Fair Tomorrow

by Emilie Loring

  Terrence patted his sister’s shoulder. “Kick frog! Kick! Lucky we got the loan for the cottage before she attached the house and the rest of the land.”

  Pamela sprang to her feet. “Lady Luck had nothing to do with that, it was Scott Mallory’s foresight. I know now why he pushed through that loan, he anticipated this possibility.” She waited for Terrence’s return from emptying the tub in the drive before she exulted: “The cottage is finished — except for a few shelves the men are putting up today — and furnished. Philip Carr has attended to everything for me, even selecting papers and fixtures in New York. Never could have done it myself, the Silver Moon has kept me so busy. It is rented too. I’m all excited. Rented by correspondence. If stationery doth proclaim the woman, the widow, Mrs. Isabelle Stevens, is the last word in fashion.”

  “What brand of widow? Heaven, Hell, or Reno?”

  “She referred to her late husband, not her former. It is a nice distinction. Phil Carr says she is top socially. A man he knows looked her up for me. She has plenty of money and is renting for a much longer season than we expected. I wonder though —”

  “What’s on the little mind?”

  “The fact that she wouldn’t sign a lease. She protested that her credit never had been questioned. Phil Carr said, ‘Grab her. She’s good for it. You won’t pick another six-months’ tenant in a blue moon.’ I knew that, so I took her but — sometimes I wonder what Scott would say. He’s such a demon about having everything signed on the dotted line.”

  “Knock us for a gool if she did walk out on us with that interest and the taxes to pay, wouldn’t it?”

  “Of course she won’t walk out on us, Terry. Let’s drop it. I’m sick of the thought of money. Since that clothes-orgy the day I went to Boston I squeeze every nickel till the Indian on one side whoops and the buffalo on the other bucks in protest. Such extravagance! I’ve never worn the costume since.”

  “You should worry. Got your money’s worth out of it that one day, didn’t you?”

  As in a flash-back Pamela saw the flower-bedecked restaurant, saw Hilda Crane looking up at her with amazed, appraising eyes. A little smile of gratification twitched at her lips as she agreed fervently:

  “I more than got my money out of it that one day, Terry. But, just the same, I held my breath when I hired Hitty Betts by the week, and the two Academy boys to wait on table seemed the last word in extravagance. However, one can’t get out of business more than one puts into it, any more than a writer can write any better than he or she is inside. Our clientele has doubled. That’s the answer. With Hitty to cook I have more time to superintend the serving. Things are looking up. If only — ooch!”

  “Why the groan?”

  Pamela laughed unsteadily. “The suit. Every time I think of it I fight and die in spirit. The wicked injustice, the uselessness of it. But, Mr. Carr says that suing for alienation of affection is epidemic this year, that one case spectacularly headlined, suggests to someone else a way to get satisfaction — perhaps — at least to vent spite. Besides that, the publicity is money in the bank for Cecile, even if she loses. He is confident that she can’t win unless she bolsters up her case by perjury, that if her witnesses do lie the judge may hold them for conspiracy. A lot of good that would do me. Cap’n Iry Crockett gave Cecile the idea — when, innocently enough, he went lyric on the value of the land, when he told her that the Leighs never had occasioned a ripple of scandal. She thought we would settle rather than have her grievance aired in court — she had her plot. Know the best definition of plot? A problem and its solution.”

  “Cecile has furnished the problem and then some.”

  “And the solution is up to me. Philip Carr thought he was helping the day she was here, by championing me. He couldn’t have picked a way to mix things more. Ossa on Pelion! That’s flung in just so you and I won’t forget our classics while digging at poultry-raising and housework, Terry. Of course I can’t suggest that to him, he’s such a dear. I see red with fizzy green pinwheels when I think of that suit. I, separate Cecile and Father! I wish she would kidnap him and take care of him for a while, she knows how to cook and do housework, although she wants to forget that as a girl she had it to do. There’s a dutiful daughter for you.”

  The boy laid his hand on her shoulder. “You are dutiful enough. You are too sweet to him. You let him walk over you if he shows a vestige of appreciation. Forget it! Carnation Carr will win out.”

  “I hope so! He is pulling every wire possible to have the case set down for immediate trial. Wants to get it behind us. Cecile’s lawyer has hinted — broadly hinted — at settlement. My attorney won’t listen. She cheated about the operation and squeezed money out of Father — it was all right if he had it to give her — the money, not the cheating. Mr. Carr is determined that she shall get none out of me.”

  Terrence clasped his hands about one knee. “Found out yet where Father got the cash he paid the second Mrs. Leigh?”

  “No. When he told me that he had sold the ‘antique,’ he seemed so appreciative of what you and I had done for him that I just couldn’t ask questions.”

  “Of course you couldn’t, I know you. You probably patted his hand and smoothed his hair. I’ve never tumbled to your reason for turning old Scott down on this court stuff. He’s been such a swell guy to us.”

  Pamela dug viciously at a dandelion which had adventurously stuck its leaves above ground.

  “That was the reason. He had done so much for us that I wouldn’t let him do any more. We never can pay him.”

  “How are you going to pay Mr. Carr? They say in the village that one of his fees makes the income tax of a successful business man look like an atom.”

  “With the old maple.”

  “Will he take it?”

  “He thinks it the finest in the country.”

  “I’ll hand it to you for having nerve to suggest it. If you were going to dispose of the stuff, why not sell it and pay Scott Mallory?”

  “You don’t understand, Terry! I just couldn’t bear to have him know any more about our sordid, debt-logged lives.”

  Terrence dug his heels into the turf. “Perhaps you’re right. I guess he was pretty well fed-up with the Leighs’ hard-luck problems. Hasn’t been here since the day you spent in Boston, come to think of it, has he?”

  What would Terry say if he knew of that stormy interview the day Scott had flown from the city? Pamela corrected hastily:

  “I have seen him once. He has been in California and in Mexico. He is the traveling member of the firm, I judge.”

  “I miss him. He’s a great boy.” Terrence jumped to his feet. “I’m parking here as if this were a henless world. Gee, I wish it were! If there is any creature on God’s earth dumber than a hen, lead me to it!”

  “Nothing dumb about that fierce rooster you’ve dubbed the White Hope. He flew at me as I passed the gate of his yard this morning. I was thankful that there was a wire netting between us.”

  Terrence grinned. “A dozen like him would repel an advancing army. They’d make good shock troops. He’s some bird.” He lifted the tub to his shoulder. “Phil Carr showing up today?”

  “Tonight. To check up on the cottage, wants to make sure everything is according to contract.”

  “Check up is good, but not good enough. He hasn’t been chasing to the wilds of Cape Cod every week-end because he’s all excited about making over the cottage, nor because you’ve given his father a job, believe it or not. Woman, unless you like him a lot, watch your step.” He scowled at her darkly as he quoted the temperamental Mrs. Micawber.

  “‘All I say is, remember what I say now, and when I say I said so, don’t say I didn’t.’”

  “Terry, you are a hang-over from the nineteenth century! What young person reads Dickens now?”

  “I’d rather spend an hour with him than with many of the people I know.” He grinned tormentingly. “Think over my tip about Philip Carr. He’s a good sport. I like him even if he can’t see an
ything approaching in skirts — young or old, fat or lean — without settling his tie and squaring his shoulders.” He shifted the weight of the tub before he asked awkwardly, “You don’t suppose he is the reason old Scott has stopped coming, do you?”

  “Of course not and I wish you would stop calling Scott Mallory ‘Old Scott.’ He is only thirty-five.”

  “Didn’t know you were so touchy about his desertion. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not touchy, Terry Leigh. I would rather he didn’t come. I have no time to spend with him. Doubtless he is running round evenings with Hilda Crane. She is light-weight enough to be mental relaxation for the tiredest attorney at law.”

  “Meow!”

  “It was catty. And I was hateful to you too. You have been such a dear, Terry, about my having spent all that equipment money on myself. Grandmother Leigh used to say, ‘I am a jellyfish in paradise with money in my pocket among the shops.’ I’m just like her. No sales resistance.”

  “There you go again, remorse. Why shouldn’t you spend it? You earned the most of it. You need a change of scene more than anyone I know.”

  “I won’t leave the Silver Moon again. So long as I keep plodding I am all right. Life seems to be just the bursting of one iridescent soap-bubble after another. Nothing but dampish spots left.”

  Terrence shouted with laughter. “Orphan Annie! You’re low, aren’t you?”

  Pamela flushed. “I’m a poor sport, that’s what I am. If the trial of this fiendish case doesn’t come along soon I shall begin to scratch and bite. I feel as if we were walking on the thin crust above a volcano which might blow-up at any moment. Cecile is capable of springing anything. Run along and forget your disagreeable sister.” She turned to wave and smile at him before she entered the kitchen.

  “At this hour watch-out for storms!” she warned herself as she noted the clamped lips of Mehitable Betts who was forcefully wielding the rolling-pin at the porcelain-topped table. The gaunt woman’s mouth was an unfailing barometer of the state of her temper. Better to ignore the storm-signal.

  Pamela observed chattily as she tied on an apron: “The rhubarb plants are showing pink above ground. Won’t be long before we can add your marvelous tarts to our menu. They will make our patrons sit up and take notice.”

  “Hmp! I guess somebody else’ll be making those tarts.”

  Apparently deaf to the prophecy Pamela hummed as she washed lettuce.

  “‘Should I reveal exactly how I feel

  Should I confess I love you —’”

  With the words came the memory of the gaily lighted restaurant, the feel of Scott’s arms about her. Her heart ached intolerably. She had not seen him since the day he had stormily announced that he would warn Phineas Carr to keep his hands off his business. Mr. Carr had told her casually that he had talked with Mr. Mallory, that after some discussion it had been agreed that it would be better if he — who was so near — were to handle the suit. Inconsistently she had been fiercely hurt that Scott had dropped her case so easily.

  “Guess you didn’t hear me say I might not be here to make rhubarb tarts.”

  The sharp voice cut into Pamela’s absorption. The proprietor of the Silver Moon Chowder House had little time for sentimental regrets — fortunately. What line would she better take? She would like to tell Hitty Betts to pack up and remove herself and her temperament from the kitchen. She couldn’t do that. She needed her. She must be diplomatic. Diplomacy! She was tired of being tactful with her father, with Hitty, with fussy patrons.

  “What is the matter? I thought you liked working at the Silver Moon.”

  “I like it well enough and I like being with you, Pamela, but, there can’t be but one skipper on a ship and you’re my boss. I won’t take orders from Harold Leigh and he’d better up and learn that or I walk out.”

  “Orders from Father! What has he been telling you to do?”

  The surprise in Pamela’s voice was oil upon a troubled sea. Miss Betts calmed down. “I thought you wouldn’t approve. While you and Terry were washing the dog he wanted me to leave my work an’ walk to the post-office in the village to mail an important letter. Postmaster Highty was sayin’ that he has a powerful lot of correspondence for a sick man. Sick! He’s well and he don’t know it!”

  Another surreptitious letter? Was her father in correspondence with Cecile? Was he taking sides with her against his own daughter? He wouldn’t do it. She must not harbor that suspicion for an instant. Then what was going on? She felt as if she were living in a dream with a nightmarish mystery drifting wraith-like just beyond reach. She thrust the question into the back of her mind. Her first task was to placate her dour but invaluable handmaiden.

  “You were right, Hitty. It takes not-seriously sick persons to make cracker-jack executives, doesn’t it? They can’t move about themselves but how they can plan activities for others. Every manufacturing plant ought to have its efficiency invalid — with a bell to tinkle. Forget it. You know that I don’t want you to do a thing beyond your strength.”

  Mehitable sniffed. “I know you don’t, Pamela. You’re real thoughtful. And you’ve got a hard row to hoe. Folks is sayin’ that when your case comes to trial the verdict’s likely to go against you, spite of the fact that you have one of the smartest lawyers in the country trying for you. Don’t see how you ever got him.’Course everyone knows that Phil Carr’s your beau, but everyone knows too that Phineas and your pa quarreled something terrible. Well’s I was sayin’, your Pa has been so snifty with friends he knew as a boy that they won’t have much pity for him if they get on the jury.”

  “Why should the jury decide against me because some members of it do not like Father? He isn’t being sued. I am.”

  “I know, but, they think he’s hiding behind you, that he got tired of the stage woman and left her in the lurch as soon as he lost his money.” She cleared her throat. A sure sign that she was about to hurl a gossip bomb. Pamela unconsciously braced. “Who do you think’s arrived at the Inn with a maid, and a trunk full of clothes and a car an’ all?”

  “Who?”

  “That Crane girl. Came last night. Milly Pike saw her and then the whole village knew it. It’s her sister that’s taken your cottage and she’s come ahead to get things started.”

  “Her sister! Mrs. Isabelle Stevens Hilda Crane’s sister!” Through Pamela’s memory swept Scott Mallory’s comment: “A rich woman who spends her income before she gets it and is everlastingly being sued by creditors.” She had rented the cottage to a woman like that without a lease! Hilda Crane in a cottage at their very door. Oh, what a snarl, what a confounded snarl!

  Pamela carefully examined each crisp green leaf before she dropped it into the cheesecloth bag. If only she could talk the situation over with Scott. That was the one thing she couldn’t do. His eyes had had the most curious effect the few times she had been with him before their clash over the handling of the alienation suit. It was as if they held her, while she struggled, powerless to escape. Why look at her like that if he didn’t care enough about her to come to see her? Was he that type? Afraid of being caught in the snare of matrimony? Quite ready to philander where the going was safe? Her sense of justice pinched her sharply. Suppose Scott were to tell her he loved her? She would refuse to listen. She would not permit him to come again. Keeping a home for her father was a full-time contract. She should be glad that he had stopped coming. She must put him out of her life sometime, the sooner the better.

  “If you haven’t anything to do but stare out of the window, Pamela, you might get the butter balls made. I haven’t but one pair of hands. Getting to be an awful lot of work round here.”

  “I know it, and we really need a waitress, Hitty. The Academy boys do well but they can’t come every day.” Pamela hated herself for the placating tone. Fear of losing Hitty was undermining her boasted independence. “I will try for a girl in the village. I wish I might find one as perfectly trained as Milly Pike.”

  “M’s Carr taught her, b
ut how she stands her round beats me. Curious! Why you can see that girl’s ears stand right out when she’s listening. She tells everything she hears, that’s the worst of it. Have you heard that M’s Carr’s sister’s sick and she’s gone to be with her? Folks is sayin’ they don’t see how she dared go and leave Phil and his father without being there to step between. They get on about as well as that green and red parrot an’ that pesky dog would if they were shut up in a room together. She’s been a sort of buffer ever since the boy grew up.”

  “Perhaps Mr. Carr is too stern.” Pamela tilted a lance in Philip’s defense as she deftly manipulated unsalted butter.

  “Stern! He’s a disappointed man.” Miss Betts held a pie plate on the palm of one hand while she expertly pared pastry dough with the other. “Thinks a lot of handing on the name. He is a big lawyer, even foreign countries tried to get him to represent them. His health broke from overwork and he restored the old Carr place and settled down a few years ago, that is if you can call being in Europe most of the time settlin’ down. He must be a lot better to take your case. Phil came along when he was about forty. He had all sorts of plans and dreams, sure the boy was goin’ to be a lawyer. I guess he visioned him Chief Justice of the U.S.”

  “If Philip’s taste was for architecture it would have been a crime to have forced him into law.”

  “He wasn’t forced. Folks is sayin’ that — Land’s sake! Is Judgment Day a-com —”

  Her voice was drowned in the frenzied clatter of an engine, the lugubrious bellow of a horn. She and Pamela crashed as they met in the doorway. A coughing, spitting flivver wheezed into the drive, whirled in a crazy circle and charged at the back porch like an infuriated, if consumptive, bull. It sliced off one side of the trellis before it whipped around and lunged at the woodshed. Eddie Pike gripped the wheel, his sister clung to his arm. His vacuous blue eyes bulged like glassies as he shouted: