“Is Joyce Whitney here?” asked Rose, almost hoping by now that she wasn’t.
“Well, she is an’ she isn’t!” said Aunt Libby, with a quick look around, and her habitual furtiveness, as if there were always a watcher dogging her steps.
“I heard she was sick,” said Rose, taking courage.
“Well, she ain’t so good,” said Aunt Libby under her breath. “I had the doctor in this morning myself, seeing Mrs. Whitney was away and couldn’t mind. I ben havin’ a misery in my side fer several weeks a’ I ain’t hed time justa stop an’ see what was ailin’ me. So I phoned him up an’ he come. An’ I wanted Joyce ta let him look her over, too, but she wouldn’t. She said doctors couldn’t do her no good! Just like that! Poor thing, she’s that worried! She ain’t hed a word from Jason yet, you know, an’ it’s just awful with folks comin’ here day in an’ day out astin’ questions, which you ain’t allowed to answer. The master, he won’t have no word said. It hurts a body to be that unfriendly—”
“Yes?” said Rose hopefully. “Well, I wonder if I could see Joyce just a minute or two. She would mind me, would she? I’ve brought her some flowers. I heard she was sick and I brought her some pansies!”
“Ain’t they purty!” said Aunt Libby wistfully. “We don’t have no flowers around here much. Mrs. Whitney, she don’t care for ’em. But Joyce, she goes up in the woods and picks wild ones and takes ’em up to her room. She’d put ’em on the table, only Mrs. Whitney, she calls ’em weeds. Joyce is out there now in the grape arbor settin’. She stays out there a good deal so she won’t have to see all the folks that come, an’ hear ’em talk. It’s just awful the things they say about Jason. It breaks my heart—”
“I know,” said Rose sympathetically, “I think so, too. It makes me angry. Do you suppose it would bother Joyce if I went out there and took her these pansies?”
Aunt Libby gave another of her frightened looks behind her and hesitated.
“I don’t guess it would,” she said doubtfully. She liked dramatic entrances. She loved bringing things to a climax. These two pretty young things sort of belonged together. Of course, she had been set to keep watch and keep out visitors, but this young thing in this pink dress was different.
“Suppose you just walk around the house that side till you come on the path that leads to the arbor. You’ll find the way. And then she won’t think I sent you.”
Rose gave Aunt Libby an understanding smile and went as she was bidden, presently arriving at the entrance to the grape arbor, a long deep trellis covered thickly with broad grape leaves and drooping bunches of purple fruit with the soft blue bloom on them. It was cool and dark there, a sweet quiet gloom where green shadows and purple lights prevailed.
Down at the far end there was a light bench painted white and there Joyce sat slumped sadly with her face in her hands.
Rose paused in dismay. Joyce was crying and she would be intruding! It was not right. She must go away. She would leave the flowers with Aunt Libby and go away.
She turned, but her light step crunched on the gravel of the path, and Joyce lifted her head, startled.
“Oh, please excuse me!” said Rose, looking frightened. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I heard you were sick and I brought you some flowers! But I’ll leave them in the house and go away. I know you don’t want to be bothered with me now.”
“No, don’t go away!” said Joyce yearningly. “I am glad you came. It was dear of you! I’m not sick, but I’m very sad, and—I’m so alone!”
Suddenly Rose put the flowers down on the bench and sat down beside Joyce, putting her arms softly around the older girl’s neck.
“I’m so sorry!” breathed Rose. “I’m here!”
And suddenly Joyce was crying with her face in Rose’s neck. Rose held her close and began to cry with her. There was a big wet spot on Rose’s nice pink shoulder, wet with hot tears.
“You know,” said Joyce at last, lifting her tear-wet face in apology, “I haven’t—heard—from my brother yet, and—people are saying such dreadful things about him!”
“I know,” said Rose, holding her tight, “they are awful! And it’s all silly, what they are saying. Jason wouldn’t do any of those things! Of course he wouldn’t. I know Jason.” And she held her pretty tear-wet face up bravely. “We went to school together, you know. He sat right across the aisle from me the whole last year. We were seniors together. Jason wasn’t like that! He was splendid! He didn’t do mean things. He only did funny things!”
“Oh, thank you for saying that, dear!” said Joyce, with a trembling smile on her lips. “I know he wasn’t like that, but I didn’t know anybody else knew it. Even Father couldn’t always understand him. You see, everything is against him—a lot of evidence. And he hasn’t been heard from. If I could only hear just a word from him. If I could only know he is safe.”
“Of course he’s safe!” said Rose with the confidence of an older person. “He’s gone away to find a better job and get a square deal. He felt he couldn’t start fresh in this old town and he’s gone away to begin over again. I know, for he told me so!”
“He told you so!” Joyce echoed the words in sudden startled wonder and delight. “You mean you saw him? You talked with him?”
“No, I didn’t see him, but I talked with him. He called me up on the telephone. That’s why I came over. I thought you ought to know.”
“He called you up on the telephone? Oh, when did he call you?”
“Wednesday noon! Father didn’t want me to say anything to anybody. He didn’t think it had any bearing on the case, and he thought people would misunderstand.”
“They would, of course,” said Joyce quickly. “Oh, people are terrible! But of course they need not know. But please go on. How did he come to call you up? I did not even know you were friends.”
“We weren’t,” said Rose quickly. “Only schoolmates. We never talked much to each other, only to say good morning, and once he brought a bunch of wild roses to school, just three or four of them and laid them on my desk. Just grinned and laid them on my desk! I thanked him and smiled, and that was all. We never talked even after that, only when we had to ask where a lesson was or something. But last week Friday I was walking along the street and he came from the other direction, and when we met he stopped and said good morning. He acted as if he was going to say something else, and when he didn’t I spoke. I asked him if he wouldn’t be the tenth one on my list to come to the big rally in the church Wednesday night. I had only nine people and I’d promised to ask ten. We all did. But I somehow couldn’t think of a tenth that nobody else had asked. I don’t know why I suddenly asked him. I didn’t expect him to come. I knew he never came to our church. But I was embarrassed and wanted to say something, so I asked him.”
“And what did he say?” the sister asked eagerly.
“Why, he said ‘Me, go to church? I never go to church!’ and then I guess I looked disappointed so he asked what it was, just a prayer-meeting? I told him about the rally with the wonderful speaker from New York, and all of a sudden he said, ‘All right, kid, I’ll come if it will please you.’”
“And then he went away!” said the sister sadly. “Oh, if he had only stayed and gone to that meeting! How wonderful that would have been! That was Wednesday night, wasn’t it? Oh, that might have saved all this awfulness! But then, even if he had been here, he might not have come. He might have had some excuse. Boys are that way sometimes. Maybe he didn’t even intend to come when he promised.”
There was a quiver of tears about her voice, but Rose spoke quickly.
“Yes, I think he really meant to come. He said he did when he called me up.”
“You mean he called you up after that?”
“Yes, he called me up to tell me he couldn’t come, and he said he had really meant to come and was sorry he couldn’t, but that something had happened down at the bank and he was leaving. And then before I thought what I was doing I said, ‘Oh, Jason, you haven’t done anything
to make them—’ and then I stopped. I was frightened that I had suggested such a thing. But he took me right up and said, no, he hadn’t done anything wrong, but the poor fishes thought he had, and that was just as bad. And he said the worst of it was he couldn’t tell all he knew, and so they had pinned it all on him, and there was no use his staying here, he couldn’t get a square deal anywhere!”
“That is true!” said Joyce with a little moan. “Nobody stood up for him anywhere!”
“I know,” said Rose. “I’m sorry! But I thought it might make a little difference to you to know he said he hadn’t done anything wrong. Of course I knew you believed in him. But I thought it might help a little to know what he said.”
“It does!” said Joyce. “It helps a great deal, and it was sweet of you to come. It was precious!” And then suddenly her heart thrilled with the thought of the last time that word had been used in her hearing, and about herself.
“But you are precious yourself,” said Rose gravely. “That’s why I wanted to come. Father thought I might be intruding, but I felt I should come.”
“Your father knows?”
“Yes. I didn’t know what to do and I asked him. He is a very understanding father. He won’t tell anybody else.”
“Oh, I’m glad he knows!” said Joyce suddenly. “Of course he would keep it too himself for your sake if for no other reason. But I’m glad one good man knows.”
“He believes in him, too,” said Rose thoughtfully. “I’m sure he does.”
“Well, that is a comfort,” said Joyce. “Even if he didn’t quite believe in him, it would be good just to know he was willing to think any good at all of him, to even consider it. It seems as if very few others are. Just the Parsons. I don’t know any others.”
“Oh, I’m glad the Parsons believe him,” said Rose happily. “I always liked them. And Rowan, too, though I never knew him so well. He’s been away at college. But—I don’t believe Rowan had anything to do with all this burglary business either.”
“No, he didn’t!” said Joyce emphatically. “I happen to know that he didn’t! I can’t tell you all about it now, but I know, and sometime I hope I can tell you.”
“Well, I’m glad about that, too. Rowan was Jason’s friend. I know he used to look up to him when he was in high school. I’ve heard Jason talking to the boys at recess and telling them what Rowan could do in athletics and things.”
“Yes,” said Joyce, a soft color stealing into her pale face. “He always made a hero out of Rowan. And that’s what makes it so outrageous what they are saying about them both!”
“I know,” said Rose. “I was down at the store this morning getting some things for Mother and I heard some of those women talking. I wanted to turn around and shake them till they couldn’t get their breath. I felt very wicked. It seemed as if I could do something awful to them, and they were just laughing and babbling on. Some of them had been up to your mother’s tea or something.”
“I know,” said Joyce, “that ghastly bridge party. But I suppose it doesn’t matter, since we know what they are saying is not true.”
“Yes, but it’s awful that they can go on saying those things when we—when you are just suffering about it all.”
“Well, I’m not going to suffer!” said Joyce, trying to speak brightly. “I’m going to try and look up and rejoice. I certainly ought to be thankful to God, and thankful to you for bringing me word. I never doubted Jason. I knew he hadn’t broken into the bank nor shot Mr. Paisley, but it is good to know his own words concerning his dismissal from the bank. It takes away a great horror that was beginning to fill my mind. I know now there must be some explanation of his absence and his silence, and probably he doesn’t know all that has happened here, and wouldn’t realize how I would agonize over him.”
“Yes,” said Rose, “he spoke of you. I almost forgot that part.”
“He spoke of me?” said Joyce, her eyes lighting with hope.
“Yes, he said that nobody cared anything about him or believed in him except his sister.”
“Oh! How sweet it is to know that! He’s always been shy of affection. I didn’t know whether he cared or not.”
“He does!” said Rose with deep conviction. “I could tell by his voice. He was feeling pretty badly. He said he was beating it and he didn’t know as he would ever come back, but then after a minute he said if the time ever came when he felt he was fit to come back he’d let me know.”
Rose’s voice was very low as she told this. It seemed too much her own to let another hear it, and yet she knew the sister would treasure it. It surely showed that Jason had no idea at that time of committing any crime.
They both sat very still for a moment thinking this over. Then Joyce suddenly threw her arms around Rose and drew her close to her.
“You dear little girl!” she said. “You have comforted me a lot! You have brought me word that shows the very best side of my dear brother, and it seems to lift me above the things that people are saying and help me to bear it all. I guess God is going to work it all out somehow, and I’m going to trust Him.”
“Yes,” said Rose softly, “I guess God knows how to straighten this all out.”
The two girls sat together very silently for a few minutes with their arms around one another, and then Joyce gathered up the cool velvet pansies and buried her hot face in them, breathing in their delicate, spicy fragrance.
“I shall never forget what you have done for me!” said Joyce at last as Rose got up to go. “You have given me more assurance to hold up my head among the terrible kindness of my neighbors.”
Then suddenly from the house came the clarion voice of Mrs. Whitney:
“Joyce! Joyce! Where on earth are you? For pity’s sake, come into the house. I want you at once!”
Mrs. Whitney had thought of something and had come home to prevent it. It had occurred to her that during her absence Joyce might somehow get in touch with her brother and bring the renegade home to harbor him, to hide him perhaps, and that must not be! So she had taken the first train home to prevent it.
“Joyce! Joyce! Where are you?” the voice clanged on impatiently.
The two girls huddled together in the dim recesses of the arbor, looked into each other’s eyes for an instant, reading each other’s thoughts, and then suddenly they smiled, a soft quiet smile that passed like a flash of understanding from the eyes of one to the other.
“It’s all right,” whispered Rose, “I was just going anyway. You just let me slip around the other side of the house, the way I came, and she’ll never know I was here. Good-bye. I’ve loved being here with you.”
Joyce stooped suddenly and kissed her. Then Rose stole out from the back of the arbor and around behind the trees, skirting the house behind the shrubbery; she climbed nimbly over a fence and was on the road.
Joyce laid her pansies down in the grass in a hidden spot in the arbor until she could retrieve them after dark and carry them to her own room. Then she turned and went swiftly in to answer the summons.
Chapter 9
That night Corey Watkins came to call on Joyce.
She had slipped out to the grape arbor to get her pansies, and she heard the steps coming up the walk and poor tired Aunt Libby shuffling to the door.
It would likely be some of her stepmother’s friends, and at first she thought she could stay out in the arbor. And then there came a sudden panic lest they would stay all evening and she would be called and would have to go in. She felt she just could not go in tonight and talk with anybody and answer any more of those awful questions her stepmother’s friends asked her because they were afraid to ask Mrs. Whitney. It would be better to go straight to bed.
So she scooped up the cool velvety flowers and flew back into the kitchen door and up the back stairs swiftly, silently, before Aunt Libby had got the chain and bolt fairly off the front door.
She locked her door, slipped her flowers into the washbowl, and undressed in the dark. If anybody called for
her she would be in bed with a headache. That was perfectly true. She had had a headache all the afternoon. It almost seemed as if she had had it continuously since Jason went away.
Presently she heard Mrs. Whitney’s voice ring out the back door calling her, and then after a little Aunt Libby came puffing and panting up the stairs and tried her door, tapped stealthily when she found it locked, and whispered rustily, “Miss Joyce! You got a young man downstairs! You better come down right away. Mrs. Whitney’s all stirred up about it.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Aunt Libby, but I can’t come down. I’ve got a bad headache and I’ve gone to bed.”
There was silence for an instant and then Aunt Libby’s distressed voice:
“You better come anyway. She’s on her high horse! Here she comes!” And Aunt Libby limped away to meet her mistress on the stairs.
Then Joyce heard her stepmother’s firm tread on the landing and up the flight to her door, heard her grasp on the doorknob.
“Open this door instantly, Joyce!” she demanded in a low, fierce voice. “I want to speak to you. I’ve often told you that it isn’t safe to lock doors so your family can’t get in.”
There was nothing for it but to get up and open the door, for the next move would be to call for help from the visitor whoever he was, or to use force on the door. And even a heavy mahogany door could not long resist the assault of so substantial a body as Mrs. Whitney’s.
Joyce unlocked the door and slid back into her bed with her face to the wall. Her stepmother instantly snapped on the light and gave a swift survey of the room, not missing the pansies.
“Now, what’s all this about going to bed at this hour?”
“I’ve had a terrible headache all the afternoon and I just wanted to get to sleep.”
“Well, you’ll have to wait awhile for sleep. This is no hour to give way to your feelings. Hurry and put on your clothes! Someone has come to call on you.”
“To call on me?” said Joyce, swinging around and watching her stepmother. “Whoever it is, won’t you please tell them I’ve gone to bed with a headache?”
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