Ransom (15 page)

“Blessed be His name!” said the mother softly.

“Yes!” said Philip fervently. “Mother, I'm afraid I didn't have much faith when I prayed. I've tried so long without success.”

“Yes, but you prayed for more faith, dear,” said his mother. “Come, let us thank Him at once.”

“But—we don't know what it is yet, Mother. Perhaps—”

“Whatever it is, it's from the Lord,” said Mother. “Surely you're not going to pick and choose, Philip.”

“Not I!” said Philip with a ring in his voice. “I'll take whatever He sends, no matter how humble it is, and be glad.” And he went down on his knees beside his mother, his own thanksgiving as fervent as hers.

As they rose from their brief prayer, they heard June coming in the door. Hazel rushed out to tell her sister the good news.

“Philip's got a job!” she cried softly, not to disturb the father, who had had a bad day and was asleep just then.

“A job? Oh, joy!” said June. “I've been praying about it all the way home. What is it?”

“He doesn't know yet,” said the little girl. “Come and see. There's a wonderful letter all about it. He's to go Monday morning to see about it.”

June read the letter and looked up at her brother. “How did that happen, Phil?” she asked wonderingly. “That's a big firm. Who do you suppose put your name in there?”

“God,” said the mother reverently, with a tender smile.

“Well,” said June, “that's a famous bonding company. Everybody speaks of them with respect. I'm sure it would take nobody short of God to get an unknown name before them.”

“Well, I'm glad we thanked Him before it came,” said the mother happily as she went about setting the supper table for the very meager supper that was already on the stove, a savory soup that only hands long skilled could have made out of the cheap ingredients to be had. The soup and bread would make up the meal. All the few luxuries that they could muster must go to the dear invalid who had little suspicion of the real state of things, so bravely had the family carried on when he was stricken down.

But it might have been a turkey dinner with all the trimmings that night, so eager and happy were they all as they sat down, so good everything tasted when eaten with bright faces.

“I noticed there's a Kershaw in that firm,” said Mother as she passed Phil his second bowl of soup. “You don't suppose it could be a relative of those people who used to live across the street do you, Phil?”

“Not a chance,” said Phil. “Anyhow, Mother, that's ages ago. They wouldn't remember me. I was only a kid at the time.”

“Well, I don't know,” said Mother. “I heard those Kershaws got quite wealthy, but it might not have been true. They did move away a long time ago, of course. I didn't realize. I was just thinking that if it was the same man, you might just say we remembered him or something like that. It would be a kind of recommendation.”

“I'd rather let God work it out for me, Mother,” said the young man cheerily. “I think that'll be good enough.”

“Yes, perhaps that's better,” said the mother and beamed upon her children.

“Shall we tell Father?” asked Hazel with round eyes of eagerness. She did love to tell good news.

“Not until we know all about it, dear,” said Mother. “He gets so excited over the least little thing, and if he knew, he might not eat or sleep until it was all settled.”

“Will he get a big salary, Mother?” asked the little girl. “Enough to get the 'spensive new doctor for Father?”

“Probably not a big salary,” said Mother with a wise smile. “He's to begin at the beginning. But Hazel, dearie, suppose we don't think about that part now. Let's just be glad over Sunday at least that there is a hope of
something
and trust the Lord who sent this to send all the rest that we need in His own good time. Don't let's count our chickens before they are hatched. Let's just praise God for letting us know He is thinking about us.”

Hazel laughed.

“That's funny, counting chickens before they are hatched,” she said. “But, I'm glad, glad anyway.”

“That's right. Now, pass your dish and I'll give you some more soup. There's plenty of soup tonight, and that's all we need just now.”

Hazel handed her dish with a smile, and a deep content settled down on the little old shabby brick house.

The three young people had a happy time washing the dishes all together as they often did, while their mother was upstairs giving the invalid his supper and fixing him comfortably for the night. Philip went around putting away dishes that Hazel had just wiped and whistling softly a hymn they all loved.

It was weeks since Philip had done any whistling. It made them all glad to hear him. In a minute more the girls were tuning in with him, singing a sweet low accompaniment. The good cheer reached upstairs to the invalid, and he smiled.

“The children must be happy tonight,” he said. “It sounds good!”

When the dishes were done, Philip sauntered over to the homemade radio and tuned in. He knew his father enjoyed any good music, especially the Saturday night symphony orchestra concerts, so he turned the dials, and presently the shabby little house was filled with as good music as any mansion on Fifth Avenue could boast.

They all sat listening, thinking pleasant thoughts, rejoicing at what had come to Phil. When suddenly, just as Mother came tiptoeing down the stairs, the music stopped, right in the prettiest part of the
New World Symphony
, and a voice snapped out into the silence.

“This program is interrupted to make an announcement of the disappearance of Randall Robin Kershaw Jr., son of Mr. R. C. Kershaw of Carollton, Carew, and Kershaw, Wall Street
.

“Young Mr. Kershaw is five feet ten and a half inches tall, seventeen years old, dark hair, blue eyes, weighs one hundred forty-five pounds, was dressed in a dark blue serge suit, an overcoat, tan shoes, and blue-striped silk socks. He wore no hat. The circumstances point to his having been kidnapped about six thirty this evening just as he was about to shut his father's car in the garage behind their Fifth Avenue residence. His hat was found on the floor of the garage.”

There were more details and an address given where information should be sent if anyone knew of Randall's whereabouts.

The Harper family sat in tense silence listening, looking at one another in horror.

“Phil, that is the same Kershaw that used to live across the road!” Mrs. Harper said when the voice had died away and the soft strains of the symphony soothed in upon the interruption. “The baby's name was Randall. He was named after his father. He would be about seventeen now. Philip, I think you ought to go and see if there is anything you can do to help.”

“I'm going, of course,” said the young man, rising alertly. “Don't worry, Mother, if I'm gone all night. Nobody will kidnap me, you know,” he said with a quick little laugh. “There are no bonding houses connected to us.”

The mother smiled through sudden tears.

“There are worse things than being poor,” she said gently. “Oh, Phil, how would I feel if it had been you! He had such a sweet little mother! She's where it can't worry her any. But the poor father! And there was a sister. I can remember her.”

“Yes, a nice girl,” June said. “She used to divide her candy with me, and she needn't have. I was younger than she was. She wasn't selfish one little bit. I wish there was something I could do. If only I was a boy now—”

“You and mother can pray,” said Philip, turning from the doorway where he was putting on his coat. “They brought an answer to my prayer, Mother. We ought to give them a little service that way now.”

“Yes,” said the mother tenderly. “Our God knows where the boy is! He can help when others fail. Oh, I wonder if the poor family knows our God!”

So Philip hurried off down the street, while Mother and June, and even little Hazel, knelt down beside the decrepit old couch and asked God to bring back Rannie Kershaw.

It was Christobel who opened the front door when Philip Harper rang at the Kershaw residence. For the last half hour police had been coming and going. A detective had just gone. She thought he had perhaps forgotten something and hurried to the door, with Maggie calling out to her anxiously, “Bide a wee minit dearie, I'll go.”

But Christobel was not afraid anymore, with Maggie here and all the police about. In fact, her mind was so taken up with worry about her brother that she was no longer afraid of anything for herself.

She looked very frail and sweet as she stood there holding the door open, her brown hair blown about by the wind, her eyes showing signs of recent tears, which were even now held in abeyance.

At once the young man knew who she must be, realizing a resemblance to the little girl he used to know so long ago. But suddenly he doubted whether he should have come here at this time, even with offer of assistance.

“I'm afraid I shouldn't have come to the house,” he said. “I'm rather a stranger, of course, though I used to be an old neighbor of the family when I was a boy. I've just come to say that I heard the announcement over the radio, and if there's anything at all I could do, I'd be so glad. I'd go to the ends of the earth to help find this young man.”

But Christobel knew his voice instantly, even though she had not got a very good view of his face with the light behind him. That was the voice she had heard in prayer only a few hours before. She wondered if he had somehow found out that she had listened to that prayer. Conscious of having listened to what was not intended for her ears, and also conscious of her red eyes and distraught appearance, she spoke shyly. “Thank you,” she said. “Won't you—come in?” She did not know whether that was what she should do or not. Her father was out in the garage for the moment with one of the detectives from the agency.

“No,” said Phil Harper quickly. “I don't want to intrude. Won't you just tell your father—you are Miss Christobel, aren't you? I'm Phil Harper. You won't remember me, of course, but Mother thought a lot of your mother, and I'd be awfully glad if there was anything I could do. I thought there might be just a chance that there was some clue a young fellow could follow out or something. I'd like to be of use in any way.”

It was just as he was saying this that Christobel heard her father come in. She turned and looked back at him quickly, her mind suddenly leaping back to their trouble, scanning his face anxiously to read if he had any news. Already, though only a trifle over a couple of hours had passed since Rannie had disappeared, her heart was acquiring that alert apprehensiveness, that burden of a long-borne fear that cried out to be relieved and would keep hoping for good news that would lift the painful tension.

Christobel saw her father was looking keenly at the young man, and she spoke quickly, eagerly. “This is Phil Harper, Father, who lives across the road from our old home. He came to offer help.”

Mr. Kershaw put out his hand gravely, still looking keenly at the young man.

“I appreciate that offer,” he said, “and it comes just when I needed someone. I can't get away from here very well, and I want to send a note over to a friend by someone I can trust, and get an answer back again. If you can do that for me, I shall be grateful indeed.”

“I am honored that you can trust me,” said Philip earnestly.

“I have no choice in the matter,” answered the older man with a quick appreciative look at the younger one. “You look so much like your father that one would know you were trustworthy.”

“You couldn't say anything that would please me better,” said the young man.

A look of mutual warmth and liking passed between the two men, and Christobel found a little gladness in it. She stood a moment talking to Philip while her father went to write his note, recalling the last day she remembered seeing him, riding away to school on his bicycle the day they moved from Seneca Street. Then suddenly the memory of Rannie's disappearance came over her in a great wave of anxiety and the tears welled up in her eyes and brimmed over.

“Excuse me,” she said in a little quavering voice. “I'm so worried about my brother.”

“I know,” said the young man quickly. “I wish I could do something. How long is it since—you missed him?”

Christobel told him briefly the experiences of the last two hours and then went back and told him about the thieving servants and the tramp on the other side of the street. It relieved her to have someone to speak to about it. Then her father returned with the note and gave directions, and there was something comforting to them both to feel that this young man was interested, helping, a real friend who was connected with the old dear life of home and Mother, and Rannie's little boyhood.

After Philip was gone her father was called to the telephone and then had to go out to the garage with some officers once more, and Christobel was left alone in the big alien house.

She turned on the lights in the great reception room, looked about her to get rid of the feeling that someone, something was lurking there in hiding, turned on the lights in the small reception room and gave a survey, and then sat herself down on the stairs with her chin in her hands and stared down at the thick rug from which strange menacing faces seemed to be grimacing at her. Somehow she didn't seem to belong anywhere in this huge house.