Kerry (Romance Classic). Grace Livingston Hill
around.”
Kerry looked at her mother hopelessly and turning went back into her room.
That night she lay awake long hours trying to plan some way to make her mother see reason, and awoke with dark circles under her eyes, and a wan, drawn look on her face. She had determined to finish the manuscript as soon as possible. She felt that it was imperative that she get her mother away from Sam Morgan. With the book really done and ready to present to the publishers perhaps Mrs. Kavanaugh would begin to have some faith in it, and get interested in going back to America to have it published. For it was with an American publisher that her father’s past dealings had been, and to whom he had promised the publication of his greatest work.
But Kerry was not left to a quiet day of work as she had hoped. Instead her mother was up bright and early and hurried away on an errand. Kerry surmised that she was going as she threatened after the fifty dollars, and she tried to turn her mind away from the thought of it all, and settled down to her important task. She had not however more than got out her papers, before she heard her mother coming back and calling her.
Mrs. Kavanaugh had on her new hat, and a fresh bunch of violets. She wore an excited air, and her eyes were sparkling. She began to speak rapidly, vivaciously, as soon as Kerry appeared in the doorway.
“Get yourself dressed up, darling. Put on that little green silk dress that your father always liked so much, and my hat with the chic brim, the green felt. I’ll lend you some gloves too, and you must wear my fur neck piece. We’re going out!”
Kerry’s face suddenly took on a suspicious, stony look.
“Going where?” she asked dully.
“Why, we’re going out, dear. Come, quick!”
“Just you and I alone, Mother?” There was a wistful ring to the girl’s voice.
“Well, no, darling, Sam is going too! You see he is taking us.”
“No!” said Kerry, drawing back into her room, “I can never go with him!”
“Well, but you must, precious; I say you must, and I’m your mother you know. Don’t you remember what your father always used to say? He always said I was your only little beautiful—”
“Stop!” cried Kerry. “You’re not that when you go with that man. You’re not being my mother when you would do a thing like that! I will never go with that man anywhere!”
“But, Kerry, darling, listen!” said Mrs. Kavanaugh putting on her sweetest smile, “you simply must this time. I suppose I’ll have to tell you, though I meant it for a surprise when we get there, but we’re going out to get married, darling child. Mother’s baby wouldn’t desert her on her wedding morning, would she?” The tone was sweet and wheedling, one that had never before failed to touch the sensitive daughter’s sense of duty.
But Kerry stood unmoved, looked stonily at her silly parent.
“Mother! You couldn’t do that! You wouldn’t do that! You wouldn’t do that to my father!” she kept repeating in a toneless voice.
“Watch me! See if I won’t!”
Mrs. Kavanaugh flashed angry eyes at her child, and turning pranced out of the room, down the hall out of sight, and Kerry was left alone with her horror.
Chapter 3
Kerry stood for an instant listening to her mother’s retreating footsteps. Then she suddenly sprang to the window and looked down to the street. Yes, there was a cab waiting at the door, and while she looked she saw her mother come out and Sam Morgan help her into the cab. They were going, then, to get married. She felt the inevitable settle down upon her like a great awful weight that would crush her.
Frantically she threw up the window and leaned out shouting “Mother! Mother!” but the crowd of the city surged by and her voice was drowned in a myriad of noises. A stray passer-by glanced up, and wondering, watched her waving her hand, but the cab disappeared in traffic.
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Kerry’s beautiful little mother was lost to her!
Even if she dashed down the stairs without waiting for hat or coat and flew down the street after her it was too late to do anything now. She had no idea where they were going! She could never find them in that great city!
She closed the window suddenly and dropped back into a chair to cover her face with her hands and groan aloud. Oh, this was worse, infinitely worse than death. If she could see that lovely face of her little mother lying dead in a coffin over there in the room where her father had so recently lain, she would not feel such sorrow as surged over her now. Such righteous horror and indignation! The man that her father despised, after a few short weeks had taken his wife—had stolen her mother away! But worse than all, she had chosen to go with him of her own free will. The thought was almost more than the young heart could bear. Like one who has received a sickening blow she writhed under the first sharp pain.
But soon there came a prodding thought. What was to come next? Would they return? Here? Soon?
She must not be here when they came! She must get away quickly or it would be too late. She must never be caught in the power of Sam Morgan. She and her father’s book must get safely away where he never could find her.
She shuddered again as she remembered his hateful kisses on her lips, his coarse flabby face near to hers, his bold pop-eyes looking derisively into hers.
She staggered to her feet and went frantically to her room, half dazed, scarcely knowing what to do first.
Her papers and notes caught her glance, scattered in orderly array over her bed and table. Well, they were the first things to think of. They were like a part of her sensitive father; his work, the child of his brain, to be protected.
Hastily she went to work, schooling herself to be calm, to try to think coolly, dashing the unbidden tears away from her face, pushing back her red gold hair, she gathered the papers, each into its separate envelope as she had been trained. She put them all in the little brief case in which her father had kept them, locked it securely and dropped the key on its narrow black ribbon around her neck and inside her dress. Swiftly she put the cover on her typewriter and fastened it for carrying. Then she changed into her black dress.
A glance around her room showed very few things that were dear to her: some of her father’s books she cherished and had meant to keep always, especially some few rare bindings, and old first editions that he prized, and had told her were very valuable. Now she looked at them with infinite sorrow in her eyes, but went to them steadily and took them in her cold hands. She loved them, but they must be sacrificed. Beside them she had only five dollars in the world. They must be made to help her in this greatest emergency of her life. They must be turned into money for her immediate necessities.
Swiftly lest her heart should fail her she put them into a big bag of her father’s.
The rest of her packing took scarcely ten minutes.
She drew out the little trunk that had been hers when she was away at school, and which had been small enough to be stored under her bed. Into it she put her meager wardrobe, and the few little possessions that she prized most, all of them trifling gifts from her father at one time or another. There were a few snap shots they had taken when they ran away to the seashore for a day now and then, and one very good one of her father that she had taken with her own small camera. As she was about to close and lock her trunk she hesitated, then went out into the sitting room and got the large handsome photograph of her mother in its silver frame that stood on the desk in the sitting room. She packed it down beneath her garments. Then she locked her trunk and sat down to write a note. It was not an easy task. Love and indignation still fought in her breast. The tears streamed down her face and blistered the paper as she wrote.
Dear,