Secret Honeymoon

by Peggy Gaddis

  “It’s a long story, Aunt Edith—but one you and Cathy both will have to hear,” said Bill almost curtly. “Suppose we postpone it until after I’ve had a bite? I hate to admit it, but I’m starving—now that I find my two girls here together, where I’ve always wanted them to be.”

  He kissed Cathy and then his aunt and turned toward the house, still with an arm about each of them. As they went up the steps from the garden to the terrace, the light flashed on and Mark and Elaine stood facing them. Cathy’s face burned as she saw the look in Mark’s eyes that took in Bill, with one arm about Edith, the other about Cathy.

  “Well,” Elaine said sternly to Bill. “Where have you been while all Hades has been popping loose around here? As if all of us didn’t have enough on our minds, coping with the worst storm that has ever hit the place, we had to take time out to worry about you, too!”

  “Sorry,” said Bill. “I went out of town last night on a bit of business. I was in Atlanta a little after five this morning. I went straight to the hotel and checked in, got a few hours’ sleep, and then attended to my business. After lunch, on the way back to the hotel, I picked up an afternoon paper and read about the storm here. Ten minutes later I was on my way back, moving as fast as I ever hope to move. I went straight to Mrs. Westbrook, of course, and when she told me Cathy was here, I almost broke a leg getting home. And that’s the story.”

  Cathy had seen the bleak look that had flashed over Mrs. Kendall’s face when Bill had said, “I went straight to Mrs. Westbrook, of course.” He had taken it so for granted that they would understand that his first concern had been for Cathy, rather than for his aunt. Yet Mrs. Kendall, jealous and possessive, had been deeply hurt. And once again Cathy felt an unwilling twinge of pity for the woman who had been so arrogant and domineering, and who was now bewildered and hurt because her domination was threatened, if not actually wrecked.

  Chapter Thirteen

  During dinner, Elaine and Mark answered Bill’s questions about the storm and the damage; Cathy sat almost completely silent, knowing nothing of what she ate, conscious of nothing save that Bill was here, and that there was no longer any barrier to their marriage. She should have been exultantly happy, but she only felt a vast weariness still.

  Bill’s hand closed warmly over hers where it lay in her lap, and his eyes on her were ardent and eager.

  “Sure you were in there pitching. Nobody needs to tell me that, darling,” he said huskily, when Elaine had spoken of Cathy’s work.

  Cathy looked up and met Mark’s eyes. He seemed to know that, beneath the edge of the table, Bill’s hand held hers tightly; there was an odd look in Mark’s eyes that Cathy could not quite understand. Was he contemptuous of her because after all that had lain between the three of them, she was once more tremulous and confused by Bill’s nearness, by his tenderness, by his caress?

  Elaine said suddenly, almost sharply, her eyes following Mark’s long level look at Cathy, “Well, hadn’t we better be getting back to work? I’ve an idea they’ll be glad to have all the help they can get in town tonight.”

  Mark thrust back his chair and rose.

  “Right,” he said, and smiled as he looked at the fragile dinner gown, the upswept curls, the silver slippers. “Were you planning to work in that?”

  “Of course not, silly. It’ll take me five minutes to tumble into slacks and a jacket. Wait right here for me, darling,” she told him saucily, and ran out of the room.

  For a split second, as she spoke the endearment, her eyes were on Cathy, with a trace of defiance. As though she said, You didn’t want him when you could have him—and now that I want him, you can’t have him.

  They moved into the drawing room while they waited for her, and Mark kept up a polite, meaningless flow of conversation, almost unaided. Mrs. Kendall was obviously not listening. She sat with her hands in her lap, her fingers picking at the edge of her handkerchief. Cathy tried to follow Mark’s words and to answer them, but her whole inner being was still in enough turmoil that she was scarcely conscious of what she said. As for Bill, he was quite frankly waiting for Mark’s departure so that he could speak his thoughts to Cathy and Mrs. Kendall.

  They were all relieved when Elaine came down, slim and trim in navy blue slacks, a white shirt, and a soft blue sweater slung carelessly about her shoulders. She slid her hand through Mark’s arm and spoke to the others.

  “We’re off to the mines, children,” she said impishly. “Look for us when you see us coming—and even then it may not be us!”

  Cathy said quickly, “I’d better go, too.”

  “No, Cathy,” said Bill sharply.

  Elaine cut in quickly, “The Red Cross is here, Cathy, and they seem to be in control of the situation. I’ll find out if you are needed, and if you are, I’ll come straight back for you—cross my heart.”

  Cathy nodded, her hands clenched in her lap. There was a situation here that had to be faced, and the sooner the better. She could report for duty an hour from now if she was needed, and meanwhile this thing that now lay between her, Bill and Mrs. Kendall would have been settled.

  Mark and Elaine went out, and when the sound of the station wagon died away, Bill turned and looked first at Aunt Edith and then at Cathy.

  “Well, girls,” he said at last, his voice trying hard to sound light, “here we go. I went to Atlanta, Aunt Edith, as you must have guessed by now, to look for a job—a job that would permit me to take decent and adequate care of—my Wife.”

  Edith Kendall was stunned, although her eyes showed that she had expected this and dreaded it and wanted to refuse to accept it.

  “But, Bill darling, you’ve got a job—a fine job. The salary is more than ample for you—and your wife. If it isn’t, it can be increased,” she protested unsteadily.

  “That, of course, depending entirely on whether or not I marry as you wish me to, Aunt Edith,” said Bill quietly. “You’ve held that over my head much too long, and I’m rebelling. I have chosen my wife, and I’m sorry that you disapprove, but I quite understand just what it means. That I shall have to give up my job and my chances of being your heir and all the rest of it. I admit I fought a long time against making this decision. I’ve shamed Cathy and hurt her, over and over again, because I had my heart set on sharing with her the money that I feel I have every right to inherit. But I’ve realized, at long last, that having Cathy is all that really matters. I swore, always, that I would never marry unless I knew beyond all reasonable doubt that my wife could have every comfort and luxury. I tried to sell Cathy the idea, but she feels that love is far more important than money—and I feel that Cathy is the most important thing in my life. So—I’m sorry, Aunt Edith, but that’s the way it is. I’m leaving Cypressville at the end of the month and starting work on my new job two weeks later. The two weeks is for a honeymoon.”

  “But, Bill—Bill, I’ve told Cathy I no longer object to your marriage—that I’m perfectly willing for you to marry her—in a few months, maybe—” stammered Mrs. Kendall.

  Cathy held her breath, her eyes on Bill. And Bill smiled at her faintly, reassuringly, and said quietly, “Cathy and I are married, Aunt Edith. We were secretly married several weeks ago.”

  There was a stunned silence. Mrs. Kendall stared at him as though she could not believe her ears. And then she looked at Cathy, wide-eyed, shocked.

  “This—this shameful thing isn’t true, Cathy?” she gasped.

  “I’m afraid it is, Mrs. Kendall.”

  Bill flushed and ran his fingers through his hair with a gesture that Cathy remembered as characteristic when he was confused or uneasy.

  “I suppose it was shameful in a way—a great injustice to Cathy,” he admitted unwillingly.

  “To Cathy? What about the injustice to me? Surely I deserve better treatment than that from you, Bill. That you should sneak around behind my back and marry some girl you knew I disapproved of—” Mrs. Kendall set her teeth hard, biting off what she had meant to say as though fearful of B
ill’s anger.

  “You have only yourself to blame, Aunt Edith, that I didn’t trust you more,” said Bill. “You’ve always held the Kendall estate over my head—or rather, just ahead of me—like a carrot ahead of a donkey. Even the donkey, stupid as he is, finally begins to suspect he isn’t ever going to get the carrot, no matter how hard he pulls.”

  He put his arm about Cathy and drew her close, his cheek against her hair.

  “But Cathy has taught me that, right or wrong, I can’t live without her,” he finished quietly. “If she’s willing to take a chance on—poverty and love—then I’m the luckiest guy that ever lived, and we’re going to have a shot at it.”

  “Oh, Bill—wait,” whispered Cathy shakily.

  But Mrs. Kendall’s voice drowned her faint whisper.

  “Bill, you mustn’t leave Cypressville. You mustn’t leave the plant. Most of all, Bill, you mustn’t leave—me,” she pleaded, and now tears were slipping down her convulsed face. “Bill, I’ll withdraw all my objections—I’ll make over half the estate to you and Cathy now, and leave you the rest in my will. I can’t lose you, Bill—you’re all I’ve got.”

  Bill said suddenly, deeply touched, “Aunt Edith, I’m sorry to have hurt you.”

  She smiled at him through her tears, and suddenly she looked very old and very tired.

  “I guess I deserved it, Bill. I—I was so jealous. You have always meant so much to me,” she stammered.

  Bill put his arms about her and kissed her cheek; with his own handkerchief he touched the tears from her face.

  Cathy stood very still, looking on, saying nothing until Bill turned to her, his eyes alight.

  “So that’s the way it’s going to end,” he said. “And we’ll all live happily ever after.”

  Mrs. Kendall smiled damply at Cathy and said eagerly, “But we won’t announce that you’re secretly married! We’ll announce your engagement, and then in a month or so you can be married here, publicly.”

  “No!” said Cathy emphatically, and Bill and Mrs. Kendall stared at her, astonished. “We won’t announce our marriage, Bill. It would be rather pointless, I’m afraid, since I intend to ask for a divorce as soon as I am assigned to duty.”

  “A divorce!” Mrs. Kendall paled with the shock of that. “My dear girl, you are out of your mind!”

  Bill said quickly, “Cathy, you can’t do this to me.”

  “I’m sorry, Bill, I’m afraid I’ll have to,” said Cathy steadily. “I tried to tell you that night—was it only last night? It seems ages ago!—that I wasn’t in love with you any more.”

  “The girl’s insane, Bill. Here she’s been running after you for years—” bleated Mrs. Kendall, outraged.

  “Be quiet, Aunt Edith,” said Bill shortly, his eyes never leaving Cathy’s white face. “What is it you want, Cathy?”

  “Just—just to be quite free again. To be Cathy Layne, of the Army Nurse Corps, answerable to no one but my superior officers and my own conscience! I’m tired of being nervous and wrought-up and living in the shadows because you were so afraid you might lose your aunt’s money.”

  “But, Cathy, all that’s cleared up now.”

  “I know—”

  “And Aunt Edith wants us to be married.”

  “I know—and that makes me out a fool that—that when I am offered something I thought I wanted more than anything else in the world—I find that, after all, I don’t want it any more.” Though her voice shook and she was as white as her gown, her chin was up and her eyes met Bill’s steadily.

  Mrs. Kendall was forgotten by both of them, and she stood almost fearfully, looking from one to the other, listening, dreading what she must hear.

  Bill moved closer to Cathy and she backed away so that he could not touch her. He grinned a little at that, a grin that was entirely mirthless, that was little more than a contraction of his facial muscles.

  “So you’re afraid to let me touch you, Cathy.”

  “Why should I be afraid?”

  “Because you know that once you’re in my arms, and I have kissed you, you will have forgotten all this idiotic business about not being in love with me any more.”

  “I won’t, Bill. Oh, I admit that when you kiss me, I—feel stirred emotionally, but that’s only because the habit of being in love with you is so strong. But what matters, Bill, is not the way I feel when I’m in your arms, but the way I feel when I’m away from you.”

  “Oh?” Bill’s eyebrows went up a little. “And how do you feel when you’re away from me, Cathy?”

  “Desperately tired and—and quite empty. I just want to go quite away from Cypressville and never come back again—and never see anyone from here again—except Maggie, of course,” said Cathy.

  “But—a divorce! Why—why, no Kendall has ever been divorced,” bleated Aunt Edith.

  Bill ignored her, his eyes still on Cathy, and said gently:

  “Poor darling, it’s been an ordeal, hasn’t it? But it’s all over now. You run along and get a good night’s rest, and tomorrow we’ll take the world into our confidence, and then we’ll go away for a nice long honeymoon. Not a trial honeymoon this time, but one surrounded by all the openness you want.”

  Cathy made a little helpless gesture. “You just can’t believe that a woman could fall out of love with you, can you, Bill?”

  Bill flushed with anger at that.

  “It’s a little hard to understand just how you could change so much, Cathy—overnight,” he told her curtly.

  Cathy’s eyebrows drew together in a frown and she said quite honestly, “That surprises me, too, Bill. I think—well, I think I was just so in the habit of loving you and thinking that all I ever wanted was to be married to you. And I think that while I was away—I—well, we both changed. You’ve been so—so possessive.”

  “I think it’s because you are angry with me, and you are kidding yourself, that you’re letting your pride blind you to the truth,” said Bill. “I’ve groveled—if not sufficiently, then I’ll grovel some more. I still think I may have been right to try to guarantee your future, but if you’re willing to take a chance on it, we’ll walk out of here this minute and try it on our own.”

  Neither of them had heard the sound of a car in the drive, and now Elaine was in the doorway, saying swiftly, “They need you at the hospital, Cathy, if you feel up to it.”

  She looked from one to the other of the three in the room, standing stiff and white and tense.

  “Sorry, I seem to be intruding at a very crucial moment—but after all, you said if they needed you—”

  “Of course—I’ll be ready in a minute,” said Cathy and, ignoring Bill’s protest, turned from the room and went running up the stairs.

  Elaine followed her, and as Cathy went into the room assigned to her, the other girl said casually, “I brought you a uniform from the hospital, knowing your slacks would hardly be proper garb.”

  Cathy thanked her and slid out of the white chiffon frock.

  “Cathy, are you in love with Mark?” Elaine asked abruptly.

  “Certainly not,” Cathy almost snapped, having grown extremely weary of this question in the last hectic hours.

  “Sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure!”

  “Then, Cathy, will you promise me something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then—don’t tell Mark any of the fool things I said at the tea shop. Gosh, was it only yesterday afternoon? I don’t believe it. It must have been a million years ago,” Elaine marveled. “Wasn’t I the fool, shooting off my pretty little mouth about how I didn’t believe in love? I didn’t even have sense enough to know that love is like lightning and that you don’t have to believe in it. If it wants to strike you, it does, and the heck with your silly little ‘beliefs.’ ”

  Cathy, buttoning herself into the crisply starched uniform, looked questioningly at Elaine.

  “Are you trying to tell me that you are in love with Mark?” she demanded.

  Elaine’
s grin was abashed, like a child.

  “I’m trying my darnedest not to tell him—to give him a chance to tell me. Only, Cathy, I’m scared to death he won’t! I’m—I’m so crazy about him, I can just barely endure it.”

  Cathy said quietly, “This happened so suddenly, Elaine. Maybe it isn’t real.”

  “That happened very suddenly in Cypressville, too, Cathy,” Elaine stated. “Can you doubt that was real?”

  “No, of course not, only I always felt that love was something that required a lot of—well, cultivation—in order to grow strong and real.”

  “Like you and Bill?” Elaine asked quietly. “Well, the danger about that is that sometimes it stops growing and sort of fades, don’t you think? Like—well, like a rose that grows and blooms and reaches its peak of beauty, only if you don’t gather it, the first thing you know, it’s full-blown and then shattered. That sometimes happens, too, Cathy—or did you know?”

  Cathy stood quite still, her head up, her eyes closed. And then she nodded and said faintly, “Yes, Elaine. I guess I knew that, too.”

  Elaine said after a moment, “Bill’s a good egg, Cathy. I hope you’re not going to overlook that little point.”

  Cathy’s mouth tightened as she bent to thrust her stockinged feet into the low-heeled white nurse’s slippers that completed her uniform.

  “A very good egg, and I’m not going to overlook the point,” she said grimly, and stood up. “Shall we get started?”

  At the door, Elaine put a hand on Cathy’s arm and held her back for a moment, her eyes anxious and pleading.

  “Cathy, you aren’t going to tell Mark about what crazy things I said?”

  “I’m not going to tell Mark anything at all, Elaine. Mark’s quite able to handle his own affairs without help from me. Furthermore, I think it’s very foolish for any innocent bystander to try to interfere in anybody’s affairs of the heart.”

  “You despise me, don’t you?” said Elaine huskily.

  “Don’t be a nitwit. I don’t despise anybody—unless it’s Cathy Layne,” answered Cathy, and went out of the room and down the stairs.