by Helen Wells
“If you want to tell me about it, Mrs. Albee—” Cherry tried to encourage her to continue. “Does your discovery affect Richard?”
“Yes! Very much. Oh, it would be a relief to tell you, Miss Ames! I’m still stunned at what I learned. You see, I’ve discovered—almost by accident—a terrible state of affairs. I haven’t told anyone about it—out of family loyalty—only our family lawyer knows—”
Mrs. Albee said that she, like the two sons, owned one-third share of the family business. But for the past year her returns from the business were much smaller than usual, and she was alarmed. Merrill was evasive about this, hinting that Richard disappeared because he may have dipped into company funds. Mrs. Albee simply did not believe Richard would behave in this way. Her repeated questions to Merrill only netted more evasions.
A few weeks ago Mrs. Albee consulted the family lawyer, and asked him to investigate. The lawyer sent an accountant to the plant, to examine the firm’s books. The accountant reported that the books showed two astonishing facts. First, Merrill had been paying himself extra bonuses over the past year, without reporting them to Richard or his mother—apparently he had purchased the expensive foreign car, among other things, with these bonuses. Second, Merrill had charged the business for the presents he had given Susan—telling the bookkeeper the Tiffany bill was for several small presents for customers and their wives at Christmas, which was not true. He had also charged Susan’s restaurant bills and theater tickets to the business as pretended “business expenses.” As a result of these sizable shortages, the business was failing.
“And was this why,” Cherry wondered to herself, “it was necessary to take out a loan? To save the business?”
Mrs. Albee said tiredly, “I’ve been too distressed about my discovery even to discuss it with Merrill. Though I’ll have to, sooner or later—”
Cherry wondered if Richard knew Merrill had been taking funds? Had Richard discussed the matter with Merrill? If so, that would illuminate the recent trouble between the brothers. Cherry asked Mrs. Albee these things.
“I’m not sure,” their mother replied, “whether Richard knew much or anything at all about the shortages. You see, when Richard came into the firm about a year ago, Merrill insisted that the business and financial angle was already his department, and the chemistry and production was more naturally Richard’s department. Richard agreed to this arrangement—he took it for granted that his older brother, having been a long time with the firm, knew how to run the business. And Richard is first and last a scientist, not much interested in the business end. I believe that Merrill—he’s something of an autocrat—even discouraged Richard from looking over the firm’s books. Richard told me he was annoyed. But he’s always been so loyal and devoted to Merrill, and of course he’s always trusted his older brother.”
Cherry asked, “You said something about your sons having quarreled, Mrs. Albee?”
“I’m afraid they quarreled often in the weeks just before Richard left. Merrill told me a little about an unfortunate loan Richard had taken out, or something of the sort.” Evidently, Cherry noted, Mrs. Albee had been kept largely in ignorance about the loan, too. “Miss Ames? Did all of this lead to Richard’s loss of memory?”
“It’s possible it contributed, Mrs. Albee.”
It occurred to Cherry that all during this loan trouble, Merrill must have been under his share of strain, and probably still was.
“About their quarrels, Mrs. Albee—?”
“Something finally came to a head, I don’t know exactly what,” Mrs. Albee said to Cherry. “All I know is, one day last April, Merrill came home exhausted and angry. He told me he’d bad a terrible quarrel at the plant with Richard, and that Richard walked out and didn’t come back. He—he brought me Richard’s note of good-bye.”
A terrible quarrel. … To Cherry, this news of a quarrel was medically important information. The quarrel might have been the final blow that, after weeks and months of strain, triggered Richard’s amnesia. Dr. Hope had said that a mounting period of anxiety invariably precedes amnesia. Richard must have been terribly worried about the loan as the repayment date came nearer and nearer. What exactly was the emotional stress on her patient just before his breakdown? What had Merrill said to Richard during that final quarrel? For many years Merrill had resented Richard, and this stored-up resentment reached its peak last April. What had Merrill blamed him for, or threatened him with, on the day Richard disappeared?
Merrill would not tell her, and Mrs. Albee did not know. Richard knew, but could not remember.
Cherry looked discouragedly at Mrs. Albee, who sat up straighter in her chair.
“Miss Ames, it’s done me so much good to unburden my mind to you! I’ve been silent and done nothing about this situation for too long. But now that I know where my son Richard is, and how he is, I feel I have the strength to act. I promise you, Miss Ames, and more important, I promise myself,” Olivia Albee said with spirit, “that I will have Merrill make amends to Richard for this. I will insist that Merrill do the right thing in a business way, too.”
Knowing how thorny Merrill was, it was easier said than done, Cherry thought.
“Miss Ames, I want to go to Hilton to see Richard and bring him home. … No, no, I’m not so ill that I can’t do it. Merrill would have to escort me, of course.”
Cherry felt alarmed. She was sure her patient should not see Merrill, even with Mrs. Albee, while he was still groping to find himself; the encounter would be a shock. Richard might need preparation. Dr. Hope would have to be consulted. Cherry explained as much of this as was tactful, and said to Mrs. Albee:
“I’ll have to consult Dr. Hope, and find out when you and Merrill may come for Richard. The moment Dr. Hope approves, I’ll notify you.”
“Thank you. May I send Richard something?”
Cherry smiled at Richard’s mother. “I was thinking of the same thing. Have you some familiar belonging of Richard’s which I could take back to him? To help stimulate his recall?”
Mrs. Albee smiled, too, and thought. “I knitted a blue sweater for him that he’s fond of and has worn a lot. Blue is his favorite color.”
She asked the maid to find the sweater in Richard’s room, and gave it to Cherry. They said good-bye, then.
“I’ll look forward to seeing you in Hilton, Miss Ames. Soon, let us hope.”
“Yes,” said Cherry uncertainly. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Albee. What you’ve told me, and what I’ve managed to learn on this trip East, ought to help Richard a great deal.”
She left the Albees’ house, regretting that she had not been able to find out just where the loan fit into this troubled situation. Why, Cherry wondered, was it taken out as a personal loan if it actually were for business purposes? Why had Richard alone signed for it? Mr. Steele had already told her all the Crewe bank knew. Mrs. Albee knew very little about the loan. As for Merrill, Cherry realized, Merrill would not be willing to tell her anything about this. Probably only Richard knew the whole story about the loan, if he could be helped to remember it.
That had to be the next step.
By the time Cherry drove back to New York City, and put Gwen’s car in the garage, it was three thirty P.M. Her job in Crewe and New York was completed, and Cherry was eager to deliver her information to Dr. Hope and see her patient just as soon as possible. An afternoon plane? Why not? She would miss spending the evening with the Spencer Club, but she’d save half a day tomorrow. From a phone booth Cherry reached the airline she wanted, and was able to make a reservation for six P.M. That would give her enough time to pack, say a quick au revoir to any Spencer Club members who might be at home, and catch the bus to the airport.
The nurses’ apartment was empty and quiet. Cherry saw a note on the mantel, in Josie’s scrawl.
“Cherry—In case you come home ahead of us, we’re all going to the theater this evening. Gwen’s nicest patient gave us a flock of tickets. You’re going, too—save the evening for us.”
“Gwen, Mai Lee, Josie, Bertha—Awfully sorry but I’m going to Hilton, instead of to the theater with all of you. This case is urgent. Give my ticket to some worthy character. Best love to all of you, and hope the play will be a good one.”
CHAPTER XIII
A Wall of Mist
CHERRY REPORTED BACK TO HILTON HOSPITAL FRIDAY morning, October tenth. She had been gone for four crowded days. Dr. Hope, whom she was eager to see at once, was not here yet, the head nurse said. The door to Richard’s room stood open. That was a cheerful sign.
“Good morning, Richard!”Cherry rapped on the doorframe. “May I come in to say hello?”
“Miss Cherry! I missed you.”The cast had been removed from his leg. “Dr. Watson cut off the cast—bivalved it, he said—yesterday.”Richard’s wide, friendly smile was a cheerful sign, too. He swung himself off the bed, using his crutches, and pulled up a chair for her. “Dr. Hope told me you were in Crewe visiting my family.”
“Yes, and I brought you this.”
Richard recognized the blue sweater. “I’m glad. It’s an old friend. Mother knitted it for me.”Richard stroked the sweater. “How is my mother?”he asked rather anxiously.
“She’s fairly well, and very happy to hear news of you, and she sends you her love.”
Cherry was astonished at the good change in him. Earlier he had insisted his mother was dead. Now he was lucid, calm, and cheerful. But though she waited for him to say, “How is Merrill?”he did not. He eyed Cherry with an expression she could not fathom.
She thought, “I’d better be careful what I say to Richard. Who knows what’s in his mind about my visit to Crewe?”She excused herself before Richard could question her, and went to Dr. Hope to discuss the situation.
He was just taking off his hat and coat. In the morning sunshine, with his bright fair hair and athlete’s stance, Harry Hope looked vital enough to cure any patient.
“Well! Miss Cherry!”He pumped her hand. “Sit down and tell me all about it. Or, first I’ll tell you some good news.”
Their patient, he said, had made an unexpected spurt of progress in the last few days. Perhaps the knowledge that his nurse was paving his way with the family aided him. While Cherry was away, Richard recalled that his mother was alive, and that he felt responsible or guilty about her health in some way he didn’t understand. He remembered for the first time that he had an older brother, Merrill, with whom he, a chemist, was a partner in the family business. Richard, Dr. Hope said, felt vaguely that he had wronged Merrill, and that he was in some trouble involving Merrill. Richard also surprised Dr. Hope by remembering that the business was failing. He insisted that it was his fault, insisted he had somehow ruined the family business or its credit.
That was as far as Richard could remember, as far as he was able at present to face his predicament. Dr. Hope commented that it took courage and effort on Richard’s part to come this close to the unbearable realities.
“I could hardly wait for you to come back with information,”Dr. Hope admitted to Cherry. “Can you tell whether Richard’s new recall is fact or fantasy?”
“Dr. Hope, no matter what Richard believes, he did not ruin the business. He did not injure Merrill, nor his mother.”
And Cherry told the psychiatrist all that she had learned in Crewe and in New York.
“I see,”he said, “I see. Richard’s feelings of guilt and self-blame are no more than symptoms of his illness, then. Poor fellow. Well, let’s decide how we’ll use what you’ve learned.”
Dr. Hope said they had two aims now—to relieve Richard’s unnecessary feelings of self-blame, and to aid his recall.
“We mustn’t tell Richard anything right out—only stimulate his recall. Our job is to help him recall by himself.”He briefed her carefully. “One thing I don’t understand, Miss Cherry. Why did Richard alone take out a personal loan for the business?”
“I couldn’t find out, Dr. Hope. I suspect that’s the heart of Richard’s troubles.”
That same Friday afternoon, with Dr. Hope present and watchful, Cherry described to Richard her visit with his mother and brother.
“Aren’t they a nice family?”Richard responded. “I wish you could have met my late father. He was a fine man. He left my brother and me the business he founded, of course as equal partners.”
Of course, Richard said, and said it calmly. So Richard was unaware that Merrill had always resented his having an equal partnership.
“You don’t have much to say about Merrill,”Dr. Hope prompted him.
Richard spoke loyally of his brother, but guiltily, too.
Cherry, guided and aided by Dr. Hope, slowly and with great care, reintroduced to Richard some of the facts she had learned in Crewe. She gave him hints. She reminded him of what he had recalled by himself, and urged him to recall a step further, then another step.
“You were on the beach near the big, jagged rocks, you and another boy. Could it have been you and Merrill?”
“Yes. Merrill and I went swimming. Racing. I mean, we swam far out—I never should have dared him—”
Frowning, fumbling for the half-drowned memory, Richard brought back the whole painful episode.
“It all started, in a way, because Merrill had a habit of teasing—well, taunting me. About how I couldn’t measure up to him in some ways because I was younger and smaller and four years behind him in lots of ways. I never minded much because I was good-natured, I guess, and mostly because I sensed that Merrill needed to ‘triumph’ over me.”
“That wasn’t very kind of Merrill,”Dr. Hope said.
“Well, that’s how he was and I admired him so much that it didn’t matter. Until one summer when he was fourteen and I was ten. It was a rather cool day—”
On that day the brothers had bicycled to the beach. There, in front of friends, Merrill made some sharp remarks to Richard and the little boy felt humiliated. In a burst of spirit—not malice—he had dared Merrill to swim far out with him, beyond the swimmers’ area, to where they could race. Merrill accepted the dare to race.
What neither boy took into consideration, Richard said, was that Merrill had limited strength, which was not important so long as Merrill did not overstrain himself.
The swim took them far out. Merrill wanted so badly to win that he overexerted himself. Exhausted, he had trouble fighting the strong current. Richard saw this and attempted to help him. But Merrill in his pride—friends on the shore were watching—fought off Richard’s aid. He told Richard, “Keep away!”and Richard, despite his concern and better judgment, did as his older brother insisted. People on shore started to swim out to help, but Merrill waved them back, too.
When the boys reached shore, Merrill argued with Richard as to who had won the race—a pointless, inconclusive argument. But during that time Merrill was exposed to a cold wind, and grew chilled. The hardier, younger Richard withstood the wind.
Then the boys bicycled home in their wet bathing suits, under jeans and sweatshirts. This further exertion and exposure also harmed Merrill.
When they reached home, Merrill was on the verge of collapse. Their mother went to the telephone to call the doctor at once. In the moments she was away, Merrill blamed Richard for “making me get sick.”Richard was so distressed and abashed at seeing his adored older brother near collapse that the blame sank in, unreasonable as it was.
And later when Merrill was in the hospital, and still later during Merrill’s long, grim convalescence at home, he blamed Richard again. The serious impairment to Merrill’s heart was now evident. Merrill was fourteen; Richard was only ten; he could not outargue Merrill’s claims that “you dared me”—“you knew I wasn’t very strong”—“why didn’t you help me in the water, no matter what I said? Couldn’t you see I was exhausted?”Richard felt so badly at seeing Merrill ill, so guilty at having dared him and at not having helped him, that he humbly accepted the blame. T
elling about it even now, Richard still had the old, guilty feeling. And still later on when Merrill was a semi-invalid, and Richard strong and active, the steady, silent looks of reproach from Merrill weighed on Richard.
Worse, Merrill made his charges secretly, never telling the parents and swearing little Richard to secrecy. He hinted morbidly that the parents would never forgive Richard if they knew “what you’d done to me.”
“And you never told your mother or father about this?”Cherry said. “Why didn’t you talk it over with your parents, Richard?”
“Because”—he was almost in tears—”Merrill warned me it might kill Mother if I told. It would upset her so badly. She was always in shaky health, a latent heart condition.”
So Merrill had used the mother’s health as an additional weapon over Richard. In careful phrases Dr. Hope gave Richard a hint of this.
“No, no, you mustn’t blame Merrill,”Richard said quickly. “Because in a way it was my fault that Merrill nearly drowned, and was half an invalid afterward. I’ve always felt I ruined Merrill’s life. I owe it to him to help him in every way. He’s never had much of a life. Nor many friends, except recently. There’s a nice girl named Susan Stiles—”
So Richard had pleaded Merrill’s cause with Susan as one more means of “making up” to him an injury Richard had never inflicted.
“See here, Richard,”said Dr. Hope. “In exactly what way did you cause Merrill’s ill health?”
“Well, I—It’s hard to say exactly. Exposure—overexertion—my dare—Merrill said I did.”
“No, Richard, that is not true.”
Dr. Hope, and Cherry too, reasoned with him and endeavored to show him that the mishap was Merrill’s own fault. They pointed out to him that he had carried around with him for years the mistaken ideas Merrill had implanted in him, under stress, at ten. Re-examine your ideas now, they urged. Stop thinking as if you were still ten years old. Gradually, with much work by all three of them, it dawned on Richard that he was blameless. After so many years of feeling guilty, he could scarcely believe it.