Evening star. [volume], May 20, 1936, Page B-5, Image 25

About Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972

Image provided by: Library of Congress, Washington, DC

                
INSTALLMENT XLI. I
TAMARA went back to her j
room and walked to one ;
of the darkening win- j
dows.
Again there came to her the mem- j
* ery of the jail, of George's face. She
eighed, shook her head restlessly and
turned back into the room to light
lights and sit down to study her pale
and tear-stained face at the mirror.
No use: there was nothing to do.
Even confession wouldn’t help—even
revelation. Nobody cared. The Gover
nor, and possibly the world, informed j
that George Davis had knocked down j
and accidentally killed Mayne Mal
lory because the Hollywood actor had
recalled a truth about Davis’ wife,
would feel no more kindly to the
killer. That wouldn’t excuse him or
help free him. Nothing would!
Quite suddenly, as if propelled by
a force outside of herself, she was at
the desk, scribbling a note on Ellen
Martell’s handsome writing paper.
“Ellen, darling," she wrote, “I’m
a death's-head at your party and I’ll
’ onlv spoil it for you and every one
else. I'm sorry, but the children and !
the fun and the presents seem more
than I can bear tonight; I’m going up i
to the city, where I’ll see a movie and |
eat a large, unromantic steak and!
I’ll, surely drive over and see you all j
tomorrow, or at latest Wednesday. I’m ■
not sure where I'll be, but I’ll tele- j
phone. Merry Christmas to you all! I
Do forgive me.”
She scratched a crooked, tear- j
•plashed ' Tam" at the end and put j
the note in a conspicuous position !
against the lamp. Within a few j
seconds she had crammed back into j
her bag everything she had taken
from it, had pulled on her hat and
slipped into her heavy coat. She j
* crossed the upper hall noiselessly, ;
opened a door upon a back stair- |
case, noiselessly descended and let
herself out at the side door without i
encountering a soul or hearing any 1
sound except the joyous racket of
Chrsitmas eve.
The dusk outside was cool and si- ;
lent; a gush of light from the library ,
windows crossed the gravel drive in
two neat blocks.
She went along the drive to the
fork, reached the garage. The
thought of George, of all prisoners.
ai will jail iituov itu
like this, this sense of panic and fear
•nd elation.
The road to San Francisco was
lighted and punctuated by flying,
smaller lights that came roaring to
ward her. blinded her and went rush
r- ing south. But she did not follow
this highway far. Some 7 or 8 miles
north of Menlo Park she turned west
ward at a sign that said "Halfmoon
Bay—15 Miles."
There was a lane leading west to
ward the sea, a lonely lane full of
' frozen ruts. It was unlighted, and
after the bright, hot Christmas ex
citement of the village, Tam found
the 2 miles of highway lonely
enough, and the lane itself rather
formidable. Mrs. Moretti had long
ago departed to join her family in
the Dalles; Carlos lived up the shore
2 miles away and came t<*Dan's place
only once a day to feed the chickens.
There was nobody near but herself;
the roar and surge of the sea in the i
dark, the clatter of sudden gust of
wind over the porch roof, were
Strangely unreassuring sounds.
• Tam unlocked her door, carried her
groceries in to the kitchen table;
locked up again. The house was
dankly cold and smelled stuffily of
old meals and old wood. She had
forgotten the simple detail of the
electrict lights being disconnected
somewhere. She had to grope for can- j
dies in the inky dark; it was nervous
work finding them in the big, old
fashioned pantry, and imagining that
hands were groping and faces grimac
ing at her in the fearfully silent place.
Tam found an enveloping apron in
* the icy adjoining bedroom, laid aside
her hat and coat, set about dinner
preparations courageously. He had
owned this place now for nearly two
years, she had been here often before,
with carpenters and paperhangers and
gardeners, but she realized now sud
denly that she had neve:- been quite
alone before; Mollie had been with
her. or Carlos’ wife, or a kitchen girl |
from one of the village families.
Well, it did not matter. In an j
hour she would be snugly asleep in ;
the blue blankets that were already j
, warming in the kitchen, and tomor- )
row there would be sunlight and
sanity and time to reflect upon what
she wanted to do. The main thing
was that she was here, and alone,
and that she did not have to put on
her velvet dress for Christmas eve
and sit at the long Martell table pre
tending that her heart had not been
changed to a lump of lead.
But the little sense of uneasiness j
persisted. Tam reminded herself that
one's fears and the action of robbers, j
murderers, maniacs rarely struck
upon the same in^t'.nt: it would be
. absurd for her to be afraid tonight
and for some evil man coincidentally
to have chosen tonight for a robbery.
Her heart leaped into her throat at
the sound of a voice. But it was
only a black cat. as welcome as a
friend in this silent dark hour. Tamara
welcomed the cat effusively, fed him
when she ate her own supper, and
when she went to sleep an hour later
on a cot dragged into the kitchen for
warmth, the cat was settled on her
feet. The sound of the sea was
friendlier now, and the stove’s red eye
, had protective, comforting aspect in
the warm kitchen. Tam. tired by the
long, full day. was almost immediately
asleep.
Voices. She started up from a
very abysm unconsciousness to the
fearful realization of voices. Some
one outside saying "S-s-h-h!”
Where was she? What was this?
Tam sat up in the dark, her heart
thundering. With a sudden lesson
ing of warm weight on her feet i,he
cat leaped to the floor. There was
utter silence everywhere, except the
tick of dying ashes in the stove and
the faraway sound of the sea.
Nothing.
Nothing, It had been her imagina
tion. But her heart would not stop
its suffocating quick beat, nor her
muscles obey her fluttered reason
when her mind told her she must sim
ply lie down quietly again, and draw
the blankets over her shoulders, and
go back to sleep. Intsead she sat in
motionless terror; fright creeping like
cold water up her spine, her mouth
filled with salt water. The sound of
a motor engine was coming nearer.
It would pass. It would go away
again.
A slow fan of light went over the
ceiling; outside the kitchen door the
motor stopped. There. was a fearful
interval of silence. Then a voice
shouting:
"Tam!”
tnun wai iv uuu iici > cuia. All
the dark she sprang from her blankets,
sobbing, calling back madly in an
swer:
"Oh, Georg,e George. George!”
Somehow, m the black cold and dark
she was across the kitchen floor, and
fumbling at the lock, and then the
sky and the wheeling stars showed in
the opened doorway, above the dim
silhouette of the farm buildings, and
the lights of a motor car cut a tunnel
of light through them, and a figure
was there, coming at her; arms were
warm and strong about her. and
George's cold hard face was against
her warm one, and she was crying,
crying bitterly, with her arm about
his neck.
"Tam, you poor darling, you poor
little idiot! My sweetheart—my
darling sweetheart!”
He was half leading, half carrying
her back into the kitchen; there was
only black darkness there, and laugh
ing and crying she groped for a light,
and the dim spurt of a match sent
the shadows reeling, and showed the
tumbled blankets and the cat again
settled peaceably in warmth and com
fort. Tam found a candle and set it
on the sink; turned and was in
Georges's arms again.
"You've escaped! You got away:
You found me!” she breathed. And
then, with shaky laughter. "Oh,
George, what a place to come to. and
so cold, and you're freezing!”
"I don’t care!" he mumbled, lips at
her hair. And Tamara clung to him
hungrily, her wet cheek against his,
and echoed his words dreamily, in ut
most content:
“No. and I don't care. Tomorrow
we’ll run away—we’ll go somewhere—
where they can’t ever find you! But
I don’t care about anything else now
except that you're back!"
Just to look at him was enough: she
fould look at him forever. George.
George with her again, nothing else
mattered. He and she blessedly, ex
quisitely alone in this cold-bound,
Winter-bound little farm house, with
the snapping frost of Christmas eve
lying on the bare fields outside, and
tVln irhinimr hirrh nr* Vint irann
roof and the stars, and the sea roar
ing on the rocks—rushing smoothly
in, breaking into foam and spray,
dragging its way out again.
But somehow she felt weak and
tired, and whenever she started to
talk she started to cry and to laugh,
too. It was enough to watch George
bringing in wood, dragging things
about, carrying a candle down cellar
to do something mysterious to the
electricity, driving shadows before
him, tramping about with a hearten
ing noise that seemed to make the
house the saiest, sanest, coziest place
in all the world.
Every few minutes he stopped what
he was doing and came to kneel down
beside her and kiss her. Tam would
put up a hand to stroke his hair, smile
at him shakily, but she could not speak
without tears.
‘‘Frightened you. did I?”
“It was silly. But I’d been nervous,
anyway.”
"You ought to have some one with
you, Tam.”
"I know. And I usually do. But
since Mollie married and I gave up
the Taylor street place-” Tam's
voice died out weakly. "George," she
whispered, dragging his head down
to hers again.
"Love me?"
"Oh, too much!”
"But. darling, you shouldn’t have
run away down here! You fright
ened them all."
“The Martells?" she asked lazily.
"Surely. They were terribly upset.”
"I don’t care,” she murmured. "I
don't care about anything now.”
She lay on the couch before the
hearth; the big sitting room was
warm in the Winter night. George
had built up a Are of enormoua logs;
the electricity was on again and one
of the lamps was softly lighted.
George, or Hills, the Martells’ chauf
feur who had driven him down, had
carried her in to the couch and put
pillows and blankets all about her.
Now Hills was gone, and the memory
of the fright was no more than a
bad dream; Tamara lay lapped in
utter peace and content.
But even now whenever she thought
of George or looked at George the
tears came up, flooding her face and
choking her. and she could not speak.
So she lay warm and quiet and com
pletely comfortable, like a baby, and
watched him going about the room
with a baby’s serenely unquestioning
eye6, and was in no hurry to begin to
talk. (To be continued.)
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