by Peggy Gaddis
She stopped for breath, and Bix studied her for a long moment. Then he turned his head and looked out over the lovely sweep of flower-sprinkled meadow, the willows bending above the river. Slowly, while she watched him with bated breath, he nodded.
“It is beautiful,” he admitted reluctantly.
“It’s the most beautiful place in the world!”
He looked down at her, and now he let her release herself from his hands that had been holding her tightly.
She flung up her head and said hotly, “Of course it’s practically the only place I’ve ever seen. And I’m sure Marise wouldn’t care for it. I wonder she’s forced herself to stay here this long.”
He nodded at that, apparently completely undisturbed.
“I do, too. But I’m very glad she has,” he said quietly.
She caught her breath as though he had smacked her.
“Well, of course you are. Think how bored you’d have been if she hadn’t stayed,” was the best she could manage by way of an answer.
Once more he studied her, and then he grinned.
“Because now I know her much better than I could have known her in years in the city,” he pointed out “You have to live under the same roof with somebody before you get to know them really well. Marise is a—well, a funny sort of girl.”
“I’d hardly call her funny,” Judy said spitefully.
“Oh, I didn’t mean funny, ha, ha,” he pointed out. “I meant funny, peculiar. As long as things are going the way she wants them to, and as long as she is amused and entertained and on the go, she can be very sweet and charming and even alluring. But when she’s restless and bored and wants to get going somewhere else, she can be—well, a brat!”
Judy stared at him, dumbfounded.
“You mean you aren’t really in love with her?” she gasped, unable to keep back the words.
He scowled at her in surprise.
“Well, where did you ever get the crazy idea that I was?” he demanded sharply.
Now it was her turn to study him curiously. After a moment she said, “You’ve certainly behaved as though you were.”
“Then I’ll have to be more careful, won’t I?”
Judy blinked and answered, “Unless you want to wake up some day and find yourself married to her.”
“Oh, that’s something that will never happen. At least I don’t think so. Not as long as she has Alison and the others to smooth the path for her. The only thing Marise would want from a husband would be for him to run interference for her when she gets the urge to go somewhere at a moment’s notice. As long as Alison handles the tiresome details of living for Marise, she is going to remain unattached and untrammeled!”
Judy had listened to this statement, which seemed completely incredible to her, with mounting amazement. And when he had finished, she drew a deep, hard breath and said half in dismay, half in amusement, “Well, if that’s the way you feel about her, then you certainly are not in love with her. You couldn’t be so casual about her if you were.”
“I never said that I was, and I can’t think how you ever got such a crazy idea,” Bix said flatly.
Judy’s taut face had softened.
“Oh, well, I admitted I was just a simple, unsophisticated backwoods gal,” she mocked. “And when a girl hurls herself into your arms and you let her, and seem to enjoy it, and even kiss her—”
Bix chuckled. “Oh, people nowadays don’t attach much importance to a kiss or even what’s politely called a ‘fond embrace.’”
“Oh, don’t they?” Judy seemed quite unconvinced.
He seemed to have lost interest in discussing Marise, and Judy stood quite still, just waiting.
“Judy, what would you say if I told you I’ve been doing quite a bit of thinking lately?” he hazarded at last.
“I wouldn’t say anything unless I had some idea what you were thinking about.”
“Oh, about staying here at Oakhill and carrying on in the Bullard tradition.”
Judy felt as though the solid earth beneath her feet had rocked slightly, and for a moment she could scarcely make herself believe he had really said that, and that he had meant it.
Bix misunderstood her stunned silence and hurried on, “Oh, of course I don’t know the first thing about running a place like Oakhill. But Sam’s a very knowledgeable guy, and I imagine he’d help me learn, don’t you?”
“He’d be tickled silly, if he felt you really meant to stay,” Judy told him.
“Strangely enough, I don’t think I ever meant anything more,” Bix said slowly, deeply thoughtful. “I admit when I first got the word that Grandfather was so ill, the only thing I could think of was selling the place. And then after I got here and Sam began showing me around, and I realized that Oakhill isn’t just a piece of property but a sort of little world that is completely self-contained and inhabited by some darned nice people whose home it has been for generations, I began to feel differently. It’s—well, it’s a bit difficult to explain. It seemed that the people here deserved something better than being dumped out of their homes and the farms and fields they and their ancestors have tended.” He broke off, abashed, and managed a grin. “I told you I didn’t quite know how to explain the way I felt now that I’m here and that I’ve seen what a beautiful place this is. I feel—well, in a way almost responsible for keeping it going in its accustomed pattern.”
As though he found his explanation slightly embarrassing because of the emotion he could not conceal, he managed a grin and said, “So all right; go ahead and laugh. Who’s being corny now?”
There were tears in Judy’s eyes, and her pretty mouth was tremulous as she tried to smile at him.
“It’s not corny a bit, Bix darling,” she said huskily. “It’s the way I’ve hoped you’d feel, and only way I could ever want you to feel. Oh, Bix dearest, I’m so glad, so very glad!”
And then before he could speak, she hurried on a trifle breathlessly, “Oh, sure, I called you ‘darling’ and ‘dearest’ But you said yourself people didn’t consider things like that important any more.”
Bix eyed her with that oddly curious scrutiny that was almost as though he saw her for the first time, and then he moved so swiftly she had no inkling of his intention until his arms had closed about her and drawn her very close, and he had kissed her firmly.
“I also said that this sort of thing was not considered important.” His voice was faintly unsteady. “But you know something? I was wrong! It’s terribly important.”
Judy was momentarily speechless beneath the impact of the kiss and could only look up at him, trembling slightly within the circle of his arms, her soft mouth still relishing the touch of his lips.
“It is important, isn’t it, darling?” he asked after tensely waiting for her answer.
“It is, if you want it to be.” Her voice was so low that it barely reached his ears, and his arms tightened about her jealously.
“Judy, Judy, my darling,” he said huskily. “You are going to marry me, aren’t you?”
Tears slipped from her eyes, and her soft mouth was tremulous as she met his eyes and said very low, “Of course, darling. What else did you expect? Why, I’ve been waiting years and years and years for you to ask me!”
He beamed at her in abject relief and then frowned down at her.
“I can’t for the life of me explain how I could ever have forgotten you,” he admitted frankly. “I must have been even more of a fool than I thought I was. But then, when I went away you were a long-legged kid with rusty hair and braces on her teeth.”
“I was not!” she protested hotly. “I was a beautiful child! Everybody says so! That was Ellen Perkins who was long-legged and had braces on her teeth!”
Bix laughed joyously at her, a twinkle dancing in his eyes.
“Modest little thing, aren’t you?” he teased her.
“I can’t afford to be modest when you’re getting me mixed up in your mind even now with somebody else,” she flashed at him. “Y
ou should see Ellen Perkins now. Only she’s not Ellen Perkins; she’s Ellen Davis. And she and her husband have two children and a farm that the Old Gentleman gave them when they were first married!”
Bix grinned at her, and his arms tightened about her.
“I’m not the least bit interested in Ellen Perkins or Ellen Davis or whoever she may be now,” he told her firmly. “I’m interested in only one girl, and that’s the lovely and alluring Judy Ramsey, whom I have the blessed privilege of holding in my arms and who has promised to marry me and help me learn to manage Oakhill—with Sam’s help, of course.”
She drew a deep hard breath, pulled herself reluctantly from his arms and said, “Let’s go back to the Manor and tell Mother. She tried so hard to persuade me that you couldn’t be in love with me, because you’d forgotten me. And she tried to talk me out of being in love with you. But then I’m stubborn and I wouldn’t listen.”
He helped her into the saddle, and she bent swiftly and kissed him, as he looked up at her with a world of tenderness in his eyes.
“I’m so glad you were stubborn,” he told her with a humility that she found oddly touching, “and that you could forgive me for being such a dolt as to forget you, even temporarily.”
As he swung into the saddle on his own horse, Judy suddenly laughed joyously and he looked at her in quick surprise.
“Am I as funny as all that?” he asked resentfully.
“I was just thinking that you followed me out here to warn me that I mustn’t take Roger seriously,” she teased him.
“Well, you see to it that you remember that, my girl!” he warned her. “You’re never to take any man seriously except me! Is that clear?”
“Yes-suh, boss-man, yessuh!” she mimicked some of the field hands.
Bix grinned at her lovingly as she set her heels lightly against Starlight’ flanks and went galloping off down the bridle path, Bix riding close behind her.
As they came into the stable yard, Marise came down the drive, her face twisted in an unlovely frown directed at Bix as he swung out of the saddle and turned to lift Judy down.
“Where the blazes have you been, Bix?” Marise demanded in a tone she so rarely dared use to Bix that he turned his head and scowled at her. Instantly Marise softened and said tenderly, “I was worried about you, Bix. I’ve looked everywhere for you. Alison said that Sam Gillespie took her and Judy into town for lunch yesterday, and it was fun. I thought perhaps you’d take me today.”
Bix had lifted Judy from the saddle, a stable boy had led the two horses away, and Bix and Judy were facing Marise, who looked from one to the other, resentment lighting sparks in her eyes.
“Well, Bix, shall we go in town for lunch? And where have you been all morning?” she snapped.
Bix looked down at Judy and drew her closer to him and faced Marise with a happy smile.
“Oh, I’ve been getting myself engaged to Judy, so you can congratulate me!” he said happily.
Judy watched the shock, the anger, the disbelief in Marise’s eyes, and for an instant felt a swift stab of pity for the girl.
“You are engaged to Judy?” Marise spat out the words furiously. “You are putting me on, Bix. You’d never marry a hired hand, the daughter of your housekeeper.”
Judy saw the flicker of anger in Bix’s eyes, but it did not register in his voice as he answered coolly, “I admit it’s all but incredible that she would have a useless no-good like me. But she has promised.”
“I’ll bet she will marry you! She’ll be tickled pink to marry the owner of Oakhill!” Marise had unleashed her temper now and made no attempt to soften her voice.
“She’s had Oakhill all her life, so I don’t think the fact that it will someday be mine had anything to do with her promise, did it, darling?” Bix smiled lovingly down at Judy.
“Not a smidgin!” Judy answered with such convincing sincerity that even Marise had to believe her, much as she disliked the thought.
“She lived here, but she didn’t have any real claim on the place,” Marise began sulkily. And then, as though the words had choked her, she turned and ran toward the house.
“D’you know something, Bix?” Judy asked softly.
“Tell me.”
“I’m sorry for her.”
Bix protested, “Oh, come now; don’t go noble on me! After the way she talked to you? There have been times when it was all I could do to keep from socking her in the face!”
“Just the same,” Judy persisted, “I’m sorry for her. I think she was beginning to fall in love with you, and now that she knows she can’t have you, her feelings are hurt.”
“Oh, my sainted aunt!” Bix murmured barely above his breath, his eyes dancing, his arm tightening about her as he turned to walk her back to the house.
Halfway back to the house, beneath the friendly shadow of an enormous chinaberry tree, she stopped and turned to lift an anxious face to him and to ask uneasily, “Bix, are you sure?”
Puzzled, he asked, “Sure about what, honey?”
“About being in love with me and wanting to marry me,” she replied. Before he could answer, she rushed on, “I mean ever since you came back to Oakhill, you’ve sort of snubbed me. And since Marise came, you haven’t had any time at all for me. And now all of a sudden this morning—”
His eyes danced as he mocked her tenderly. “And now you’re going to coin a cliché to end all clichés by murmuring sweetly, This is so sudden,’ are you?”
Flushed and bright-eyed, she met his eyes and insisted stubbornly, “Well, it was sudden. You have to admit that. Sudden for you, I mean; but not for me. I’ve been right here waiting for years and years and years for you to find out that you like me a whole lot.”
“I don’t like you, darling; I’m madly in love with you,” he told her firmly, with a convincing emphasis that set stars to glowing in her eyes.
“But, Bix, how did you happen to realize that? I mean, when did you first begin to know that it was me, not Marise, that you wanted to marry?” she insisted.
Bix chuckled ruefully. “You mean when did the first cold light of truth dawn on me? When I realized how jealous it made me that Roger seemed to find you so very alluring,” he admitted frankly.
Judy’s eyes widened. “Oh, but there was never anything serious between Roger and me. I like him a whole lot, but after all—there’s always been you. There just wasn’t time to fall in love with anybody else.”
He drew her close and rested his cheek for a tender moment against her wind-tossed hair.
“My blessed darling,” he said so softly that the tone itself was as much of a caress as the words.
Chapter Eleven
Marise stalked into the big drawing room where her entourage was waiting for lunch and announced sharply, “Get packing, everybody. We’re leaving.”
Roger was on his feet; the others merely stared at her, wide-eyed.
“Leaving Oakhill, Marise? You and Bix have perhaps had a lovers’ quarrel?” he suggested mildly.
Marise glared at him furiously.
“Bix is going to marry that sappy little housekeeper’s daughter, so how could he and I have a lovers’ quarrel?” She spat the words at him furiously, so angry that she did not see the shock that brushed his face at her words. “So we’re leaving as soon as we can get packed.”
Roger said as though he could not believe her, “Bix and Judy?”
A note in his voice caught Marise’s attention, and she sneered at him maliciously, “Bix and Judy! Why? Did you have some plans for Judy yourself?”
Roger met her spiteful eyes and said slowly, “Now what sort of plans could I possibly have for a wonderful girl like Judy? She’s out of my world completely. I could never hope to make her happy. She could never be happy away from Oakhill.”
“Oh, she couldn’t? Well, now she won’t have to be! Come on, all of you; let’s pack. Where’s Alison? She’s never around when I need her.” Marise turned toward the door without waiting for an answer and we
nt swiftly out and up the stairs.
Mimi looked woefully at Tony and whimpered, “Oh, Tony, I don’t want to leave. This is such a lovely place, and it’s so peaceful.”
Tony looked down at her round, childish face and scowled.
“Neither do I, Baby. But when Madam cracks the whip, we all move, don’t we, Rog?” he answered.
Roger said briefly, “Seems as if.” He clapped Jerry on the shoulder and said briskly, “On your feet, old boy. We’re moving out.”
Jerry looked up at him with a foolish smile, already at that hour of the morning foggy with several drinks. He heaved himself to his feet, staggering slightly, as Roger steadied him and escorted him toward the door.
“A man who can’t handle it any better than Jerry is a fool to try,” Tony commented sourly as he and Mimi went up the stairs behind Roger and Jerry.
Alison was on the window seat, looking out into the glory of the morning, when Marise burst into the room and slammed the door hard behind her. One look at her contorted face told Alison there was trouble in the wind, and she stood up, waiting.
“We’re leaving, Alison, as soon as you can pack,” Marise told her sharply.
“Leaving?” Alison repeated as though she could not quite believe her ears. “But why so suddenly? The Old Gentleman isn’t—” She could not quite bring out the word.
“No, he’s not dead! If he was, we wouldn’t be able to leave until after all the dreary, morbid details of the funeral and the reading of the will were attended to,” snapped Marise. “We’re leaving because Bix and that little snip, Judy, have gotten themselves engaged!”
“Oh, but that’s wonderful! I’m so glad for them,” Alison said with an impulsive sincerity that added quite unnecessary fuel to the fire of Manse’s fury.
“Oh, you are, are you? That’s just dandy! Thanks a lot for being so concerned about me!”
Alison’s eyes widened. “About you? Oh, come now, Marise; you know darned well you’re not in love with Bix.”
Marise’s head went up and her eyes blazed.
“You’d know about that, of course, since you always know more about me than I know about myself,” she snapped.