Hilltops Clear

Emilie Loring

Description

By starting a farm in Maine, Prudence Schuyler hoped to forget the tragedy that had broken her faith in all rich and attractive young men. But her new neighbor turned out to be just such a man - sporting, debonair and immensely wealthy Rodney Gerard.
When lumber baron Len Colloway threatened to seize the valuable timber on her and Rod's properties, she was forced into partnership with the despised playboy. Against her will, Prue's heart began to stir. Did she have the courage to keep her heart in check? Would she find the happiness in which she had ceased to believe?

Sujets

• Romance historique
• 20th Century
• Historical
• Romance
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Rare Treasure Editions
• Date de parution: 12 mai 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 1
• EAN13: 9781773238470
• Langue: English

Extrait

Hilltops Clear
by Emilie Loring

Firstpublished in 1933
Thisedition published by Rare Treasures
Victoria,BC Canada with branch offices in the Czech Republic and Germany
[e-mail]
All rightsreserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted inany form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, includingphotocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrievalsystem, except in the case of excerpts by a reviewer, who may quotebrief passages in a review.

HILLTOPS CLEAR
by EMILIE LORING

To

The memory of my brother

ROBERT M. BAKER

Chapter I
The automobile lurched over deeply rutted roads.When it didn’t lurch, it skidded. A cold, bone-penetratingfog transformed trees into ghostly giants, housesinto weird dwarfs and filled the world. Moisturedripped from twigs and branches. A huge shape, whichsuggested a pre-historic monster with burning red eyes,loomed and was left behind. The faint far moan of abuoy drifted through the grayness with melancholymonotony. The smell of the sea crept behind theslackly fastened side curtains of the car. The lean,angular driver stopped the engine and climbed out.
“What is the matter, Mr. Puffer?” Prudence Schuylerinquired from the cavernous gloom of the back seat.
“Tires leaky. Guess they’ll hold out till we getthere, though.”
His passenger valiantly swallowed an exclamationof concern. She patted encouragement on the hand ofthe woman beside her. She really needed someone topull her spirit out of the pit of depression, she toldherself.
A motor purred alongside; the glow from powerfullamps illumined the fog ahead, turned dripping moistureto sparkling jewels, the rutted road to a highwayof gold.
“That you, Si? What’s the matter? Tire trouble?Flat?”
The voice was hollow, muffled, a man’s voice. Shutwithin the curtained car, Prudence could see nothingbut the uncanny mist.
“ ’Tain’t flat yet.”
From the gruffness of his answer she judged thatMr. Puffer did not care for the person who had hailedhim.
“Has the girl come?”
There was eagerness in the question, a hint of anxiety,more than a hint of arrogance. If the wheel under hercould talk, she would have said that its shake waswarning her to keep quiet, Prudence decided.
“Gorry-me, you wouldn’t expect city folks to cometo the country in this storm, would you? Whatta meanis, guess she’ll get to the red brick house ’bout tomorrow.”
The red brick house! Her house! The voice in thefog was inquiring for her, Prudence Schuyler! Whyhad Mr. Puffer evaded the question? She watched himas he resumed his seat. His great ears, which stoodout from his long, narrow head like the ears of anelephant, were black cut-outs against the glow.
“Phone me the minute she arrives, Si.”
A grunt from the man at the wheel was the only response.A red tail-light shot into the golden mist ofits own powerful headlights and dwindled to a spark.
Prudence leaned forward. “Was that voice, whichsounded like a demon of the fog, inquiring for me,Mr. Puffer?”
“Yep.”
“Why did you sidetrack him? Why tell him that Iwas arriving tomorrow?”
“Gorry-me, you wait an’ you’ll see, Miss Schuyler.Whatta mean is, by tomorrow you’ll have kinder gotyer bearin’s an’ll know what to say. Len Calloway’lltie you up tight to him, if he can.”
“Tie me up! You’re not alluding to a matrimonialtie by any chance, are you?”
The driver looked back. His blatantly artificialteeth gleamed in the faint light.
“Glad to hear you laugh. When I met you at thestation, I was afraid you was going to break out cryin’.It sure is a mean night for you to arrive. Not muchfurther to go. We’re passing the Gerard place now.”
It was evident that he considered the voice in the foga closed incident. Couldn’t he feel that she was fairlytingling with curiosity? Prudence asked herself. Shehad better seem indifferent. She said lightly:
“I’m glad to know there is something tangible topass. This fog looks like one of the creeping horrorsEdgar Allan Poe saw in the Pit and the Pendulum.”
“ ’Tain’t always like this; just wait till the sunshines. Gerard is your neighbor on the east, that is,if you can call it being a neighbor when the houses aretwo miles apart. His folks come down only for thesummer, but I reckon you’ve come to stay, judgin’ bythe truck load of stuff I carted up to the red brick housethe other day.”
For no reason she could explain to herself, PrudenceSchuyler evaded an answer. With the intention ofturning the driver’s attention from her affairs, shesuggested:
“Tell me about the Gerard family.”
Her ruse succeeded. Si Puffer looked back with asuddenness which sent the car to the side of the roadand Prue’s heart to her mouth in the same skid. Witha stifled shriek the woman clutched her seat mate.
“It’s all right, Jane Mack,” Prudence encouraged.“Please drive more slowly, Mr. Puffer. We peoplefrom the city aren’t accustomed to skidding. Perhapsyou would rather not talk when you are driving,” shesuggested tactfully.
“Gorry-me, I’ve driven this machine over theseroads when there wasn’t no headlights. They’re notall’s bad as this one; it’s like running over a wash-board,ain’t it? Just been makin’ it over. The menleft it to finish their hayin’ an’ haven’t got to workagain—notice that big road machine we passed? Ofcourse I can talk an’ drive. I’ll tell you about theGerards; perhaps ’twill take your mind off the roughgoing. The estate, which includes plane landing field,golf links, mountain streams, an’ ’bout two miles ofpond shore besides the sea front, belongs to RodGerard. His name’s Rodney, but the townspeople callhim Rod. He’s one of those rich fellers you read aboutwho fly airplanes, own a string of polo ponies, an’ havea vally to bring up their breakfast, crease their pants,an’ lay out their pink silk pajamas—but he ain’t abit stuck-up.”
“Sounds like a first family of Hollywood.”
Mr. Puffer ignored the crisp interruption and dissuadedthe car from making a slight detour up a bank.
“Whatta mean is, folks here think a lot of Rod, buthe has an older brother Walter an’ that brother has awife. Walt was the son by old man Gerard’s firstmarriage; that wife didn’t have any money, neither didhe. After she died, Gerard, who was a handsome,gifted man, married an heiress and Rod’s their child.This place came to her from her father, who, years ago,bought about three thousand acres of land and builta house of stone and oak on a high ledge; that’s thename of the place—High Ledges.”
“It has a sort of approach-if-you-dare sound.”
“As I was sayin’, Rod’s mother loved every inchof the land, turned the abandoned quarry holes intogardens—builders used to come here for granite fromall over the country—we carted tons of loam intothem. She and her husband are buried in one ofthem. Old man Gerard died, then she went severalyears ago, and Rod—well, Rod was just out of lawschool and crazy about flying when he came into abig fortune; perhaps you’ve met fellers like that.”
“Just like that!” Prudence concurred bitterly, andhoped in the next second that the man had not noticedthe sting in her voice.
“He didn’t show up here for two years after helost his mother. Then last June he opened the place,and who’d he bring with him but Walt Gerard andhis wife and little girl. Walt lit out pretty quick, butthe Mrs. seized the reins of management and how shedid drive. She’s one of them women who’s so busyhelpin’ God run his world that she lets her own folksget along as best they can. I guess she’s what thenewspapers call a society leader, one of the kind who’salways headin’ some sort of Charitable Board or other.She’s all a-twitter, winks one of her cold blue eyeswhen she thinks she’s bein’ smart; before you’ve beentalkin’ to her five minutes, she’ll lug in a remark about‘my cousin, the Ambassador.’ She kept the house fullof company all summer, young folks, but the girls wereso homely they’d have stopped even one of themelectric clocks which is supposed to run forever. She’sa wise one.”
Prudence temporarily forgot the fog, the reason forher coming.
“I hadn’t supposed there were any ‘homely girls’now, they know so well how to look like a million.Why is Mrs. Walter Gerard wise? Not because shedoesn’t care for beauty?”
“Whatta mean is, Walt, her husband, is handsome asa movie actor. She is tall, with horses’ teeth and a kindof horse-shaped face. Guess she was handsome once—thewomen here say she’s a nifty dresser—must havebeen or Walt never would have married her. He—well,he knows where the corn crib is. Their kid isthirteen years old. She’s cute, but that curious thatfolks lock up everything when they see her coming.Rod’s awful good to her and she worships him. TheWalt Gerards haven’t much money; he’s got some sortof an insurance job now, I hear. Rod gives them anincome. That’s another reason his sister-in-law doesn’twant pretty girls around. ’Twould upset her apple cartterrible if he should marry.”
“Has Mr. Rodney Gerard no mind of his own?”
“Yes—yes, he has, but since his mother passedaway, Rod’s kinder lazy; besides, he’s got the ideasome girl will marry him for his money.” Puffer’svoice deepened with affectionate anxiety. “You see,he has all he can spend. That is, I’m guessing so. Ifhe ain’t got it, no one’ll ever hear a yip from him;Rod Gerard don’t bellyache about nothin’. Perhapshe thinks, why should I work now an’ take a job fromsomeone else?
“Here we are, Miss Schuyler, this is your uncle’splace. I forgot; it’s yours now. Sorry you had sucha tough night to arrive.”
He stopped the car in the road before brick gatepostsand sounded a lugubrious horn. In response,the house door opened and let out a stream of yellowlight; a soft, cushiony voice called:
“That you, Si?”
“That’s Mother—my wife,” Puffer explained, ashe unfastened the curtains on Prudence’s side of thecar. He helped her out, then extended a bony handto the gaunt woman who seemed to unfold like an extensionladder as she stepped cautiously to the ground.
Prudence Schuyler’s throat tightened as she blinkedat the