Chapter 8
Judy looked so faint Stayton arose from his desk and came to her doorway.
"Rosa, are you sure?"
"The man he here with the breeders. He's got dogs with him too, like Adonis."
"Oh, heavenly day," cried Judy, "not eagle; beagle. Oh, but, Rosa, don't let Luigi convert the barn to kennels; Martha's going to need that for an emergency fruit shed."
"I tell. What we do with the dogs? Two hundred dollar he want. William John, sudden he has the business in town."
"So have I," Judy said earnestly. "And Rosa, don't you or Luigi put out a penny. Promise?"
"I think we go St. Helena to Luigi's cousin now." And Rosa hung up.
Judy leaned back and closed her eyes. Martha was home. And evidently she hadn't the two hundred and had either gone to William John or sent Luigi; probably the latter.
"I believe," murmured Stayton, "it will be to your advantage to come into my office and discuss this."
Eyes opened and ears pricked as Judy followed Stayton back to his suite.
Dutifully she reported the last of Martha's "ideas." And then she sat back and was lectured.
Stayton said gently he was surprised a girl in her position could take such a negative attitude.
"Mrs. Hubbard has made an investment. She will not benefit before late fall. Meanwhile there .are running expenses, higher than usual because this is her first year, and she is taking steps to meet them."
"There will be puppies to sell."
Judy looked at him in amazement, and after a moment he turned a faint pink. "Well," he defended himself, "I assume this will be only one of her sidelines. She will find something else to bring in more immediate cash."
This Judy dreaded to contemplate.
"I," Stayton told Judy sternly, "consider Mrs. Hubbard most enterprising. I have such confidence in her vision I am ready to invest. I believe you said she needed two hundred."
Like a bird hypnotized by a snake, Judy watched Stayton's arm go forth to a block of checks, saw him draw them near, reach for a pen.
There went her station wagon with a bed in back when she no longer had rent money. Knowing she was under financial obligation to Stayton would sharpen her wit, whet her tongue. She might even develop enough cunning to maneuver some acid copy straight through to the printers.
This situation called for guile, and she was fresh out of that commodity.
Stiffly she rose, looking like a chastened child. "Mr. Stayton," she said, "as you have such faith in my sister-in-law's enterprise, I believe I should be the one to back her in this venture. But I do deeply appreciate your willingness."
Now let her tongue burn.
"Very well. Judy, you have no important assignment today; I'd suggest you take a run up to the orchards. This time you will see Martha. In the meantime, to hold the beagle man, I shall try to reach him. Now run along."
William John Jones, believing he had put time and distance enough between himself and the old Cody place, ventured home to hear the telephone shrilling.
Telephones were safe. Mrs. Hubbard's had not yet been installed.
"Bill, old boy," a voice greeted him. "I need a little favor of you."
Eventually William John turned from the telephone to find Adonis looking up at him pleadingly. "Boy," said William John, "we didn't move far enough. Come on. But I am not going down to establish any of your kin in the hollow. No sir! I'm going down the highway to stop Judy."
Heading north, Judy was thinking she had made more trips to the orchards than Martha. She wished someone would put in a monorail. Driving was a waste of effort.
And how was she going to stop Martha and save her own bank balance? What could she do to marry her off to William John?
An hour later, she took one look at his grim features and answered herself. Nothing, at least at this moment. The only way she could bring that off would be to see that Martha made a success of the place.
He came over, slid into her car, patted the dial board and said, "Neat." Then he turned on her with a scowl.
"All right, out with it. I heard how you paid off Luigi's crew. Why?"
Judy's hands went out. "I couldn't let those poor fellows wait until next fall for their money, not knowing they'd have it even then. I felt Luigi had gone ahead because Rosa and I were friends."
He had. This William John knew.
"Don't tell me this beagle man is a friend of yours so those dogs can't be taken back."
This time Judy's face registered sheer distress. "I didn't give in until Mr. Stayton started writing a check. William John, I just couldn't work for Stayton with him underwriting a venture for Martha. I know both of them."
William John didn't know Martha. He did know how quickly personal indebtedness between employer and employee could curdle.
"You were in a bind," he conceded.
That was only the beginning. There would be kennels to build, food for the dogs, veterinarian's fees, shots. And with Martha, expenses for every dog show within driving distance.
Judy came to with a start. Here she was downgrading Martha again.
"Stayton says that's enterprise. He says the West would never have been settled had there not been brave, adventurous souls willing to take a gamble."
"Indians," mused William John, "could be discouraged with gunfire. I've never met a bill collector who could be discouraged by anything but cash. And what's more," he warmed to the theme, "had horses, Conestoga wagons and rifles been reclaimed by bill collectors before the pioneers got out of reach, darned few would have made the west coast."
Judy brightened. She wasn't a reactionary as Stayton had said; just realistic.
"Stayton said Martha would make a man with capital a wonderful wife," she breathed hopefully.
Hurrah! William John had sat up, and oh, how interested he was looking. "Good thinking, Judy. I'll see about that."
Now it was Judy's turn to warm to a theme. Martha was beautiful, had artistic ability, vision, was a delightful companion and, when she needed to be, a fine cook.
"Ah," breathed William John, "speaking of cooks: how about you running up to the house to warm up some lunch for us? I shall go after Martha."
"Then lunch for three?"
"Well, no, I used 'go after' in the figurative sense. I'd better discuss the results with you alone."
Judy looked up. Silly. She would have sworn the sun, hiding behind thick clouds thus far, had burst out.
It hadn't, but happily she drove on to Jones' house, made her way to the kitchen and again, happily, surveyed refrigerator and cupboards.
She also washed William John's breakfast dishes.
She was well started when the rain began polka-dotting the windows. Wonderful. Maybe she'd teach this austere Mr. Jones how to really live. She'd take that big coffee table (cut down from a small, old-fashioned round dinner table) move it close to the hearth, build up a fire and then get him into the mood to marry Martha.
She was faced with one problem: making something out of the nothing she found in the refrigerator. A few slices of cold turkey and a bowl of ravioli.
Judy was beginning to believe she'd have to start from scratch when the telephone sounded.
"Miss Hubbard, this is Bess Henderson, a neighbor. Mr. Jones met me on the road and asked if I'd call you. He said you'd find everything you'd need in the freezer. I believe everything is labeled. You're to make your own choice."
Judy thanked her properly and went looking for the freezer, finally finding it; the door opened onto the utility room in rear.
She came out, her flag of triumph at half-mast. That room held everything a bachelor could or would need. All he had to do would be to make a choice and thrust that choice in the oven.
"He doesn't need a wife like Martha," she mourned; then deliberately she rolled up her sleeves and, defying the freezer, went to work.
Turkey pot pie; a salad-she'd seen tomatoes ripening on a tray in the utility room-and for dessert a dish of peaches. They would be disguised by the dry malted milk she would sprinkle over them and let dissolve before they were served.
She had just tucked the pie into the oven when Mrs. Henderson called again. "Forgive me," she began. "Mr. Jones told me to tell you he'd be rather late. Not before two o'clock. You'd better nibble a sandwich; you know these men."
Judy, on her heels looking into the oven where the top of the pie was beginning to color, simply sat there.
Now why would it take all of this time for William John to settle with Martha? And how would he know in advance how much time it would take?
Stupid. She closed the oven door and stood up. He probably had business of his own. Well, I'll wait.
She built up the fire from morning embers, then settled down happily. Bless Stayton for sending her. This was wonderful-rain splashing and firewood crackling and not a thing to do.
William John made good time. The pot pie, golden brown, hadn't been out of the oven too long. Coffee was ready to be served shortly afterward, and the two sat before the fire.
"I like this," he said, as though surprised at himself.
Maybe the dear man knew nothing of the comforts of home. Now if he could pretend it was Martha across from him "Everything all fixed up?" she asked brightly.
"All we need is your consent."
"My consent!"
"Good pie. What'd you put in it? Oh, yes, about Martha. If you'll remember, you wrote her some time ago about the money you had in savings; the bonds you'd bought; your salary. Well, naturally, as she looked on the orchard as an investment for you as well as herself, she felt she had a right of call on your cash. She's pretty deflated now. I told her you had bought the old orchard across the lane from her, showed her the earnest money receipt-"
"The what?"
"The two hundred dollars you paid down on the orchard you bought this morning."
"That I bought?"