The Glorious Prodigal (3 page)

The song was one of Leah’s favorites. She had heard it sung at many weddings, and it never ceased to touch her emotions. As the singer’s smooth voice filled the hall easily, Leah could sense the pathos in it, and suddenly she discovered that his eyes were fixed on her. She knew that oftentimes some entertainers had the ability to make everyone in the hall think they were singing or speaking directly to them—but this was no illusion. Their eyes locked, and as Stuart Winslow sang the words, Leah found herself unable to turn away.

As soon as the last note of the song ended, she saw Winslow put his violin down and come straight across the room. Walking right up to her, he smiled and said, “Our dance, isn’t it?”

“Why don’t you keep on playing, Stuart,” Mott said.

“Why, Mott, I don’t mind,” Leah said. It was the first time she had seen Mott angry, but it would be rude to refuse the man’s invitation. “You don’t mind, do you?” she asked gently.

“I suppose not.”

“Thanks, Mott.”

Turning to Leah, Stuart said, “Come along. This is one of my favorites.”

It was a waltz, and Leah found herself moving easily across the floor. As she had suspected, Stuart Winslow was a marvelous dancer. She followed his lead effortlessly.

“I’m Stuart Winslow.”

“Yes, I know. My name is Leah Freeman.”

“I hate to begin a relationship like this, but I must tell you, Miss Freeman, that you’re the most beautiful woman in the room.”

Leah laughed. “That sounds like something your friend Ace might say.”

“Ace has no taste in women, but I do. Do you live here? What about your family?”

As they danced Leah spoke of herself and what she did. “I’m a typewriter,” she said.

“Oh, you’re a smart young lady to learn that.” They spun around the room, and he asked abruptly, “Do you have a regular beau?”

Leah hesitated, then shook her head. “Not really.”

And then Stuart Winslow smiled. He had an olive complexion, and his teeth were very white against his skin. She saw a small cleft in his chin, and he wore a small neat mustache.

“Well, I’m available,” he said and laughed softly, “and this is your lucky day, Miss Freeman.”

“Well, there’s no modesty about you.”

“Oh, I’ve got all kinds of modesty. But I’ve got a feeling about the two of us, Miss Leah, if I may call you that.”

Leah listened as he spoke and enjoyed the dance tremendously. Stuart Winslow had a way with women, she knew, but somehow she felt he was half serious beneath his light bantering.

Mott came up immediately after the dance and nodded curtly. “Our dance, I think, Leah.”

“I’ve got to play awhile, Miss Leah,” Stuart grinned, “but save another dance for me.”

“Of course.”

Leah turned to Mott and they began a two-step. Mott did not speak, but he was obviously not pleased. “What’s the matter, Mott? Have you had trouble with him before? Don’t you like him?” Leah asked as they moved across the ballroom.

“Nothing to like about him.”

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked curiously.

“He’s a wastrel. Comes from a fine family. His father is one of the leading citizens here in Lewisville, and his mother’s a fine woman. Richard Winslow and his wife, Diane. I think a great deal of them.”

“What does he do?”

“He owns two stores—one here and one in Fort Smith—and is thinking about opening a third, I understand. He’s a good businessman.”

“I thought Stuart was very attractive.”

“All women think that. I hate to talk about a man behind his back, but young women aren’t safe with him, Leah.”

Leah did not answer. Somehow she knew there was truth in Mott’s words, and yet as she continued to dance, she kept thinking of the words Stuart had said: “
This is your lucky day
. . . .”

“Hey, Ace, we’ve got a little job to do.”

Ace Devainy looked over at Stuart and grinned. “You’ve got trouble in your eyes, boy. I know it. What are you up to now?”

“Have you met Leah Freeman?”

“That young woman with Mott? Sure. She deserves better than him.”

“Well, she’s going to get better.” A light of deviltry flashed in Stuart Winslow’s eyes, and then his lips curved upward in a smile. “You want to do me a favor?”

“Why not. Anything for a friend.”

“Go out there to that automobile he’s so proud of and drain the gasoline out of it. I don’t want it to start when it’s time for them to leave.”

Ace laughed. “I can take care of that. You got your eye on Leah Freeman?”

“Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You got that right. I’ll take care of the gasoline.”

****

“What’s wrong with it, Mott?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes it just won’t start. They haven’t got these things perfected yet.” Mott had cranked until he was sweaty. The dance had ended and it was after midnight. Now Mott came around from the front of the auto and shook his head. “You wait here, Leah. I’m going to go get Fred Jefferson. He can always get these things started.”

“All right.”

Leah sat there as Mott disappeared. The stars overhead were brilliant dots against a sable sky, and she sat quietly thinking of the dance. It had been an exciting time for her. She had danced twice more with Stuart Winslow, knowing that it displeased Mott but not caring a great deal. As she sat there waiting, she remembered Ellie’s words.
“Don’t be a fool!”
she had hissed.
“Hang on to Mott!”

Not long after Mott had left, she heard the sound of a buggy approaching, and she was suddenly aware that it had drawn up beside her.

“Well, you’d better come with me, Miss Leah.”

Leah blinked and saw by the full moon overhead that Stuart Winslow had pulled up beside her.

“I’m waiting for Mott. He’s gone to get a repairman.”

“I know, but he’ll not find Fred. That’s who he always goes for when this contraption breaks down. I think you’d better let me take you on home.”

“No. That wouldn’t be right. I’ll wait for Mott.”

Leah watched as Winslow jumped out of the buggy and came over to stand beside her. “It’s not really safe for a young woman to be out alone this late. Look, you just leave a note
for Mott. Tell him I’m driving you home, and he won’t worry about you.”

The argument went on only for a few moments, and then Leah surrendered. “All right, but I’ll have to leave him a note.”

She looked in her purse, pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil, wrote a note, and pinned it to the steering wheel with a hairpin. “He can’t miss that,” she said.

“Right. Now you come on. It’s getting late.”

As Leah got in Stuart’s buggy, she smiled. “Do you often worry about keeping young women up too late?”

“Always.” Stuart grinned. “Come along.”

Leah was amused. She suddenly had a thought and said, “Did you have anything to do with that car not starting, Stuart?”

“Me? Not a thing,” he said innocently. “I don’t know a thing about cars. How could I do that?”

Leah laughed. “I don’t believe a word you say.” A few moments later she looked around suddenly and said, “You’re going the wrong way.”

“Well, you didn’t tell me where you lived.”

“I’m staying at Mrs. Gates’s boardinghouse.”

“Oh . . . well, you’ll have to direct me.”

Leah tried to tell him where to go, but he persisted in making wrong turns. Finally she found herself out beside the small river that circled Lewisville. The moonlight turned it into a silver track, and as she protested, he suddenly handed her the reins. “Here. You drive yourself.”

Leah was a good driver, and she laughed, saying, “Why should I drive you?”

“I’ve got other things to do.” He reached behind the seat and pulled out his violin. Tucking it under his chin, he began to play, and Leah was entranced.

“You play beautifully,” she said.

He did not answer but continued to play. Finally he played and sang “After the Ball Is Over.” It had been a hit for about ten years, but somehow he did something different with it.
As she silently sang the words in her mind, they evoked a pathos in her. She had always felt it was a sad song, but now Stuart’s clear, tender voice brought out some things in it she had never heard:

“That’s a beautiful song,” she whispered, touched by it.

“It was written by a fellow named Charles Harris back in 1892. He spotted a young couple quarreling after a dance and wrote it. It got to be real popular,” Stuart said.

The only sound was the clopping of the horses’ hooves and the chirping of crickets as they moved along the road beside the river.

He turned to her suddenly, put the violin back, then took the reins. “I’ve always thought the moon was the most beautiful thing,” he said and put his arm around her, “but now I don’t think that anymore.”

Leah was amused, and the pressure of his arm around her shoulders was pleasant enough. “How many times have you said that to young women?”

“Oh, I’ve taken a few girls out for a buggy ride.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“But you’re different.”

“How original!” she laughed.

He did not speak for a moment but turned the horse back toward town. She was surprised, for she had expected him to try to kiss her. He did not speak again until they drew up in front of the boardinghouse. The lights were all dark except for the one in the foyer, and she said, “I’ve got to go in.”

“Wait a minute,” he said and turned to her. “I know I’ve got a bad reputation, but a man’s got to change sometime. He’s got to settle down.”

Leah felt he was trying to be sincere, although she had no justification for believing it. “I think it might be good for you to do that.”

When she started to move, he turned and put his arm around her and drew her to him. Her face was a mirror that reflected her feelings as they changed, and as he pulled her forward, he noticed the delicate curve of her mouth.

As for Leah, she did not know why, but she permitted him to hold her tight. When his lips touched hers, she did not pull away but waited until he finally released her. “I’ve got to go in,” she said.

He reached out, took her hand, and said quietly, “I wish at a time like this that I hadn’t led the life I had.”

“It’s never too late to change.”

At that moment, perhaps for the first time in her life, Leah felt something more than a mild interest in a man. As she kept her eyes fixed on Stuart’s face, she saw in him something that she had been seeking for, for a long time. One part of her was aware of that side of Stuart Winslow that was not what a woman would want, but she could see in his eyes a fire and a zest for living that drew her to him. Without meaning to, she put out her hand and laid it on his cheek. “It’s never too late to change,” she said again. “All of us have to—”

Leah never finished her statement, for the silence of the moonlit night was broken by the increasing roar of an automobile. Quickly Leah turned to see Mott Castleton’s vehicle appear. A wave of guilt washed over her, and she cast a quick glance at Stuart. He simply stood there, turning to face Castleton as he stopped the car and strode toward them. Castleton’s face was taut with anger, and even by the faint light, Leah could see that his body was stiff with rage.

“Stuart, get out of here!”

Quickly Leah stepped forward, for she saw that Mott’s
fists were clenched and she did not want the two men to get into a fight. “It was my fault.”

“No. It was my fault,” Stuart said. He stood straight and faced the larger man, his own body tense. He was, however, not ready for what happened next. Mott suddenly struck out, catching Stuart high on the forehead and driving him backward.

“You’re a rotter, Stuart! You don’t know a decent woman from the trash you run around with! Never come around Leah again! Do you hear me?”

Stuart jumped to his feet, and for one terrible moment, Leah thought he was about to throw himself forward. She stepped between them and put a hand on each man’s chest. “Please,” she begged, “don’t fight.”

Stuart Winslow was struggling inside to control himself. He was handy with his fists, and although Mott Castleton was larger, there was no doubt in his mind that he could whip him. But Leah’s eyes pleaded with him, and he released a ragged breath. “All right, Leah.” His eyes came around to Mott, and he said, “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Get out of here and stay away from Leah!”

Without a word, Stuart walked to his buggy, got in, and spoke to the horse, which moved forward.

“There was nothing wrong, Mott,” Leah said. “He was afraid to leave me in the automobile by myself. He was just giving me a ride home.”

“That wasn’t what he wanted. He’s not worried about your safety. He’s never worried about any woman. Don’t you know that, Leah? You don’t know the kind of man he is.”

Leah knew there was truth in Mott’s words, but she could not answer him, except to say, “I know, but anyone can change.”

Mott Castleton twisted his head to stare at the disappearing buggy. When he turned his head back, his eyes still held a cold glint of anger. “Not him,” he said. And then he put out his hand, and took hers. “I was worried about you, Leah. You
don’t know how to handle that kind of man. Other women thought they knew him, and they wound up disgraced.”