The Heart Remembers Page 11

  “I know,” admitted Shelley quietly. “If he had the smallest proof. But to accuse a woman in your position, without proof, would have added to the disgrace for his wife and child. You had been very, very careful—hadn’t you, Miss Durand?—that there was no tangible proof, or at least you thought you had.”

  So still she scarcely seemed to breath, Selena sat huddled in her chair, her eyes wide and sick with growing terror. There was a desperation in her haggard face that, to Shelley, was unneeded proof of the ugly story her mother had told her before she had been old enough really to understand.

  “What—what do you mean?” stammered Selena faintly.

  “The note you sent my father, demanding that he meet you, or else! Did you think he would destroy that, Miss Durand? You slipped up badly there.”

  Selena shrank back as from a blow.

  “You have found that note?” she whispered.

  “Then you do admit you wrote one?”

  Selena caught her breath and stiffened.

  “I admit nothing—you’re trying to trick me.”

  “There was such a note, and it was never destroyed.”

  Selena’s breathing was hard and uneven. Her eyes on the girl were frantic, and Shelley waited, steeling herself against pity that would have weakened her just at the moment when she needed so much to be hard.

  “I’ll give you any amount of money for that note,” said Selena faintly.

  “I don’t have it.”

  There was a stunned moment in which Selena almost ceased to breathe, and then as understanding swept over her, hope began to glow once more in her desperate eyes. Hope, held back by incredulity.

  “You don’t have it?”

  “But I am convinced that it exists, and that it is somewhere in this place or in the house. I am going to have some remodeling done, now that a thorough cleaning of both the shop and the house hasn’t turned it up. It was not among my mother’s papers when she died, nor in my father’s possession. Mother told me that when Father showed her the note, they debated about whether it should be destroyed, for neither of them was willing to have it fall into someone else’s hand. But Mother was frightened of you and so they kept it. And it was put away very carefully, and then everything happened so fast that when Mother tried to find it, to use in Father’s defense, it was gone.”

  Selena drew a deep, life-giving breath.

  “It never existed.”

  “Oh, yes it did, Miss Durand, and sooner or later, I shall find it. For if someone else had already found it, it would have come out. But it’s never been found so it must still be here. And rest assured, I shall find it if I have to take the place apart piece by piece, with my bare hands.”

  “It never existed, I tell you.”

  “Now that you know I don’t have it, you can deny that it was ever written,” said Shelley slowly. “But you and I both know, don’t we, Miss Durand? And whether I ever find it or not, you will never know another peaceful moment. I’m sorry about that, truly. But after all, you didn’t worry much about Mother and Father having any peaceful moments, did you?”

  Selena was on her feet now, drawn to her full height, her face terrible in its helpless fury.

  “If there never was such a note, since I could not possibly have been interested in a man like your father,” she said through her teeth, “why should I be upset? And I warn you that if I ever so much as hear a single word of your fantastic accusation, I shall see that you are adequately punished. I still have money and influence enough to assure you of that punishment.”

  “I’m sure you have, Miss Durand. I shall make no accusations publicly until I have proof.”

  Selena hesitated as though she would answer that. Then she turned and strode out of the office and down the walk, her shoulders very erect. When she had swung herself into the saddle with an agility that surprised Shelley, and the sound of hoofbeats had died away, Shelley dropped back into her chair and put her shaking hands over her face.

  Ever since the day she had arrived in Harbour Pines she had known that that moment must come. From the night of the dinner-party when she had thoughtlessly tossed her father’s pet name for her into the conversation and had seen the white, startled look on Selena’s face, she had known that her secret was a secret no longer from Selena Durand and that sooner or later she and Selena must have a showdown. And now that it had come, she had a feeling of deep relief that in some measure eased the discomfort of that unpleasant scene.

  She had told Selena the simple truth and Selena’s reaction had been all the proof Shelley had needed that there had been such a note. Callie and Hastings had almost destroyed it; Hastings had left it for Callie to decide. And at the last moment, with some premonition of trouble to come, Callie had thrust the note into a little jewel box in her dressing table drawer. An unsafe place of course, and one she had meant to improve on when time offered. But events had moved swiftly, and when she had gone to the jewel box, to get the note and give it to Hastings’ lawyer—it was gone.

  Who had taken it they could never guess. Without it, Hastings’ lawyer had felt they had a better chance simply to try to defend Hastings from the simple charge of robbery, without trying to implicate a woman in Selena’s position. Without the note, they would not have been believed and it would only have alienated badly needed sympathy for Hastings to have made the unsupported charge.

  The way things stood, the lawyer had pointed out, it was simply a charge that a man beset by business difficulties had been tempted beyond his strength by the easy accessibility of a large sum of money, admittedly inadequately guarded. On the other hand, to claim that he had been pursued and “framed” by a woman like Selena Durand, that he had gone out to meet her because she had threatened him, and to be unable to offer the smallest vestige of proof, would only be to add a sordid note to an already painful situation. It would seem to cheapen Hastings’ love for his wife and child and add even more to their disgrace.

  Bewildered, bedeviled, frantic, Callie had finally yielded, albeit bitterly, unwillingly. And when the jury had brought in the verdict which had been a foregone conclusion from the first, she had gone to pieces. She had been ill for a long time; she had gone to stay with relatives, taking her child with her.

  Harbour Pines had all but forgotten; Callie had always remembered. And she had laid the burden on her child, that she should come back to Harbour Pines and clear her father’s memory.

  At first, cleaning the little house and, later, the office, Shelley had hopefully examined every soiled, yellowing scrap of paper, until at last she had almost come to believe that the note had never existed. Yet a million things could have happened to it, she kept telling herself. But today, Selena’s reaction to her mention of the note had proved beyond any doubt that it had been written and received and somehow vanished. With people coming in and out of the little house, in the friendly, neighborly fashion of small towns when trouble strikes, the scrap of paper could have vanished a thousand times over. But only into the keeping of someone loyal to Selena, or under some bond to her. Otherwise, it would have shown up during the trial, since its significance would have been apparent to even the dullest person.

  Shelley knew now that once there had been a paper. But the hopelessness of recovering it after all these years sent her deep into gloom and hopelessness. However, never, never would she let Selena know that she was anything but quietly confident that the note would be found.

  Chapter Eleven

  From their first meeting, Marian had been interested in Philip. That was quite natural, since Philip at his best was possessed of undeniable charm. He was well-educated, even brilliant. And Marian found him amusing, stimulating, interesting.

  Shelley had not told Marian of Philip’s weakness. She had been reluctant to, and had felt that on her first weekend at Harbour Pines, Marian would see for herself. But that afternoon, when the week’s edition had been “put to bed” and Philip was free to yield to his “black devils,” he was just getting into hi
s shabby coat when Marian came down from the house.

  “Come on, wage-slaves, scrub the ink offen your paws, and get a-goin’. Dinner’s ready. Only it’s pretty silly to call it dinner, on account of it’s really a superb country supper,” she announced gaily.

  Shelley all but held her breath and watched Philip covertly. There was a hint of stubbornness about his mouth, but Marian was so gay and so matter of fact that he hesitated.

  “Turnip-greens, whipped with just the smallest smidgin of sugar,” Marian told them cheerfully. “And cooked, of course, as is only right and proper, with a bit of ham-hock. And there are black-eyed peas, and corn-bread that melts in your mouth, and tall, foaming glasses of buttermilk, and a hot apple pie with ‘rat-trap’ cheese. Do I hear any takers?”

  Outside, the sky was overcast with a nor’easter; it was one of the very unusual but occasional bleak April days of that sheltered clime, when the wind that sang through the pines had a mournful, desolate sound.

  Shelley waited for Philip to answer, and after a moment he said uncomfortably, “Thanks, it’s kind of you, but—er—”

  “If you dare to stand there, with your bare face hanging out, and tell me you prefer the sort of ptomaine specials they serve up at the Tavern, Philip me lad, I’ll probably smack you down, on account of I’m a very swell cook and I resent such comparisons!” Marian told him firmly, and slipped her hand through his arm. “I’ve been worrying about you. You’re much too thin, and who would wonder, eating at that vile Tavern? So let’s have no more nonsense. Supper is ready and waiting and we don’t want it to get cold, do we?”

  Philip flung Shelley a pleading glance, but she hardened herself against his plea, and said quickly, “She’s right, Philip. After the poor girl’s knocked herself out slaving over a hot stove all afternoon, just to feed us, we can’t let her down, now can we? Can’t you postpone your date?”

  “I—ah—suppose I might.” Philip was frankly unwilling.

  Marian eyed him severely.

  “If there’s anything that gladdens a hostess’ heart,” she observed dryly, “it’s to have her dinner invitation accepted with such wild, overwhelming enthusiasm. One would think I was inviting you to a Borgia poison-party—or don’t you like old-fashioned ‘vittles’ that are guaranteed to grow hair on your chest?”

  Philip laughed. “It was the shock,” he apologized handsomely, “of being offered such food. Fit for the gods, though most of the gods weren’t fit for it, I suppose. Madam, your alluring invitation is accepted with humble gratitude and hungry joy.”

  “Well, that’s better,” said Marian happily and eyed him warmly. And something in her eyes told Shelley that Marian knew something at least of the “black devils” that rode Philip and hoped in her own way to help him.

  She turned to Shelley and said gaily, “Well, let’s get moving. Time’s a-wastin’.”

  The small, bright kitchen was warm and cozy against the bleak dusk outside. The wind in the pines soughed its mournful wail, but inside all was cheer and warmth.

  Philip ate with a keen appreciation and an unashamed appetite that delighted Marian, though she chattered gaily as though scarcely conscious of heaping his plate again and again.

  When at last they sat before slabs of apple pie so hot that the tangy cheese softened along the edges, and the coffee had been poured, Philip eyed Marian with touching respect.

  “Is there no limit to the woman’s accomplishments?” he asked Shelley, awe in his tone. “A teacher so highly praised by the community, adored by the ‘young-’uns,’ and a cook second to none I’ve ever encountered.”

  “Tell you what,” said Marian demurely. “It’s a secret, but not from my two dearest friends. It’s that I’m just a frustrated housewife at heart, dying to sweep and clean and scrub and cook for the right man; to have his slippers warming by the fire when he gets home at night from a long, hard day at the office.”

  “That I cannot believe,” said Philip firmly, “or you’d never have become a teacher. Any man in his right senses who had the privilege of meeting you would have seen to it you had no chance to be frustrated—unless that was the way you wanted it.”

  Marian fluttered her eyelashes at him with mock coyness.

  “Why, Mis-ter Foster, how you do talk!” she purred languishingly.

  Philip studied her for a moment, and there was something in his eyes that Shelley had never seen there before. Later, when they had dawdled over second cups of coffee, and Marian rose briskly to clear the table, Philip stood up hesitantly.

  Marian said to Shelley, “You run along and do that bookkeeping you’ve been worrying about. I know Philip’s a first-class washer-upper, and if he isn’t it’s high time he was learning to be.”

  “I can wash dishes,” Philip protested.

  “Prove it, laddie boy. Prove it,” ordered Marian. And Shelley slipped from the room, knowing that they were scarcely aware of the moment when she went.

  From the living room, she could hear their voices, with an occasional laugh from Philip; a sound which she had heard seldom from him, so that it warmed her and lifted her own spirits.

  It was eleven o’clock before Philip tore himself away, and after he had gone Marian stood in the living room doorway watching the door that had closed behind him. When she turned to Shelley, there were tears in her eyes.

  “The poor darling!” she said huskily. “Why, Shelley, he was actually hungry! Not hungry for food alone, but for decent companionship. Lonely and hungry and bored. That’s why he heads for that darned Tavern the minute his job is finished.”

  “It’s a relief to me, Marian, to know that you are aware of Philip’s weakness. I was a little worried,” Shelley admitted.

  Marian’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “Worried? For me? Shelley, my sweet, don’t be ridiculous. After all, my pet, I’m twenty-seven and I did a couple of years of social welfare work before I became a teacher. I’ve met a great many Philip Fosters. Most of whom could have been—I loathe the word, but off-hand, I can’t think of one to replace it—saved, if someone had taken an interest in them in time.”

  “But what worries me about Philip is that he seems content to go the Tavern way.”

  “He drinks because he is lonely and bored and because he’s trying to run away from himself. There’s some dark spot in his life that he wants to forget and can’t. And for some reason, probably that same dark spot, he feels cut off from what is laughingly referred to as ‘nice people.’ So he gets himself blotto so he won’t remember what he’s missing.”

  She was lost in thought for a moment, and then she nodded.

  “But I’ll straighten him out,” she said briskly, and went off to bed, leaving Shelley to stare after her, startled and wide-eyed.

  From that evening on Philip seemed to change. Not all at once, of course. But more and more often he came to the little house for a meal with Shelley and Marian; and occasionally they asked Jim to make a fourth and it was all very gay and amusing.

  Sue-Ellen had gone back to Atlanta at the end of her month “sentence,” but after a couple of weeks there, she returned to Harbour Pines unannounced and settled down for a stay of undetermined length, to the surprise of everyone.

  One afternoon a week or so after her return, Sue-Ellen dropped into the office, looked Shelley over coolly through the smoke of her cigarette and delivered a broadside.

  “Look, what’s with you and Aunt Selena? Why does she hate your very insides, and why does she hit the roof so hard we have to scrape her off every time Jim mentions your name, with the usual touch of enthusiasm?”

  Shelley managed a light laugh.

  “Oh, well, there’s no reason why Miss Selena should love me. As a matter of fact, I know several people who aren’t a bit fond of me,” she answered lightly. “My C.O. overseas had no difficulty whatever in restraining her affection for me.”

  Sue-Ellen’s airy eyebrows went up.

  “Fancy that!” she murmured politely, and was silent fo
r a moment before she went on more earnestly. “Really, I wondered, Shelley. Aunt Selena all but foams at the mouth when you or the paper happens to be mentioned. We’re forbidden to bring the Journal into Pinelands, even wrapped around a package. You are mentioned rather a lot, I may as well admit. Jim and I have had some perfectly beautiful knock-down-and-drag-out fights about you. I claim he’s paying you too much attention for an engaged man, and he claims he isn’t engaged, and we go on from there.”

  Shelley’s eyes brimmed with amusement, though her color rose a little.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to get yourself a nice shiny shotgun before you manage to get him to the altar, Sue-Ellen.”

  “Oh, you do, do you? Well, I’ll show you. And I’ll show him, too.” Sue-Ellen was so matter of fact about it that Shelley could not be quite sure whether or not she was in earnest. “You know, you’ve won a lot of friends here and people like and admire you. So I can’t understand Aunt Selena. Though come to think about it, it’s pretty idiotic to try to understand Aunt Selena. She’s always been slightly batty, to put it mildly, since she shot her lover.”

  Shelley gasped.

  “Oh, really, Sue-Ellen, you should be ashamed to say such things. Someone ought to spank you.”

  Sue-Ellen stared at her.

  “Oh, didn’t you know about that? Gosh, I thought sure somebody would have dragged that skeleton out of the family closet long ago. It’s quite true, you know. It happened when she was twenty, and from all accounts she was a raving beauty. A high-tempered, unpredictable sort of wench, though, arrogant as they come. There was rather a lot of money then, and she queened it, but good! And then she finally found a suitor almost worthy of a Durand, and was about to have the wedding of the century and everything was flowing smooth as hot butter and honey. Until came a night when she and the ever-lovin’ boy-friend had an exchange of words and the battle was on. She grabbed herself a gun out of a desk drawer and drew a bead on him; he struggled with her, to get it away from her, and bang, bang! It went off, and when the smoke cleared, the boy-friend was breathing his last. He lived just long enough, being a perfect gent, to exonerate her completely.”