Before Daylight
“Judy, are you well?” Honey’s voice held a note of deep anxiety. She was
calling all the way from Farringdon, Judy knew. Judy hadn’t meant to
worry her. But how could she explain what she had just said when she
didn’t understand it herself?
“I mean—” Now Honey was floundering for the right words. “Was it too
much of a shock—about Peter? Or were you just trying to change the
subject? This is certainly a strange time to be asking me about my
hair.”
“I know. I was half asleep. Forgive me,” Judy said. “I was dreaming, I
guess. This is the second time I’ve had the same dream. It still seems
horribly real. I am worried, of course. I’m still waiting for the
hospital to call.”
“Then I’ll hang up so they can.”
“Wait a minute. Talk a little more,” Judy begged finally. “I need the
reassurance of your voice.”
“That’s more like the Judy I know. Don’t worry. Peter will be all right,
and then you’ll stop dreaming.”
“But I had the dream before I knew he was hurt,” Judy protested.
“Don’t ask me to explain it. I’m no good at that sort of thing. Remember
that old dream book, Judy? I’ll hunt it up, if you want me to, and find
out what it means to dream of faceless people—”
“With golden hair.” Judy stopped herself quickly and said, “Don’t
bother, Honey. The dream doesn’t matter any more. It’s Peter—”
“I know, dear. Call me back when you have news.”
Judy promised that she would. She felt better after talking with Honey.
Now she was wide awake. Irene, hearing her up, tiptoed out into the
living room.
“Any news?” she asked.
“Not yet,” replied Judy. “That was Honey on the phone. It seems ages ago
that we were pretending she was at the table with us. So much has
happened since then—Clarissa’s disappearance, and now Peter. I want to
go to him, Irene. I’m not tired any more. I can sit in the hospital
waiting room and be there when he wakes up. The Long Island trains run
all night, don’t they?”
Irene consulted a timetable that was tacked to a bulletin board beside
the telephone. “We just missed the two fifty-eight. This is Sunday
morning. The trains don’t run very often. There isn’t another one until
five o’clock. But we can drive in if you want to. We can bundle little
Judy into the back seat, and she’ll never know the difference. Want to?”
“Yes, I do want to,” Judy replied gratefully. “I can’t stand this
waiting.”
“You poor dear!” Irene sympathized. “We hoped you would get a little
more sleep. Dale!” she called to her husband. “Judy wants us to drive
in.”
“I rather thought she would.”
He appeared all dressed and ready. Irene had not undressed. Little Judy
was carried to the car, blankets and all. She stirred once, said, “Go
way, witch!” in a sleepy voice and then cuddled down to sleep again.
“That witch did scare her,” Irene began in a worried tone.
“Of course she did. She was meant to,” Dale broke in with a reassuring
grin. “I wish you could have seen little Judy’s eyes when you came in
with your magic wand to chase the witch away. It was symbolic of hope
chasing away fear, and beautifully done, my dear. I was very proud of
you. Sleeping Beauty herself was something of a disappointment.”
“She was?”
“Oh, I don’t mean she wasn’t beautiful and all that. Francine Dow is a
girl of many faces. She did manage to look young and frightened if that
was the effect she was trying to achieve. You could hardly see her face
for that golden wig.”
“Was it a wig?” asked Judy. “I thought it was the natural color of her
hair. I’m afraid I still don’t know whether it’s black, brown or
golden.”
Irene laughed. “Very few actresses can keep the natural color of their
hair. They’re the real changelings. They change their hair and even
their faces to suit the various parts they have to play.”
“It may be all right for actresses, but for the rest of us—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Irene advised. “I know that dream upset you, but
can’t you see that it wasn’t real? It couldn’t happen that way.”
“If everybody listened to the advertising on TV there’d be a lot more
golden-haired people than there are now. There’d be too many. You’d see
yourself coming and going just like the parade of golden-haired people
in my dream. Everybody whose hair wasn’t golden would be thinking, ‘Your
hair is dull. Your hair is drab!’—just the way I did.”
“Why?” asked Dale, looking past Irene’s golden head to Judy’s mop of
curly red hair. “How anyone could say a thing like that about either of
you is more than I can understand.”
“I can’t understand it either,” Judy admitted, “but it’s true. I kept
hearing _dull_, _drab_, until even the train wheels seemed to be
repeating it. If I didn’t have red hair and if I hadn’t been teased all
my life about how bright it is—”
“Well, what would you do?” asked Irene when Judy hesitated.
“I’d wash my hair with that golden hair wash. I did buy some for you,”
Judy confessed when Irene made no comment. Dale was busy with his
driving, and Judy sat between them in the front seat of the car. There
was hardly any traffic this early in the morning, but there was a heavy
fog that made it hard for Dale to see more than a few feet ahead.
“For me?” Irene asked incredulously. “Why on earth would you buy that
stuff for me?”
“I don’t know,” Judy confessed. “I don’t like the way I’ve been thinking
things without knowing why I thought them. Peter never lets anything
turn him from his convictions. I had a feeling, on the train, that
something was wrong, while I was dreaming. I couldn’t know about Peter.
But I did know something was wrong.”
Judy had been trying to hide her worry, but it was no use. They talked
of many things as the car sped on toward the hospital. But their
thoughts were with Peter. New York’s skyline could be seen but faintly
as they crossed Manhattan Bridge. The fog had lifted a little, but it
was not yet daylight when Dale stopped before a large building. It
loomed, gray and forbidding, against the cold night sky.
Inside, the scrubbed stone floors and bare walls gave Judy the
impression that they had entered a fortress instead of a hospital. A
uniformed guard at the door directed them to a desk where Judy learned
that Peter had been taken to a private room in the new wing. The
operation was over, but he was still under sedation, the nurse said. She
added brightly, “You can see him in about an hour.”
It would have been a long hour if another nurse, on night duty, hadn’t
suddenly recognized Irene. Irene had come in with Judy, leaving Dale to
mind little Judy, who was asleep in the car.
“You’re the Golden Girl, aren’t you?” the nurse asked, stopping Irene as
they entered the luxurious waiting room in the new wing. “One of our
patients has been asking for you—”
“Clarissa!” Judy and Irene exclaimed in the same breath.
The nurse looked a little puzzled.
“We have to wait here anyway. Could we see her?” asked Irene. “We were
awfully worried. Was she badly hurt? We looked all over the theater. How
and where did it happen?”
“It was a street accident,” replied the nurse in a brisk, professional
manner. “She was in a cab. Her doctor can give you the details. I’m
afraid you can’t visit her at this hour. It would disturb the other
patients. Except in extreme emergencies, visitors are never allowed
before daylight.”