Wild Wings

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE LITTLE LADY WHO FORGOT

  Larry Holiday was a rather startlingly energetic person when he once gotunder way. The next morning he overruled the "Mystery Lady's" faintdemurs, successfully argued the senior doctor into agreement with hissomewhat surprising plan of procedure, wired his uncle, engaged trainreservations for that evening, secured a nurse, preempted the services ofa Red Cap who promised to be waiting with a chair at the station so thatthe little invalid would not have to set foot upon the ground, andfinally carried the latter with his own strong young arms onto the trainand into a large, cool stateroom where a fan was already whirring and thewhite-clad nurse waiting to minister to the needs of the frail traveler.

  In a few moments the train was slipping smoothly out of the station andthe girl who had forgotten most things else knew that she was beingspirited off to a delightful sounding place called Holiday Hill in thecharge of a gray-eyed young doctor who had made himself personallyresponsible for her from the moment he had extricated her, more dead thanalive, from the wreckage. Somehow, for the moment she was quite contentwith the knowledge.

  Leaving his charge in the nurse's care, Larry Holiday ensconced himselfin his seat not far from the stateroom and pretended to read his paper.But it might just as well have been printed in ancient Sanscrit for allthe meaning its words conveyed to his brain. His corporeal self occupiedthe green plush seat. His spiritual person was elsewhere.

  After fifteen minutes of futile effort at concentration he flung down thepaper and strode to the door of the stateroom. A white linen arm answeredhis gentle knock. There was a moment's consultation, then the nurse cameout and Larry went in.

  On the couch the girl lay very still with half-closed eyes. Her longblonde braids tied with blue ribbons lay on the pillow on either side ofher sweet, pale little face, making it look more childlike than ever.

  "I can't see why I can't remember," she said to Larry as he sat down onthe edge of the other cot opposite her. "I try so hard."

  "Don't try. You are just wearing yourself out doing it. It will be allright in time. Don't worry."

  "I can't help worrying. It is--oh, it is horrible not to have anypast--to be different from everybody in the world."

  "I know. It is mighty tough and you have been wonderfully brave about it.But truly I do believe it will all come back. And in the meanwhile youare going to one of the best places in the world to get well in. Take myword for it."

  "But I don't see why I should be going. It isn't as if I had any claimon you or your people. Why are you taking me to your home?" The blueeyes were wide open now, and looking straight up into Larry Holiday'sgray ones.

  Larry smiled and Larry's smile, coming out of the usual gravity andrepose of his face, was irresistible. More than one young woman, case andnon-case, had wished, seeing that smile, that its owner had eyes forgirls as such.

  "Because you are the most interesting patient I ever had. Don't begrudgeit to me. I get measles and sore throats mostly. Do you wonder I snatchedyou as a dog grabs a bone?" Then he sobered. "Truly, Ruth--you don't mindmy calling you that, do you, since we don't know your other name?--theHill is the one place in the world for you just now. You will forgive mykidnapping you when you see it and my people. You can't help liking itand them."

  "I am not afraid of not liking it or them if--" She had meant to say "ifthey are at all like you," but that seemed a little too personal to sayto one's doctor, even a doctor who had saved your life and had the mostwonderful smile that ever was, and the nicest eyes. "If they will letme," she substituted. "But it is such a queer, kind thing to do. Theother doctors were interested in me, too, as a case. But it didn't occurto any of them to offer me the hospitality of their homes and family foran unlimited time. Are you Holidays all like that?"

  "More or less," admitted Larry with another smile. "Maybe we are a bitvain-glorious about Holiday hospitality. It is rather a family tradition.The House on the Hill has had open doors ever since the first Holidaybuilt it nearly two hundred years ago. You saw Uncle Phil's wire. Hemeant that 'welcome ready.' You'll see. But anyway it won't be very hardfor them to open the door to you. They will all love you."

  She shut her eyes again at that. Possibly the young doctor's expressionwas rather more un-professionally eloquent than he knew.

  "Tired?" he asked.

  "Not much--tired of wondering. Maybe my name isn't Ruth at all."

  "Maybe it isn't. But it is a name anyway, and you may as well use it forthe present until you can find your own. I think Ruth Annersley is apretty name myself," added the young doctor seriously. "I like it."

  "Mrs. Geoffrey Annersley," corrected the girl. "That is ratherpretty too."

  Larry agreed somewhat less enthusiastically.

  Ruth lifted her hand and fell to twisting the wedding ring which was veryloose on her thin little finger.

  "Think of being married and not knowing what your husband looks like.Poor Geoffrey Annersley! I wonder if he cares a great deal for me."

  "It is quite possible," said Larry Holiday grimly.

  He had taken an absurd dislike to the very name of Geoffrey Annersley.Why didn't the man appear and claim his wife? Practically every paperfrom the Atlantic to the Pacific had advertised for him. If he was anygood and wanted to find his wife he would be half crazy looking for herby this time. He must have seen the newspaper notices. There wassomething queer about this Geoffrey Annersley. Larry Holiday detested himcordially.

  "You don't suppose he was killed in the wreck, do you?" Ruth's mindworked on, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

  "You were traveling alone. Your chair was near mine. I noticed youbecause I thought--" He broke off abruptly.

  "Thought what?"

  "That you were the prettiest girl I ever saw in my life," he admitted. "Iwanted to speak to you. Two or three times I was on the verge of it but Inever could quite get up the courage. I'm not much good at startingconversations with girls. My kid brother, Ted, has the monopoly of thatsort of thing in my family."

  "Oh, if you only had," she sighed. "Maybe I would have told yousomething about myself and where I was going when I got to New York."

  "I wish I had," regretted Larry. "Confound my shyness! I don't see whyanybody ever let you travel alone from San Francisco to New York anyway,"he added. "Your Geoffrey ought to have taken better care of you."

  "Maybe I haven't a Geoffrey. The fact that there was an envelope in mybag addressed to Mrs. Geoffrey Annersley doesn't prove that I am Mrs.Geoffrey Annersley."

  "No, still there is the ring." Larry frowned thoughtfully. "If you aren'tMrs. Geoffrey Annersley you must be Mrs. Somebody Else, I suppose. Andthe locket says _Ruth from Geoffrey_."

  "Oh, yes, I suppose I am Mrs. Geoffrey Annersley. It seems as if I mustbe. But why can't I remember? It seems as if any one would remember theman she was married to--as if one couldn't forget that, no matter whathappened. But if there is a Geoffrey Annersley why doesn't he come andget me and make me remember him?"

  Larry shook his head.

  "Don't worry, please. We'll keep on advertising. He is bound to comebefore long if he really is your husband. Some day he will be coming upour hill and run away with you, worse luck!"

  Ruth's eyes were on the ring again.

  "It is funny," she said. "But I can't make myself _feel_ married. I can'tmake the ring mean anything to me. I don't want it to mean anything. Idon't want to be married. Sometimes I dream that Geoffrey Annersley hascome and I put my hand over my eyes because I don't want to see him.Isn't that dreadful?" she turned to Larry to ask.

  "You can't help it." Larry tried manfully to push back his own whollyunreasonable satisfaction in her aversion to her presumptive husband."It is the blow and the shock of the whole thing. It will be all right intime. You will fall on your Geoffrey's neck and call him blessed when thetime comes."

  "I don't believe he is coming," she announced suddenly with conviction.

  Larry got up and walked over to her cou
ch.

  "What makes you say that?" he demanded.

  "I don't know. It was just a feeling I had. Something inside me saidright out loud: 'He isn't coming. He isn't your husband.' Maybe it isbecause I don't want him to come and don't want him to be my husband. Oh,dear! It is all so queer and mixed up and horrid. It is awful not to beanybody--just a ghost. I wish I'd been killed. Why didn't you leave me?Why did you dig me out? All the others said I was dead. Why didn't youlet me _be_ dead? It would have been better."

  She turned her face away and buried it in the pillow, sobbing softly,suddenly like a child.

  This was too much for Larry. He dropped on his knees beside her and puthis arms around the quivering little figure.

  "Don't, Ruth," he implored. "Don't cry and don't--don't wish you weredead. I--I can't stand it."

  There was a tap at the door. Larry got to his feet in guilty haste andwent to the door of the stateroom.

  "It is time for Mrs. Annersley's medicine," announced the nurseimpersonally, entering and going over to the wash stand for a glass.

  The white linen back safely turned, Larry gave one swift look at Ruth andbolted, shutting the door behind him. The nurse turned to look at thepatient whose face was still hidden in the pillow and then her gazetraveled meditatively toward the door out of which the young doctor hadshot so precipitately. Larry had forgotten that there was a mirror overthe wash stand and that nurses, however impersonal, are still women witheyes in their heads.

  "H--m," reflected the onlooker. "I wouldn't have thought he was thatkind. You never can tell about men, especially doctors. I wish him joyfalling in love with a woman who doesn't know whether or not she has ahusband. Your tablets, Mrs. Annersley," she added aloud.

  * * * * *

  "Larry, I think your Ruth is the dearest thing I ever laid eyes on,"declared Tony next day to her brother. "Her name ought to be Titania. I'mnot very big myself, but I feel like an Amazon beside her. And her laughis the sweetest thing--so soft and silvery, like little bells. But shedoesn't laugh much, does she? Poor little thing!"

  "She is awfully up against it," said Larry with troubled eyes. "She can'tstop trying to remember. It is a regular obsession with her. And she isvery shy and sensitive and afraid of strangers."

  "She doesn't look at you as if you were a stranger. She adores you."

  "Nonsense!" said Larry sharply.

  Tony opened her eyes at her brother's tone.

  "Why, Larry! Of course, I didn't mean she was in love with you. Shecouldn't be when she is married. I just meant she adored you--well, theway Max adores me," she explained as the tawny-haired Irish setter cameand rested his head on her knee, raising solemn worshipful brown eyes toher face. "Why shouldn't she? You saved her life and you have beenwonderful to her every way."

  "Nonsense!" said Larry again, though he said it in a different tone thistime. "I haven't done much. It is Uncle Phil and Aunt Margery who are thewonderful ones. It is great the way they both said yes right away when Iasked if I could bring her here. I tell you, Tony, it means something tohave your own people the kind you can count on every time. And it isgreat to have a home like this to bring her to. She is going to love itas soon as she is able to get downstairs with us all."

  Up in her cool, spacious north chamber, lying in the big bed with thesmooth, fine linen, Ruth felt as if she loved it already, though shefound these Holidays even more amazing than ever, now that she wasactually in their midst. Were there any other people in the world likethem she wondered--so kind and simple and unfeignedly glad to take astranger into their home and a queer, mysterious, sick stranger at that!

  "If I have to begin living all over just like a baby I think I am theluckiest girl that ever was to be able to start in a place like this withsuch dear, kind people all around me," she told Doctor Holiday, senior,to whom she had immediately lost her heart as soon as she saw his smileand felt the touch of his strong, magnetic, healing hand.

  "We will get you out under the trees in a day or two," he said. "And thenyour business will be to get well and strong as soon as possible and notworry about anything any more than if you were the baby you were justtalking about. Can you manage that, young lady?"

  "I'll try. I would be horrid and ungrateful not to when you are all sogood to me. I don't believe my own people are half as nice as youHolidays. I don't see how they could be."

  The doctor laughed at that.

  "We will let it go at that for the present. You will be singing anothertune when your Geoffrey Annersley comes up the Hill to claim you."

  The girl's expressive face clouded over at that. She did not quite dareto tell Doctor Holiday as she had his nephew that she did not want to seeGeoffrey Annersley nor to have to know she was married to him. It soundedhorrid, but it was true. Sometimes she hated the very thought of GeoffreyAnnersley.

  Later Doctor Holiday and his nephew went over the girl's case togetherfrom both the personal and professional angles. There was little enoughto go on in untangling her mystery. The railway tickets which had beenfound in her purse were in an un-postmarked envelope bearing the nameMrs. Geoffrey Annersley, but no address. The baggage train had beendestroyed by fire at the time of the accident, so there were no trunks togive evidence. The small traveling bag she had carried with her boreneither initial nor geographical designation, and contained nothing whichgave any clew as to its owner's identity save that she was presumably aperson of wealth, for her possessions were exquisite and obviouslycostly. A small jewel box contained various valuable rings, one or twopendants and a string of matched pearls which even to uninitiated eyesspelled a fortune. Also, oddly enough, among the rest was an absurdlittle childish gold locket inscribed "Ruth from Geoffrey."

  She had worn no rings at all except for a single platinum-set, and veryperfect, diamond and a plain gold band, obviously a wedding ring. Theinference was that she was married and that her husband's name wasGeoffrey Annersley, but where he was and why she was traveling across theUnited States alone and from whence she had come remained utterlyunguessable. Larry had seen to it that advertisements for GeoffreyAnnersley were inserted in every important paper from coast to coast butnothing had come of any of his efforts.

  As for the strange lapse of memory, there seemed nothing to do but waitin the hope that recovered health and strength might bring it back.

  "It may come bit by bit or by a sudden bound or never," was DoctorHoliday's opinion. "There is nothing that I know of that she or you orany one can do except let nature take her course. It is a case of timeand patience. I am glad you brought her to us. Margery and I are veryglad to have her."

  "You are awfully good, Uncle Phil. I do appreciate it and it is great tohave you behind me professionally. I haven't got a great deal ofconfidence in myself. Doctoring scares me sometimes. It is such a fearfulresponsibility."

  "It is, but you are going to be equal to it. The confidence will comewith experience. You need have no lack of faith in yourself; I haven't.There is no reason why I should have, when I get letters like this."

  The senior doctor leaned over and extracted old Doctor Fenton's letterfrom a cubby hole in his desk and gave it to his nephew to read. Thelatter perused it in silence with slightly heightened color. Praisealways embarrassed him.

  "He is too kind," he observed as he handed back the letter. "I didn't domuch out there, precious little in fact but what I was told to do. Ifigured it out that we young ones were the privates and it was up to usto take orders from the captains who knew their business better than wedid and get busy. I worked on that basis."

  "Sound basis. I am not afraid that a man who can obey well won't be ableto command well when the time comes. It isn't a small thing to berecognized as a true Holiday, either. It is something to be proud of."

  "I am proud, Uncle Phil. There is nothing I would rather hear--anddeserve. But, if I am anywhere near the Holiday standard, it is youmostly that brought me up to it. I don't mean any dispraise of Dad. Hewas fine and I am proud to be his son
. But he never understood me. Ididn't have enough dash and go to me for him. Ted and Tony are bothmore his kind, though I don't believe either of them loved him as Idid. But you seemed to understand always. You helped me to believe inmyself. It was the best thing that could have happened to me, coming toyou when I did."

  Larry turned to the mantel and picked up a photograph of himself whichstood there, a lad of fifteen or so, facing the world with grave,sensitive eyes, the Larry he had been when he came to the House on theHill. He smiled at his uncle over the boy's picture.

  "You burned out the plague spots, too, with a mighty hot iron, some ofthem," he added. "I'll never forget your sitting there in that very chairtelling me I was a lazy, selfish snob and that, all things considered, Ididn't measure up for a nickel with Dick. Jerusalem! I wonder if you knewhow that hit. I had a fairly good opinion of Larry Holiday in some waysand you rather knocked the spots out of it, comparing me to mydisadvantage with a circus runaway."

  He replaced the picture, the smile still lingering on his face.

  "It was the right medicine though. I needed it. I can see that now.Speaking of doses I wish you would make Ted tutor this summer. I don'tknow whether he has told you. I rather think not. But he flunked so manycourses he will have to drop back a year unless he makes up the work andtakes examinations in the fall."

  The senior doctor drummed thoughtfully on the desk. So that was what theboy had on his mind.

  "Why not speak to him yourself?" he asked after a minute.

  "And be sent to warm regions as I was last spring when I ventured to givehis lord highmightiness some advice. No good, Uncle Phil. He won't listento me. He just gets mad and swings off in the other direction. I don'thandle him right. Haven't your patience and tact. I wonder if he everwill get any sense into his head. He is the best hearted kid in theworld, and I'm crazy over him, but he does rile me to the limit with hisfifty-seven varieties of foolness."