Free Ransom by Grace Livingston Hill Page A

toward her stepmother. In a way, she had admired her young, vivid personality and could have been interested in her if she had not come between her and any sort of life or love of her own. Yet, she had not rejoiced with any triumph when word came that Charmian had been so suddenly blotted out in the midst of her activities. It had, rather, been a frightening thing to have her dead, to have to see her so.
    Christobel was glad that it had been God who had taken her away and that she had not been asked if she would like to have Charmian gone. It had truly never occurred to her to wish that she might die. Now that she felt the great relief of her absence, she was glad that she had not been tempted by any such wish.
    She thought back over the years when she used to cry herself to sleep at night with loneliness and longing for someone to really love her. Oh, yes, her father had loved her, but he had been so hampered and tied by Charmian, that it seemed as if even on the rare occasions when he ran away from home to see her for a few hours at the school, they were both held from speaking out freely and saying the things they would have said, by the very fact of Charmian being back in the city in the big house that was called home, and yet was not a home.
    Christobel drew a deep breath of relief and put the subject away from her. She was not glad that Charmian had had to die to get out of all their lives, but she was glad that there was a new era opening before her. Glad, glad with a thrill she had not felt since she was a little girl, that her father was hers once more. For a little while at last. Oh, if there were only some way of keeping him. Of not having another stepmother come between them as those awful servants had suggested. Oh, did men always have to marry again? No, there was Betty Bates’s uncle Harmon. His wife had died when Betty was a tiny girl, and he had been true to her memory ever since.
    But Christobel could remember back to the day when her father brought Charmian home, how he had explained that she needed a mother because her own mother had died, and that he had brought her a lovely new one. And Charmian had looked her over coldly and said, “I am glad she has curls. I hate children with straight hair.” Perhaps her father felt that he was marrying again for their sakes. She was sure he had. If in some way she and Randall could only make up to him for the lack of Mother, then he wouldn’t be so lonely. Perhaps he wouldn’t want to marry again. But she could see how hard it was going to be to get away from that Mrs. Romayne if she determined to marry him and mother them all.
    The thought of Mrs. Romayne brought back last evening and her father’s long conversation with her on the telephone. But Father hadn’t seemed to want to go and take dinner with her himself. Perhaps he didn’t care anything about her—yet! If there were only some way to get him away where Mrs. Romayne couldn’t ever find them!
    Then she recalled the blessedness of sitting with her head on her father’s shoulder as long as she wanted to, and putting a shy hand up and touching his hair and smoothing his cheek, without any sharp, sneering Charmian to say, “Get up, you great girl! Don’t get mushy over a mere father! You’re too big to kiss and maul him. For pity’s sake, go to bed!”
    Oh, how those words had cut when she had first heard them! Were all stepmothers like that? Christobel thought not. Marta Sharpless had a sweet stepmother who sent her lovely presents and kissed her and came often to school to see her. No, it must be just like buying something. One took it for what it looked like in the store. One couldn’t tell how well it would wear. And Charmian hadn’t worn well. Father hadn’t been to blame. Somehow she could feel that Father had suffered, too! He hadn’t been happy. Even Father seemed relieved last night to be all alone. Just they three! Not even a