Coming Through the Rye (23 page)

“Oh Chris,” she said appealingly, “can't you get me out of here—upstairs? I—can't stand any more!”

Chris gave her his arm and led her proudly toward the stairs, and Romayne never knew that by that small appeal to his chivalry she had soothed many hurts that she had given him on the day the house was raided.

But a man like Kearney Krupper was not to be shaken off so easily. He was at the stairs as Romayne put her foot upon the first step.

“By the way, what time in the interment? Virginia, I understand. I'll be there—”

“Oh
no!
Please!” said Romayne. “No one is going. It is to be private—”

“But I represent your—ah
‘friend,'
you know, Miss Romayne. He would wish it, I'm sure. Good night! I'll be there tomorrow. Let me know if there is anything I can do in the meantime.”

If Chris hadn't been absorbed in the act of assisting the lady up the stairs, it is very possible he might have forgotten himself and knocked Kearney Krupper down right then and there. As it was, his honest face got fairly black with rage, and he looked toward the door threateningly. If he could have hoped that he would ever again have the privilege of escorting Romayne Ransom anywhere, he would have followed the cad into the street and had it out with him, but he hesitated, looking from the lady to the enemy and back again, and went on up the stairs with Romayne.

“Thank you, Chris,” said Romayne earnestly. “Oh, I wish that man wouldn't go with us tomorrow! I wish he
couldn't!
There isn't any way to stop him, is there?”

“Yes,” said Chris. “Don't you worry, Romayne, he sha'n't go!”

Romayne thanked him again, and Chris went downstairs to find Aunt Patty, feeling as if he had just been handed a wreath of olive leaves for his brow.

It was Chris who found another earlier train on another road and told Miss Patty and the undertaker about Romayne's wish; and Chris who took the flowers from the hall in a big car at Romayne's request and distributed them among the children in a hospital down near the slums.

So the funeral procession started from the house very early in the morning, before the residents of the street were up, and with only the officers' roses lying on the casket.

It was Chris again who put Romayne and Aunt Patty into their chairs in the parlor car, gave Aunt Patty the tickets, touched his hat, and left them just as the rain started, leaving Romayne with a curious sense of loneliness to know that he was gone. His kind, perspiring face had been always there, ready to respond to her slightest wish, during the last two days, and it had comforted her not a little.

But when the train drew into the little station in the Virginia town that was their destination and Romayne and Aunt Patty arose to get out, it was Chris again who appeared as naturally as if he had been there all the time, Chris in his Sunday-best citizen's clothes, ready to pick up the small handbag they had brought and put them into an automobile.

And when they came to the quiet cemetery on a hilltop above the town and got out to walk to the newly dug grave, there at its head in a body, grave and kind and impressive, in citizen's clothing and no hint of “officers” about them, stood the entire force who had guarded the house during George Ransom's illness.

There were a few old friends there, too, Virginia friends of the family. It had been several years since Romayne had seen them, and she scarcely recognized some of them. She was grateful to them, of course, for coming to do honor to her father, or to the family, though she could not help being conscious of all they must have read in the papers. But she felt a warm glow of gratitude toward that body of splendid strong-faced men with Chris at their head, who had come all the way from the city with her, riding in another car, and coming as friends and citizens rather than as officers. They were giving her father the honor of their respect and showing the people in the old hometown that he still had some friends to follow him to his grave.

The old minister was there, too, and as Romayne stood on the hilltop in the morning sunlight watching the play of light and shadow over the grassy mound where her mother's body lay buried, looking up to the sky with its cloudless blue, with the birds in the trees singing their spring songs, she could not help a little feeling of triumph. Her father, too, had gone home, forgiven! And what a place for resurrection day, if such things mattered then!

It was when they were seated in the returning train at noon, and just as they were pulling out, that the later train from the city came in and halted at the station in full sight of Romayne's window. There had been a freight off the track, and it was two hours late.

Kearney Krupper hopped blithely off and looked around him. It is possible, if the train to the city had not at that moment begun to move pretty rapidly, that it would not have carried Chris Hollister back with it, for he spied his flashy enemy just a moment too late, and he would have loved to have taken him away off in the fields and given him a good lesson. But he reflected as the train got into full motion and rounded a curve, giving a last glimpse of the indomitable Kearney, that perhaps to spend a few hours searching for a funeral that was already over would be as good a lesson as any that he could teach.

Late in the afternoon they got back to the house, and Aunt Patty tucked Romayne into bed and made her promise to go to sleep a little while. Then she made sure that the cook was in the kitchen and a tempting little dinner well underway, before she hurried off to her neglected nephew, intending to be back to eat dinner with Romayne.

But instead of eating dinner with Romayne at half past six, as she had planned, Aunt Patty was sitting in a parlor car, rushing on her way to New Hampshire.

She had found a telegram at her nephew's apartment saying that Aunt Martha had been taken suddenly seriously ill and she must come immediately.

“You'll have to go at once, of course, Aunt Patty,” said Evan anxiously. “It's ridiculous for you to think you have to stay with me! I shall be out on the street in a few days more.”

“Yes, that's just what I'm afraid of,” said Aunt Patty, wiping away a furtive tear. “You've had me out on duty so much I haven't been able to do anything for you, but I had counted on helping you convalesce and seeing that you did it gradually.”

“Well, I'll promise to be good if you'll promise to come back again as soon as you can.”

“Of course,” said Aunt Patty shortly, trying not to cry. “But what are you going to do about my little girl? She can't sleep in that great house all alone tonight.”

“That's true, too,” said Evan, looking serious. “Well, I'll get to work on that right away. Now, you'll have to hurry, Aunt Pat, if you want the express. It leaves the downtown station at six. Phone for Chris to come right up. He'll look after everything for you and at the same time do some things for me. And then you pack! Don't bother about anything you don't need at once. I'll have the rest sent after you. Just take things easy, and don't worry about Aunt Martha. She's been pretty sick before. She'll pull up out of this as soon as you get there. I know her.”

“Yes,” sighed Aunt Patty. “Poor little Aunt Martha! I ought not to have left her.”

Then Aunt Patty flew to her packing.

She did not stop for many details. She folded things and stuffed them in, and in a few minutes had her belongings marshaled into her suitcase, her hair brushed, and everything ready for her journey. Then she sat down to write a note to Romayne.

Chris, meanwhile, had arrived and done efficient service with the telephone. In half an hour a man from the League office came up with Aunt Patty's ticket and reservation, and shortly after that a taxi arrived to take her to the station. Chris escorted her, put her on her sleeper, and gave the porter a special care over her. On his way back to the house he stopped at the hospital and brought back a night nurse that the doctor whom he had called up had grudgingly recommended. The doctor did not like Evan Sherwood to have any but the best, and why couldn't Nurse Bronson stay with him now that the Ransom patient was dead? He couldn't understand.

Chris didn't explain. He simply said she couldn't be there that night. Chris had learned early to keep his mouth shut.

In the meantime, Evan Sherwood's supper tray was brought up, and while Nurse Bronson was feeding him, for they wouldn't let him move enough yet to feed himself, he told her, between mouthfuls, “You're going away to leave me tonight, Nurse, did you know it?”

“Well, indeed then, Mr. Evan, you're mistaken,” said Nurse Bronson crisply. “I'll not leave you again till yer able to be out and tend to yerself. Not till that wound has all healed! It's a nasty place, and it needs careful looking after. I'll not trust anybody else to dress it. Didn't I promise your mother—”

“Yes, but you promised
me
, Nurse. You promised me you would stay with Miss Ransom as long as she needed you.”

“Well, didn't I? Isn't the patient dead and buried? What more do you want?”

“I want you to go and stay with her tonight. Bronson, she's all alone in that great house with all those memories.”

“Memories can't bite, can they?” snapped Nurse Bronson. “I'm going to stay here!”

“Look here, Nurse, do you want me to get well?”

“Sure I do. That's why I'm staying.”

“Don't you think I need to sleep tonight?”

“Yes, and you're going to.”

“Bronson, I can't sleep unless I know that little girl is being taken care of.”

“But where's that wonderful aunt of yours?”

“She's on her way to New Hampshire. She had a telegram. Aunt Martha was taken worse.”

“Well, this is a pretty kettle of fish! So you want me to go off and leave you alone all night, do you? Well I won't, and that's that!”

“No, Bronson, I don't want you to leave me alone. There's another nurse downstairs waiting to come on duty while you go and have a good night's sleep over in the Ransom house, and I want you to keep your promise to me and go.”

“Another nurse!” said Bronson, her chin in the air. “Well, of course, in that case I
leave
!”

“But Bronson, I want you to fix me for the night before she comes up here,” smiled Evan with a twinkle.

“Aw, get out with ye, Mr. Evan. Yer the self-willed child, so ye are! What time do I have to be over to the Ransoms?”

“Oh, about half-past eight.”

“Well then! Get to work, and eat yer supper before it's cold.”

“I knew you'd be reasonable, Bronson. You always are. And you'll only be away at night, you know, and have a chance for a good sound sleep.”

“How long does this keep up?”

“Why, as long as she needs you, I said. It's a part of the League's work, you know, and I feel responsible.”

“Aw, you and yer League! You make me tired! Will you never think of yerself and getting well? Now eat them squabs. Mrs. Sam Pace sent 'em. I cooked 'em the way yer mother used to like 'em.”

“They're wonderful, Bronson. And is that currant jelly? Who made that? And ice cream! I shall stay sick! Say, Bronson, you'll be sure to come back in the morning?”

“Oh, Mr. Evan, quit yer kidding. You know we'll all do just what you say, yer that spoiled!”

Tenderly, as if he were a baby, she fixed him for the night and never went near the waiting nurse till she was ready to leave for the night. She was most explicit in her directions, too, and left with a wistful look back.

“All right, Bronson,” smiled Evan. “See you in the morning. Hope you have a good night's rest.”

Bronson carried the letter from Aunt Patty and walked in on a forlorn little belated supper with Romayne in the dining room all alone. She had just woken up. She didn't want to eat—it choked her—but she knew the maid had tried to please her, and she was doing her brave best.

So Bronson sat down and made a second supper with her and brought some of her good cheer to the sad dining room.

“Why, Nurse,” said Romayne, looking up with relief. “I thought you were on a case. I thought you went to that Mr. Sherwood!”

“And so I did,” said Nurse Bronson. “But nothing would do but I must come over and get a night's sleep. I was wondering, could you spare me a bed? It isn't so far as going to my lodging, and I thought you might be alone.”

“Oh, I'll be so glad to have you!” said Romayne eagerly. “This house seems so big and terrible!”

“Oh yes, and I brought a note from Miss Patty! She got a telegram from her sister in New Hampshire, and she had to go right off.”

Romayne opened it eagerly. It was good to know this new friend had not forgotten her after the stress was over.

Romayne looked up with a sad little smile.

Just then the telephone rang sharply, and Nurse Bronson waved her hand commandingly.

“Sit still. I'll answer it!”

A man's voice came over the wire.

“Is Miss Ransom at home yet?”

“Yes.”

“Well, tell her I'm coming to see her. I've just got back from Virginia. I'll be there in ten minutes. This is Kearney Krupper, and I've got something important to tell her.”

E
very word that Kearney Krupper spoke over the telephone was audible to Romayne across the room, and when there came that quick click of the instrument, showing that he had hung up in the midst of Nurse Bronson's protest that Miss Ransom was too tired to see anyone that night, Romayne looked at her aghast.