Kerry

by Grace Livingston Hill

  “Why, but you dear Mrs. Scott! I never got a letter from Mr. McNair, just that telegram you brought up to my room that second morning after I came. He said he would write, but he never did. You must have made a mistake. It must have been somebody else’s letter.”

  “Oh, na, I made na mistake,” said the woman lapsing into a Scotch word now and again in her excitement. “It was him all right, and it was you. Three letters! The first one was in a government envelope with a stamp made on it. I remember them each. One was a long envelope—long and narrow. The third one was big and square.”

  “Well—but—” said Kerry bewildered, but Mrs. Scott cut in again.

  “The reason I dare to ask is, my boy has written ta me. He says would I please find out if anything is the matter with you, or if you just didn’t want to correspond with a stranger. He says he meant no harm, but perhaps you feel he was not properly introduced. Perhaps you think he was forward in writin’ at all.”

  There were tears in Kerry’s eyes now, and her voice shook.

  “Oh, but Mrs. Scott, my dear!” she insisted. “I never got any of those letters at all! Never a one. I looked and looked at that hall table every night hoping one would come. I wanted at least to be able to write and thank him for all that he had done for me, but I had no address. I never realized you might have it or I would have asked you. But surely, Mrs. Scott, you wouldn’t think I would do such a mean thing as not to answer his letters. Why, he’s a prince of a man, of course. I felt honored that he was so kind to me, and helped me. How ungrateful I would be not to notice his letters. I thought he had been too busy to write, and likely had forgotten me by this time.”

  “Forgotten ye, nothin’. As if any man with eyes in his head could forget that hair, and them sweet eyes—”

  “Oh, Mrs. Scott!” said Kerry growing rosy, and the tears dashing down over her hot cheeks. “But where—oh where—! If there were letters where are they? Could they have fallen down behind the table?”

  “I’m not that dirty, me darlin’,” said Mrs. Scott indignantly. “That table is pulled out twice a week and dusted. No, it’s somebody has took ’em, that’s what!”

  “But let us go and look!” pleaded Kerry jumping up and running out to the hall.

  Mrs. Scott came with a flashlight, and together they stooped and searched the floor and the corner.

  “There’s a big crack behind the baseboard!” said Kerry, poking in it with a hairpin. “But there’s nothing behind there.”

  It was then that Mrs. Scott’s sharp eyes spied the bit of white sticking out from under the linoleum.

  “The rascal!” she said suddenly and pounced down upon it, ripping up the edge of the linoleum in a hurry with strong angry fingers. “The rascal! So that was what he was doin’ and I never thought of it after!”

  “Who? What?” said Kerry eagerly as Mrs. Scott fished out a long white envelope.

  “The rascal!” said Mrs. Scott, ripping up some more of the linoleum. “I come out in the hall one day and seed him down on his knees a workin’ away under this table, and as soon as I come out he gets up and he says, quite polite, ‘I dropped my pencil under the table and I was after it,’ says he. And I, fool that I was, thinks nothing of it until now. Why, they might a lain there till doom’s day, and we never known if you hadn’t insisted on coming out to look. And me that proud of my dustin’ I wouldn’t look!”

  But Kerry was not listening. She had gathered the envelopes to her heart, one after another as Mrs. Scott fished them out, and was now halfway up the stairs.

  “You will excuse me while I read them, won’t you, Mrs. Scott, dear?” she called back, filled with sudden compunction.

  “Sure I will, me darlin’, an’ think nothin’ of it, but it’s the last time I take in a lodger without references. The very last time!”

  Kerry, up in her room, was opening her letters with fingers that trembled with eagerness. Joy was surging over her in waves that threatened a sweet engulfing.

  Kerry had just sense enough left to look at the dates on the postmarks and get the first letter first.

  It was brief, and evidently written at the station just as the train was leaving.

  My dear Miss Kavanaugh:

  Words and time fail me in trying to tell you how disappointed I am that I have to leave in this sudden way without time even for explanation. It is too late to try to get you on the telephone, or I should have had at least a word with you. But please understand that nothing but absolute necessity would take me away just now, and I shall return as soon as I possibly can. Meantime guard yourself carefully, don’t take risks, and consult with Mr. Holbrook if anything unpleasant arises. Get

  Mrs. Scott to show you the way about the city. She will be delighted I am sure. I begrudge the privilege to anyone else.

  I am praying that the heavenly Father may be very close to your realization, and that His peace that passeth understanding may be yours. It is good to know we can meet at the mercy seat. I rejoice that you know my Lord Jesus.

  Praying that all best blessings may be yours. I shall write from the train. Let me know at above address how you are prospering please.

  Yours,

  In Christ Jesus,

  Graham McNair

  The second letter was longer, and went more into detail concerning the business that carried him away so quickly. It contained advice about her new life in the strange city, where to go, what to do for her own refreshment, a list of churches and other places where she would be likely to hear real spiritual preaching and teaching, the address of a bookstore where she would find helpful books, suggestions about where to go for good music.

  It was pervaded all through with a brotherly care for her that filled her with contentment and made her feel as if he were right there beside her talking to her. It touched also on the man Dawson. He said he hoped sincerely that she would have no further trouble with him, and that she was scarcely likely to as he would be afraid of arrest if he tried to put over any more tricks, but in case she did have trouble the matter should be at once put into the hands of the proper authorities, and Mr. Holbrook would surely be willing to assist her in that. In case of any sudden emergency of course she would call the nearest police.

  This advice gave Kerry relief, because she had feared that perhaps she ought not to have let Mrs. Scott go quite so far in what she had said to the policeman. Perhaps it might only complicate matters.

  The third letter was not so formal as the other two. It began “My dear Kerry.” She caught her breath, and her eyes grew starry. She felt like a starved person with food suddenly put before her. Her eyes greedily picked up the words from the paper so fast she could hardly gather the sense.

  Do you mind my calling you Kerry? You have been that to me in my heart for a good many days now, in fact ever since the night on shipboard when you gave yourself to my Lord Jesus—the night the storm came up!

  Dare I go a little further and tell you that you have become very precious to me? I had not meant to write a thing like this. It ought to be told, quietly, when we are face-to-face. I ought perhaps to have waited a while till you knew me better. Yet, during these days that the train has been hurrying me away farther and farther from you I have come to think that perhaps you have the right to know it now.

  You may not feel that way about me, of course. I can hardly expect it, certainly not at such short notice. But days are so uncertain, and with all these miles between us I want to tell you, that whether you can return my love or not, I hold you deep in my heart as the most precious thing that earth has left for me. Next to my Lord Jesus, Kerry, I love you, dear.

  There, now I have told you, and perhaps, if you do not like it, I may have cut myself off from this charming friendship we had begun, but somehow I could not keep it longer to myself. You are too bright a treasure, and there are too many out seeking such treasures as you. I had to let you know at once.

  I am not asking you to decide anything now about the future, although all that a man
can give to a woman my heart is giving to yours. I would not hurry you nor worry or disturb you in any way. If you can not feel that you can promise me yourself to be my dear wife, yet; if you feel that I am too precipitate, will you not at least let the matter rest in very dear friendship until I can come back to you and ask you again face-to-face? Of course what I want is your assurance, but you may not yet know your own mind on this, so do not feel that you must decide anything in haste.

  I await your answer with almost childish eagerness. Dear Kerry, your beautiful face is ever before my thoughts. I commend you to our Father’s keeping daily, almost hourly.

  With deeper love than I know how to write,

  Yours,

  Graham McNair

  With this letter in her hand Kerry sat for a few minutes, just staring down at the lovely words, her face glorified with her joy. Then suddenly she sprang up, the letters still in her hand and clasping them to her breast she dropped upon her knees beside her bed.

  “Oh, my dear Father God,” she prayed, “I can never, never thank Thee enough for this wonderful love, that Thou hast sent me!”

  Then she went to her desk and began to write. Soon she appeared downstairs with a folded paper in her hand and her hat on.

  “Could you tell me where to find the nearest telegraph office, Mrs. Scott?” she asked shyly. “I’m going to send a telegram.”

  “Oh, I’m glad you are dearie,” said the good woman with quick intuition. “The lad will be so relieved to know you are all right. I’m glad you won’t keep him waiting a whole week for a letter, he’s such a dear lad. But you’ll not be needin’ to go out to telegraph, darlin’. You can phone in your message right from here. I’m just runnin’ out next door for a minute now, and you can have the telephone all to yourself. Give him my love, dearie, and I’ll pay for part of the message. Tell him Martha sends her love.”

  The canny old lady seized her hat from a closet shelf and took herself off in a whisk of time, and there was Kerry left with her glowing cheeks, and her starry eyes trying to say those wonderful mysteries into the telephone to a sharp-voiced, tired operator. She managed the address all right, reading carefully from her paper, but over the message she choked, and lost her voice several times, and had to be snapped up from Central with a sharp “What? Please repeat that.”

  YOUR LETTERS JUST REACHED ME TONIGHT. THEY BRING GREATER JOY THAN I HAVE EVER KNOWN. WITH ALL MY HEART I SAY YES. I DO NOT NEED TO WAIT. SO SORRY TO HAVE SEEMED INDIFFERENT. AM WRITING. MARTHA SENDS LOVE AND I SEND GREATER LOVE.

  KERRY

  Then with a radiant, embarrassed face, Kerry hung up the receiver and went upstairs to write her letter.

  Kerry mailed her letter on the way down to the office next morning and went on with her work, singing praises in her heart. For even the hot, dusty avenue seemed to her like a way paved with joy that morning. But perhaps if she had stayed to look at the morning paper before she left Mrs. Scott’s she would not have felt so much like singing.

  She had not been at her desk more than half an hour when she was summoned to the office to see Mr. Holbrook.

  This was quite unusual as Holbrook was a busy man and seldom had time for personal contact with the employees in the office. Also, this was the first intimation that Kerry had that Holbrook was at home again.

  He greeted her in dignified silence, and there was something in his glance that sent a quiver of premonition through her heart. He motioned her to a chair and closed the outer door of the office.

  “Miss Kavanaugh,” he said and his kindly tone was almost severe, “you did not tell me that you were engaged to be married!”

  “Oh!” said Kerry, her cheeks flaming into color. “Why—why, it only just happened—last night. I would have—I have had no opportunity. It was all so unexpected—! But—” And a bewildered look came into her eyes. “I don’t see how you knew about it. No one knows but Mrs. Scott. Unless—are you a friend of Mr. McNair’s? But even then—Why I only sent him an answer last night.”

  “Mighty quick work, I should say,” remarked Holbrook dryly. “Haven’t you seen the morning papers, Miss Kavanaugh?”

  “No!” said Kerry sharply sitting up straight in alarm. “What could the morning paper possibly know?”

  For answer Holbrook handed her his morning paper, folded with the second page out, and in the very middle at the top of the page Kerry saw her own face looking out at her, a clear good likeness, and just below it in a smaller oval, another picture of herself and her father standing together with the lace-like architecture of the great Rheims Cathedral in the background.

  Large headlines caught her horrified gaze.

  BRILLIANT DAUGHTER OF NOTED FATHER PLIGHTS TROTH TO WELL-KNOWN SCIENTIST! MISS KERRY KAVANAUGH, DAUGHTER OF THE LATE DR. SHANNON KAVANAUGH, ONE OF THE WORLD’S GREATEST SCIENTISTS, SOON TO WED HENRY DAWSON, PHD, AUTHOR OF THE HOW AND WHY OF IT! AND WRITER OF SCIENTIFIC ARTICLES. PROFESSOR DAWSON HAS ALREADY MADE GREAT ATTAINMENTS IN HIS CHOSEN LINE, AND PROMISES TO FOLLOW IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF HIS NOTED FATHER-IN-LAW-TO-BE.

  There was more of it, a half column, but Kerry did not read it. The letters swam and danced before her horrified eyes. She lifted her blanched face to her employer and there was no mistaking her misery.

  “Oh, how could anybody be so wicked!” she said with white lips. “Oh, how terrible! What shall I do?”

  “Do?” said Holbrook, stooping to pick up the paper that she had dropped from nervous fingers. “Do? Didn’t you allow this to be put into the papers? Did you furnish the pictures? Isn’t it true that you are to marry this man? And isn’t he the Dawson whom you warned us against?”

  Kerry was stung into action.

  “He certainly is, but I am not going to marry him. I would rather die!” she said with vehemence. “He has been dogging my steps ever since I came to the city. He had the impertinence to tell me that he intended to marry me the first week I was here, followed me to the park where I was walking, and insisted on talking to me, then when I ran away and took a bus I found him in the hall of the lodging house waiting to finish his sentence when I arrived there. How he knew where I was living I have no idea, but he came and took a room on the floor above me. I managed to keep out of his way for several weeks, but a few days ago I went home one night and found all my belongings pulled out of my trunk and desk and bureau, and two of my father’s books and these snapshots gone. I called in the police, and then I tried to see you the next day and tell you, fearing he might try to use the books in some way that was not legitimate. But you were gone—and—Oh!”

  Kerry suddenly covered her face with her hands and groaned.

  There was silence in the office for an instance, and then Holbrook spoke again, still in a cold tone of voice.

  “Then you didn’t know that this man, Dawson, has written an article for one of the biggest scientific papers published in this country, and that he says he was your father’s closest friend and coworker, and that he claims to have rewritten and finished your father’s book? You didn’t know that he has in that article told the story of your and his romance, begun while you were quite a little girl, and that he quotes from your father’s own words in several instances? You didn’t know that it was scheduled to come out in the middle of this month?”

  Holbrook was watching Kerry with a mingling of compassion and doubt in his eyes, as she lifted her gaze to him once more. If her face had been white before it was ashen now, and it seemed as if her lips were powerless to speak.

  “No, I didn’t know,” and it seemed to her that her voice sounded like one dead.

  “But didn’t you tell me you were engaged, when you first came into the office? Didn’t you admit it?”

  Then did Kerry’s joy, like a new tide of life, flood into her heart, and into her face in radiance as she remembered.

  “Oh, yes!” she said, “I—am engaged! But—not to that creature! I am engaged to Mr. McNair, the man who came here with me the first day, and whom I introduced to you down in the receptio
n room.”

  “Ah!” said Holbrook with relief. “Ah! That’s a different matter! Well, I congratulate you! But now, what shall we do about this? What is your wish in the matter? Of course I’ve stopped the publication of the article. I have a friend over there in the office of the magazine, and he happened to mention that they were publishing such an article and I asked to see the proof of it. He sent it over to my house last night. You see it mentions several things with regard to your father’s book which are not true, and which we could not permit, but when I saw the paper this morning I did not know what to think, Miss Kavanaugh!”

  Then Kerry struggling with her tears, went carefully over the whole story from the time she left London, and by the time she was through Holbrooks’s eyes were full of sympathy, and he was blowing his nose and dabbing at his eyes as freely as if Kerry had been his own Natalie.

  In a kind and fatherly way, he talked it all over and promised to telephone at once to the office of the paper and see that the announcement was corrected. Also to telephone to the police and have them recover the photographs if possible.

  When they were through talking Holbrook asked her to go out to lunch with him.

  “Oh, if you’ll excuse me,” she said shyly, “I’d like to go right away and send a telegram to California. I am afraid Mr. McNair might somehow get hold of this. Doesn’t the Associated Press telegraph news all over the country? Couldn’t they get this? Of course they wouldn’t do it on my account, but having my father’s name connected with it, wouldn’t they perhaps put it in California papers?”