Read The Pilgrim Song Online

Authors: Gilbert Morris

The Pilgrim Song (5 page)

“Why not?”

Clint laughed. He had become very fond of Kat during his brief stay at the Winslow estate. “I just never met the right girl.”

“How old are you, Clint?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“That’s pretty old not to be married,” Kat observed. She picked up another potato, brushed the dirt off of it, and tossed it in the basket. “Have you ever had a sweetheart?”

“One or two, but nothing ever came of it.”

“What were their names?”

“Don’t you ever get tired of asking questions?”

“How am I going to learn if I don’t ask questions?”

Clint reached over and gently pinched the girl’s arm. “If asking questions makes somebody wise, you ought to be the wisest girl in the world.”

“I don’t know about wise—I’m just curious! Did I tell you that Earl is going to teach me how to drive?”

“Aren’t you a little young for that?”

“I might be a little young, but I think I’ll be a good driver. But he hasn’t started teaching me yet. Every time I ask him he says he’s too busy right now.”

“That’s what we adults say when we don’t want to do something.”

“I know. Tell me what you did when you were my age.”

Clint chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. He made a lean, powerful shape in the pale sunlight. He wore no coat despite the coolness of the day, and the muscles of his upper body were delineated through his thin work shirt. His muscles were long rather than bulky, and his chest was deep rather than wide. There was a durable look about him, and he bore scars evidencing the run-ins he’d had at times. Now he rubbed the scar along his jawline and asked, “Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

“No, I don’t care anything about that. Jenny’s had a lot of boyfriends, though. She likes to make men jealous. She went
around with Charlie Jacobs for a long time. She didn’t like him, but she did it to make Arlen Banks jealous.”

“She wouldn’t appreciate your telling on her.”

“I don’t tell everybody,” Kat said. She snatched her straw hat off, spilling her tawny hair, and lifted her head to the sky. As the breeze ruffled her hair, she observed, “Hannah’s afraid of people.”

Clint had never seen Hannah Winslow, but he had picked up enough information to become interested. He asked casually, “Why do you suppose that is?”

Jamming her hat back down, Kat shook her head. “I don’t know. I think she’s had a ‘tragic past.’ That’s what they call it in the romance novels Jenny reads sometimes. I’m real sad for her. We don’t have a mother, you know.” She suddenly changed the subject. “Will you take me fishing over at the lake in Central Park?”

“I couldn’t do that, Kat.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s not part of my job.”

“But when you get off, could you take me?”

Clint grinned at her. “I’d have to have your father ask me to do it.”

“Oh, he will. I’ll ask him tonight, Clint. It’ll be fun. I’ve been fishing there three times, and I’ve caught fish every time.”

****

At dinner Lewis was silent, and Hannah, who was sitting beside him, asked quietly, “Is something wrong, Father?”

He shook his head and pushed a bit of beef around with his fork. “I’m worried about the stock market. Such crazy things are happening! I don’t know what to do.”

Joshua looked up and said, “I heard that a lot of investors are selling out. Some of the foreign investors are taking their money back to Germany.”

Lewis shook his head. “If stocks fall as quickly as I think they could, a lot of us are going to be in trouble.”

Kat interrupted what to her was a dull conversation. “Daddy, I want to go fishing over at Central Park. Will you take me?”

“I’m sorry, honey, I just don’t have time right now. There’s so much work at the office, and I’ve been ignoring Lucy lately. I promised her I’d go over wedding plans with her this week.”

Kat frowned at the mention of Lucy. “Well, Clint said he’d take me if you say it’s all right.”

Jenny lifted her head and snapped, “You’re not going anywhere with that man!”

“Why not?” Kat challenged. “Nobody else will take me anywhere.”

“I think Jenny’s right, Dad,” Joshua said. “We don’t know much about the fellow.”

“Please, Daddy, I want to go!”

“Maybe later when things calm down at the office.”

“You never take me anywhere,” Kat said angrily, throwing down her napkin and running out of the room.

Lewis shook his head. “I ought to take her myself.”

“Yes, you should, Father,” Hannah agreed. “She loves for you to do things with her.”

Lewis nodded firmly. “You’re right. I’ll take her the first chance I get.”

“Just don’t let her go with Longstreet,” Jenny pleaded. “We don’t know anything about him except that he’s been in jail.”

“He’s not a criminal,” Lewis said with exasperation. “He just got in a fistfight with the wrong man. There’s no crime in that.”

But Jenny was adamant. “He may not be a criminal, but I still say he’s going to cause trouble.”

****

Clint got up from his place at the kitchen table with the other servants and took his plate and tableware to the sink, as he always did. He smiled at Susan Mason. “That was a fine breakfast, Cook.”

“You always say something nice, Clint,” she replied. “Some people just fill their bellies and act like the food cooked itself.”

“Not me. I always want to stay on the good side of the cook.” Clint turned and left the kitchen. As soon as he stepped outside he saw Earl holding Mabel’s arm. She was trying to pull away, and Earl was laughing at her.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, “gimme a kiss.”

“Turn me loose!”

Earl merely laughed at her struggles and pulled her close, trying to kiss her.

“Let her go, Earl!”

The bulky chauffeur whirled about at the threatening voice but did not release Mabel’s arm. He stared at Clint, anger flaring in his eyes. “Butt out of this, jailbird!”

Clint approached until he was only an arm’s length away from the big man.

Crane weighed fifty pounds more than Longstreet and had experience as a brawler. “I said clear out!” he growled.

“Earl,” Clint remarked in a summer-soft tone, “if you don’t turn loose of her arm, I’m going to clean your clock.”

Earl Crane was a tough man, but something in Longstreet’s expression held him back. Clint stood before him in an almost leisurely fashion. There was no threat, no uplifted fist, but his eyes held Crane’s steadily. Earl was confident of his own capability, but he had seen Longstreet’s lean strength, and this confrontation with the tall, lanky man gave him pause. Finally he shook his head, released the girl, and turned away.

“Thank you, Clint,” Mabel said, her eyes soft. “I wish he’d leave me alone.”

Clint smiled briefly. “If he doesn’t, I’ll have more than a word with him. I’ll see you later, Mabel.” He made his way to the garage and the big old 1918 model truck he had discovered on his second day at the estate. When he had asked Jamie what it was used for, the old man had said, “It’s nothing but a heap of junk the former owner left here. Mr. Lewis intends to get it hauled off.”

Clint had begun to spend his free time working on the truck. The body was sound, and after dismantling the engine, he soon discovered it was not past repairing. It would cost a few dollars, but a plan was forming in his mind, and as he worked, he amused himself by fleshing it out. He whistled softly, stopping a moment to stare at the wall of the garage as an old memory came to him. It was simply of a song he had heard a woman singing months ago inside a house he was passing by. He had never seen her, but the song was plaintive, and the voice was beautiful. He had wondered about her many times, who she was and why she sang such a sad song.

A sound caught Clint’s ear, and he turned to see Jamie walk in, holding a letter in his hand and with an odd look on his face. “Hello, Jamie,” Clint said, “what’s going on?”

The old man came over to where Clint was leaning into the truck engine tightening a bolt. “I just got a letter from my daughter,” he said. “The one I told you about that I had the trouble with.”

“I remember. How is she?”

“She’s very weel. And thanks to you, she wants me to spend the weekend with her.”

“What do you mean, thanks to me?”

“Do you remember that conversation we had last week about how I hadn’t forgiven her?” Clint nodded. “Well, I finally let go of my pride and wrote her a letter, asking her forgiveness.”

“You did? That’s wonderful.”

Jamie nodded and gnawed his lip thoughtfully. He tried to speak but seemed to be choked up. “I didn’t treat my girl right,” he whispered, “but I’ll make it up to her and her husband.”

Clint laid the wrench down and straightened up. He put his hand on the old man’s shoulder and squeezed it. He was surprised at how thin and frail the flesh was beneath his touch. Quietly he said, “I know you will, Jamie. And now you’ll get to see that grandchild of yours.”

The next day in the garden, a gust of pleasure touched Clint as he broke up the ground under the rosebushes with a hoe. It was an odd thing to be pleased about. He realized that while he was growing up on the farm he had never enjoyed this sort of thing. Perhaps the hard work he had endured had worn him down, but now the sun shone, and a summery warmth had returned at least for a brief time. He moved steadily down the garden beds, breaking up the earth and pulling out the weeds. When he reached the end of one row, he turned and started back down the next one.

He paused occasionally to lift his head and smell the loamy scent of the earth and the sweet fragrance of the flowers. From the neighboring properties he could hear the barking of dogs, and over the tall garden wall the muted rumble of the city traffic along Fifth Avenue. Looking up toward the sky, he was pleased to see a hawk circling. He loved being outdoors and thought for a moment of the long miserable months he’d spent shoveling coal deep in the steel bowels of the steamship. It had been worse than being a prisoner, and he suddenly felt a wash of gratitude at being set free.

He worked steadily as he methodically cleared and tended the flower beds. It gave him a sense of accomplishment, small though it was, and he was so engrossed in his work he was startled when a voice called his name.

“You—Longstreet!”

Clint turned, holding the hoe in his right hand as he watched Jenny Winslow lead her mare carefully down the garden path up to him and dismount by his side. She held the reins in her left hand and a riding crop in the right. The mare fidgeted behind her and seemed skittish.

Clint removed his straw hat and noticed how she didn’t look up at him.
I reckon she’d like to be six feet tall so she wouldn’t have to look up to any man,
he thought. “Yes, miss?” he said aloud. “Something you need?”

Jenny had not intended to talk to Longstreet. She was just returning her new mare to the stable after her daily ride in Central Park and had seen the tall man working in the garden. She had remembered what Kat had said about going fishing with him and decided to talk to him. Annoyed that she was forced to look up at him, she said more loudly than necessary, “Kat tells me you offered to take her fishing.”

“She asked me to take her fishing.”

“Well, you’ll do no such thing. I forbid it.”

Clint did not answer for a moment. He studied her, how the light ran over the curve of her shoulders and how her riding trousers shaped her into a slim but womanly fashion. Her shirt fell away from her throat, revealing smooth ivory skin, and her red hair gave off rich gleams as the sun touched it.

“I told Kat I couldn’t take her anywhere unless her father gave permission.”

“Well, he’s not going to give permission,” Jenny snapped, “and I’d appreciate it if you would not spend so much time with her.”

Clint shook his head. “I don’t seek her out, Miss Winslow. She just loves working outdoors in the garden.”

Jenny didn’t want to accept this, even though she knew it was true. “Mind what I say. I want you to stay away from my sister. Don’t let me have to speak to you again.”

Clint had no time to reply, for she whirled about to remount her horse. He had nothing to say in any case, for he was well aware that Jenny Winslow did not like him. He started to turn back to his work, but then as Jenny lifted her foot to put it in the stirrup, the mare snorted and suddenly wrenched toward her. Clint spotted a long snake on the path that had startled the horse. Clint leaped forward, catching the girl as she was driven backward by the weight of the mare. With one motion he lifted her clear off the ground, putting himself between her and the horse. She screamed at him to put her down, which he did at once, but before he could move out of the way, she had lifted her riding crop and slashed him across the left side
of his face. It burned like fire, and he blinked and stepped back, making a grab for the horse’s reins. He caught them and then stared at her coldly. Her face was pale as she said, “Don’t you ever put your hands on me again!”

“You’d better not take another step backward, Miss Winslow.” He pointed and Jenny turned around. She froze when she saw the large black snake coiled on the walkway. Turning blindly, she ran right into her horse. Clint grabbed her arm, seeing that she was mindless with fear.

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