Children of the Whirlwind
corner that was her newly discovered father who had cared for her so
much that he had sought to erase from her mind all knowledge of his
existence. She wanted to say something--do something; she was torn with
a poignant hunger. But she was so filled with pulsing desires and fears
that she was impotent to express any of the million things within her.
And so they rode on, dark shadows, almost half the width of the deeply
cushioned seat between them. Thus they had ridden along Jackson Avenue,
almost into Flushing, when the silence was broken by the first words
of the journey. They were husky words, yearning and afraid of their own
sound, and were spoken by Maggie's father.
“I--I don't know what to call you. Will--will Maggie do?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I'm--I'm not much,” the husky voice ventured on; “but what you said
about going away--for my sake--do you think you need to do it?”
“I've made--such a mess of myself,” she choked out.
“Other people were to blame,” he said. “And out of it all, I think
you're going to be what--what I dreamed you were. And--and--”
There was another stifling silence. “Yes?” she prompted.
“I wanted to keep out of your life--for your sake,” he went on in his
strained, suppressed voice. “But--but if you're not ashamed of me
now that you know all”--in the darkness his groping hand closed upon
hers--“I wish you wouldn't--go away from me, Maggie.”
And then the surging, incoherent thing in her that bad been struggling
to say itself this last half-hour, suddenly found its voice in a single
word:
“Father!” she cried, and flung her arms around his neck.
“Maggie!” he sobbed, crushing her to him.
All the way to Cedar Crest they said not another word; just clung to
each other in the darkness, sobbing--the first miraculous embrace of
a father and daughter who had each found that which they had never
expected to have.
CHAPTER XXXVII
It was ten the next morning at Cedar Crest, and Larry Brainard sat in
his study mechanically going over his figures and plans for the Sherwood
housing project.
For Larry the storms of the past few weeks, and the whirlwind of last
night, had cleared away. There was quiet in the house, and through
the open windows he could glimpse the broad lawn almost singing in
its sun-gladdened greenness, and farther on he could glimpse the
Sound gleaming placidly. Once for perhaps ten minutes he had seen the
overalled and straw-hatted figure of Joe Ellison busy as usual among the
flowers. He had strained his eyes for a glimpse of Maggie, but he had
looked in vain.
Despite all that had come to pass at the Grantham the previous evening,
Larry was just now feeling restless and rather forlorn. His breakfast
had been brought to him in his room, and he had not seen a single member
of last night's party at the Grantham since they had all divided up
according to Miss Sherwood's orders and driven away; that is he had
really seen no one except Dick.
Dick had gripped his hand when he had slipped in beside Dick in the low
seat of the roadster. “You're all right, Captain Nemo!--only I'm going
to be so brash as to call you Larry after this,” Dick had said. “If
you'll let me, you and I are going to be buddies.”
He was all right, Dick was. Dick Sherwood was a thoroughbred.
And there was another matter which had pleased him. The Duchess had
called him up that morning, had congratulated him in terms so brief
that they sounded perfunctory, but which Larry realized had all his
grandmother's heart in them, and had said she wanted him to take over
the care of all her houses--those she had put up as bail for him.
When could he come in to see her about this?... He understood this
dusty-seeming, stooped, inarticulate grandmother of his as he had not
before. Considering what her life had been, she also was a brick.
But notwithstanding all this, Larry was lonely--hungrily lonely--and
was very much in doubt. Miss Sherwood had spoken to him fair enough the
night before--yet he really did not know just how he stood with her. And
then--Maggie. That was what meant most to him just now. True, Maggie had
emerged safe through perils without and within; and to get her through
to some such safety as now was hers had been his chief concern these
many months. He wanted to see her, to speak to her. But he did not know
what her attitude toward him would now be. He did not know how to go
about finding her. He was not even certain where she had spent the
night. He wanted to see her, yet was apulse with fear of seeing her. She
would not be hostile, he knew that much; but she might not love him;
and at the best a meeting would be awkward, with so wide a gap in their
lives to be bridged....
He was brooding thus when there was a loud knocking at his door. Without
waiting for his invitation to enter, the door was flung open, and Hunt
strode in leaving the door wide behind him. His face was just one great,
excited grin. He gave Larry a thump upon the back, which almost knocked
Larry over, and then pulled him back to equilibrium by seizing a hand in
both of his, and then almost shook it off.
“Larry, my son,” exploded the big painter, “I've just done it! And I did
it just as you ordered me to! Forgot that Miss Sherwood and I had had
a falling out, and as per your orders I walked straight up to her and
asked her. And Larry, you son-of-a-gun, you were right! She said 'yes'!”
“You're lucky, old man!” exclaimed Larry, warmly returning the painter's
grip.
“And, Larry, that's not all. You told me I had the clearness of vision
of a cold boiled lobster--said I was the greatest fool that ever had
brains enough not to paint with the wrong end of an umbrella. Paid me
some little compliment like that.”
“Something like that,” Larry agreed.
“Well, Larry, old son, you were right again! I've been a worse fool
than all you said. Been blinder than one of those varnished skulls some
tough-stomached people use for paper-weights. After she'd said 'yes'
she gave me the inside story of why we had fallen out. And guess why it
was?”
“You don't want me to guess. You want to tell me. So go to it.”
“Larry, we men will never know how clever women really are!” Hunt
shook his head with impressive emphasis. “Nor how they understand our
natures--the clever women--nor how well they know how to handle us. She
confessed that our quarrel was, on her part, carefully planned from
the beginning with a definite result in view. She told me she'd always
believed me a great painter, if I'd only break loose from the pretty
things people wanted and paid me so much for. The trouble, as she saw
it, was to get me to cut loose from so much easy money and devote myself
entirely to real stuff. The only way she could see was for her to tell
me I couldn't paint anything worth while, and tell it so straight-out
as to make me believe that she believed it--and thus make me so mad that
I'd chuck everything and go off to prove to her that I damned well could
paint! I certainly got sore--I ducked out of sight, swearing I'd show
her--and, oh, well, you know the rest! Tell me now, can you think of
anything cleverer than the way she handled me?”
“It's just about what I would expect of Miss Sherwood,” Larry commented.
“Excuse me,” said a voice behind them. “I found the door open; may I
come in?”
Both men turned quickly. Entering was Miss Sherwood.
“Isabel!” exclaimed the happy painter. “I was just telling Larry
here--you know!”
Miss Sherwood's tone tried to be severe, and she tried not to smile--and
she succeeded in being just herself.
“I came to talk business with Mr. Brainard. And I'm going to stay to
talk business with Mr. Brainard. But I'll give him five seconds for
congratulations--provided at the end of the five seconds Mr. Hunt gets
out of the room.”
Larry congratulated the two; congratulated them as warmly as he felt
his as yet dubious position in this company warranted. At the end of the
five seconds Hunt was closing the door upon his back.
“I've always loved him--and I want to thank you, Mr. Brainard,” she said
with her simple directness. And before Larry could make response of any
kind, she shifted the subject.
“I really came in to see you on business, Mr. Brainard. I hope I made
my attitude toward you clear enough last night. If I did not, let me
say now that I think you have made good in every particular--and that I
trust you in every particular. What I wished especially to say now,” she
went on briskly, giving Larry no chance to stammer out his appreciation,
“is that I wish to go ahead without any delay with your proposition for
developing the Sherwood properties in New York City which we discussed
some time ago. A former objection you raised is now removed: you are
cleared, and are free to work in the open. I want you to take charge
of affairs, with Dick working beside you. I think it will be Dick's big
chance. I've talked it over with him this morning, and he's eager for
the arrangement. I hope you are not going to refuse the offer this
time.”
“I can't--not such an offer as that,” Larry said huskily. “But, Miss
Sherwood, I didn't expect--”
“Then it's settled,” she interrupted with her brisk tone. “There'll be a
lot of details, but we'll have plenty of time to talk them over later.”
She stood up. “There are some changes here at Cedar Crest which I want
begun at once and which I want you to supervise. If you don't mind we'll
look things over now.”
He followed beside her along the curving, graveled walks. She headed
toward the cliff, but he had no idea where she was leading until a sharp
turn brought them almost upon the low cottage which these last few weeks
had been Joe Ellison's home.
“Here is where we start our changes,” said the business-like Miss
Sherwood. “The door's open, so we might as well go right in.”
They stepped into a tiny entry, and from thence into a little
sitting-room. The room was filled with cut flowers, but Larry did not
even see them. For as they entered, Maggie sprang up, startled, from a
chair, and, whiter than she had been before in all her life, gazed at
him as if she wanted to run away. She stood trembling and slender in a
linen frock of most simple and graceful lines. It was Miss Sherwood's
frock, though Larry did not know this; already it had been decided that
all those showy Grantham gowns were never to be worn again.
Once more Miss Sherwood came to the rescue of a stupendous situation,
just as her tact had rescued a situation too great for words the night
before.
“Of course you two people now perceive that I'm a fraud--that I've got
you together by base trickery. So much being admitted, let's proceed.”
She turned on Larry. “Maggie--we've agreed that I am to call her
that--Maggie stayed with me last night. There are two beds in my room.
But we didn't sleep much. Mostly we talked. If there's anything Maggie
didn't tell me about herself, I can't guess what there's left to tell.
According to herself, she's terrible. But that's for us to judge;
personally I don't believe her. She confessed that she really loved you,
but that after the way she'd treated you, of course she wasn't fit for
you. Which, of course, is just a girl's nonsense. I suppose you, Mr.
Brainard, are thinking something of the sort regarding your own self. It
is equally nonsense. You both love each other--you've both been through
a lot--nothing of importance now stands between you--so don't waste any
of your too short lives in coming together.”
She took a deep breath and went on. “You might as well know, Mr.
Brainard, that Maggie is going to live with me for the present--that, of
course, she is going to be a very great burden to me--and it will be a
great favor to me if you'll marry her soon and take her off my hands.”