WINIFRED MEETS UPDYKE
Next morning Henry Updyke was literally up with the larks, and there
were plenty of them about the premises of Dreamy Hollow.
At six o'clock he betook himself into the open for a morning stroll.
Winifred was also astir, for the call of Patchogue was in her heart, and
she must be ready. But it was far too early to arouse the household, so
now was her opportunity to once more behold the dreamland from which she
would soon be on her way. To the beach and back was her first intention,
as vivid memories clustered about its sandy slope, where she had gazed
far out beyond the bay to the very ocean itself, and dreamed of "Castles
in Spain." And now she would look for those castles again, and the
cliffs of Fort Hancock, over Sandy Hook way, easily seen from the place
where she sat on the day of her startling adventure. Fearful of the dew
damp of early morning she took the inside path and was soon at the
waters' edge. And now she sat down, oblivious to all save the waters,
which moaned as they came in great waves, and sang as they splashed in
diabolic fury and broke into gems of rainbow hue. And there was no one
to disturb the thoughts within her mind, for which she was glad, only to
turn her face toward the west, and there stood a huge man, calmly
looking down upon her.
"Don't be frightened," said the big fellow, smiling down upon her. "You
surely have not forgotten your father's friend, who used to hold you on
his knee and tell you stories, and bring you books from the city."
"Mr. Updyke!" gasped Winifred, looking guiltily into his smiling face,
then suddenly she exclaimed--"I've seen you but recently, have I not?"
"Yes--but you can't guess when and where," he laughingly replied, at
which the girl looked far out to sea and pondered.
"Of course I can, only it must have been a dream. Indeed, I saw you in a
dream. You, and another man, whom I had never seen, stood before me. You
said something about it being time for me to get up and prepare
breakfast for father. And something about opening up the stand--now
isn't that true?"
"Practically, those were my words. You had slept entirely too long, so I
tried a little trick on you and it worked for an instant. Then you went
back to sleep. It is dangerous to sleep too long. Who do you think was
with me?"
"Another man. I haven't seen him since. It wasn't the doctor?"
"No, it was Mr. Villard," replied Updyke, watching the effect of his
words. "I never saw a man so anxious in my life."
"Oh, isn't he the dearest soul! I just love him--he has been so kind to
father and me, and he is going to run us over home this morning in his
car. We are leaving to-day for good, and we may never see New York after
all," she concluded, shaking her head sadly.
"You'll have a different driver next time than the one you started out
with," suggested Updyke, dryly, as Winifred looked down at the sand and
revolved a certain question that she had in mind. It concerned Parkins'
whereabouts, but she did not ever want to speak his name again.
"Where is he now?" she asked, briefly, but without malice in the tone
of her voice.
"Probably in New York somewhere," replied Updyke. "I don't think he will
try any more 'elopements' for the present."
Winifred looked up in surprise.
"Is that what he calls an elopement?" she asked, blushing deeply. "I
thought elopements were by mutual understandings. Are they not?"
"That's what they use to mean before Bill Parkins set the new fashion,"
he laughed, as she looked up and caught the twinkle in his eyes.
"I hope you see something besides humor in his actions," she replied
quite soberly, after a lengthy pause.
Updyke saw at once that Winifred Barbour's old-fashioned purity of heart
and mind had been in no way affected by her sad experience.
"Now I've gone and said something that I didn't mean," said he quickly.
"No girl, with a mother like you had, will ever need a champion for her
code. She will maintain that standard through life. What time are you
leaving for home?" queried the big man.
"About nine, I believe."
"Then we had better turn back," said Updyke reaching for Winifred's
hand and helping her to her feet. "I think you will never have occasion
to worry about Parkins in the future. I believe that he has gone out of
your life forever," he concluded, looking testily into her face.
But Winifred needed no coaching to that effect. "All the king's horses"
could never put the man Parkins back into her life. But she said nothing
on that score to the big man trudging along beside her. Finally she
asked--
"Do you know much about this matter, Mr. Updyke?"
"Just a trifle," he replied. "I heard a rumor now and then about the
case, but it's been kept so quiet that your neighbors won't have an
inkling of it when you get back. They only know of the accident, so if I
were you I'd say nothing about anything else. You wouldn't want your
picture in the paper and a great 'howdye do' kicked up with your name in
it--now would you?" asked Updyke, stopping in order to impress her mind
upon certain angles of the case.
"Of course not--I should simply wilt and die if my name should be
printed in the newspapers."
"Naturally so, and no matter how innocent you really are, there are
those who would enlarge the matter into scandal, if we fail to adopt a
certain plan," said he, gently. "Now listen carefully, little girl.
Everybody in Patchogue knows that Parkins' car was ditched and that you
had a close call--also your father--and that Parkins was almost killed.
They know that you were taken into the Villard home, and that you are
all right and will soon be home. Julie Hayes has been faithful to you
and your booth is well cared for. Now--remember this--no one must know
about the other episode--the abduction. If that ever raises its head you
will never live it down in your life, no matter where you might go--and
you are the one to tell your father the consequences of confiding with
any living soul."
"I will merely speak of the accident, and I will warn father to do the
same," said Winifred, looking gratefully up into the big man's eyes.
"That's the idea--all you will talk about is the accident, and, if ever
anything else is hinted at, just ask what that person means, and never
acknowledge a word of truth that may be uttered as hearsay. You had an
accident, and it laid you up, but you have fully recovered and the
whole matter is in the past and practically forgotten."
Winifred now understood the program fully, and made up her mind to
follow instructions literally. And she vowed that her father would do
the same. Then, suddenly, she thought of young Mr. Carver, but hesitated
to bring up his name. At last she determined that she must be instructed
on that point.
"What about Mr. Carver?" she asked nervously.
"No worry in that direction--he is a sworn officer of the law and is
fond of certain people who would be sorry to be involved in a story,
even in a small way. He is one of the finest young men I know, and he is
progressing rapidly in all ways. Some day he will be a rich man. He is
brainy, and coming to the front all over Long Island. He may go far!"
concluded Updyke, who knew the value of good friendship toward a man who
aspired.
"I--I am ever so glad you have talked to me about all these matters, and
now please tell me who you are so I'll know why you have interested
yourself in our behalf," said Winifred, her voice reflecting her real
thoughts.
She had no artifice by which to speak with double meaning.
"Oh, I am a friend of Mr. Villard's, and he and I would naturally pull
together. He is a fine man, but the dear fellow is lonesome. Too bad he
doesn't marry some sweet natured home body that would love him, and
drive away the solitude of this wonderful place," replied Updyke, waving
his hand at the well kept premises.
They were now at the east entrance of the stately home and he opened the
door for her to enter.
"I shall hope to see you again, sir--some time. You have been
exceedingly kind and I promise to act upon your suggestions."
Then she added, "I am glad you are a good friend of Mr. Villard's. He
needs companionship."
A little later on, with herself and father already seated comfortably in
Villard's smart touring car, she was surprised when Mr. Updyke got in
and asked to be allowed to sit beside Mr. Barbour. This change brought
Villard into the seat beside Winifred. But she thought she saw the
reason for it by the way Updyke brought the sick man out of his
doldrums.
"You are going to feel a lot better when you get back to your old
haunts," said he, affably. "When a man spends a lifetime in one place,
there is where his heart belongs. He should seldom leave it--your world
is there," said Updyke, by way of getting acquainted.
And then he began to point out various interesting spots, with something
historical about them which caused neighboring householders to think
with pride upon their wonderful locations. In fact, the big fellow took
Alexander Barbour's mind away from his troubles and made him feel how
well he would be in a few days when he got back into the tang of the
salt air at good old Patchogue. Winifred marveled at the manner by which
this stranger could so install himself in one's good graces. These same
scenes along the parkway interested herself as well, and she remarked
upon the difference between a leisurely ride in comfort, as against the
scarifying speeders who infested the southern drive. Such had been the
only other experience of her lifetime. But, by way of comparison, the
smooth, almost jarless driving of Jacques, with Santzi by his side, was
to her the acme of delight.
And so the journey continued all the way out to Patchogue, and the
little home, where the sleek and silent car came to a final stop. Into
the spick and span cottage all four entered and it wasn't long before
the father was put to bed, and Winifred, in gingham apron, engaged
herself in preparing a dainty luncheon from her jams and preserves
together with hot biscuit and coffee. A small jar of cream and big dab
of butter were borrowed in neighborly fashion over the back fence, also
a chunk of cold ham, representing good measure in the heart of the
neighbor. Thus for two hours the little home gave a good account of
itself and when saying good-bye Villard looked wistfully into the eyes
of sweet Winifred and asked a serious question.
"Do you know how much I love you, dear?"
"With all your heart--I know," she answered.
"When shall I come again?" he pleaded, with eyes that smiled into her
own.
"As often as you feel disposed. I shall have no time to attend the
little business place we own. But I shall keep it open with help from
others. I fear the worst about father."
And when it was time to go back home Villard made no further overture of
his love than to hold her hand and to squeeze it tightly. He longed to
kiss her but he knew her code--only a husband could claim that right.
Two days later, Alexander Barbour passed away, and Winifred put on
mourning. During her grief, the whole town became interested in her
affairs, and with Julie Hayes at the business helm, she took her time,
and thought out her future. Seemingly everybody called at her home; even
George Carver of Riverhead made a special trip to pay his respects.
There had been an episode in her life in which he had figured
heroically, and she had made a vast impression upon his youthful mind.
With the best of intentions, and with due consideration of her
bereavement, he did not come often, nor did Villard, owing to the small
talk that might arise from too frequent calls. For the sake of
companionship she gained consent of Julie Hayes' parents by which the
young girl became her companion at home, as well as her clerk at the
booth on the Parkway.
With regard to Villard's calls, it had been hinted by Winifred that the
Sabbath was a day when visits would be most welcome and that going to
church together would be better for her, and add to his prestige--now
growing in the town. He had become fond of the place and made many
acquaintances. Land deals were active through his ability to furnish
money for building purposes. Every citizen was charmed by his modest
simplicity and if ever a man owned a townful of ardent boosters it was
Drury Villard.
On one particular Sunday George Carver left the Barbour cottage just as
Villard drove up, and Winifred and Julie had gone out to the gate as he
took his leave. Then, for the first time Winifred noted a shadow
creeping over the face of Villard, though he smiled affably, and shook
hands with the younger man.
"You are just in time for a good dinner," said Carver. "Sorry I have to
go, but it is necessary. My loss is your gain," said the young man
gaily, but there were times when he wondered if her sweet consideration
could be turned into love.
When Carver had gone both Winifred and Julie each grasped the arm of
the solemn Villard, and in less than a minute his face was all smiles.
"Julie, we will have to be careful about allowing our callers to cross
each other's paths," teased Winifred. "Did you notice how quickly our
Mr. Carver mounted his wheel when our Mr. Drury Villard drove up? Shall
we invite them to a duel?" laughed Winifred, seizing one of his big
hands. "Now sir, you shall be fed by both of us until you will never
want to eat again--but, do we get a ride after dinner, Sir Knight?"
"You do--all three of us on one seat, so I can hug two charming girls at
one time. Where shall we go?" inquired Villard, who had no choice of
routes.
"I--I'm afraid to suggest," faltered Winifred, guiltily.
"Of course I'm no mind reader, dear girl----"
"I hardly know so well about that. It seems to me that you really do
know my mind?" laughed Winifred.
"For example?"
"Don't you remember? Over at Dreamy Hollow--how you anticipated
everything that would add to my comfort and ease of mind? If I was the
least bit thirsty you rang a bell and in came the water without a hint
from me. All I had to do was to think of something I'd like for dinner,
and there it was, when it came time to be served. I am somewhat like the
slaves of olden days who thought as did their master," teased the girl.
"Now I'm going to prove all I've said. I'll write my wishes down as to
where we shall go, and I'll fold it and hand it to you."
Over to her desk ran Winifred, where she rapidly set down her choice,
then gave it into the keeping of Julie.
"Now sir--please state your own choice of a drive," said the girl,
gaily.
"I've always wanted to visit Parkins' hut," said he, yawning after the
fashion of one who desires to hide his curiosity concerning a certain
particular thing.
Simultaneously the two girls broke out in laughter, as Julie passed over
Winifred's scribbled line--"The Parkins Castle on the Outer Drive." She
had once seen the hut and with girlish curiosity wanted to see it again.
"Now then--see how you control my very thoughts!" laughed Winifred
running over to him and patting his cheek. "Now 'sposing you were a
wicked king, just imagine what a living death I would lead!" she ended,
her voice deeply sepulchral as her girlish voice could command.
And so the plan took immediate effect by way of starting out. As they
quickly passed through the deserted business quarter, the question arose
as to which turn to take for the outer drive, but an inquiry brought
them the right information.
"Wouldn't it be terrible if we'd find him there," suggested Winifred
snuggling more closely to Villard and clutching his arm.
"Nothing like that can happen. He is occupied elsewhere," replied
Villard, his teeth set and his voice cold.
After that the ride continued in silence until the outer drive came
within view. Then with delight the two girls grew interested in the
great billows that came rolling in from the ocean, almost forgetting the
objective hut that had held their thought. But it came to view most
quickly thereafter. Unpainted and weather beaten, it stood alone without
tree or shrub to lend it hospitable appearance. Just a shack--nothing
else--a bedroom, plainly furnished, and in order, also a kitchenette,
and a bath tub with shower. Several empty barrels outside told of the
fresh water supply, hauled in, no doubt, from nearby wells, inside the
bay district. Evidently the owner liked music, as a banjo-guitar stood
in one corner of the room. Also there had been a dog about the premises,
accounted for by a muzzle and chain, and a collar to which was attached
a state license. In a crude desk there were various papers and letters,
some with envelopes addressed by feminine hands. All these Villard made
into a bundle, and wrapped them with an old newspaper.
"I'll turn them over to Updyke," said he to Winifred, as she looked on.
"They might be valuable--some time," he mumbled as if to himself. Then
suddenly he almost shouted--"Let us get away from this infamous den!" as
he opened the door for the two girls to pass out. Then he slammed it
behind him and walked to the car without looking back.
A month went by before anything of importance broke in upon the even
tenor of Villard's daily life. The Parkins matter had waned into a
memory and Updyke held his peace as to the whereabouts of the man. Then,
suddenly, as a bolt from the sky, the engagement of Winifred Barbour of
Patchogue and George Carver of Riverhead was announced in the local
papers of that thriving little city. From the moment Villard learned of
it he settled back into the life of a recluse. He had lost his battle in
the dearest cause of his life. He became old and worn over night, such
had been the inexorable reaction from his mighty love for the girl of
his heart. Only Updyke and Sawyer could gain access to his seclusion.
Gray patches of hair made quick attack upon the dark brown, and no
longer caring for his general appearance, gray whiskers and a stubby
mustache were allowed to grow at random. The change was most radical,
but not without distinction. After all it was Villard who wore them.
From the day he read the item concerning the engagement Villard refused
the newspapers and all reading matter. Even letters, addressed
personally to him at Dreamy Hollow, were allowed to lay unopened. And
there was one from Winifred, in which she had bared her soul in
explanation, declaring her undying allegiance, as might a daughter and
a comforter--but not as a wife. The envelope remained unbroken, as
merely one of the heap that grew day by day. Nothing mattered--Villard's
world stood still.
In one paragraph Winifred had written an explanation of her motives, and
she prayed for an answer from the depths of her heart. It read--
Dear Friend:--These things I would have you stop and consider, not
lightly, because of your love for me. I am not of your station in
life--and I would not drag you down to mine. Just imagine the harm
that would come of it--a blight on your life, that you could never
live down. Oh, my dearest friend on earth, how would either of us
regard the other once we were confronted by the mirror of public
opinion? So, with eyes open wide to the consequences of wedlock
with you, I am about to consecrate my life to a plain, simple man,
without riches or deep learning--one of my own station in life, who
will never have cause to rue the day he takes me to wed. It is all
for the best, dear friend. Just allow your big, generous heart to
feel that my intentions are for your good, and also my own. There
have been precious moments in our lives which I shall never
forget--nor shall I deny, even to the man I shall marry--that you
were the first to inspire my heart with a knowledge of what a
sacred emotion love should be.
And that was the letter in full, all save the signature--one
word--Winifred.
Had Villard opened it upon its arrival, his greatness of heart would
have asserted itself forthwith. But gaining first information from a
newspaper clipping was quite another matter. It rankled in his bosom.
Big, manly fellow that he was, ordinarily he would have stopped to think
how innocently such things could happen. Winifred's letter had been
mailed two days before the article appeared, but it had been delayed in
transit. On time, it would have given Villard opportunity to support his
own cause, but fate plays in all games, either of heart or of brain. To
a girl of her mould wealth had no standing when measured by love.
Time flew by as the wedding day drew near. But there came no word from
Villard. Henry Updyke looked in on Winifred's little home one day and
found the girl crying. Few women are they who may heighten their beauty
through tears, but Winifred's face was that of a grieving Madonna. She
ran to him at once, as a child to its father and wound her arms about
his neck. And there she remained as she sobbed out her story.
"But you love this young man, don't you?" soothed the big fellow whose
face looked drawn and old, as his heart went out to the girl.
"I don't know," sobbed Winifred.
"Do you love Drury Villard?"
"Oh, fondly, sir, but he is far above me! I would ruin his life--and
after all his kindness to my father and myself, I can't bear to think of
it."
"Well, now, little woman, just sit down in that big rocking chair and
let me talk to you like an uncle who had your interest at heart. Villard
is a sick man, and he hadn't opened your letter when I called upon him
two weeks ago. There were many more and all of them more or less
important. Yours was among them, and to oblige him I read all his mail."
"My letter, too!" blushed the girl--"and it was sacred--I meant it so."
"Yes, and it is still sacred, but now he knows its contents--and he
might never have known had I not done a little secretarial work for him
that day. He had ordered his mail to be thrown in the fire, but I was
consulted, arriving as I did at the right moment. In due course I read
your letter, and I sincerely compliment you upon your good sense. I
count you as one of my friends, for I know you have nothing against me,
so we may be quite confidential, I hope."
"Indeed we may, sir," assented Winifred in a very weak little voice.
"Mr. Villard trusts me, Mr. Sawyer trusts me, and hundreds of the
best-known people in New York trust me. Now I want you to understand
that every word I say is truth. I make my living by telling the truth,
but in many cases it does not come to light. Now then, listen
carefully--Mr. Villard is one of God's noblemen!"
"Oh, I know he is, Mr. Updyke!" assented Winifred.
"He loved a girl named Winifred many years ago----"
"Yes, I know that--too. She warned me of the accident, but in my
eagerness to see New York I said little about it. But I did tell Mr.
Villard, after I came to know him."
"He hears from her, from time to time--or thinks he does--it's all the
same," said Updyke. "She warned him of Parkins, but trustful man that
he was, he wouldn't believe. Now he knows the truth--but to get back to
my point, I want to say, in justice to all parties, that you should
_not_ marry Villard. Not that he isn't worthy--far from that, there is
no one more so--but his heart is with the dead! As his wife you would
become to him the shrine of his dead love's soul!--and he would worship
you as such. Would you be satisfied with just that, little girl?"
queried the big fellow.
Updyke watched the varying emotions of the girl as she struggled to
understand. It was all so deep and mysterious, even though she had
beliefs of her own like the one he had explained.
"Allow me to answer the question for you," prompted Updyke, gazing deep
into her eyes. "There are as many beliefs on the subject of the
hereafter as there are grief-stricken people. Every person who pretends
to know about the life to come is to that extent insane. In fact there
is no such thing as complete sanity. The ninety and nine are divided
into that same number of personal and deviating beliefs, and the
one-hundredth--has no belief whatever."
Winifred's eyes had begun to open wide, as if to testify in behalf of
her own hereafter, but Updyke raised his hand for a new beginning.
"I know what you are going to tell me--your own belief--eh? But what is
the use? It is but yours after all, and though it might satisfy you it
might not meet my views. But I am glad you have a belief, little woman.
We must all have something to lean upon or what would be the use of a
temporary life, and nothing to hope for in the future? I want you to
believe that which will comfort your soul and keep it good. And you must
never allow any one to shake that belief--'for therein is the power and
the glory forever--Amen'!"
Updyke's voice betokened a depth of feeling that Winifred had never
before witnessed in his conversation. He had joked and teased, but now
he talked in a way that convinced her of his superior mental equipment.
"Your words comfort me, and I shall always think of that dear good man
at Dreamy Hollow with reverence for his constancy," she sighed. "Were it
fair to either of us I would gladly share his love with the other
Winifred, but something tells me that my youth must not be shadowed by
brooding thoughts. I must have individuality of my own," faltered
Winifred, her eyes haunted by strange lights of mingled fear and
compassion.
"Then marry the young man. It is simply in justice to you and George
Carver that I say it. I have never known a more upright man in my life.
He has the heart of a lion--you know that yourself, for you saw him in
action as he carried out my instructions to the letter. And----"
"Your instructions!--I don't understand, Mr. Updyke. Please explain,"
demanded the astonished girl.
"It was a slip of the tongue, but there is no harm done. You are soon to
be one of our family, so perhaps I'd better tell you something about
George," said he, laughingly. "He belongs to the greatest law and order
association in America, perhaps the world. It spreads to wherever our
flag flies and is truly the backbone of the nation. As members of the
association each man is carefully chosen and sworn in, but not as an
officer of the law, but rather as an upholder of our government. Most of
them are given official standing by being sworn in as deputy sheriffs,
clerks of courts, and so on. George is a deputy sheriff, and that is why
he came to your rescue. As soon as you were kidnapped my office sent out
an alarm that spread all over Long Island. It wasn't possible for
Parkins to escape in my district," concluded the big fellow as he arose
to go.
"Then you are a--a----"
"Sleuth?--No, never!--I just keep bad eggs from getting into the cake,"
laughed Updyke--and then very soberly, he reached out his huge hand to
the little girl in front of him, and she grasped it eagerly. She tried
to squeeze it, but it was too big and too gnarled--it couldn't be
squeezed--ah, but how it might squeeze was Winifred's thought, as she
followed him out to the gate.
"Would you mind if I asked one more question?" queried Winifred, her
cheeks turning red from the wave of diffidence that crept into her
heart.
"Bless you, no--go on," said Updyke, invitingly.
"I am haunted with fear--where is this man Parkins?"
"You will never hear of him again; rest your mind on that score. He is
alive--somewhere. Nobody knows but me," he laughed, as he jumped in his
car.
And then she stood at the gate and watched with awe the big man's
machine as it faded in the distance, but when it turned west he raised
his hand, and she answered by waving her own.