by Peggy Gaddis
“It gives me the greatest of pleasure, Captain Parker,” boomed the Mayor, handsomely ignoring the fact that Tip was a mere lieutenant (j.g.) “to welcome you, on behalf of your proud townspeople. And to offer you, as a very small measure of our esteem, the key to the city that holds you so dear.”
Mayor Lloyd dropped his pompous manner and his booming voice to a more nearly confidential tone as he added, “And the key to the city really means something this time, Tip, my boy. It entitles you to enter any store or shop in the city today and select anything you want, from a baby grand piano from Friedman’s Music Store, to a bale of hay from Tom Foster’s feed store. And the folks that run the stores are going to be mighty hurt if you don’t collect, son!”
Tip made his taut face take on the semblance of a smile.
“It’s an irresistible temptation, Mayor,” he said and his voice was picked up and broadcast via loud speaker so that all the crowd, practically every man, woman, and child in the city could hear it. “I’ve always wanted a baby grand piano — and I imagine we could use a bale of hay, too!”
A great laughing cheer went up from the crowd, and then the Mayor was urging Tip, Mrs. Parker, and Geraldine towards a long, gleaming black car gaily decorated with streamers.
“There’s a reception at the Mansion House, and after that a banquet and a tour of the city — ” began the Mayor importantly.
Tip’s face twisted and he murmured to Geraldine in a voice that was an agonized appeal, for all its words did not reach beyond her ears, “Get me out of this, Gerry — for God’s sake, get me out of this!”
She felt the trembling of his arm and knew he was holding himself rigid only by exerting every atom of his will; and suddenly she paused before the microphone which the Mayor was urging towards Tip, and said clearly, gaily:
“Here, wait a minute! After all, he’s my husband, and I’ve only barely seen him! I hope you don’t think I’m going to share him with all of you before we’ve even had a chance to get acquainted again? If you do, you’re mistaken! I’m not that unselfish! Later, maybe, but right this minute, I’m going to take him home and put him to bed! After all, he’s not very strong yet.”
It was a hasty little speech and she had let the words tumble out, because there was no time to plan more carefully. But her impulsiveness had been exactly the right note, and people laughed and cheered and swallowed their disappointment.
Mayor Lloyd said, “I’m sorry. Of course he’s not up to the sort of shindig we’d planned. But we thought when we got Mrs. Parker’s wire — ”
Geraldine said sharply, “Mrs. Parker wired you the time of our arrival?”
“Of course. She knew we’d want to give the boy a welcome he wouldn’t forget.”
Mrs. Parker had stepped into the car, cold-eyed. Tip stumbled a little as he followed her; as the door was held open, Geraldine turned slightly to the left and looked up into Phil’s eyes. He was standing beside the car, held there in a press of people who had crowded about to see or hear or touch their beloved son who had come home so dramatically from the dead.
For a moment Geraldine’s heart turned over. She felt her face go white, but there were many curious eyes on them, and so she made herself say quietly, “Hello, Phil.”
“Welcome home, Gerry,” said Phil.
And then Geraldine got into the car and it swirled away from the traffic and out towards the Parker home.
“I must say, Geraldine,” stated Mrs. Parker in cold anger, “that was an extremely ill-bred gesture of yours, dragging Tip away from the welcome his friends had prepared. I’m disappointed.”
“It was an extremely thoughtless gesture of yours, Mother,” said Tip and the measure of his displeasure was attested by the unaccustomed title, “to arrange anything like that. It takes a guy in much better shape than I’m feeling to face a thing like that.”
Hurt, Mrs. Parker said stiffly, “I saw no reason why you should sneak back to town like a — a — anybody.”
Tip said wearily, “O.K., Mother, skip it. Only I asked Gerry to get me out of it and I thought she did a very nice job of it.”
His hand closed warmly over Geraldine’s and held it. Mrs. Parker made the rest of the trip in deeply offended silence, which Tip quietly ignored.
He looked about him with keen delight as the car swept up the driveway. In the garden, tulips were lifting shining cups of beauty; the grass was green, and some of the trees already wore tiny green leaf buds, tightly curled as a baby’s fist. Birds sang and darted like mad things, intent on nest-building and matters of grave import to themselves. All along the peach orchard there were drifts of pinkish-white bloom where the earliest peaches were already flowering.
Tip stood on the steps for a moment, his shoulders hunched a little against the crisp spring air, and his eyes drank in the scene about him. And Geraldine heard him say under his breath, “Home! I’m home!” as though he could scarcely believe the miracle that had happened.
Mrs. Parker, leaving her son and Geraldine in the big reception hall, had hurried away up the gracefully curving staircase, and now she came to the head of the stairs and called down to them gaily.
“Come along, children. I have such a lovely surprise for you.”
Tip smiled at Geraldine, tucked her hand through his arm, and they mounted the stairs side by side. At the doorway of the room that Tip and Geraldine had so briefly shared, and where Geraldine had cried herself to sleep, for so many nights, Mrs. Parker stood back and they walked in.
It had been completely redecorated. The walls done over, new and very handsome furniture installed. There was a private bath, gleaming in ivory and pale green tile; the adjoining bedroom had been turned into a sitting room, gay and colorful with hand-blocked linen draperies, blond maple furnishings, and a moss-green rug on the floor. The windows looked out over the garden, with the green, velvety sweep of the meadow beyond, ending where the yellow-green willows marked the tiny creek, the darker green loveliness of pine trees riding the hill beyond.
“I wanted you to have a little apartment all your own, so you wouldn’t want to go away and leave me all by myself,” said Mrs. Parker eagerly. “There is such a lot of space in this house — surely enough for all of us. But I know young people need privacy and a place of their own, so I thought this would be better than your having just a room. You can even have your meals served here if you like.”
Tip put his arms about her, suddenly remorseful.
“Nonsense, Miss Lucy! Such foolishment you’re talking,” he protested gently. “This is an elegant place. Geraldine can have it and I’ll take the guest room across the hall.”
Mrs. Parker opened her mouth to protest but Tip disposed of that neatly by kissing her and having his baggage taken across the hall, while his mother followed Geraldine into the luxurious, newly furnished apartment, her eyes cold.
“What’s all this nonsense about you and Tip having separate quarters?” she demanded so sharply that Geraldine’s color rose.
“It’s the way he wants it until he is more nearly himself.”
“You haven’t broken your promise to me?”
“I have not!”
“I don’t believe you!”
Geraldine stiffened and her head went up a little.
“I haven’t broken my promise,” she said evenly.
Mrs. Parker nodded. “I hope not.”
“But you realize, of course, that sooner or later somebody here is going to tell him and that it would be much better for him to hear it from me.”
“I don’t realize anything of the sort! If you tell him, he’ll attach a great deal of importance to it. He might even believe that you’re really in love with this — this Donaldson man.”
“As, of course, you and I both know I am, in spite of all I can do.” Geraldine could not keep back the bitter words, though the moment they were out she regretted them,
Mrs. Parker studied her with hostile eyes.
“Have you been writing to him?” she dema
nded flatly.
Geraldine’s cheeks blazed.
“Certainly not!”
“Yet he was at the station today. Wretched bad taste, I must say.”
Geraldine controlled her temper with an effort and made herself speak with an entirely deceptive calm.
“I hardly see how he could have avoided participating in the town’s welcome to Tip, considering that Tip is the grandson of the founder of the mills, and Phil General Manager.”
“Just the same, I think his presence there was unnecessary.” Mrs. Parker was unconvinced because she wanted to be.
Geraldine said, through her teeth, “If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to freshen up a bit. I’m rather tired.”
Mrs. Parker glanced about the luxurious apartment and said, annoyed, “It’s too absurd of Tip to insist on that room across the hall. Oh, well, I dare say we shall all feel better after a bath and a nap. I’ll see you at teatime.”
She went away and Geraldine closed the door behind her and stood leaning against it, trembling, her hands over her eyes.
She had steeled herself, all the way back to Marthasville, for her first sight of Phil. And yet when she had looked up into his eyes, she had felt the ground rock beneath her feet. There had been a dizzying rush of sweetness through her heart, like the first breath of new life to come. They had spoken only two words to each other, and yet their hearts had cried aloud in utter ecstasy and delight, and a yearning Geraldine knew she could never quite erase from her heart.
Chapter Seven
And so the new life began. A strange, unreal sort of life it sometimes seemed to Geraldine, adapting herself and all her plans for the days and nights to Tip’s need.
At first he seemed content merely to go for longer and longer walks, more often than not alone. As the spring days grew warmer, and the blessed miracle of greening trees and springing flowers walked the earth, he lay for hours on a canvas chair in the garden, his unseeing eyes on the low, far hills that lifted round blue shoulders against a sky almost as blue.
He was fond of Beth and Tom and he and Geraldine went to them often to dinner. The first time they went, Geraldine went with Beth into the kitchen, leaving Tom and Tip alone in the living room, and Beth looked at Geraldine anxiously.
“How are you, darling?” she asked gently.
“Oh, I’m fine, Mother,” Geraldine answered swiftly.
Beth hesitated and then said with a little rush, “I’m not sure how you’re going to feel about it, Gerry, but — Phil’s living here.”
Geraldine stood perfectly still for a moment, her eyes wide and unbelieving, and Beth rushed on.
“You see, darling, the carriage house had been all fixed up and it was so much more comfortable than that awful room he had in town; and — well, Tom and I are fond of him and he’s very lonely and it seemed silly not to make use of the place. He has his meals with us and — well, it seemed a good idea.” Her anxious voice trailed to silence as she watched Geraldine’s white face.
“It seems to me a good idea, too,” said Geraldine when she could trust her voice. “I’m sure it’s — a very pleasant arrangement all around.”
“Then you don’t mind?” Beth asked anxiously.
Geraldine smiled at her brightly.
“Mind? But for goodness’ sake, why should I? I think it’s splendid.”
Beth relaxed a little.
“Of course he won’t be here to dinner tonight,” she offered.
“But why on earth not?” protested Geraldine and there was a little taut line about her mouth for all her attempt at a smile. “After all, darling, Marthasville’s a small town and he and Tip have to meet sooner or later.”
And then Beth put a question she had longed to ask, but had dreaded to.
“How does Tip feel about — Phil?” she asked.
Geraldine said stiffly, “How should he feel? He doesn’t even know Phil.”
“Darling, you know what I mean — about your being engaged to Phil.”
“Tip doesn’t know it — not yet,” answered Geraldine evenly.
Beth’s anxious eyes flew wide with shock.
“But, Gerry! Why, darling, how can you possibly hope to keep him from knowing? Oh, Gerry, he must know — and from you.”
Geraldine put down the salad she was trying to mix, and turned swiftly to her mother.
“Then you feel that, too?” she asked.
“But how else could I feel?”
“Tip’s mother feels it would be sheer cruelty to tell him now — that it might upset him dangerously.”
“Oh, but that’s utterly silly!” protested Beth sharply. “Why, Gerry, you know perfectly well someone will let it out — and to have him find out by accident would be — Oh, Gerry, it would be insane. You mustn’t risk it! Gerry, you’ve got to tell him and let him decide for himself!”
Geraldine nodded. “That’s the way I feel, Mother. I’m going to tell him.”
“Of course, darling, you must!”
Beth could not quite keep her anxious eyes from Tip and Geraldine the rest of the evening; and when they had said good night and were driving back to the big, imposing Parker place, Tip relaxed a little and grinned boyishly at Geraldine.
“I like your dad,” he said happily. “And your mother’s a sweetheart.”
“They’re very nice people,” Geraldine agreed happily.
“And they have a very nice daughter,” Tip told her, with a little caressing gesture. “A very nice daughter. I’m rather fond of her.”
“Thanks, mister,” said Geraldine with a slightly unsteady impishness, and impulsively she added, “Enough to forgive her if she — had a confession to make?”
Tip stared at her, frowning a little, all the boyishness gone from his face. “Are you trying to tell me, Gerry, my girl, that you have a deep, dark secret in your past?”
Geraldine was still for a moment and then she said wryly, “I’m afraid it’s something like that”
“Then I don’t want to hear it,” Tip told her brusquely.
“But, Tip dear — ”
“Whatever it was, you’re forgiven! And if I don’t have to hear what it was, then I don’t have to bother forgetting it! Remember what I said on the train? That if you ever insist on telling all’ then I’ll have to come clean — and, lady, I refuse! Let’s let bygones be bygones, and start over. It’s the only way I’ll have it, Gerry! I mean that!”
He was getting himself worked up. Geraldine set her teeth hard for a moment and then she said evenly, “If that’s the way you want it — only when some kind friend rushes in to warn you of my — er — indiscretion — remember, I tried to tell you!”
Tip relaxed and now his grin was back.
“You couldn’t be indiscreet if you tried. You don’t know how, so forget it. I don’t want to hear it,” he told her firmly.
And so they had gone on from that, day after day, with Tip’s lean, gaunt face filling out, his long, gaunt body taking on a few pounds of badly needed weight. His walks grew longer; he slept better; he looked almost himself again, except that the old gay arrogance was gone forever and he was gentle where once he had been impudent, almost humble where once he had been arrogant.
He came home late for dinner one evening with a light of excitement in his eyes when he joined his mother and Geraldine in the living room, where they had been waiting for him.
“Well, girls,” he said as he came into the room, “I’d like you to pack a lunch-pail for me tomorrow — a couple of hard-boiled eggs, a dry sandwich and a banana. I’m joining the working classes.”
Geraldine and Mrs. Parker exchanged a surprised glance.
“But, my dear boy, what on earth do you mean?” protested Mrs. Parker.
“I mean I’ve got a job, Miss Lucy — a perfectly swell job, and I start in the morning,” said Tip happily and accepted the cocktail Geraldine poured for him.
“A job?” bleated Mrs. Parker. “What sort of a job?”
Tip grinned at her abov
e the dry Martini.
“Now, what a question, Miss Lucy! Where else would a Parker get a job but in the mills, of course?”
“But you aren’t strong enough!” Mrs. Parker was angry.
“I’ll never get any stronger loafing, Miss Lucy. I’ll only develop a first-class set of heebie-jeebies to match the ones I brought back with me,” Tip assured her with a trace of grimness in his voice. “It’s a swell job. I’m going to wear overalls and carry a lunch-pail and work my way up from the bottom rung of the ladder until I know as much about the mills as that Donaldson guy.”
At the name, Geraldine was very still, her hands locked in her lap, her eyes on them. She heard Mrs. Parker’s swiftly caught breath but dared not look at her.
“You know, he’s quite a fellow,” said Tip enthusiastically, oblivious to the sudden tenseness in the room. “I like him a lot. He certainly has a head on his shoulders and I bet there isn’t one inch of that factory or a job in it that he doesn’t know like the palm of his hand. He’s a regular — from hairpins to shoelaces.”
Geraldine’s lower lip was caught between her teeth and she did not raise her eyes. But she felt Mrs. Parker’s sharp, angry glance.
“If you want to go into the mills, dear boy, then the thing for you to do is take over Mr. Donaldson’s position as General Manager,” Mrs. Parker insisted stiffly, and was interrupted by Tip’s derisive, gay laugh.
“Oh, Miss Lucy, what foolishment you do talk!” he cried and dropped an arm about her plump shoulders, hugging her hard. “Take over Donaldson’s job? Maybe ten or fifteen years from now when I know half as much as he does about it! Right now, I’m only too relieved to have any kind of a job where I can learn some of the things I need to know.”
Dinner was announced and they went in, Mrs. Parker still protesting half-tearfully, Tip in gay spirits, teasing her, laughing at her, but still determined to begin work tomorrow on a job that would necessitate the wearing of overalls and getting himself very greasy. He seemed to relish the prospect. He was full of eager chatter, and more nearly himself than Geraldine had seen him since he came home.
