VERNONIA EAGLE, VERNONIA, OREGON
Th' LUCKY LAWRENCES
Copyright by Kathleen Norris
By KATHLEEN NORRIS
CHAPTER X—Continued
—17—
It was almost three years now
since the memorable Christmas day
before Ariel’s eighteenth birthday
when she and Dick had run away
front them all. Gall had had two
communications from her since; the
first was the scribbled note she
had left In her deserted bedroom,
the note they had al) read with
such amazement, and consternation ;
and the second had come a few
months after Edith’s death, and bad
been postmarked Phoenix Arizona:
“Gall, dear, 1 am so horribly sorry
about darling Ede, but Gall she was
happy. She was too good tor this
world and only would have had
trouble and disappointment,
r am
well and so Is Dick, and we are
coming home soon to tell you all the
news, so no more now except that
I adore you."
It had been signed simply “Ariel,”
and had borne neither date nor ad
dress.
One day Gal) had driven Phil’s
car, full of small boys, out to the
Stanislaus ranch. It was prosper
ous now, and the Lawrence’s money
troubles, preposterous and unexpect
ed as the situation seemed, were
over. PhD was doing well, Gall had
had a raise, the oil station paid Its
hundred a month faithfully, and
that money Phil handed over un
touched to his sister.
The remains of the once magnifi
cent Lawrence estate were divided ;
the old house was Phil’s, the cor
ner had been surveyed and meas
ured and given to Gail, the Stan
lslaus property was wholly for Sam
and Ariel, Rent went monthly Into
the bank In Ariel’s maiden name
Sam paid his board to Lily.
Gall looked at the old ranch wist
fully. She had dreamed once a brief
dream of coming there with Dick
of being mistress of these acres of
orchard and pasture and wheat
fields.
They would have been happy
there, living In the moon-faced old
farmhouse, under the great tower
ing oaks and eucalyptus trees, sur
rounded by a tangle of sheds and
fences, corrals and pastures, barns
and fowl runs.
They would have
had children, would have driven
Into town In the old car, stopped
for mall, for feed, for needles and
egg beaters and ink at the five-and-
ten.
Dick would have had cases
In the big courthouse tn the shady
square, where scared little Ariel
had been summoned years ago, and
Gall would have gone Into the li
brary to ask the girl at the desk
for the new novels.
And on Sundays they would have
telephoned Phil and Lily to ask
what the chances were of a picnic
up at the old dam. It was going to
be hot today, and the children
would love to get near to the wa
ter. Gail had cold chicken and
tomatoes.
If Lily would stop for
cake somewhere. . . .
“I might have had a boy and a
girl by this time. But certainly I
wouldn’t have had time for any
writing. There’s that to think about I
. , . Dick, I’d give up the chance
of writing another Iliad to have had
you love me, to have been Mrs. Dick
Stebbins these three years.”
Gail was twenty-seven now, and
the birthdays were coming faster
■nd faster. Men bad wanted her.
some of them fine men, men who
could have given her at least the
position Dick’s wife would have
had.
But Gall was barely con
scious of their existence. She was
only vaguely regretful when she
had to hurt or disappoint them.
It just did not seem to mean any
thing. marrying anyone else than
Dick, and until It did. Gall would
not consider IL
But sometimes she did consider
the strangeness of the situation
should Dick and Ariel come back to
Cllppersvllle.
They would never
know that this brother-in-law was
shrined deep In Gail’s heart. They
need never know. But It would be
hard—it would be hard to see him.
to have him kiss her In fraternal
fashion, to hear Ariel complaining
of his treatment of his new clothes
and of the care of his children!
Once, after Edith’s death. Gall
had written a simple, friendly letter
to Dick's mother, trusting the post
office to forward It to her In Ore
gon, where she lived now with a
widowed daughter. Did Mrs. Steb
bins know just where Dick was
now? Gall had asked.
She, Gai),
had a book that he had wanted—
and so on—and so on.
And Mrs. Stebbins had answered,
In a painful hand, on ruled paper,
that Dick was Just about the worst
letter writer that ever was; he had
been some in L. A. and after that
tip to Las Vegas, and last she heard
he was in Phoenix for three weeks,
but he was coming home, according
to what he wrote, and just as soon
as he did Mrs. Stebbins would see
he wrote Gall. Seemed like be had
lost eight of his old friends.
There was no mention of Ariel or
Dick’s marriage In either letter. Gall
had not dared risk the secret, and
either Mrs. Stebbins had been
equally cautious, or Dick had not
taken his mother into his confidence.
Gall suspected, as the months
wore along, that there was but one
adequate explanation of Dick’s and
Ariel’s silence. They were not hap
py ; the Impulsive marriage that had
found her so young bad proved a
mistake. They were quarreling,
perhaps already separated. The se
cret would remain always a secret
—no one would ever know. And
perhaps Ariel would come home
some day, bitter and disillusioned,
and take her old unhappy place In
Cllppersvllle society.
“Poor Arie), poor Dick, poor all
of us!” Gail would think. “It’s hard
to clasp air and kiss the wind for
ever! I can be a writer, I suppose.
I certainly mean to make myself
one, If work and trying will do it.
But it would have been wonderful—
wonderful, to be a wife!”
CHAPTER XI
NE
rainy
October
afternoon
O Lily and the three older chil
dren were delayed at her mother’s
house down on Thomas Street hill,
the shabby cabin light-hearted Gall
and Edith and Ariel Lawrence bad
once so despised, and Gall found
herself writing alone In the big
house with the tiny Gail.
Sam traveled up and down the
coast now, doing press-agent work
for a string of vaudeville theaters,
and was as often In Portland or in
Los Angeles as at home in Clippers-
ville.
Tonight Gall half expected him,
and half expected that when Phil
discovered his family's absence be
would drive at once to the Wibser
house and bring them all back.
Meanwhile, In a rainy twilight that
made the lights and shadows of the
old kitchen more than usually pleas
ant, she fussed away contentedly
with preparations for her own sup
per tray, for although the clock
said only half-past five, this was ■
special night at the library, and she
had to go back for a directors'
meeting.
Suddenly she beard a motor car
on the old side drive, and heard
the engine stop and a car door
slam. Then there were footsteps
on the porch, and the handle of the
kitchen door turned. A second later,
as Gall turned an Inquiring glance
that way and said aloud, "Phil?” the
door swung open, and the dimly
WNU Service
lighted aperture framed a woman’s
slender figure.
A young woman In a furred coat
spattered lightly with rain, with a
small hat drawn down over drifting
flyaway golden hair. Ariel.
Gail stood, stricken, motionless
for a moment. Then Ariel came,
with a bird's flight, across the kitch
en and flung her arms tightly about
Gail.
“Oh, my darling—my darling!”
Gale whispered, her wet cheek
against Ariel’s wet cheek. “You’re
back!”
“Gall!” Ariel sobbed.
“Oh, dearest—dearest!"
There was no bitterness, no mem
ory, now. It was Ariel, the adored
youngster, here against her heart
again, living, loving, sorry, eager to
be forgiven; there was nothing In
Gall’s feeling but one great ache of
Joy and pain and love,
“Gail, I’ve wanted you so!”
"And I you 1”
They drew apart, hands linked,
and looked at each other.
"You look—older, Ariel. You—1
hardly knew you 1”
The exquisite transparent skin
flushed; Ariel shrugged in the old
indifferent way.
“Oh, well—”
“Oh, well, naturally!” Gail fin
Ished It for her with a laugh.
Ariel saw the basket and the
baby; she gave Gall a frightened
glance.
"Gail!”
"Oh, no, no. That’s Phil’s baby.
Lily's baby.”
Ariel’s proud mouth curled In the
old haughty way.
“1 beard he had married her,”
she said, displeased.
“That hor
rible Wibser!” in an Impatient
tone. Suddenly they were back in
their old relationship, and there was
reproof in the voice In which Gail
said:
“Be careful, Ariel! She isn’t here,
but Phil may be any minute.”
“Theyre living here!”
"They have been, from the first.”
“But this is our house!” Ariel
exclaimed, head In air.
“Oh, Ariel dear—” Gail pleaded,
patiently.
“Do you mean to tell me that Joe
Cass’ divorced wife—”
“Joe Cass died, Ariel. And they
were here,” Gall said, as the other
voice stopped on an Indignant note
—“they were here when Edith—
And they’ve been here ever since,”
she added, after another pause.
“1 see,” Ariel said. In a gentle,
lowered tone. The old hoarse, boy
ish voice, and the old penitent look
In the hazel eyes—how they brought
back the days of long ago!
“Is Dick with you, Ariel?”
"Dick? Oh, yes! He’s coming In
with the bags."
"And are you going to stay in
Cllppersvllle?”
“Are we—? Oh, heavens, no!”
Ariel said expressively.
"But are you happy, darling?"
“Nothing to cable home about,
collect,”
Ariel
answered
drily.
Something seemed to shrivel In
Gail's heart at the tone.
“Can we announce your marriage
now, Ariel?”
Instead of answering Arie) fas
tened bright curious eyes on her
sister.
“Do you mean to say that no
body’s ever suspected?”
“Nobody.”
“Oh, come now, Gall 1"
“Well, it surprised me. Of course
1 told Lily. But she never told even
her mother. And people have all
taken It for granted that you were
down In Los Angeles with Aunt An
nie Ralston's family. Anyway, if
anyone has ever connected your
name with Dick Stebbins’ I never
heard IL Hla mother never did.
Or If she did she was as mum as
I was about IL”
"I’ve often wondered," Ariel said.
listening attentively.
"Not,” she
added, with her own little favorite
air of arrogance—“not that It made
any difference to me I
But I've
often wondered what the old ladles
In town were thinking about It."
There was’ a moment’s silence,
for Gail sensed something unex
pressed In her sister's tone and
waited, puzzled, for an explanation.
“I’m terribly glad—’’ Arie) be
gan hesitatingly. "Gall!’’ she added,
suddenly, on a more definite note.
"I’ve got to tell you something—
It’s going to surprise you.” She fell
silent.
“You must have known that there
was something funny about all
this?” she Interrupted the pause to
ask Irrelevantly.
There was a sound behind Gail
at the kitchen doorway. She turned
and faced Dick Stebbins.
Bigger, browner, with more of
that sweet, homely, kindly air than
ever. Some quu’.ty, reliable, trust
worthy, restful, seemed to emanate
from him; there
was
infinite
strength for Gall in the mere touch
of his big hand. He kissed her,
very simply, and looked beyond her
to Ariel. Gall, blue-aproned, tawny
of hair, her thick eyebrows drawn
together questlonlngly, her sapphire
eyes and the disciplined sweet wide
mouth accenting her feeling of be
wilderment
and
noncomprehen
sion, sent her glance from one face
to the other.
“Had your talk?” Dick asked,
and the remembered voice sent
waves of thrilling weakness and
Joy and pain through Gall’s whole
being.
“Not yet,” Ariel said. “Tell her.
Tell her the truth, Dick."
Dick had brought two rain-spat
tered suitcases into the kitchen.
Now Ariel glanced from them to
her sister’s face.
“First.” she said, "you can put
me up, Gail?”
"Put you up 1" Gall echoed, In an
almoBt shocked tone. “But, darling,
this is home I Papa's old room is the
guest room, anyway. You and Dick
can have the guest room all to your
selves.”
“Pd rather double up with you,"
Ariel said, without embarrassment,
but with an appealing little touch
of shyness.
“Well—” Gail colored to her foie
head, laughing again, and sending
Dick an apologetic glance. “If you
don’t mind," she said. "Of course
we have to talk all night.”
“There’s a man in town 1 have
to see, anyway," Dick answered
immediately.
“But not tonight!”
“Well, I thought Pd go down to
the Empire and telephone him, any
way. Willoughby—lie's the attor
ney for the ship people,” Dick ex
plained.
“Oh, yes, 1 know him. Mrs. Can
tor's father. But he's quite sick,
Dick—she was telling me yester
day In the library. He's In the hos
pital.”
“I know he Is. But you see,"
Dick persisted uncomfortably, with
a red face, “It'll be better for me to
be at the hotel, beenuse then If he
gets better—we’ve been working on
this case together—”
“But, my dear,” Gall said in her
big sisterly tone, “you can’t go to
the Empire, and leave Ariel herei
You know what Cllppersvllle Is;
there'd be any amount of talk I
What does the Illness of a casual
Stranger like Mr. Willoughby mat
ter?”
There was a pause. Then Ariel,
balanced on the edge of the kltch
en table in the old fashion, said ex
planatorily, “Mr. Willoughby and
Dick have been working on this
case together. And If he goes to
London, Dick’ll probably go, too!”
“But tell me—before the others
come In—before anything else,”
Gall said, “you’re going to announce
your marriage now, aren’t you?”
Something odd In their silence be
wildered her, and she turned sharp
ly to Ariel. “Aren’t you going to
announce It even now,” she de
manded.
“Immediately,” Ariel agreed brlef-
iy.
“Well, then! Surely Dick ought
to stay here!" Gall argued. Her
keen look moved from face to face.
“There Isn't any trouble?” she
asked quickly.
"No,dear, there’s no trouble," Dick
said reassuringly. “You have your
talk and I'll be back. Of course I
want to see Phil. You don’t know
what It Is to get home. I can’t wait
to start talking.”
When the kitchen door was shut
and the car in the side yard had
chugged away, Gall turned toward
Ariel. "What's—queer?" she asked.
“Nothing’s queer,” Ariel said tn
her proud faintly hoarse voice. “But
your cramming me and Dick into
one room was rather funny,” she
said slowly, airily, "because we
aren’t married, not the way you
think—not any more.
We never
cared for each other—that way.”
“You and Dick Stebbins aren’t
married!”
“I said we weren't, Gall."
"Then — then—” Gall stopped
short, and there was utter silence
in the kitchen.
"Divorced,” she
said. “Then who’s been supporting
you all these years, Ariel?" she de
manded seizing at random the first
of a hundred questions.
"Dick,” the other girl said airily.
Gail’s honest face reddened; she
spoke sharply.
“What are you talking about!“
“Oh, not what you think, and what
all Cllppersvllle would gladly think 1”
“Oh, My Darling—My Darling!”
Ariel answered. "He never put a
finger tip on me,” she said proudly.
“He despises me, I think. Not—not
that I care!”
"Tell me, dear," Gall said pa
tiently.
Ariel softened suddenly. She
spoke coldly, with a sort of proud
reluctance and on a long sigh.
“What you never knew, Gall, and
Ede never knew was that I had
fallen In love with Van Murchison I”
"You mean—”
“Yes, While you and he were go
ing about together. I couldn't help
it; in fact I didn’t know It," Ariel
confessed dispassionately, her hazel
eyes narrowed. “1 just went nutty
—gaga—about him 1” she said.
"Did he know It?"
“Walt.” Arial paused. “Do you
remember a Saturday," she began
ngaln suddenly—“a Saturday when
you were going over to Los Gatos
with Van, and you'd sort of maneu
vered to get away from the library?”
Remember It! How often, with
shame and regret, Gall had remem
bered that old undlgnlfie juggling
with business and home obligations,
just to get free for those exciting,
unsatisfying week-ends with Van 1
“Yes, I remember. It was hot.
And you came down to the car and
said good-by to us.”
“Well, while you were In the
house he kissed me,” Ariel said.
The Indignant color blazed In
Gall's face.
"He didn’t!”
“Oh, Indeed he did."* Ariel reflect
ed for a second, and then added, "J
made him."
TO BI CONTINUED