Kerry (18 page)

Kerry looked wistfully up at the tall form beside her in the darkness.

“That would be wonderful for me,” she said. Then more hesitantly, “Your mother, is she—?”

“My mother is with the Lord!” The young man said it joyously. “If she were here I would take you to her as fast as ever I could get you there. She would love you, I know, and Mother you. But she will be among those who will come to meet us when we are caught up to meet the Lord in the air!”

The wonder of his words, the tone in which he spoke, and the intimate way in which he spoke of herself all combined to thrill Kerry as she never had been thrilled before. There seemed no words wherewith to answer, but at last she spoke.

“You make me feel that life is a very different thing from what I thought it. You bring the other world quite close and you take the hardness out of the hard things here. I shall never cease to be thankful for what you have taught me.”

“There are a great many stars out tonight!” announced Dawson’s flat voice as he suddenly appeared in the offing.

McNair’s finger tightened on the hand he was holding.

“Yes,” he said, rising, “the stars are out, and we were just going in. Going to be a strenuous day tomorrow, you know. Had a strenuous day yesterday, too. Good night!” and McNair and Kerry drifted away together.

“Oh, say!” said Dawson, quickening his steps behind them, “I came up to say that I made a mistake about that number. It was forty-three fifteen, not forty-two. Let me have the card, Miss Kavanaugh, and I’ll correct it.”

“Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Dawson,” said Kerry sweetly. “I can remember that. Forty-three fifteen you say. All right. Thank you. Good night!” And Kerry vanished down the companionway.

“The poor fish!” said McNair as he escorted her down her own corridor. “Does he really think you’re going there, do you suppose, or is he just inventing excuses to annoy us?”

“I think he takes you for another scientist,” laughed Kerry.

“Well, I suppose we can’t sneak out on him again tonight, can we? Then suppose we come out early and have a little time together before he is up. How early will you be out?”

Kerry made all her simple preparations for landing, that night, and was ready at the hour appointed.

McNair led her to a lofty place, and in the rose and pearl of a new day they looked upon a sea as sparkling and blue as a quiet mountain lake. One would never dream that so short a time ago it had risen like a giant monster high above the ship threatening to swallow it. It seemed incredible that it should lie before them now sparkling like a summer morning.

All too swiftly the brief moments fled. Breakfast was a thing to be considered, too. And they were coming into traffic now, the traffic of the seas. A fine excitement pervaded the whole ship. People passed them and smiled, called joyously to one another, as their boat limped into harbor.

After breakfast they climbed once more high above the deck where most of the other passengers were gathering and watched the skyline of New York grow out of the sparkle of the morning.

Kerry had packed the few things she would need at once in the old bag in which she had taken her precious books to the bookshop. Her trunk had been carried away, and she had only the bag and her briefcase for baggage. She had, of course, taken the manuscript out of its oilskin wrappings, and it was neatly wrapped in paper, ready to be presented to the publishers, for she hoped to have it safely in their hands before another night should pass.

Kerry and McNair were among the last to leave the ship, for they lingered aloft until the last minute, reluctant to bring their happy morning to a close.

“I wonder where friend Dawson is,” said McNair, looking back toward the cabin. “We seem to have been altogether successful in escaping him this morning.”

Just then he caught a glimpse of his sinister face, peering out of a doorway. He vanished at once.

“Wait here a second,” said McNair, “I’d like to see what that bird’s up to.”

He was back in a little more than the promised second, grinning. “You didn’t leave any valuable papers in your stateroom did you?”

“Not a scrap,” said Kerry confidently.

“Well, he’s going to make sure anyway. He’s just sneaked in there, and is poking among some trash the stewardess has left outside. I still have a feeling that he has something up his sleeve somewhere. I wish I knew his idea. But perhaps he is still looking for the lost article, and is afraid to ask the steward.”

It did not take much time to pass through customs, for McNair had courtesy of the port and rushed the business through, and it was obvious at once that Kerry was not smuggling anything in her little shabby trunk with its still shabbier contents. As they had waited until toward the last, the way would have been comparatively free, had it not been that a record-making ship arrived at that very hour on the other side of their dock, and a large crowd swarmed out to meet it.

McNair’s nice calculations to wait until the crowd was gone were quite in vain. The people were packed closely, and it was almost impossible to move.

McNair insisted on taking Kerry’s bag, added to his own bags, leaving her nothing but her briefcase to carry. He kept her protected as much as possible from the crowd as they made slow progress toward the outside world. Once McNair looked back and saw Dawson stretching his neck, and finally jumping on a box and looking over the heads of the crowd as if he were searching for someone. He turned away quickly not to catch his eye, and he and Kerry edged slowly along.

Kerry’s briefcase was hugged closely under her arm, her hand slipped through the leather handle. As the crowd pressed close, suddenly from the side away from McNair she felt a pull and the strap gave way in her hand.

Clutching wildly as a group of people came between herself and her companion, she felt the briefcase wrenched away from her, but when she turned and cried out she saw only an indifferent crowd of hurrying people who resented her blocking their way.

An instant more and McNair was by her side again, staring above the surging crowd, his face intent, angry!

“Take these!” he said and dropped the bags at her feet. Before she could speak he was gone.

She saw him take his two hands and part the crowd to right and left and dive in. Then the mob closed in and she could see nothing more. The bags lay at her feet, and people were stumbling over them.

She realized that she could do nothing but stay right in that spot. The terrible realization that her precious manuscript was gone surged over her like one of those great waves that had covered the ship. For an instant it seemed that she must just sink down right there where she was and give up. What was there left to live for if she had lost her father’s book? True, she had the notes safely hidden away in her trunk, but who knew that the same diabolical brain that had planned to slash the handle of her briefcase and snatch it away from her in the crowd wouldn’t also somehow gain access to her trunk after it left her stateroom!

There she stood with the bags at her feet, on her face utter despair, knocked about at the mercy of the crowd like a leaf in a storm, and feeling as if the very foundations of the earth were rocking under her feet. Lost, lost, lost! To think she had carried the manuscript all the way across the ocean, and protected it so carefully, only to lose it at the last minute, as she was almost at her destination! How could she ever forgive herself and go on living? She felt as if she had failed her father in the great trust he had laid upon her!

And now if the book ever came out for the world to see, it would come under another’s name, and her father would be forgotten! Or worse still, the book itself might be mutilated, changed, made to bring a false message instead of the one her father had labored his whole life to finish!

These thoughts like bright swords rushed through her heart backward and forward without mercy. They surged into her brain with sharp bright pains. They cut through her eyes when she tried to strain her vision to see what had become of McNair, and they choked in her throat and seemed to smother her. For a minute or two it seemed to her she was going to crumple right down on the dock and let the wild horde of sight seers trample over her. For this disaster that had befallen her seemed the culmination of all her troubles. Death, her mother’s disloyalty, poverty, nothing had daunted her. But now she had surely reached the limit. This was dishonor, to have failed her father in the trust he had left her!

As the crowd knocked her this way and that in their mad scramble to get nearer the big record-making ship, she began to wonder how long she could stand the buffeting. Her feet were very tired; strange they had not felt so when she stood so long on deck watching the harbor entrance. Her back was aching, too. Oh, it was nerves of course! Even now the tears, silly tears, were stinging in her eyes. She could not let them ride down her face. What would the crowd think of her standing there and crying like a baby!

She tried to gather the bags into smaller compass, tried even to stand on her own to see if she could catch a glimpse of McNair somewhere. Oh, why had he left her like that? Of course he must have seen someone snatch that briefcase, but how futile to run after a thief in a crowd like that! If he had only said some little word—! But of course he did not have time.

Then she began to torment herself with questions. He had not told her to stand still. Perhaps he expected her to follow. But a glance at the bags told her that was foolish. He would know she could not carry them all, and there was not a sign of a porter around. All porters and service of every kind was centered over there by that new arrival.

She glanced back at the ship she had just left, but already it had an alien air. There were no familiar faces on the decks. Even if there had been she could not get to them. Besides she must stay right here in this spot.

But suppose McNair never came back. Suppose after she had waited hours he did not come. Suppose he had been run over, and nobody knew him, and he should be killed—!

And now she could feel the tears really coming in such a choking flood that she knew she must do something to stop them or she would be a sight to gaze upon indeed.

It was just when the tears almost got the better of her that she suddenly remembered that she had a new Source of strength and why should she despair? Why had she not drawn upon it in her trouble? She had a Father who was Lord of all the earth. Even now He knew what had become of her briefcase. He was able to take care of it much better than she had done. He was able to care for McNair also. If she could trust her heavenly Father with herself, her life, her beloved dead, could she not trust Him now with a few earthly possessions?

She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes, and her breath was a prayer. “Heavenly Father, help me to trust You now. Do what You will with me and mine.”

She opened her eyes.

The crowd still jostled her. Her feet were still weary and her back still ached. The briefcase was still gone, and McNair was gone, but her horrible burden was gone, too. She was God’s, and right here was her chance to show that she trusted Him.

A little old lady crushed against her, pushed by two rough-looking men who were trying to get nearer the ship. She stumbled over Kerry’s bag, and fell down. She would have hit her head against a post had Kerry not caught her and lifted her.

The old woman was crying. She put up withered hands and wiped the tears away with a coarse cotton handkerchief. Kerry could feel her tremble as he held her.

“Did you get hurt?” asked the girl kindly.

“Naw, miss, not hurt exactly, but I’m all of a crumple. You see I ben terrible wore out, worryin’ about my boy. He’s one o’ the crew on that there ship, an’ the radios on the streets ben sayin’ the boat was lost, and now she’s come I had ta come and see my boy, and they won’t even let me get near.”

“Oh,” said Kerry sympathetically, “that’s hard, but I’m sure if you wait the crowd will go away sometime. Stay here by me for a little till there is a way through.”

“You’re very kind,” said the old woman, wiping her eyes nervously. “Did you come down to see the ship come in, too?”

“No, I came in on the other boat, the one on this side,” said Kerry, trying to speak cheerfully.

“And was you out in the storm?” asked the woman.

“Yes, we had a terrible time,” she answered, “but—we got through it. And there—see! The crowd is moving away. I think if you would go through there now, you might get near. I’d go with you but I have to stay here by the baggage till my friend comes.”

“Oh, you’ve got a friend,” said the old woman wistfully, “that’s nice! A pretty little one like you ought to have a friend. Well, goodbye. You ben a good friend ta me. Ef you hadn’ta caught me I’d ben tramped to death. There! There’s an opening, I’ll be going.”

She slipped away like a little wraith, and Kerry turned back to her own anxiety again.

The crowd was indeed thinning at last, but there was no sign of McNair anywhere. Kerry looked at her watch and saw that it was a full half hour since he had left her. Oh, what had become of him, and where was her precious manuscript?

W
hen McNair saw that hand with an open knife steal around behind Kerry and cut the leather strap that went around her wrist he had both hands full, two bags of his own, a suitcase, and Kerry’s bag. He tried to shout but everybody else was shouting and the sound was snatched from his throat and ended in a weird croak.

It was impossible to identify the hand that snatched the bag in that dense crowd, but McNair instantly dropped the bags at Kerry’s side and dashed in the direction he had last seen the briefcase, frenzied for the girl whose fortune had been stolen from her, right before his eyes. It seemed incredible with all the care they had taken, and all they had come through, that it was really gone. Yet he hesitated not an instant, hopeless as his mission seemed to be.

Of course the hand that took that briefcase might have belonged to any common thief, but McNair was looking for a sleek, black head, wearing a steamer cap of tweed and a dark gray overcoat with a London cut.