OCR Text |
Show to NORMS W.N.U. RELEASE THE STORY SO FAR: Charlotte 1 (Cherry) Rawlings, an orphan, has been j at Saint Dorothea's convent school since she was seven. She knows almost noth-ing noth-ing of her early history, but gradually '3- comes to realize that like the other girls l's at the school she has no family. Judge iUt Jndson Marshbanks and Emma Haskell ; q are her co-guardians. When she Is twenty twen-ty ty, Marshbanks tells her that Emma has gotten her a secretarial position In San Francisco with old Mrs. Porteous Porter. rs She goes first to the Marshbanks man-ast man-ast sion and dines alone with the Judge as -Co Fran, his young wife, and his niece, Cal Amy, are dining out. Kelly Coates, an ing artist, drops In and Fran and Amy stop ;an on their way out. As they leave Cherry rj hears laughing reference to her convent " , ' clothes and Is bitter. Life with Mrs. . Porter is monotonous, and she is thrilled when Kelly, horseback riding in the park Ce. with Fran, stops to talk to her while she Is motoring with her employer. Later he sends her a box of candy and she Is jealous when -she sees him with Fran at a party given by Mrs. Porter. Emma e tells Cherry that her sister Charlotte was Cherry's mother. Kelly picks up Cherry in his old car to "chaperone" Fran on a visit to his studio. Bis car breaks down in the rain. Fran and Cherry take a taxi and Fran asks Cherry to stop at the Marshbanks before go-j go-j ing home, where Cherry meets Judge Marshbanks' mother, ure Now continue with the story. in- m. you CHAPTER VIII un- 3M Emma was going to the ceme-" ceme-" tery; Cherry was going back to the N empty house. She came out ol the big hilltop church with the other jfis mourners. Across the street, standing quite still, was Kelly Coates. Cherry smiled at him, and he crossed the hoes, street and joined her and they walked away together. "You weren't waiting to see me?" "Why wasn't I?" he asked moodi-, moodi-, ly after an oblique glance. ' "Because I supposed you were waiting to see her," Cherry said. JT To this the man made no direct lit answer, muttering after a moment, "God,, she's beautiful!" ss "I thought she looked rather tired this morning," Cherry observed )u 0 somewhat timidly, tan," "She might very well look tired, ;kid- being dragged through a lot of non-using non-using sense like this showy funeral!" .y be "They had to come," Cherry told rting, him. "Amy's mother was Mrs. Por-l Por-l re" ter's niece, or some relative any-suck any-suck wav- Amy's mother's mother was re de- a Wellington, and her husband was JOLD Mrs. Porter's uncle; something like er 30 that. ystart Emma came back tired at three re the o'clock, and had a late luncheon cause, in her room. Cherry, dressed to go 'CAP- downtown, joined her there, tebosl "You're going out?" Emma - asked, mincing roast beef for the gray kitten. "Here, if you must ... steal my lunch!" she said to Cappy .. in an undertone. "I thought I'd walk downtown and see a movie," Cherry answered, dropping into a chair. ROIta "Well, do that," Emma approved. E, "You've got money? And then may-I may-I be if you feel like it you might bring J your cards in here before supper, and we'll listen to the radio. !s"1ire "e could have supper up here." lue' st Cherry spoke quietly. But the awk-tlonal awk-tlonal war(j little overture touched her oman , . Vege. deeply. known she walked down the street a few tnati minutes later, passing the Marsh-helped Marsh-helped banks house just as the judge de-t de-t worn- scended to the street. .pS"- "Hello, Cherry," he said. "Walk-'tni"!l "Walk-'tni"!l ing? The little car is right here in the garage if I could take you some- - ' where. I came back from the office to get a bite of lunch but I've noth-an(jT noth-an(jT ing to do now." deeds' "No, I really want to walk, Judge. I've scarcely stirred out of the house ( for a week, and I feel so free today , that I can hardly keep my feet on fefllm the ground." USsi "You look it!" he said with his g til friendly smile. "Here's Amy!" on wil Amy came flying' down the steps tdicat to join them. "Where you going, I Cherry?" f II ' "I'm ashamed to say," Cherry an-fm an-fm swered laughing, "that I'm going . to a movie in the daytime!" "I'm going with you," said Amy. Jg 1 "Funerals give me the horrors. i . Wait for me; I'll get my coat!" ie She dashed upstairs again just as - the big Marshbanks car drove up and Fran got out. mil "She's seen Kelly; they've had J if lunch together!" Cherry thought in-fJF in-fJF itantly. I "Where've you been, my dear?" i9l the 3udge asked casually. "I suppose it was scandalous not to go to the cemetery and see the whole funeral through," Fran said, fllP! avoidin8 a direct answer. "But i U' there were tilings I had to do, and I Vnqrt just ran out on it!" ICfll "He's probably crazier about her than she is about him," Cherry said when Amy brought the subject to Kelly and Fran a day or two later. jffil "You never can tell with Fran; she's deep," Amy answered. She by had to come to the Porter house by j-jjj appointment on this occasion; it was the afternoon when Mrs. Porter's will was to be read. Two quiet el-Ki el-Ki iderly women were there from Pas-jtmpjf Pas-jtmpjf adena; cousins, Emma told Cherry, Tf I 'who had "been supported by their 111 r'cl1 relative for years. The judge m was coming, and surprisingly Amy had been notified to be present, i ClU "She must have left you some LlJl money," Cherry surmised, "or they wouldn't have asked you to come." TcSJj "She must have had plenty," Amy fjjP said in satisfaction. Emma put her head in the door ryt S4rf f ' r ' " h There was a silence, the judge was standing now too, his faci as shocked as her own. "You said that Emma had told you!" "Yes, but not that! Not that! She only said my mother she didn't tell me anything she said ..." and told both girls to come downstairs. down-stairs. "Me, too?" Cherry asked. "Yes, I think so. Everyone in the house," Emma said briefly, and vanished. Cherry and Amy followed immediately to the library, where chairs had been set in a solemn semicircle to face the wide, flat mahogany ma-hogany desk at which the lawyer sat. Judge Marshbanks was near him; he smiled at the girls as they came in. Almost at once the will was opened. Their late employer had remembered remem-bered them all, leaving to every servant a sum approximating a thousand dollars for each year in her service, and for Emma's eleven years of faithfulness a round twenty-five thousand. Cherry was stupefied stupe-fied to hear her own name read out as beneficiary for a legacy of fifteen hundred. The old house was to be given to the city as a museum. Everything in the way of personal belongings, upstairs furnishings and the bulk of the estate were left to the granddaughter grand-daughter of her beloved old friend Amelia Wellington, Amy Marshbanks. Marsh-banks. "What are your plans, Cherry?" Judge Marshbanks inquired. "I haven't had time to make plans," said Cherry, "but I think I feel as if I didn't know anything." "Well," the judge said, "that's not a bad idea. It will get you among people your own age, shake you up, put you on your own yes, that's a good plan. Berkeley?" "Stanford, I thought." "Why not?" he agreed. "Wait a minute wait a minute," he added, "I know a nice place down there where you might like to stay. Lots of youngsters in the family; you wouldn't feel so strange. What does Emma think of this? Have you talked to her?" "Aunt Emma and I talked the night Mrs. Porter was so ill, the last night but one " Cherry was beginning be-ginning when Amy put in an animated ani-mated interruption: "D'you call her 'Aunt Emma?' " "Well, yes, I do sometimes." Cherry's face turned toward the fire, flamed until the tips of her ears were red. "We were sitting upstairs waiting for the doctors to come out of Mrs. Porter's room," she resumed her story, "and I said I hoped she would get well, and Emma said she was sure she wouldn't. So then we talked of what we would do, and Emma's going up into Mendocino, where she has a little place, and retire. "Well, I should think Emma'd be fixed well enough to do that," the judge said again with an approving nod. And then with a glance at the doorway through which Amy had disappeared in quest of her coat and hat, he added, "So she told you about your mother, eh?" "A month ago." "Shock to you?" "Oh, no, I think," Cherry confessed con-fessed honestly, "I had been dreaming dream-ing imagining that I might have well, different relations. I always thought Emma was my mother's nurse. But we we like each other." "You're a nice girl," the man commented, as if thinking aloud, his half-closed eyes upon her. Cherry Cher-ry flushed with pleasure; her little laugh was proud and embarrassed. "Did you did you ever see my mother? Didn't you say you hadn't?" she asked, sobering again. "No." He fell thoughtful; his linked hands dropped between his knees, his eyes on the fire. "No, I was away I was in Washington for several years after I married," he said. "But I knew she was very young and very trusting. "And you mustn't," he went on after a moment, "you mustn't blame your father too much. He was goodhearted; he was a decent fellow in so many ways. But always al-ways ungoverned unable to think out consequences! I've always thought," the kind, quiet voice went on, "that what happened between him and your mother was the result re-sult of a single moment of wild emotion emo-tion two young things completely deprived for the moment of reason what is it. Cherry? What's the matter, my child?" She had gotten to her feet, reel ing, ashen-faced, one hand gripping the back of a chair. "You said you said " she whispered, whis-pered, "that that your brother Fred Amy's father ..." There was a silence. The judge was standing now too, his face as shocked as her own. "You said that Emma had told you!" "Yes, but not that! Not that! She only said my mother she didn't tell me anything she said ..." "Cherry!" The man's arm was about her.,$houlders. "Sit down," he said, "and talk with me a moment. My dear, child, you mustn't take it this way! I'm sorry I'm terribly sorry that I've shocked you!" She was breathing hard, but she was quieter. Her eyes, very big in her pale face, met his courageously. "It's all right," she said, "I ought to know. I ought to have known before!" be-fore!" "Emma was my father's nurse and my mother's housekeeper," the man presently said. "She was always al-ways a superior person, you can see that. She had been Fred's nurse and mine in the hospital when we were boys, had been widowed and came back as my father's nurse. Her sister Charlotte was much younger, ten or twelve years younger; young-er; she met my brother, naturally, she used to be in the house a good deal; Fred was always around. He was married; his wife was expecting expect-ing a baby of her own when all this happened. There was nothing to be done except make her comfortable and provide for the child. Amy's fortune you understand? has nothing to do with my brother. That came through her mother's father, her grandfather Wellington, he left that to her. But what Fred could do, he did. "The money I have been administering admin-istering for you was left you by my brother your father and in reference refer-ence to this college plan of yours," Judson Marshbanks went on, in an easier tone but still watching her keenly and anxiously. "I want to remind you that we have a balance a comfortable balance, and any profession you would like to take up . . ." . She was not listening. She seemed like a girl made of stone. "So you see that I am your uncle really and truly," the judge said lightly, affectionately, after a pause. "I know," she whispered with white lips. And then, with a sudden sud-den wince of pain that contracted her young face:' "Has anyone told . Amy? Does Amy know?" "No. Nobody knows. My mother, moth-er, myself, Emma. Not another soul." "Your mother! She was talking of me then, when she said she wouldn't have me in the house!" "Did she say that?" he asked with a little frown. "Well, you must forgive for-give a proud, unreasonable old woman. Your grandmother too, Cherry." "My grandmother!" Her eyes were dark with bitter thought "I think thank you so much! but I think I'll go upstairs. I'm tired," Cherry faltered, and was instantly in his arms sobbing against his shoulder. His hand patted her. "I know," he said. "I know. It's very hard!" Almost immediately she stopped crying, gulped, fumbled for her handkerchief. "Amy's calling you!" she said thickly, and in another moment mo-ment she was gone. She fled upstairs and to her room and to a restless agony of thinking to walk the floor, to pause, to burst into violent tears again and fling herself on her bed. The injustice of it, humiliation of it, the cruelty of her being one of two sisters who were strangers and whose destinies touched almost the extremes of human hu-man contrast, choked and maddened her and she stopped her weeping only to pace the floor again, and again to break into self-pitying tears. It was eight o'clock, and she was haggard and weary, when she ran downstairs to the telephone upon a sudden desperate impulse and called a Sausalito number. But when Kelly's heartening, pleased voice answered her, hir tears came again and she cou'd hf""dly make herself coherent: (TO BE C0T1MED) |