Kerry by Grace Livingston Hill
“But Mother, we haven’t the money!” said Kerry patiently. “Don’t you realize it’s going to take every cent of this three months’ income to pay for the funeral? You’ve insisted on getting everything of the best. And violets, too, when they’re out of season and so expensive—and such quantities of them! Mother, Father would be so distressed for you to spend all that on him now that he is gone! You know he needed a new overcoat! He wore his summer one all last winter through the cold because he didn’t want to spend the money on himself—!”
“Oh, you are cruel! A cruel, cruel child!” her mother sobbed. “Don’t you see how you are making me suffer with your reminders? That is just the reason I must do all I can for him now. It is all I have left to do for him.”
It was on Kerry’s lips to say: “If you had only been a little kinder to him while he was alive! If you had not thought so much about yourself—”
But her lips were sealed. She remembered her father’s words:
“She is the only little mother you have, Kerry! And you will always remember that she was the most beautiful little mother in the world, and that she gave up everything she might have had for me!”
Well, she might have done it once. Kerry almost had her doubts. But she certainly had lived the rest of her life on the strength of that one sacrifice!
But the indignation passed away as her mother lifted her pitiful, pretty face helplessly. Kerry turned away in silence, and the mother went on ordering her black. Satins, crepes, a rich black coat, a hat whose price would have kept them comfortably for a month, expensive gloves, more flowers, even mourning jewelry and lingerie. Now that she was started there seemed no limitation to her desires. As the packages came in Kerry grew more and more appalled. When would they ever pay for them?
But over one matter Kerry was firm.
“Of course it is your money, Mother, and I’ve no right to advise you even, but you shall not spend it on me! Get what you want for yourself, but I’m not going to have new things! I know Father would tell me I was right!”
There was a battle of course, but Kerry could not be moved, though later she compromised on a cheap black dress of her own selection for the funeral. But her mother battled on every day.
“Of course, Kerry, I don’t blame you for feeling hurt that your father only left you that old book. It was such a farce! He knew that we both knew it was worthless. I’ve known it for years, but there wasn’t any use in saying it to him! He was stuck on it, and wouldn’t have been good for anything else till it was out of the way. But it must have hurt you to have him leave it as a legacy, as if it were a prize. If I were you I would throw it in the fire. You’ll have to eventually of course when we pack, and it’s only around in the way, a lot of trash!”
“Mother!” Kerry’s indignation burst out in a word that was at once horrified and threatening.
“Oh well, of course! I know you are sentimental, and will probably hang on to the last scrap for a while, but it is perfectly silly. However, you don’t need to feel hurt at your father for leaving you nothing but the old trash. He knew I would look after you of course, and he would expect me to spend on you what ought to be spent to make you respectable for his funeral. Your father, my dear, while a great deal of a dreamer, had the name in his world of being a very great scientist. You must remember that. Whatever we suffered through his dreaming, at least he had a fine, respectable name, and we must do honor to it.”
It was of no use to argue, and Kerry, sick at heart, finally compromised on the one cheap dress for herself. In truth she really needed the dress, for her wardrobe was down to the very lowest terms.
Sam Morgan did not come to the funeral. Kerry was always glad afterward to remember that! She could not have stood his presence there. It would have been like having vermin in the room, a desecration.
But other men came, noble men, some of them from long distances. Professors from the nearby universities. Telegrams poured in from practically all over the world, noted names signed to them, scientists, literary men, statesmen, great thinkers, even kings and presidents. The noble of the earth united to do him honor, and his widow sat and preened herself in her new black, and ordered more violets, wondering that her simple-hearted husband should have called forth so much admiration. Why hadn’t she known in time that he was such an asset and managed somehow to turn his prestige to better account financially?
Sam Morgan did not turn up for three whole weeks after the funeral, and it was even some days after that that Kerry discovered he was in Europe.
Kerry was hard at work on the book. Carefully, conscientiously, she had gathered every scrap of paper on which the wise man had jotted down the least thing, and they were under lock and key except when she was working on them. She did not trust her mother’s judgment. In a fit of iconoclasm she might sweep the whole thing into the fire.
Kerry foresaw the day when creditors would come down upon them for georgette and crepe and gloves and hats and furs and jewelry, for now a fur coat had been added to the extravagances. Her mother was spending money like water and would not realize until it was all gone. Kerry’s father had laid her beautiful little mother upon her as a care, and when the income was gone, then Kerry must be ready to pay the bills. So she worked night and day, and shut in her room did not notice how often her mother was out for the whole morning or afternoon. The book was almost done. When it was finished, Kerry meant to take it to America to the publishers with whom her father had been corresponding. She knew there would be a battle with her mother, for Mrs. Kavanaugh hated America. She had grown used to living abroad and intended to stay there. She had even talked about the South of France for another winter, or Italy.
Kerry let her talk, for she knew there would be no money for either going or staying. She was much troubled in mind where the money for their passage was to come from, for she doubted being able to restrain her mother’s purchases, and it was still several weeks until another pittance of their small annuity would arrive. Yet she determined that nothing should delay her trip to America as soon as her work of copying was completed, even if she had to get a job for a few weeks in order to get the price of passage.
Then suddenly Kerry became aware of her mother’s renewed friendship with Sam Morgan.
Kerry had retired to her little room and her typewriter as usual after breakfast, but found after copying a few pages that she had left a newly purchased package of paper out in the sitting room, and came out to get it.
Her mother stood before the small mirror that hung between the two front windows, preening herself, patting her hair into shape, tilting her expensive new hat at a becoming angle, and something glittered on her white hand as she moved it up to arrange her hair.
Kerry stopped where she stood and an exclamation broke from her.
Mrs. Kavanaugh whirled around on her daughter, and smiled. A little bit confused she was perhaps at being discovered primping yet quite confident and self-contained.
“It certainly is becoming, isn’t it?” she said and turned back again to the glass.
A premonition seized upon Kerry. Something—something—! What was her mother going to do? And then she caught a glimpse of the flashing stone on her hand again.
“Mother!” she said helplessly, and for a second felt a dizziness sweep over her. “Why, where are you going?” she managed to ask, trying to make her voice seem natural.
In a studiedly natural tone the mother answered.
“Why, I’m going out to lunch, dear,” she said sweetly. “You won’t mind, will you?” As if that were an almost daily occurrence.
“Out to lunch?” Kerry could not quite tell why she felt such an inward sinking of heart, such menace in the moment.
“Yes, dear,” said Kerry’s mother, whirling unexpectedly around and smiling radiantly. “Mr. Morgan telephoned me that he wanted me to lunch with him. Would you have liked to go? He meant to ask you, I’m sure, but I told him you were very busy and would not want to be disturbed.”
&
“Now, now, Kerry,” reproved her mother playfully. “You must not be prejudiced by your father. He never really knew Sam Morgan as I did. He was just a little bit jealous, you know. Of course I am the last one to blame him for that. But you know yourself your father would be the first one to want me to have a little pleasure and relaxation after the terrible days through which we have lived—”
Kerry put out her hand almost blindly and wafted away her mother’s words; impatiently, as one will clear a cobweb from one’s path.
“But Mother, you—you—wouldn’t go anywhere with that—that”—she choked. She was almost crying, and finished with a childish sob—“that great fat slob!”
“Kerry!” Her mother whirled around on her angrily. “Don’t let me hear you speak of my friend in that way again. You must remember you are only a child. I am your mother. Your father always required respect from you.”
“Oh, Mother,” cried out Kerry helplessly, “don’t talk that way. I am eighteen. I am not a child anymore. You know that man is not fit—” And then suddenly she noticed the diamond again, and her eyes were riveted to it in a new fear.
“Mother, you haven’t been buying diamonds! Mother, are you crazy? Don’t you know you’ve already spent more money than we have?”
The mother glanced down with a sudden flush, and laughed a sweet childlike trill.
“No, you’re wrong, for once, Kerry. I didn’t buy that diamond. Sam gave it to me. Isn’t it a beauty? Even an amateur must see that.”
“Sam!” The word escaped Kerry’s horrified lips like the hiss of a serpent as she stood like a fiery, flaming, little Nemesis before her mother. But Mrs. Kavanaugh paid no heed to her now. In a high, sweet key she went on.
“Yes, Sam, dear! I may as well tell you the whole story now, though I had meant to wait and prepare you a little first, but you might as well know everything. Mr. Morgan has asked me to marry him, and I have accepted. He has been most kind in every way. He has even offered to make you his heir! My dear, you don’t know what luck we are in! He has castles, real castles, three of them, and all kinds of places in America besides. And a yacht that is the envy of royalty. We can live where we like, and travel when we please, and there is nothing, simply nothing, that we cannot have. My dream for you is going to come true. Last night he was planning to have you presented at court. My dear, he is simply crazy about you. He loves you, he really does! He will be a real father to you—”
“Stop!” cried Kerry flashing her eyes like blue lightning, her face a deathly white. “Stop!” And then with a loud cry she burst away from her mother, shut herself into her room, and locked the door.
Chapter 2
Kerry stood behind that locked door, a flaming, furious, frantic young soul, desperate, helpless, bound by the submission of years.
Her mother! Her beautiful mother! Going to marry that awful man! It could not be true. It must be some awful dream! It must be a nightmare that would pass!
She put her cold, trembling hands over her eyes, and brushing away the vision of the present, tried to conjure up the dear dead past.
She heard her mother moving around the other room, little familiar movements, in her gentle, deliberate way. Mother was a perfect lady always, nothing impulsive or unconsidered about her habits. The shoving of a chair, the clink of the brush as she laid it down on the old-fashioned marble shelf under the mirror. Kerry could almost vision her turning her head critically in front of the mirror to get one more glimpse of herself in her new hat before she went out.
And she could do that, when her child was suffering so on this side of the closed door! But that was an old hurt, almost callous now.
Now—! She was stepping across the floor. That was the board in the middle of the room that creaked!
She had picked up her bag and gloves from the table, and now she stood a moment to put on her gloves, turning again to get another glimpse of the new hat.
Kerry’s eyes were closed, and the door against which she leaned was locked, but she could see it all, every motion. Now, she had turned and was walking toward the hall door. She was going! In another instant she would be gone! Gone with that awful—!
“Mother—!”
Kerry fumbled with the key frantically. It came out in her hand and had to be fitted in again! Oh, why had she locked her door! She would be gone—hopelessly—forever—perhaps! It must not be! She must stop it! She must! Father would expect her to do something—!
The key slid into its hole again, and she broke out into the sitting room wildly, the tears splashing unheeded down her white cheeks.
“Mother!”
The hall door was just closing, but it halted on the crack, and slowly swung open a couple of inches.
“Well?” said a cold voice, cold like icicles.
“Oh, Mother!” sobbed Kerry, her voice full of love and pleading. “Oh, Mother! Come back!”
The door opened a trifle wider, and Isobel Kavanaugh’s delicately pretty face appeared.
“What is it you want, Kerry? I’m late now, I cannot come back!” Her voice was haughty and unsympathetic.
“Oh, Mother, just a minute. Come in! I must speak to you!”
Mrs. Kavanaugh stepped inside and drew the door shut.
“You’ll have to hurry!” she said coldly.
Kerry was like a bright flame as she went rushing toward her mother. Her hair was red gold, and as she crossed the room a ray of sunlight, the only ray that could get inside that dark hotel room, caught and tangled in its wavy meshes. It set a halo around the white face, with the big purply-blue eyes set like stars, wide apart. In her earnestness, her awful need, her face shone with hurt, love, and tenderness.
“Oh, Mother! Mother! You’re the only mother I have, and you’re so beautiful!” It was like a prayer, that form of words that had become a habit through the years—
Unconsciously Kerry had chosen the only mode of approach that could possibly have halted this vain woman a moment longer. For an instant she was almost mollified. Then she looked startled into the lovely illumined face of her daughter and saw her beauty as she had never seen it before. Saw that it was beauty even deeper, and more wonderful than her own, for with its delicacy was mingled a something of the intellect—or was it spirit?—they were all one to Mrs. Kavanaugh—that made it most unusual. Then, too, there was that red-gold hair—or was it gold-red?—that the mother had always regretted and called plain red. She saw like a revelation that it made a startling combination. Kerry, in her trouble had suddenly grown up. Kerry was beautiful!
Then with the first throb of pride that made her look again, came another thought more powerful. Kerry would be a rival!
Perhaps Kerry already was a rival! Sam had been most insistent that she should bring Kerry along. Almost rudely insistent! Had there been anything behind that? Of course not! But—
All this in a flash of thought. Then:
“What a perfectly ridiculous child!” she said coldly, “to call me back at such a time just to say that! But of course, you were always just like your father!”
“But Mother, you will stay! You will not go with that bad man! For I’m sure he is bad, Mother, or Father would not have said what he did about him. I’m sure Father knew!”
“What did your father dare to say about my friend?” flashed the mother angrily. “Tell me instantly. You’ve no right to keep anything back like that. Your father had no right to say anything behind my back—”
“But Mother, he was only sorry about you. He was talking of you so lovingly,” pleaded Kerry.
“What did he say?” demanded the now-furious woman.
“He said—” struggled Kerry, wildly casting about for some way to answer without te
The fury went out of the woman’s eyes. She lifted her chin vainly with a little smile of self-consciousness.
“Oh, well, he would,” she answered half-sneeringly. “You know, my dear, your father thought no one was worthy of me, not even himself, I’ll say that for him. Not even himself. He was always humble enough. He knew his limitations, your poor dear father did!” Her tone was amused, reminiscent of a past she scarcely seemed to regret.
A great anger surged over the girl, her vivid face flamed, and her dark eyes burned with unspeakable emotions.
“Mother! Oh, Mother! Listen. You don’t understand! He didn’t mean just that. He used a word—!”
“A word! What word? What do you mean? I insist on knowing!” The cold voice beat on the girl’s consciousness like shot.
“It was a word—that showed he did not—respect him—”
“Tell me this instant!”
Kerry brought it out reluctantly, and in the great silence that followed for an instant she could hear her own heart beating.
But the echoes of the room were broken by a harsh laugh.
“Is that all?” laughed the woman. “Now, I know you are lying. Your father would never have used that word like that. It is ungentlemanly. Your father was always a gentleman, whatever else he was not. Well, I think it is about time this useless conversation came to an end. I’m going!”
But Kerry caught her as she threw open the door, and pulled her in with a strength born of her great need. Flinging back the door with one hand she dropped on her knees in front of her mother, her clasped hands uplifted and pled, “Oh, Mother, dear, you’re all I’ve got! Won’t you give this up? Won’t you? Won’t you? I’ll take care of you. I’ll work hard! I’ll buy you beautiful clothes. I know I can. I shall have the book ready now in a few days, and Father said it would give us all we needed—”
But Mrs. Kavanaugh, deeply stirred for the instant by her daughter’s pleading, was stung into contempt by the mention of the book. With a curl of her lips she froze into haughtiness and swept Kerry aside almost fiercely.