At the Crossroads Part 39

She was distressed, too, that Larry was to have the Point. Aunt Polly had shaken her head over it and remarked that it seemed like dropping the Pointers into Maclin's mouth. But Peter rea.s.sured her.

"I see your side, child," he comforted. "What the old doc said _goes_ with you."

"But it was Larry, not the doctor, as specified the Point," Polly insisted.

"All right, all right," Peter patted Polly's shoulder. "Have it your own way, but I see it at _this_ angle. Give Larry what he wants; Maclin has Larry, anyway, but if he keeps him here where we can watch what's going on, I'll feel easier. He'll show his hand on the Point, take my word for it. Larry gallivanting is one thing, Larry with Twombley and Peneluna, not to mention us all, is another. You let go, Mary-Clare, and see what happens."

"Well, I hold"--Aunt Polly was curiously stubborn--"that Larry Rivers don't want that Point any more than a toad wants a pocket."

"All right, all right!" Peter grew red and his hair sprang up. "Put it as you choose. This may bring things to a head. I swear the whole world is like a throbbing and thundering boil--it's got to bust, the world and King's Forest. I say, then, let 'em bust and have done with it."

At four o'clock the business of the day was over and Mary-Clare was ready to start. Then Noreen, with the perversity of children, complicated matters.

"Motherly, let me go, too," she pleaded.

"Childie, Mother wants to be alone."

"Why for?"

"Because, well, I must think."

"Then let me stay home with Jan-an."

"Dearie, I'm going to send Jan-an back here."

"Why for?"

"Mary-Clare," Peter broke in, "that child is peris.h.i.+ng for a paddling."

Noreen ran to Peter and hugged him.

"You old grifferty-giff!" she whispered, falling into her absurd jargon, "just gifferting."

Then she went back to her mother and said impishly:

"I know! You don't want me to see my father!" Then, pointing a finger at Mary-Clare, she demanded: "Why didn't you pick a nice father for me when you were picking?"

The irrelevancy of the question only added to its staggering effect.

Mary-Clare looked hopelessly at her child.

"I didn't have any choice, Noreen," she said.

"You mean G.o.d gave him to you?"

"See here, Noreen"--Polly Heathcote rose to the call--"stop pestering your mother with silly talk. Come along with me, we'll make a mess of taffy."

"All right!" Noreen turned joyously to this suggestion, but paused to add: "If G.o.d gave my father to us, I s'pose we must make the best of it. G.o.d knows what He is doing--Jan-an says He even knew what He was doing when He nearly spoiled her."

With this, Aunt Polly dragged Noreen away and Mary-Clare left the house haunted by what Noreen had said. Children can weave themselves into the scheme of life in a vivid manner, and this Noreen had done.

In her dealings with Larry, Mary-Clare knew she must not overlook Noreen.

Now, if fools rush in where angels fear to tread, surely they often rush to their undoing. Kathryn followed the trail to the cabin in the woods, breathlessly and in momentary danger of breaking her ankles, for she teetered painfully on her French heels and humorously wished that when the Lord was making hills He had made them all down-grade; but at last she came in sight of the vine-covered shack and stood still to consider.

It was characteristic of Kathryn that she never doubted her intuitions until she was left high and dry by their incapacity to hold her up.

"Ho! ho!" she murmured. "So _this_ is where he burrows? Another edition of the East Side tenement room where he hid while writing his abominable book!"

Kathryn went nearer, stepping carefully--Northrup might be inside! No; the strange room was empty! Kathryn recalled the one visit she had made to the tenement while Northrup was writing. There had been a terrible woman with a mop outside the door there who would not let her pa.s.s; who had even cast unpleasant suggestions at her--suggestions that had made Kathryn's cheeks burn.

She had never told Northrup about that visit; she would not tell him about this one, either, unless her hand were forced. In case he came upon her, she saw, vividly, herself in a dramatic act--she would be a beautiful picture of tender girlhood nestling in his environment, led to him by sore need and loving intuition.

Kathryn, thus reinforced by her imagination, went boldly in, sat down by the crude table, smiled at the Bible lying open before her--then she raised her eyes to Father Damien. The face was familiar and Kathryn concluded it must be a reproduction of some famous painting of the Christ!

That, and the Bible, made the girl smile. Temperament was insanity, nothing less!

Kathryn looked about for evidences of Northrup's craft.

"I suppose he takes his precious stuff away with him. Afraid of fires or wild beasts."

This latter thought wasn't pleasant and Kathryn turned nervously to the door. As she did so her arm pushed the Bible aside and there, disclosed to her ferret glance, were the pages of Northrup's ma.n.u.script, duplicate sheets, that Mary-Clare had been rereading.

"Ho! ho!" Kathryn spread them before her and read greedily--not sympathetically--but amusedly.

There were references to eyes, hair, expressions; even "mud-stained breeches." With elbows on the table, daintily gloved hands supporting her chin, Kathryn read and thought and wove _her_ plot with Northrup's words, but half understood, lying under her gaze.

Suddenly Kathryn's eyes widened--her ears caught a sound. Never while she lived was Kathryn Morris to forget her sensations of that moment, for they were coloured and weighted by events that followed rapidly, dramatically.

In the doorway stood Mary-Clare, a very embodiment of the girl described in the pages on the table. The tall, slim, boyish figure in rough breeches, coat, and cap, was a staggering apparition. The beauty of the surprised face did not appeal to Kathryn, but she was not for one instant deceived as to the s.e.x of the person on the threshold, and her none-too-pure mind made a wild and dangerous leap to a most unstable point of disadvantage.

The girl in the doorway in some stupefying fas.h.i.+on represented the "Fight" and the "Puddle" of Northrup's adventure. If Kathryn thought at all, it was to the effect that she had known from start to finish the whole miserable business, and she acted upon this unconscious conclusion with never a doubt in her mind. The two women, in silence, stared at each other for one of those moments that can never be measured by rule. During the palpitating silence they were driven together, while yet separated by a great s.p.a.ce.

Kathryn's conclusion drove her on the rocks; Mary-Clare's startled her into a state of clear vision. She recovered her poise first. She smiled her perturbing smile; she came in and sat down and said quietly:

"I was surprised. I am still."

Kathryn felt a wave of moral repugnance rise to her a.s.sistance. The clothes might disguise the real state of affairs--but the voice betrayed much. This was no crude country girl; here was something rather more difficult to handle; one need not be pitiful and condoning; one must not flinch.

"You expected, I suppose, to find Mr. Northrup?"

When Kathryn was deeply moved she spoke out of the corner of her mouth. It was an unpleasant trick--her lips became hard and twisted.

"Oh! no, I did not, nor anyone else." The name seemed to hurt and Mary-Clare leaned back. "May I ask who you are?" she said. Mary-Clare was indignant at she hardly knew what; hurt, too, by what was steadying her. She knew beyond doubt that the woman near her was one of Northrup's world!

"I am Miss Morris. I am engaged to be married to Mr. Northrup."

It were better to cut deep while cutting, and Kathryn's nerve was now set to her task. She unrelentingly eyed her victim. She went on:

"I can see how this must shock you. I sent my car on to the inn. I wanted a walk and--well! I came upon this place. Fate is such a strange thing."