Rainbow Cottage

  Jacqueline put her foot on the gas and sent her car shooting forward on the upper road and scarcely spoke a word to her single remaining passenger on the way.

  When Betty got out, she asked her to come in, but Jacqueline declined brusquely. “I’ve got to get my errand done and get back,” she explained coldly. “I might be needed, you know.”

  “Yes,” said Betty, almost sympathetically for once, “that was a close call, wasn’t it? But you think she’s all right now, don’t you? She’s such a darling girl!”

  “I’m sure I don’t know.” Jacqueline shrugged her shoulders indifferently. “What did she crawl out on that rock for, anyway? That’s what I’d like to know. She knew a storm was coming up. If you ask me, I think it was merely a stage setting for a fine gesture, and she just didn’t calculate the power of the tide and the storm.”

  “Oh, Jacqueline! What a terrible thing to say!” exclaimed Betty. “I’m sure she’s not that kind of a girl at all!”

  “Well, who can say?” Jacqueline shrugged. “I’m sure I hope not. One doesn’t want one’s family to do questionable things, of course, no matter how much reason they have for it. But I must be hurrying back. I don’t want dear Aunt Myra to be left there alone. Good-bye. So kind of you to come down. I’m sure I hope you won’t take cold from being wet. And just forget what I said, of course. It’s all between you and me.”

  Having planted another seed of suspicion in the Galbraith family, Jacqueline sped on her way, noting angrily the two manly figures already climbing the cliff. They had wasted little time in searching for the lost garments.

  Chapter 18

  Jacqueline’s car had no sooner started from the cottage to take the Galbraiths home than Janet came softly, breathlessly, up the stairs and waited on tiptoe at Sheila’s door, peeping softly in.

  “M’s Ainslee, could I speak ta ya a minit?” she asked in a whisper.

  Sheila opened her eyes and smiled.

  “Come in, Janet,” she said in a weak little voice. “I’m all right now. I’m sorry I made so much trouble for you.”

  “Oh, Miss Sheila!” said Janet ecstatically. “I didn’t know you was awake. Oh, it wasn’t no trouble at all. I just loved to fix your bed for ya.”

  “It was lovely and warm, Janet. Thank you. You were wonderful.”

  Janet grew crimson with pleasure.

  “What was it you wanted, Janet?” asked Grandmother from her rocking chair, looking tired but happy and just a bit trembly around her lips.

  “It was just something I thought I’d tell ya, M’s Ainslee,” said Janet, hesitating. “Somepin’ I thought perhaps ya oughtta know before Miss Jacqueline comes back. I thought mebbe ya’d come out in the hall a minit so we wouldn’t bother Miss Sheila.”

  “Yes?” said Grandmother, putting her hands on the arms of the rocker to try and rise.

  “Don’t mind me, Janet,” said Sheila earnestly. “Just tell Grandmother here. She’s tired. She ought to sit still.”

  “Oh—” said Janet in dismay. “Well, then mebbe it can wait a spell.”

  “No, Janet, just tell whatever it is. Miss Sheila is really feeling much better. Has anybody been here or anything gone wrong?”

  “Oh no, M’s Ainslee, it’s just about the laundry. Them sheets that Miss Jacqueline said she put in the wash, you know?”

  “Yes?” said Grandmother, on the alert at once.

  “Well, it’s only that she didn’t done it.”

  “What?”

  “She didn’t put ’em in. When I looked over the laundry they wan’t there. I looked all over, but I couldn’t find ’em.”

  “That’s strange,” said Grandmother, puckering her brows together. “I’ll have to ask her again what she did with them. She surely didn’t burn them up, did she? My best linen sheets?”

  “No, ma’am, she didn’t. I was watching her all the time. I knowed she couldn’t have did that. But I knowed they must be somewhere, so when you all went down to the beach, after I got the water hot and the bed fixed and the coffee going, I went an’ I found ’em.”

  “You found them? Where?”

  “In her closet away back stuffed in the corner of the shelf!”

  “How strange!” said Grandmother. “What could have possessed her?”

  “Yes,” said Janet and turned as if she would go away. Then pausing at the door added, “There was some other things there, too.”

  “What other things?”

  “Oh, some other things. They fell down, leastways, some of them fell down, and then I went and got your flashlight and I found some more. I got ’em all out, I’m sure. They didn’t look like they belonged to her, and some of ’em was what Miss Sheila had said she missed, so I wrapped ’em all up in the pillarcase an’ snuck ’em inta the bottom drawer of Miss Sheila’s bureau, an’ here’s the key. I wanted you ta know ’afore she come back.”

  “Oh!” said Sheila, suddenly sitting up in bed, her eyes bright and the color coming into her pale cheeks. “What were they, Janet?”

  “Oh, just a box, an’ some old letters tied up, an’ a little ole penholder, an’ a ring. There was a ring in a little box, an’ it fell out on the floor, that’s how I knowed the rest was there. The penholder fell out, too, and rolled under the bed. But I got ’em all out. They’re down there in that drawer in the pillarcase now, and I wanted you should know it, fer fear she’d come back an’ find out an’ make some kinda fuss about it.”

  “Oh, let me see them!” said Sheila eagerly.

  “I’m afraid I hadn’t oughtta told ya now so soon, Miss Sheila,” said Janet anxiously.

  “Oh, yes, it’ll do her good!” said Grandmother cheerily, getting up with alacrity and going over to the bureau. “Get them out, Janet, and put the whole thing on the bed, and we’ll look them over. Then you can run down and start supper, and when you get things going, bring up a cup of that broth we had for lunch that nobody ate because we were so worried about this child—at least, I mean, nobody but Jacqueline!”

  Janet, with fervent relief in her face, pulled out the bureau drawer where she had stowed the bulging pillowcase and brought it carefully to the bedside, spreading it out before Sheila.

  “Oh, Grandmother! There it is!” she said eagerly, reaching for the old penholder. “And there is Mother’s wedding ring!” She slipped it on her finger. “And there is Mother’s dear little concert dress!” She lifted a frail fragment of white tarlatan covered with silver spangles.

  “My dear! Do you mean that is the case that contains the valuable paper?”

  “Oh yes, at least Mother said it did. I never opened it. I was somehow afraid.”

  Janet stole down to the kitchen, joy in her heart, a light shining in her faithful eyes. Her heart beat high with happiness. She had found Miss Sheila’s things, and she had foiled that snake of a Jacqueline. She set about preparing the evening meal, triumph in her eyes. Maybe Miss Jacqueline would never know what became of the things she had purloined. Maybe she had only put them away for meanness and would never even think of them again. But Janet knew they were back with their owner again who loved them, and she, Janet, had been smart enough to find them and restore them. She walked as on winged feet and almost felt a crown upon her head she was so happy to have served in this way.

  Meantime, upstairs, Grandmother suddenly became aware of the bright, excited eyes of the girl who had been through so much today.

  “Child, you must lie right down! I ought not to have let Janet tell me about this in front of you. You shouldn’t have had this excitement tonight. It could have waited until tomorrow.”

  “No, Grandmother, please don’t take them away,” said Sheila earnestly. “I’ll lie down. I truly will. And I’m so glad to have my dear things back again! You can’t think how glad I am. Just leave them a few minutes till I count them over and be sure they are all here.”

  “Well, just a minute then. Now, let me fold this dress smoothly and put it away in the drawer. And these letters. Are they yours or your m
other’s?”

  “Oh, they are Mother’s. From her sister in Ireland, I think, most of them. A few from Father. There is a picture in one of them of the castle in Ireland where my mother used to live when she was a little girl. I’ll show it to you.”

  “Not tonight, child. We’ll go over them all one at a time, and you shall tell me all you will about them, but that will have to wait until another time. I’ve too recently got you back to run any risks with your health. Now, this pretty box. It is sandalwood, isn’t it? I used to have a fan of sandalwood that I loved. See, I’ll put the letters in the box. And the ring? Or do you want to wear it?”

  Sheila took the ring off.

  “I’ll put it in its box tonight,” she said. “Perhaps Jacqueline might notice it and ask questions. I wonder if she saw it. I wonder if the things were all in the box or pulled out.”

  “Well, never mind now. We’ll ask Janet all about that later. We’ll just put them away now out of sight, and probably Jacqueline won’t even know we have found them. Not right away, anyway.”

  “But the penholder, Grandmother. Let us open that, please!”

  Grandmother’s hand was trembling as she held the little tarnished silver rod in her hand. She wanted terribly to open it at once, but Sheila should not be excited.

  “Yes, please, Grandmother! I shall think about it all night if I can’t find out what is in it. I’ve been wondering a great deal about it. I’ve been fancying all sorts of dreadful things; and out there on the rock I thought of it and worried a great deal that I had not opened it before. I don’t want to run any more risks, Grandmother; I want to know what is in it!”

  “Will you promise to put it right out of your head, no matter if it is really disturbing?”

  “Yes, Grandmother. I have you now, and nothing can be quite so bad as it was when I was all alone.”

  “Well then, we’ll open it,” said Grandmother, her voice as eager as Sheila’s.

  They had quite a time unscrewing the case, which had been closed so long that it had formed verdigris around the edges and stuck tightly. Grandmother tried, then Sheila tried, and at last they pulled together. Then the top came off, and a small yellowed paper fell out on the bed.

  Sheila reached for it, unfolded it carefully with trembling fingers, and spread it out. Grandmother put on her spectacles and bent over to read.

  It bore a date a little over four years before, and the ink was poor and fading, turned a bit brown. Neither was the paper of good quality. It was written in a bold, scrawling hand, and not easy to read, but they made it out, their two heads close together.

  I, Bucknell Hasbrouck, do hereby swear and declare that Andrew Ainslee had nothing to do with the robbery of the Hazen Bank. He did not know of it until afterwards and has never profited one cent by it, either at the time or afterwards. I write this statement in consideration of a favor he is about to do me, but not to be used until I give him permission when his service to me is ended.

  Signed,

  Bucknell W. Hasbrouck

  Sheila read the paper over twice, puzzling to know what it could mean, but Grandmother was softly crying. She had caught only the one idea, and that was enough for her. Her Andrew was not guilty!

  “Why, Grandmother, dear! You are crying!” said Sheila, suddenly looking up. “Isn’t it good news? Why should you cry?”

  “Yes, dear child, it is good news,” said Grandmother, “but I’m just such an old fool that I can’t help it.”

  “But what does it mean, Grandmother?”

  “I’ll have to think it out, child. I can’t understand it all yet, nor why he did it. There must be something crooked behind it yet. But it means, if it is proved to be Buck’s handwriting, that my Andrew can safely come home sometime I hope, if it be that he is still living to come. But even if he is dead, it means that his name can be cleared of a great crime. For it was not just robbery, Sheila; it was the killing of two good men who were guarding the bank. Oh, Sheila, my dear. I am so glad.”

  She stopped and kissed Sheila, and with their arms around one another, they seemed to come closer than ever before.

  “And now, dear,” said Grandmother, “this paper is very important. It should be guarded carefully. Would you like me to take it into my room and put it in my little safe? Your grandfather made me have a safe built in when we first built this cottage. It is in my room. Do you want me to put it away for you, or do you think you would rather keep it yourself? It is yours, you know.”

  “You take it, Grandmother. I know you will guard it better than I could possibly do. You are his mother!”

  So Grandmother carried the precious paper away with her, after having put Sheila’s things carefully under lock and key in her new trunk, and Sheila lay back and fell into a sweet sleep.

  Rainbow Cottage was very quiet that night. The evening meal was eaten in shifts. Sheila was fed first, delicately, with strong, nourishing food, and put to sleep again, though she declared she was fully able to get up.

  Grandmother ate simply and sparingly at her table alone, hovered over by Janet, lovingly.

  Jacqueline came in late after Janet had gone out for a little while to a small cottage up above the road where her sister lived, married to an officer of the state police. Grandmother called down to her that her supper was keeping hot on the back of the stove and she would have to serve herself as Grandmother was getting ready for bed.

  Jacqueline sulkily ate her supper, banged out some popular modern music on the piano for a while, smoked numerous cigarettes, exulting in the fact that she was doing it in Aunt Myra’s sacred living room without rebuke, and finally went unhappily to bed. Things had not gone at all to please Jacqueline that day, and she was glad to have it over, hoping for better results tomorrow. It went terribly against the grain with Jacqueline to have a young man rebuke her, and that was what she knew Angus Galbraith had done. She tried to be very angry with him, to plan a fine revenge upon him, but somehow his attitude had only intrigued her, and she felt that she must find some way to conquer him. She lay awake scheming a campaign that would have done credit to one Lucifer, had he been sufficiently interested, and arose blithely in the morning to start a new line entirely.

  Grandmother had not slept a great deal during the night and had spent the time laying plans for a new order of things.

  The storm was still raging. A gray, forbidding ocean was lashing madly at a shrunken shore and dashing its futile fury against the rocks. Not a ship was in sight offshore. It seemed as one looked out from Sheila’s window that morning that the world was all water—awful green and brown and gray water. She shuddered and turned her eyes away from the sight. Perhaps someday she would be able to face a storm like that at sea again and call it majestic and beautiful. But she was not yet far enough from her awful experience upon the rock to even think of it calmly.

  The only thing that kept her from losing her self-control when she remembered it all was the thought of that strong arm that had reached her and lifted her and held her during that last terrible wave.

  She knew now that it had been Angus Galbraith’s arm, but she had thought in her delirium of fright that it was the arm of an angel. And somehow now as she thought of it, the two were blended in one, and she was glad it was so. For Angus Galbraith did not belong to her except as a rescuer. He would probably never be in her life even as a friend, although she felt sure he would always be friendly. For had not Jacqueline made it plain that he belonged to her? And Jacqueline would never share even the simplest kind of friendship with her, she was sure of that. She would make even bare acquaintance impossible.

  But it was nice to think there was a strong, fine, courageous man in the world who was willing to brave and dare what he had done for her. So it was better that she should think of him as having been sent to her by the Lord God and that there was nothing personal whatever about his act of courage.

  But that first morning after her rescue, she lay quietly thanking God for her safety and trying to think of all th
e wonderful things she had to be glad for this morning.

  The rain was still beating across her windowpanes, and the storm might be dashing just as madly over that rock where she had lain a few short hours before, but she was here, safe and warm like a bird in her nest, with Grandmother’s love around her and the sure knowledge that Grandmother wanted her and that her Lord God loved her and had sent Angus Galbraith to rescue her.

  She hadn’t told about what had driven her away. Grandmother hadn’t asked her yet. She had said they would talk about all that later when Sheila was up and stronger and they had time alone. But the touch of Grandmother’s lips on her face and the feel of Grandmother’s little, warm, soft, rose-leaf hands as she took her face in them, the hug of her frail little arms around her, had all made her know that Grandmother loved her and wanted her and that she must never, never run away again. Not even if she did a thousand things that she knew Grandmother wouldn’t like. She belonged there. Grandmother would forgive her always. Ah, that made it so very sweet to try not to do things that Grandmother wouldn’t like. So very happy a thing to try and do what would please Grandmother.

  Why! That was like being saved, wasn’t it? Once you were born again, you were in God’s family and would never be turned out even if you sinned many times!

  Look at Grandmother with her son! Her Andrew was always to her her baby, her dear son, though he had sinned many times and wandered very far away from home.

  And that was how God was with His children. She was God’s and Grandmother’s and need not be afraid anymore anywhere.

  Jacqueline slept late that morning and then happily took herself away in her red car to The Cliffs, seeking a more congenial atmosphere.