“All I know is what my renegade brother wrote about her. She sang in a saloon or something, didn’t she?”
“I think you had better come and find out, Maxwell,” said his mother in the tone in which she used to command him to come into the house when he had been swimming without permission. “All I have to say is that we have made a very grievous mistake in our judgment.”
“But, Mother, are you sure she isn’t putting something over on you?”
“That will be all that is necessary, Maxwell, along that line. Am I in the habit of having the wool pulled over my eyes?”
“But how do you know that this girl is my brother’s child? Perhaps she’s an imposter.”
“Are you coming up, Maxwell, or will I have to send for Jacqueline’s father?”
“Well, I’ll try to get up within the course of the week if possible. This is a bad time for me, Mother.”
“Yes, it’s a bad time for me, too, Maxwell. Good-bye.”
Grandmother hung up and looked at her wit’s end. She stood a moment looking into space. There wasn’t anybody on earth to whom she could turn for immediate help in the problem of the hour. She must look to heaven.
So Grandmother went into her own room, quietly locked the door on the world, and knelt down by her bedside, laying her troubles before the Lord.
A few minutes later she came forth from her interview with the Most High God with a less troubled brow, and in her eyes was peace.
She walked straight to Sheila’s room and began a thorough inspection. Carefully she went over every dress in Sheila’s closet, trying to determine what the girl had on. The bathing suit was the first anxiety, but she found it at once, flying its bright colors on a hanger where the eye could not fail to see it at first glance. It was smooth and new and had not yet been wet. That settled the worry about the ocean.
“My Father, I thank Thee!” murmured Grandmother with a sigh of relief.
Then she went over the dresses, both those hanging up in the closet and those that were still folded away in the trunk. As far as she could see, there was not one missing. She sat down in the little rocking chair and tried to think over the things they had bought in Boston, but not one seemed to be missing of the lot. What could Sheila have on? How very strange it was. Of course, it must be something that she had forgotten.
She got up and went toward the window to see if she was yet in sight, for the clock hands pointed to twelve now. It was very strange that she had not yet returned. Could it be that Jacqueline had played some joke and had her imprisoned in a closet somewhere? If that should turn out to be the case, certainly something serious ought to be done about it. That girl was the limit.
Grandmother walked firmly over toward the window almost confident that she was going to see Sheila coming down the beach. Probably she had been off exploring by herself. Probably Jacqueline had hurt her feelings and she had gone away awhile to get calm, but she would know by the height of the sun that it was almost lunchtime. Surely she would soon be back.
But the sea glowed brightly in the summer sunshine, and no Sheila nor anybody else came walking down the beach.
Grandmother wondered about the horseback ride. More time had elapsed than she had realized while she looked over the new dresses and folded them back in their places. Had Jacqueline gone in spite of what she had said? Oh, how mistaken her poor sister had been to bring up the naughty beauty to have her own way so completely! She must go and find her at once. And perhaps Sheila had come in by this time, quietly, and would be downstairs reading. How the child loved books! How wonderful that she should have had that taste, out there in the wilds! It had, of course, made all the difference in the world in her manners.
But as Grandmother passed the bureau on her way back to the door, her eye was caught by a written paper standing up against the pincushion, and her heart contracted anxiously. What was this?
She took the paper in fingers that began to tremble, for she really was getting old, and there had been a great deal of unusual excitement the last few days. It seemed almost more than she could bear if there was to be more of it.
She sat down weakly in the rocking chair and, with the tears coursing down her cheeks, read the letter twice over, and then she put her face down into the scribbled note and cried outright.
With the letter still in her hand, she knelt again and brought her trouble to God. Then after a few minutes, she arose and went down to the telephone in the living room.
Nobody was around. Janet could be heard ironing in the kitchen, singing in nasal twang at the top of her lungs, “To the old rugged cross, I will ever be true.”
There were no sounds of footsteps up in the yellow room. Probably Jacqueline had gone out horseback riding in spite of what she had said. The coast was clear, with no listeners. She did not want even Janet listening to her conversation, so she took the telephone into the tiny hall closet and began.
She first called up the station in the village and got the station agent. There was one morning train at half past ten. Sheila would have had time to catch that if she had walked fast.
“Is that Mr. Cather? Well, this is Mrs. Ainslee, Mr. Cather. I am calling up to know whether my granddaughter reached there in time to catch the morning train. Yes, she was walking. You say she did not? You are sure? Well, thank you. No, she probably will have turned back if she discovered how late she was. No, I don’t suppose she will wait for the afternoon train, it would be so late; but of course, if you see her, will you kindly tell her to call me up before she gets on the train? Thank you.”
Grandmother was trembling from head to foot when she hung up the receiver and tried to steady her lips and her hands.
She pressed her cold fingers on her closed eyes and took a deep breath before she began again. She tried to keep the tremble out of her voice as she called up The Cliffs.
It was old Mrs. Galbraith who answered her call.
“Oh, is it you, Marget?” she said, trying to sound entirely natural. “How are you this morning? Yes, isn’t it a lovely day? But it seemed to me when I looked out just now that it was clouding up. Yes, we have had lovely weather. Wonderful for so early in the season. But Marget, I was calling to speak to young Mr. Angus, your nephew. Is he there, I wonder?”
The voice at the other end of the line was pleasant and reassuring. Grandmother felt reasonably sure she had not revealed her excitement in her voice.
“Why no, Myra, not just now. He went off in his plane a little while ago. He had an errand somewhere. But he said he would probably be back about two o’clock if he wasn’t detained. He got started good and early. I’m sure he’ll be back soon. The young people went down to take a swim this morning early, and then he came right back and flew away. Aren’t the rest of them down at your house? They went riding. Malcolm and Betty, and Rose Galway, a girl that’s visiting Betty. I believe they took an extra horse down for some girl at your house. Your niece, was it? Was that your sister Annie’s child? How I’d love to see her. I suppose she’s just as sweet and unspoiled as Annie was? What’s that? Your grandniece? Now Myra, don’t tell me Annie’s child has been married long enough to have a grown-up daughter! Why—was she older than you? Oh, yes, I remember. Well, we are growing old, aren’t we, Myra? And now about Angus. I’m sure he’ll be home soon. Shall I tell him to call you up as soon as he gets in? All right, Myra. I’ll tell him. No, no trouble at all. Come up pretty soon and bring your niece. I mean your grandniece. Good-bye.”
Grandmother turned from the telephone with a stricken face and went to the window. She was looking out toward the sea, but she was not seeing anything. Her eyes were full of anxious tears, and her heart was talking with God.
Father, take care of my little girl. I don’t know anyone to ask but Angus. If he is the one to help, won’t You please send him soon before she gets too far away to find?
She wiped the tears away and stood looking out to sea.
Suddenly she became aware of dark clouds on the horizon, crowding up
together and hastening in to shore. Why! The day had been so bright just now. Could it be that a storm was coming up?
And what would become of Sheila if there was a storm? Surely with five dollars she would be able to take shelter somewhere; but if she was in a house, it would be impossible to locate her. She had so hoped that Angus would be willing to fly a few miles up the coast and see if he could see any trace of her. She could not have wandered far by this time if she went on foot. And surely she would not dare spend much for carfare if she had only five dollars.
Her heart sank as she watched the clouds gathering, and she began to pray again. It seemed somehow that she was anguishing for her lost baby Andrew as she prayed. Sheila was all she had left of Andrew now. And Sheila was gone!
Oh, God, my Father. I can’t do a thing to find her. Won’t You do something, please?
Then the telephone rang sharply close beside her, and she rushed to pick up the receiver.
“This is Angus Galbraith, Mrs. Ainslee,” said a clear, strong voice. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Oh,” said Grandmother in that pleading, wistful tone with which she had been talking to God. “Oh, I wonder if you could. I’m afraid not, now a storm is coming up, and it wouldn’t be safe for you.”
“I’m at your service, Mrs. Ainslee, whether it’s safe or not. What can I do?”
“Perhaps you’ll think it silly, what I was going to ask,” said the old lady, quite trembling now and afraid to suggest her idea, “but I didn’t know who else to ask to help me. You see, my granddaughter has gone away, and I don’t know where to find her. I thought perhaps she might have gone up the beach, and you would be willing to fly along and see if you see anything of her. But I’m afraid now this storm will make it dangerous for you, and besides, she may have taken shelter somewhere.”
There was a sob in Grandmother’s voice now; and there was something alarmed and electric in the voice that answered her sharply.
“You mean Sheila?” he said. “Little Sheila? Where was she going?”
“Oh, that’s what I don’t know!” The grandmother’s voice was choked with trouble. “I telephoned the station, but she didn’t take either train.”
“When did she leave?” The tone was crisp and businesslike.
“A little while after breakfast,” said Grandmother. “I didn’t miss her until after ten o’clock, and then I thought nothing of it at first. But later I found a note saying—well—saying something had happened, between her and my grandniece, I think, and she seemed to think she ought not to stay here.”
“There now.” The young man’s voice was tender. “You needn’t stop to tell me anything more. We won’t waste time on that. I think I understand. You just rest, and I’ll go out and find her. Of course I’ll find her. And I’ll bring her back to you without fail. You needn’t worry!”
“Oh, you are good!”
“No, don’t waste time on that. Just don’t you worry. I’ll bring her straight back to you, no matter where she is. And I’ll try to keep you posted if I don’t find her immediately. What color of dress was she wearing?”
“That’s it,” said Grandmother. “I can’t find anything missing except an old worn dress she had on when she came. Dark blue, and a little old felt hat. But I’m not sure. I thought those had been thrown away.”
“I see. Never mind, I’ll know her anywhere. She is lovely! Now, go and rest. I’ll get back as soon as I can.”
“But—the storm!” said Grandmother timorously.
Did she hear a sound of thunder?
“The storm has nothing to do with it. I’ll ride ahead of the storm. I’ll ride above it if necessary. My plane is all ready to leave at once. I just got back. Good-bye. Keep good cheer!”
He had hung up, and Grandmother, in a daze of hope, hung up, too.
Chapter 16
There was a distinct sound of thunder in the sky. There was a lurid look about the atmosphere. There was the sound of pounding horses’ feet outside on the beach, coming up to the wicket gate. A chime of laughing voices.
Grandmother looked out and saw Malcolm Galbraith and Jacqueline riding up to the gate, and far down the beach, galloping fast, came the other two women, Betty and Rose, at a breakneck speed. That had probably been the way they had been riding all the morning—one couple far ahead of the other two. The hussy!
Grandmother watched from the cover of the curtain, for the instant angry enough to forget her pain and anxiety.
She saw Malcolm spring from his steed and help Jacqueline to dismount, saw their hands linger together longer than was necessary. The hussy!
Then as the other two horses came nearer with pounding feet, she saw Malcolm and Jacqueline rush laughing to the red car that stood outside the wall and begin to pull up the top.
Then the first raindrops began to fall, and Malcolm mounted hurriedly, joined his wife and her guest, and they went clattering off up the beach in a great hurry. Jacqueline ran into the house, her head bent to the gale that had begun to blow.
Grandmother suddenly slipped upstairs on feet as silent and fleet as if she had been several decades younger, and she was lying peacefully on her bed taking a nap when Janet tapped at the door to say that lunch was ready.
“I think if you’ll just bring up a cup of tea and a bit of toast, Janet, I’ll not come down just now. I’ve a bit of a headache, and I’ll be better for a rest. You can ask Miss Lammorelle how soon she will be ready for her lunch, but Miss Sheila is away. She may be back in time for dinner tonight; I’m not sure. I’ll let you know later about setting the table.”
In great dismay and trepidation, Janet went downstairs.
Janet was too sharp a maiden to think for a minute that Grandmother’s calm statement comprised the whole of the situation, and her prejudices told her that Miss Lammorelle was somehow at the bottom of all the trouble. But she went obediently downstairs and prepared a tray of the nicest things she could get together to tempt the appetite of the adored old lady.
Then she tapped at the door of her sworn enemy and asked her in alien tones when she would be ready to eat her lunch.
“Why, you can just bring me something up here, Janet,” said Jacqueline. “I’m feeling a little tired, and I want to lie down after my bath. Make me half a dozen of those rolled caviar sandwiches, a nice fruit cup, and some black coffee. Is there any of that blueberry pie left from last night? And some of the jellyroll, too. I think that will do. Don’t forget to put plenty of butter on the sandwiches.”
Janet went downstairs and cut some thick slices of bread, warmed up a saucer of kidney stew, made a cup of tea, found some dry sponge cake left over from last week, cut a small helping of butter, and put an orange on the tray whole. She carried it up and set it down on the floor at Jacqueline’s door, tapped on the door, said, “Here’s yer lunch,” and fled.
When Jacqueline finally got up out of her silken luxury and opened the door, calling in indignation for the maid to obey her commands, Janet was down in the cellar picking up the laundry and couldn’t hear.
Meantime, the storm was well under way, tearing up the coast at many miles an hour, and Grandmother, having swallowed her scalding hot tea, was lying down with closed eyes praying and trying to trust and keep from trembling.
Out into the teeth of the gale rode Angus Galbraith, silver wings flashing against leaden sky, copper lights threatening on every side, wild wind and clouds in a tumult together.
Angus Galbraith had ridden into many skies as threatening, under circumstances demanding endurance and courage and involving sometimes great sums of money, but never had he ridden with sterner face and heart more anxious. Something in the vision of a frail little girl wandering alone upon a windswept beach, where he knew there were sinking sands and treacherous tides that shut off alluring points of land and often engulfed them completely, spurred him anxiously on. He wondered if the dear old lady knew all these possibilities.
Just that morning at the breakfast table, they had ta
lked about the time three children got caught off Loman’s Point and nearly drowned before they were rescued; how a mother and baby asleep in the cove had floated out to sea before they were rescued; men brought their dead bodies back to their desolated home. There had been mention of other cases, and Angus urged his plane low in the teeth of the wind and watched every inch of the beach as he flew. His heart was beating wildly as if he were down there on the beach running, instead of up in the sky flying.
He kept thinking of the lovely girl with the big blue eyes and the way she had looked last night in the fluffy pink dress. Little things she had said, little lights in her face, the quaint turn of a phrase. Such clean, clear eyes, such strong, sweet lips.
What did the horrible fear that clutched at his heart mean? Suppose she were gone, utterly, dropped out of their sight and knowledge forever, either in the sea or in the great wide world, what was it going to be to him, more than if any other girl he had met casually once or twice had been lost? Oh, common humanity would demand a decent interest in anyone whose fate was unknown, but why did he have this ghastly feeling of personal loss and personal fright? Did it mean that he, whom everyone supposed to be thoroughly hardened to all womankind, had at last found a face that could move him?
On up the coast he went, farther and farther, until he knew he was far beyond any point she could have reached in a day’s journey on foot.
Sometimes the storm was so heavy, the sky so black, that it was impossible to see the earth. Sometimes he had to rise far above it, but he combed the coast desperately whenever the weather conditions made it possible.
The storm had increased so rapidly as he went that he began to see he was accomplishing nothing at present and might better get back and see what could be done from the earth.
All the terrible things that might have happened to her began to appear to him, and he forgot that he was going through dangers himself in thinking of the frail girl, perhaps exposed to this awful storm.
As he neared the cliffs, the storm seemed somewhat to have abated, as far as the sky was concerned, and he could better see the coast.