eagerly.

  “Very,” Loyce drawled. “Personally, I’ve always disliked handsome men. They are so arrogantly sure of their devastating effect on gullible females.”

  She lifted the huge pan of feed, placed it on a wheelbarrow and trundled it down the length of the barn toward a door that opened out into the chicken yard.

  Cherry stood where she was and drew a deep breath. What had happened to Loyce in the fourteen months since her fiancé, Weldon Hammett, had died in a plane crash from which there had been no survivors? The plane had crashed in a fog on a lonely mountain and all aboard had died in the flaming wreckage.

  Weldon had been a minor attaché in the British embassy in Washington and had come to Atlanta to take part in the wedding of a former college friend. After the wedding festivities were over, Weldon and two of the other ushers had come up to Crossways Lodge for a Thanksgiving week-end of hunting before Weldon’s return to Washington.

  Weldon and Loyce had clicked from their first meeting. Weldon had come back several times for week-ends, and then he had asked Loyce to marry him. And Loyce had been transformed from a shy, retiring girl to a radiant, sparkling one.

  The two girls had gone to Atlanta to trousseau-shop. The Lodge had been in a furor of excited preparations for the wedding. And then the plane bringing Weldon south had crashed and burned just a few days before the date set for the wedding.

  Loyce had collapsed from shock and stunned grief. She had finally rallied, more withdrawn, more aloof, more locked up within herself than ever before.

  Cherry heaved a deep sigh and pushed the memories away from her as she turned to go back to the house.

  The Judge and Jonathan were still deep in conversation, and she did not disturb them. She had work waiting for her in the small library off the main living room, where she settled herself and put the thought of everything else out of her mind.

  It was not until lunch time that she returned to the living room. Jonathan sprang to his feet at sight of her, and the Judge smiled at her.

  “This is quite a lad you’ve brought me, Chick,” said the Judge. “We’ve been having quite a chin-wagging session.”

  “I know, darling.” Cherry smiled at him fondly. “Now let’s have lunch, and then you must take your nap, and I’ll take Mr. Gayle fishing. That is, if he’d care to go.”

  “Oh, you mustn’t feel responsible for entertaining me, Miss Bramblett,” Jonathan told her. “The Judge says I may stay at least a month, and I don’t want you to feel I’m a nuisance.”

  “That wouldn’t be permitted,” Cherry told him firmly. “As long as you don’t tire Gran’sir — ”

  The Judge snorted. “Nonsense! I’ve seldom had a more rejuvenating morning. I feel ten years younger.”

  “Then hooray for Mr. Gayle,” said Cherry.

  “Couldn’t it be Jonathan?” he asked hopefully.

  “Why not?” Cherry agreed lightly. “After all, informality is the law around here. And now Muv has lunch ready, so come along, both of you.”

  She placed her hands on the back of the Judge’s chair and wheeled it across and into the dining area at the farther end of the huge living room. The fire on that side of the fireplace had not been lit, but the sun was high now and spilled its warmth through the wide gl
ass panels that framed the magnificent view. A table had been laid for three. As they settled themselves, the Judge glanced around the table and at Cherry.

  “Loyce isn’t joining us for lunch?” he asked wistfully.

  “Afraid not, darling,” Cherry answered. “She’s getting some baby turkeys settled down and planting the south field with Joe and Mart. But she’ll be in for dinner.”

  “My other granddaughter,” said the Judge to Jonathan.

  “They met when Jonathan first arrived,” said Cherry briefly, and looked up as a stout, middle-aged woman in a neat calico dress and a voluminous checked gingham apron shouldered her way through the swinging door from the kitchen. “Muv, this is Mr. Gayle. Jonathan, this is the core and heart of the Lodge’s domestic arrangements: Mrs. Mitchell.”

  “Howdy, Mr. Gayle,” said Mrs. Mitchell, and began serving the contents of the large, heavily laden tray she was carrying. “I’m right sorry, Cherry, that I have to give you fried chicken, but there wasn’t time for anything fancy. I’ll give you something special for supper, though.”

  “Blasphemy!” Cherry protested as she eyed the laden platter of golden-brown, deliciously crisp fried chicken and the platters of vegetables with which it was surrounded. “As if your fried chicken weren’t just about the most special thing in the world.”

  Mrs. Mitchell’s broad, ruddy face was touched with a pleased smile.

  “I hope you like fried chicken, Mr. Gayle?” she asked anxiously.

  “I’ve never eaten any like this, but I don’t see how anybody in his right mind wouldn’t be crazy about it, Mrs. Mitchell,” Jonathan assured her earnestly.

  “Well, now, that’s right kind of you, Mr. Gayle. Soon as you catch a nice mess of rainbow trout, I’ll show you what I can do with them,” Mrs. Mitchell promised him, and went out of the room, the door swinging smartly behind her.

  “Salt of the earth and a treasure beyond compare,” Cherry assured Jonathan as she dug into the food before her with the unashamedly hearty appetite of the young. “Muv and her family just about make the Lodge possible, don’t they, Gran’sir? Her two daughters are the maids; her two nieces come twice a week to do the laundry; her son supervises the dairy and her husband is head guide.”