OCR Text |
Show f? r nn f? n n 1 LL LfQ LLLI Uj U LgJ lij Is sv beh nmES luiuinnis C Ben Ames Williams. mmmm CHAPTER XTV Continued 29 In the middle of the first week at York, business called Phil back to town; and Linda of course came with him. That night at home, her father, watching her, discovering her increasing distress, spoke doubtfully. doubt-fully. "I know how you love Phil, Lin," he said. "Your mother and I understand. under-stand. But we hate to see your life broken by it. If he feels that he must be with his mother why " "I'll wait," she said. He shook his head. "That Isn't fair," he urged. "Not fair to yourself your-self or to us, Lin. We've been sympathetic, sym-pathetic, but we want you to be happy, some day. Please." "I'd rather be unhappy, loving Phil, even if I never can have him." "It isn't even fair to Phil," he insisted; and Linda cried, her self-control self-control for a moment cracking: "Oh, be still! What do I care what's fair? There's no fairness in it, anyway. Fair? Was it fair for this to happen to Phil? To all of them? Is it fair to me that I can't have him now?" And then, suddenly contrite, seeing see-ing his sorrow, she was in his arms, weeping. "Oh father, father, what am I going to do?" He held her close. "There, Lin!" he told her. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make it harder. Whatever you do, we're standing by." "So am I," she whispered. "So am I. But I'm awful sick of it. It's so long, long, long " Yet with Phil in the office next morning she managed as always to be steady, reassuring, calm. While he dictated, his eyes rested inattentively inatten-tively on her head, bowed above her notebook; but his thoughts were on his dictation, till as the last letter was done he stopped in mid-sentence, mid-sentence, staring at the hair above her brow. She looked up inquiringly, and he finished the letter; but when she had gone to her typewriter and he was alone, he was troubled and full of a deep, protective concern. Unmistakably, Un-mistakably, in the dark masses of Linda's hair, there were threads of gray. He thought, incredulously, that she was no older than Barbara. Twenty-one? Twenty-two? She had been, through these months, so composed com-posed that it had not occurred to him to think of her as suffering, weary and torn and tired from giving giv-ing herself without stint so long. She must rest, he decided, must give up the work here; and he considered con-sidered how to tell her so. When a little after noon, in her car, they started for York again, he began to make an opening for this suggestion. sug-gestion. "You know, Lin," he said, "you've carried me through all this. I don't know what I'd have done without you to talk to. It has helped a lot, just worrying out loud to you." If there was bitterness in her smile he did not see it. "Of course," . she said. "That's what I'm here for, isn't it, Phil? At least I can do that much for you." He said, half-smiling: "You keep me going, and I keep mother going. That's what it amounts to." Her glance flashed toward him almost angrily. "You enjoy feeling that you're indispensable to her. don't you?" Her tone was a chal lenge. "I suppose so," he admitted. "At least it's a job to do." "If she told you you were just a nuisance, you'd probably be angry, or hurt." "Yes, probably." "You know," she said resentfully, resentful-ly, "I think that's often the way. Wc hang on and hang on, telling ourselves our-selves we're important, when as a matter of fact we're just boring people. I'm not at all sure that we couldn't help more by taking care of ourselves, letting other people peo-ple go their own road." He smiled. "You can't mean I've bothered mother?" "Well, no one can learn to walk till they get rid of their crutch, Phil." Her tone was gentle now, yet she said: "You've been her crutch. It's about time she learned to walk alone." "I couldn't leave her, Linda!" "Oh, I suppose not." she assented briefly. They were at the moment stalled in traffic. When now the green light released them, she meshed the gears with a clashina vehemence that was somehow eloquent, elo-quent, and let in the clutch so sharply sharp-ly that the car leaped jerkily ahead. He said, trying to laugh: "Whoa! Trying to break our necks?" "Sorry!" But she did not sound sorry; and she spoke in a sharp decision. de-cision. "Phil, you'd better tell Mis Randall to find you a new stenographer. stenogra-pher. I'll stay till she gets someone; some-one; but then I'm through." He had meant, a while ago, to tell her just this; to tell her that he could not" let her any longer sacrifice sacri-fice her youth and her happiness to him; to tell her that she must leave him. But now at her word he felt a deep hurt and loss. "Had enough?" he asked in level tones. "I'm tired, too tired to keep it up. I may go abroad, anywhere." "Well, you're wise," he agreed carefully. "Summer's a hot, hard time. But of course, I'll miss you!" "You'll find somebody easily enough." "Oh yes, don't worry, Lin. We'll get along." "People do, don't they?" "Yes. Yes, somehow." She laughed mirthlessly. "I've been flattering myself persuading myself you couldn't do without me." "Well, you've helped a lot, Lin. Probably I won't realize how much till I have to go it alone." "Oh, you'll get used to it! And you'll never learn to walk till you throw away your crutch. I'm tired of being a crutch, anyway." They were clear of the worst traffic, came to the straight reaches of the Turnpike, sped a while in silence. "See here, Ljn," he protested at need you awtully, mil," she pleaded. plead-ed. "Can't you see? And you need me." He said, staring straight ahead: "I love you, Lin, God knows. But it isn't only that mother needs me. It's that nobody that I can't marry mar-ry anybody." She drove on, and he watched the road, and the road sped to meet them mile on mile. Mile on mile, and she was an automaton, like one frozen, at the wheel; and his eyes were bleak on emptiness; and the road raced toward them like a ribbon, rib-bon, dove beneath them, so was gone ... He watched the traffic light shine green half a mile ahead; saw it yellow yel-low and then red as they drew near. They were close. They were upon it! He cried in quick alarm: "Lin! Red light!" Her brakes bit just in time. They slewed and swerved and skidded to a stop with screaming tires; ana a car slid across in front of tnem with bare inches to spare. The driver bawled something, furiously, and was gone. The lights changed. Linda, stiil in that stony silence, meshed her gears j and crossed the intersection. She I picked up speed; and then Phi cried I suddenly: j "Stop. Lin! Slow down!" She obeyed, staring at him. "What's the matter?" j Phil laughed, and there dS a I deep intoxication in his tones. He said, like one awakening, "Why I must be crazy, Lin!" "Crazy? PhiL what do you" "Sure, crazy! Why, I honestly thought, Lin, that I could let you go!" Her eyes, probing his, quickened at what she saw. Her head rose, her cheeks were brightl She looked ahead, as though searching for something. There was a cross-road, of rough gravel. She swung the car into it, drove it bounding up a steep slope till from the crest lowlands spread far and green below them, and they were alone. She stopped there, and stilled the engine, and turned to him, and smiled. "Now what were you saying, Phil?" she suggested politely. "Please " Then her voice broke, and she could no longer smile, and her eyes were full. "Oh Phil, please please go on!" Early in September, Mrs. Sentry suddenly decided to go to Cleveland to see Barbara, and Phil must go along. He and Linda had not told J Mrs. Sentry what lay between them. Linda, her point won, yielded to his desire to delay the disclosure for a while. The day of their departure for Cleveland, Phil was in the office in the forenoon, said good-by to Linda there, then went home to finish his packing and go directly from the house to the afternoon train. When old Eli drove him and his mother to the Trinity Place station, Phil was surprised to find Linda waiting on the platform. "Just some papers for you to look over while you're away, Phil," she explained; and she handed him a long envelope, unsealed. He saw that she had written on the outside: Open this when you are alone. And she explained: "Routine things. Don't bother with them now." So Phil thrust the envelope into his pocket, and they all stayed talking talk-ing together till the train pulled in. Mrs. Sentry went first up the steps, and she did not look back, so Phil was able to kiss Linda before he followed fol-lowed his mother aboard. He saw through the windows Linda move along beside the car, keeping pace with them, smiling, calling words of farewell. Her eyes held his as the train slid away. "Well," said Mrs. Sentry then, "it's nice to have you to myself for a while. Of course Linda's sweet; but she's with us so much." Phil colored, and pretended to look out of the window so that she might not see. "Be nice to see Barb again," he remarked. "And Dan." She chuckled. "I have a few things to say to Dan!" "What about?" "I haven't told you," she confessed, con-fessed, "but Barbara is going to have a baby. She wrote me last week. That's why I decided to go out to Cleveland." "But that's greatmother!" Phil cried. "Is she all right?" "Of course she's all right! Why shouldn't she be? But Dan's salary is ridiculously inadequate. They can't afford a baby." He grinned. "Lots of people do, on less!" "Lots of people do lots of things I don't expect Barbara to have to do." Phil said cheerfully, "You know, "I'm Tired, Too Tired to Keep It L'p. I May Go Abroad, Anywhere." last. "You sound bitter. Mad. That's not like you." Her lips twisted; he thought they quivered, too, and there was a thickness thick-ness in her tones. "Why shouldn't I be bitter, and mad?" she demanded; and then she said: "Oh, I know I've no one to blame but myself!" She stepped on the throttle viciously; the car leaped ahead. "Goodness knows you didn't encourage me! But like a fool I kept hoping" "You're hitting sixty, Lin!" "I want to hit sixty," she retorted. "I want to hit seventy, eighty!" The car was racing. "Stop it, Lin!" he insisted. "Slow down." And he said, "I'll cut the switch, unless you do." "Oh, all right." She dropped to a fifty that by comparison seemed like crawling; and she said: "I've hung on, and hung on, hoping hop-ing some day you'd want me so bad you'd forget your father, and your mother, and how much she needed you, and everything. I guess I was a fool, that's all. Your mother doesn't really need you, and Barbara Bar-bara doesn't. Nobody needs you but me " Her voice broke. "I you're secretly hoping she'll need you to take care of her for a while." "Don't be absurd! My place is with you!" "Oh, I'd get along," he said, and wished to say, "You know, Linda and I " But his mother's eyes swung shrewdly toward him before he could speak, and his courage failed; and she smiled at nothing and said: "Russian Bank, Phil? It helps pass the time." It was hours later and he was in his berth, undressed and about to turn out his light, when he remembered re-membered that envelope Linda had given him, still in the pocket of his coat on the hanger here beside him. He reached up and got it and drew out the contents. There was a note from Linda herself: Dear Take all my love with you, Phil. This letter came to the office addressed to you, after you left today. It's from Mary, so I didn't open it. Since it's addressed to you, I thought perhaps she didn't want your mother to know about it. That's why I was so mysterious. And my dearest love to my dearest. Come back soon. Lin. (TO BE COXTIM ED) |