Something blue (18 page)

Bart's eyes were narrow. "Nan's money came from my father?"

"That is so," said Johnny. "Check it. Ask Copeland. And tell me this. Why would Dick take a letter to San Francisco by hand?"

"Because I was asked to," said Dick, "and I don't think you heard what I said . . ."

Bart moved between them again. Blanche came hurrying back with a small canvas, about a foot square. A painting of a woman's h^ad. "This is Christy," she said. "Nathaniel Bartee did this." She looked at their faces nervously.

Dorothy rose slowly and looked at it from one side. Johnny looked from the other. A young face, laughing. The cheek bones a trifle high. Hair a hght brown, curling away from the fair brow. Eyes a brilhant blue. Dehcate brows. (Johnny swallowed. He liad not questioned the climate of opinion about Natlianiel Bartee apd his painting. But the man had been talented. He had been among PhiUstines.)

"Give it to me," commanded the old lady. "Now, child, come see your mother. Wasn't she a pretty httle dear?"

Nan moved.

Johnny said hoarsely, "She was beaten to death where you are standing, Nan."

Nan said, with the quick tears of old sparking from her eyes, "Johnny, don't be horrible I Go awayl" She dropped to her knees beside the old lady. "She was pretty . . ."

"Dick wants the money. Nan," Johnny said loudly. He felt as if he were shouting from a far, far place. She knelt, her back to him. She did not even turn her head.

Dick said, "Get out of the way, Bart."

"You are not going to hit anyone in my house," Bart said. "Sims, I think you'd better go."

"It doesn't matter, Johnny," he heard Dorothy say. He

looked at her. "They are going to be manied tomorrow," she went on calmly. "There is nothing we can do about it."

So Johnny turned and walked out of the study and along the red carpet of the hall, Bart was walking close behind him. Bart reached ahead and opened a leaf of the front door. "Sorry," Bart said.

"What about?" said Johnny bitterly. "That he gets away with murder?" Their eyes met and Bart's were troubled. Johnny said, "Good-bye."

"Good-night." The door closed.

Johnny stood on the porch. Had no car. He plunged into the drive, emerged from the trees. The landscape, carpeted with the low gieen, was yet as desolate as the moon.

CHAPTER 19

The phone rang in Johnny's room about half past nine in the morning. Friday.

Nan's voice. Hope jumped.

''Johnny, I'm sorry for anything I said last night or if I sounded mean."

". . . all right."

"I will go to see my father, of course. Dick and I will do all we can to make liim feel—all right about us. So everythmg is going to work out."

He got out the necessary word, ". . . glad."

"But, Johnny, I don't want you and me to be fighting. And on my wedding day."

Now, he felt very cold. "I'll stay away," he promised quickly. "Don't worry about that."

"But, Johnny, that isn't ... I wish you'd understand. These are my mother's people. But I don't mean to ... I wouldn't offend you or Aunt Barbara ..."

"You're not asking me to be there, Nan?"

"Well . . ."

"Did Dorothy talk you into this?"

"No, she didn't. We didn't even stay in the same room last night. Everybody thought . . . Well, I wanted to be alone. But she's going to stand up with me. So I should think . . ."

"You want me to—?"

"Oh, not to stand up or . . . You see, Uncle Bart is my very own uncle and he ought to be the one to give me away." Nan's voice was gayer; it was losing its trouble. This was her wedding day. "Only Blanche and Bart think we should be at peace, Johnny, or—it's not lucky."

"What about Dick?"

"Oh, Dick says that if you promise not to talk the way you've been . . . Dick says he hasn't anything against you. Just if you'd stop, oh—busybodying." Her voice trailed off. It came back, coaxing. "So, Johnny? Won't you come to my wedding and wish me happiness?"

He didn't know whether he could. He couldn't speak.

"For Aunt Emily's sake, then?"

The flash of rage that had been ready and waiting, went through him now. But he said quietly, "All right. Nan."

"About a quarter of eleven? It won't take long. And afterwards, I suppose, you'll be driving Dotty home."

"All right, Nai^" he said, keeping control.

Grimes had told him that Copeland was coming down. But Copeland hadn't come, nor had Johnny's call to Roderick Grimes, this morning, been completed, when the hour was upon him and he must go to Nan's wedding.

The maid let him in. Four or five strange people were standing in the parlor. Flowers everywhere. A Httle lectern before the mantel. The old lady, with a soft pink shawl around her shoulders, held coiurt. A man said, "I'm Dr. Jenson. We are groom's. You must be bride's, I guess."

Johnny didn't say which he was. More names were given. Hands shaken. He nodded toward but did not go near the old lady.

Bart came in through the doors from the dining room.

"Morning."

Bart looked him over with deliberate care. "You haven't changed your mind," he pronounced quietly.

"I am a symbol of something," Johmiy's face felt as if it were splitting and tearing, as he grinned. Bart said, "Nan has one of the pins now." Johnny pressed his hps very tightly closed. "The one supposed to be Chiisty's," Bart said. "The one from McCauleys' pocket. Kate's pin." Johnny's hps opened.

"I don't know what can be done," said Bart quickly. "You have no proof."

"What makes you change your mind?"

"I believe Dick sounded out the chance of a loan on Nan's prospects too soon. I can't prove it."

"You lend your house for this wedding? You give the bride away?" Johnny felt sick.

Bait said, "How will it help if they elope?" He was stiff, proud, helpless. "To make a scene?"

They stared at each other sadly for a moment. Then Bart said, "Miss Dorothy is in the dining room. Go on in."

Dorothy was wearing a pink dress and a pink and white corsage. She was standing very straight beside one of the ; heax'y old carved chairs. "Oh, Johnny," she said warmly. "You didn't have to comel You don't have to watch this, feeling the way you do. You go away! She can't have every- ,j thing."

"I don't know how I feel, Dot," Johnny said heavily. "Are you all right?"

"I'm O.K." She seemed surprised. "'Wondering who I am, of course."

"Who you are?"

"Nan is Mary McCauley. Am I Dorothy O'Hara, I wonder?" "O'Hara?" he said absently. "Dot, did you know Bart be-heves me now?"

"I believe you, too," she said. "But Nan has been told and told—and if she beUeves in Dick, instead . . ." "It's going to be a tragedy."

"You mean, you will prove it, sooner or later? And then?''

"Then Nan will have a husband in prison for murder."

Dorothy said, "Johnny, maybe she will. But that's not the

tragedy." He stared. Her blue eyes were clear and steady.

"The tragedy happened when she fell in love with a monster."

"Yes, that's right," he said. "The dream. That's how he's

beaten me all along the line. Do you beheve a rough tough

fifteen-year-old boy ever looked twice at a three-year-old baby girl?"

Dorothy moved her head sadly.

"Grooves in their hearts." Johnny clenched his teeth, in a bitter grimace. "But she believes it! If we ever could have broken the spell, made her believe—"

"That he wants the money?" Dorothy understood at once. "I tried to tell her that."

"You know that? How come you are convinced?"

"I am convinced because the first time we met him, there was some reason—a reason for his choosing Nan. Oh, Johnny, I could tell. I had caught his eye. He just deliberately . . . The truth is, I ^ill attract him and I've told Nan so."

"People keep saying . . ." Johnny looked at this plum. This Dorothy. "Dotty, you know when a man is attracted, don't you?"

"And when he isn't," she said, blinking her tears. "Of course, I do."

"Then why doesn't Nan know that he isn't?"

"Because she was always built up," said Dorothy, ''arti-ficially. She's been told and told to assume she'll have romance, as if it's automatically her due. But that's not so, Johnny. Don't^ou know. Aunt Emily and your dear mother, too, they gave her you^. Johnny, for a gift? For free. So she never scuffled for a boy's attention. She never had any practice. She never learned that it is not absolutely inevitable for a girl to be loved or even popular. That you have to achieve tliis. You have to think how. You don't get attention for nothing—or aflFection, either. You have to deserve it. You have to pay attention to what other people hke. But Nan was protected. She was too easy for Dick to deceive. Oh, what am I saying?"

She spoke to his stricken face. "What good is it to blame old times? I'm sorry, I don't mean to blame you as much as I sound. I blame myself, too. Everybody ought to stop and think before he makes a sacrifice. Please, Johnny, don't feel bad. If you spoiled her, it's because you're kind and responsible."

"Don't spoil your face," he said, to her tears that would spill any moment. "I guess people ought to stop and think-"

(People ought to stop and think before they proudly keep a stupid promise, Johnny mused.)

"I hope there are no ghosts," Dorothy shivered, turning away. "I don't want Christy's ghost to watch this wedding." She turned back. "Oh, what can we do? I wish we could kidnap herl Do something smashing and yet—" Dorothy looked and sounded so very humanly confused that Johnny's sore heart warmed.

"And yet, Nan is choosing," he said, "/ can't think what to do, Dot. I'm no detective, no psychologist. I teach biology. I don't know anything to do."

"There's nothing!" Dorothy's hands fell. "I'd better go. They were almost ready. Do you know what tlie 'something old' is, Johnny?" Dorothy was fierce again. "It's that pin I The old lady got it out and gave it to her. Nan has it pinned on!"

"Something old?"

"Oh, they were all ready except for that superstitious rhyme. "Something old, something new.' Blanche loaned her a brand new hanky, so they are counting it for 'something borrowed,' too. They are running around up there looking for '.' If they've found it, she is ready."

She looked up into his face yearningly.

Johnny looked down. "?"

(I am a biology teacher, he thought, suddenly.)

"You know, the silly old rhyme," Dorothy closed her eyes despairingly. "It's too late. I laiow. We'll have to let her go. It will serve her right," said Dorothy woefully, "and I won't like it at all."

"I want to see Nan," said Johnny. "Right now.''

"Johnny, they won't let you see the bride."

"Yes, they will." He caught her by the hand and pulled her through the door to the hall. (It's not Nan, he thought. I could let her go. It's not Emily, either. Emily is dead. But I am not going to let this happen to Clinton McCauley!)

"Johnny, what . . . ?"

"Follow me. Listen to me. Believe me, Dotty."

He started up the stairs, dragging her. There was nobody below the stairs to stop them but Blanche stood at the top.

"Dorothy, dear? We are ready. Mr. Sims, please . . ."

"I've got to see Nan."

"But you can't."

"Yes, I can," said Johnny loudly. "I am bringing her a wedding present."

"Not now, Mr. Sims." Blanche was propriety outraged. "Please go downstairs at once."

"No, Mrs. Bartee." Johnny stood his ground. "I have something to tell her."

Dick Bartee came out of a door up the hall. Big. Thunderous. "What's this?"

Dorothy said feebly, "I don't know."

Johnny swung around. "Bartee. I came up with a wedding present. Let me give it to you both at once. Where is Nan?"

"We don't need anything from you," Dick said truculently.

The door of the back bedroom shook. Then it opened. There was Nan, in white, without a veil, her bridehood in her face. Young and fair and solemn—in the dream.

Johnny didn't move toward her but he sent his voice. "Nan, please let me tell you both something? Something to make you glad."

Nan said in a low voice, "I don't need to be told. I know Dick is innocent."

Dick moved and put his frame between her and the others. "If you are still trying to mess up this wedding, SiuQS, I' can throw yotTdown the stairs and that right quick,"

Johnny said, "For Nan's sake, let me explain." He looked earnestly into the gray eyes, which were hot and suspicious. "Then I will dance at your wedding," Johnny said. "Believe me."

Bart came up the stairs. "What's holding . . .? What's this?" Blanche made a nerve-wracked sound.

Dick said to Nan tenderly, "You don't have to Hsten to him, love. Shall I take him away?"

"If Johnny wants to apologize," she said, with the little prim dignity of old, "I think we should let him do it, Dick. We all want to be happy."

Dorothy wailed suddenly, "Johnny! Dancel"

Blanche said, "The guests will hear."

Bart said, "Get into a room. We'll have this out.''

Johnny said, "Where is Christy's picture?"

"I have it," Nan said.

Bart brushed off the pawing appeal of Blanche's nervous hand. "Whatever this is, we can't just say hush-hush," he

told her sternly. "Now, get in here, all of us and let me close the door."

Bart closed the door and stood against it. His smooth face was inscrutable. But Johnny knew Bart was on his side.

So they were all in the back bedroom, closed in. The room was not neat. A girl, getting ready for her wedding, had left her fragrant traces. There on the dresser, propped against the wall, was Christy's picture.

Johnny seized it with both hands. "And me the young scientist!" he said. "Me, the biology professorl Look at this!"

Christy's young face laughed out at them all. "Nan, dear, here is '' for the bride. Do you see her blue eyes?" Johnny had taken the floor. He commanded all the attention. He had to do it with a certain overbearing flamboyance. "Now look at Dorothy!" he cried.

"But why should I look at Dorothy?" said Nan, bewildered.

"Because," said Johnny, "Aunt Emily changed you two around! You are not Christy and Clinton McCauley's child. You cannot he. So Dorothy is."