Romance Classics

by Peggy Gaddis

  “I know Wayde,” she said through her teeth.

  “Oh, sure, the charmer, the ladies’ man, the man who can wind any gal around his little finger,” Steve sneered. “Naturally he’s going to persuade you he’s innocent in the hope you’ll get your father to defend him. But you’re not going to, because Judge Carter isn’t strong enough and I won’t permit it.”

  That stung Lynn into swift, angry speech.

  “You’re not going to permit it?” she flashed at him.

  “You heard me,” said Steve grimly. “I know his physical condition much better than you do. Remember, I was here with him during his illness last winter.”

  Lynn shrank a little. It would always hurt her that it had been a stranger who had done a family duty towards her father at such a time.

  “So because I know your father’s condition, and because I know that he’s not strong enough to go through the ordeal of a trial, I am not going to permit him to risk it,” Steve finished.

  “He will want to.”

  “Oh, sure. So you’re going to tell him that McCullers doesn’t want him,” Steve said shortly.

  “But, Steve, Wayde does want Dad.”

  “I’m sure he does! He’s counting heavily on the fact of your father’s popularity in town, knowing that the smallest straw will help him, and caring absolutely nothing that such a defense from your father could easily cost your father’s life. But McCullers wouldn’t care any more about that than he did about shooting Larry Holland down in cold blood.”

  Lynn cried out wildly, raggedly, “Steve — don’t. I won’t listen — I won’t—”

  “Then you’ll tell your father that McCullers has wired one of his fancy lawyers in New York, who will fly down to defend him,” said Steve grimly. And his tone made it a statement, not a question.

  “I — yes, Steve — if you think I should—” Lynn crumpled beside him in the car.

  “I know you should,” Steve told her grimly, as they turned in at the driveway and stopped beside the house. “And you’d better make it convincing, too. You understand me?”

  “No,” said Lynn huskily. “I don’t understand you. I’ll never understand you. I’m not sure that I want to.”

  “That worries me a lot,” drawled Steve, his tone giving weight to the words, as she got out of the car and stumbled up the steps and through the door.

  Ruth came hurrying to meet them, white-faced, anxious.

  “Your father’s gone over to the hospital,” she said swiftly. “Chief Hudgins called and said Larry had rallied and your father could have five minutes with him. How was Wayde?”

  “Oh, he’s fine,” Lynn stammered. “He’s wired for a lawyer from New York and expects to be out on bail at any time.”

  “If Larry pulls through,” Steve said grimly.

  “But you said he had rallied,” Lynn said to her mother.

  “The doctors are being very wary,” Ruth answered wearily. “They still say he has no more than a fifty-fifty chance, but he came out of the sedative influence, or whatever they call it. They said he was rational, but very weak. They’re giving him blood transfusions. They say it’s something to see: practically the whole of Rivertown lined up in a row offering blood donations for him.”

  She sighed and shook her head in bewilderment.

  “Poor Larry! I’d never have dreamed he was so popular, so well-liked,” she admitted.

  “He’s in trouble, and his town is rallying around,” Steve pointed out. “They’re taking sides with him against the foreigner in our midst, that’s all. Once he is well and out of the hospital, he’ll go back to being a rather unsavory little punk.”

  “If only he gets well!” Ruth breathed, and turned anxiously to Lynn. “Did Wayde tell you anything about how it happened?”

  “How could he?” Lynn flashed hotly. “He wasn’t even there! He’d gone to Jacksonville on business.”

  “Oh, then,” Ruth’s eyes were eager with relief, “he has an alibi!”

  Reluctantly, Lynn shook her head, and Steve said dryly, “Claims he saw nobody who would remember seeing him at any specific time. Worse than no alibi at all.”

  “Oh, dear!” Ruth mourned.

  Lynn said stiffly, “You may as well know, Mother, that Wayde asked me to marry him and I said I’d love to.”

  There was a moment of shocked silence, and then Steve said harshly, “You’ll have five to ten years to change your mind, Lynn. It will take him that long to do his time, if Larry lives. Otherwise—”

  Lynn cringed and gave him a blazing look before she turned and ran from the hall and up the stairs to her own room.

  She gave a violent start when there was a knock on her door, and roused a little as the door opened and the Judge came in.

  She stumbled toward him, and his arms closed about her and held her as he had held her when she was a child, grieving for a broken toy.

  “Now, now, honey,” he soothed her.

  He was haggard-looking, and her heart was smitten at the thought of the emotional strain he was undergoing.

  She sat on the arm of his chair, her arm about his shoulder, and fought with every ounce of strength at her command not to reveal to him the depths of her anxiety.

  “How is Larry?” she managed at last.

  “A very little better. The doctors admit it’s encouraging, though they still won’t say more than that ‘his chances are very slightly improved,’” said the Judge.

  “Did you see him?”

  “Oh, yes,” he answered, and sighed heavily. “For only a minute or two. He wanted to see me, and the doctors agreed I could listen to him, if I wouldn’t ask him any alarming questions. As if I’d know any to ask him.”

  “Well?” Lynn’s voice was taut.

  Judge Carter looked up at her, and then away as though he found it hard to endure the anguish in her eyes.

  “He tells a pretty straight story, honey,” he admitted reluctantly. “And Chief Hudgins and Sheriff Tait are convinced he’s telling the truth.”

  Lynn stood up swiftly, her eyes blazing.

  “Well, I’m not,” she said hotly. “You’re not either, are you, Dad?”

  Judge Carter hesitated, while terror knocked at her heart and drew an icy finger down her spine.

  “Honey, Ruth told me how you feel about Wayde,” he said slowly, reluctantly. “I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t upset, under the circumstances. I know you believe in him completely, but — well, the boy’s story is pretty convincing. He hasn’t owned a gun since he first got in trouble. It was one of the terms of his being placed on probation: that he shouldn’t be allowed a gun or a knife. And nobody else hunts in those woods.”

  “Oh, yes they do, Dad,” Lynn reminded him fiercely. “Remember how Bert complains about his ‘little folks’ being shot by hunters?”

  “Not by real hunters, honey. Just kids with air rifles,” Judge Carter pointed out heavily. “And the gun used to shoot Larry came from the gun room at Inspiration Hill. That’s a matter of established fact.”

  Lynn drew a deep, hard breath.

  “Even if Wayde himself told me he did it, I wouldn’t believe it,” she cried hotly.

  Judge Carter sighed as he looked up at her.

  “Steve tells me that Wayde doesn’t want me to defend him,” he said quietly. “Naturally, I had planned to offer, but Steve feels that since I have been Larry’s attorney ever since the boy was twelve years old, I’d do Wayde more harm than good.

  “I’m a little hurt, I admit,” said the Judge impulsively. “But I suppose Wayde knows best; perhaps he feels one of his own friends from New York could do a better job.”

  “He doesn’t feel anything of the kind,” Lynn flung out hastily. “He’d rather have you than anybody.”

  Judge Carter looked surprised.

  “Then why did he refuse to allow me or Steve to defend him?” he asked.

  Lynn set her teeth hard against the impulse to tell her father the truth: that Wayde had wanted him, but th
at Steve had felt he wasn’t strong enough, and that Steve himself felt he couldn’t afford to risk angering the people of Oakville and Rivertown by defending him!

  “Oh, I don’t know, Dad,” she stumbled, trying to explain without revealing the truth. “I suppose maybe he felt that — well, that he’s a stranger here and people resent him anyway, and that if you tried to help him, it would make you unpopular.”

  There was a spark of anger in the Judge’s tired eyes.

  “I hope never to reach the place in my profession where I refuse to defend an innocent man, wrongfully accused, for fear of making myself unpopular,” he said sharply.

  “I know you won’t.” Lynn kissed his cheek. “And you do feel he’s innocent, and wrongfully accused, don’t you?”

  The Judge hesitated for a long moment, and Lynn’s nerves were stretched like rubber bands as she waited.

  At last he looked up at her and said heavily, “I wish with all my heart I could say that I do, but I just don’t know.”

  She caught her breath on a small, agonized sob, and he put his arms about her and drew her down, cradling her as he had cradled her as a child.

  “I’m truly sorry, honey,” he went on softly, stroking her tumbled curls. “If I could talk to Wayde, have him tell me all he can, as his lawyer, we might be able to find some loophole. But since he prefers someone else—”

  He sighed again and went on after a moment, “Maybe he’s wise, at that. Maybe some of his smart New York lawyers can see the thing from a different angle. Living here, knowing the Hollands, the local people, I may be overlooking some fact—”

  Lynn asked huskily, “Can’t he be released on bond? Bail, or something? I can’t bear to think of him caged up over there like a wild animal.”

  “At the moment, Lynn — and you must believe me, my dear — he is much safer there than he would be if he were at liberty,” the Judge told her gravely.

  “Safer?” Lynn barely breathed the word, looking at him with wide eyes touched with panic. “You mean if he was free, back at home—”

  “You have no idea how worked up people are, honey,” Judge Carter told her gravely, “in Rivertown especially. Holland’s doing everything he can to stir people up, and if Wayde were in jail here — well, Sheriff Tait and Chief Hudgins knew that wouldn’t do at all. And if they reasoned he wouldn’t be safe in jail here, how do you think they’d feel if he were out on bond and up there at Inspiration Hill — alone, except for the servants?”

  Lynn’s eyes were wide and shocked as she turned her head and looked through the window at the big old house that crowned its hill, outlined against the last glimmering light of the dying day. No lights showed in the house on this side. She knew the servants were busy in the service wing on the opposite side of the house. But in the long, barnlike drawing room, the vast dining room, the section where at this time of evening Wayde would normally be, there were no lights. The loneliness of the scene was terrifying.

  She got up suddenly and walked across the room and turned to face her father, who was watching her anxiously.

  “I can’t make myself believe it,” she burst out at last. “Oakville, my home town; Rivertown, that I’ve known all my life. The people here that I’ve always thought were kind and friendly and hospitable — and now this! It’s horrible! They’re not like people at all; they’re like savages!”

  “You mustn’t take it like that, Lynn,” her father advised. “If it were not for your interest in Wayde—”

  “Not interest, Dad. I love him. I’m going to marry him!”

  Judge Carter sighed and managed a faint, unconvincing smile.

  “You’re old enough to know your own mind,” he said comfortingly. “We’ll just have to wait and see what develops.”

  “I’ll wait. Because I know Wayde didn’t do this horrible thing and somehow, some way, people are going to be forced to believe that!”

  “I hope so. I hope so with all my heart!” said her father fervently, and stood up. “You’d better get some rest now. Your mother is going to bring your dinner up on a tray.”

  “I’m not hungry, Dad.”

  “But you must eat.”

  Lynn hugged him, kissed his cheek and smiled at him lovingly.

  “Don’t worry about me, Dad. I’m tough! I can roll with the punches. Remember you taught me that a long time ago?” She smiled at him.

  “Oh, yes, you’re tough — you’re about as tough as a three-week-old kitten,” her father said tenderly. And after the door had closed behind him Lynn stood for a long moment, drawn to her full height.

  Seventeen

  For a day or two Lynn roamed the house like a restless spirit. Ruth watched her anxiously and was very gentle and loving. The Judge seemed to grow thinner and more frail beneath the burden of his grief for her, and Steve was cold-eyed, speaking to her only when he had to.

  The news from the hospital was better. It was now admitted that Larry’s chances were improving. The doctors said cautiously the boy had a good chance of making a complete recovery, and so some of the hatred and condemnation of the people of Oakville and Rivertown was dissipated. But Jim Holland was as active as ever, and there were still rumblings of fury against a man who would shoot down a boy and leave him dying in the woods. And it was no thanks to McCullers, said public opinion, that the boy had managed the superhuman effort of getting out of the woods and being rescued from death.

  Lynn slipped out of the house one afternoon when Ruth was engaged with some friends. She walked down across the back lot and into the woods, and felt more dispirited than she had ever felt. Her father and Steve agreed that things would be eased for Wayde, now that Larry was going to recover. But he would be sentenced, and would serve anywhere from five to ten years, they felt, for aggravated assault and attempted murder.

  Hearing them, Lynn’s mind had felt dazed and stupid. They couldn’t possibly be talking about Wayde! It seemed so completely fantastic to her that anybody could possibly believe Wayde capable of so vicious a crime.

  She was scarcely conscious of where she was, and she did not see Bert Estes until he stepped from the bushes that had concealed him and spoke her name.

  ‘Oh, Bert.” She turned and smiled at him. “I didn’t hear you.”

  “No’m, I know you didn’t.” Bert smiled his childlike smile at her, his eyes eager. “I was afeared you’d gone away again, Miss Lynn. I been here in the woods ever’ day lookin’ for you. I got to ask you something.”

  “Have you, Bert? What is it?” Lynn was desperately tired, her mind completely occupied with Wayde, but this gentle, childlike creature had aroused her sympathy and she could do no less than listen to him.

  “Well, let’s set here on this log, Miss Lynn,” suggested Bert eagerly. “And you won’t tell nobody on me, will you, Miss Lynn?”

  “Of course I won’t, Bert. We’re friends, remember?” Lynn smiled.

  “Well, Miss Lynn, two-three, maybe four days ago, I was here feedin’ some of my little folks,” Bert began, “and I seen somebody comin’ with a gun. It scairt me, ‘cause I thought sure they’d shoot my little folks. So I just crep’ along behind the bushes, watching so’s I could maybe see what he was goin’ to do. He come down from where Mr. McCullers lives.”

  Lynn’s hands gripped each other so tightly that the pain helped her not to cry out. Oh, no, she told herself frantically; Bert wasn’t going to tell her he’d seen Wayde shoot Larry.

  “I dunno where Larry ever got him a gun like that,” Bert went on, oblivious to her sudden tension. But when Lynn’s hand shot out and gripped his arm, Bert recoiled from her, fear riding high in his childlike face.

  “Larry had a gun?” she gasped. “Larry Holland?”

  “Well, yessum, Miss Lynn. That’s what I’m tellin’ you.” Bert was bewildered by her sudden excitement. “A right fine gun ‘twas, too. He come right toward where I was standin’, and I could see it, all shiny-new and fine. Where’d Larry ever get such a gun, Miss Lynn?”

  “W
as he alone, Bert?” Lynn asked, and the words came from her throat with difficulty.

  “Sure, Miss Lynn, like always,” Bert told her. “Only other times I’ve seen him here he didn’t have only a slingshot. He was mean with that, though. He could kill birds or squirrels with it. Only that day I seen him he had this fine — pretty gun. Reckon where he got it, Miss Lynn?”

  “I don’t know, Bert.” Lynn steadied her voice with an effort, knowing that if she let Bert see how breathless with excitement she was, he might forget what he was trying to tell her. “But what did he do with the gun?”

  “Oh, he threw it away,” said Bert, “soon as he shot hisself.”

  Lynn cried out sharply, “What?”

  Alarmed, Bert tried to draw away from her.

  “Well, yessum, Miss Lynn,” he stammered. “I seen him. He shot at a ground squirrel, but it run and then he run, too, and he caught his toe on a root and fell and the gun went off. And he just laid there. And there was blood all over him.”

  Bert shuddered at the memory.

  Lynn sat very still, dazed momentarily by the wave of relief that swept over her. Here, out of the mouth of this innocent, bewildered creature with his hulking body of a man and his mind of a child, she had been told what had really happened here in these woods. She had never believed that Wayde was guilty. And now she knew! She could have screamed aloud at the exquisite knowledge of the truth.

  “You ain’t mad at me, are you, Miss Lynn?” whimpered Bert uneasily. “Honest, I didn’t do nothing to him.”

  “And the gun, Bert? What did he do with the gun?” Lynn fought to keep her voice low-pitched, steady, so that she would not startle him further.

  “Oh, it’s over there where he throwed it, Miss Lynn.”

  “Show me, Bert!” she urged.

  “Well, yessum, but you ain’t goin’ to let ‘em do nothing’ to me, are you, Miss Lynn?”