Kerry Read online

  “Oh, that book! You and your father are crazy together!” she muttered as she stepped over the prostrate girl and hurried down the hall.

  The tone and the look she cast back at her child wounded Kerry as if she had struck her. Covering her face with her cold hands, she crouched by the door until the sound of her mother’s little high heels had clicked away into silence, and she knew that she was actually gone. Then she gathered herself up heavily and shut the door, dropping into the chair and sitting for a long time with her face in her hands.

  “Oh, Father, Father, what shall I do?” she murmured, and was still again, as if listening for her father’s earthly voice with its gentle, tender accents. “What can I do?” she wailed. “She will not listen to me! She does not care—! She does not care!”

  A long time she sat there, trying to think, trying to still the wild rebellion of her heart, trying to find a way out of the terrible maze that life had become.

  At last she rose and went swiftly into her own room and began to work at the book, feverishly, frantically. If she could only get it done! If she could only get it to the publisher and prove to her mother that it was going to be worth something! If she could only do this in time, perhaps, perhaps she might be able to persuade her mother not to do this dreadful thing; not to tie herself for life to that dreadful man! If Mother was sure of plenty of money to spend, she would listen to reason. Mother was afraid that they both would be penniless. That was the matter. Poor little, beautiful, judgmentless Mother!

  Thus Kerry tried to excuse her parent and salve the wound that last cold look of Mrs. Kavanaugh’s had inflicted. Thus she worked with bright red cheeks, and bated breath, her fingers flying over the keys of her machine as they had never flown before, trying to beat time and finish the book before her mother should wreck both their lives.

  But all the time as she worked with tense brain, there was that undertone of hurt, that running accompaniment of excuses for her mother—her dear beautiful mother. The only little mother she had! The mother whom her precious father had loved so deeply—so tenderly.

  Poor Father! Where was he now? Did he know of this awful thing that was threatening her life? What would he tell her to do?

  And her fingers flew on.

  She did not stop to eat. The thought of food was distasteful. She had only that one purpose—to get done.

  There came an interruption. A knock on the door! A man from the undertaker’s had come with a bill. He wanted to see her mother. He said Mrs. Kavanaugh had promised that he should have his money that afternoon, that he needed it to meet a note. He had been several times on the same errand, but she had promised to have it ready for him if he came this afternoon.

  Kerry stood with the bill in her hand staring at the figures, a great wave of indignation surging through her. Fifty dollars was all that had been paid on her father’s burial! And she had thought that it was all covered by the money which their lawyer had sent two days after her father had died. There had been enough, even to cover the expensive clothing that Mrs. Kavanaugh had insisted upon. What had become of the money?

  “Mrs. Kavanaugh is not in at present,” Kerry managed to say, out of a throat and lips that had suddenly become hot and dry. Her voice sounded hollow and unnatural to her own ears.

  “She said she would be here this afternoon,” urged the man, looking around suspiciously. “I have to have it. You sure she didn’t leave it for me anywhere?”

  A ray of hope sprang into her heart.

  “I will go and look,” said Kerry quickly.

  Yet with sinking heart she turned toward her mother’s bedroom door, knowing even against her anxious hope that she would find nothing.

  There was a little wooden box of carved work inlaid with ivory in her mother’s drawer where she kept her special treasures. If there was any money in the house, it was always kept there. Kerry found the key, fitted it into the ivory keyhole, and threw the lid back, but found nothing there but a picture of Sam Morgan, and a couple of thin letters in scrawled bold hand, tied together with silky blue ribbons. From the upper side of one glared her own name coupled with the word “love.”

  Kerry snapped the lid shut, clicked the key, and closed the drawer, her face drained of every semblance of color.

  Somehow she managed to get back to the other room and dismiss the undertaker with a promise about tomorrow. But when he was gone she sat down and groaned.

  She was still sitting there in helpless sorrow when a few minutes later her mother applied her key and entered.

  “You don’t mean to say you’ve been sitting there sulking ever since I left?”

  The mother’s voice was amused, half contemptuous, as she breezed happily in, filling the tawdry room with the scent of violets from a large bunch pinned to her coat.

  Then she caught sight of the somewhat familiar bill lying on the floor where Kerry had dropped it, duplicates of which had been coming to her at brief intervals ever since her husband’s burial.

  Kerry lifted haggard eyes.

  “Mother!” she condemned yet with a caress of hope behind the words, “haven’t you paid for my father’s funeral yet?”

  “Oh, mercy!” said Mrs. Kavanaugh in a bored tone. “Has that tiresome man been dogging my steps again? I certainly would never go to him again if all my family died. Well, you needn’t be so tragic about it. I’ve got the money to pay for it now, anyway, and then we’ll be done with him. Look, Kerry!” And she displayed a big roll of bills, fluttering her white fingers among them gloatingly, the diamond glistening gorgeously.

  “You can’t say Sam is stingy!” she caroled. “He gave me twice as much as I asked for—most of them hundred-dollar bills! Just think of it, Kerry! We shall be rich! We can buy anything we like! Just take it in your hand and see how it feels to hold as much money as that all at once!”

  But Kerry dashed the roll of bills to the floor and caught her mother’s white hands in her own frantically, gripping them so tightly that the big diamond cut into her own tender flesh like a knife.

  “Mother,” Kerry cried, “you shall never pay for my father’s burial with a cent of that man’s money! What have you done with the money Father left with the lawyer for that purpose? Where is it? I know there was plenty. I saw it myself. What did you do with it?”

  “Well, if you must know, you silly, I paid for my fur coat with it. The man wouldn’t let it go on a charge because of that trouble we had about the bill there last year, so I had to pay for it or let it go, and it was too good a bargain—”

  “But Mother! How did you think we would ever get the undertaker paid?”

  “Oh, I thought he could wait till the next annuity came in. Those undertakers are all rich!” said the woman carelessly, beginning to preen herself at the mirror again.

  “This hat is certainly becoming, Kerry, isn’t it? And these violets. What a heavenly smell! I declare I’ve just been starved for flowers all these years. Come, Kerry, get out of that grouch. Pick up that money from the floor. I’ll pay that bill tonight if that will satisfy you. Come, sit down. I want to tell you what a wonderful time I have had!”

  But Kerry held her head high and looked her Mother sternly in the eyes.

  “You will never pay for my father’s burial with money from that man!” she said in a low, steady tone.

  Then she marched straight over those loathsome hundred-dollar bills to her bedroom door, and with her hand on the knob stood watching her mother.

  Mrs. Kavanaugh laughed disagreeably and gathered up her money.

  “Of course you would make a scene,” she said in a high, excited voice, “but you’ll come to it. You’ll be glad enough of the money someday. You must remember that this is a matter about which you have nothing to say!”

  Then Mrs. Kavanaugh went into her bedroom and shut the door.

  Kerry stood in front of her own door, her face white and set, staring at the door that had shut her mother away from her. It seemed like the closing of an eternity between them.<
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  A long time she stood there trying to think. She heard her mother going around her room, putting away her things, even humming a little tune, a bright little air she must have heard out in the world where she had been that day. The girl looked bitterly toward the undertaker’s bill lying on the floor. One thought burned within her soul. Her father’s burial must not be paid for with money furnished by Sam Morgan. There might be humiliations to come, but that should never happen. She knew that he would have chosen rather to be buried in the potter’s field than to have had such a thing happen. Of course, one amount of money was the same as another equal amount, but she could not stand the thought that her mother could have done such a thing—spent the burial money on herself, and then be willing to use Sam Morgan’s money in its place.

  Kerry stood there staring at her mother’s door, until she heard her mother lie down for her nap. She stood there while a great purpose grew within her, and until her limbs began to tremble and her feet ached. She must do something about it. She must prevent her mother’s paying that bill with unholy money!

  Quietly she went into her room and got her hat and coat. Cautiously she stole back through the sitting room, picking up the bill as she passed, and opened the door to the coat closet. Yes, the big brown box was still there on the shelf, the cord lying in a snarl on the closet floor. Mrs. Kavanaugh never was known to put anything away.

  Kerry lifted the lid of the box to make sure the coat was still inside. It had been too warm to wear it. Mrs. Kavanaugh had had it out only once since its arrival, and Kerry’s questions and anxiety about the price had caused her to put it out of sight again. Yes, it was there safely, lying in velvety lovely folds under the tissue paper.

  Kerry felt like a thief as she lifted the big box down from the shelf, tied the string firmly around it, carried it out into the hall, and closed the door cautiously behind her. Yet this thing was right that she was doing. It was just. Her mother had no right to take the money that her father had left for his burial and buy luxuries for herself, and then force his enemy’s money upon her husband. She would take the coat back where it was bought and beg them to return the money. If they would not do that she would sell the coat for what she could get and pay that bill. But her mother should not be allowed to do such a monstrous thing as that to her dead husband. Even though it might be only an idea, it was an idea that the loving daughter could not endure.

  Kerry’s heart was beating wildly, and there was a set to her lips that reminded one of her father, as she stepped out into the street carrying the large box.

  She trembled as she climbed into a tram car and paid her fare. She trembled more as she got out at the corner near the fur store and started toward the door. Now that she was here it seemed a preposterous thing she was about to do. Sell her beautiful little mother’s coat! Sell it without her knowledge! The habit of the years clutched at her throat and tried to detain her, but her loyal feet carried her straight inside the door, and her brave voice, though it trembled, gathered courage to ask for the proprietor.

  She was told he was busy, and she was left to wait in a dark little corner of an office. That half hour seemed a century, and she went through tortures as she schooled herself to meet a scornful proprietor, and become a humble suppliant. Over and over she repeated the words of a speech she had thought out, fearful lest she should forget; reminding herself constantly that she must in no wise reflect upon her mother, her beautiful little mother. Father would not like that. Father had told her to remember—!

  Was it the thousandth time she had said that to herself when the man appeared, a tall, dark, frowning creature with black, angry eyes and a hurried air.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  Then his eyes sought the box that stood at her feet as she rose.

  “What is wrong? You have brought back a coat?”

  Then Kerry lifted her wonderful purply-blue eyes under her shabby little hat, and unconsciously put her soul into them.

  “It is my mother’s coat,” she spoke bravely. “I have come to ask you to take it back. My mother has not worn it. It is just as it came from the store. My father is dead, and we cannot afford to keep it. We have no money to pay for his burial.”

  The man eyed her through with his little coal-black eyes that were like knives they seemed so sharp. When he saw that she was telling the truth his face took on a cunning look.

  “Let me see it,” he said, pointing to the box, his voice in no way softened, just sharp and hard as if he did not believe her.

  Kerry took the coat out of its wrappings and handed it to him. Its soft folds fell luxuriously over his hands. A glint of avarice came into his eyes. It was one of his best coats.

  Carefully he examined it in every little inch, inside and out. He saw it was not damaged. He could see it had not been worn. But his face was still hard.

  “I can’t take back a garment at the same price,” he said in that icy tone. Hope sprang up in Kerry’s heart.

  “But it has not been worn at all,” she pleaded. “It has not been out of the box except a few minutes when it first arrived.”

  “How do I know that?” His voice raked itself over her tender sensibilities.

  “Oh!” she said, and was very quiet, then reached her hand out for the garment.

  “I have to sell it for secondhand!” went on the proprietor, ignoring the outstretched hand.

  “What would you give for it?” asked Kerry quietly.

  The man continued to look it over, carefully examining pockets and lining.

  At last he pierced her with his keen little cunning eyes again.

  “I’ll have to take off fifty dollars,” he said, narrowing his eyelids. “It’s a rule we have—”

  Kerry made a quick calculation.

  “All right,” she said at last with a troubled look in her eyes. “If you will give me the cash right away, I’ll have to let it go at that. We must pay the undertaker at once.”

  The man went away quickly and returned with a roll of bills. His manner was suddenly cordial. He pressed the money upon her, counting it out rapidly. He almost hurried her away.

  Puzzling, troubled, wondering if she should have stood out for the other fifty dollars, Kerry hurried down the street, grasping the shabby little bag that held the money. It occurred to her that perhaps he thought she had stolen the coat, and wished to get rid of her as soon as possible before the theft was discovered. Or perhaps he feared that her mother might come and demand the whole of the price. As matters stood he had his coat, and fifty dollars to the good, and now he would probably sell it again at the original price. Well—it was done now. She must not think about that other fifty dollars. She was only glad to have enough money to cover the bill and a few dollars over. A great burden had rolled from her heart with the feeling that her father’s own money would pay for the last that they could do for him on earth.

  She was very tired when she reached the undertaker’s place, for it was a long walk, and her mind was weary beyond words. She had felt that she must save even the few cents her car fare would have cost.

  Kerry could see that the undertaker seemed surprised and relieved when she paid the bill. Was the whole world tangled up in worries about money? Even the fur man. Surely he had more than enough and to spare. And yet how eager he had been to keep that fifty dollars! Who knew but that he, too, had his perplexities? Well it was a troubling world. She wondered why any of it had to be at all. How good it would be if she might have gone with her dear father where there were no more of earth’s problems. Or were there other problems, there, wherever he was gone?

  Kerry came away from the undertaker’s with a sense of freedom and of having been washed clean from a soil that had been upon her. That bill was paid, anyway, and honestly paid. If her mother was angry about it she would probably have to suffer, but she was glad she had taken the coat back, glad that the man had been willing to take it even at a discount; glad, glad, glad that the bill was paid with honest money intended for the
purpose.

  When Kerry reached the hotel rooms her mother’s door was still closed, so she laid the receipted bill and the few remaining dollars on the table where she knew her mother would see it as soon as she came out. Then she crept away behind her own locked door feeling age-old and very tired.

  It was her mother’s knock on her door that roused her.

  “Kerry! What is this?” her mother asked when she came to the door. Her mother was standing by the table where the receipted bill and the money still lay.

  “That is the bill,” said Kerry in a weary voice. “It is paid. I took that fur coat back!”

  “You took my fur coat back!” exclaimed her mother with a curious mixture of amusement and fury in her voice. “You—took—it—back!”

  “Yes, Mother. You had no right to buy it. That was not your money. That was Father’s money, and he had a right to be buried with it! I could not let you bury him on charity!”

  There was fire in the girl’s eyes, tired and infinitely sad though they were.

  The mother faced her for a moment, quite furious, then she suddenly turned childishly away and laughed.

  “What a ridiculous infant you are! As if one dollar was any different from another! However, I’m not sure but I’m just as well pleased. I saw a coat today in another shop that I believe had better lines. But what have you done with the rest of the money? Did the man try to cheat you?”

  “No, Mother, he took off fifty dollars because it was being returned. He said it was a rule they had.”

  Kerry’s voice was tired and patient.

  “The old fox!” said Isobel Kavanaugh. “He knew better. He told me himself that I might return it if I found I did not want to keep it. Well, I shall go right back to him tomorrow and get that other fifty dollars! I’ll take Sam with me, and he’ll make the old liar stand around.”

  Kerry looked at her mother hopelessly and turning went back into her room.