IV
WhenJulie reached the station to take her train for Red River, she found herself the only passenger from Hart’s Run. A couple of traveling men, strangers to her, were walking up and down the platform in the fresh morning air, pulling at their cigars, evidently content and well-breakfasted by the hospitality of the Monroe House in the village. The station master was also there. He was Edward Black, the same bully who had torn Julie’s doll to pieces so long ago. He had grown into a stout and flabby man, with small eyes set in so large an expanse of face that one inevitably thought of his cheeks as jowls. He greeted her with “Mornin’, Julie, goin’ away on Number Twelve?”
“Just to Red River for the day,” she answered. “I hope Twelve’s on time.”
“Hope’s cheap,” Edward retorted. It was his custom not to give away information in regard to the trains too easily. He liked to keep the superior knowledge that his post gave him for the gratification of his own vanity.
Julie would have liked to slip away unnoticed into the station, but she also wanted very much to know whether or not the train was on time, for if it were hours late—as it sometimes was—she would not be able to do much shopping in Red River, and so would put off her trip until the next day. Therefore she mustered courage to put the question direct, although she had a painfully acute inner remembrance of how very forlorn her face had looked in the mirror that morning.
“Is—is Twelve on time?” she asked.
“Is—is Twelve on time,” he mimicked, and turned to wink at the near-by drummers. But it was a wink misplaced. One of the men, who had been teetering gayly up and down on the precarious footing of the iron track, in sheer exuberance of health and the fine morning, turned a sudden flaming red, and removed the cigar abruptly from his mouth.
“The lady’s asked you if the train’s on time. You’re here to tell her!” he blazed.
In sulky surprise, Edward Black attempted to turn away as though called by important business elsewhere, but the drummer came a stride nearer, and curled his fists.
“Tell her!” he commanded.
“Yes, it’s on time,” Edward answered and made a sullen escape.
The drummer turned to Julie, and swept off his hat. “Lady, your train’s on time,” he announced.
“Oh—oh, thank you!” Julie faltered, and retreated into the station in an agony of embarrassment.
As she fled, she heard the drummer comment to his friend, “Oh, Lord, how I do hate that kind of a fat bully! I hope to heavens if I ever get to France all the Germans’ll look just like him. If they do, I’ll not have any trouble at all stickin’ bayonets into ’em.”
Julie knew that the words were perfectly audible to Edward Black and that he would not fail to pay her back for them. She still had her ticket to buy, and when he opened the ticket window she approached in apprehension. They were alone in the station.
“Say, Julie, I got a joke on you,” he jeered. “Say, I know how you go to prayer meetin’.”
The color rushed into Julie’s face.
“Say,” he pursued, watching her from underthe drooped lids of his pig eyes, “What was you doin’ sittin’ out on the church steps last night, when everybody else was inside?”
So Edward Black, of all people, had seen her!
“Nothing—it wasn’t anything,” she stumbled, knowing that her voice sounded frightened, and that her cheeks were blazing.
“Oh, yes, it was nothin’! Nothin’ be dogged! Folks don’t turn red like that over nothin’. Well, I’m goin’ to tell people how Julie Rose goes to prayer-meeting!”
But here Number Twelve whistled down the line—a clear burst of sound, cutting joyously through the air. Edward Black had to supply Julie with her ticket, and so she was delivered.
It was on her way back from Red River that Julie first saw Timothy Bixby.
The shopping trips to Red River were always occasions of discomfort to Julie. It was unnerving to her to be shaken out of her accustomed rut of Hart’s Run. Out in the unfamiliar streets of the larger town, she always felt strange and dreadfully conspicuous. Henr’etta Crossman, who had been Henr’etta Wilkinson, Julie’s schoolmate in Hart’s Run, and with whom Julie generallytook dinner when she came to Red River, was apt to call jovial attention to Julie’s unhappy self-consciousness. “Come right in to its momma,” she would greet Julie, enfolding her against her large bosom. “Nothing didn’t bite you comin’ up street, did it!”
A day in Red River spent in Henr’etta’s society left Julie limp, crushed by the other’s exuberant self-confidence, with all the delicate antennæ of her personality brushed aside, as a butterfly’s wing is brushed by a too rough touch.
The day in question was no exception. Indeed, after her wretched night, Julie was more than ever drained of all vitality when she boarded the afternoon train for Hart’s Run, squeezing herself and her bundles down into a seat beside a fat woman with a bulging suit-case. “Henr’etta certainly is kind,” she told herself wearily, “but someway, being with her always makes me feel mighty small, she’s so big and sure of herself. And Red River, too, it always makes me feel like I was out naked in the world. Why,” she thought suddenly, “that’s just what Mrs. Anderson said. She said I was pretty nigh as naked as that little bird, and it’s just the truth!”
Halfway down, all the seats on one side of the car were given over to a detachment of men in khaki. They laughed and joked uproariously and burst occasionally into war songs—“We won’t be back ’til it’s over, over there,” and “Keep the home fires burning.” Men in khaki were new and strange phenomena in Julie’s part of the world, and she looked at them curiously. But she was so weary that even they could not engage her interest for long, and closing her eyes, she let herself relax. She could feel the big warm body of the woman beside her heave up and down with each breath. The train was stuffy and hot, filled with disheveled people and fretful children, and over all hung the smell of smoke and cinders and peeled oranges; presently with closed eyes she went almost to sleep in the weary atmosphere. The gray roar of the train pulsed in her ears, making a swaying background of sound before which fantastic thoughts on the verge of dreams spread themselves out. Suddenly, however, against that curtain of sound a woman’s sharp voice detached itself from the other noises and hung for a moment before Julie’s consciousness, as distinct as words on a motion-picture screen.
“Yes, it is in there,” the voice said. “It is, too! I put it there myself just a while back!”
Julie opened her eyes, and looking in the direction of the voice saw Timothy Bixby for the first time. He was one seat ahead of her across the aisle so that she had a clear view of him, a meagre little man, fumbling anxiously through the contents of a suit-case, while a woman in the same seat, her head against a pillow, watched him angrily. It was the woman’s voice that had aroused Julie.
“Itisthere, too!” she repeated. “Oh, why in the name of common sense can’t you ever find anything? Here—get out of the way!”
She shoved the man aside, and stooping an instant, fished in the suit-case, bringing to light a collapsible drinking-cup.
“There! I told you it was there right along,” she announced, flouncing back into her seat. “Now for mercy sake get me that water, so’s I can take a tablet—my head’s just about to split open.”
The little man took the cup in submissive silence and went forward to the water cooler. Julie watched him go down the aisle. He hadsandy hair, and meek, rather drooping shoulders. His progress was zigzag, as he clutched the back of first one seat and then another, tossed from side to side by the speed of the train, which on a down grade now was making up lost time. When, after filling the cup, he turned about, she had a good view of him. He was about thirty years old, with a small spare frame, deprecatory movements, and an anxious frown between his blue eyes. He seemed to be trying desperately hard to cope with life, with a kind of worried patience. But life was against him. Halfway down the car, a small peripatetic child got in his way, and a lurch from the train made him spill the water over its frock.
“Aw—oh!” he cried, a little ejaculation of dismay, and turned helplessly and unhappily to the mother.
“I certainly am sorry, marm,” he apologized, while he fumbled for his handkerchief to wipe the child’s frock. The mother paid no attention whatever to him, but snatching her child to her, removed the small spill of water as though her offspring had been marked by it for life. He repeated, “I’m mighty sorry,” and continued tostand helplessly by, but the woman would not give him even a glance of comfort or forgiveness, so after another uncertain moment he went back for fresh water. As he turned after refilling the cup and again came down the aisle, he was forced to meet the eyes of all the passengers. The small disaster had called momentary attention to him, marking him as it were with an exclamation point, and everybody was staring. The soldiers seized upon him as a butt for their wit.
“Now then, George, steady! Whoa—up! Steady!”
“Mind how you carry yer licker, son!”
“Atta boy!”
He advanced with averted eyes, apparently intent upon the cup, but Julie could see the flush of painful color in his face. The soldiers saw it too and jeered with renewed “Atta boy’s.” Julie knew exactly how he felt. All at once, she knew it so hard, so violently, that suddenly she seemed flowing out of herself to him with a sharp projection of sympathy. He felt her eyes upon him, and just as he reached his seat, looked up with a startled expression. There was a momentary rush of contact between them, close, astonishing,almost suffocating to Julie. An instant they were held in each other’s glance. Then he turned away, and handed the cup to his companion. The woman accepted it ungraciously, and putting a white tablet into her mouth, gulped it down with a swallow of water.
“I never did see anybody as awkward as you,” she said. “Spilling water all over that child! Now for gracious sake, keep still an’ let me be quiet a spell, and see ’f this tablet won’t help my headache some.”
He said nothing, but readjusted her pillow for her, restored the drinking-cup to the bag, and pushed the latter well over to his side to make more room for her, although he was himself uncomfortably squeezed, doing it all with that air of worried endeavor, as though Fate had presented him with a portion of life bigger than he could manage. He had also, Julie observed, a detached manner, a little as though his whole self were not present. It was this aloofness that made her comment inwardly, “Well, he certainly is good to that hateful sister of his.” True, the woman did not look like his sister, but she could not be his wife; surely, she thought, he wouldhave had something different, a fuller, more alive personality, to offer to his mate.
After the suit-case was closed, he looked around again at Julie, but she averted her eyes now, staring away out of the window, and would not let herself glance again at him until the train was nearing Hart’s Run, when she straightened up, and began to gather her bundles together. Then she looked across the aisle, and saw that he and his companion were also making preparations to leave the train. Their suit-case was strapped; the woman had tidied herself up and put on her hat, presenting now an appearance completely in accord with the prevailing style; and when the conductor put his head into the train and shouted “Hart’s Run, Hart’s Run,” they rose and moved out into the aisle. Julie was just behind them as they approached the door. “Well, here we are,” the man said, and both he and his companion stooped down to peer through the windows at Hart’s Run, evidently seeing it for the first time.
“Well, ain’t it the awfulest little hole!” the woman ejaculated.
“Oh, maybe it won’t be so bad,” he offered.
By now they had all three moved out to the platform, waiting for the train to come to a standstill, as the dingy little station slid to meet them.
“Maybe! maybe!” she snorted. “I’m about sick of maybe’s! You’ve been maybe-ing all your life. I just bet before you were born somebody said, ‘Maybe it’ll be a boy,’ an’ that’s just what you are—a kind of a maybe man.” She ended with a burst of laughter, pleased by her own wit.
He made no retort, but Julie, who was standing close beside him now, saw him wince, saw his lips twitch, and his hands tighten spasmodically on the suit-case. For a moment he looked wildly about like a trapped animal seeking escape. As he did so his eyes came full upon Julie’s face. There was such a look of desperation, of trapped and impotent despair in them, that a surge of rage leaped within, sweeping her beyond all the small proprieties, so that she found herself whispering breathlessly behind the woman’s back, “Oh, don’t mind, don’t mind so! I understand—I understand!”
He stared at her a startled, incredulous moment,the color coming up in his face in flood after flood.
The train jerked to a standstill. They were flung together unsteadily for an instant, and then descended the steps.
Julie did not linger. She did not look again at the little man, but stepping past him and his companion, walked quickly along the station platform. Her arms were full of bundles, but she was hardly conscious of them, nor of her feet moving over the boards; the gust of her rage blew her along with a sense of speed and lightness, almost as though she were flying. It was glorious. It lifted her above herself. It set her free. At that moment she was released from all the small constrictions of her life, she was beyond fear of anything, or of any person. Walking thus down the platform she encountered Edward Black. He blocked her way with his great hectoring swagger.
“Oh, I know somep’n, I know somep’n,” he sang.
Julie stopped. She was so angry that her eyes glittered, and a flame seemed to dart out of her white face.
“What do you know?” she demanded.
Edward was surprised and disconcerted. This was not the frightened response he expected from his victim. “Oh, well, never mind,” he muttered, and started to turn away, but Julie stepped quickly after him.
“What do you know?” she repeated furiously.
Again he backed away a step or two. It seemed to him that this enraged little woman might fly at his throat.
“Aw, I was just foolin’, Julie,” he said weakly.
“You saw me sitting out on the church steps last night,” Julie stated clearly and concisely. “Now, what of it?”
“Nothing, Julie, nothing,” he repeated, still retreating sheepishly before her, and uneasily aware that they were attracting attention from the small group of station loafers. But Julie was swept above herself. What people thought, or what they said was a thing beneath her feet now. She did not even hear one of the loafers call out, “That’s right. Miss Julie! Don’t take any foolishness off’n Ed! You got him on the run now. Keep it up!”
“I sat out on the steps because I wanted to,”she continued fiercely. “And what I do is no concern of yours, nor of anybody else’s.”
Edward Black fell away without another word, and Julie continued her progress, still blown along by the gust of her rage. Presently she met Bessie Randolph, who was the wife of Silas Randolph, the president of the bank, a very important person in Hart’s Run.
“See that couple there,” Mrs. Randolph said, joining Julie and pointing out the small man and his companion, who had been met by Wilson McLane, editor of theHart’s Run News. “The man must be the new printer for theNews. Mr. McLane told me he was expecting him by this train. That must be his wife with him.”
“No, it’s his sister,” Julie corrected positively. She was not in the habit of contradicting.
“Oh, then you’re acquainted with them?” the other challenged.
“I never saw them before, but I noticed them on the train, and I know she’s his sister.”
“Well, they don’t either of them look like much,” Mrs. Randolph said with a careless dismissal. “Come on Julie, I’ll ride you home; my car’s right here.”
“I thank you,” Julie responded. “But I reckon I’ll walk.”
Mrs. Randolph stared at her. People did not often so lightly refuse her condescension.
“You better ride with all those bundles,” she urged.
“No—no thank you. I want the walk,” Julie answered. “And besides, I don’t like automobiles. It scares me to ride in them.”
For years Julie had been afraid of motors and for years she had tried to conceal the fact. This was the first time that she had ever dared to acknowledge it, much less to refuse an invitation from the elegant Mrs. Randolph. But now she gave a little indifferent bow of refusal, and went upon her way, still blown along by the gust of her anger, as she saw again in remembrance the incident on the train platform.
“Thathatefulwoman!” she stormed to herself, the sneer on the woman’s face when she had called her companion a “maybe man” still sharp before her mental vision. “The hateful piece!” She found she was repeating over and over: “I know. I understand. I know. Oh,don’ttake it so hard! I know how hateful folksare!—He’s as unfeathered as I am,” she whispered to herself. “Things get at him just like they do me, an’ he don’t know any better how to stand up against them. I understand. I know how it is.—Well, anyhow,” she exulted, “I settled that hateful Ed Black for once! Always picking on me. Tore my paper doll up. Tramped on my cookie. Thought he could keep on bullyin’ me forever, but I settledhimall right!” The careful speech her mother had trained her to had slipped now, and she was reverting to the mountain phraseology.
“Julie! Oh, Julie, wait just a minute—I want to ask you about that crêpe waist of mine.” It was one of Julie’s customers calling to her from a porch. People were in the habit of stopping Julie as she passed along the street, no matter in how much haste she might be, to have her advice about old and decrepit clothes. Although she resented this, Julie usually meekly responded—but not this time.
“Bring your waist into the shop in the morning, and I’ll attend to it,” she called back, continuing upon her way.
She reached home, and unlocking her door,went into her bedroom, then depositing her bundles, removed her hat before the mirror. The face that looked at her was flushed and alive and recreated. It was not at all the haunted and forlorn little countenance that the glass had given back in the morning. Julie lingered a moment, staring at herself and wondering. She was interrupted by Mrs. Sam Wicket who entered after a preliminary knock.
“You back, Julie?” she said. And after Julie had stated that she was back, “Did you speak to Winter and White’s about the stove?” she inquired.
“I did,” Julie returned, “and they’ll write to you about it.”
“Humph! Writin’ ain’t much good. Well, did you do that other little errand for me? I ain’t got a second to stop; my light bread’s ready to come out of the oven right this minute.”
Julie fished out her especial package from the pile on the bed, and handed it over to her.
“Well, I certainly do thank you for all your trouble,” Mrs. Wicket said, and was just turning away, when she paused, struck by a further thought. “Oh, there!” she exclaimed. “What Iwanted to ask you last night was, how you knew Brother Seabrook called on you to pray?”
“I was sitting just outside on the steps and heard him,” Julie returned simply, looking straight at her.
“You—you was sitting on the steps?”
“Yes,” Julie proceeded. “I slipped out because I was afraid to be called on, and after I got outside it was all so sweet and still, I just sat down there for a little bit, till I heard him ask me to lead, an’ then I came home.”
“Well!” Mrs. Wicket ejaculated. She was speechless a moment. Then she burst out. “Well, I think that was the funniest thing!”
“Maybe it was,” Julie interrupted her, “but anyhow I did it.”
“But Julie! Sitting outside on the church steps ’cause you’re afraid to pray?”
“Did you say your bread was in the oven?” Julie inquired.
“Yes, my bread-rolls; yes, that’s right. I got to go.” Mrs. Wicket turned away. “But I do think that’s mighty funny, Julie,” she called back as she went down the walk.
Julie shut her door and sat down in a chair.Suddenly she was extraordinarily limp and exhausted. Her anger with its glorious exaltation had evaporated, leaving her face to face with the appalling things to which it had swept her.
“Why, I told her—I just told her everything right out!” she whispered. “She’ll tell everybody; they’ll all be talking about it now. An’ I was short to Mrs. Silas Randolph, of all people! And look how I answered Kitty Jeffers about her waist. They won’t either of ’em like it. They’ll all be talking about me.” Then her relaxed mind gave back to her—what she had not noticed at the time—the words of encouragement the loafer at the station had cried to her: “That’s right, Julie; don’t take any foolishness off’n Ed! You got him goin’ now!” Why—how awful! Right out there on the station platform! How awful for her to have laid herself open to such conspicuousness! She shuddered, all her nerves tightening once more with self-consciousness, and her cheeks burning. “Oh, what a fool you are! Oh, how they’ll talk about you! They won’t any of ’em understand!” Glancing up, she saw her face again in the mirror, and now it was the same white and anxious reflection thathad looked out at her in the morning. Something in its impotent appeal brought back the look of unprotected despair in the face of the little man on the train. “Oh, I understand, I do understand,” she burst out passionately. “Don’t look that way,don’ttake it so hard! Folks don’t understand, but I do!” And she hardly knew whether her words were addressed to his tragedy or to her own.