Enchanted Spring (10 page)

A car slid up behind her and she turned to face a neighbor whose name she couldn’t recall. But his smile was friendly and his invitation to ride was one that she accepted gratefully. Throughout the short drive to Midvale she struggled heroically to make polite conversation, but the neighbor was a tight-lipped soul and he merely nodded or gave her such brief answers that the last three miles of the journey were made in complete silence.

She was just in time for the bus. As she scrambled aboard with slightly undignified haste, she glanced back to see Joel Hunter watching her from the doorway of Gober’s filling station. The filling station was Midvale’s substitute for a bus station and a place where a small group of loungers could be found at almost any hour of the day. So she had no right, she assured herself as the big bus swung back into the highway, to feel that Joel was spying on her. In the first place, what right had he to spy on her? And was there any reason why she shouldn’t go into town if she liked? Any normal girl has the right to a decent amount of interest in her personal appearance and the fact that she hadn’t had a manicure or a shampoo in a beauty shop since she came to Midvale, and that she was having one now just after learning that Ronnie was freeing himself from Ann Paige, certainly didn’t have to mean anything.

She had to hurry to get the five o’clock bus back to Midvale and when she stepped off it in the soft spring twilight she felt like a different girl from the one who had left the town four hours before. She hadn’t given much thought until now to the difficulty of getting home from Midvale. But as the bus swung away from the station and she turned towards her own road, a voice spoke at her elbow.

“The car is over here,” Joel said curtly.

She turned, startled.

“I knew you’d come home on this bus and not have any way to get to your place, so I waited for you.”

“You needn’t have bothered — ” Carey began loftily.

“It was no bother.” Joel took her arm, guiding her towards the waiting car, his eyes taking her in from the top of her smart, shortened coiffure to the tips of her slippers. “I liked you better before,” he said. “But I suppose Norris prefers the more sophisticated type.”

Carey was so angry that she would not permit herself to answer him until she could be sure of the leash on her self-control. The car was headed toward home and away from Gober’s filling station when she managed to say:

“Has it ever occurred to you that you are being something of an idiot? Is there any reason why I shouldn’t tire of squalor and want to feel human again? After all, you know, I lived before I came to this hole.”

“The only significant thing is that you tired of ‘squalor’ just about the time you found there was a chance of Norris turning up again,” said Joel.

Carey clenched her hands so that she wouldn’t obey that swift, urgent impulse to smack him full in the face. “That, I think, is quite as insulting as anything you’ve ever said to me. I think I hate you.”

“Do you?” Joel sounded polite, but not vitally interested. “And like the poor, dumb fool that I am — I love you. That’s funny, isn’t it?”

“Not very.” Strange that she wanted to weep now, not to smack him in the face.

“You don’t think it’s funny I should love a girl I don’t even like — or approve of?” Joel asked grimly. “I do. I think it’s very funny.”

“You don’t like me, or approve of me?”

“Did you expect me to?”

Carey’s anger flamed high again. “I didn’t expect you to do a darn thing — except let me alone! I never heard such a hullaballoo — all because I grew bored with the simple life and had my hair washed and cut and my nails done. So you don’t approve! Now that
is
funny!”

“Isn’t it?” agreed Joel, and the rest of the way was made in silence.

He let her out at the end of the lane and she thanked him icily for the lift. She turned and ran toward the house, and didn’t realize she was listening for the sound of his car as it drove away. But she didn’t hear it until she had reached the porch. She paused there a moment and listened to the diminishing sound of it before she went into the house.

Her father and Margaret were just about to sit down to the supper table. Carey saw that Margaret had set the table for two. She gave Carey a sultry-eyed glance as she began setting the third place.

“Hello, baby,” Silas greeted her affectionately. “There’s a telegram for you. One of the Hogan girls brought it when she came by with the mail earlier in the afternoon.”

Carey knew that she colored hotly. She felt Margaret’s eyes upon her as she reached for the telegram and slid a finger beneath the flap. She knew instantly that the telegram had been opened and re-sealed because the flap was slightly moist. She glanced at Margaret, whose eyes fell away from hers. Then she took out the telegram and read it:

She had known that the telegram was from Ronnie even before she opened it and her heart had raced like mad. But with the actual words before her, his name signed to it — she drew a long, shaking breath and clenched her hands on the message, and realized that Silas was watching her intently, an odd look in his tired eyes.

“Good news, baby?”

Carey looked swiftly at Margaret and saw the smile on Margaret’s lips. And before she could control the impulse for plain speech she asked, “Didn’t Margaret tell you?”

Silas frowned. “Didn’t Margaret tell me what, baby?”

“What was in the telegram, of course. She read it first.”

“That’s not true,” blazed Margaret.

“You know it is true. The telegram has been steamed open and re-sealed. Only the glue you used hasn’t had time to dry,” Carey told her. “But you could have saved yourself the bother. I don’t in the least mind your knowing that the telegram is from Ronnie Norris. Here, would you care to read it again?”

Margaret drew back, flinging Silas a swift, frightened glance.

“Margaret,” Silas said sharply, “is this true? But surely it can’t be. You wouldn’t dare meddle in Carey’s private affairs.”

“What’s private about them?” Margaret demanded recklessly. “Everybody knows what a fool she made of herself over Ronnie Norris. I think she’s lucky Ann Paige isn’t naming her as co-respondent in her divorce suit.”

Silas’s face was quite gray. “That will do, Margaret. I’ve heard enough.”

“Let her alone, Dad, I know what she thinks of me, and it’s not important. I dislike her quite as much as she dislikes me. And so that makes us even.”

Before Margaret could speak, Silas said quickly, “This sort of thing is outrageous. I can’t have you two quarrelling and bickering like this. There’s only one solution… . I’m terribly sorry, Margaret — but you must see what an impossible situation it is.”

Margaret smiled faintly. “Of course, I understand perfectly. I shall arrange to leave immediately. Carey, of course, understands the terms on which I shall go, however.”

Silas was puzzled. “That’s queer talk, Margaret. What do you mean?”

“It’s all right, Dad. Margaret and I understand each other,” Carey cut in swiftly and saw the look of relief that touched Margaret’s face. “And I’m going upstairs to bed. We’ll settle this in the morning, Margaret.”

“But you haven’t had your supper darling,” protested Silas.

“I had supper in town, Dad.” Carey kissed him as she passed his chair. “Good night, darling.”

Upstairs in her own room she dropped the crumpled telegram on the dresser and stood for a long moment looking at herself in the mirror. Had she changed? Would Ronnie still think her beautiful? Would he take her away from this awful place? She saw him as an escape from a situation already grown intolerable, as she had feared it would from the first moment Margaret had forced herself on them. Margaret resented her; Margaret wanted her out of the place. Well, Margaret adored Silas and, with Carey out of the place, she would be good to Silas and they would be happy. Silas was fond of Margaret and liked being with her. He liked this old place, too, and was happy pottering about with his “farming” and the livestock. He would miss Carey, of course — but he would adjust himself to life with Margaret. And, Margaret could take much better care of him than Carey could.

When she fell asleep at last it was with her decision reached. If Ronnie came for her, she would go with him. Free of Ann and with the training in poverty that Carey had had these last months, they would manage somehow. And no matter how difficult life would be, it couldn’t be worse than this! Of that she was certain.

FOR A DAY or two things were strained and unpleasant between Margaret and Carey. They were coldly polite to each other in Silas’s presence, but openly hostile when he was out of the room.

Carey and her father spent as much time out of the house and away from Margaret as they could manage. And this was a fact that the older woman did not overlook. Her eyes glinted and there was a new and ugly twist about her mouth, though she said nothing.

On a balmy spring afternoon when Silas and Carey had gone for a walk in the woods beyond the Hogan place, they returned at milking time, after an absence of three hours or more. Carey’s arms were laden with spoils from the woods — dogwood blossoms, crabapple, honeysuckle and violets. She and her father had had a happy time.

Her slacks were stained and dirty, torn by the briars through which she had forced her way this afternoon in search of wild flowers. Her hair was tumbled about her face. And it was in this condition that she faced Ronnie Norris.

Ronnie’s car had just stopped in the drive and he was getting out of it as Carey came up the garden path. He called to her, “Is this the Winslow place? I’ve had the devil’s own time finding it.”

Carey flung up her head and through the spring twilight they stared at each other. Carey was not at all sure that he wasn’t a ghost and obviously Ronnie had difficulty recognizing her.

“Good heavens,” he exploded. “Carey! But it can’t be! Child, what have they done to you? You look like something out of
Tobacco Road.”

But even that supreme insult couldn’t shake Carey out of her stunned contemplation of him, which left her speechless and wide-eyed.

A look of concern swept over Ronnie’s face and he caught her by the shoulders, giving her a little shake as he said roughly, “Carey! What’s the matter? Have you lost your mind?”

She clung to him helplessly. “Oh, Ronnie — Ronnie — is it really you? I can’t believe it!”

“You poor infant!” said Ronnie. “I never dreamed it was as bad as all this.”

Carey sobbed and then he held her away from him with a look of slight distaste. “Look here, Carey, you run along and wash your face. And — er — surely you’ve got something a little more faintly resembling decent clothes? Those slacks, my angel, are really unforgivable.”

Carey was scarlet with shame and confusion. Ronnie had never been more handsome, more perfectly groomed. The car he was driving was an expensive one. And she had never been so painfully aware of her own shabbiness.

“I know I look terrible, Ronnie,” she stammered humbly. “But I was just about to help Dad with the milking.”

Ronnie was laughing at her. “I simply can’t believe it! Carey Winslow, in the most outrageous get-up ever conceived. It’s too fantastic for words. I can see I got here just in time. I’m taking you away from here, Carey — now, this minute. I’ve got tickets for South America! We’re taking the Clipper out of Miami on Thursday for Buenos Aires. Scamper along, sweet, and get yourself into something decent for travelling. Never mind packing a bag. I’m afraid you’ve nothing worth carrying away from this place.”

Before Carey could answer him she heard Silas calling her name and he came around the corner of the house, saying in sharp relief as he saw her, “Oh, there you are, baby!” Then he saw Ronnie and his face stiffened. “It’s Norris, isn’t it?”

Carey saw Ronnie’s derisive eyes going over Silas’s corduroy breeches and scuffed boots, and for a moment she hated Ronnie — and burned with shame for her father that Ronnie should see him like this.

“Well, Mr. Winslow,” said Ronnie in a tone that he would never have dared use to Silas in the old days, “you’re looking — er — very fit.”

“What are you doing here, Norris?” Silas said curtly.

Ronnie’s smile was a taunt “What else would I be doing here, except calling for Carey? I’m taking her away with me.”

“Carey’s not going anywhere with you, Norris, now or ever.”

“I think she is, Winslow.” Ronnie’s tone was deliberately insolent. “After all, you can’t expect her to spend the rest of her life in a place like this. I came for her just as soon as I was assured of enough money to take care of her and give her a few of the decencies of civilization.”

His tone made Carey burn with fury now toward him; for herself and her father. In another instant she would probably have turned on him and driven him away. But before she could master her jumbled emotions to speak her rage Margaret came around the corner of the house in search of Silas. Instantly Carey’s anger was replaced by her hatred for Margaret. The way Margaret put her hand on Silas’s arm, the tone of her voice as she spoke his name, the impudent look that she gave Carey, made the girl set her teeth hard and say:

“I’ll only be a couple of minutes, Ronnie.”

She knew that Margaret’s eyes gleamed and that there was a little satisfied smile about her mouth, but she tried not to see her father’s hurt, pleading eyes.

“Of course, darling,” said Ronnie, and grinned.

“Carey!” Silas said sharply.

Over her shoulder without looking at him Carey said,“ — sorry, Dad.”

As she ran up the steps she heard Margaret’s voice, but could not distinguish the words above the pounding of her heart.

She got out of her rumpled clothing with fingers that shook. A cold shower helped. As she dressed swiftly in a dark travelling dress she tried to straighten out the jumble of her thoughts. Her feeling toward her father was somehow all mixed up with her emotions toward Margaret. She knew that it would never be possible for her to share a house with Margaret; yet she and her father, together, had no place to go. The house was more Margaret’s now than theirs, because of the money Margaret had spent. For the first time since she had come to this hated place Carey saw a chance for escape. And nothing, she promised herself as she drew her silly little hat well down over her face, was going to keep her from taking it.