by Peggy Gaddis
She smiled at him dimly, her mouth a thin bitter twist.
“Well, you’ve been here a long time, too, Sammy my boy, and you haven’t had much chance to meet any really glamorous gals,” she reminded him, trying desperately for a flippancy she did not feel.
“Who’d want to, when I’ve known you since you were a squalling brat!” he pointed out, and could not keep back the words: “I’ve been waiting for you to grow up.”
It wasn’t at all what he had meant to say.
Her smile broadened a little, and she said huskily, “You’re sweet, Sam!”
And impulsively she lifted her face and brushed her lips across his weathered cheek. Sam started as though he had been slapped and thrust her away from him, saying sharply, “Don’t do that!”
Startled by his vehemence, Judy stared up at him.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to upset you,” she stammered bewilderedly.
Sam’s eyes glinted, and his jaw was set and hard as he glared down at her.
“Well, you should be old enough to realize that no man, however much he is your friend, likes to be used to compensate for an unrequited love,” he told her sharply. “Sorry if I sound like a Victorian valentine, but it’s time you realized that.”
She was still staring at him, and he turned his eyes away and said brusquely, “You’d better run on in the house. Miz’ Beth may need you, and I’ve got to get back to work.”
Chapter Two
Halfway up the stairs, Judy heard the Old Gentleman’s door close softly. She stood still for a moment before she set her teeth and went on up toward her own room.
Bix was outside the Old Gentleman’s door, scowling in the sun-drenched corridor. But as Judy came to the top of the stairs, he saw her, and his scowl vanished beneath a friendly, admiring smile as he came to meet her.
“Did he recognize you?” Judy asked evenly.
“You mean Grandfather? No, I don’t think so. But the lady in white said she was sure that he knew I was there. I hope he did,” said Bix, and added, “He’s changed a lot since I saw him last.”
“It’s been a longtime, Bix,” she reminded him.
A tinge of color crept into his face, that was almost as brown as Sam’s.
“I guess I’ve been a pretty rotten grandson not to have come home before this.”
“I suppose you’ve been very busy.” Her tone was completely noncommittal, with no hint of censure in it, but his eyes sharpened a little as he studied her.
“Well, yes, I have,” he admitted. “I wanted him to be proud of me, to make something of myself.”
Judy said evenly, “There was only one thing he really wanted of you. That was that you learn to manage Oakhill as the Bullards have done since they first came here.”
Bix’s eyes cooled.
“That’s too bad, because the one thing I don’t plan to do is settle down here and rusticate! Or is it just rust?” he asked her flatly.
She stared at him for a long moment, and then she asked, her voice uneasy, as though she knew the answer to her question even before she put it, “But the place will be yours. You are the Old Gentleman’s heir.”
“Oh, I haven’t decided what I’ll do with the place when it falls into my hands,” he admitted frankly. “I hope that the doctors are wrong and that my grandfather will live many more years. And to plan now what I will do with the place when it falls into my hands seems like planning his death. That I would never be willing to do.”
Judy drew a deep breath and said quietly, “It’s a very profitable place. Sam manages it, and I’m sure he’d be happy to show you the books. The place not only pays its own way but turns up a handsome profit every year.”
Bix smiled a thin-lipped, not too pleasant smile.
“By which you are saying that the money for my shenanigans over the years was earned by Oakhill, and I’m a so-and-so if I’m not willing to bury myself here and keep on spending the profits?”
“I’m not saying anything of the kind!”
“Well, that’s the way it sounded.”
“I’m sorry,” she answered stiffly. “I only meant that a great many people depend on Oakhill for their very existence: the house servants, the field hands, the tenant farmers, the dairy men, the stable hands—”
“You make it sound very much like big business,” he cut in dryly.
“And so it is,” Judy told him hotly, “as you’ll find out as soon as Sam takes you over the place and shows you the way things tick.”
“I’ll bet!” Bix drawled, obviously quite unimpressed. He added, his tone changing, “I believe you said something about six thoroughbreds that you exercise from time to time? Are they race horses? I know there are some famous racing stables in the vicinity.”
“No, these are very fine saddle horses,” Judy answered. “One of them, Starlight, is the Old Gentleman’s favorite. They understand each other so well that he swears she talks to him when they are out riding alone.”
“Do tell!” he drawled. “Why can’t you and I go for a ride in the morning so you can show me some of Oakhill? I think I’d prefer you as a guide to the peerless Sam! How about it?”
For just a moment Judy’s heart gave a small, startled leap before she managed to hush it and order it to behave itself.
“Of course,” she told him coolly. “I’ll arrange it.”
“Thanks,” he said quietly. “I was wondering how you’d feel about driving in to town for dinner with me? That looked like a nice town we came through, and I’m sure there is an excellent eating place there.”
Judy shook her head.
“Mam’ Chloe has been planning dinner for you ever since she first knew they had sent for you. She’s having all the things you used to like best, and she’d be heartbroken if you were not here to eat what she’s worked so hard to prepare for you.”
Bix leaned against the wall and grinned wryly.
“So Oakhill is that kind of a place, is it? Faithful old family retainers who were born on the place; whose ancestors were slaves and helped build it? Like that, eh? Then where are your crinoline and hoop skirts and darkies singing in the moonlight under the magnolia trees?”
She resented his tone and the words and the glint in his eyes, but she kept her temper under control as well as she could and said evenly, “I’m afraid Oakhill is very much that kind of place. Not only the Negroes, but also most of the farm hands and the other workers were born here; descended from the half-dozen able-bodied men the first Bullard brought to this country when it was just a wilderness. They have lived here all their lives as Miz’ Beth and I have done, as Sam has, and not one of us would ever want to live anywhere else.”
“Well, well.” He was laughing at her, and the laughter brought angry tears to her eyes. “It seems to me that you should be the heir to the place, not I, since you seem to have such a warm tenderness for it.”
“I’m not a Bullard,” she reminded him stiffly. “And a woman could not inherit it, even if I was the Old Gentleman’s daughter instead of his housekeeper’s daughter.”
He was studying her curiously, and now some of the warm admiration had gone out of his eyes.
“You’ve always lived here?” he asked after a moment.
“Of course.”
“Then how can you be so sure you wouldn’t like to live somewhere else?”
“Because I could never love any place the way I love Oakhill and because no other place could ever seem more like home, or more beautiful.”
“Or more deadly dull,” he said with unexpected harshness.
Before Judy could manage an answer to that, the door of the Old Gentleman’s room opened, and the nurse stood there, beckoning to them.
“The patient is awake,” she told them softly. “I think perhaps, Mr. Bix, he might just possibly recognize you. And if he does, it will do him good. Please come in. You, too, Judy.”
She held the door open, and Judy could not help seeing that Bix seemed almost reluctant to enter the roo
m. She followed him, went to the side of the bed and stood looking down at the carved-stone face on the pillow. Suddenly, with a little rush of tenderness, she bent, touched her lips to his forehead and set her hand on the one that lay flaccid on the covers.
“Somebody’s come to see you, darling,” she said gently, and motioned to Bix to take the old man’s hand in his and hold it.
Judy watched closely, and her heart leaped a little as she saw the Old Gentleman’s eyelids flicker, and his fingers stir ever so slightly in Bix’s grasp.
“Speak to him, Bix,” she whispered softly. “Your voice might get through to him. He’s missed you so much.”
Bix bent his head, put his lips almost against the Old Gentleman’s ear and said very quietly, “Hello, Grandfather. How do you feel?”
Judy watched intently. Did the Old Gentleman’s hand tighten very slightly on Bix’s fingers? Did the eyelids flicker just a trifle? Or was it just that she so devoutly hoped that the arrival of Bix might help the Old Gentleman to emerge from the stroke that she imagined these things?
Bix straightened, and the flaccid hand slid from his fingers. Judy thought (and hated herself for the thought) that Bix seemed relieved to be freed of that touch. When the nurse shooed them out, they paused outside the door, and she saw active distaste in Bix’s eyes.
“He’s changed so much I can hardly believe that’s really my grandfather,” he burst out. “When I remember him striding around the place, an autocrat, a strict disciplinarian, yet such a wonderful guy, always off on some business connected with Oakhill, and now I see him like that—it makes me a little sick.”
“It makes us all a little sick to see him like that,” Judy answered with more than a trace of spirit. “And what makes us sickest of all is that the doctor says it’s very unlikely that he will ever recover.”
Bix looked down at her curiously.
“You’re very fond of him, aren’t you?” he asked unexpectedly.
“Of course. I adore him! We all do here at Oakhill. And all the people he knows think he’s just about the finest fellow who ever set foot in the road!”
“Then why do you speak of him so disrespectfully?” he demanded. And she could only stare at him, wide-eyed, thunderstruck. “I mean, you call him the ‘Old Gentleman.’”
“Well for goodness sake!” Judy practically exploded. “It’s because we love him. It’s a term of affection and respect and everything else. He knows about it and likes it.”
“I see,” said Bix grimly. “Just another of these ancient Southern customs that I can never hope to understand.”
“I’m sorry you can’t. There may be quite a few more that you will discover while you are here that you won’t understand or like,” she told him.
“No doubt,” he agreed unwillingly. Then, as she turned away, “I’ll see you at dinner, won’t I?”
“I’m afraid not,” she answered coolly. “Miz’ Beth and I have our meals in our own quarters.”
“Then set an extra place for me,” he said sharply. “I will not eat alone in that big old dining room. Even as a child I felt sure it was haunted!”
She paused and studied him, and suddenly a tiny, impish grin touched her soft mouth, and she nodded.
“Very good, young Marster,” she drawled. “We’ll get out the best china, the ones that have the fewest cracks, and scare up another jelly glass for you. Dinner’s early here. At six-thirty. I’ll see you then.”
She walked away from him, and Bix stood staring after her, angry, yet amused, too. His admiration had grown. She was a lovely creature, and might easily make his stay a little more endurable, provided he didn’t have to stay too long.
Meanwhile Judy had reached her own room and was huddled in a deep wicker chair, looking out with unseeing eyes at the delicate tracery of spring that was showing on the old live-oaks and the garden shrubbery. Here was the day for which she had looked with longing, eager eyes since Bix had awkwardly told her goodbye beneath the yellow willows and had assured her he would never forget her.
She drew a deep, hard breath and reminded herself that he had forgotten her very existence. Even now he still did not remember her! Beth and Sam had both tried to warn her, and she had derided their warnings! And now Bix was back at Oakhill and already restless to get away!
She fought hard against the tears that clogged her throat and was very relieved when Beth came in, closing the door behind her and saying with a touch of anxiety, “I just met Bix in the hall, and he wants to take his meals with us. Claims the big dining room scares him.”
Judy nodded, keeping her face turned away from her mother.
“Yes, he told me that. Asked that we set an extra place for him, but I didn’t tell him we would. I mean, if Mam’ Chloe wants to feed him in the big dining room, I don’t know how he’s going to avoid it, do you? Mam’ Chloe is a woman who knows her own mind and wants other people never to forget it. I’d hate to disagree with her, wouldn’t you? She can be a bully.”
“Oh, nonsense, Judy, you’re being childish! Mam’ Chloe is as gentle as a lamb.”
“As long as she gets her own way!”
Beth studied her cautiously.
“You’re in a foul humor, aren’t you?” she asked unexpectedly.
Color seeped into Judy’s face, which she kept turned away from her mother.
“Bix didn’t remember, did he?” asked Beth gently.
Judy’s shoulders quivered, and she put up her hands to shield her face, unable to answer.
“I tried to warn you, honey,” said Beth.
Judy nodded. “So did Sam. But you know me. I’m like Mam’ Chloe—set in my ways, stubborn and hard to change.”
Beth said, “Darling, I’m sorry. But after all, you were only twelve, just a child—”
Judy rounded on her sharply, head held high, her tear-streaked face set.
“Now don’t you start trying to make me be sensible and admit I never really loved him or was even old enough to know whether it was love. Because I was old enough, and I did know. And so did he, then.”
Her voice shook and she turned away, unable to meet Beth’s loving, deeply concerned eyes.
“I’m sorry, darling,” Judy managed a stricken apology. “I didn’t mean to tell you. But there’s just one thing I can’t stand. And that’s somebody, even you, trying to argue with me that I didn’t know my own mind then or that I don’t know it now. Oh, sure, I’ve grown up enough to know that old saw about ‘Out of sight, out of mind,’ and I’ve just had my nose rubbed in the truth of that. But if you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it.”
Beth said gently, “Of course not, darling. We won’t ever discuss it again.”
“Thanks,” Judy mumbled as she turned away, her voice a small, husky breath.
“Well,” said Beth briskly, “I suppose I’d better go tell Mam’ Chloe she won’t need to get the big dining room ready at all. It’s going to save a good bit of work for the kitchen staff if they serve the three of us together.”
Judy did not answer, and Beth went out of the room and stood for a moment in the corridor. She wished with all her heart that Judy had been able to outgrow that childish romance, as it was obvious Bix had. But then, she reminded herself, Judy hadn’t had the many opportunities to forget that Bix had had. And all she or anybody else could do was to stand by in case of need. But Judy was so stubborn, so self-reliant, so unwilling to appeal for help in any situation, that Beth sighed and knew there would be a long and difficult interval before Judy would consent to listen to any arguments, no matter how persuasive they might be.
Beth’s and Judy’s dining quarters were in the small breakfast room that opened out from the big dining room. There were wide windows that looked out into, the spring landscape, and there was a coziness about the small room that was, of course, completely lacking in the big dining room where as many as forty guests had often sat down to dinner.
Bix looked about the small, cheerful room as he took the place Beth indica
ted for him at the small round table.
“Hey, now this is something I like!” he enthused. “That big dining room, with old grandfather and me at the table, scared the livin’ daylights out of me. I was certain that the flickering of candles meant that the ghosts of ancestors long gone were lurking and watching. I suppose I was an imaginative brat, but this old place surely seems a happy hunting ground for ghosts.”
“It’s very old,” said Judy quietly. “It’s seen a lot of living and a lot of loving and a lot of dying, so it’s natural that it would seem to be haunted, isn’t it?”
Bix admitted uncomfortably, “Well, I suppose so. And I’m not really afraid of ghosts nowadays. The very thought used to terrify me, but now that I’m grown up—” He grinned and made a little gesture that dismissed the thought.
When dessert was served, and they were lingering over it, the swinging door from the kitchen opened and a dark-skinned woman, ample in her immaculate white uniform, stood there, arms akimbo, eyeing Bix with hostile eyes.
“So you came back, did you?” she addressed him despite Beth’s and Judy’s startled protest. “After all these years, with him a-yearning to see you but too busy having fun even to think about him down here. Take shame on yourself, you didn’t come back to visit him till he was on his death bed! And the nurse-lady says he didn’t even know you. I don’t blame him. I don’t want to know you, either.”
And before Bix could manage an answer, before Beth could no more than murmur a sharp protest, the door swung shut behind the woman.
Bix started from Beth’s flushed face to Judy’s and saw the faintest possible quirk at the corner of Judy’s mouth that told him she was trying hard not to laugh. And the thought added immeasurably to his discomfort.
“And who, may I ask, was that!” he wanted to know at last.
Judy’s eyes flashed up, met his and turned swiftly away. It was Beth who answered.
“Mam’ Chloe, Bix, and you mustn’t be too angry with her. She is devoted heart and soul to the Old Gentleman. She has lived all her life here, and Oakhill and the Old Gentleman are the dearest things in the world to her,” Beth answered him.
