The Heart Remembers (10 page)

And then absurdly, crazily, there was a momentary tension that gripped them both. She sat quite still in the car, while Jim stood beside it, looking down at her, and in the dimness of the twilight she could little more than guess at his expression. But a tiny shock sped through Shelley as though she had touched an exposed electric wire.

And then Jim nodded and said quietly, “That should hold me if nothing else ever did! No, of course not; you are not even remotely concerned with anything that concerns me, so why should I burden you with my tales of woe? By all means let the charming Sue-Ellen have her fun, since nobody minds a bit. Shall we get going?”

“Why not?” said Shelley, and for want of something to say, added hurriedly, “I suppose I locked the house.”

“You did, indeed. I've never seen a house more thoroughly locked, and I must admit it puzzles me. Nobody ever bothers to lock up in Harbour Pines—is that your big city training?” asked Jim as he slid beneath the wheel and stepped on the starter.

“Partly, I suppose,” she admitted, and added impulsively, “and partly because I don't seem to care a lot for odd shimmery, misty white things that press close against my lighted windows in the darkness and
look in at me with cat-like eyes.”

Jim turned sharply, even as he put the car in gear.

“What the devil are you talking about?” he demanded, his voice harsh and sharp.

Shelley said swiftly, “Oh, it was just a trick of the light, I suppose, or my imagination working overtime. I was tired and nervous and the storm was very noisy.”

“But what happened? Or what do you think happened? I want to know all about it!” His tone refused to dismiss the subject.

She was puzzled by his attitude.

“Oh, really, there's nothing to tell. It happened a few nights after I moved into the house and I was still tired. And there was a nor'easter blowing and the wind in the pines sounded eery and mournful. The whole thing is silly. It was just a trick.”

His hand closed over her arm and gave her a little shake.

“Tell me!” he ordered sharply. “If there are any shenanigans going on around here, I want to know about it. After all, I
do
represent such law and order as we have in these parts and I don't propose to allow you to be worried or frightened by some trick. What happened?”

And because he had switched off the motor and brought the car to a halt, and made it perfectly plain he had no intention of driving on until he knew, she told him of her experience of the night, and felt pretty silly by the time she had finished.

Jim listened without comment. And when at last she had finished, he sat very still for a long moment, before he started the car once more. They had driven perhaps a mile before he asked curtly, “You haven't mentioned this to anyone else?”

“Only to Aunt Hettie.”

“Oh? And why to Aunt Hettie?”

“I suppose because she was telling me some weird
tale passed on by an old kunjur-woman.”

“Old Minnie-Ola, of course.”

“Yes, I think that was the name. And Aunt Hettie's tale about the mare that had been ridden by 'the devil hisself amused me, and I capped it by relating my own imagined experience. I said something about it having been a busy night in Harbour Pines. You know what silly things you say when your mind is sort of idling.”

“So you heard the story going the rounds by Negro grapevine, of Aunt Selena's abused mare? I wondered if you would, though of course it was a foregone conclusion that you would. It was very simple, of course.” Jim's tone was dry. “Jason is ‘sparking a gal' who lives a couple of miles from Pinelands. It was an evil night and he didn't want to walk, but had a date with his ‘gal' and knew she'd never forgive him if he broke it. He sneaked Blue Belle out, rode her in the storm and invented that yarn, passed on by his aunt, Old Minnie-Ola, to account for the mare's condition in the morning. It deceived no one, of course, but the more credulous Negroes and a few ‘po' whites.' ”

“Naturally not,” Shelley agreed eagerly, “Just as I saw nothing against my window but a trick of light, a fault in the glass pane, perhaps. But because I was tired and nervous I let myself get into a tizzy. The only result is that I very carefully lock my doors and windows at nights, and that's not a bad idea for a gal living alone, do you think, Mr. Hargroves?”

“I don't indeed. And I think it's a poor idea for a gal to live alone, even in a small place like Harbour Pines. I'm not a bit happy about your being there all by yourself. You should have someone with you. Aunt Hettie, preferably, only Aunt Hettie has her own place and her livestock to take care of and she'd be miserable living anywhere else.”

“Of course she would. And I don't want anybody
living with me. I like living alone.”

“I can't quite feel it's safe.”

“With
you
representing law and order? Why, Sheriff!”

“Don't you get smart with me, young woman!”

She laughed, relieved that he was willing to break the fast growing tension.

“And anyway, now that the
Journal
is launched and the worst of it is over, I needn't get so worked up and tired out and nervous that I'm easily frightened,” she told him lightly.

His face was grim once more in the feeble light from the instrument board.

“I don't seem to care much for the picture of you being frightened half to death in your own home. We'll think of something,” he assured her, as the car turned in at the entrance gates to Pinelands. And crazily enough there was an oddly pleasant warmth about her heart at this evidence of his interest and his concern for her.

The big old house was ablaze with lights and there were two other cars already parked in front of it. As Jim parked the convertible, the door opened and Sue-Ellen stood there, and Shelley's heart fell a little. For Sue-Ellen, in frothy white, her pale gold hair done in an artfully simple, yet devastatingly sophisticated coiffure, was something to stir a man's dreams.

“Hi, Shelley, what do you mean keeping my man out this long?” Sue-Ellen demanded with cheerful severity as Jim and Shelley came up the steps. “We were just about to send out a search-party complete with bloodhounds to find you.”

She linked her arm with Shelley's and drew her toward the group that stood in the living room. A group dominated by an unexpectedly regal and handsome Selena, in silvery-gray crepe, her hair done high and a narrow velvet ribbon held by a diamond
brooch about her throat.

“Good evening, Miss Kimbrough.” Selena's greeting was courteous but entirely without warmth. “I'm glad you could be with us tonight.”

“Thank you, it was good of you to ask me,” said Shelley politely.

There were three young men and two other girls, all in evening attire and not too much at ease in the presence of Selena's almost regal manner. Shelley had met them all. The girl who had come home from college at the death of her mother to take over the rearing of half a dozen younger brothers and sisters was Ann Stevens. The other was Marian Harper, teaching for the first year in one of the county schools.

“Hi, Shelley,” Ann greeted her gaily. “I've been hearing exciting things about your paper.”

“Kind words, Annie my love, but very kind words!”

“Don't try to be modest with me, gal,” ordered Marian. “She's doing a swell job, Ann. Harbour Pines needed a good newspaper.”

“And of course the mere fact that Marian is correspondent for the Locust Grove community has nothing to do with her enthusiasm for the
Journal
,” said Jim teasingly.

“Certainly it has! I boast with pride I was the first person to place an advertisement in the Classified Columns of the
Journal
—‘room and board wanted'—and possibly the first that ever paid for an ad in cash!” said Marian cheerfully.

“I do hope you've been overwhelmed with answers,” laughed Shelley.

“Well, it's not the
Journal's
fault there isn't so much as a vacant mouse-hole for miles around,” Marian defended the
Journal
.

Jim looked at her, startled, and then at Shelley and said blandly, “Well, Marian, my pet, your troubles
are over. I know exactly the place for you.”

Marian laughed. “Don't tell me you've decided to rent rooms in the local hoosegow, Jimmy my lad. Though it might be one way of making the taxpayers a little money.”

“It's an idea,” Jim admitted. “But I know another place where's there's a very attractive room, undoubtedly with kitchen privileges, though you'd have to work that out with your landlady.”

Marian's eyes were wide and she shot a startled glance toward Selena, who was in low-voiced consultation with a dignified looking elderly Negro in a stiffly starched white coat.

“Oh, now, wait a minute; you know Miss Selena would have a fit at the bare idea of renting a room,” Marian protested.

“Oh, no, I didn't mean at Pinelands. It would be too far from your job,” said Jim, and turned, drew Shelley's hand through his arm, and brought her about to face Marian. “Miss Kimbrough, permit me to introduce your new boarder; Miss Harper, meet your new landlady. And I feel sure you two will be very happy together!”

Marian said, confused and embarassed, “Oh, for Pete's sake, Jim, don't you suppose if she'd wanted a roomer she'd have said so when I placed the ad? Pay him no mind, Shelley.”

“But I think it's a marvelous idea! For goodness' sake, why didn't we think of it before? If you think you'd like it, Marian—if you don't want too much luxury—which, being brutally frank, means none at all! No running water. Electric lights,
yes
, but very little else!” protested Shelley eagerly.

Marian's pretty oval face beneath twin wings of shining dark hair was glowing with eagerness.

“Oh, Shelley, don't kid me. Do you really mean it? I love your little house. It's cute as the dickens and picturesque as all get-out. But are you sure I
wouldn't be crowding you?”

“Quite sure, I'd love having you,” laughed Shelley. She went on, without having had the slightest intention of saying anything of the kind, “But it's only fair to warn you: I think we've got ha'nts. Do you mind?”

“Ha'nts?” Marian laughed. “Lamb, if you could see where I'm living now! After sharing a room with two half grown girls who spend half the night rolling their hair up in curlers, discussing Cary Grant and Gregory Peck and playing Sinatra records on a wheezing little old victrola, vintage of the 20's, any well-behaved, self-respecting ha'nt would be a relief. Only of course you're kidding.”

“I imagine I am,” responded Shelley. “But after all, when my house is supposed to be haunted, I've a right to see something on a stormy night, haven't I?”

The others clamored for the story and lightly, deliberately stressing the melodramatic tale with the idea of burlesquing it into something ridiculous, Shelley related what she had seen.

Almost before she had finished, Selena, her hands gripped so tightly together that the old-fashioned rings on her fingers stood out heavily, interrupted, her voice tight with anger.

“Really, Miss Kimbrough, you are being absurd and in the worst possible taste. I very much resent your spreading such a lurid and impossible tale. If you are trying deliberately to keep from sharing your place with Miss Harper, don't you think it would be more honest just to tell her frankly you don't want her?”

The reproof in the tone and Selena's obvious anger blazing in her eyes were so stinging that Shelley's cheeks burned, and she felt, as Selena wanted her to feel, like a naughty child being reprimanded in front of its elders.

“I am sorry, Miss Durand. I apologize,” she said
when she could steady her voice. “I did not mean to be offensive. It simply struck me as a rather amusing tale.”

“I see nothing amusing in a lurid tale born of over-imagination. Shall we go in to dinner?” Selena cut her short brusquely.

She turned and swept away, her head held high, and subdued, angry, the others followed her meekly.

Jim, drawing Shelley's hand through his arm, said softly, “Sorry, honey. That was rotten of her. I apologize for her.”

“Don't bother,” said Shelley stiffly. “It was thoughtless of me. And we may as well face it! Miss Selena doesn't like me.”

“Leave us all face it, pally,” said Sue-Ellen cheerfully, giving Shelley a comforting little pat. “Miss Selena doesn't like anybody—not even Miss Selena. How could she, being a poor, frustrated old maid?”

“Sue-Ellen!” Jim said sternly. “Mind your manners.”

“Sure, sure, sure,” agreed Sue-Ellen, quite undisturbed as they all reached the dining room and found Selena waiting for them, her gray head held high, her manner more regal and forbidding than ever.

As they settled to their places, Sue-Ellen turned to Jim and said gaily, “Jamesy, darling—”

Jim glared at her.

“If you don't stop calling me that—”

“Isn't he cute? He hates being called Jamesy. It was his nickname when he was a broth of a boy. I think it suits him.”

“I think we all loathe our childish nicknames,” Marian tried to make light conversation. “I remember it used to make me furious when people called me ‘Mary Ann.' ”

“You should talk,” said Billie Stone, aiding her cheerfully. “I was called Slats, on account of I was tall and skinny.”

“Carrot-top was mine,” Ann admitted. “Thank Heaven it darkened as I grew older.”

“My father always called me Patsy-Jane, but I loved it,” said Shelley—and caught her breath, her hands gripped tightly beneath the table's edge.

Across the candle-lit, beautifully appointed table, she saw the look in Selena's eyes and the sudden ugly pallor that touched her face. For a moment Shelley and Selena looked straight into each other's eyes and there was a tiny tremor in Shelley's heart as she realized how completely she had given herself away to her enemy.