CHAPTER XIII Before Daylight
“Judy, are you well?” Honey’s voice held a note of deep anxiety. She wascalling all the way from Farringdon, Judy knew. Judy hadn’t meant toworry her. But how could she explain what she had just said when shedidn’t understand it herself?
“I mean—” Now Honey was floundering for the right words. “Was it toomuch of a shock—about Peter? Or were you just trying to change thesubject? This is certainly a strange time to be asking me about myhair.”
“I know. I was half asleep. Forgive me,” Judy said. “I was dreaming, Iguess. This is the second time I’ve had the same dream. It still seemshorribly real. I am worried, of course. I’m still waiting for thehospital to call.”
“Then I’ll hang up so they can.”
“Wait a minute. Talk a little more,” Judy begged finally. “I need thereassurance of your voice.”
“That’s more like the Judy I know. Don’t worry. Peter will be all right,and then you’ll stop dreaming.”
“But I had the dream before I knew he was hurt,” Judy protested.
“Don’t ask me to explain it. I’m no good at that sort of thing. Rememberthat old dream book, Judy? I’ll hunt it up, if you want me to, and findout what it means to dream of faceless people—”
“With golden hair.” Judy stopped herself quickly and said, “Don’tbother, Honey. The dream doesn’t matter any more. It’s Peter—”
“I know, dear. Call me back when you have news.”
Judy promised that she would. She felt better after talking with Honey.Now she was wide awake. Irene, hearing her up, tiptoed out into theliving room.
“Any news?” she asked.
“Not yet,” replied Judy. “That was Honey on the phone. It seems ages agothat we were pretending she was at the table with us. So much hashappened since then—Clarissa’s disappearance, and now Peter. I want togo to him, Irene. I’m not tired any more. I can sit in the hospitalwaiting room and be there when he wakes up. The Long Island trains runall night, don’t they?”
Irene consulted a timetable that was tacked to a bulletin board besidethe telephone. “We just missed the two fifty-eight. This is Sundaymorning. The trains don’t run very often. There isn’t another one untilfive o’clock. But we can drive in if you want to. We can bundle littleJudy into the back seat, and she’ll never know the difference. Want to?”
“Yes, I do want to,” Judy replied gratefully. “I can’t stand thiswaiting.”
“You poor dear!” Irene sympathized. “We hoped you would get a littlemore sleep. Dale!” she called to her husband. “Judy wants us to drivein.”
“I rather thought she would.”
He appeared all dressed and ready. Irene had not undressed. Little Judywas carried to the car, blankets and all. She stirred once, said, “Goway, witch!” in a sleepy voice and then cuddled down to sleep again.
“That witch did scare her,” Irene began in a worried tone.
“Of course she did. She was meant to,” Dale broke in with a reassuringgrin. “I wish you could have seen little Judy’s eyes when you came inwith your magic wand to chase the witch away. It was symbolic of hopechasing away fear, and beautifully done, my dear. I was very proud ofyou. Sleeping Beauty herself was something of a disappointment.”
“She was?”
“Oh, I don’t mean she wasn’t beautiful and all that. Francine Dow is agirl of many faces. She did manage to look young and frightened if thatwas the effect she was trying to achieve. You could hardly see her facefor that golden wig.”
“Was it a wig?” asked Judy. “I thought it was the natural color of herhair. I’m afraid I still don’t know whether it’s black, brown orgolden.”
Irene laughed. “Very few actresses can keep the natural color of theirhair. They’re the real changelings. They change their hair and eventheir faces to suit the various parts they have to play.”
“It may be all right for actresses, but for the rest of us—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Irene advised. “I know that dream upset you, butcan’t you see that it wasn’t real? It couldn’t happen that way.”
“If everybody listened to the advertising on TV there’d be a lot moregolden-haired people than there are now. There’d be too many. You’d seeyourself coming and going just like the parade of golden-haired peoplein my dream. Everybody whose hair wasn’t golden would be thinking, ‘Yourhair is dull. Your hair is drab!’—just the way I did.”
“Why?” asked Dale, looking past Irene’s golden head to Judy’s mop ofcurly red hair. “How anyone could say a thing like that about either ofyou is more than I can understand.”
“I can’t understand it either,” Judy admitted, “but it’s true. I kepthearing _dull_, _drab_, until even the train wheels seemed to berepeating it. If I didn’t have red hair and if I hadn’t been teased allmy life about how bright it is—”
“Well, what would you do?” asked Irene when Judy hesitated.
“I’d wash my hair with that golden hair wash. I did buy some for you,”Judy confessed when Irene made no comment. Dale was busy with hisdriving, and Judy sat between them in the front seat of the car. Therewas hardly any traffic this early in the morning, but there was a heavyfog that made it hard for Dale to see more than a few feet ahead.
“For me?” Irene asked incredulously. “Why on earth would you buy thatstuff for me?”
“I don’t know,” Judy confessed. “I don’t like the way I’ve been thinkingthings without knowing why I thought them. Peter never lets anythingturn him from his convictions. I had a feeling, on the train, thatsomething was wrong, while I was dreaming. I couldn’t know about Peter.But I did know something was wrong.”
Judy had been trying to hide her worry, but it was no use. They talkedof many things as the car sped on toward the hospital. But theirthoughts were with Peter. New York’s skyline could be seen but faintlyas they crossed Manhattan Bridge. The fog had lifted a little, but itwas not yet daylight when Dale stopped before a large building. Itloomed, gray and forbidding, against the cold night sky.
Inside, the scrubbed stone floors and bare walls gave Judy theimpression that they had entered a fortress instead of a hospital. Auniformed guard at the door directed them to a desk where Judy learnedthat Peter had been taken to a private room in the new wing. Theoperation was over, but he was still under sedation, the nurse said. Sheadded brightly, “You can see him in about an hour.”
It would have been a long hour if another nurse, on night duty, hadn’tsuddenly recognized Irene. Irene had come in with Judy, leaving Dale tomind little Judy, who was asleep in the car.
“You’re the Golden Girl, aren’t you?” the nurse asked, stopping Irene asthey entered the luxurious waiting room in the new wing. “One of ourpatients has been asking for you—”
“Clarissa!” Judy and Irene exclaimed in the same breath.
The nurse looked a little puzzled.
“We have to wait here anyway. Could we see her?” asked Irene. “We wereawfully worried. Was she badly hurt? We looked all over the theater. Howand where did it happen?”
“It was a street accident,” replied the nurse in a brisk, professionalmanner. “She was in a cab. Her doctor can give you the details. I’mafraid you can’t visit her at this hour. It would disturb the otherpatients. Except in extreme emergencies, visitors are never allowedbefore daylight.”