Kitabı oku: «Janet Hardy in Hollywood», sayfa 3
Chapter V
THE WHITE MENACE
Miss Bruder looked at the girls, huddled together on the seats, desperately trying to keep warm. Outside the boys were bravely attempting to clear a path, but it was hopeless.
“Perhaps we’d better get out and try to reach the main road on foot,” she said.
“I wouldn’t advise that,” replied the driver. “Some of the girls couldn’t make it through the drifts. It must be well below zero now and the snow’s still coming down bad.”
Just then Jim and Ed led the boys back into the bus, closing the door carefully after them. They were covered with fine snow and frost from their own breath.
“I’m going to try and break through to the road,” said Jim. “The rest of you stay here and try to keep warm. Whatever you do, don’t leave the bus.”
“If anyone is going to try to make it to the paved highway, I’m going,” spoke up the driver. “I’ve been over this road a number of times. I’ll follow the fence line and get to a farm somehow.”
In spite of the protests of the boys, the driver remained firm, insisting that he, and he alone, could make the trip.
“Keep the door shut and don’t run the motor. The heater’s out of order now and if you run the motor, carbon monoxide fumes may creep in. They’re deadly.”
But that was an unnecessary warning for all of the boys knew the danger of the motor fumes in a closed compartment.
Bundling himself up well, the driver plunged into the storm and Miss Bruder and her honors English class were left alone in the middle of Little Deer valley with the worst storm of the winter raging around their marooned bus.
Jim turned off the headlights, leaving only the red and green warning lights atop the bus on. He snapped the switches for the interior lights until only one was left aglow for there was no use to waste the precious supply of electricity in the storage battery.
If anything the whine of the wind was louder and it was exceedingly lonely out there despite the presence of the others. There was something about it that made Janet feel as though she were a hundred miles from civilization. She had not dreamed it would be possible to have such a sense of loneliness and yet be in a group of schoolmates.
Jim Barron and Ed Rickey kept on the move, talking with some of the boys or attempting to cheer up the girls.
“Better get up every few minutes and swing your arms and stamp your feet,” advised Ed. “That’ll keep the circulation going; otherwise you may suffer frostbite.”
Helen squinted her eyes and looked at her watch in the dim light shed by the single bulb. It was just after midnight.
“Wonder if we’ll be home by morning,” she asked, turning back to Janet.
“Let’s hope so, though I’m not in the least bit hungry after the big meal we had at Youde’s.”
“That seems ages away,” replied Helen. “I’d almost forgotten the skating party.”
Margie, who had taken shelter under Janet’s coat, spoke up.
“It’s all the bus driver’s fault. We never should have left Youde’s.”
“But none of us wanted to spend the night there,” said Janet. “Of course we didn’t dream the snow would have drifted this much.”
“The driver should have known,” insisted Margie, and Janet thought her more than a little unreasonable, but then Margie was probably thoroughly chilled and likely to disagree with everything and everyone.
The minutes passed slowly, dragging as Janet had never known they could. The cold increased in intensity and some of the other girls, not as warmly dressed as Janet and Helen, began to complain.
“My feet are getting numb,” said Bernice Grogan, a slip of a little black-haired Irish girl.
“Better keep them moving,” said Ed Rickey. “Here, I’ll move them for you until the circulation starts back.”
Ed knelt down on the floor and took Bernice’s boots in his hands, massaging her feet vigorously.
Soon Bernice began to cry.
“It’s the pain. They hurt terribly.”
“Just the circulation coming back,” said Ed, but Janet knew from the lines on his forehead that Ed was worried.
“If any of the rest of you feel numb, just call out. We’ve got to keep moving or some of us may suffer some frozen parts before morning,” he warned.
Bernice, in spite of her efforts, couldn’t keep the tears back, but they froze on her cheeks, so bitter was the cold.
Jim Barron opened the door, and a rush of cutting air swept in. Then he was gone into the night and Janet could hear him wielding the shovel outside.
It was five or six minutes before Jim returned and he looked utterly exhausted.
“I’ve never seen such a night,” he mumbled. “I’m afraid the bus driver didn’t get very far.”
“Then we’d better start out after him,” said Ed, getting to his feet.
But Jim’s broad shoulders barred the door.
“We’re going to stay right here. You can’t even find the fences now. It would be suicide to start in the dark. The only thing we can do is keep as warm as possible inside the bus. I started throwing snow up around the windows. Some of you fellows give me a hand. We’ll bank the bus in snow clear to the top and that will keep out some of this bitter wind.”
“But if you cover the bus with snow, they’ll never find us when they come hunting us,” protested Cora.
“Just never mind about that,” retorted Jim. “The only thing I’m worrying about now is keeping us from freezing to death.”
Jim’s words shocked the girls into silence.
Chapter VI
DESPERATE HOURS
Freezing to death! The phrase was terrible in its import, yet the danger was very near and very deadly, for there was slight chance that the bus driver had gotten through to give a warning of their predicament. Even if he had Janet wondered if any searching party could brave the rigors of the night.
Outside the boys worked steadily, coming inside in shifts, and then going back. They could hear the snow thud against the side of the bus as it was piled higher and higher and the sound of the wind gradually faded as the wall of snow protecting them from it thickened.
The light from the single bulb was ghostly now. The battery seemed to be weakening. Helen looked at her watch. It was just one o’clock when the boys came in, beating their hands and knocking the frost from their breath off their coats.
Jim was the last one in and he closed the door carefully after him.
Bernice was crying again and Ed, though half frozen himself, bent down and massaged her feet. Miss Bruder was white and shaken for it was more than she could cope with and she turned to Ed and Jim to pull them through the emergency.
While Ed worked with Bernice’s feet, Jim spoke to the group.
“We might as well face this thing frankly,” he said. “We’re in an awful jam. It must be fifteen or twenty below right now. The snow has stopped, but the wind is increasing in strength and the snow is drifting badly. It may be hours, perhaps a day, before we’re discovered.”
He paused and watched the conflicting emotions on their faces, then plunged on.
“We’ve banked the bus with snow to keep out the worst of the wind, but it’s going to be terribly cold just the same. We’ve got to keep moving, keep up our spirits. If we don’t – ”
But Jim didn’t finish his sentence. There was no need for they all knew what would happen once they became groggy and sleepy.
“I’m going to start with a count and I want all of you to beat your feet in time with me. That’ll jar your whole body and warm you up a little.”
Jim started counting and soon the whole group was stamping their feet methodically.
Even Janet had not realized how cold she was. Her feet had felt a little numb, but under the steady pounding against the floor they started to tingle, then burn with an intensity that brought tears to her eyes where they froze on her lashes.
“I’m nearly frozen,” chattered Margie, huddling closer to Janet. “If it wasn’t for your coat I’d be like an icicle by this time.”
They kept up the motion with their feet for at least five minutes, and Jim called a halt then.
“Everyone feel a little warmer?” he asked.
“My hands are still cold,” said one of the girls, but Janet was too stiff to turn around and see who was speaking.
“Then here’s an arm drill for everyone,” said Jim, starting to swing his arms in cadence.
When that exercise was completed, most of them could feel their bodies aglow as the blood raced through their veins.
Ed started to tell funny stories and though he did his best, their own situation was so tragic that nothing appeared humorous. But he kept them interested, which was the main thing.
Helen was the first to break the now monotonous flow of Ed’s words.
“Stop, Ed,” she said, her voice low and tense. “Shake Miss Bruder, quick!”
Ed turned suddenly to the teacher, who had been sitting back of him. Her head had fallen forward on her chest and her arms hung limp.
The husky senior picked her up and brought her back under the light, the rest crowding around him.
Then Janet took charge. Miss Bruder’s eyes were closed, but she was breathing slowly.
“I believe she’s half frozen. She was sitting where a constant knife of air was coming in around the door,” whispered Jim. “Get busy and massage her.”
Janet, with Helen helping her, stripped off Miss Bruder’s thin gloves. Her hands were pitifully white.
Ed scooped up a handful of snow where it had sifted in around the door and used it to rub Miss Bruder’s hands while Janet and Helen massaged the upper part of her body and her face.
It was five minutes before the teacher responded to their frantic efforts. Then her eyes opened and she tried to smile.
“I must have dozed for a moment,” she whispered.
“Don’t talk,” said Helen. “Rest now.”
“Is everyone all right?” insisted the teacher.
“Everybody’s here,” replied Jim, who was keeping a close eye on Bernice, who seemed the most susceptible to the cold.
Ed pulled Janet to the rear of the bus.
“This thing is getting serious,” he whispered. “Some of the girls won’t be able to stand it until morning unless we’re able to keep them warmer. Jim and I have sheepskins. We’ll put them down on the floor and you girls get down and lie on them. Huddle together and cover up with your own coats. Your body heat should keep you warm and we’ll be moving around and talking to you so none of you will get too drowsy from the cold.”
“But you can’t do that. You and Jim will freeze,” protested Janet.
“Freeze? I guess not. We’re too tough for that. Besides, I’ve got all kinds of clothes on under this sheepskin.”
Janet finally agreed to the plan and Ed explained it briefly. Miss Bruder hesitated, but the others overruled her.
Jim and Ed placed their heavy canvas, sheep-lined coats on the floor and the girls laid down on them like ten pins, huddling together and putting their own coats over them.
“Get just as close as you can so you’ll keep each other warm,” counseled Jim, who, minus his heavy coat, was busy swinging his arms and legs.
In less than five minutes the girls were ready to admit that the plan was an excellent one, for they were quite comfortable under the mound of coats and Janet made them keep up a constant flow of conversation, calling to each girl every few minutes. Up in the front of the bus they could hear the boys moving steadily and stamping their feet.
How long they had been under the pile of coats Janet couldn’t guess, but suddenly there was a wild pounding on the door of the bus. She managed to get her head out from under the coats in time to see Jim open the door.
“Everyone safe?” cried someone outside.
“We’re all right,” replied Jim and then Janet saw her father looking down at the huddled group of girls on the floor of the bus. His face was covered with frost, but he brushed past the boys and knelt beside her.
“All right, honey?” he asked.
“A little cold,” Janet managed to smile. “How did you get here?”
“Never mind that. The first thing is to get out of here and where you’ll be safe and warm.”
Other men poured into the bus. Janet recognized some of them. Ed’s father was there. So was Jim’s, Cora’s and Margie’s. Someone had a big bottle of hot coffee and cardboard cups. The steaming hot liquid, bitter without sugar or cream, was passed around.
Janet drank her cup eagerly and the hot beverage warmed her chilled body.
Extra coats and mufflers had been brought by the rescue party.
“Get as warm as you can. It’s going to be a cold ride to the paved road,” advised her father.
They were soon ready and once more the door of the bus was opened. Outside a powerful searchlight glowed and as they neared it Janet saw a large caterpillar tractor. Behind this was a hayrack, mounted on runners and well filled with hay.
“Everybody into the rack. Burrow down deep so you’ll keep warm.”
Janet’s father counted them as they got into the rack, yelled to the operator of the tractor to start, and then piled into the rack himself.
With a series of sharp reports from its exhaust, the lumbering tractor got into motion, jerking the rack and its precious load behind it.
Chapter VII
SANCTUARY AT HOME
It was nearly an hour later when the tractor breasted the last grade and rolled down to the paved road where a dozen cars, all of them warmly heated and well lighted, were strung along the road. Anxious fathers and mothers were on hand, including Janet’s mother and Mrs. Thorne and they welcomed their thoroughly chilled daughters to their bosoms.
Janet’s father shepherded them into their own sedan where despite the sub-zero cold the heater had kept the car comfortable. Then they started the final lap of their eventful trip from Youde’s home.
Helen and Janet sank back on the cushions of the capacious rear seat, thoroughly worn out by their trying experience.
Janet’s father, one of the most prominent attorneys in Clarion, slipped in behind the wheel, slamming the car door and shutting out the biting blast of air.
There were other cars ahead of them and they made no attempt at high speed as they rolled back into the city.
“How did you ever find us, Dad?” asked Janet.
“You can thank the bus driver for that. Somehow he got through to a farmhouse. He was almost frozen, but he managed to tell them the story and they phoned word in to us.”
“Who thought of the tractor and hayrack?” asked Helen, warm once more.
“It was Hugh Grogan, Bernice’s father. He sells the caterpillars. Good thing he did or we’d never have gotten through.”
“It was a good thing for Bernice, too. She was about all in,” said Janet.
When they reached the Hardy home, Janet’s mother insisted that Helen and Mrs. Thorne come in and have a hot lunch before going to their own home.
While the girls took off their coats and Mr. Hardy put the car into the garage, Mrs. Hardy bustled out into the kitchen where she had left a kettle of water simmering on the stove.
Lunch was ready in short order, tea, peanut butter sandwiches, cookies and a large bowl of fruit.
Janet and Helen had ravenous appetites and the sandwiches disappeared as though by magic.
“How cold is it, Dad?” asked Janet.
“Twenty-two below.”
“The wind was awful,” said Helen, between bites at a sandwich.
“I know. It was pretty fierce going across country in the hayrack. The boys must have used their heads for someone banked the bus with snow.”
“That was Jim Barron’s idea. He and Ed Rickey kept us moving and talking most of the time, but we forgot Miss Bruder. She was in a draft and almost froze to death without saying a word to anyone.”
“That scared us half to death,” put in Helen, “but the boys massaged her hands with snow and Janet and I massaged the upper part of her body until we could get the circulation going again. I think she’ll be all right, but probably pretty sensitive to cold for the rest of the winter.”
“But the winter’s almost over. Here it’s late March. Who’d ever have thought we’d have a storm like this,” said Janet.
“If I had, I can assure you that you’d never have made the trip to Youde’s tonight,” promised her father. “It was one of those freak storms that sometimes sweep down from the Arctic circle and fool even the weather men. By tomorrow the temperature will shoot up and the snow will melt so fast we’ll probably have a flood.”
The girls finished every sandwich on the plate and drank two cups of tea apiece.
It was five o’clock when they left the table.
Mrs. Thorne and Helen started to put on their coats, but Janet’s mother objected.
“Your house will be cold and our guest room upstairs is all made up. Janet and I will lend you whatever you need. We’ll all get to bed now.”
Janet got warm pajamas for Helen and then went to her own room. Warm and inviting in the soft rays of the rose-shaded lamp over her dressing table, it was a sanctuary after the exciting events of the night.
A wave of drowsiness assailed Janet, and it was with difficulty that she unlaced and pulled off her boots. Somehow she managed to crawl into her pajamas and roll into bed, but she was asleep before she could remember to turn off the light.
Her mother, looking in a few minutes later, pulled the blankets up around Janet’s shoulders, opened the window just a crack to let in a whiff of fresh air, and turned off the light.
Janet slept a heavy and dreamless sleep. When she awakened the sun was streaming in the windows and from the angle she could tell that it was late.
But in spite of the knowledge that she would probably be extremely late in getting to school, Janet was too deliciously comfortable to move rapidly.
After stretching leisurely, she got out of bed and closed the window. The radiator in her room was bubbling gently and she slipped into bed to wait until the room warmed up.
Vivid thoughts of what had happened during the night rotated in her mind, the cold, the wind, the snow – the terror of waiting in Little Deer valley for the rescue, hoping but not knowing for sure that they would be reached in time to save them from the relentless cold.
Someone opened Janet’s door and peered in. It was Helen, who, on seeing that her friend was awake, bounced into the room.
“You look pretty live and wide awake after last night,” smiled Janet.
“I’m not only that, I’m ravenously hungry,” said Helen, “and if you had been out in the hall and caught a whiff of the breakfast your mother is preparing you would be too.”
“What time is it?”
“Well, you can call it breakfast or lunch, depending on whether you’ve had breakfast. For me it’s breakfast even though the clock says it’s just a little after eleven.”
“You’re seeing things,” retorted Janet, throwing off the covers and hurrying toward her wardrobe.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if I am, but your mother says it is after eleven and I’ll take her word for it. I’ll run down and tell her you’ll be along within the hour.”
“That isn’t fair. You know it won’t be more than five minutes. I always dress faster than you do.”
Chapter VIII
POSTPONED TRYOUTS
Helen went down stairs and Janet hastened to the bathroom where she made a hasty toilet. Back in her room she fairly jumped into her clothes, gave her hair one final and hurried caress with the brush, and then went down stairs.
Mrs. Thorne, who had breakfasted earlier with Janet’s father and mother, had gone home, so Helen and Janet sat down to the breakfast Mrs. Hardy had prepared.
There was grapefruit to start with, then oatmeal with dates in it, hot, well-buttered toast, strips of crisp bacon and large glasses of milk.
“Feel all right this morning, Janet?” her mother asked, looking a little anxiously at her vibrant and energetic daughter.
“Fine, mother. I slept very soundly. Last night seems almost like a nightmare.”
“It was a nightmare,” said her mother, sitting down and picking up a piece of toast to munch while the girls ate their breakfast. “I’ve never seen your father so worried. He was almost frantic until Hugh Grogan suggested they try to get through with one of his big tractors. They held a council of war right here in the front room and I’ve never seen as many nervous and excited men in my life. Talk about women getting upset, why they were worse than we ever think of being.” She smiled a little. She could now, but last night it had all been a very grim and very near tragedy.
“You’ll have to write an excuse for me,” said Janet between munches on a crisp slice of bacon.
“Not this time. I phoned the superintendent and he said that everyone in honors English was excused from school today.”
“Wonder if we’ll have the tryouts for the class play this afternoon?” said Helen, who until that moment had been devoting her full energies to the large bowl of oatmeal.
“There’s one way of finding out,” replied Janet. “I’ll phone the principal’s office and see if it has been taken off the bulletin board.”
Janet went to the phone in the hall and called the schoolhouse. When she returned her face was aglow.
“No school, no tryouts – what a day and what to do?”
“You’re sure about the tryouts?” Helen was insistent, for winning the leading part meant so much to her.
“Sure as sure can be. They’ve been postponed until Saturday morning at 9:30 o’clock when they will be held in the assembly.”
“Then that will give me plenty of time to study my part thoroughly,” said Helen.
“But you know it now. Why you had it memorized, every word and phrase, yesterday afternoon,” protested Janet.
“I know I did yesterday, but last night scared it completely out of me. I can’t even remember the opening lines.”
“Maybe it’s a good thing. We’ll both start over and this afternoon we can rehearse upstairs in my room.”
“Grand. I’ve got to go home and help mother for a while, but I’ll be back by 2:30 o’clock and we’ll start in.”
Breakfast over, Janet went to the door with Helen. The day was bright and almost unbelievably clear. The temperature was rising rapidly, the wind had gone down, and their experience of the night before seemed very far away. Rivulets of water were starting to run down the streets and before nightfall the gutters would be full of the melting snow and slush.
Janet found a multitude of little things to do around home to help her mother and the first interruption came with the ringing of the telephone. Her mother answered, but then summoned Janet.
“It’s the Times,” said Mrs. Hardy.
Janet took the instrument and recognized the voice of the city editor of the local paper.
“I need a good first person story of what took place inside the bus, Janet,” said Pete Benda. “Can you come down to the office and write a yarn? You’ve had enough experience with your high school page to do the trick and do it well.”
“But it all seems so far away and kind of vague now,” protested Janet.
“Listen, Janet, I’ve got to have that story.” Pete was cajoling now. “Haven’t we done a lot of favors for your high school page?”
“Yes, but – .”
“Then come down and write the story. I’ll save a good spot on page one for it.”
Janet hung up the telephone, feeling a little weak and limp. Pete Benda was insistent and she would have to go through with it.
“The Times wants me to come down and write a first person story of what happened last night,” she explained to her mother. “I didn’t want to, but Pete Benda, the city editor, just insisted. He’s been so good about helping us out on the school page when we’ve been in jams that I couldn’t say no.”
“Of course not, and you’ll do a good piece of writing. No don’t worry about it. Run along. I’ll have a little lunch ready when you get back.”
Janet put on her coat, but paused at the door and called to her mother. “If Helen comes before I get back, tell her I’ll be along soon.”
Janet enjoyed the walk to the Times office for the air was invigorating.
The Times was housed in a narrow two-story building with its press in the basement. The news department was on the second floor with the city editor’s desk in front of a large window where he could look the full length of the main business street of Clarion.
Pete Benda, thin and too white-faced for his own good health, saw Janet come in.
“Here’s a desk and typewriter you can use,” he said. “I’m counting on having that story in less than an hour. You’ll have to come through, young lady.”
Janet flushed at Pete’s appellation, for the city editor of the Times was only a little older than she. Oh well, perhaps Pete was twenty-two, but she could remember when he had been in high school, playing football, and one of the best ends in the state.
Janet rolled some copy paper into the typewriter and looked rather blankly at the sheet. It was hard now to concentrate on the events which had been so tragically real the night before. If she could only get the first sentence to click the rest would come easily. She tried one phrase. That wouldn’t do; not enough action in it. Ripping the sheet of paper from the typewriter, she inserted another and tried again. This was better. Perhaps it would do; at least she had started, and the words came now in a smooth flow for Janet could type rapidly, thanks to a commercial course in her junior year.
Pete Benda, on his way to the composing room, looked over her shoulder and read the first paragraph but Janet, now engrossed in the story, hardly noticed him. Pursing his lips in a low whistle, a trick that he did when pleased, Pete went on about his work.
Janet finished one page and then another. Even a third materialized under the steady tapping of her fingers on the keyboard. Then she was through. Three pages of copy, three pages of short, sharp sentences, of adjectives that caught and held the imagination, that gave a picture of the cold and the apprehension of those in the bus, of the relief, almost hysterical, when rescue came.
Janet didn’t read it over. It was the best she could do. If Pete wanted to change it that was all right with her. She put the three sheets of copy paper together and placed them on his desk. Then she slipped into her coat and went down stairs. She had finished the story well within the limit set by the city editor and she turned toward home and the rehearsal she and Helen had planned for the afternoon.
