Romance Classics (88 page)

“Look here,” said Kate briskly. “I'll bet that you haven't had a bite of dinner, have you? Come along to the house with me and we'll raid the kitchen. You'll find yourself feeling much better in no time at all.”

Sure that the patient would not need him for a little while, Scott walked with her up the path to the house.

There was something soothing to Scott's whole system about River's Edge. When at last they were seated in the kitchen, platters of food before them, coffee hot and fragrant and strong, turning amber with the addition of thick yellow cream, Scott found that he was ravenously hungry. Kate, watching him with an almost maternal look in her eyes, pretended to eat, reveling in the fact that he was eating enormously and obviously enjoying every bite.

Dawn was graying the sky in the east when they came out of the house once more and Kate saw, with deep relief, that some of the strain had gone out of Scott's face and that he looked more like himself.

“I'll have a look at my patient,” he began.

“And I'll get the station wagon out and drive you back to town,” said Kate.

“I don't want you to go to all that trouble.”

“Would you rather walk back to town?” Kate laughed.

“Well, I can't say that appeals to me too much,” he admitted.

“Tell you what,” said Kate briskly. “You drive in the station wagon and I'll have somebody pick it up sometime during the day. Or if you need it to make your calls in — ” She broke off and set her teeth tight.

Scott's jaw hardened. “Oh, I'll pick up my own car when I get back to town,” he told her grimly. “But I will borrow the station wagon if you're sure you won't be needing it until I can get it back to you.”

Less than half an hour later, Kate stood on the flag-stoned terrace and watched the twinkling taillights of the station wagon as it vanished down the drive. And now that there was nobody to see, she made no effort to control the tears that spilled over and slid down her cheeks. She was entirely unconscious of them as she stood there and a small whisper crept up to her lips, “Oh, my darling, my poor darling.” But there was no one to hear that either, as the thin gray light deepened and the first sleepy birds stirred a little and gave an experimental cheep as though clearing their throats for the business of the day….

When Scott reached the cottage where he lived, he saw his car parked at the curb. Chloe had probably left the car there and perhaps taken a taxi home.

He was almost staggering with weariness as he went up the walk and let himself quietly into the house. He had a couple of hours to rest; and then the day's grind would begin again.

When he reached the office, there were two patients waiting. By the time he had attended to them, another had come in for a checkup and he gave the matter the necessary time and thorough attention. He made his morning round of calls, and if he was pale and tight-lipped and tired-looking it was no more than his patients expected.

It was mid-afternoon when the telephone rang in the office and he took up the receiver.

Miss Henderson said quietly, “It's a personal call, Doctor. Mr. Stuart Parham.”

Scott tensed a little but said quietly, “Put him on, Miss Henderson.”

Stuart Parham's voice was taut and hostile.

“Scott? I've been expecting to hear from you all day.”

“Have you? Sorry. I've been pretty busy.”

“You don't think I'm going to let you get away with your shameful treatment of my daughter, Scott?”

“I wasn't aware that there was anything shameful — ”

“Oh, you were not?” Stuart was obviously controlling himself with an effort. “You'd better get over here, Scott.”

“Sorry. I won't be able to leave the office before five.”

“Why, you — ” Parham, remembering tardily that he was on the telephone, swallowed the oath and said instead, “I'll expect you then at five.”

“Sure, why not?” answered Scott grimly, and clicked the telephone in place.

Resolutely he put the whole thing out of his mind until the last patient had left, after which he went down to his car and drove to the Parham place.

The door was opened by Mrs. Parham. She was pale, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes, but she managed a makeshift smile and said quietly, “Come on, Scott. Stuart isn't home yet but I am expecting him at any moment.”

Scott followed her into the living room, accepted the chair she offered, and shook his head at her suggestion of a drink.

“Chloe's gone to New York, you know,” said Mrs. Parham at last.

“Has she? No, I didn't know.”

“She called Liss long distance this morning and Liss insisted she come and pay her a visit, and Chloe got the one-fifteen train to Atlanta and a plane from there. I don't imagine she will be coming back. Not for a long time, anyway,” said Mrs. Parham, and there was scarcely a quiver in her voice as she held something out on the palm of her hand. “She asked me to give you this.”

Scott accepted the ring, its small but clear stone twinkling gaily in the dying sunset light that spilled through the long French windows. He regarded it for a moment as though he had never seen it before, and then he nodded his thanks and tucked it carelessly into his pocket.

There was the sound of a car outside and Mrs. Parham got to her feet, a look almost of fright on her face.

“There's Stuart now. Don't let him know I've talked to you,” she pleaded, and before he could do more than blink she had gone and he heard her hurrying footsteps on the stairs.

Scott stood up as Stuart Parham came into the room, and for a moment the two men eyed each other like belligerent bulldogs taking each other's measure.

“Well,” said Parham grimly. “What have you to say for yourself? And make it good.”

Scott laughed. It was a laugh entirely devoid of mirth, and a trifle derisive, but his tone was mild as he said, “I'm not sure just what you expect me to say.”

“Considering the outrageous way you treated Chloe last night — ”

“Frankly, I'm afraid I consider the shoe on the other foot. Let's call it the outrageous way Chloe treated me last night — leaving me on the highway miles from town, with a man so grievously injured that it was almost a matter of life and death to get help for him.”

“A no-good nigger who got a taste of what was coming to him.” Stuart's tone was savage.

“A human being who had been the victim of a hooded mob,” Scott cut in swiftly.

Parham made a furious gesture, his eyes blazing.

“You've got the Ku Klux on your brain, haven't you? No matter what happens you are sure it's the Klan?”

“Last night's episode had the Klan's signature unmistakably; even the county cops thought so,” Scott said dryly.

“That's one of the reasons, Scott, I feel that your behavior was unforgivable,” snapped Stuart. “You were on your way with your fiancée to a dinner party being given in your honor. Was there any sane reason why you could not have driven her on to the Maysons', explained things, telephoned to the hospital to send an ambulance to pick the man up?”

Scott stared at him, his brows drawn together.

“Look here, you're not serious. You couldn't possibly expect a doctor worthy of the name to pass by and leave his job to somebody else?” he demanded.

“It would have been a matter of minutes, half an hour at most, before an ambulance could have gotten there,” Stuart pointed out savagely. “You could have telephoned from the Maysons', and that way Chloe would not have been humiliated before all her friends. So much so that she feels that she can never face them again, and has gone away, perhaps for good.”

Scott eyed Parham curiously. “You feel that I should just have left the man to die — remember I was able to give first aid which at least improved his chances of living — just to have kept a social engagement?”

Stuart drew a long, hard breath and thrust his fingers through his hair with a gesture of impatience.

“If the injured person had been a white man or woman — ” he said, and stopped as he saw the look on Scott's face. “Oh, of course I know how you Yankees are. He was a human being and therefore entitled to your help. Scott, use your head. If he had been worked over by the Klan you can bet your bottom dollar that he's a bad egg.”

“Or else,” Scott interrupted quietly, his tone level, almost expressionless, “he was about to find out something that the Klan didn't want him to find out.”

“Just what do you mean by that?”

“Jim — or Shorty, as he seems to be known among his friends — is a veteran. A good soldier, a patriotic soldier, he believed the things he was told: that he was fighting for a democratic form of life, a way of life in which all men are free and have a right to decent living conditions without prejudice. He has a son. He wants his son to have the way of life that his father fought for. And so he has been curious, shall we say? Curious to know the names of some of the men who feel themselves so righteous, so above the law that they can administer it themselves. And from what has happened to Shorty, I'd say he must have been getting pretty close to some unpleasant truths — unpleasant for somebody, at least — don't you think?”

Stuart had heard him out, eyes blazing, his jaw set and hard.

“Is this harangue supposed to have some special meaning for me?” he asked at last.

Scott met his blazing eyes. “I wouldn't know,” he said coolly. “I only know that whoever heads this infamous outfit in these parts must be pretty important, because every attempt to find out anything about the Klan results in an uneasy ‘hush-hush' business. Even the county cop who helped me to get Shorty to the clinic at River's Edge warned me it wasn't healthy to pry too deeply into such things as names.”

Stuart was livid with anger, his eyes murky. “The county cop sounds like a very smart man,” he said through his teeth. “And you would be, too, if you accepted his advice.”

“Thanks, but I'm incurably nosy about things like this,” Scott said quietly, and added sharply, “for the love of common sense, Parham, don't you and these others who are fooling around with this thing know it's dynamite? Another case or two like Shorty's, and you'll find the whole territory so full of federal investigators that a rabbit couldn't hide from them.”

Stuart said savagely, “Blast you, are you trying to warn
me?”

“If the warning is needed, why not?” Scott stood up and moved toward the door. “I don't know anything about who is or is not in the Klan. I imagine Shorty's found out a few things and — well, who knows? He can be protected if he cares to tell. And if he does, I've an idea that certain people in this town are not going to be so ‘biggoty' themselves.”

And while Stuart stood staring open-mouthed at him, Scott walked out and closed the door behind him.

Scott's first feeling, once the shock had worn off, was one of almost acute relief that his engagement to Chloe was off. He was a little ashamed of the feeling and berated himself roundly. Chloe's exquisite loveliness and her pretended keen interest in his profession had not been more than surface deep, he assured himself; he had discovered her selfishness, her complete absorption in her own charms, and her determination that she must be the most important thing in the world.

“Wise after the fact, aren't you?” he told himself, thinking back over the past few weeks, and the times they had quarreled because he had had to break dates with her in order to answer emergency calls to patients. Her callousness, her egotism, had left little rents here and there in the bright, soft fabric of her enchantment for him. He had told himself that once they were married she would change. And he had known in his heart, even as he had offered himself that specious comfort, that he was lying. She would not change. She was supremely satisfied with herself as she was; if there were changes to be made she expected other people to make them. If there were to be adjustments, they would have to be his, not hers.

Of course the news of the broken engagement rocked the town, or at least that part of it which was concerned with Chloe Parham and the young doctor. The grapevine had reported the real reason behind the broken engagement: that Chloe had abandoned Scott, with a badly injured man on a country road. And sympathy was all with Scott. Not that Scott asked for it, wanted it, or even expected it. His engagement was his own affair, he felt; and the breaking of it was something he did not feel it necessary to discuss.

A week after Chloe's sudden departure for New York, Scott received a letter from Liss. He studied the square, ivory-tinted envelope, with its dashing handwriting and its New York postmark, then thrust it unopened into his pocket until he had finished his day's work and was back in his apartment after dinner.

He opened it with a feeling of reluctance. The address was in Liss's writing, but would the letter it contained be from Chloe? Could it be that Chloe was begging forgiveness? It was as though when he held the letter in his hand he felt a thousand tiny silken strands, strong as steel, winding about him, dragging him in a direction he didn't want to follow. Then he told himself he was being a fool and unfolded the letter.