Kerry (11 page)

Kerry was well versed in book contracts. Her father had talked this one over with her. Had in fact showed her some of his other contracts, discussed each separate item and helped her to understand what she should agree to if it fell to her to sign the contract for his book. Dear Father! He must have known months ago that he would never live to see the book published. His great life work!

Kerry brushed away a tear and went on with her intensive thinking.

She knew all about that paragraph in all author’s contracts that bound the author with an oath that there was nothing in the manuscript libelous, or that could infringe on another author’s writings. She realized there might be ground for suit in such a matter if an article should appear before the book came out.

Somehow she must get hold of that paper. If it was in the room it must be found. If it had been carried away carelessly when the room was cleaned, it must be found. If it had been stolen
it must be found!
But how to go about it. That was the thing!

But the thought carried her still further. Even if she found the paper, she would never be able to erase its message from the mind of the man who had read it, if indeed he had taken it and read it! Oh this was dreadful! Actually descending to charge a fellow being with such an ugly crime! But what else could she think? Her father had warned her.

However, whatever the outcome, this should be a lesson to her. She must put the rest of her precious manuscript where it could not be found, at least until she was positive that man had not somehow managed to enter her stateroom and taken that paper. Of course if he had entered it once he could do so again. She must not leave it unguarded, not for a single minute! Suppose it should all be stolen, notes and copy and all! Where would she be? And the world would lose the book her great father had written. All her father’s life and hard work would have gone for nothing! Another man would profit by it—if indeed his jealousy did not cause him to destroy it before it ever came to the light of day.

But the more she thought about it the more she realized she could not just stay here in her room the rest of the trip. For one thing she would have to pay extra for her meals to be sent to her, and her store of money was already much reduced. When it was gone she would be absolutely penniless, with nothing left to pawn. No, she must conserve her money, and she must guard that book with her very life, but she must somehow manage to do it without letting anybody suspect that she had anything to guard.

The first thing that she did was to carefully copy from the notes once more that seventy-fifth page with its changes, as exactly a duplicate of the lost page as it was possible to make.

Then she set to work to gather the notes of the whole book, as far as she had completed it. They were fastened together by little clips but now she carefully removed the clips and sewed the sheets with thread, a few in a group. These she laid smoothly between the leaves of a magazine. Hunting out a tube of paste from among her working materials, she carefully gummed the margins of the magazine together, with the notes between the pages, removing every other page to make it less bulky, until all the notes were put away except the few which were left for changes in the last twenty pages. Those she would finish copying that afternoon, and then if anything happened, she would have all the notes safely in one magazine.

But what about the manuscript itself ? Could she work the same scheme with it? Would it be too bulky for her to carry around with her in one of those pretty bags that all the women carried? The bags were for sale in the main cabin. She would buy one. Perhaps they were expensive, but a fancy bag could be carried even to the table, and slipped beneath her chair, or in her lap.

Her fingers flew rapidly over her typewriter keys all that afternoon, and before it was time to dress for dinner she had copied all the changes, and was through with the last of the notes.

It took only a few minutes to paste the remaining papers between the leaves of her magazine. The notes were ready to put away, and she decided to put them in the bottom of her trunk, under everything else. Nobody would think of looking into an old magazine packed carefully between two framed pictures. It would look as if it had been put there to protect the glass. She even wrapped an old apron carelessly around the frames, leaving visible the back of the magazine where the name was printed. She replaced her things smoothly, fitted in her tray, and locked her trunk feeling that the notes at least were reasonably safe.

But there still remained the manuscript and an envelope containing instructions for her interview with the publisher. This envelope was sealed and she had never opened it, but somehow she dreaded opening it and had put if off till the last minute. She knew it contained a letter of introduction to the publishers, with whom her father had had some communication from time to time as the book progressed, and she knew that letter was important, for without it she would not have identification.

It was getting late. The coast would be clear for a few minutes, for everybody would be dressing for dinner.

Kerry wrapped the manuscript and the long envelope in a piece of soft paper, and throwing her coat carelessly over it on her arm she hurried to the cabin where expensive trinkets of all sorts were on display. Not again would she leave that precious manuscript behind her. As she had hoped there were very few people around, and she made her purchases unhindered and hurried back to her stateroom.

She bought a couple of new magazines, and an attractive little bag of hand-woven wool with little strap handles. It was large and soft and would amply hold all she needed to put in it.

She slipped hurriedly into her one little evening gown, put the manuscript into her new bag, stuffed a soft little silk shawl on top of it, with a magazine sticking out behind it and was ready to go. The shawl was green, with long silk fringe. It was the one beautiful relic of her childhood, a gift her father had brought her from China while she was still in school. The fringe hung carelessly out and made a lovely touch of color in her somber outfit. She slung the bag over her arm and went out on deck for a few minutes as if she were going to read, and so sauntered into the dining room quite naturally, carrying her new bag. No one would suspect she carried a treasure that she was afraid to leave behind her.

She held it in her lap during the meal, in constant fear it would slide off to the floor, but greatly assured to have the precious book where she could touch it all the time.

Sitting there at the table with the voices of friendly people all around her, and her special aversion sitting diagonally across from her eating his dinner like any sane Christian, Kerry reflected that she had been very silly and foolishly frightened, to spend her money for the bag. It was absurd in the extreme for her to imagine that man wanted her book, or had any dishonest intentions against her. Probably that missing page was even now lying under her trunk, or perhaps a whimsical wind had fluttered it out of her porthole and it was swashing about somewhere in the ocean right now. Probably Professor Dawson, PhD, had only kind intentions after all when he offered so assiduously to help her with her father’s book. At most he was only seeking a little fame; he wanted to be able to say, “I helped compile that book! I was associated,” etc. Well, at least she was glad that she had taken the safer course, for she never could have made herself sit through a meal and act like other people if she had left it behind her. And absurd or not she was going to enjoy that lovely bag! It was the first pretty thing she ever remembered to have bought for herself.

“Oh, thank you, no. I can carry the bag. It is only a light little thing,” she found herself saying to McNair as he helped her up the companionway and asked her to walk awhile on the deck.

She slipped her hand deftly through the soft straps, tucked the bag under her arm, and flung the green shawl around her shoulders. The long fringe hung down and the bag was out of sight.

They walked the deck together for a while, watching the dying colors on the water as they had done the night before, and Kerry felt again that peace that had possessed her in the young man’s company.

She longed to ask him some questions, yet dared not break the sweet quietness of their friendliness. At last, as the same star burned out again she said shyly, “I wish you would tell me what you meant last night, about the silver trumpet. I’ve been puzzling all day to know about it. Was it real, or was it some book you have been reading, a poem perhaps? I may be stupid. I haven’t read much of the modern literature.”

He looked down at her and smiled, and even in the dusky twilight she thought she saw a light of eagerness in his eyes.

“Yes, it’s real!” he said. “The realest thing there is in the world. But it’s a book, too. Wait! Let us go over there and sit down where we shall not be interrupted, and I’ll tell you all about it. But—” And he looked down at her critically. “You’re not warmly enough dressed for sitting out here. The wind is coming up. Wait! I’ll get you some blankets! But no, suppose you come with me. I’m afraid your friend might spirit you away before we have our talk.”

“My friend?” she questioned with a look of annoyance in her eyes. “I have no friends on board.”

“You’re mistaken,” said McNair, smiling. “You have
one
at least in myself. But isn’t Dawson your friend? He gave me to understand that he was quite an intimate of the family, and closely associated with your father in his work.”

“I never heard of him before,” said Kerry earnestly. “I doubt if my father ever did. He usually talked to us of those he met. I never heard this man’s name, although that professor’s wife at the table told me that Mr. Dawson had written several scientific books, which had been favorably received. But he is not
my
friend. The fact is I have taken a most violent dislike to him, which of course is all wrong, and I’m struggling hard to forget it. But don’t call him my friend, please.”

“I’m greatly relieved,” laughed McNair, “I shan’t be afraid to monopolize you then as often as you will let me. Now, here we are, just wait a moment, and if Dawson turns up we’ll run and hide behind those life preservers.”

He laughingly unlocked a door, disappeared, and reappeared almost immediately with an armful of blankets, steering her back to the deck once more.

There was some kind of an entertainment going on in the cabin, and crowds were assembled there. McNair led her by a deserted way to a sheltered spot on the upper deck where they seemed to be alone with the stars. He produced a big soft coat of camel’s hair.

“Here, I brought this for you,” he said. “Put it on. Oh, I have another for myself.” He laughed as she lifted eyes of protest. “You’ll find it’s quite chilly when you have sat for a few minutes.”

He tucked her in with a blanket, and arranged a cushion at her back. She wondered where he found all these comforts so easily, as if he had prepared for the necessity.

It was wonderful up there among the stars. For a few moments they sat and looked.

At last he spoke.

“Where do you want me to begin?”

“At the beginning,” said Kerry. “I want to understand it all.”

“‘In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth!’” quoted McNair solemnly, and somehow the words seemed to bring a new meaning as he spoke them up there under the circle of the heavens.

“You believe the Bible then?” questioned Kerry. “My father thought, that is he sometimes said, that the Bible account of creation might be true only it did not seem to make the world old enough.” There was a wistfulness in her tone as she went on. “But how do you explain the strange animals that have been buried ages ago, the deposits of rock that show the world must have been thousands and thousands of years in the making?”

“There is room for all that between the first and second verses of Genesis,” said the young man confidently. “Are you familiar with the words?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Kerry. “I’ve never read it much. Of course we read it some in school at morning devotions.”

“Then I’ll repeat it. The first verse is, ‘In the beginning God
created
the heavens and the earth out of nothing.’ In the beginning God made the heavens and the earth out of nothing. But we do not know how long ago that was. It may have been ages upon ages ago. It probably was. God has said nothing about the time. But the next verse goes on to say—‘And the earth
was
without form and void,’ but a more accurate translation of the original Hebrew would be: ‘and the earth
became
without form and void.’ It became shapeless and empty. A great cataclysm destroyed the first creation. You will find reference to it in Isaiah and Jeremiah, and the New Testament refers to it as a fact of which people are ‘willingly ignorant.’”

“How strange!” said Kerry in a tone of deep interest. “I never heard of it before. Do you mean it is a new theory? A new interpretation?”

“Not at all!” said McNair quickly, “no man has a right to a theory about God, or about what He has said. And we are told that no scripture is of ‘private interpretation.’ It is to be understood only by comparing scripture with scripture. When anything in the Bible is put to that test there is no doubt of its meaning. I could make this clearer to you in the daytime when I could show you the verses in the Bible. Would you like to come up here tomorrow morning sometime and go into it thoroughly?”

“I certainly would,” said Kerry eagerly, “it sounds fascinating. My father, of course, knew Hebrew and Greek, but he never had much time to look into things like this, though he used to say that he thought the Bible was the most beautiful book in the world, and he wished he had more time to read it. He read it quite a few times the last weeks before he died. He said it rested him. But tell me, what has this to do with what you were talking about last night? You spoke of a silver trumpet, and of Christ coming back to earth again, if I understood you right. What could that possibly have to do with the creation of the universe ages ago before Christ was ever born? He wasn’t there at creation.”