Part 40 (2/2)
'Twas Kate saved little Billie when Jake's burned. She was the first after poor Miss Violet to remember the baby and she turned back and got her.”
”She--she saved the child!” Willa's voice trembled, and she rose quickly. ”Where can I find her? It is good of you to have told me what you could, Mr. Ryder. You don't remember anything else about this Miss Violet and her baby; she left no papers with anyone?”
”No, not that I know of. The lawyer asked me that, too, and the young feller who came last fall. Riley, his name was, or something like that.”
”Starr Wiley?” Willa smiled. ”Did he ask you anything else, Mr.
Ryder?”
”He was trying most particular to find out Gentleman Geoff's last name, but n.o.body ever heard it here. You'll find Klondike Kate living in the last shack on the west side o' the street before you come to the coal-yard. She ain't a pleasant sight to look at, poor old Kate! The fire caught her, too, when she rescued the baby, and though she was a fine-appearing girl before then, her own mother wouldn't know her now, or want to, I guess, for that matter. She's square, I'll say that for her; whatever she tells you, you can bank on.”
Willa took leave of Mr. Ryder and departed upon her quest. He followed to the cafe door and stood looking perplexedly after her as she made her way down the rambling street. He was trying to fix in his mind the vagrant, subtle sensation of familiarity which possessed him when he had first caught sight of her face. Stolid and slow of wit as he was, the conviction grew that she or someone very like her had crossed his path before. Then the face of the song-and-dance artiste at Jake's flashed across his memory and the next minute he was pounding heavily after the girl.
”Hey, Ma'am! Wait a second!” he panted.
Willa turned.
”Excuse me, Ma'am, but it come to me that you might be little Billie, yourself! Are you? I'd like powerful well to see her again!”
”Look at me!” commanded Willa. ”Could you swear, Mr. Ryder, that I was the child you call 'Billie'? Could you take your oath on it?”
He looked long and searchingly while she waited in breathless suspense.
At last he drew back, shaking his head.
”No'm, I couldn't. Meaning no disrespect, there's a look about you of Miss Vi, but fifteen or sixteen years is a long time to trust your memory and I couldn't swear to nothing.”
Willa sighed and turned away.
”My name is Abercrombie,” she said. ”You are right, Mr. Ryder.
Fifteen years are a very long time.”
The shack next the coal-yard was more forlorn even than the others, though the sagging porch was swept clean, and ineffectual attempts had been made to mend the breaks in roof and walls with fresher slabs of unpainted wood which stood out against the gray weathered boards like patches on an old coat.
There was no bell, but Willa knocked patiently on the panel until there came a slow tread within and the door opened. A thin, angular woman stood there, her dark hair streaked with gray, and Willa glanced at her, then swiftly averted her gaze in pity. The face before her was drawn and scarred as if the hot hand of wrath had clawed it, searing and distorting it to the hideous, grinning semblance of a mask.
”I beg your pardon.” Willa's voice was very gentle. ”I am looking for someone known as Klondike Kate. If you are she, I have a great favor to ask of you.”
She had sounded the right note; the woman, who for so long had been the recipient of grudging, half-contemptuous favor herself, gasped and flung wide the door.
”Come in, Miss. I'm Kate, right enough. Sit down close to the stove; I ain't got much of a fire.” The voice was singularly clear and sweet.
Willa glanced about her and then back at the woman who had dropped into a low rocker beside a table heaped with red flannels, which she had evidently been mending. The room was tiny and pitifully bare, but scrubbed clean, and pathetic bows of faded ribbon strove to conceal the worn spots on the coa.r.s.e snowy curtains. A small pot bubbled on the stove and two cold potatoes and half a stale loaf on the shelf betrayed the meagerness of the larder.
The woman had given an impression of age at first, but Willa saw now that she could be scarcely more than forty and her eyes were rather fine despite their hint of tragedy.
”I'm looking for someone who can tell me about Violet, the girl who used to dance at Jake's.” Willa chose her words deliberately. ”Mr.
Ryder says you were a friend of hers, years ago.”
”Bill Ryder said that?” Klondike Kate drew a deep breath. ”A friend?
She was the best friend a body could ever have! But you could hardly have known her; she died fifteen years past.”
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