Romance Classics (147 page)

“But Mrs. Kendall sent the chauffeur out to your home, miss, and explained to Mrs. Westbrook that you were here and that you were quite all right. Mrs. Westbrook sent word back that everything was fine with her. The chauffeur says there are dozens of children being cared for in all the houses there and that it looks like a public school at recess time.”

Cathy laughed at the picture.

“Then Maggie is perfectly happy. She adores children,” she said lightly.

“Shall I help you dress, miss?” suggested the maid.

“Thanks, I can manage,” answered Cathy. “I’ll be right down.”

The maid went out, and Cathy stepped into the clothes Elaine had sent. She admitted to herself as she faced the mirror that the selection was good; the simply cut white gown, with its off-the-shoulder decolletage was very becoming, and while it fitted rather loosely, its cut was one that minimized that defect. She nodded at her reflection and hurried downstairs, anxious not to keep the others waiting.

The silver sandals made no sound on the thickly carpeted stairs. She reached the doorway of the drawing room, unheard—and paused there, taken back by what she saw.

Elaine, in a gown of soft blue, her arms and shoulders bare, her curls pinned high in a smart and sophisticated coiffure, sat in a deep, golden-brocade chair. Mark, still wearing the shirt and trousers in which he had worked but which had obviously been cleaned and pressed since then, stood leaning above her. Elaine’s lifted face was lovely, her eyes soft and warm, her red mouth curled in a sweet smile; and Mark was looking down at her with tender admiration.

It was a simple but telling scene; it was obvious that these two had gone a long way toward friendship, and perhaps something even warmer, since they had met in the horror of the morning’s storm wreck. Cathy, watching them, felt an odd stab at her heart that made her turn sharply away, still unseen, and slip out of the front door and along the terrace toward the garden.

She was ashamed of herself for that little momentary stab of jealousy. Because unless she was in love with Mark, what right had she to be jealous? And she
wasn’t
in love with him!

She was startled suddenly by the sound of a car coming up the drive, and for an instant the yellow beam of the lights lay full on her, blinding her. The next moment the lights had passed on, the car had stopped, and someone was running to her across the drive.

“Cathy!”

It was Bill’s voice, sharp and urgent with an anxiety that had endured until the strain had become almost unbearable. It was Bill’s arms that gathered her hard and close against him, and Bill’s cheek was against her hair.

“Oh, Cathy, Cathy—are you all right, darling? Maggie said you were but she hadn’t seen you since an hour after the storm struck. When she told me you were here with Aunt Edith—good Lord, Cathy, I probably broke every speed record in the state getting home.” He was speaking huskily and holding her a little away from him so that he could look down at her. His fingers beneath her chin tilted her face upward until he could set his mouth on hers in a hard, eager kiss.

“Didn’t I hear Bill’s car?” Mrs. Kendall cried. “Oh, Bill darling, is that you? Are you all right, Bill?”

Bill laughed and took one arm from about Cathy and put it around his aunt, holding them both close to him.

“Of course I’m all right, Aunt Edith. I’m sorry that you were worried about me,” he assured her, kissing her cheek lightly. “I tried to telephone or wire you, but of course all communications were cut off until just a little while ago; and I was so close to home then that I just kept pounding along, unwilling to stop long enough to try to phone.”

“But, Bill, where have you been?” Mrs. Kendall clung to him, still tearful, still aggrieved, but with her eyes shining with happiness.

“It’s a long story, Aunt Edith—but one you and Cathy both will have to hear,” said Bill almost curtly. “Suppose we postpone it until after I’ve had a bite? I hate to admit it, but I’m starving—now that I find my two girls here together, where I’ve always wanted them to be.”

He kissed Cathy and then his aunt and turned toward the house, still with an arm about each of them. As they went up
the steps from the garden to the terrace, the light flashed on and Mark and Elaine stood facing them. Cathy’s face burned as she saw the look in Mark’s eyes that took in Bill, with one arm about Edith, the other about Cathy.

“Well,” Elaine said sternly to Bill. “Where have you been while all Hades has been popping loose around here? As if all of us didn’t have enough on our minds, coping with the worst storm that has ever hit the place, we had to take time out to worry about you, too!”

“Sorry,” said Bill. “I went out of town last night on a bit of business. I was in Atlanta a little after five this morning. I went straight to the hotel and checked in, got a few hours’ sleep, and then attended to my business. After lunch, on the way back to the hotel, I picked up an afternoon paper and read about the storm here. Ten minutes later I was on my way back, moving as fast as I ever hope to move. I went straight to Mrs. Westbrook, of course, and when she told me Cathy was here, I almost broke a leg getting home. And that’s the story.”

Cathy had seen the bleak look that had flashed over Mrs. Kendall’s face when Bill had said, “I went straight to Mrs. Westbrook, of course.” He had taken it so for granted that they would understand that his first concern had been for Cathy, rather than for his aunt. Yet Mrs. Kendall, jealous and possessive, had been deeply hurt. And once again Cathy felt an unwilling twinge of pity for the woman who had been so arrogant and domineering, and who was now bewildered and hurt because her domination was threatened, if not actually wrecked.

During dinner, Elaine and Mark answered Bill’s questions about the storm and the damage; Cathy sat almost completely silent, knowing nothing of what she ate, conscious of nothing save that Bill was here, and that there was no longer any barrier
to their marriage. She should have been exultantly happy, but she only felt a vast weariness still.

Bill’s hand closed warmly over hers where it lay in her lap, and his eyes on her were ardent and eager.

“Sure you were in there pitching. Nobody needs to tell me that, darling,” he said huskily, when Elaine had spoken of Cathy’s work.

Cathy looked up and met Mark’s eyes. He seemed to know that, beneath the edge of the table, Bill’s hand held hers tightly; there was an odd look in Mark’s eyes that Cathy could not quite understand. Was he contemptuous of her because after all that had lain between the three of them, she was once more tremulous and confused by Bill’s nearness, by his tenderness, by his caress?

Elaine said suddenly, almost sharply, her eyes following Mark’s long level look at Cathy, “Well, hadn’t we better be getting back to work? I’ve an idea they’ll be glad to have all the help they can get in town tonight.”

Mark thrust back his chair and rose.

“Right,” he said, and smiled as he looked at the fragile dinner gown, the upswept curls, the silver slippers. “Were you planning to work in that?”

“Of course not, silly. It’ll take me five minutes to tumble into slacks and a jacket. Wait right here for me, darling,” she told him saucily, and ran out of the room.

For a split second, as she spoke the endearment, her eyes were on Cathy, with a trace of defiance. As though she said, You didn’t want him when you could have him—and now that I want him, you can’t have him.

They moved into the drawing room while they waited for her, and Mark kept up a polite, meaningless flow of conversation, almost unaided. Mrs. Kendall was obviously not listening. She sat with her hands in her lap, her fingers picking at the edge of her handkerchief. Cathy tried to follow Mark’s words and to answer them, but her whole inner being was still in enough turmoil that she was scarcely conscious of what she said. As for Bill, he was quite frankly waiting for Mark’s departure so that he could speak his thoughts to Cathy and Mrs. Kendall.

They were all relieved when Elaine came down, slim and trim in navy blue slacks, a white shirt, and a soft blue
sweater slung carelessly about her shoulders. She slid her hand through Mark’s arm and spoke to the others.

“We’re off to the mines, children,” she said impishly. “Look for us when you see us coming—and even then it may not be us!”

Cathy said quickly, “I’d better go, too.”

“No, Cathy,” said Bill sharply.

Elaine cut in quickly, “The Red Cross is here, Cathy, and they seem to be in control of the situation. I’ll find out if you are needed, and if you are, I’ll come straight back for you—cross my heart.”

Cathy nodded, her hands clenched in her lap. There was a situation here that had to be faced, and the sooner the better. She could report for duty an hour from now if she was needed, and meanwhile this thing that now lay between her, Bill and Mrs. Kendall would have been settled.

Mark and Elaine went out, and when the sound of the station wagon died away, Bill turned and looked first at Aunt Edith and then at Cathy.

“Well, girls,” he said at last, his voice trying hard to sound light, “here we go. I went to Atlanta, Aunt Edith, as you must have guessed by now, to look for a job—a job that would permit me to take decent and adequate care of—my Wife.”

Edith Kendall was stunned, although her eyes showed that she had expected this and dreaded it and wanted to refuse to accept it.

“But, Bill darling, you’ve got a job—a fine job. The salary is more than ample for you—and your wife. If it isn’t, it can be increased,” she protested unsteadily.

“That, of course, depending entirely on whether or not I marry as you wish me to, Aunt Edith,” said Bill quietly. “You’ve held that over my head much too long, and I’m rebelling. I have chosen my wife, and I’m sorry that you disapprove, but I quite understand just what it means. That I shall have to give up my job and my chances of being your heir and all the rest of it. I admit I fought a long time against making this decision. I’ve shamed Cathy and hurt her, over and over again, because I had my heart set on sharing with her the money that I feel I have every right to inherit. But I’ve realized, at long last, that having Cathy is all that really matters. I swore, always, that I would never marry unless I
knew beyond all reasonable doubt that my wife could have every comfort and luxury. I tried to sell Cathy the idea, but she feels that love is far more important than money—and I feel that Cathy is the most important thing in my life. So—I’m sorry, Aunt Edith, but that’s the way it is. I’m leaving Cypressville at the end of the month and starting work on my new job two weeks later. The two weeks is for a honeymoon.”

“But, Bill—Bill, I’ve told Cathy I no longer object to your marriage—that I’m perfectly willing for you to marry her—in a few months, maybe—” stammered Mrs. Kendall.

Cathy held her breath, her eyes on Bill. And Bill smiled at her faintly, reassuringly, and said quietly, “Cathy and I
are
married, Aunt Edith. We were secretly married several weeks ago.”

There was a stunned silence. Mrs. Kendall stared at him as though she could not believe her ears. And then she looked at Cathy, wide-eyed, shocked.

“This—this shameful thing isn’t true, Cathy?” she gasped.

“I’m afraid it is, Mrs. Kendall.”

Bill flushed and ran his fingers through his hair with a gesture that Cathy remembered as characteristic when he was confused or uneasy.

“I suppose it
was
shameful in a way—a great injustice to Cathy,” he admitted unwillingly.

“To Cathy? What about the injustice to me? Surely I deserve better treatment than that from you, Bill. That you should sneak around behind my back and marry some girl you knew I disapproved of—” Mrs. Kendall set her teeth hard, biting off what she had meant to say as though fearful of Bill’s anger.

“You have only yourself to blame, Aunt Edith, that I didn’t trust you more,” said Bill. “You’ve always held the Kendall estate over my head—or rather, just ahead of me—like a carrot ahead of a donkey. Even the donkey, stupid as he is, finally begins to suspect he isn’t ever going to get the carrot, no matter how hard he pulls.”

He put his arm about Cathy and drew her close, his cheek against her hair.

“But Cathy has taught me that, right or wrong, I can’t live without her,” he finished quietly. “If she’s willing to take a
chance on—poverty and love—then I’m the luckiest guy that ever lived, and we’re going to have a shot at it.”

“Oh, Bill—wait,” whispered Cathy shakily.

But Mrs. Kendall’s voice drowned her faint whisper.

“Bill, you mustn’t leave Cypressville. You mustn’t leave the plant. Most of all, Bill, you mustn’t leave—me,” she pleaded, and now tears were slipping down her convulsed face. “Bill, I’ll withdraw all my objections—I’ll make over half the estate to you and Cathy now, and leave you the rest in my will. I can’t lose you, Bill—you’re all I’ve got.”

Bill said suddenly, deeply touched, “Aunt Edith, I’m sorry to have hurt you.”

She smiled at him through her tears, and suddenly she looked very old and very tired.

“I guess I deserved it, Bill. I—I was so jealous. You have always meant so much to me,” she stammered.

Bill put his arms about her and kissed her cheek; with his own handkerchief he touched the tears from her face.

Cathy stood very still, looking on, saying nothing until Bill turned to her, his eyes alight.

“So that’s the way it’s going to end,” he said. “And we’ll all live happily ever after.”

Mrs. Kendall smiled damply at Cathy and said eagerly, “But we won’t announce that you’re secretly married! We’ll announce your engagement, and then in a month or so you can be married here, publicly.”

“No!” said Cathy emphatically, and Bill and Mrs. Kendall stared at her, astonished. “We won’t announce our marriage, Bill. It would be rather pointless, I’m afraid, since I intend to ask for a divorce as soon as I am assigned to duty.”

“A divorce!” Mrs. Kendall paled with the shock of that. “My dear girl, you are out of your mind!”

Bill said quickly, “Cathy, you can’t do this to me.”

“I’m sorry, Bill, I’m afraid I’ll have to,” said Cathy steadily. “I tried to tell you that night—was it only last night? It seems ages ago!—that I wasn’t in love with you any more.”