Ransom (7 page)

Mr. Kershaw snapped out the lights and locked the door, and they went into his big room.

The children stood, almost embarrassed for a moment. They felt so little acquainted with this new father who was so much more friendly than he had ever been before. Then, as he turned on a low reading lamp that made a pleasant dimness in the room, he came toward them and flung an arm about each of them and drew them toward the wide leather couch.

“Come, let's sit down and get acquainted,” he said with sudden effort, as if he were longing to get somehow nearer to them.

Christobel nestled down with her head on her father's shoulder, and even Randall seemed not averse to being drawn close also. They sat there in utter silence for a few minutes, a kind of peace coming over them after the troubles of the day. Then the father spoke.

“I hate to have you go back,” he said. “We ought to stay nearer together, see more of each other.” His tone was almost shy.

After a minute, Christobel spoke.

“Father, why do I have to go back? Why can't I stay here with you? This is my last year. The rest of the semester isn't going to be much but getting ready for commencement, rehearsing plays, and writing essays and all that. What good is it, anyway?”

“Oh, but—” objected the father, “why, of course you need to graduate. It's the thing to do.”

“But why, Father dear?” she urged.

“Well,” said the father, trying to think of some suitable reason, “everybody has to graduate. They graduate and then they come out. One of your stepmother's reasons for buying this great house was that it was almost time for you to come out, and we would need a place like this to do it properly. And of course, it might look rather strange to come out without first graduating. People might think you couldn't pass your examinations or something.”

“What people? Why do we care what people think? I have passed my examinations. I got good marks, too. Why should I have to go through all the rest? I'd much,
much
rather stay with you.” She snuggled down closer and nestled her hand in his.

He gave her hand a warm pressure and felt a strange sweetness to have her so close after all these years of estrangement. It almost unnerved him to think she cared to be with him. He had thought of her as having grown away from him.

“And, Daddy,” she went on earnestly, “why do I have to come out? I'd much rather stay in. What do people come out for?”

“Well,” began the father, “the world seems to think it is a necessary act.”

“Did my mother come out?” she asked suddenly, with a sweet shyness in her voice.

The father was still a long time, and then he answered in a moved voice, “No.”

“I'd like to be like her, Father, if you don't mind,” she said in a low voice.

He drew her closer and said with a fervent gentleness, “There's nothing in the world greater that I could desire for you, Chrissie dear.”

“Then may I?” she asked eagerly.

“May you what?” said the startled father.

“May I stay at home with you, and not go back to this last semester of school, and not do any coming out ever at all?”

He was still a long time, and then he said, “Well, daughter, this is a new thought to me. I'll have to think it over.”

“I'm sure my mother would want me to stay here with you,” she breathed earnestly.

He turned his lips to her and kissed her forehead very gently.

“I'll think about it, little girl.”

“I wouldn't mind staying, too,” said Randall gallantly, “only I guess I'd havta go back fer the rest of the term. I'm cheerleader, ya know, and it's rather late ta get a new one. We've been practicing a lot fer the spring games.”

“Well, yes, Son, it wouldn't be quite right to desert them just now, would it? And anyhow, you have those examinations to take over again, that we were talking about tonight.

“It wouldn't do to leave school with a blot on your scholarship. We'll ship you back sometime tomorrow, I guess, but we'll try to make some plans to be nearer each other after this term is over. I've been thinking a lot about it. We'll see when we get things here straightened out.”

“Father,” said Christobel after a moment of silence, “do you think a lot of this house? Did you buy it to stay in always, like a sort of ancestral home?”

“I did
not
,” said her father decidedly, and a smile melted over his tired face. “Why, little girl, don't you like it?”

“Well,” said Christobel slowly, “I suppose it's all right, only somehow it's so big and strange. I don't know whether I could ever get used to it. There doesn't seem to be any really useful
homey
rooms in it. Maybe that's only because I'm not used to it. But it doesn't seem like the home we used to have when I was a little girl before we went to school.”

“Gee! Where'd we live then?” asked Randall, suddenly raising his head from the soft cushion and entering the conversation. “I just don't remember that time. Wasn't there a big tree and a swing in the yard?”

“Yes,” said Christobel eagerly, “and a flower garden. I had a garden and you had a garden, and you used to pull the plants up every day to see if the roots were growing any more.”

“Gee! I remember! And I useta skin the cat on the top of the swing. Where was that, Dad? Somewhere in the city, wasn't it?”

“Yes. It was over on the other side of the city, quite a long distance from here. It used to be a suburb then, but it is within the city limits now.”

“Is the house still there or has it been torn down?” the boy asked.

“Oh, it's still there. I still own it,” answered the father sadly.

“Is it rented?” asked Christobel.

“No, it's never been rented. Somehow I never quite wanted to rent it. I always thought perhaps I'd go back there someday. But of course I don't suppose I ever will,” he ended with a sigh.

“I wish we could,” said Christobel.

“Say! Gee! So do I!” said Randall, rumpling his father's hair that was beginning to show threads of silver in its blackness.

“You do?” said the father, a pleased surprise in his voice, and then more quietly, “Oh, but you wouldn't if you saw it. It's built up all around. There are a lot of plain little houses in rows down in the next block where there used to be a meadow and a sunset.” His eyes took on a retrospective look, as if he were again watching one of those sunsets.

“Oh, I remember,” said Christobel. “Mother and you and I used to go down in the meadow and watch the sun go down, and once, I remember you wheeling Rannie in his baby carriage.”

“Aw, get out,” said Randall, half pleased. “You remember a lot! You're not so much older than I. Only a little over two years. I guess I remember that, too. I remember throwing sticks down in a little creek that went through the lower part of the meadow, and there was an old cow, and a dog that came to drive her home.”

“Yes, and you were afraid of the cow,” laughed Christobel. “And Mother called you a little soldier!”

“Say! Weren't you afraid of cows?”

“Yes, she was afraid of cows, too, when she was a tiny girl,” said the father with a look of reminiscence in his eyes. “There was a day when the cow stood in front of Christobel and mooed at her, and she puckered up her face and roared so loud she frightened the cow. Your sister turned and tried to run but stubbed her toe on a stone and was so scared she held her breath for fear the cow would walk over her. Mother had to pick her up and hold her close and kiss her a long time before she would stop sobbing.”

“Why, I remember that,” said Christobel softly, nestling close to her father's shoulder and speaking with a deep joy in her voice. “I remember the feel of her arms around me!” There was such a yearning in her voice that her father was greatly stirred.

He laid his hand tenderly on the soft hair beside her face.

“Poor little girl!” he said gently. “Without a mother all these years!” And then he gave another of those deep, dreadful sighs that hurt Christobel to hear.

“Never mind, Daddy,” she said and put her small hand up and stroked his face softly. “We've got you now.”

Then there came back to her memory those terrible words of the cook about that awful Mrs. Romayne, and she put her hand down quickly in her lap and wondered if they really did have him permanently, or was Mrs. Romayne going to get him away from them?

And then the phone rang sharply, like an intruder into their intimate talk.

Mr. Kershaw gathered himself reluctantly from the couch and answered it. A woman's high-pitched voice and sweetly modulated tone responded.

“Yes? Hello? Oh, Mrs. Romayne? Yes. It was very kind of you to call. I am sure my daughter appreciated it. Yes, she said you had been here.”

He drew his brows in an effort to remember what Christobel had said about the visit, and the sweet full tones flowed on.

“Oh…. Why, no,” he responded. “Why, I'm not sure…. She probably did mention it, but I've had a number of things to attend to. We have only just begun to talk…. I have been otherwise occupied all the evening…. Dinner tomorrow did you say? Well, I would hardly be able to come myself…. It's most kind of you…. But perhaps Christobel—you see, Mrs. Romayne, I have some things to look after for my son before his return to school…. What? … Oh, you said dinner Sunday—” He frowned. “Well, Christobel might. It's most thoughtful of you—yes, I suppose you're right. It is a little dismal for a young person, of course. Just a moment, Mrs. Romayne, I'll speak to my daughter.”

The father looked up to see a look of dismay on his daughter's face.

“Oh, no, no, Daddy, please,” she said in a low tone. “I'd rather be with you alone, you and Rannie.”

There was a light in her father's eyes as he took up the instrument again.

“Well, Mrs. Romayne, I guess we'll just ask you to excuse us this time. We appreciate your thoughtfulness of course, but we have so many things to talk over, and the time is short. Some other time perhaps you'll be good enough to ask us…. Oh, that's very kind. But just now I think it will be impossible.”

Christobel watched her father's face as more honeyed words were poured into his ear. He had a very pleasant smile on his face. Was he sorry not to go? Or would he perhaps prefer to go alone after they were back in school? She tried to put away the thought, but the poison of the cook's words had entered her soul, and she could not quite get back the sweet freedom of their quiet intercourse when her father came back and sat down with them on the couch again.

“I declare I believe I'm hungry!” he said, as he put an arm around each of them. “I wonder what has become of that butler? Can he have cleared out, or is he taking the night off as well as the evening? If he's here, we can ring him up and have a tray up with sandwiches and ginger ale or something like that. Rand, go ring the bell.”

“Oh, Daddy!” said Christobel, springing up eagerly. “Don't call the butler. Couldn't we all go down in the kitchen and find something? I know how to make cocoa. It would be fun!”

“Let's,” said the boy, springing up and pulling his father to his feet as if he had been another boy. “There might be olives and celery. There were some left from dinner. I saw them.”

“They're probably not left now,” laughed the father. “I believe we had a bunch of crooks in the kitchen.”

“Well, there'll be more in the pantry perhaps. There'll likely be crackers and jelly and cans of things. We have suppers like that at school. Some of the fellas raid the kitchen sometimes when the matron's out for the evening, and we have great suppers. I can scramble eggs.”

It was on the tip of his father's tongue to ask Randall if he had been on raiding parties, but remembering some of his own early escapades, and seeing the boyish look in his son's eyes, he grasped his hand and followed, letting the raiding parties pass for the moment. There was something wonderful to this tired, silent, lonely father in being with his long-alienated children again.

So they all tiptoed quietly down to the kitchen, looking cautiously about for the butler as if they had no right in those precincts and might be scolded if they got caught.

Like three children they raided their own kitchen, a great tiled place with looming gas range, wide gleaming sink, electric appliances galore, and equipment enough to feed an army.

“Where would the cocoa be kept?” asked Christobel, opening cupboard doors and peering behind boxes and glass jars and tins.

“Well, I'm sure I don't know,” said the bewildered father. “This never was a kitchen that I had much to do with.” He made a wry face.

“I'll find it,” chirped the girl with an excited laugh.

Randall was snooping around in the pantry and storeroom. He discovered the refrigerator, a mammoth concern almost big enough for a garage.

“Gee! Here's olives!” he shouted. “And celery, too! And a whole roast chicken with only half the breast gone! Gee! This is great!”

He appeared in the doorway, the platter in one hand and a bottle of olives in the other.

“And here's the cocoa,” said Christobel triumphantly. “Now, I wonder if there is any milk? We could use condensed milk, you know.”

“Two bottles in the 'frigerator!” shouted Randall, going back to search again. He handed her a bottle.

They rifled the china closet of some of the priceless dishes that Charmian had purchased for her deluxe dinners, and spread their bounty on the kitchen table with the eagerness of children, the man of the house entering into the fun and joking with his children as if he were only an older brother. As they sat down to their impromptu supper, Christobel thought in her heart like a chime of sweet bells,
Oh, I'm so glad Mrs. Romayne isn't here! I'm so glad we've got Father to ourselves!
If only there wasn't any Mrs. Romayne in the future. Oh, how could she ever stand it to go back to school after this beautiful little time together and think she would be separated from her father again by another woman?