The City of Fire Part 31

But Billy had sighted one on a mahogany desk near at hand and he toppled to the edge of the chair that stood before it. He took down the receiver in a shaky hand, calling Long Distance.

"This Long Distance? Well, gimme Economy 13."

The Shaftons for the instant were busy looking over the papers, identifying each jewel, wondering if any were missing. They did not notice Billy till a gruff young voice rang out with a pathetic tremble in it: "That you Chief? This is Billy. Say, c'n I bother you to phone to Miss Severn an' ast her to tell m'yant I'm aw'wright? Yes, tell her I'll be home soon now, an' I'll explain. And Chief, I'm mighty sorry those two guys got away, but I couldn't help it. We'll get 'em yet. Hope you didn't wait long. Tell you more when I see ya, S'long--!"

The boyish voice trailed off into silence as the receiver fell with a crash to the polished desk, and Billy slipped off the chair and lay in a huddled heap on the costly rug.

"Oh, mercy!" cried the lady, "Is he drunk or what?"

"Come away Sarah, let Morris deal--"

"But he's sick, I believe, William. Look how white he is. I believe he is dead! William, he may have come a long way in the heat! He may have had a sunstroke! Morris, send for a doctor quick! And--call the ambulance too! You better telephone the hospital. We can't have him here! William, look here, what's this on his sleeve? Blood? Oh, William!

And we didn't give him any reward--!"

And so, while the days hastened on Billy lay between clean white sheets on a bed of pain in a private ward of a wonderful Memorial Hospital put up by the Shaftons in honor of a child that died. Tossing and moaning, and dreaming of unquenchable fire, always trying to climb out of the hot crater that held him, and never getting quite to the top, always knowing there was something he must do, yet never quite finding out what it was.

And back in Sabbath Valley Aunt Saxon prayed and cried and waited and took heart of cheer from the message the Chief had sent to Lynn. And quietly the day approached for the trial of Mark Carter, but his mother did not yet know.

XXV

Mrs. Gibson, the wife of the comparatively new elder of the Sabbath Valley church was a semi-invalid. That is she wasn't able to do her own work and kept "help." The help was a lady of ample proportions whose husband had died and whose fortunes were depleted. She consented to a.s.sist Mrs. Gibson provided she were considered one of the family, and she presented a continual front of offense so that the favored family must walk most circ.u.mspectly if they would not have her retire to her room with hurt feelings and leave them to s.h.i.+ft for themselves.

On the morning of the trial she settled herself at her side of the breakfast table, after a number of excursions to the kitchen for things she had forgotten, the cream, the coffee, and the brown bread, of which Mr. Gibson was very fond. She was prepared to enjoy her own breakfast.

Mr. Gibson generally managed to bolt his while these excursions of memory were being carried on and escape the morning news, but Mrs.

Gibson, well knowing which side her bread was b.u.t.tered, and not knowing where she could get another housekeeper, usually managed to sit it out.

"Well, this is a great day for Sabbath Valley," said Mrs. Frost mournfully, spreading an ample slice of bread deep with b.u.t.ter, and balancing it on the uplifted fingers of one hand while she stirred the remainder of the cream into her coffee with one of the best silver spoons. She was wide and bulgy and her chair always seemed inadequate when she settled thus for nourishment.

"A great day," she repeated sadly, taking an audible sip of her coffee.

"A great day?" repeated little Mrs. Gibson with a puzzled air, quickly recalling her abstracted thoughts.

"Yes. n.o.body ever thought anybody in Sabbath Valley would ever be tried for murder!"

"Oh!" said Mrs. Gibson sharply, drawing back her chair as if she were in a hurry and rolling up her napkin quickly.

"Yes, poor Mark Carter! I remember his sweet little face and his long yellow curls and his baby smile as if it were yesterday!" narrowing her eyes and harrowing her voice, "I wonder if his poor mother knows yet."

"I should hope not!" said Mrs. Gibson rising precipitately and wandering over to the window where hung a gilded canary cage. "Mrs. Frost, did you remember to give the canary some seed and fresh water?"

"Yes, I b'lieve so," responded the fat lady, "But you can't keep her from knowing it always. Whatt'll you do when he's _hung?_ Don't you think it would be easier for; her to get used to it little by little?"

"Mrs. Frost, if you were a dog would you rather have your tail cut off all at once, or little by little?" said Mrs. Gibson mischievously.

"I shouldn't like to have it cut off at all I'm quite sure," said Mrs.

Frost frostily.

"Well, perhaps Mrs. Carter might feel that way too," said the lady bending over a rose geranium and pinching a leaf to smell.

"I don't understand you," said Mrs. Frost from her coffee cup, "Oh, you mean that perhaps Mark may not be convicted? Why, my dear lady, there isn't a chance at all, not a chance in the world for Mark, and while I'm real sorry I can't say I'd approve. Think of how he's carried on, going with that little huzzy of a Cherry. Mrs. Harricutt says she saw him have her out riding in his automobile one day--!"

"Oh,--_Mrs. Harricutt!"_ said Mrs. Gibson impatiently, "Mrs. Frost, let's find something pleasanter to talk about. It's a wonderful morning.

The air's like wine. I wonder If I couldn't take a little walk. I mean to ask the doctor."

"My dear woman," said Frost patronizingly, "You can't get away from the unpleasant things in this world by just not talking about them!"

"It seems not," said the Gibson lady patiently, and wandered out on the porch.

Down the street Marilyn lingered by her mother's chair:

"Are you--going to Economy to-day, mother?"

"Yes, dear, your father and I are both going. Did you--think you ought--wanted to--go dear?"

"Oh, I should _hate it!"_ cried Lynn flinging out her hands with a terrible little gesture of despair, "But I wanted to go just to stand by Mark. I shall be there anyway, wherever I am, I shall see everything and feel everything in my heart I know. But in the night it came to me that some one ought to stay with Mrs. Carter!"

"Yes, dear! I had hoped you would think of that. I didn't want to mention it because I wanted you to follow your own heart's leading, but I think she needs you. If you could keep her from finding out until it was over--"

"But suppose--!"

"Yes, dear, it is possible. I've thought of that, and if it comes there will be a way I'm sure, but until it does--_then_ suppose--"

"Yes, mother, I'll go and make her have one happy day first anyway. If any of those old vultures come around I'll play the piano or scream all the while they are there and keep them from telling her a thing!"

"I think, dear, the vultures will all be in Economy to-day."

"All except Mrs. Frost, mother dear. She can't get away. But she can always run across the street to borrow a cup of soda."

So Lynn knelt for a moment in her quiet room, then came down, kissed her mother and father with a face of brave serenity, and went down the maple shaded street with her silk work bag in her hand. And none too soon. As she tapped at the door of the Carter house she saw Mrs. Frost ambling purposefully out of the Gibson gate with a tea cup in her hand.

"Oh, hurry upstairs and stay there a minute till I get rid of Mrs.

Frost," Lynn whispered smiling as her hostess let her in. "I've come to spend the day with you, and she'll stay till she's told you all the news and there won't be any left for me."

Mrs. Carter, greatly delighted with Lynn's company, hurried obediently up the stairs and Lynn met the interloper, supplied her with the cup of salt she had come for this time, said Mrs. Carter was upstairs making the beds and she wouldn't bother her to come down,--_beds,_ mind you, as if Mark was at home of course--and Mrs. Frost went back across the street puzzled and baffled and resolved to come back later for an egg after that forward young daughter of the minister was gone.

Lynn locked the front door and ran up stairs. She tolled her hostess up to the attic to show her some ancient gowns and poke bonnets that she hadn't seen since she was a little girl in which she and Mark used to dress up and play history stories.

Half the morning she kept her up there looking at garments long folded away, whose wearers had slept in the church yard many years; trinkets of other days, quaint old pictures, photographs and daguerreotypes, and a beautiful curl of Mark's--:

"Marilyn, I'm going to give that to you," the mother said as she saw the s.h.i.+ning thing lying in the girl's hand, "There's no one living to care for it after I'm gone, and you will keep it I know till you're sure there's no one would want it I--mean--!"

"I understand what you mean," said Marilyn, "I will keep it and love it--for you--and for him. And if there is ever anybody else that--deserves it--why I'll give it to them--!" Then they both laughed to hide the tears behind the unspoken thoughts, and the mother added a little stubbed shoe and a sheer muslin cap, all delicate embroidery and hemst.i.tching:

"They go together," she said simply, and Lynn wrapped them all carefully in a bit of tissue paper and laid them in her silk bag. As she turned away she held it close to her heart while the mother closed the shutters. She shuddered to think of the place where Mark was sitting now, being tried for his life. Her heart flew over the road, entered the court and stood close by his side, with her hand on his shoulder, and then slipped it in his. She wondered if he knew that she was praying, praying, praying for him and standing by him, taking the burden of what would have been his mother's grief if she had known, as well as the heavy burden of her own sorrow.

The air of the court room was heavy for the place was crowded. Almost everybody from Sabbath Valley that could come was there, for a great many people loved Mark Carter, and this seemed a time when somehow they must stand by him. People came that liked him and some that did not like him, but more that liked him and kept hoping against hope that he would not be indicted.