Manj Way Taylor
FIFTEENTH INSTALLMENT
Nancy understood. With a gasp
she wrenched her hand out of his
and stood up, staring at him. She
saw no one but him. She did not
even see that Helena Haddon had
risen from her table and was coming
toward them. She looked only at
Roemer.
"Oh!" she gasped, "what have I
done —that you should think me like
this?"
He rose, too, staggered by her look.
"Nancy, I swear I adore you—l
ft
"Hush!" she cried fiercely, "hush
—never say such things to me again!
I " she clung to the back of her
chair. Then she turned, put out her
hand gropingly and went toward the
long window where the rain was
beating in.
Page sprang after her, but she
waved him back. "Let me alone—
don't speak to me," she gasped. "Go
and talk to that woman. Mrs. Had
don, I mean. She's coming. Keep
her away. I must be alone a minute.
I —l don't want even to look at you
yet!" she panted.
Aghast, Page stood still. He was
aware, too, that Helena was coming
Idly toward him. He turned to face
her—he had to cover Nancy's re
treat. What on earth would this
woman think?
Nancy stood only a moment on the
piazza, then she slipped the bolt on
an unused window-door in the half
enclosed porch, opened it, and drop
ped softly to the ground.
The rush of the rain was welcome
She felt it as if it might wash away
the contamination of Page's thought
of her. She did not care where she
went. She turned, and was swept
along the new road, beyond the inn,
farther and farther from town. It
did not matter!
Her clothing was so drenched that
it weighted her down, and the rain
continued in torrents.
At last her mental anguish began
to give away to her physical weak
ness; she could go no farther, and
she did not know where she was.
She climbed down a muddy batik
and looked out through the mist and
rain. There was a house—not twen
ty yards off! She drew a long sigh
of relief, gathered herself together,
and breasted the storm.
It was a mere shanty, a tumbled
down house. But it was shelter from
the storm Dripping and breathless.
Nancy knocked at the door. A wom
an opened it; there was a glimpse
of bare interior, a spark of fire dying
in the old stove, a close smell of
cooking and medicine, and the fret
ful cry of a sick child.
Not a word was spoken. The wind
and the rain swept the storm-beaten
girl in. The woman slapped the door
to, struggling, her shoulder against
it, shot the bolt and ran back into
the room where the child was moan
ing.
Nancy moved over to the stove
and began mechanically wringing the
water out of her dripping clothing.
After the rush of the wind and the
cold driving rain, it was suffocat
ingly hot in the wretched little room,
but gradually her mind cleared. She
began to heed the wail of the child
and the woman's sob of a prayer.
"Please th' Lord, ain't I hed enuff?
Don't take him, Lord, I ain't done
nothin' ter make ye!" she choked,
sobbing aloud, and evidently turned
back to the child. "Thar, thar, hon
ey, yo' drink et, yo' ain't goin' ter
die —the Lord ain't goin' ter take yo'
—l'se been a-talkin' ter Him."
Nancy's mind came back sharply.
She moved swiftly across the room to
the open door and looked in.
The storm had darkened the place,
and the woman had set a candle in
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Elkin, N. C.
a bottle on a table beside the low
cot in the corner. The flare of it
fell full on the flushed face of a very
sick child. The woman, on her
knees by the bed, did not even look
up.
Nancy went in. "Let me help,"
she said softly, "you're tired o"t. You
must rest."
The mother's head sagged for
ward. "Tired? Me? I ain't slep' fo'
days—Tony's thet sick. Honey, git
well, sit up, honey, yo' ain't real sick
now—yo' ma's prayin'—prayin' helps
him a sight," she added.
The girl took the cup out of her
limp fingers and sat down on the
edge of the bed.
"Tony—is that his name? Tony
dear, drink this for us," she coaxed.
The child opened his glassy eyes
and stared at her. His face was hot
with fever and there were white
rings around his mouth and eyes.
Nancy lifted him, pressing the cup
to his lips. It was only water and
the child tried to drink, but he could
not. He strangled, gasping, falling
limp on her arm, his little hot fin
gers holding hers, clinging tight.
Nancy gasped. "He can't swal
low!" she cried, "where's the doc
tor?"
The woman was crying softly,
drawing her sleeve across her eyes.
"Th' doctor ain't come—l sen fo'
him—but he ain't been here. Yo'all
gits doctors easy, but I ain't got no
money, I "
"Money?" Nancy straightened up
sharply. "Whom did you call?"
"Dr. Simmons—th' ole un—he
useter come, he took care of my man
when he was a-dyin'."
"Simmons? Why, he's ill, he
doesn't get out any more. You must
have a doctor—" Dying? Yes. Death
was at the threshold. "You've got
to have a doctor," she said sharply,
"Dr. Richard Morgan."
The woman stood, numbed with
misery, her hollow eyes on the gasp
ing boy. "I ain't able ter leave him
noway. I reckon th' Lord'll help me
—I ain't got no un—Tony honey,
sit up, tell yo' ma yo' ain't sick, hon
ey, honey!" her voice rose in a cres
cendo of terror, she fell on her
knees, moaning, burying her head
on the child's pillow.
"Tony, I'm going to get you a doc
tor," she said, lifted his little hot
hand to her cheek, put it down
again, and ran out, tears in her eyes.
A doctor? She must have a doc
tor! She tore open the front door
and faced the drive of the rain. It
was like a caress, it cooled her own
face again. But it was fearful still!
Richard—she must get Richard. At
another crisis he loomed up at the
very gateway of life. Suddenly,
without thought of herself, she knew
that he was the man she must reach.
She did not matter Death had
come to the door. Richard could
fight death. She must reach Rich
ard. She knew where she was now,
almost five miles out of town.
Through the gleaming sheet of the
rain she could see the fields opposite
the shoulder of a hill, and some low
buildings—barns? She remembered
with a start, it was part of Kingdon
Haddon's farm.
It was a long way to the barns,
but there must be some one there.
She could get help! She struggled,
breasting the wind, with her head
down. She was almost half way
there when a figure came out of the
barn, swung the big door shut and
turned to meet her. *
Through the storm she. heard a
rich young negro" voice.
It was Henry, old Johnny Floyd's
boy, sixteen years old and as black
as coal. Nancy knew him well. He
did chores for Major Lomax, ran er
rands, curried horses.
• "Henry!" she called, "Henry!"
At first he did not hear her be
tween his own music and the storm.
Then he looked up, saw her drenched
clinging to a fence.
"Gee, Miss Nancy!"
Nancy caught his arm in both her
shaking hands and poured out her
story.
"We've got to have Dr. Morgan,
Henry, and you've got to get him!"
The boy stared at her helplessly.
"Dat's Kinney's kid. I knows him
—but, gee. Miss Nancy, it's two miles
an' mor'n dat, an' de tel'phone's
broke clar down—l can't walk no
ways—it's awful muddy—an' look at
de rain—ugh!"
Nancy shook him. "Henry, you've
got to go. You'll save a life, won't
you? You've got to!"
Henry's eyes rolled. "Fo de Lawd,
Miss Nancy, dere ain't no horse but
Polestar!"
"Get him!" Nancy cried, on fire
with zeal, "we need a racer. Polestar
can do it in half the time! Can you
ride him?"
Henry's grin widened ecstatically.
"I'se trainin' fo' er jockey—sho, I
can ride him!"
"Then get him quick!"
"Lordy, Miss Nancy, I'se afeard—
THE ELKIN TRIBUNE, ELKIN. NORTH CAROLINA
I reckon de boss'd skin me alive,
yesslr!"
"Never mind the boss! It's a life,
Henry. You know Dr. Richard Mor
gan? He must come if you get to
him!"
"Sho de doctam's come—he ain't
skeered ob noffin, he'll come—but
l'se skeered. Deed, I can't go, Miss
Nancy!"
Nancy held out her hand impera
tively. "Give me that key!" she
snatched it from his hand, "now—
you come with me!"
! "Deed, Miss Nancy!" Henry gasped,
i "Dee, Miss, I can't ride no horse out
I of dis yere stables, de boss he'll kill
me, he sho will!"
"He won't, I'll make it right with
him. There's a child dying for a
doctor, you hear me? That's all that
matters, you've got to go on Pole
| star!" As she spoke she unlocked
the big barn door.
The wind swung it open but she
held it. In the dim corner she dis
cerned the box-stall of the racer.
"Henry! Get Polestar out this min
ute!"
Her sharp tone of command/ the
flash of power and authority in her
eyes awed the boy. He sidled away
from her, but he sidled toward the
stall.
"De boss get my hide!" he said
half whimpering, "deed. Miss Nancy
I can't—l ain't got no orders, I—"
"I give you the order!"
She stood putlined against the fury
of the storm, her eyes glowing, a
flush on her face now. The negro
boy stared at her. fascinated. He
undid the bar. In a moment the
great racer came out, quivering,
eager, tossing his splendid head; he
strained at the halter in Henry's
hand.
"Get on him!" Nancy held the
door open. "You've got to, I'll make
you. it's a child's life—get on that
horse!"
Henry obeyed. He had to obey.
He made a wild snatch at Polestar's
mane, grinning, and flun? himself
astride the racer's bare back.
Nancy jumped from Polestar's
j head and flung the door back,
j The boy, clinging to Polestar's
mane struck his heel in the racer's
flank. In an instant the horse shot
' out past Nancy, plunging and fur
ious. Nancy trembled with anxiety.
Could the black boy keep his seat?
Then—like an arrow from the bow
—Polestar shot away into space.
Nancy pressed her hands over her
eyes. Dripping again, she turned
back to the house and heard the
woman wailing aloud.
Nancy opened the door quickly.
The stove fire made the room stifling
and she seemed to feel the child's
gasps for breath. The mother was
walking up and down, rocking her
self and crying.
"He ain't ablp hi-oath®—*■>«»
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able ter breathe muc' longer—l
reckon God's clear fergotten me!"
she wailed, "an' I ain't got no doc
tah fer him!"
"Yes, you have, one's coming—the
best in town," Nancy said softly, tak
ing hold of her and trying to still
her. "Don't act so, you'll frighten
Tony—the doctor's coming, I've sent
for him. We must have towels and
hot water ready. Where are your
things?"
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The girl was roused; every nerve
in her body tingled. Here was work
she could do. Get ready for the doc
ton Richard would find it as ready
as she could make it.
"I ain't got no towels, I ain't
ironed 'em, I ain't done nothin' but
take care o' him. I—l reckons Ido
have er clean sheet, I kep' it," she
lowered her voice, "I kep' it in—case
he died."
"Give it to me, please!" she held
Thursday, April 26, 1934
out her hand, the same power arli
authority came to her that had
frightened Henry.
Mrs. Kinney felt it. She stumbled
to an old dresser and found a sheet,
clean but ragged at the edges, and a
couple of rough-dry towels.
CONTINUED NEXT WEEK
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