Romance Classics

by Peggy Gaddis

  Scott laughed. It was a laugh entirely devoid of mirth, and a trifle derisive, but his tone was mild as he said, “I’m not sure just what you expect me to say.”

  “Considering the outrageous way you treated Chloe last night — ”

  “Frankly, I’m afraid I consider the shoe on the other foot. Let’s call it the outrageous way Chloe treated me last night — leaving me on the highway miles from town, with a man so grievously injured that it was almost a matter of life and death to get help for him.”

  “A no-good nigger who got a taste of what was coming to him.” Stuart’s tone was savage.

  “A human being who had been the victim of a hooded mob,” Scott cut in swiftly.

  Parham made a furious gesture, his eyes blazing.

  “You’ve got the Ku Klux on your brain, haven’t you? No matter what happens you are sure it’s the Klan?”

  “Last night’s episode had the Klan’s signature unmistakably; even the county cops thought so,” Scott said dryly.

  “That’s one of the reasons, Scott, I feel that your behavior was unforgivable,” snapped Stuart. “You were on your way with your fiancée to a dinner party being given in your honor. Was there any sane reason why you could not have driven her on to the Maysons’, explained things, telephoned to the hospital to send an ambulance to pick the man up?”

  Scott stared at him, his brows drawn together.

  “Look here, you’re not serious. You couldn’t possibly expect a doctor worthy of the name to pass by and leave his job to somebody else?” he demanded.

  “It would have been a matter of minutes, half an hour at most, before an ambulance could have gotten there,” Stuart pointed out savagely. “You could have telephoned from the Maysons’, and that way Chloe would not have been humiliated before all her friends. So much so that she feels that she can never face them again, and has gone away, perhaps for good.”

  Scott eyed Parham curiously. “You feel that I should just have left the man to die — remember I was able to give first aid which at least improved his chances of living — just to have kept a social engagement?”

  Stuart drew a long, hard breath and thrust his fingers through his hair with a gesture of impatience.

  “If the injured person had been a white man or woman — ” he said, and stopped as he saw the look on Scott’s face. “Oh, of course I know how you Yankees are. He was a human being and therefore entitled to your help. Scott, use your head. If he had been worked over by the Klan you can bet your bottom dollar that he’s a bad egg.”

  “Or else,” Scott interrupted quietly, his tone level, almost expressionless, “he was about to find out something that the Klan didn’t want him to find out.”

  “Just what do you mean by that?”

  “Jim — or Shorty, as he seems to be known among his friends — is a veteran. A good soldier, a patriotic soldier, he believed the things he was told: that he was fighting for a democratic form of life, a way of life in which all men are free and have a right to decent living conditions without prejudice. He has a son. He wants his son to have the way of life that his father fought for. And so he has been curious, shall we say? Curious to know the names of some of the men who feel themselves so righteous, so above the law that they can administer it themselves. And from what has happened to Shorty, I’d say he must have been getting pretty close to some unpleasant truths — unpleasant for somebody, at least — don’t you think?”

  Stuart had heard him out, eyes blazing, his jaw set and hard.

  “Is this harangue supposed to have some special meaning for me?” he asked at last.

  Scott met his blazing eyes. “I wouldn’t know,” he said coolly. “I only know that whoever heads this infamous outfit in these parts must be pretty important, because every attempt to find out anything about the Klan results in an uneasy ‘hush-hush’ business. Even the county cop who helped me to get Shorty to the clinic at River’s Edge warned me it wasn’t healthy to pry too deeply into such things as names.”

  Stuart was livid with anger, his eyes murky. “The county cop sounds like a very smart man,” he said through his teeth. “And you would be, too, if you accepted his advice.”

  “Thanks, but I’m incurably nosy about things like this,” Scott said quietly, and added sharply, “for the love of common sense, Parham, don’t you and these others who are fooling around with this thing know it’s dynamite? Another case or two like Shorty’s, and you’ll find the whole territory so full of federal investigators that a rabbit couldn’t hide from them.”

  Stuart said savagely, “Blast you, are you trying to warn me?”

  “If the warning is needed, why not?” Scott stood up and moved toward the door. “I don’t know anything about who is or is not in the Klan. I imagine Shorty’s found out a few things and — well, who knows? He can be protected if he cares to tell. And if he does, I’ve an idea that certain people in this town are not going to be so ‘biggoty’ themselves.”

  And while Stuart stood staring open-mouthed at him, Scott walked out and closed the door behind him.

  - 17 -

  Scott’s first feeling, once the shock had worn off, was one of almost acute relief that his engagement to Chloe was off. He was a little ashamed of the feeling and berated himself roundly. Chloe’s exquisite loveliness and her pretended keen interest in his profession had not been more than surface deep, he assured himself; he had discovered her selfishness, her complete absorption in her own charms, and her determination that she must be the most important thing in the world.

  “Wise after the fact, aren’t you?” he told himself, thinking back over the past few weeks, and the times they had quarreled because he had had to break dates with her in order to answer emergency calls to patients. Her callousness, her egotism, had left little rents here and there in the bright, soft fabric of her enchantment for him. He had told himself that once they were married she would change. And he had known in his heart, even as he had offered himself that specious comfort, that he was lying. She would not change. She was supremely satisfied with herself as she was; if there were changes to be made she expected other people to make them. If there were to be adjustments, they would have to be his, not hers.

  Of course the news of the broken engagement rocked the town, or at least that part of it which was concerned with Chloe Parham and the young doctor. The grapevine had reported the real reason behind the broken engagement: that Chloe had abandoned Scott, with a badly injured man on a country road. And sympathy was all with Scott. Not that Scott asked for it, wanted it, or even expected it. His engagement was his own affair, he felt; and the breaking of it was something he did not feel it necessary to discuss.

  A week after Chloe’s sudden departure for New York, Scott received a letter from Liss. He studied the square, ivory-tinted envelope, with its dashing handwriting and its New York postmark, then thrust it unopened into his pocket until he had finished his day’s work and was back in his apartment after dinner.

  He opened it with a feeling of reluctance. The address was in Liss’s writing, but would the letter it contained be from Chloe? Could it be that Chloe was begging forgiveness? It was as though when he held the letter in his hand he felt a thousand tiny silken strands, strong as steel, winding about him, dragging him in a direction he didn’t want to follow. Then he told himself he was being a fool and unfolded the letter.

  “Scott, My Hero,” it began exuberantly, “this is just to tell you that I admire you extravagantly and love you dearly — in, of course, a strictly platonic way. If ever a gal was simply spoiling for a comeuppance our little Chloe was that gal. And you certainly said comeuppance in fine style. I’m proud of you, darling! Anyway, she arrived here with blood in her eye, and breathing fire and brimstone. I concealed my delight at the knowledge the engagement was broken, and soothed her down by introducing her about among Clay’s more affluent friends. Among them there was an advertising executive who came up with the brilliant idea that Chloe, being definitely photogenic,
should become a model. He was just the man that could manage it — surprise, surprise! So now Chloe is happily installed in the Hotel Baronne, happy hunting ground of career gals, and doing all right for herself and having herself a time. And within less time than it takes to tell it, I feel quite sure that, being Chloe, she will snag herself a husband who can keep her in the style to which she will assuredly become accustomed in short order, since she has always felt that the best was no less than Chloe Parham deserved.

  “All of this, darling, I tell you in the fond belief that it will comfort you, you being the sort of blessed sap who might go around worrying for fear you’ve ruined the gal’s life! I assure you with all the vehemence at my command — which is considerable — you haven’t. So, have fun, darling and forget all about l’affaire Chloe, and if you’re as smart as I hope you are, you’ll suddenly discover that lovely gal, Kate Ryan, who is one of earth’s nicest creatures.

  “Clay sends you his best and if ever you are in these parts, he will see to it that you have the keys to the city and any other thing your little heart desires. By which you may gather that he and I are so happy we go around walking on clouds and bumping our heads against the stars, and you couldn’t be more right! And when I think that if you hadn’t told me some unpleasant facts about myself that I was too stupid to realize, I’d still be blundering around in the darkness, lonely and heart-sick — well, we don’t have to keep talking about it, do we? Anyway, we are eternally grateful, and with Clay’s wholehearted approval, I send you our love.”

  Scott grinned as he put the letter down. Liss was happy. Chloe was happy. And he need no longer worry about Chloe’s return to Hamilton or any suggestion that she would like the engagement to be resumed.

  The summer slid by and the long, lovely Indian summer that was winter in this sheltered Southern clime began. Scott was working. He was contented. He felt that he was definitely getting ahead, in all ways save one; and that was in his effort to learn something definite about the Ku Klux Klan with which he could go to the authorities and demand decisive action.

  Late one night in early October, he had had the unaccustomed luxury of getting to bed by ten o’clock. He was tired and he slept dreamlessly, until suddenly he was awakened by the sound of something thumping at the front door. Awake instantly, he leaped out of bed, but before he could answer the summons at the front door, he became aware of a strangely brilliant light that illuminated his room. Too bright for moonlight, too steady and white to be the headlights of a car, it drew him to the window, where he looked out on an unbelievable scene.

  Full in the center of the small lawn, stood a four-foot-high cross, blazing furiously. Beyond it in the brilliant light of that blazing cross, he saw a group clad in hoods and long white robes. It was his first sight of a Ku Klux Klan in full regalia, and for a moment it held him spellbound.

  The ghostly figures in the blazing white light were motionless. Fifteen or twenty in number, they were lined up watching the cross, making no sound, no movement. And Scott, feeling the brisk surge of anger that rose within him, sensed what a terrifying sight that would be to the usual Klan victims.

  But for himself there was no fear; just an angry determination to see the faces of one or two of these men at the least. If he could learn the identity of one or two, caught red-handed at the scene of a demonstration, then he would have something which he could use as evidence. He felt sure that if pressure were brought to bear on such men, positively identified, some action would have to be taken by the authorities.

  Even as the thought crossed his mind, he was jerking on his trousers, thrusting his bare feet into soft leather moccasins, and slipping silently down the hall to the back door. There was a low privet hedge between this cottage and the one next door.

  All but holding his breath, he slipped across the drive and managed to reach the shelter of the hedge. And then, bending low, moving as stealthily as some wild creature, he crept down the hedge to the sidewalk. The brilliant flare of the blazing cross was dying down now and there was a little stirring among the group of men — low-voiced murmurs as they prepared to depart, their work of intimidation supposedly over.

  At that moment, moving swiftly, silently, Scott leaped toward the nearest man, catching him from behind, ripping the hood from his face as the man swore and whirled around. For a moment, the man goggled at him, too surprised for action; and Scott saw his face.

  “Well, hello! Joe Blake, isn’t it?” said Scott happily.

  The man swore and leaped at him. Others, hearing the man’s oath, whirled, and Scott, fighting with everything he had, went back beneath the onslaught of fists and feet. For a moment he was conscious; and then a heavily booted toe struck viciously against his knee and he went down and stayed down….

  - 18 -

  He came back to consciousness slowly and reluctantly. He ached from head to foot and there was some sort of stricture about his left leg. He touched it experimentally and discovered that it was a bandage.

  By now he had managed to get his eyes open and to discover that he was in bed in a small, white-walled room. And a moment later there was the crisp rattle of a starched uniform and a nurse bent above him, smiling at him.

  “Good morning, Doctor Etheridge. And how are we feeling this morning?” she asked cheerfully, with the professional good cheer that most patients find very annoying.

  “A bit rocky,” he admitted frankly.

  “Well, naturally, you were pretty well beaten up, and it’s an outrage,” said the nurse, and swiftly controlled her unprofessional anger. “Here’s Doctor Searcy. He’s very anxious to talk to you a minute if you feel like talking.”

  “Sure. Hello, Doctor Searcy.” Scott’s voice sounded a trifle faint and he was a little embarrassed by it.

  “Well, well, my boy. Mighty glad to see you’re feeling a little more chipper,” said Doctor Searcy and his eyes were anxious and harassed. “This is an outrage. But we’re really going to town on them from here on out.”

  “That’s good news,” said Scott quickly. “It makes the whole thing more worthwhile.”

  “I don’t suppose you could identify any of them?”

  “Only one. Joe Blake,” answered Scott, and Doctor Searcy rose, nodding.

  “Well, just relax now and get well. Joe Blake, eh? That’s nice going, Scott, my boy; nice going.”

  “Look here, how long am I going to be laid up?” asked Scott anxiously.

  “Oh, a couple of weeks.”

  “Oh, but see here, I’ve got work to do.”

  Doctor Searcy grinned at him, amused. “And if you don’t mind my pointing it out, son, you’re in no shape to do anything but lie there and let that bad knee and a series of as fine contusions and bruises as I’ve ever seen heal up,” he pointed out. “As for your patients, don’t worry. We have a couple of thoroughly competent men here at the hospital, and I assure you your patients are in good hands.”

  “Thanks a million; that takes a load off my mind.”

  “I thought it would,” said Doctor Searcy, and went out.

  Scott became conscious of the sunshine that spilled through the window. Of the masses of flowers grouped about the room, so fresh and crisp, that he knew they must have been delivered just that morning. He could relax in the knowledge that at least one man of that mob had been identified, and if arrested would undoubtedly give the names of others, unwilling to suffer alone….

  Scott’s first visitors were Tim Ryan and Kate, and he welcomed them warmly, his eyes lingering happily on Kate. She carried an armful of fresh cut flowers from the gardens at River’s Edge, and as she handed them to the nurse, she smiled anxiously at Scott.

  “We’ve been terribly worried about you,” she told him as she bent above him. “You’ve given us all a terrific scare. But we are also very proud of you.”

  Scott’s hand clung to hers a little longer than was strictly necessary and his eyes saw the faint tinge of color that crept into her cheeks.

  “Proud of me? That
I can’t see. I’m afraid I failed to cover myself with glory,” he confessed ruefully.

  “That’s where you’re mistaken, Scott,” said Tim quietly. “The whole county is up in arms about what’s happened to you. The aroused citizenry are holding indignation meetings from one end of the county to the other, and the word is out that the Klan must go! There are rewards for information as to the identity of even one member, and the rewards are growing. A few thousand dollars can buy a lot of information against even such an outfit as the Klan.”

  “They are bringing in private detectives to see what information they can dig up, and there’s a rumor that the federal investigators are already here, working under cover,” Kate chimed in, her eyes bright and eager. “And there’s a warrant out for Joe Blake, but so far they haven’t managed to catch up with him. They will, though, I’m sure of it. So you see, Scott, why we are so proud of you.”

  Tim smiled down at him. “I don’t think you quite realize, Scott, how popular you are in these parts. The Klan couldn’t have selected a man in the whole county whose attack could have stirred up more of a hornet’s nest. The general thought seems to be, if the Klan can endanger the life of a man as fine and as vital to the welfare of the community as Doctor Etheridge, then the Klan must go, for nobody will be safe!”

  Scott beamed happily. “That makes the bruises much less painful. I’m practically a well man this minute.”

  “Well, you behave yourself and do what Doctor Searcy tells you and we’ll see you again soon,” said Tim, and drew Kate with him out of the room.

  They were only the first of his visitors; and there were many more as the days sped past and his injuries faded. It warmed his heart to realize that he was popular and well-liked and respected. It made him all the more contented, the more determined that Hamilton should be his home throughout the rest of his life….

  On his first day free of the hospital, he dined at River’s Edge. It was a gala occasion, though only Tim and Kate and Jane were there.