Linda Carlton's Perilous Summer

by Edith Lavell

But escape was impossible now; she must wait until to-morrow when Mrs. Fishberry had promised that her uncle would return.

“My uncle?” thought Helen, trying vainly to remember such a man. Surely he had not lived here, for she could recall her life perfectly with Mrs. Smalley. They had lived alone after the death of her old grandfather, whom she could still vaguely recall. They had slept together in this bed, and cooked on that little oil stove, and tended a garden on the side of the house. Oh, there had been precious little money—she remembered how her nurse had sometimes sold books and pieces of furniture, and how she had often sent her to the post office to see whether there was a letter. Probably it was there she was walking on the day of that accident. But what letter could she have expected? From whom? From her uncle, of course! Who once in a while sent Mrs. Smalley a five-dollar bill.

But Helen could not remember what he was like. Perhaps he had visited them when she was a very small child, but she did not know what he looked like. And from what Mrs. Smalley had said, he was not a good man, or a kind one.

But who was Mrs. Fishberry? Try as she might, she could not recall ever having seen her before. And why did her uncle want her now, after neglecting her all these years? Oh, if she had only known all this when she was with Linda Carlton, she need not have gone away with that woman! And now she would be free to hunt for Mrs. Smalley! Linda would have been glad to help, would have flown all over the country, if need be, in her autogiro, to find her.

Helen sighed, but she did not despair. With the return of her memory a great weight was lifted from her heart. That ghost would not come into her room, she assured herself, with the shutters tightly closed, and the morning would bring freedom. Freedom to find Mrs. Smalley, to share with her that wonderful prize of five hundred dollars which Linda had so generously insisted that she take.

So she read her Bible for a while, as her nurse had trained her to do every evening before she went to bed, and at last, tired out by her exciting day in the skies, she fell fast asleep.

When she awoke, without even once experiencing any bad dream, she was in high spirits. How good it was to see the sunshine pouring in through the one open window and to hear the birds singing in the trees. Surely to-day her uncle would come for her.

She dressed and cooked herself some oatmeal and made tea for her breakfast. A search in the cupboard rewarded her with the discovery of some dried beans and a few home-made cookies. Made for her, of course, by dear Mrs. Smalley—in the hope that her child would return! How unhappy the good woman must have been when day after day brought only disappointment!

All day long Helen watched at her bed-room window for some signs of arrival; all day long she listened for the sound of a motor car. But hour after hour passed quietly, until the sun began to sink in the sky, and she at last gave up hope of being rescued.

With the horror of approaching night a new fear took possession of her. Suppose they never came at all! Suppose Mrs. Fishberry meant to abandon her entirely in this gruesome house, until she starved to death, or lost her mind? How long could she hope to keep alive on those dried beans? And the limited supply of water! How dreadful it must be to die of thirst—far more horrible she believed, than of hunger.