"No, Mrs. Bartee." Johnny stood his ground. "I have something to tell her."
Dick Bartee came out of a door up the hall. Big. Thunderous. "What's this?"
Dorothy said feebly, "I don't know."
Johnny swung around. "Bartee. I came up with a wedding present. Let me give it to you both at once. Where is Nan?"
"We don't need anything from you," Dick said truculently.
The door of the back bedroom shook. Then it opened. There was Nan, in white, without a veil, her bridehood in her face. Young and fair and solemn—in the dream.
Johnny didn't move toward her but he sent his voice. "Nan, please let me tell you both something? Something to make you glad."
Nan said in a low voice, "I don't need to be told. I know Dick is innocent."
Dick moved and put his frame between her and the others. "If you are still trying to mess up this wedding, SiuQS, I' can throw yotTdown the stairs and that right quick,"
Johnny said, "For Nan's sake, let me explain." He looked earnestly into the gray eyes, which were hot and suspicious. "Then I will dance at your wedding," Johnny said. "Believe me."
Bart came up the stairs. "What's holding . . .? What's this?" Blanche made a nerve-wracked sound.
Dick said to Nan tenderly, "You don't have to Hsten to him, love. Shall I take him away?"
"If Johnny wants to apologize," she said, with the little prim dignity of old, "I think we should let him do it, Dick. We all want to be happy."
Dorothy wailed suddenly, "Johnny! Dancel"
Blanche said, "The guests will hear."
Bart said, "Get into a room. We'll have this out.''
Johnny said, "Where is Christy's picture?"
"I have it," Nan said.
Bart brushed off the pawing appeal of Blanche's nervous hand. "Whatever this is, we can't just say hush-hush," he
told her sternly. "Now, get in here, all of us and let me close the door."
Bart closed the door and stood against it. His smooth face was inscrutable. But Johnny knew Bart was on his side.
So they were all in the back bedroom, closed in. The room was not neat. A girl, getting ready for her wedding, had left her fragrant traces. There on the dresser, propped against the wall, was Christy's picture.
Johnny seized it with both hands. "And me the young scientist!" he said. "Me, the biology professorl Look at this!"
Christy's young face laughed out at them all. "Nan, dear, here is '' for the bride. Do you see her blue eyes?" Johnny had taken the floor. He commanded all the attention. He had to do it with a certain overbearing flamboyance. "Now look at Dorothy!" he cried.
"But why should I look at Dorothy?" said Nan, bewildered.
"Because," said Johnny, "Aunt Emily changed you two around! You are not Christy and Clinton McCauley's child. You cannot he. So Dorothy is."
Dorothy said faintly, "What?"
"Science." Johnny put the picture down. ''! don't care what anyone says. You can't get away from discovered laws. Don't forget, I saw Clinton McCauley in prison. And his eyes are hlue, blue, blue." He hammered it at them. This was the touchy moment. (Johnny gave thanks that Bart was on his side.)
"Well?" said Dick Bartee distastefully.
Inside Johnny, something relaxed. He didn't let it show. 'Don't you know what that means?" he cried. "It means that Nan cannot be their child. Dorothy is. Emily protected Nan in depth, I guess. Don't ask me why she did it. But it has absolutely got to be so. Your eyes are brown, Nan."
"Well, I—know they are," Nan said in confusion.
Bart stirred, "That's true," he said flatly, "two blue-eyed people—"
"Cannot have a brown-eyed child," finished Johnny, in almost a shout. "Of course, it's true!"
Dick Baitee said, still with that air of distaste, ''What are you trying to do, now?"
"I am only trying to show Nan," Johnny turned to her. "See what this means? What is Clinton McCauley to you?
An uncle you never knew. I am setting you free of the whole
ancient history. It wasn't your mother."
"You mean I'm not . . .? You mean . . .?"
"Clinton McCauley never mentioned to you which girl was his daughter?" asked Dick scornfully.
"Chnton McCauley used her right name," snapped Johnny,
'Mary,' he used."
"Miss McCauley? In the hospital? On her death bed?"
"Kept up her deep defense, yes. But she didn't know she was on her death bed. Emily didn't expect to die."
Johnny thought the gray eyes reacted. (He had already noted the easy use of the right name for Emily.) Dick said, a trifle stiffly, "And why didn't you think of this before?"
"Because I'm stupid," said Johnny promptly. "Because I first saw Christy's picture under conditions of stress."
"This means you are willing, now, to concede that I never killed anybody?" Dick's voice was loud and a Httle angry. "How is that?"
"Perhaps I was reaching," Johnny said. "I had a reason.''
'Tou sure had," said Dick angrily.
"I don't know what to think," gasped Blanche. "How could—?"
Bart's handj^ightened on her arm and she was still. '
"Yes, hold on a minute," Dick said. "You mean to tell me the lawyer who handled the money? Come oflF it, Sims," Dick smiled. But he wasn't easy. The big animal was wary.
Johnny said, "Look, / don't legislate the laws of nature. But I teach this stuiS, I know what they are."
(It wasn't going to work. Yes, it must. Johnny had a desperate idea.)
"Listen, please, all be quiet. Try an experiment. Be quiet, everyone." He still held them. Nan's face was puzzled. Dorothy looked dazed. Dick was listening, watching, taut as an animal in the woods. Johnny looked at no one person, said into the silence, softly, "Polly? Polly McCauley?"
Nan stared at him as if he had surely lost his mind. But Dorothy lifted her face. Her blue eyes softened. "Polly McCauley," she repeated, just as softly.
"You've heard that before?"
"Yes." She looked at him, trustfully.
"Who was it," Johnny said, in the deepening hush, "used to call you 'Polly McCauley'?"
''My—my father?" Then Dorothy looked around as if she woke, and burst into tears.
Johimy reached out to hold her. He blessed her in his heart. He held her tightly.
Bart said, 'T remember that. He did call the baby 'Polly McCauley.' You remember that, Dick."
"Yes, I do," said Dick Bartee in a colorless voice. He had gone within, remembering.
(He had things to remember. Emily, on her death bed, crying, "You'U never many Clinton's child!" Damn the womanl He'd gone too fast. He ought to have made sure what she meant.)
Nan said, "But don't cry, Dotty? Why should she cry?'' Dorotliy's head was pressed to Johnny's shoulder. Bart said aloud and clearly, "But then, the money must belong to Miss Dorothy?"
Deep silence enclosed the sound of Dorothy's small sobbing. Nan said, "I guess—Does it, Johnny?"
Johnny said impatiently, "The point is. Nan, you are clear of it. So there's my wedding gift. And I hope we are friends." "Oh yesl" said Nan radiantly. "And everything is better 1 Dickr
Dick said in a warm thrilling voice, "Darling!" Bart said, "I can't help it. I am somewhat concerned— what about the money?"
"No doubt about the money. At least one letter exists," said Johnny confidently, "to show that your father meant the money for McCauley s child."
Dick was Hstening; he was alert; he said nothing. "And we can piove that Nan is not McCauley's child," Johnny went on. "In court. Any time."
"You and Dorothy can prove it?" said Dick, in mahcious innuendo.
"That's right—" said Johnny. His grin was triumph. Antagonism was raw.
"I begin to understand your reasons better," Dick purred. "Fancy? I thought they were sentimental."
"That's that," said Bart, with finahty, as if he punctuated thoughts of his own about the money.
"But what shall we do?" quavered Blanche. "The peopl
e
downstairs? Shall I go tell them the ceremony is postponed?"
Nan said, "No, no. Not at all. Dotty will be all right, in
a minute. Dotty, don't cry any more. We'll be right down, tell them." Nan was pumping up the dream. "Johnny, thank you. But you go downstairs now. And, Dick, darling, go down and wait for me?"
Dick seemed to hesitate. Johnny said to him, mockingly, "Why don't you call Copeland long distance? Check up on the matter? Before the ceremony?" Johnny's green eyes met the gray eyes.
"What is there to check?" Dick said easily. "Nan is still Nan. Is Dorothy surely all right?" he added.
Dorothy straightened her back and lifted her head. "A little powder and paint," she said in her normal voice. The blue eyes were wet.
Johnny kissed her. Dick Bartee was there to see. Then Johnny went out of the back bedroom. Blanche followed, and passed him, scurrying down the stairs to her social responsibilities.
Dick Bartee came out. Johnny turned his head. Johnny could read nothing in the eyes. "Well," Johnny said with his ovTi face a blank, "wish you luck."
"Luck to you too." The hps drew back from the perfect teeth. "When and if we meet in court."
"You are sure you want to meet me in a court?'' aSked Johnny.
Dick's eyes lost any look of seeing. They went dead. They blotted Johnny out. Dick turned away.
Johnny started down, hunting back for the exact flavor of the exchange. Bart caught hirn up. Their eyes slid sideways to each other's.
"Science is a wonderful thing," said Bart dryly.
CHAPTER 20
Dick Bartee mtent along the upstairs hall toward the front of tlie house. He stopped before a door on the right and listened. Blanche and Bart were hosts, downstairs. So he
swung boldly into their bedroom, where there was a telephone.
Waiting for the long distance call to go through, he held his jaw clenched. It was the only sign of his anger.
Mr. Copeland's office regretted that Mr. Copeland was not in today.
"Try his home," Dick said. The operator got the home number.
A woman's voice answered there.
"Long distance, calling Mr. Charles Copeland."
"He's away. This is Mrs. Copeland. Who . . .?"
"I'll talk to Mrs. Copeland," Dick broke in.
The operator retreated.
"Can you tell me where I can reach your husband?" He sent his voice purring north. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but it's rather important."
"Well, he flew down to Hestia," the voice said. "I don't know exactly where. I'm sorry."
"Can you tell me how long he'll be there?" Dick said in a moment.
"Oh, I should think not very long." The voice was responding to his puir. It wanted to please. "He only had to break the news of a—a death, you see. I'm hoping he will be home this evening, since he flew."
"I see. That's sad."
"Yes, it is," she said plaintively. "Of course, I suppose it was his duty." The voice was brave and lonely.
"You wouldn't know the name of the people, Mrs. Copeland, where I might call?"
"The name. Yes, he did tell me. It's McCauley." She went on when she heard no reaction. "That's all I know. I don't suppose that helps . . ."
"It may help," said Dick softly. "Thank you very much.''
"Not at all. Whom shall I say . . . ?"
But he had hung up.
His eyes flickered; the lids came down. He took two strides out the door. In the hall he patted his tie. He was frowning. Then he walked, and his feet dragged, toward the stairs.
Johnny went into the parlor, became a wedding guest. Marshall was there. They nodded but did not speak. The
minister was waiting in the study, for a signal. The parlor waited. Johnny waited.
(Would it work? Science is the bugaboo today. People, believing in nothing else, beheve in science. Let him beHeve it, Johnny prayed. Let him think he isn't marrying the money. Keep him unable to remember that McCauley's eyes are brown. As Bart remembers. Let him betray that it's the money.)
Upstairs, Nan said, "Can you fix your face, Dotty? Don't spoil my wedding."
Dorothy was holding a cold, wet cloth to her eyes. "I'll be all right."
"I wonder," Nan wandered on the rug, "which of us is the older, then?"
"I don't know. Not much difference. Doesn't matter." Dorothy inspected her eyes, picked up a cake of make-up.
Nan, waiting, fingered the small jeweled pin on her shoulder. "I guess you should have this," she said, in rather a wistful voice. "It's not mine, at all. It's your mother's pin."
"I wouldn't touch it!" said Dorothy violently. "Kate's pinl"
Nan seemed to stagger and step back.
"When my father's been locked up, away from me> Jor seventeen years' because of it? When I could have had a father, all this timel I wouldn't touch it—I'm going to see him tomorrow."
Nan said, "Tomorrow?" Her eyes were wide and solemn.
"The quickest I can."
"Johnny will take you, I guess," Nan said reniotely. She looked as if she were tasting and examining this emotion. This reaction.
"I look all right," sighed Dorothy. "Come on. Let's get you married to this Dick, since you insist, Johnny and I can start north by noon."
"Bart is your uncle. Dot. Old Mrs. Bartee is your great-grandmother. These are your own people."
"They never gave up things for me," said Dorothy. "They thought my blood was bad. Emily is my people. I don't forget the years of Emily. But I wish she'd told me, from the beginning. I could have taken it." Dorothy looked tall, vibrant and strong.
"I—I could have taken it, too," said Nan weakly. "I mean, if it had been me. Dick and I were going to see—Mr.
McCauley, of course. I just put Dick first, because I'm in love." It was as if Nan saw the reaction one ought to have had, a little too late.
"So am I." said Dorothy. "I've been in love with Johnny Sims these three years gone. I just adore him." The cousins stood still, facing each other.
Nan said, in a moment, "Well, I suppose you can have Johnny. And you'll have the money and all. I'm glad."
Dorothy said contemptuously, "I don't need the money. I wouldn't bother with it. Johnny half loves me already and I'll study to please him with all my heart. You take the money."
Nan blinked.
"You can call it my wedding present," said Dorothy recklessly. "All / can think, is that I've got a fatherl And Johnny, to help me find out the truth about my mother's murder."
"But if your father—did it?" Nan was looking for absolution.
"I'm not afraid of the truth," Dorothy said. "But if he didn't do it. Nan. I won't make any sacrifices or keep any secrets, for anyone's sake."
Nan knew what was meant.
"What would you f-feel," quavered Nan, "if Johnny were accused? You'd believe in him." Nan's eyes were clouded.
"Ah, but Johnny," said Dorothy, "I know. Also, I know and I like his ancestors. That's a little different. Come on. Ready?"
The bride's throat moved. She looked into the glass. "Ready," she said.
Johnny stood in the parlor. Someone had put a record on the player. The people hushed. Blanche moved in to stand beside the old lady's chair. Everyone stood quietly waiting.
The minister came, wearing a robe, carrying his book. He put it on the lectern. He stood quietly.
Dick Bartee and one of the men (Johnny didn't know him) came in together. Stood to the minister's left. Dick was composed, at least on the surface. The gray eyes rested on the minister—cold and even faintly hostile.
Dorothy came in, walking gracefully, her head up. Her
eyes were brilliant and met nobody's eyes. She went to stand at the minister's right.
The groom looked at the bridesmaid. His throat moved.
Then, Bart came in, with Nan on his arm. Here came the bride, in white, head down, dark eyes shy. Walking with that fmmy little dignity which was a defensive vanity. Johnny knew she wasn't sure of herself. Someb
ody should back her up, he tliought with an old pang.
The music was the only sound.
Bart brought the bride to the groom. The groom did not look at her, looked over her head, at the bridesmaid.
The minister began the famihar phrases. "Dearly beloved . . ."
He came to "Who gives this woman to be married?"
Bart drew away. Nan looked very small. Now nobody backed her up.
There was an extraordinary tension in the room. The bride swayed. The minister stopped speaking. His eyes were full of doubt and question. For just a moment the ceremony seemed to have frozen, to have come to a stop upon a point where the equiUbrium was perfect, between yes and no. Then decision rippled across the group like fire in grass. .-•
The groom's ^and came under the bride's elbow. The groom's head bent, solictiously. The bride's head came up. She smiled. The minister cleared his throat.
The ceremony continued. Until it was over.
They were married.
The wedding guests closed upon the couple with little coos. But Johnny Sims moved disconsolately away into the hall, out through the double doors, to stand upon the porch, to look into the thicket of trees, seeing nothing but defeat. So much for tricks, he thought.
Someone came out behind him after a while and it was MarshaU. "Too bad."
Johnny couldn't lift his tongue to make an agreeing sound.
The bride cut the cake. For some reason, the wedding guests were more comfortable making a fuss of the old lady. The old lady rather expected it. So the groom said into the bride's ear, "Change, love? Let's get away soon."
"Should we?"
'^ho cares whether we should? Hurry. Do you want Dorothy?" He looked impatient. "You girls will talk."
Nan picked up the white skirt in her two hands and turned her foot. "No, we won't. I don't want to talk. I want us to get away. I don't need Dorothy. I'll change."
"Do, love," he approved softly.
The bride sHpped out of the dining room and up the stairs. The groom drifted past the bridesmaid.
"Help Nan?" he whispered in her ear.
Dorothy turned briUiant eyes. "Of course," she said graciously.
But when Dorothy got up to Nan's door and opened it. Nan said coolly, "Don't bother. Dotty. I can manage. You go back down."
"All right," said Dorothy placidly. She withdrew, closing the door.
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