Matters had come to such a pass in the Massey home that Eugene and his
wife scarcely had a pleasant word to say to one another, and Nan spent
much time in weeping.
She had ransacked the house to find some papers of her mother-in-law’s
that would prove that the house was theirs, but had found nothing.
On the contrary, there were letters and papers that showed that both
Gene’s mother and his aunt had always known that the house belonged
to Joyce. There were also references to “money” and Nan began to fear
that Gene and she would have nothing. Gene’s business wasn’t very good,
and it had been growing worse of late, because he was so distracted
by this matter of the will that he scarcely gave any attention at all
to it; and Nan was running up terrible bills which she dared not tell
him about, hoping every day that Joyce would turn up and matters would
straighten out. But Joyce did not return, and every day the bills grew.
At first, when she found them, Nan considered burning these letters
that said so much about the property, but after reading them carefully
over again, she was afraid to do so, lest somehow that would be only
making a bad matter worse. What if Joyce knew of these letters and
should return some day and demand them? So she purchased a strong
metal box, locked them therein and hid them among her own private
possessions. If they were ever demanded she could say she had put them
away for safe-keeping. If they were not, and it came out that the
house was theirs after all, she could easily burn them sometime.
But things were going from bad to worse, and after two of the tradesmen
whom she owed had visited her, demanding their money when she had none
to give them, she decided that something radical must be done.
So she dressed herself in deep mourning one day and went to call on the
minister.
There were dark circles under her eyes and a sad droop to her lips.
She carried a black-bordered handkerchief and asked to see Doctor
Ballantine privately.
Mrs. Ballantine took her into the study, and Nan addressed herself to
him with instant tears.
“Oh, Doctor Ballantine,” she said, stanching the flood with her
handkerchief and sinking into the offered chair, “I’m so miserable and
unhappy! I simply had to come and see you!”
Doctor Ballantine put up his pen, and slipped a blotter over the
sermon he was just finishing for the morrow, and expressed himself
sympathetically, wondering anxiously what had happened. Had this
woman come to tell him of some great tragedy or to confess her sins?
Alarm filled his heart, and instant premonitions of danger to Joyce.
Somehow Nan was not the kind of woman that one would ever think of
in connection with any religious convictions. It never even entered
the good man’s heart that she had come to inquire about her soul.
Afterwards he thought of this with some wonder and self-reproach.
But Nan recovered from her brief emotion and began to talk.
“It’s about my husband’s cousin, Joyce Radway,” she stated, and the
good doctor was instant attention. “You see, we haven’t heard from her
since she went away.”
“Is that so?” said Doctor Ballantine with startled tone. “Where is she?
Perhaps you would like to have me write, or telegraph to the minister
there to learn of her safety. Are you afraid she is ill?”
“Oh, we don’t know--” wailed Nan, breaking down again. “We don’t even
know where she is. She hasn’t told us!”
“You don’t know? She hasn’t told you? Why,” said the minister, half
rising from his seat, “that’s not at all like Joyce to leave you in
anxiety. Didn’t she tell you where she was going?”
“No,” sobbed Nan. “No, she didn’t tell us. She just walked out of the
house without saying a word, and never came back. We thought of course
she would come back pretty soon. She always did before when she got
upset or angry--”
“Upset? Angry?” said the puzzled minister. “What, may I ask, what do
you think she was angry at?”
“Oh, nothing at all, just a little thing. You know Joyce has a fearful
temper. Or perhaps you don’t know it. Those quiet, mild people never
do show up what they are till you come to live with them. Of course I
don’t blame poor Joyce. She had to be on such a strain all the time
poor mother was ill. She wouldn’t let a person but Joyce come near her,
and it was almost more than the girl could bear. I sometimes used to be
afraid she would go out of her mind before the end came, there were so
many demands made upon her. And a young girl like that wants to have a
good time, you know--”
“That doesn’t sound like Joyce--” The minister spoke gravely. “She was
devoted to Mrs. Massey. You haven’t known her as long as I have. She
was only a tiny child when I came here, you know, and Mother and I--we
loved her. She was like our little one that was taken away.”
“Yes, I know, she was attractive,” Nan hastened to say, mopping her
eyes daintily. “And she liked to pose as a dutiful daughter. Still, you
know, Doctor Ballantine, a girl likes a good time. I knew you thought a
good deal of her and were interested in her welfare and all, and that’s
why I came to you. I haven’t told my husband I was coming. I don’t know
what he would say if he knew. He’s very proud and independent, and he
feels this thing keenly. But I just thought I would come to you to see
if you couldn’t help find Joyce. You know her friends and know her so
well. I thought you might know some place to look for her that hasn’t
occurred to us. We have been here so short a time. But you mustn’t tell
my husband. You must promise me that before we begin.”
“It’s never a good thing for a woman to hide a thing from her husband,”
said the minister, still gravely. “Mrs. Massey, my advice to you is to
go home and tell your husband you have spoken to me before you tell me
anything more about it. Then if he wishes me to be in your confidence
further we can go on from there.”
“Oh, Doctor Ballantine!” broke out Nan afresh with frightened tears. “I
couldn’t possibly do that. You see he is so sensitive about it because
it was his words that made Joyce angry. He told her, very kindly--he
always speaks gently in his family--and I was right in the room when he
did it. I heard every word. There wasn’t the least reason in the world
for her to get angry, only she was just in the mood for it. She’s very
temperamental, you know. He asked her to please not let her electric
light burn all night, that the bill had just come in and was pretty
large, and we must all try to remember and turn the lights out whenever
they were not needed. Now you know there wasn’t anything in that to
make a girl get furious and stamp her foot and fling herself out of
the kitchen in a pet. I was just putting on dinner when she went, and
I thought of course she would come back pretty soon. She always did
before. But this time she didn’t. I suppose she must have been waiting
for us to come out and coax her back, but we thought it wisest for her
not to run after her, for we had noticed ever since Mother’s death that
she showed a tendency to get into a huff and stay there, and we thought
if we just went quietly about and ignored her temper she would come out
of it sooner. That’s the way we always do with the children.”
She paused for encouragement, but the Doctor, with set lips and stern
eyes, was watching her, saying nothing. Nan began to catch her breath
again in a trembling sob, and went on:
“When it began to get dark I got worried and told Gene he simply must
go out to the barn and bring her in. It was too damp and chilly for
her to stay out there after dark. That was where she always went when
she got in a pet, and we expected, of course, to find her in her usual
place. But when Gene went out with his flashlight there wasn’t a trace
of her anywhere, and he came back all upset.”
She paused to observe the impression she was making, but the minister’s
face wore a mask of dignity and she hurried on.
“I wouldn’t tell you these things, of course, for it is terrible to me
to reveal the little weaknesses of my husband’s family, but I must tell
some one and get some help, for I am nearly crazy. I sometimes think my
husband will lose his mind. He is naturally very fond of Joyce, for she
was brought up like his own sister, you know, and he is almost breaking
under the anxiety----”
The minister said nothing to help her.
“We have searched the world over, every place we can think of, and no
trace whatever of her. It is almost like the case of Charlie Ross, and
now Gene can’t sleep at night, he is so anxious----”
She paused and wiped her eyes.
“I want my husband to get the detectives at work after her, but he
keeps hoping we shall hear. He simply can’t bear the publicity of it
all, and for my sake especially. So I decided this afternoon to just
come and confide in you. You’re so wise and kind----”
The minister arose with that compelling look that makes a caller arise
also.
“Mrs. Massey,” he said, “I wish there were some comfort I could give
you. I will think this matter over, and will talk it over with my
wife. I never keep anything from my wife, but be assured it will go
no further. Meantime, I advise you to go home and tell your husband
what you have done. There is nothing to be gained by keeping it from
him, and I most certainly cannot enter into any plan whatever to help
without his full knowledge and sanction. Meantime, of course, Mrs.
Ballantine and I will consult, and if there is any one that we think
might help in this matter we will let you and Mr. Massey know. I don’t
mind telling you that we have been anxious about our young friend
even before you came. It seemed so utterly unlike Joyce to go off in
that way without a word to us. She--is not like that. There must have
been--some reason--something more than you have stated--perhaps more
than you understood--perhaps some misunderstanding on her part. Really,
Mrs. Massey, Joyce _is not_ like that. I have known her a long time--”
“That’s what I say, Doctor Ballantine. That’s what I’m afraid of. I’m
just afraid to mention it to my husband, it would be so perfectly
terrible to him to think of such a thing in connection with his family,
but sometimes--sometimes--I’ve really been afraid--now, of course, I
wouldn’t want you to mention this even to Mrs. Ballantine--unless you
simply have to--but sometimes I’ve been afraid that Joyce was--losing
her mind.
“Now I know you’re shocked, but I simply _had_ to tell you, and I
thought if you could just kind of quietly inquire around among the
insane asylums in this neighborhood, and see if any young person has
been brought in like that--You, being a minister, can get entrance into
these places--”
“Mrs. Massey!”
The minister’s voice was stern. Nan hardly knew him.
“Mrs. Massey, nothing like that has happened! Joyce Radway has never
lost her mind! She is too filled with the spirit of Christ for that.
She is too much God’s child. There is nothing like Jesus Christ to keep
a mind sane and steady. Don’t ever utter that thought to any living
being again!”
Nan cringed as she stood by the study door. His voice was almost like
the command of one who had authority over her.
“Oh, are you _sure_?” she managed to say weepily. “That’s such a
comfort. That thought has tormented me night and day, perhaps Joyce was
shut up in some awful insane asylum--”
“Hush!” said the doctor sternly. “That could never be. She may have
fallen into some danger, or be sick in some hospital, but never that!
She is God’s own child.”
Nan slid out of the door like a serpent, rebuked, murmuring:
“Well, I’m glad I came, you’ve given me so much comfort!” but she
walked down the street with angry eyes and set mouth. Her mission had
been a failure so far as winning over that old dolt was concerned. What
a fool he was over Joyce! What a fool everybody was over her! What did
they see in her anyway to be so crazy about? She couldn’t understand.
Nevertheless, as she drew toward her own home, meditating on her recent
interview, something in her heart told her exultantly that she had
not failed entirely, for she had managed to give a different coloring
to the situation, much as the old minister had hated to accept it. He
would think it over, and he would presently come to be uncertain, and
perhaps to half believe what she had told him. And when later, other
developments occurred, he might give credence to the thoughts which she
had put into his mind. Nan was not extremely clever, but, somehow, the
devil in her shallow heart comforted her with this, and the hope that
some day, if trouble really broke, Gene would thank her and be proud of
her for having prepared the way for a creditable story that would not
reflect upon them.
By the time she had got supper ready she was quite pleased with her
afternoon’s work. She had planted the seed in Doctor Ballantine’s
subconscious mind and it would grow. By the time he told his wife
it would even so soon have begun to grow. She need not worry about
developments. Perhaps even Gene would never have to know that she had
had anything to do with it.