The next day was gloriously clear and threateningly warm. Such days do
not come to Kenmore in September except to lure the unheeding to acts of
folly. And at two o'clock in the afternoon Priscilla, from the kitchen
door, saw Jerry-Jo paddling his canoe in still, Indian fashion around
Lone Tree Island. Theodora was off erranding, and Nathaniel, as far as
human knowledge went, was in some distant field; he had started off
directly after dinner. Priscilla was ready for her adventure. With the
natural desire of youth, she had decked herself out in her modest
finery--a stiffly starched white gown of a cheap but pretty design, a
fluff of soft lace at throat and wrist, and, over it, the old red cape
that years before had added to her appearance as she danced on the rocks.
Perhaps remembering that, she had utilized the garment and was thankful
that cloth lasted so long in Kenmore!
The coquetry of girlhood rose happily in Priscilla's heart. Jerry-Jo had
become again simply a link in her chain of events; he had lost the
importance the flash of the evening before had given him; he was not
forgiven, but for the time he was, as a human being, forgotten. He was
Jerry-Jo who was to paddle her to her Heart's Desire! That was it, and
the old words, set to music of her own, were the signals used to attract
McAlpin's attention. But the merry call brought Glenn from out the barn
just as the canoe touched the rocks lightly, and Priscilla prepared to
step in.
"Where you two going?" he shouted in the tone that always roused the
worst in Priscilla's nature. Jerry-Jo paused, paddle in air, but his
companion whispered:
"Go on!" To Nathaniel she flung back: "We're going to have a bit of fun,
and why not, father? I'm tired of staying at home."
This was unfortunate: on the home question Glenn was very clear and
decided.
"Come back!" he ordered, but the little canoe had shot out into the
Channel. "Hi, there McAlpin, do you hear?"
"Go on!" again whispered Priscilla, and Jerry-Jo heard only her soft
command, for his senses were filled with the loveliness of her charming,
defiant face set under the broad brim of a hat around which was twined
a wreath of natural flowers as blue as the girl's laughing eyes.
Nathaniel, defied and helpless, stood by the barn door and impotently
fumed as the canoe rounded Lone Tree Island and was lost to his
infuriated sight.
"You'll catch it," Jerry-Jo comforted when pursuit was impossible, and he
had the responsibility of the rebel on his hands. "I wouldn't be in your
place, and you need not drag me in, for I'd have turned back had you said
the word."
A fleeting contempt stirred the beauty of the girl's face for a moment,
and then she told him of that which was seething in her heart.
"What does it matter, Jerry-Jo? All my life, ever since I can remember,
I have been growing surely to what is now near at hand. I cannot abide my
father; nor can he find comfort in me. Why should I darken the lives of
my parents and have no life of my own? The lure of the States has always
been in my thought and now it calls near and loud."
McAlpin stared helplessly at her, and her beauty, enhanced by her unusual
garments, moved him unwholesomely.
"What you mean?" he muttered.
"Only this: It would be no strange thing did a boy start for the States.
A little money, a ticket on a steamer, and--pouf! Off the boys and men
go to make their lives. Well, then, some day you will--find me gone,
Jerry-Jo. Gone to make my life. Will you miss me?"
This question caused McAlpin to stop paddling.
"You won't be--let!" he murmured; "you--a girl!"
"I, a girl!" Priscilla laughed scornfully. "You will see. This day, after
I have thanked him up yonder, I am going to ask his mother to help me get
away. Surely a lady such as she could help me. I will not ask much of
her, only the guiding hand to a safe place where I can--live! Oh! can you
understand how all my life I have been smothered and stifled? I often
wonder what sort I will be--out there! I'm willing to suffer while I
learn, but Jerry-Jo"--and here the excited voice paused--"I have a
strange feeling of--myself! I sometimes feel as if there were two of me,
the one holding, demanding, and protecting the other. I will not have men
always making my life and shielding me; the woman of me will have its
way. Men and boys never know this feeling."
And Jerry-Jo could, of course, understand nothing of this, but the thing
he had set out to do, more in rude, brutish fun than anything else,
assumed graver purpose. A new and ugly look grew in his bold eyes, a
sinister smile on his red mouth, which showed the points of his white,
fang-like teeth. But Priscilla, too absorbed with her own thoughts, did
not notice.
It was four o'clock when the canoe touched the landing spot of Far Hill
Place, and Priscilla sprang out.
"I'll bide here; don't be long," said McAlpin.
But Priscilla paused and glanced up at the sky.
"It's darkening," she faltered, a shyness overcoming her. "I
smell--thunder. Don't you think you better come up with me Jerry-Jo?
Suppose they are not at home?"
"They'll be back soon in that case, and as for a shower, that would
hasten them and you would be under shelter. I can turn the canoe over me
and be dry as a mouse in a hayrick. I'll not go with you, not I. Do your
own part, with them looking on as will enjoy it."
"I believe you are--jealous, Jerry-Jo." This was said idly and more to
fill in an awkward pause than for anything else.
"And much good that would do me, after what you've just said. If you're
bound for the devil, Priscilla, 'tis little power I have to stay you."
"I'm not--for the devil!" Priscilla flung back, and started sturdily up
the hill path toward the house hidden among the trees.
Out of McAlpin's sight, the girl went more slowly, while she sought to
arrange her mode of attack. If her host were what he once was, he would
make everything easy after she recalled herself to him. As for the
mother, Priscilla had only a dim memory of her, but something told her
that the call would be a happy and memorable one after the first moment.
A bit of tune cheered the girl; a repeating of the Road Song helped even
more, for it resurrected most vividly the young fellow who had introduced
music and happiness into her life.
"I'll be doshed!" she cried. The word had not passed her lips for years;
it brought a laugh and a complete restoration of poise. So she reached
the house. Smoke was issuing from the chimney. A fire had been made even
on this hot day, but like enough it was to dry the place after the years
of closed doors and windows. Evidently it was a many-houred fire, for the
plume of smoke was faint and steady. The broad door was set wide but the
windows were still boarded up at the front of the house, though the side
ones had escaped that protection.
Priscilla knocked and waited. No reply or sound came in response, and
presently a low muttering of distant thunder broke.
"That will bring them in short order," she said, "and surely they will
not object if I make myself comfortable until they come."
She went inside. The room had the appearance of one from which the owner
had long been absent, that unaccountable, vacant look, although a
work-bag hung on the back of a chair by the roaring fire, and a blot of
oil lay on the table near the lamp which had evidently been recently
filled. Back of these tokens lay a wide sense of desolation.
For a moment Priscilla hesitated before sitting down; her courage failed,
but a second thought reconciled conditions with a brief stay after long
absence, and she decided to wait.
And while she waited, suddenly and alarmingly, the storm burst! The
darkness of the room and the wooded space outside had deceived her: there
was no escape now!
She was concerned for the people she had come to see. Jerry-Jo, she knew,
would crawl under his boat and be as dry as a tortoise in its shell. But
those others!
With this thought she set about, mechanically, making the room
comfortable. She piled on fresh wood and noticed that it was so wet that
it sputtered dangerously. Presently the wind changed sharply, and a blast
of almost icy coldness carried the driving rain halfway across the floor.
It was something of a struggle to close the heavy door, for it opened
outward, and Priscilla was drenched by the time it was made secure.
Breathing hard, she made her way to the fire and knelt before it. The
glow drew her attention from the darkness of the space back and around
her.
It was unfortunate and depressing, and she had no choice but to make
herself as comfortable as she might, though a sense of painful uneasiness
grew momentarily. At first she imagined it was fear of what she must
encounter upon her return home; then she felt sure it was her dread of
meeting the people for whom she had risked so much. Finally Jerry-Jo
loomed in the foreground of her thought and an entirely new terror was
born in her soul.
"Jerry-Jo!" she laughed aloud as his name passed her lips. "Jerry-Jo, to
be sure. My! how thankful I'd be to see him this instant!"
And with the assertion she turned shudderingly toward the door. The gloom
behind her only emphasized her nervousness.
"I'll--I'll have to go!" she whispered suddenly, while the wind and the
slashing of sleety rain defied her. "It will be better out of doors, bad
as it is!"
The grim loneliness of four walls, compared with the dangers of the open,
was worse. But when Priscilla, trembling and panting, reached the door
and pushed, she found that the storm was pitting its strength against
hers and she could not budge it.
"Oh, well," she half sobbed; "if I must, I must." And she stealthily
tiptoed back to the warmth and light as if fearing to arouse something,
she knew not what, in the dim place.
There was no way of estimating time. The minutes were like hours and the
hours were like minutes while Priscilla sat alone. As a matter of fact,
it was after seven when steps, unmistakable steps, sounded on the porch
and carried both apprehension and relief to the storm-bound prisoner
inside.
"Thank heaven!" breathed she, and sprang to her feet. She was midway in
the room when the door opened, and, as if flayed forward by the lashing
storm, Jerry-Jo broke into the shadow and drew the heavy oak door after
him. In a black panic of fear Priscilla saw him turn the key in the lock
before he spoke a word to her; then he came forward, flung his wet cap
toward the hearth, and laughed.
"What's the matter?" he asked quickly as Priscilla's white face
confronted him. "Disappointed, I suppose. Do you begrudge me a bit of
warmth and shelter? God knows I'm drenched to the bone. The rain came up
from the earth as well as down from the clouds. It's a devil's storm and
no mistake. What you staring at, Priscilla? Had you forgotten me? Thought
me dead, and now you're looking at my ghost? Didn't I wait long enough
for you? Where are the--others?"
This seemed to clarify and steady the situation and Priscilla gave a
slight laugh:
"To be sure. You did not know. They--they were away. The storm came up
suddenly. I had to wait. You are wet through and through, Jerry-Jo. It's
good we have such a fire. You'll be comfortable in a moment. I'm glad you
came; I was getting--afraid."
"Let's see if there is any oil in the lamp!" Jerry-Jo exclaimed. He was
in no mood for darkness himself.
"They must have filled it before they went," Priscilla answered. "See,
there is some oil on the table."
McAlpin struck a match and soon the room was flooded with a new
brightness that reached even to the far corners and seemed to set free
the real loneliness that held these two together.
"I--I managed to keep this dry," McAlpin spoke huskily. "I always have
a bite with me when I take to the woods. Who can ever tell what may
happen!"
He pushed a coarse sandwich toward Priscilla and began eating one
himself.
"Go on!" he said.
"I'm not hungry, Jerry-Jo, and I want to start back home at once."
Jerry-Jo leered at her over his bread and meat.
"What's your hurry? I want to get warm and dry before I set out again.
This is an all-nighter of a storm, if I know anything about it."
"Get dry, of course, Jerry-Jo. It won't take long with this heat; then we
must start, storm or no storm."
The old discomfort and unrest returned, and she fixed her eyes on
Jerry-Jo.
"There's no great hurry," said he, munching away. "It's warm here and
cozy. What's got you, Priscilla? You was mighty keen to come, and you
ain't finished your errand yet. What's ailing you? No one could help the
storm, and we'd be swamped in the bay if we was there now."
Priscilla got up and walked slowly toward the door, but without any
apparent reason Jerry-Jo arose also, and, still chewing his bread and
meat, backed away from the table, keeping himself between the girl and
whatever her object was. Noticing this, a real terror seized upon
Priscilla and she darted in the opposite direction, reached the hearth,
and was bending toward a heavy poker which lay there, before she herself
could have explained her motive. Jerry-Jo was alert. Tossing his food
upon the table as he strode forward, he gripped her wrist.
"None of that!" he muttered. "What ails you, Priscilla?" They faced each
other at close range.
"I--I am afraid of you!"
At this McAlpin threw back his head and roared with laughter, releasing
her at the same time. With freedom Priscilla gained a bit of courage and
a keen sense of the necessity of calmness. She did not move away from
Jerry-Jo, but fixing him with her wide eyes she asked:
"Are--are the--family here--here in Kenmore?" Suspicion and anger shook
the voice. The slow, tense words brought things down to fact.
"No! God knows where they are! I don't know or care."
Brought face to face with great danger, mental or physical, the majority
of people rise to the call. Priscilla knew now that she was in grave
peril--peril of a deeper kind than even her tormentor could realize.
Every nerve and emotion came to her defence. She would hold this creature
at bay as hunters hold the wild things of the woods when gun or club
fail. Then, after that, she would have to deal with what must inevitably
confront her at home. She seemed to be standing alone amid cruel and
unfamiliar foes, but she was calm!
"You lied, then? What for?"
"What do you think?"
"You believe, by shutting me away from everything, every one, you can win
what otherwise you could not get?" It all seemed cruelly plain, now. She
felt she had always known it.
"Something like that, yes. You'll come to me fast enough, after to-night.
Once you come I'll--I'll do the fair and square thing by you, Priscilla."
The half-pleading caught the girl's thought.
"You mean, by this device you will make me marry you? You'll blacken
my name, bar my father's house to me, and then you will be generous
and--marry me?"
[Illustration: "'You mean, by this device you will make me marry you?
You'll blacken my name, bar my father's house to me, and then you will be
generous and--marry me?'"]
Jerry-Jo dropped his bold, dark eyes.
"I never cared for you, Jerry-Jo. I hate you, now!"
At this McAlpin raised his head and a fierce red coloured his face.
"You'll get over that!" he muttered. "Any port in a storm, you know.
You better not drive me now! I ain't--safe, and I've got you tight
for--to-night!"
Suddenly the pure flame of spirituality flashed into the soul of
Priscilla Glenn. Alone, undefended, facing a hideous possibility, beyond
which lay a black certainty of desolation, she rose supreme to protect
something that her rudely aroused womanhood must defend, even by death!
"You--beast!" she cried, and all her shrinking fear fell from her. "Go
back! Sit down! I have something to say to you--before----" She did not
finish, but the pause made Jerry-Jo understand that she recognized her
position.
"I'll stand here, by God!" he almost shouted, and came close.
The proximity of the rough, coarse body was the one thing the girl felt
she could not bear. She smelled the odour of his wet clothing, felt his
breath, and she shrank back a step.
"This--this body, Jerry-Jo McAlpin," she whispered, "is all you can
touch. That, I will kill to-morrow--the next day--it does not matter. But
the soul of me shall haunt you while you live. Night and day it shall
torment and clutch you until it brings your sinful spirit to--to God!"
"You--you devil!" cried McAlpin, all the superstitious fear of his mixed
blood chilling him. "You----" And then as if daring the fate she had it
in her power to evoke, he rushed toward her and clasped her close in his
strong arms. His face was bent over hers, his lips parted from his cruel
teeth, but he did not force them upon her.
So here she was--she, Priscilla Glenn, in the jaws of death, she who
would have laughed, danced, and sang her way straight into happiness!
Here she was, with what on ahead--if she lived?
She waited, she struggled, then she relaxed in the iron hold, and for a
moment, only a moment, lost the sense of reality. Presently words that
McAlpin was saying came to her in the black stillness of her
consciousness.
"I had--to have you! Now that I've shown you my power, I can wait until
you come whining to me. I ain't going to hurt you! I want you as you are
when you come a-begging of me. I only wanted to prove to you that--I've
got you!"
Again Priscilla was aware of the red warmth of the fire, the sickening
smell of drying wool, the loosening of the bands of McAlpin's arms.
"You--you who boast that when you hunt, out of season, you shoot
one shot in the air in order to give a poor wild thing a chance of
escape--you bring me here with a lie; close every hope to me,
and--call that--victory! You--you--fiend! What do you mean?"
She was standing free at last! She was so weak that she staggered to a
chair, fearing that McAlpin, seeing her need, might again lay hands upon
her.
"I mean--that I've fired my shot!" Her words had caught his fancy. "You
have your chance to--to get away! But where? Where?"
The dark face leered.
"See! I'm going to leave you. Go out into the night. You can try for
your--your life, but in the end you'll come to me. I don't care what they
of Kenmore will say, I'll know you are--what you are, and sympathy will
be with me, gal, when I take you. And you'll know, once you come to me,
proper and asking, I'll do--I'll do the best any man could do--for--I
love you!"
This was flung out desperately, defiantly.
"Yes, I love you as--Jerry-Jo McAlpin knows how to love. It's his way.
Remember that!"
Not a word rose to Priscilla's lips. She saw McAlpin turn and stride to
the door; she heard him turn the key and--she was alone! But a strange
thing happened just at that moment, a thing that did more to unnerve the
girl than anything that had gone before. As the heavy oak door slammed
after the retreating figure, the jar caused the tall clock, back among
the shadows of the far side of the room, to strike! One, two, three!
Then followed a whirring that faded into deathly silence. It was like the
voice of one, believed to be dead, speaking!
Frightened, but thoroughly roused to her only hope, Priscilla staggered
to the door, clutched the key in cold, trembling fingers, and turned it
in the lock. Then, sinking upon her knees, she crept back to the fire,
keeping close to the wall. If an eye were pressed to a knothole in the
shutter it could not follow her.