Free Enchanted Spring by Peggy Gaddis Page B

fragrant.
    “Strange — that looks like coffee, doesn’t it, Pops?” Carey tried hard to sound cheery. “But if this is coffee — then what’s that stuff I’ve been making us drink all these weeks?”
    “Making coffee in a pot like this, Carey, would stump the best of cooks,” Margaret said hurriedly. “I just happened to grow up on this sort of coffee. But you wait until I unpack. I brought along one of those glass bubble percolator things that can be used on a stove like this, and we’ll have some real coffee!”
    She was so anxious to be conciliatory; there was nothing spiteful or malicious or triumphant about her now. And, Carey told herself, Margaret was almost pretty this morning. She almost spoke aloud. “Migosh — she’s dyed her hair!”
    The gay, frivolous frock, the silly but vastly becoming print apron, the new hair color, the permanent wave, all hinted loudly of Margaret’s determination. She was going to make herself so necessary to Silas’s happiness and well-being that Carey, Silas’s adoring daughter, simply couldn’t send her away.
    Carey was a little relieved when Joel arrived with his usual clamorous assault on the backsteps as he knocked the mud from his shoes.
    There was sherry at noon, and dinner, served at two o’clock, was quite as marvellous as Margaret had threatened. It was a feast fit for a king to which the four sat down.
    After dinner, Joel insisted on helping with the dishes and there was more laughter and good-natured banter. At four o’clock Joel reluctantly prepared to tear himself away. He had a couple of calls to make, for people were still sick, even though it was Christmas.
    “I don’t suppose you’d care to drive with me?” he suggested to Carey. “I’ve a couple of calls, and after we’ve finished we’ll go for a walk to the top of the hill on the Pickens’ place — very well spoken of for the beauty of its winter sunsets.”
    Carey caught the look in Margaret’s eyes. Margaret wanted her to go. Margaret wanted a quiet hour or so with Silas. And the force of the jealousy that shook her frightened Carey a little so that, ashamed of herself and of that unworthy emotion, she accepted Joel’s invitation.
    It was cold but clear; a damp cold that made her shiver a little. But when they had finished the calls and had climbed the low hill on the Pickens’ place and were seated comfortably on the old split-rail fence, she breathed deeply with delight. There was a wonderful scent to the air; a fragrance of wood and earth.
    She turned to say something to Joel and caught the look in his eyes. Instantly she was afraid and sought wildly for something to say. “What do you think of Margaret, now that you know her a little better?” she managed finally.
    “You needn’t be afraid of me, Carey — nor of anything I may want to say,” Joel said gravely, ignoring the question she had asked. “I shall never say anything again, I promise you, that you don’t really want to hear. Is that quite clear?”
    “I — why — I don’t know what you mean,” stammered Carey.
    “Don’t lie,” Joel ordered sternly, though there was the ghost of a twinkle in his eye. “I’m not a very patient guy, Carey — but I can wait for what I want.”
    He chuckled at the way her pretty chin tilted and then he said, “Oh, yes, we were speaking of Margaret, weren’t we? She seems completely subdued today. Did you two have a battle last night? She was rather uppity, it seemed to me, when she first got here.”
    “That, I’ve always been led to believe,” Carey told him frankly, “is the genuine Margaret. The one you saw today is — well, it’s a sort of trick done with mirrors. She — she wants to stay on.”
    Joel looked puzzled. “But why should she? I mean — well, after all, your father scarcely needs a secretary nowadays.”
    “Margaret seems to feel he needs a wife. She’s in love with him, of course. Anybody with half an eye could see that.”
    “And you’d