SATURDAY BROUGHT DECEMBER’S FIRST SNOW FLURRY and a small avalanche of mail for Cherry. She had to retreat with it into her and Gwen’s bedroom, because the Spencer Club was in an uproar. The girls had collected dozens of Christmas dolls, which now populated the living room, and were debating mobilizing their districts’ small boys, to build Christmas toys at Laurel House.
“Cherry Ames, you come right back here!” Gwen demanded with a toss of her red mane.
“I agree to everything,” Cherry said hastily. “G’bye.”
“Now, Cherry,” Vivian gently reproved. “What are we going to do about doll clothes? We can’t sew all of them ourselves.”
“Have the little girls make some of ’em at Laurel House, maybe, and we’ll make some. Look, kids,” Cherry pleaded, “I have Mary Gregory’s affairs to straighten out, I’m going to see Evelyn Stanley about food for the Christmas party, and I’m longing to read this mail. Please just assign me some tasks and I’ll do my share, whatever you say.”
“Fair enough,” Bertha Larsen mumbled, her mouth full of pins as she adjusted Josie’s hem. “Turn, Josie. And stand still!”
Mai Lee was too busy gluing doll wigs into place to say anything at all. Cherry escaped into the bedroom and bounced down on the bed with her pile of letters.
They all said much the same thing. Her mother wrote: “Are you coming home for Christmas and your birthday? We want so much to see you. Charlie is home nearly every week end, and we wish you weren’t so far away.” Midge enclosed proofs of some pictures of herself which would soon appear in the school paper. “Snappy? I’ll never live down the funny one. I’ve been elected chairman of the nominating committee. Aren’t you ever coming home?” And from the State University, Charlie scrawled: “Hi, twin! Our joint birthday, the 24th, and Christmas, the 25th, are getting close. We haven’t had a birthday party together for too long. Meet me at home?”
She had no time to daydream over her mail, for the doorbell rang. It was a telegram for Miss Cherry Ames, sent en route from the Tucson–New York train:
Your House Two Saturday Afternoon Love
Love Love Love Love—Wade.
Cherry let out a shriek. “And my hair isn’t fixed, and my best dress is at the dry cleaner’s!”
She raced into the living room, cheeks crimson, waving the telegram.
“Wade Cooper’s coming! This afternoon! You’ve got to help me!”
The girls grinned. “She means curl her hair, get these dolls out of the way, and then try and make this place look presentable before Wade gets here.”
“Yes,” Cherry stammered. “I mean no! I mean—Vivi, for heaven’s sake, will you give me a manicure? Right away?”
The Spencer Club hooted and teased. But they loyally provided beauty aids, a hasty house cleaning, and whisked the dolls away to the back parlor.
“Frankly,” Gwen sighed two hours later, dabbing Cherry with perfume, “I wish the handsome ex-Captain Cooper thought I was purty.”
“Silly,” Cherry retorted. “Wade’s true love is planes and you know it. Ouch! This zipper is stuck!”
By two o’clock Cherry was transformed from a sober nurse into her usual lively, vivid self. Wade liked bright colors, so she wore her red wool dress. Her cheeks and lips were nearly as brilliant, and her eyes glowed midnight black.
“You look like a red and black poster,” Vivian said.
“I feel like a reconverted—Oh! The doorbell!”
The other girls scampered out of the living room. Cherry pulled open the blue door. A broad, navy broad-cloth back faced her, as Wade stared bewildered out on the street.
“This Village place is plumb crazy!” he muttered.
Then Wade turned. He was tall and husky, and brown as could be—brown hair, brown eyes, handsome face tanned by sun and wind. He grinned at Cherry, and pumped her hand until it ached.
“Cherry! It sure is good to see you!”
Cherry smiled up at him, delighted to see her old friend and ex-pilot. “I never was better and how are you?”
Wade was all dressed up for this call in navy-blue suit, white shirt, red tie. Cherry was touched at the care he had taken. He strode into the living room, which suddenly looked smaller with this big lad in it, and thrust a beribboned box into Cherry’s hands.
“Here. Candy. Who’s the crazy bird who pestered me at the door?”
“Sam, our janitor, without a doubt. Wade, what a beautiful box. Thank you, thank you!”
“Never mind the box, stuff’s inside. Isn’t that just like a girl?—the box! Say, I met a barefoot man with a beard and a woman with a baby tiger, coming over here. What kind of crazy place is this Greenwich Village?”
His brown face crinkled into a smile. For a few seconds, he and Cherry just sat and beamed at each other. Then Wade told her he would be in New York for several days. “I’m staying with some fellows, fliers. Have to do some buying here for my business, and a couple of errands for my dad. But I’m saving plenty of time for you, Cherry. You’d better have time for me! Otherwise,” he looked her squarely in the eye and pulled her curls, “I’ll come along on your job with you.”
“All dressed up in a blue nurse’s uniform?” Cherry giggled. “My assistant? What a nice assistant! But I do plan to go up to Thornwood tomorrow to see a Mrs. Carewe if I can arrange an appointment with her—I must phone her. It’s about an hour by train. Want to come along for the ride?”
“Sure thing. You’re not going to run out on me, my first Sunday here. Say, will you please open that candy?”
Cherry untied the bow, while Wade tried to look nonchalant.
“Oh! Wade! These are the most gorgeous chocolates! How sweet of you.”
They ate several chocolates and visited for a while. Then Cherry asked Wade to excuse her while she tried to reach Mrs. Carewe via long distance.
While she waited for the call to be completed, Cherry peered anxiously down the hall. Muffled voices and bangings came from the rear rooms. She hoped the girls weren’t plotting any mischief.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice said.
“Mrs. Carewe? Mrs. Louise Carewe? This is a nurse who has been taking care of your friend, Mary Gregory.”
Cherry heard a gasp at the other end of the wire.
“Yes, she’s all right. No, no, please don’t worry. But I want to talk to you about her…. Yes, I’d be glad to come to your house, Mrs. Carewe…. Tomorrow afternoon at three would be perfect…. I’m Miss Ames, Cherry Ames…. Until tomorrow, then. Good-bye.”
Wade, with his mouth full of chocolates, popped a chocolate into Cherry’s mouth.
“Why are we going where’re we going tomorrow afternoon?”
“This is a funny, sad sort of situation, Wade. I’ve decided the only solution is for me to take action, because nobody else will—or can. My supervisor at the center gave permission.”
Cherry started to tell Wade a little about the recluse. The young man’s eyes lost their mischief. At that point, Josie wandered in.
“Has anyone seen my pearl necklace?” Josie inquired transparently. She was wearing it. “Oh, hello, Wade.”
Wade stood up, and shook hands.
Gwen burst in, one roguish eye cocked on Cherry.
“I’m sorry but—well, I just had to say hello to Wade!”
She pumped his hand and looked admiringly at the handsome young man.
“Good to see you, Red,” he said warmly. “I always did like those cute freckles. Been taking good care of Cherry for me?”
Gwen made a face at him, then moaned: “Look at that candy! Too beautiful to eat—or is it?”
“Have some,” Cherry said. “You, too, Josie. Why not call in the others?”
“Good idea,” said Wade wanly.
Vivian, Mai Lee, and Bertha came in, all smiles, to greet Cherry’s guest. Wade bore up bravely in the midst of six chattering girls.
“Cherry, we need your help with the dolls. Of course, this afternoon with Wade here—But how about your helping this evening?”
Wade announced: “I’m taking Cherry to the theater this evening. Sorry.”
“Wade!” Josie squealed. “Come and see our dolls!”
“Me and dolls?” The flier squirmed. “Uh—thanks, anyhow.”
But the girls pounced on Josie’s suggestion and insisted that Wade see their collection and their handiwork. They shepherded him down the hall. Cherry’s efforts to rescue him did no good. She followed them, giggling, into the back sitting room.
As the girls held up one doll after another before him, Wade looked bored and then scared. He glanced desperately around, as if seeking a means of escape. Cherry was just opening her mouth to make a second rescue attempt when Bertha Larsen said:
“Wade, you could help with the dolls.”
“Me? Fix up dolls?” Wade was outraged. “The idea!”
“You could at least paste on doll wigs,” Gwen pointed out reasonably.
“Now see here, Red—if you think you’re going to press me into service—Dolls!” He tried to bolt for the door but Bertha blocked the way.
“In fact,” Vivian said, straight-faced, “Wade could even help with the doll clothes.”
“I could not!”
He looked wildly toward Cherry for help, but Cherry had dissolved into silent, helpless laughter.
The doorbell rang, three short rings. Josie ran to answer, and came back in a moment with Dr. Johnny.
“Wade Cooper, Dr. John Brent.” The two young men shook hands. “Johnny,” said Josie plaintively, “will you help us with the dolls?”
“Sure,” said the young doctor. “What do you want me to do? Take out their appendices?”
“No. Help make doll clothes.”
“Uh—well—” Dr. Johnny grinned. “All right.”
Wade stared at him. “You’ll really do it?”
“I don’t think it will hurt a bit,” said the imperturbable Johnny. “No reason why a man shouldn’t know how to sew or cook or mind a baby, is there?” And he settled down to pulling out basting threads.
There was not much Wade could do after that—to Cherry’s huge amusement—but follow Dr. Brent’s example. The sight of big Wade with a doll in one fist and a length of ruffle clenched in the other—Cherry had to bite her lips to keep from laughing aloud.
After about five minutes of diligent struggle with a needle, Wade looked up. “This whole process,” he said gravely, “is inefficient.”
“We haven’t a sewing machine,” Bertha replied.
“I mean the whole idea of sewing these little costumes is slow and inefficient. I just thought of a way that will save a lot of trouble on some of the doll dresses.”
“What is it?” all the girls demanded. “We’d certainly be glad to speed up this job.” Dr. John looked interested, too.
“Model airplane glue,” said Wade. “It sticks like iron and we can glue some of the costumes together instead of sewing them.”
“Triumph!” they acclaimed him.
Wade rushed out and returned a few minutes later with the special glue. It worked. By now Wade was so interested that he worked along all afternoon.
At dinner in a Village restaurant, at a table for two, Wade relaxed.
“I like your nurses, Cherry, honestly. But so many of ’em at once!”
“You did handsomely,” Cherry congratulated him.
“Well, we have the whole evening ahead of us. Just you and me, Cherry.” His brown face crinkled. He showed her a pair of theater tickets. “Ticket seller swore these were good seats. If they are, you’ve got to let me hold your hand!”
Arriving at the theater, it became clear that the ticket seller had spotted the tall, sunburned flier as an unsuspecting out-of-towner. Cherry’s seat was on one side of a massive pillar, and Wade’s seat was on the other side, a good four feet away.
Sunday, Wade telephoned Cherry and they met at a restaurant near Grand Central Station for lunch. Cherry loved the place Wade chose. “You’re the perfect escort,” she smiled at him.
“We aim to please,” Wade said cheerfully. “What’s all this about a mysterious shut-in and Mrs. Carewe?”
Cherry finished telling him the story, briefly. She was curious about what Louise Carewe might be like, and not a little worried.
By the time they boarded the train for Thornwood, Cherry was so distracted that Wade said:
“Now stop that! You’ve done everything you can, to this point. Worrying won’t make it any better.”
He drew Cherry’s attention to himself, telling her why he did not care much for the auto repair business.
“Too tame. Course, I like engines and speed, but I like ’em in a plane. I’m going back into flying first chance I get. Maybe while I’m here in New York I can line up a pilot’s job. Bill and Terry, two of the fellows I’m staying with, are commercial pilots.”
“Good luck, Wade,” Cherry breathed. “Auto repair does sound too safe and sane for you. Haven’t you been in any breakneck scrapes lately?”
Wade grinned. “Sure. Took up a neighbor’s private plane last week and put on the best exhibition of stunt flying Tucson’s seen in a dog’s age. Then my dad bawled me out for being wild. The neighbor was scared half to death.” Wade chuckled. “He was in the plane, nose diving with me.”
He told her the hair-raising details. By this time the train was pulling into Thornwood. They got off and found themselves in a pretty little town with neat houses and churches. Wade said he would wait here at the station for Cherry.
“This visit won’t take awfully long,” Cherry said.
Wade put her in a taxi. She gave Mrs. Carewe’s address. The taxi took her through the center of town and then along quiet streets lined with modest homes.
They drew up before a salt-box type of house. Cherry paid her fare and stepped out.
Mrs. Carewe was waiting for her at the door. She was a gracious person, still pretty, but weary-looking. She was on crutches and one leg was in bandages. With her was her daughter, a girl of eighteen, also named Louise. She looked startlingly as her mother must have looked at her age. Cherry also met the son, a pleasant boy of about fourteen.
They went into the little living room. Cherry saw a youthful photograph of Mary Gregory on the mantel. The three women sat down together and there was a strained pause. Since Mrs. Carewe seemed rather agitated, Cherry opened the conversation.
“Mrs. Carewe, I have an amazing story to tell you, but a hopeful story,” Cherry began. She outlined all that had happened between Mary Gregory and herself. Then she told what had gone on in the recluse’s house, and in the recluse’s mind, all these years. Mrs. Carewe and her daughter Louise listened in tense silence.
When Cherry finished, Mrs. Carewe’s eyes were wet.
“I’d do anything in the world to help her,” she said earnestly. “I remember Mary Gregory as a beautiful and pathetic young woman. She was so shy and strange. Now you say her hair is gray! Her letters have always been full of other things besides herself all these years, of course…. What can I do?” she begged.
“See her. That is the first step. If she will see you.”
“But Mary knows I love her. Surely she—”
“It isn’t as simple as that, Mrs. Carewe.” Cherry looked at her. It was a relief to find her, and her daughter, too, kind and understanding people. But could Miss Gregory be persuaded to see her? And even if an interview was managed, it might fail or disastrously drive Mary Gregory still deeper into her shell. Still, it had to be tried, risk or no risk. Then Mrs. Carewe said something that complicated matters.
“The trouble is I can’t travel, nor even leave my house, with this fractured leg. You see, I slipped and fell on an icy walk. I won’t be able to get down to New York for a long while.” She hesitated. “I feel dreadfully sorry not to be able to go—after Mary’s generosity to us!
She has been wonderfully kind. And now, just when she needs me—”
This was a bad disappointment. Cherry looked speculatively at the daughter. Young Louise must be the image of her mother as she was the last time Mary Gregory saw her.
“Could your daughter go?”
“Oh, yes, yes,” both women exclaimed. Young Louise said that she felt she knew and loved the recluse as much as her mother did.
“Miss Ames, when may I go to her house? Soon?” the girl asked.
Cherry reflected. “It might be wiser not to tell her you are coming. Not give her a chance to worry beforehand and build up all sorts of defenses. Let’s say, Miss Carewe, that you’ll go in with me when I make another routine nursing visit.”
They set a date for the coming week. Young Louise looked very thoughtful and troubled. “I may not know what to say,” she confessed. “You’ll have to engineer that meeting, Miss Ames, if Aunt Mary’s whole future depends on it.”
Cherry sighed. “We’ll both do the best we can.”
Driving back to the station, she reflected on how to handle this meeting.
“Whew!” Wade whistled when Cherry told him about her visit. “That’s a fine, explosive problem you have on your hands.”
“Want to take over on the Gregory case?” Cherry teased.
“No! But I’ll tell you what I would like to do.” He grinned, looking like a happy six-year-old. “Ask me what.”
“What?” Cherry asked obligingly.
“Go to the Central Park zoo, when we get back to the city, with you. Go to dinner, with you. Go to the Aviation Show, with you. Spend the rest of the evening dancing, with—”
“I get the idea, Wade, and it sounds wonderful.”
They spent the balance of Sunday doing Wade’s program. Giraffes, man-sized steaks, and planes took Mary Gregory off Cherry’s mind temporarily. Half the fun, as Wade said, was that just the two of them were having this romp. Wade took a tremendous number of taxis, even for two blocks, “because taxis and you are my idea of The Works.”
The evening grew late and later, but Wade and Cherry paid no attention. On Fifty-first Street, the two of them stopped in at a roller-skating rink for a brisk whirl around the huge, wood floor. Eleven o’clock found them dancing dreamily in a great hotel ballroom. At twelve they were perched on stools at a hamburger counter. At one o’clock Cherry and Wade stood on No. 9’s doorstep, tired but happy.
“It was divine,” Cherry said.
“Wasn’t it? But no more doll dressing!”
“You didn’t care for it?” Cherry teased. “A fine assistant you turned out to be.”
“Nevertheless I’m going to remain your assistant all the time I’m here!”
Wade strode off down the moonlit Greenwich Village street, whistling.