_The Story of Lucy_
Vicki went to the Bryants’ house not knowing quite what to expect.
It was Friday the thirteenth, but since she was not foolish enough
to be superstitious, the date alone did not account for her sense of
something special about to happen.
“Well, I can expect lunch and conversation,” Vicki thought, and went
up the white marble steps of the Bryants’ house. She was a little
intimidated by its grandeur, and by the butler who admitted her. “My
goodness, this is much too grand for _me_,” Vicki thought. “They must
be awfully rich.”
The butler said, “Who shall I say is calling?”
“Miss Victoria Barr.” Vicki tried to stand up taller than she was and
look older. It never worked.
“Oh, yes, Miss Barr, you are expected.”
She gave the butler her coat and followed him from the entrance hall,
past a formal high-ceilinged living room, and into a big, sunny
sitting room. It was cheerful in here, with flowered chintzes,
green plants, and several extraordinarily beautiful parakeets in
cages shaped like pagodas and dollhouses. Vicki exclaimed aloud “Oh!
Lovely!”--without meaning to, just as the butler announced her.
Mrs. Bryant was sitting half hidden in an immense wing chair. She put
aside the needlepoint she was working on and made a point of getting up
to greet her young guest.
“How nice to see you again, Miss Barr. You were so busy yesterday on
your plane that there was almost no chance to visit with you.”
“_I_ kept you busy, for one thing,” Mr. Bryant said. “A tiresome old
codger, wasn’t I, young lady?”
Vicki smiled shyly, and said Mr. and Mrs. Bryant were kind to let her
come. She asked Mr. Bryant how he was feeling.
“Better, thanks, better. Oh, I’m perfectly all right!” He started to
pace up and down.
Mrs. Bryant changed the subject. She invited Vicki to sit next to
her on the couch in the winter sunshine, and they chatted about the
Electra. Mr. Bryant joined in with a question or two. He seemed less
forbidding today. Still, Vicki thought, this imposing man would
probably never be easy to get along with. She’d as soon attempt to be
friends with a polar bear--he reminded her of an old, still powerful
bear with his heavy, rolling gait and thatch of yellowish-white hair.
“Where’s Dorn?” he demanded. “Not here yet?”
His wife said, “Mr. Dorn telephoned to say he will be a little late. It
was unavoidable, dear.”
“Humph. Well, I’ll lie down again for a few minutes. Excuse me,
ladies.” He abruptly thumped out of the room.
Mrs. Bryant waited until he was out of earshot, then smiled at Vicki.
“When I invited you to lunch yesterday, Miss Barr,” said Mrs. Bryant,
“I thought you would be our only guest. But this morning a young lawyer
who is doing a particularly important piece of work for us telephoned
and asked whether he couldn’t see us about noon today. So he’ll be here
for lunch, too. I’m sure you and I will have our visit, anyway.”
Vicki was a little disappointed, and offered to leave rather than
intrude.
“No, indeed!” Mrs. Bryant exclaimed. “I want you to stay. Mr. Dorn is
going to tell us about Lucy--our granddaughter whom we’ve never seen.”
She looked very thoughtful. “Does that seem odd to you?”
Vicki was not quite sure what to answer. “Unless,” she said, “your
granddaughter has always lived at a great distance from you.”
“Yes, she has. In every sense. Tell me, Miss Barr, in the course of
your stewardess work are you ever in San Francisco?”
“I’ll be in and out of San Francisco all the time, now that I’m based
there.”
“That’s extremely interesting.” But Mrs. Bryant did not say why. “Well.
Shall we look at my parakeets?”
Vicki walked along with Mrs. Bryant and admired the exquisite birds in
their cages. Her elderly hostess pointed out the birds’ markings in
every tone of blue and rose and green. Yet her mind seemed to be on
something else.
“I hope you won’t find it tiresome at lunch, Vicki, listening to a
conversation about a girl you know nothing about.”
“What is Lucy like?” Vicki asked.
Mrs. Bryant said helplessly, “I don’t know. It _is_ odd, isn’t it?
Our daughter’s daughter, and we don’t even know what she looks like.
Except for an old snapshot. Lucy was ten when it was taken, and she’s
twenty-one now.”
From a desk drawer Mrs. Bryant took a small, faded snapshot, in a
frame, and handed it to Vicki. Vicki studied it. The little girl’s face
was rather blurred. She could have been any little girl sitting on a
porch step. Her hair was either dark blond or light brown; it was hard
to tell which.
“I suppose Lucy’s hair might be darker by now,” said Mrs. Bryant, as
Vicki gave her back the snapshot. “Our daughter Eleanor wrote in one
of her rare letters that Lucy had my disposition. They named her Lucy
after me, in spite of--everything. But I must be boring you.”
“I’m very much interested, Mrs. Bryant.”
“Well, I _am_ rather keyed up about Mr. Dorn’s visit. So many old
memories come to mind today. The silver rings, for one thing. I hadn’t
thought about them in years. There are only two like them. Lucy has one
and I have the other.”
Vicki glanced at Mrs. Bryant’s hand. Her hostess noticed.
“No, I’ve put mine away. I never wear rings of any kind,” Mrs. Bryant
said. “They annoy me. But this pair of silver rings has an interesting
history.”
They had an identical lacelike, open design. Mrs. Bryant had long ago
given one ring to her daughter Eleanor, and Eleanor in turn had given
the ring to _her_ daughter, young Lucy.
“Almost all Mr. Bryant and I know about our granddaughter is that she
has the ring. We had a few facts about her schooling and a sketchy
description of her. Eleanor wrote us those things before she died.”
Mrs. Bryant looked down at her tightly clasped hands. “As for the
letters from Lucy’s father--” Mrs. Bryant stared past Vicki, past the
birds. “We never answered certain of those letters and we were wrong.
So terribly wrong!”
Then the whole grievous story of Lucy came tumbling out. Mrs. Bryant,
in telling Vicki, tried hard not to blame her husband. But Vicki
understood that Marshall Bryant was a man who valued money and
important connections above all else. Mrs. Bryant could not cope with
his domineering ways.
[Illustration: _Mrs. Bryant handed the faded snapshot to Vicki_]
The Bryants had planned a brilliant marriage for their only child. They
were bitterly disappointed when Eleanor married against their wishes a
boy who had little money and limited education. They felt, unjustly,
that Jack was a fortune hunter. Marshall Bryant made several attempts
to break up the marriage. When he failed, he disowned his daughter.
He was determined that Jack Rowe should never get hold of the Bryant
money, no matter what the penalty to Eleanor or to any children Eleanor
would have.
The young couple moved to California “--to get as far away from us as
possible, I suppose,” said Mrs. Bryant, and also because Jack had job
opportunities there. As for Jack’s family, they were scattered over the
United States and were not in touch.
The young couple made several overtures to the Bryants, especially
after their daughter was born. They named her Lucy after her
grandmother. But the old couple refused any reconciliation. They never
saw their granddaughter. “I wanted to, but Mr. Bryant was adamant. No
one can blame Eleanor and Jack for feeling resentful.” A rupture and
silence of many years ensued. Once Mrs. Bryant wrote to her daughter,
offering aid for small Lucy, but Eleanor never answered.
When young Lucy’s mother died a few years ago, her father wrote this
news to the grandparents and asked if they wished to attend the
funeral. Marshall Bryant decided that they would not go. Mrs. Bryant
murmured, “It was hard to lose Eleanor without ever seeing her again.”
Jack Rowe had suggested that the Bryants might, at long last, wish to
see their granddaughter. But Marshall Bryant hinted that Rowe’s motive
was a desire to gain their fortune. Young Lucy’s father, as a result,
felt freshly antagonized, and wrote them a bitter letter. Once more the
two families ceased to communicate.
Recently, within the past year, Marshall Bryant had developed a severe
heart condition. “He’s still active,” said Mrs. Bryant, “but he may not
have long to live. This knowledge has--has modified his personality.
He is more concerned than ever about what will become of his fortune
after he and I pass away. I am afraid he is not a charitable enough man
to leave the bulk of it to institutions for--as he says--strangers to
enjoy. Also, he now feels great remorse for disowning Eleanor, and for
refusing any contact with her daughter.”
As for herself, Mrs. Bryant said, she had grieved for years about the
family rupture. For a long time she encouraged Marshall Bryant to make
amends for the past. Finally, this past Christmas Day, they decided to
find their granddaughter, Lucy Rowe, and arrange for her to inherit the
Bryant fortune.
“_If_ Lucy wishes to live with us, we’d be so happy.”
“I’m so glad,” Vicki said softly, “that you’re trying to find her.”
“You’re right to say ‘trying,’ because all we definitely know about
her is her last address in San Francisco. That’s the one on Jack Rowe’s
letter five years ago.” For a moment Mrs. Bryant closed her eyes. Then
she said matter-of-factly, “A five-year-old address and an old snapshot
aren’t much to go on, are they? That’s why were relying on Mr. Dorn to
locate Lucy for us.”
Mrs. Bryant explained that she and her husband were too elderly,
and he too ill, to travel to San Francisco and search for the girl
themselves. Also, Mrs. Bryant said, they hesitated to approach Lucy
directly, either in person or by mail. “After all the antagonism which
my husband--and I, too--showed them, Eleanor and Jack naturally felt
antagonistic toward us. I’m afraid some of that feeling may have been
instilled in Lucy. She might not be glad to see her grandparents.”
So Marshall Bryant had engaged his law firm to locate young Lucy
and bring her East. He planned to transfer a generous part of the
inheritance to her immediately. The law firm assigned Thurman Dorn, a
young man, to do the traveling and investigating involved in finding
Lucy. Mr. Bryant was pleased with the choice. Though Thurman Dorn was
relatively new in the firm, his uncle, now dead, had for many years
done fine work for Mr. Bryant through the same law firm.
“My husband and I feel we know young Thurman Dorn,” said Mrs. Bryant.
“Our lawyers have told us that he came from Chicago, his home
town, with the highest recommendation from one of his law school
professors.” She mentioned the name of the law firm, Steele and Wilbur.
Vicki recognized it as a respected company. “Mr. Dorn has persuaded us
to stay entirely in the background and to let him act as intermediary
with Lucy. I do think that’s the most discreet way in such a delicate
situation.”
_A painful situation for a sick man and his elderly wife_, Vicki
thought. She said, “I do hope Mr. Dorn’s search will be successful in
every way.”
“Thank you, my dear. Mr. Dorn was in San Francisco three or four weeks
ago, and got his search for Lucy under way. Unfortunately he could not
find her on that trip--she has been away--but perhaps he has some other
leads or news to tell us about today.”
“Oh! Do you think he’ll bring Lucy with him?”
Mrs. Bryant smiled shakily. “I’m afraid to hope for so much. Let’s go
find my husband. He’s feeling anxious, too.”
When Thurman Dorn arrived a few minutes later, he was alone. Vicki
was impressed by his air of professional competence, and by his
personal dignity. He was about twenty-seven, a formal, cool young man,
evidently highly educated, very correct in his manners and attire.
His meticulously tailored gray suit, his British-looking mustache,
the stiff way he stood, reminded Vicki of a fashion plate. Or perhaps
of a stone statue. She wished someone less formal, less unsentimental
were to bridge the gap between young Lucy Rowe and her grandparents.
Well, perhaps it took someone as cool, deliberate, and as obviously
hard-headed as Mr. Dorn to trace Lucy in the first place. Vicki could
see how highly Marshall Bryant valued this young lawyer.
Mrs. Bryant introduced Vicki and Thurman Dorn. He said “how do you
do” to her with a delightful little bow and smile, and remarked--when
Mrs. Bryant said, “Vicki Barr is a flight stewardess with Federal
Airlines”--that he was an air-travel enthusiast. However, he quickly
turned away, and had little further to say to Vicki during lunch. She
was sure that Mrs. Bryant’s mention of her work did not interest him
and probably never registered with him at all.
He was busy describing to Mr. Bryant--and to Mrs. Bryant, too, though
secondarily--the progress of the search for Lucy in San Francisco.
“Now, Mr. Bryant, and Mrs. Bryant, you already know that this search is
not proceeding as easily and quickly as we would wish,” Thurman Dorn
said. “Reaching Miss Lucy takes time and patience. So will effecting a
reconciliation.”
The elderly couple listened to him, their hopes visibly rising and
falling as he spoke.
“You know that I made only partial progress when, at your request, I
visited San Francisco for a week, and personally conducted a search for
your granddaughter.”
“I remember receiving your bills from the St. Clair Hotel,” Mr. Bryant
said dryly.
Young Dorn accepted this with a deferential smile. “And unfortunately I
had to come back and tell you the disappointing news that by the time I
had located Lucy’s present home and work addresses, she had just gone
off for a trip. For, I believe, a month or more.”
Mrs. Bryant turned toward Vicki. “At least Mr. Dorn learned that Lucy
has gone traveling with respectable friends, another girl and the
girl’s mother.”
Mr. Bryant looked up from serving himself seconds from the dish the
maid offered. “Well, sir, it’s about a month now since you’ve been out
there. You say Lucy will be back in San Francisco soon. How soon can
you go out there again, and get on with this job?”
“Very soon, I hope, sir,” Dorn said. “Although it would be a waste of
my time and your money to wait around San Francisco until Miss Lucy
returns.”
“Don’t see how a girl who you say is a secretary can afford to stay
away longer than a month,” Marshall Bryant grumbled. “Dorn, are you
certain that this Lucy Rowe is actually our granddaughter?”
“No, I’m not certain. It’s only a reasonable _presumption_ at this
point, Mr. Bryant. Let me actually see and talk to the girl. I want
to question her--yes, discreetly--about certain particulars of the
Bryant family history, which she would be likely to know. I want to see
whether she has any of your old letters, or photographs of yourselves
or your daughter Eleanor. That brings me to my reason, or one of the
reasons, for asking you to let me come today.”
“The name Lucy Rowe isn’t so unusual,” Mr. Bryant interrupted. “Might
be more than one girl by that name in a city as large as San Francisco.”
“Exactly my view, too, sir,” said Mr. Dorn. “You have told me many
details of the family history and shown me documents, but a few
questions occur to me. Also, it would help in proving _this_ Lucy
Rowe’s identity if you could let me really study those documents, and
study any letters in your daughter Eleanor’s handwriting or any family
photographs. If you happen to have any available that I could examine,
say, overnight--or for a few hours this afternoon--”
“Good idea,” said Marshall Bryant. “Plenty of those things in the safe,
right here in the house. I’ll lend them to you overnight or for a day
or two. Whatever you say.”
“That will be a help,” said Mr. Dorn. “I’ll return them to you
promptly.”
One thing puzzled Vicki. Why had no one at the luncheon table mentioned
Jack Rowe, the girl’s father? She murmured her question to Mrs. Bryant.
“Because Lucy’s father died two years ago in an auto accident,” Mrs.
Bryant answered her. “Lucy did not write and tell us. Lucy has never
written to us, except one or two Christmas letters when she was a
child--which my husband asked me not to answer.” Mrs. Bryant sighed.
“So we had no way of knowing about Jack until Mr. Dorn investigated and
reported to us about three weeks ago. I’m sorry about Jack, if only
because his passing has left Lucy entirely alone in the world.”
“She has you and her grandfather,” Vicki said.
“_If_ we can find her, and _if_ she can forget old difficulties.
However”--the elderly woman brightened--“on the basis of what he’s
already learned, Mr. Dorn is hopeful that everything will work out
well.” Then she said, “Oh, Mr. Dorn! Didn’t you say you had some
further word about Lucy?”
“Yes, Mrs. Bryant. I’ve had a letter from one of her friends whom
I was unable to meet in person. Her friend writes that Lucy is an
accomplished swimmer and horsewoman. You know how Californians go in
for sports and outdoor living. Her friend also wrote my firm--sorry I
forgot to bring the letter--that Miss Lucy is fond of birds and knows
something about them.”
“She’ll be interested in your parakeets,” Mr. Bryant said to his wife,
“and she’ll enjoy the swimming pool.”
“Let’s hope so. We old people might be dull company for her. She sounds
like a delightful girl, Mr. Dorn.”
The lawyer said, “From everything I’ve learned so far, she sounds like
a charming girl, and a girl of considerable character.”
Marshall Bryant looked gratified, while his wife looked so eager that
Vicki felt almost afraid for her. How every detail which Mr. Dorn was
able to supply increased their desire to meet their granddaughter! How
disappointed they would be if Lucy were not all they wanted her to be,
or if--Heaven forbid--Dorn could not locate their granddaughter after
all.
As they were rising from the dining table Mrs. Bryant reminded the
lawyer about the silver ring. “If you want another look at it, it’s in
the safe, too.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bryant. I _will_ examine it again. It will be
interesting to learn whether Lucy Rowe still has the silver ring which
is twin to yours.”
“Now, young man, how soon are you going back to San Francisco?” Mr.
Bryant pressed him. “How about this week?”
The lawyer was inclined to wait until the next week, in order to
be sure that Lucy Rowe was back in San Francisco. He offered to
telegraph her employers and friends there to learn if and when she had
returned. This was reasonable, the Bryants had to agree, but they were
disappointed about the delay.
“I am sorry about the delay, too,” said the lawyer, “but let us make
haste slowly. Let’s be a little cautious and discreet. There is a large
inheritance involved here, you _are_ well known, and if any false
moves were made, they’d invite a lot of publicity--newspaper stories,
pictures in the paper, and so forth.”
Mr. Bryant made a gesture of distaste, while Mrs. Bryant pretended to
shudder. There was a moment’s awkwardness. The lawyer turned to Vicki
and said:
“I understand that you--ah--were of service to Mr. Bryant yesterday
when he was taken ill.”
“Not at all,” said Vicki. “I’m just sorry Mr. Bryant didn’t feel well
enough to enjoy his flight on the Electra. Mr. Dorn, when you fly out
to the West Coast do you go on the Electra, via Chicago?”
She said it only to make conversation, thinking someday Dorn might be
one of her passengers. But suddenly his expression changed. She was
surprised at the odd look on his face. Was he thinking of something
else?
Mrs. Bryant said, “I believe, Mr. Dorn, you told us your mother still
lives in Chicago?”
“Yes, I sometimes go home week ends to see her. Very occasionally.”
“Of course. Well--I think my husband is waiting to see you.”
“Oh, yes. Will you excuse me, Mrs. Bryant? Miss--ah--” He had forgotten
her name. The young lawyer followed Mr. Bryant into the library.
Vicki felt that it was time to say good-by to her hostess. But Mrs.
Bryant led her back into the room with the parakeets. By now the sun
had moved to the far end of the room, and the birds were asleep. Mrs.
Bryant took Vicki’s hand.
“I hope all this talk about our granddaughter wasn’t dull for you.”
“On the contrary, Mrs. Bryant! I couldn’t help thinking ‘Suppose it
were _my_ grandparents whom I’d never seen, who were looking for me--’”
“You’re sympathetic, Vicki. I wonder--You’re going to be in San
Francisco often?” Vicki nodded. “Then I wonder whether I could ask you
to do me a great favor--but only if it won’t take too much of your
time.”
Vicki said, and meant it, that if the favor had anything to do with
Lucy, she would be only too happy to give it her free time.
Mrs. Bryant smiled. “Then I wish very much that you’d see whether _you_
can learn anything further about our granddaughter. While I have every
confidence in Mr. Dorn and his careful, discreet approach, this delay
is very hard. Even another week or ten days seem such a long time to
wait.”
“I’ll be in San Francisco day after tomorrow,” Vicki said.
“Wonderful. If Lucy is back by then, won’t you try to telephone her and
give her my love? All I have is her last address in Sutro Heights in
the suburbs, it’s five years old--I think Mr. Dorn mentioned that she
had moved in with friends in the city, in order to be nearer her place
of employment. I wish I had thought to write down that firm name, but
we are leaving everything, all the details, to Mr. Dorn.”
“Do you think Mr. Dorn will consider that I’m interfering? I wouldn’t
want to cause any--any complications for him.”
“I don’t see how you could.” Mrs. Bryant went to her desk for Lucy’s
last address, and copied it for Vicki. “It might be more tactful,
though, not to let Mr. Dorn know that you are taking part.” Vicki
agreed. “And let’s not mention it to my husband, either,” Mrs. Bryant
said with a gleam of mischief. “Here’s the address, my dear. Thank you
very, very much.”
“Don’t say that yet, Mrs. Bryant. First, let’s see what I can do.”
She thanked Mrs. Bryant for her hospitality, and said good-by. Mrs.
Bryant walked to the front door with Vicki, and stood looking after her
as she went down the marble steps. She looked so hopeful and yet afraid
to hope that Vicki thought:
“I’m going to do everything I can to help those two old people.”