Read the book: «Nobody's Child», page 10

XXI
A LOT OF PLANNING

Baird rose early the next morning in the same soberly responsible frame of mind, fully conscious that he was about to enter upon an entirely new phase. He had no joking word for Sam – and no shining half-dollar – he would have to be more careful of his half-dollars after this, a family man had to think of such things.

Though it was Saturday, he had to go into the city that morning, for Edward had promised that if, after considering Baird's proposition over night, he decided that he wanted to close with it, he would come to Carter's office, talk the matter over with him as well, and sign the necessary papers. Halstead, the Fair Field investor whose promise Baird had secured, was also coming. It would be a triumph for Baird, for the two were so exactly the sort of men his firm would welcome.

For the three morning hours Baird was too alertly busy to think of his matrimonial plans. Both Edward and Halstead appeared promptly, settled their business without hesitation, and, when Edward took leave of Baird at noon, Garvin's position was secure. There was already a city agency for the Dempster machines, and as soon as the present agent could be transferred to an agency elsewhere Garvin was to take his place. Carter thought that Garvin could take charge in about a month, and in the meantime he would receive commissions on any Dempsters he might be able to sell.

Baird had the satisfaction of knowing that Carter was well pleased; the extra interest in the company which he craved was certain to be his. Carter lunched him royally at his club when the morning's business was ended, and invited him for the afternoon and for Sunday to his palatial new home in Spring Valley, but Baird had other plans; he meant to go to Westmore that evening.

"An attraction on the Ridge, I suppose," Carter said, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Yes," Baird confessed, but with the air of the man who meant to say no more.

Carter turned to business. "Dempster says the first thing for us to do is to get out a new model that's something ahead of anything on the market yet."

"We have to compete with the French machines," Baird said. "If we can evolve a model that offers the qualities of the best French traveler, we'll have accomplished something. And there's a big future for the truck, too… I went into the Gaylord factories after I came back from South America, worked eight months there, on purpose to get ideas for a model car and truck I've had in mind ever since I first saw a motor chugging along in Chicago. It was the trial trip of the orneriest excuse for a car man ever invented. I bought my way on her second trip just to study her. Then I took up mechanical engineering, or, rather, I went on with it. Except for the two years I spent on a ranch in Wyoming, I was always knocking around machine shops; my father couldn't keep me out of them."

Carter was thinking. "You've had a course in engineering, then?" he asked.

"Four years in Chicago University. That's what took me out to South America. I saw a chance to make money there and I made it, fifty thousand in one year – the next year I dropped it, partly because I hadn't experience enough, and partly because I had the Brazilian government against me… But I've told you that story before."

Carter had followed his line of thought to a conclusion. "How would you like to go to France for a few months, go this autumn, and go the rounds of the factories there, while Dempster is enlarging the plant, and bring us back your ideas?"

It was the thing Baird desired most. He had puzzled over some means of getting to Europe and still keeping in close touch with the company. Here was his opportunity, nevertheless his instant thought was, "If I do you'll pay me well for it – and you won't get my best ideas, either, not unless I get a lion's share of the profits." To Carter he said, "It wouldn't be a bad scheme – it would pay the company in the end, I think."

"I'll suggest it to Dempster when he comes in." Carter relaxed into chuckles then. "I've got a word to say to him about the present Dempster car, too. Spring Valley is duly impressed by the shining thing, which was my object in having it sent on, and I've gladly spent a hundred dollars or so on coats and bonnets and veils for Mrs. Carter and Christine, but, lord, Baird, every damned thing that could go wrong with an engine and four wheels has happened to that thing! I meant to run it myself and take a little quiet joy in doctoring its ills, but no, thank you! I'm done! I've advertised for a first-class chauffeur who'll take charge of it and swear to all the neighbors that the beast is an angel. It probably will sell Dempster cars, but I'll own to you that I'm sorry for the man who buys one."

"They're no good," Baird agreed, "but no make on the market is satisfactory, for that matter. We've simply got to get out a better machine." Then he laughed. "Garvin Westmore is having his trials, too, and keeping quiet about it. Every man will keep as quiet as possible about his engine troubles, keep a debit and credit sheet – debit, temper and money – credit, the envy of his neighbors and the possession of a high-priced convenience. And the credit sheet will win out every time. The craze is on and will go the lengths – until we begin to travel the air."

"I suppose you'll be advocating a flying-machine annex to the factory next," Carter said.

Baird did not say that he had given a great deal of thought to aerial navigation. He bid Carter a laughing good-by and took the first train to the Ridge.

He settled quickly into the gravity that had held him ever since he had parted from Judith… Judith would enjoy Europe. She had never been to Europe; neither had he… And when they returned they would have to go west to live; he would have to be near the factory. He thought, with something of a glow, that Judith would be a queen anywhere, beautiful and capable – and a passionately loving woman – her kiss had told him that.

He pondered Judith a little. She was no longer a mystery to him; just a splendid sort of woman who had plenty of will, will enough to have devoted herself to Westmore through the hard years, but, throughout, a woman desirous of love. He had wanted to discover her, and it had led to this. He couldn't ask for a better helpmate than Judith; she was a deal too fine for him, in fact; he would have to live up to Westmore ideals… There was a lot of planning to do for the future… It was almost four o'clock – he would fill in the time till evening, then go to Judith.

XXII
IMPRESSIONS

So Baird had decided when he alighted from the train and went down into the village for his horse which he always left at one of the village stables while he was in the city. He stopped at the little store-post-office for his mail, then rode up the Post-Road, across the railroad track and past the station. A short distance away he noticed a shining new buggy drawn close to the edge of the road, and his next glance told him that the girl in the buggy was Ann Penniman. He had not recognized her at first, in her red coat and big white hat; he had not immediately connected her with the new buggy and capable horse, either.

Baird was in a mood to be regretful for past misdemeanors; never in his life had he felt so solemnly retrospective for so many consecutive hours. He rode directly up to Ann, undeterred by the way in which she looked through him, much as Judith had looked through her on the day before.

Baird brought his horse to a stop beside her. "How do you do?" he said gravely.

Ann's beautiful brows lifted. "I am well, thank you." Baird could not have imagined a more icy greeting.

"Will you endure my presence long enough for me to say something?" he asked with unabated gravity.

"Why – certainly – " Ann's brows were still raised.

"I want to apologize humbly, for the way in which I repaid your kindness the other day. I behaved abominably."

Ann paused an instant for a choice of words. "I reckon I was too – pleasant to a stranger – an' you behaved the way that's natural to you. I haven't thought much about it, so it doesn't matter at all."

"I guess you're right about my being an ill-mannered brute – it's about time I reformed," Baird returned with perfect sincerity. "I'm very sorry I did what I did… You see, Miss Ann, you're very sweet and pretty, the prettiest girl I've ever seen, I think, and I clean forgot myself – was just abominably natural, as you say."

Baird would not have been Baird had he not added this codicil to his apology and signed it by the look he gave Ann, an appreciative study of the water-lily hat and the flower-like face it framed. Her red coat became her wonderfully, made her clear skin still more white, intensified the gray in her hazel eyes, deepened the black in her hair. She was a study in contrasts, and really very beautiful. And it struck Baird that she looked much more mature. There were shadows beneath her eyes, and her mouth looked firmer, like that of a girl grown rather suddenly into womanhood.

Ann increased the impression by the way in which she disposed of his speech. She shrugged slightly, shelving both his apology and his admiration with utter indifference. "I am waiting for my father – I reckon he must have missed the last train. Do you know what time it is?"

Baird looked at his watch. "The next train will be along in ten minutes."

"As soon as that? I'm glad… I don't like to go any nearer the station, for we don't know yet whether this horse is train-broke."

Baird repeated his stock phrase. "You ought to have an automobile – it wouldn't take fright."

Ann smiled involuntarily at the thought of a Penniman's investing in an automobile, and also at Baird's business alertness; she had heard much of Baird from Garvin. "You ought to talk to father," she said. When she smiled she looked more like the mischievous child Baird had seen playing in the barn; her eyelids drooped and the corners of her mouth lifted.

"I will," Baird returned promptly. "I'll wait here and meet him, if you don't mind."

Ann decided to offer no objection. She had brought it on herself, but she felt quite capable of enduring his presence with equanimity. And if her father treated him with scant courtesy, so much the better. She settled back in the buggy, and Baird also chose a more negligent attitude. He sat sidewise and surveyed Ann.

She was certainly worth looking at as she sat there, relaxed and with eyes down, an air of self-absorption that was tantalizing. Apparently, she was quite indifferent whether there was any conversation or not.

"Have you seen Garvin Westmore driving his new machine?" he asked at random.

"No," Ann answered, without raising her eyes. She was thinking of Garvin and the night before; she had thought of little else all day.

Baird noted her manner, and launched into an account of Garvin's trial trip down the Post-Road. He exaggerated the dangers they encountered, and Ann woke to new interest, even to terror, when he assured her that it was all a man's life was worth to drive a car over some of the Ridge roads.

"An' Garvin's so reckless – about drivin'," she said, wide-eyed, and added severely, "You ought to tell him to be careful – you sold him the horrid thing."

"He'd pay more attention if you told him, don't you think?" Baird suggested tentatively.

Ann flushed deeply enough, but not so deeply as she did a moment later, when she saw Edward Westmore within a few yards of them. He was riding up from the village, and neither of them had noticed until he was almost upon them, for the soft dirt road had dulled sound. He had seen them as soon as he had crossed the railroad track; looked at them closely and observantly as he came on.

The change in Ann was instantaneous. She grew crimson and sat up abruptly, her whole aspect, for the brief moment until Edward smiled, uncertain and appealing. Then, as if she had won pardon for some fault, the smile that vivified her was sweeter than the May sunshine. Baird thought she was the loveliest thing he had ever seen, with her lips a little apart, her eyes shining. No wonder Edward looked at her as if he were absorbing her. Baird felt a sudden envy of Edward; no girl had ever looked at him like that!.. But there were not many girls who could look like Ann.

Baird also had straightened, for the look Edward had given him was somewhat coolly level; Baird felt that Edward's smile was entirely for Ann. But it was to him Edward spoke: "Just out from town, Baird?"

"Yes. I'm waiting now to talk Dempsters to Mr. Penniman – Miss Ann thinks I can sell him one." Baird did not know why he explained his presence so promptly; perhaps because Edward's manner made him uncomfortable.

"I thought I would like to see you try," Ann said with an indifference that had nothing to do with the way in which she was looking at Edward. "I'm waiting for father to come on the next train," she explained, and told Edward about the horse. "Ben Brokaw says he's afraid Billy's a runaway horse."

"You ought not to be driving him, then," Edward said with concern.

It struck Baird that Edward's entire manner was anxious and concerned. That he had looked keenly and anxiously at Ann as he had approached. He had been brief enough over their business transaction that morning, as if he had far more important matters on his mind.

"I reckon I shouldn't," Ann agreed. "I'll see how he behaves when the train comes."

"That's reckless. I wish you wouldn't do such things."

Baird was surprised at the intimacy the remark implied. Were both brothers in love with her? If one judged from appearances, Ann favored Edward… Or was she simply a born coquette? She was certainly enough to turn any man's head, and an infatuation on Garvin's part was natural, he was that sort; but Edward Westmore?

"I won't any more," Ann promised with pretty submission.

Though he looked at Ann, Edward's next speech was directed to Baird. "I was at the club about an hour ago – I went by the Back Road and left some papers for you, Baird. You can look them over and bring them to Westmore this evening – that is if you thought of coming over."

It was a reminder of Judith, though Baird knew Edward did not intend it as such; that would be too unlike him. "Yes, I am coming after dinner," Baird said gravely.

Ann knew just what Edward intended; she saw it in his eyes – that he had left a book for her – and she answered his look.

"There is the train," Edward said warningly. "Be careful, Ann." He brought his horse closer to her. "Keep your eye on the horse, Baird."

Ann sat taut, reins well held, and her eyes watchful. The train had whistled at the junction, and the next moment it roared along below them, making the usual racket as it slowed up, and it was quite plain that Ann's horse was not trustworthy. He quivered, backed and plunged and showed all the signs of fright.

"Don't touch him!" Ann said resolutely. "I can manage him." And to the horse, "You idiot, you! Sho, now, Billy – quiet, suh – quiet – "

She handled him well, and without a particle of nervousness, though for a few moments it seemed likely that the buggy would be overturned; the animal backed perilously near the edge of the road. Edward kept near enough to draw Ann from danger if that should happen, and Baird watched for the runaway that was certain to follow if the buggy overturned. They were tense moments – until the train snorted its onward way around the curve and the horse gradually quieted.

"All right, now," Baird said, "but the brute's not safe, Miss Ann – he's particularly stupid."

Ann looked at Edward, her eyes blazing. "He needed the whip! I'd have given it to him —hard– but I was afraid I'd frighten you." Baird thought she looked rather like Garvin with that flame in her eyes; both her cool handling of the horse and her lift into excitement surprised him; it altered his opinion of Ann Penniman somewhat.

Edward was a little gray about the lips. "Ann, promise me you will never drive that horse again."

"I'm not afraid of him!"

"Promise me," Edward repeated.

Ann drew a long breath, then smiled. "Yes, I promise. I promised before."

Edward gave her a long look, and her eyes dropped under it. He looked then at Baird, who had been silently observant. "Perhaps you'll watch over this reckless young person until Mr. Penniman comes," he said more lightly. "Having scolded, I'll depart… Good-by, Ann." But there was nothing chiding in the parting look he gave her, Baird noticed.

There was good reason for his somewhat hasty departure, for the man who had just separated from the group on the station platform was Coats Penniman. When he started toward them, Edward had ridden on. As he approached, Coats eyed Baird quite as gravely and observantly as Edward had done. He had a stern face, heavy black brows that lowered easily over blue-gray eyes.

Baird gave him look for look, coolly, returning his nod in like fashion, and Coats transferred his attention to Ann. "Well, Ann?"

"I stopped up here on account of the horse," Ann explained. "He was ugly when the train came – if I'd been nearer, I reckon he'd have run away… This is Mr. Baird, father – he wanted to meet you – he wants to sell you an automobile." Ann was very certain that her father would promptly dispose of Baird. He knew who Baird was, the whole Ridge knew Baird now – an enterprising young fellow who had been put forward by the Westmores.

Both to her surprise and Baird's, Coats offered his hand. "I'm glad to meet you. I've heard about you – you're a western man, aren't you?"

"Chicago… Some one was telling me you'd lived out there – long enough to be interested in automobiles, I hope." Baird had rather a taking smile, particularly when it was whimsical.

To Ann's greater surprise, Coats said, "I have been thinking of getting one – if for no other reason than to get some decent roads about here. From what I know of your Dempsters they can be guaranteed to furnish an accident or two that would stir up our county supervisors. The roads they give us are an outrage."

Coats' face softened pleasantly under amusement, and Baird laughed. "Tell me who they are, and I'll go for them – sell each one of them a machine. That's a revenge that ought to satisfy you."

"All right – if you want to ride on with us, I'll tell you. I'm partial to automobiles anyway – even a Dempster's more satisfactory than a brute like this… Ann, you knew he wasn't safe – why didn't you bring Jinny?"

"Jinny went lame this morning, an' the other horses were working."

Coats frowned. "There's always something wrong with them. The horse is certainly an obsolete way of getting about – I'll be glad when he becomes merely a pet."

Baird agreed with him. He liked to win a man, particularly an intelligent, unassuming man like Coats Penniman. He set himself to do so, and found that Coats, for some unexplainable reason, was willing to be friendly. They found plenty to talk about, even for the length of four miles up the Post-Road, and, when Coats chose the longer way round, by the front road, Baird kept on with them, as far as the club house. He had decided that he liked Coats Penniman, and that it was pleasant riding in this slow way through the leafy scents of May, particularly with anything as lovely to look at as Ann.

Ann had been sufficiently surprised to pay attention to the conversation for a time, to notice that Baird was not at all handsome, not like Garvin or Edward, but broad-shouldered and strong-featured. His eyes were too cold a gray, his nose too aquiline, his cheek-bones too high, and his upper lip too long. And he had entirely too much jaw. Yet, for some reason, he was attractive, at any rate while he talked; his voice was deep but not at all harsh.

So Ann decided, then looked off over the country and thought of the one overwhelming thing, the night before – and of Edward. The Post-Road was shut in by trees in some places, but there were long stretches where the country sloped away on either side, pastures vivid with spring green, alternating with reddish brown plowed fields and orchards that already showed patches of color, cherry and peach bloom. The green of the woods seemed to darken even while she watched, they were growing so rapidly into full leaf. In a few days the woods would be sprayed with white, a riot of dogwood. And the wood-honeysuckle was coming into pink bloom everywhere; and millions of violets and wild pansies. The grass in the groves was thick with forget-me-nots, and the creek hollows white and yellow and pinky-green with blood-root, adder's-tongue and Jack-in-the-pulpit.

Every other spring she had roamed the country; this spring she had forgotten the flowers. She knew where the wild pansies grew the largest and most of them had the velvety upper petals that proclaimed them pansies and not violets; and where the rare white violets were to be found. As they crossed the bridge where, some twenty feet below, the creek that skirted the Mine Banks tumbled over big rocks, Ann remembered in a vague way, as one thinks of something years past, that she used to find white violets in the soft spaces between the rocks. She thought much more vividly of how dangerous the bridge was, without any side rails, simply a planking and that none too wide; a careless turn on a dark night, and an automobile could easily be dashed to pieces below. It would be dreadful if anything happened to Garvin.

Every thought she had circled about him, and her momentous promise the night before, a thing sealed and unalterable now… She was going away from all this, the green and the flowers, the fields and the woods. Everything would be quite different – and she was different already – not the same Ann at all… She had been fearfully angry with Judith, and terribly hurt because of Edward, quite beside herself, and all Garvin had said to her had been so sweet, like balm laid on aching wounds – and she had given her promise, forgotten everything and everybody but Garvin and herself. She had even forgotten to tell Garvin that she was sure Ben knew that they met, and how dangerous it was for them to go on meeting… And now it was plain that Edward had not meant to hurt her at all … and she would have to see him, and with a secret which she must keep from everybody… Suppose she told Edward that she was engaged to his brother, and how it had come about?..

Her father's invitation to Baird aroused her. They had come to the club entrance and had stopped. "Come over some evening and see us," Coats said, "and don't hesitate to ride through whenever you want – the key to the gate is in a notch near the top of the right-hand post."

"Thank you," Baird returned heartily. "I'll be glad to come, and glad to take the short cut sometimes, too." He swept off his cap to them, a gleam of mischief in his eyes when he looked at Ann. Ann was flushed by her thoughts, and she colored still more deeply because of his meaningful glance.

Coats had noted Baird's look and Ann's blush. He had been thinking steadily of something quite unconnected with his conversation with Baird. He waited a little before he asked, "That's an attractive young fellow – had you met him before, Ann?"

Ann was succinct. "I let him through the gate once, just before you came home. I haven't talked with him since – till to-day."

"Who was the other man who was with you when I got off the train?"

"Edward Westmore – they both helped me with the horse," Ann answered with a calmness she did not feel. If her father questioned further, she did not know what she would do; every nerve in her was jumping, as they had been all night and all day.

But he did not. For a time they rode in an oppressive silence. Then Coats said, "I rather like Mr. Baird. He's the sort who's apt to judge men and women more by what they are than by what their great grandparents were. He comes from a part of the country that's not so hidebound by caste as this country. And he's sure to go back to it. He can come to my house whenever he likes – I approve his kind."

Ann said nothing.