J. ELFREDA'S MASTER STROKE
As the twilight of a perfect September day deepened into purple night, a
little company of persons crossed the threshold of the quaint Little
Church Around the Corner. Though few in number it was a gathering
strongly fortified by warm affection. The several passers-by who chanced
to see this small procession enter the unpretentious sanctuary had no
difficulty in divining their purpose or singling out the chief
participants in the affair. The face of the beautiful, dark-eyed girl,
gowned in a smart tailored coat suit of brown, wore the shy radiance of
a bride. The tall, distinguished-looking man who accompanied her was
easily identified as the happy party of the second part.
Though destiny had taken an unexpected hand in Miriam Nesbit's wedding
plans, she was perhaps better satisfied to make her vows of life-long
devotion in the presence of only those she had known best. Miss
Southard, Mrs. Nesbit, David, Anne, Grace, Hippy, Nora and Mrs. Gray
were present, as Miriam's nearest, and undoubtedly her dearest. Second
in her regard were J. Elfreda Briggs, Arline Thayer, Kathleen West and
Mabel Ashe, whose residence in or near New York made their attendance
possible. Greatly to the regret of all concerned, Jessica and Reddy had
been unable to come to the wedding. Though a decided air of informality
permeated the little assemblage, the always impressive ceremony of
marriage had never seemed more sacred to the chosen few. At Miriam's
earnest request they grouped themselves about her, a fond guard, while
the minister, Everett Southard's comrade of long standing, spoke the
simple, beautiful words that linked two lives together, "for better or
for worse, through good and evil report."
From the moment she entered the Little Church until, the ceremony over,
she found herself being helped into the Nesbits' automobile, Grace was
as one in a dream. She had noted in absent wonder the play of more than
one handkerchief as her friends wiped away the furtive tears that are
always as sure to fall in the presence of a great happiness, as when the
occasion is one of grief. But she had no tears to shed. Weeks of silent
suffering had bereft her of that relief. Her sensitive face grew a
trifle more wistful as she listened to the sonorous voice intoning the
sacred words, but her brooding gray eyes remained dry. She alone knew
the agony of dull pain which clutched persistently at her heart.
During the ceremony more than one pair of sympathetic eyes strayed from
Miriam and Everett Southard to the slender, white-clad girly whose
grave, sweet mouth and unfaltering glance told of a strength that came
from within. In the thick of the congratulations which followed, there
was not one of those who adored Grace who did not yearn to turn to her
and comfort her. Yet her very composure made consolation impossible.
They realized that she was sufficient unto herself.
On the way to the station, where the Southards were to entrain almost
immediately for the West, she talked in her usual cheerful strain to
Mrs. Nesbit, Mrs. Gray and Elfreda Briggs, who shared an automobile with
her. David and Anne were in the Southards' limousine with Miss Southard
and the newly wedded pair, while the other members of the party had
followed in a larger automobile. Secretly, Grace and Mrs. Gray were
longing to talk with David Nesbit. He had arrived from the north only an
hour before the wedding, thus giving them no chance for an interview.
Both were imbued with but one thought and that thought centered on Tom
Gray.
When the last hearty words of good will and farewell had been said and
the train bearing the Southards westward had chugged out of the station,
Grace was still obliged to possess her soul in patience while the
remainder of the wedding party, minus the chief participants, repaired
to the Nesbits' home for an informal supper in honor of the occasion.
During its progress, however, she and David managed to exchange a few
words regarding Tom. David had canvassed the region of the camp as
thoroughly as was possible during the time he had been North, but thus
far he had met with no clue to Tom's whereabouts.
It was after eleven o'clock when Hippy, Nora, Anne, David, Mrs. Gray,
Mrs. Nesbit, Grace and Elfreda Briggs, whom Grace had begged to remain
with her, settled themselves in the library to hear David's account of
his northern explorations.
"I am all broken up because I have no news for you," he began. "Good old
Tom's disappearance is the most baffling problem I've ever dealt with.
Blaisdell is completely discouraged. He and I have tramped through those
woods for days from daylight until dark. So far as we know, no one saw
Tom after he left the village. I found one little boy who insists that
he saw Tom that day, but he saw him just before he entered the woods, so
that doesn't help much. But I won't give up. I shall have to remain in
New York for a day, then I am going back to stay until I find him."
"Mr. Blaisdell has written me that he must go to Cincinnati for a week
or two," sighed Mrs. Gray. "A case he was working on, before he took up
mine, needs his immediate attention."
"Yes; he told me," nodded David. "He is a splendid man, but he's
handicapped in Tom's case by not being a thorough-going woodsman. His
work has lain a great deal in large cities. If one of us had disappeared
in such a wild region, instead of Tom, I'd say the very man to do the
trailing would be Tom Gray himself. What I can't understand is how an
expert woodsman like Tom could come to grief in the wilds."
"Tom was always venturesome and reckless of danger," replied Mrs. Gray
with an ominous shake of her head. "I wish he had gone into some
commercial enterprise rather than to have become interested in forestry.
You know that the station master told him a storm was brewing, but he
paid no attention to the warning."
"That storm was the cause of Tom's vanishing," broke in Grace almost
dramatically. "I've always felt it. It made him lose his way,
then----Who knows what happened then?"
"I wish I could go with you, David," declared Hippy earnestly. "I would,
too, if I weren't tied up with a law suit which an irate traction
company is waging against the city of Oakdale. Although I am not a
woodsman, still I know the difference between a tree and a stump, and
during my long and useful career I have killed numbers of slimy,
slithery snakes."
"At least, that's something to be proud of," lauded Elfreda Briggs,
favoring Hippy with an amused smile. The stout young man's remarks were
quite in accord with her own distinct sense of humor. Hitherto she had
listened without comment, absorbing all she heard and mentally
appraising it in her shrewd fashion. She had chosen to break into the
conversation at that moment because of an idea that was slowly taking
shape in her fertile brain.
"I suppose," she continued nonchalantly, "that as David has just said,
it takes a woodsman to trail a woodsman." Her round eyes fastened
themselves on Grace. Knowing Elfreda as she did, Grace flashed the
speaker a curiously startled glance. Something of signal import to her
was about to fall from Elfreda's lips.
"I was just thinking of the story of Ruth Denton's father and old Jean,
the hunter, who used to live in Upton Wood. Don't you remember, you told
me about how he was hurt and Mr. Denton nursed him back to health! You
told me, too, that this same Jean had hunted all over the United States
and Canada. There's a woodsman for you! If he's still in Oakdale, why
don't you ask him to go and look for Tom?" Elfreda leaned back in her
chair, well pleased with herself. The expressions mirrored on her
friends' faces told her that she had scored.
"Why did we never think of Jean before?" wondered Grace in a hushed
voice.
"Good old Jean!" Hippy sprang to his feet and performed a joyful dance
about the room. "Why, of course he's the very man!"
"It was unforgivably stupid in me never to have thought of Jean,"
admitted David, looking deep disgust at his own defection.
"The reason none of us thought of Jean was because I made such a point
of keeping Tom's disappearance a secret," acknowledged Mrs. Gray
ruefully. "Did Grace tell you that a New York newspaper had published an
account of it?"
"Miriam sent me a copy of the newspaper," returned David. "Who gave out
the news?"
Mrs. Gray cast an interrogatory glance toward Grace, who met it with an
assuring smile. "It's all right, Aunt Rose," she nodded. "I have
Arline's permission to answer. She wishes me to tell anyone whom I think
ought to know it. She said so to-day." With this explanation Grace
continued: "I wrote Arline about the postponement of my marriage to Tom.
She answered, but confused her letter with another which she had written
to someone else. That person proved unfriendly to both of us, and so the
mystery of poor Tom came into print."
"So that's the way it happened," mused David. Delicacy forbade him to
ask further questions. He understood, as did the others, that Grace's
explanation had been purposely sketchy. "Personally, I'm not sorry it's
now generally known. It may be the means of bringing Tom into the land
of the living again. I don't mean that I think he's dead. I can't and
won't think that."
"Nor I," Grace cried out sharply. "I've never let myself believe that
for an instant. We ought to give Elfreda special vote of grateful thanks
for suggesting Jean. That was a master stroke."
Grace's suggestion brought out a volley of acclamation in Elfreda's
direction.
"Oh, forget it," she muttered, unconsciously relapsing into her old-time
use of slang. "Old Jean just happened to pop into my head. That's all."
"Just the same, it takes an outsider to show the Oakdalites a few
things," warmly accorded Hippy. "I am proud to claim you as a colleague,
Elfreda. Some day we may yet grapple together with the intricacies of
the law. 'Wingate and Briggs, Lawyer and Lawyeress. Daring Deeds
Perpetrated While You Wait,' would look nice on a sign."
"I can see that you are making fun of a poor defenseless lawyeress,"
retorted Elfreda good-humoredly. "Don't you think so, Mrs. Nesbit?
You've been listening to all of us without saying a word. Now we'd like
to hear your views on whether or not Wingate and Briggs, etc., would set
the world on fire as a law firm."
"I have little doubt of the glorious future of such a combination,"
agreed Mrs. Nesbit, smiling. There was an absent look in her eyes,
however. Her thoughts had been traveling persistently into the past as
she sat listening to the interesting discussion over the missing Tom.
Was it possible that Miriam, her little girl of yesterday, had actually
stepped out on the highway of married life? And Grace Harlowe, the
care-free torn-boy who had run races and flown kites with David, was now
a tragic-eyed young woman from whose hand fate had roughly snatched the
cup of happiness. There were Nora and Hippy, too, a veritable Darby and
Joan, despite their love for playful squabbling. Could it be that these
alert, self-reliant young men and women were once the children who had
romped and frisked about on her lawn, or played house under the tall
hollyhocks in the garden?
"You are tired out, Mrs. Nesbit," suggested Grace with concern. She had
noted the brooding light in the older woman's gentle face and quickly
attributed the cause. "I think it is time to sound taps. We can continue
our session in the morning, can't we, Fairy Godmother?"
"Yes. I am not nearly as young as I wish I were. This trouble about Tom
has made me realize it," returned Mrs. Gray somberly. "But Elfreda has
given us a valuable piece of advice. I am inclined to hope with Grace
that we have reached the beginning of the end of our weary waiting."
"I've a favor to ask of you," stated Elfreda mysteriously, when, a
little later, she and Grace entered the sleeping room which they were to
occupy together.
"It is granted." Grace passed an affectionate arm about Elfreda's plump
shoulders.
"All right. I don't need to ask, then. I'll just remark that I'm going
home with you to Oakdale."
"Elfreda!" Grace brought both arms into play in an energetic hug of the
stout girl. "Will you truly come home with me!"
"I will," asserted Elfreda.
"But what about your work?"
"Let the law take its course--without me," was the unconcerned response.
"I wouldn't miss seeing old Jean for anything. But that's not my reason
for inviting myself to go home with you. I can see that you need a
comforter. Do I get the job?"
"You do," laughed Grace, but the laugh ended in a sob against Elfreda's
shoulder. It had been a trying day for poor Loyalheart and the
inevitable reaction had set in. "You--understand--don't--you?" she
murmured brokenly.
"Yes; I know how brave you've been to-day." Elfreda's soothing tones
were a trifle unsteady, as she added in tender whimsicality, "I could
see."