CHAPTER III

_The Story of Lucy_

Vicki went to the Bryants’ house not knowing quite what to expect. It was Friday the thirteenth, but since she was not foolish enough to be superstitious, the date alone did not account for her sense of something special about to happen.

“Well, I can expect lunch and conversation,” Vicki thought, and went up the white marble steps of the Bryants’ house. She was a little intimidated by its grandeur, and by the butler who admitted her. “My goodness, this is much too grand for _me_,” Vicki thought. “They must be awfully rich.”

The butler said, “Who shall I say is calling?”

“Miss Victoria Barr.” Vicki tried to stand up taller than she was and look older. It never worked.

“Oh, yes, Miss Barr, you are expected.”

She gave the butler her coat and followed him from the entrance hall, past a formal high-ceilinged living room, and into a big, sunny sitting room. It was cheerful in here, with flowered chintzes, green plants, and several extraordinarily beautiful parakeets in cages shaped like pagodas and dollhouses. Vicki exclaimed aloud “Oh! Lovely!”--without meaning to, just as the butler announced her.

Mrs. Bryant was sitting half hidden in an immense wing chair. She put aside the needlepoint she was working on and made a point of getting up to greet her young guest.

“How nice to see you again, Miss Barr. You were so busy yesterday on your plane that there was almost no chance to visit with you.”

“_I_ kept you busy, for one thing,” Mr. Bryant said. “A tiresome old codger, wasn’t I, young lady?”

Vicki smiled shyly, and said Mr. and Mrs. Bryant were kind to let her come. She asked Mr. Bryant how he was feeling.

“Better, thanks, better. Oh, I’m perfectly all right!” He started to pace up and down.

Mrs. Bryant changed the subject. She invited Vicki to sit next to her on the couch in the winter sunshine, and they chatted about the Electra. Mr. Bryant joined in with a question or two. He seemed less forbidding today. Still, Vicki thought, this imposing man would probably never be easy to get along with. She’d as soon attempt to be friends with a polar bear--he reminded her of an old, still powerful bear with his heavy, rolling gait and thatch of yellowish-white hair.

“Where’s Dorn?” he demanded. “Not here yet?”

His wife said, “Mr. Dorn telephoned to say he will be a little late. It was unavoidable, dear.”

“Humph. Well, I’ll lie down again for a few minutes. Excuse me, ladies.” He abruptly thumped out of the room.

Mrs. Bryant waited until he was out of earshot, then smiled at Vicki.

“When I invited you to lunch yesterday, Miss Barr,” said Mrs. Bryant, “I thought you would be our only guest. But this morning a young lawyer who is doing a particularly important piece of work for us telephoned and asked whether he couldn’t see us about noon today. So he’ll be here for lunch, too. I’m sure you and I will have our visit, anyway.”

Vicki was a little disappointed, and offered to leave rather than intrude.

“No, indeed!” Mrs. Bryant exclaimed. “I want you to stay. Mr. Dorn is going to tell us about Lucy--our granddaughter whom we’ve never seen.” She looked very thoughtful. “Does that seem odd to you?”

Vicki was not quite sure what to answer. “Unless,” she said, “your granddaughter has always lived at a great distance from you.”

“Yes, she has. In every sense. Tell me, Miss Barr, in the course of your stewardess work are you ever in San Francisco?”

“I’ll be in and out of San Francisco all the time, now that I’m based there.”

“That’s extremely interesting.” But Mrs. Bryant did not say why. “Well. Shall we look at my parakeets?”

Vicki walked along with Mrs. Bryant and admired the exquisite birds in their cages. Her elderly hostess pointed out the birds’ markings in every tone of blue and rose and green. Yet her mind seemed to be on something else.

“I hope you won’t find it tiresome at lunch, Vicki, listening to a conversation about a girl you know nothing about.”

“What is Lucy like?” Vicki asked.

Mrs. Bryant said helplessly, “I don’t know. It _is_ odd, isn’t it? Our daughter’s daughter, and we don’t even know what she looks like. Except for an old snapshot. Lucy was ten when it was taken, and she’s twenty-one now.”

From a desk drawer Mrs. Bryant took a small, faded snapshot, in a frame, and handed it to Vicki. Vicki studied it. The little girl’s face was rather blurred. She could have been any little girl sitting on a porch step. Her hair was either dark blond or light brown; it was hard to tell which.

“I suppose Lucy’s hair might be darker by now,” said Mrs. Bryant, as Vicki gave her back the snapshot. “Our daughter Eleanor wrote in one of her rare letters that Lucy had my disposition. They named her Lucy after me, in spite of--everything. But I must be boring you.”

“I’m very much interested, Mrs. Bryant.”

“Well, I _am_ rather keyed up about Mr. Dorn’s visit. So many old memories come to mind today. The silver rings, for one thing. I hadn’t thought about them in years. There are only two like them. Lucy has one and I have the other.”

Vicki glanced at Mrs. Bryant’s hand. Her hostess noticed.

“No, I’ve put mine away. I never wear rings of any kind,” Mrs. Bryant said. “They annoy me. But this pair of silver rings has an interesting history.”

They had an identical lacelike, open design. Mrs. Bryant had long ago given one ring to her daughter Eleanor, and Eleanor in turn had given the ring to _her_ daughter, young Lucy.

“Almost all Mr. Bryant and I know about our granddaughter is that she has the ring. We had a few facts about her schooling and a sketchy description of her. Eleanor wrote us those things before she died.” Mrs. Bryant looked down at her tightly clasped hands. “As for the letters from Lucy’s father--” Mrs. Bryant stared past Vicki, past the birds. “We never answered certain of those letters and we were wrong. So terribly wrong!”

Then the whole grievous story of Lucy came tumbling out. Mrs. Bryant, in telling Vicki, tried hard not to blame her husband. But Vicki understood that Marshall Bryant was a man who valued money and important connections above all else. Mrs. Bryant could not cope with his domineering ways.

The Bryants had planned a brilliant marriage for their only child. They were bitterly disappointed when Eleanor married against their wishes a boy who had little money and limited education. They felt, unjustly, that Jack was a fortune hunter. Marshall Bryant made several attempts to break up the marriage. When he failed, he disowned his daughter. He was determined that Jack Rowe should never get hold of the Bryant money, no matter what the penalty to Eleanor or to any children Eleanor would have.

The young couple moved to California “--to get as far away from us as possible, I suppose,” said Mrs. Bryant, and also because Jack had job opportunities there. As for Jack’s family, they were scattered over the United States and were not in touch.

The young couple made several overtures to the Bryants, especially after their daughter was born. They named her Lucy after her grandmother. But the old couple refused any reconciliation. They never saw their granddaughter. “I wanted to, but Mr. Bryant was adamant. No one can blame Eleanor and Jack for feeling resentful.” A rupture and silence of many years ensued. Once Mrs. Bryant wrote to her daughter, offering aid for small Lucy, but Eleanor never answered.

When young Lucy’s mother died a few years ago, her father wrote this news to the grandparents and asked if they wished to attend the funeral. Marshall Bryant decided that they would not go. Mrs. Bryant murmured, “It was hard to lose Eleanor without ever seeing her again.” Jack Rowe had suggested that the Bryants might, at long last, wish to see their granddaughter. But Marshall Bryant hinted that Rowe’s motive was a desire to gain their fortune. Young Lucy’s father, as a result, felt freshly antagonized, and wrote them a bitter letter. Once more the two families ceased to communicate.

Recently, within the past year, Marshall Bryant had developed a severe heart condition. “He’s still active,” said Mrs. Bryant, “but he may not have long to live. This knowledge has--has modified his personality. He is more concerned than ever about what will become of his fortune after he and I pass away. I am afraid he is not a charitable enough man to leave the bulk of it to institutions for--as he says--strangers to enjoy. Also, he now feels great remorse for disowning Eleanor, and for refusing any contact with her daughter.”

As for herself, Mrs. Bryant said, she had grieved for years about the family rupture. For a long time she encouraged Marshall Bryant to make amends for the past. Finally, this past Christmas Day, they decided to find their granddaughter, Lucy Rowe, and arrange for her to inherit the Bryant fortune.

“_If_ Lucy wishes to live with us, we’d be so happy.”

“I’m so glad,” Vicki said softly, “that you’re trying to find her.”

“You’re right to say ‘trying,’ because all we definitely know about her is her last address in San Francisco. That’s the one on Jack Rowe’s