Read Online The Heart Remembers by Peggy Gaddis - Free Book Online

task of cleaning.
    She could not but wonder about him as they worked, making the barn-like room ready for the new equipment, getting the two battered, ink-stained desks cleared of their accumulation of old papers and trash.
    Who was this Philip Foster? A journeyman printer, of course; one of those men who are experts in their field, yet find the daily grind unbearable unless the scene is changed frequently and usually for no better reason than boredom. He would knock about the country as long as his money lasted; stopping off topick up a job somewhere, holding it until once more the devil of restlessness harried him into moving on—and on—and on. A well educated man who could exert a certain amount of debonair charm; a man who seemed quite content to be a tramp, except when necessity forced him to earn money enough for his simple wants. His humor was wry, but not malicious. He interested her, amused her, aroused her curiosity. And she mentally crossed her fingers for whatever their future relationship as employer and employee might bring about.
    A few days later, the arrival of the truck bearing the first pieces of equipment brought about the shop a swarm of the idly curious, out of which they were able to pick up the extra labor so badly needed to set up and arrange the machinery. Shelley realized immediately that she could safely leave all the technical details to Philip and so was deeply relieved. And by the end of the week, she knew they could safely promise the publication of the first week’s issue for the following Friday.
    When the last small task had been attended to and the old place was neat and shining and its new equipment looked brave and promising, Philip smiled wryly at Shelley.
    â€œAnd now that we are ready to start work and you won’t be needing me for the next two or three days, I have a date with a celebration,” he told her quite formally. But there was a look in his eyes that made her sick with pity.
    Shelley said impulsively, “Must you, Philip?”
    â€œAfraid I must, Boss Lady,” he said curtly, settled his battered hat at a defiantly jaunty angle and swung out of the place, hurrying toward town and the one liquor store the place possessed.
    She was bitterly sorry for him. Yet she had come to know in the few short days they had worked together that he was gripped and ridden by “blackdevils” whose savagery she could only guess at, appalled. And wisely she knew better than to attempt anything in the nature of a protest which, of course, would have availed her nothing, anyway.
    He was a man in his late thirties, perhaps a little older. This was not a new way of life for him. In it she sensed the explanation of the waste of a really brilliant man and a deeply trained skill that might easily have led him to the top of his profession, but for the “black devils.”
    She locked up and made her way back to the house in the thickening twilight. The weather had been beautiful for the past two weeks, but today the skies had been lowering and sullen, with frequent lashing rain. The people said there was a “nor’easter” blowing on the coast forty miles away and it might easily last several days.
    The wind that mourned through the pines tonight had an eery quality. The night was very dark, as she went busily about preparing her supper. So dark that it seemed to press against the window-panes, as though trying to force its way in and vanquish its ancient enemy, the yellow lamp-light.
    She put on the lights all over the little house, for added comfort against the howking wind and the close darkness. In the living room she knelt and set a match to the fire already laid on the hearth; and then she put her supper on a tray and took it in to the living room, and curled up comfortably in a deep chair, suddenly conscious of an aching weariness.
    She lost track of time. There wasn’t any reason to hurry. She ate her supper leisurely and at last rose to