248CHAPTER XXXVALONE IN THE SHOP
Later in the day Jordan Morse and Molly Merriweather met at the hospital. They looked into each other’s eyes, not daring to mention the terrible consternation that possessed them.
“Have you heard anything?” murmured Molly, glancing about before speaking.
Jordan nodded his head.
“It’s awful,” he said. “Bates is dead—if you say a word, I’m lost.”
“Depend on me,” Molly assured him. “Oh, how dreadful it all is! Theodore must get well,” she continued in agitation.
“Well, he won’t!” snarled Morse. Then he went on passionately. “Molly, I swear I didn’t intend to shoothim. I was mad clear through and aimed at the cobbler.”
“Hush!” warned Molly. “Some one’s coming.”
A young doctor approached them with gravity.
“Mr. King?” murmured Molly.
“Is slowly failing. The bullet found a vital spot––”
“And the other man—Bates? Is it true he’s dead?” interjected Morse eagerly.
“Yes, he died shortly after the tragedy. It’s all a mystery, but I think they’ve arrested the guilty man.”
Both listeners stared at the speaker as if he’d told them the world had come to an end. It was Morse who managed to mutter:249
“What man?”
“Haven’t you heard? They’ve arrested Lafe Grandoken. The shooting occurred in his cobbling shop, and the gun was found as proof of his crime. Of course, like all Jews, he’s trying to invent a story in his own favor.... He’s undoubtedly the criminal.”
Not until they were in the street did Jordan express himself to Molly.
“What heavenly luck! So they’ve arrested Grandoken. If Theodore lives––”
Molly clutched his arm.
“Oh, he must! He must! Jordan! I shall die myself if he doesn’t.”
Jordan Morse turned sharply upon her.
“Don’t throw a fit right here. You’re not the only one suffering. My atmosphere is cleared a little with Grandoken’s arrest, though.”
“But you’ve still to reckon with Jinnie,” ventured Molly.
“Easy now,” returned the man. “I’ll get her before Theodore is well.”
“Take me home,” pleaded Molly wearily. “Such a day as this is enough to ruin all the good looks a woman ever had.”
Disgustedly, Jordan flung open the motor door.
“Well, my God, you’ve got about as much brains and heart as a chipmunk. Climb in!”
Later, as the two separated, Morse said, with low-pitched voice:
“Now, then, I’m going to plan to get Jinnie. Might’s well be hung for a sheep’s a lamb––I’m just as well satisfied that Bates is dead. After I secure Jinnie—then for my boy. God! I can scarcely wait until I have him.”
Miss Merriweather went into the house in utter exhaustion,250nor did she pause to take off her hat before telling Theodore’s mother the little she could to encourage her.
If Molly was suffering over the crime which had sent the man she loved to the hospital, Jinnie was going through thrice that agony for the same man. He had almost met his death in coming to tell Lafe of their love, and had been struck down in his mission by an unknown hand. Jinnie knew it was an unknown hand, because just as sure as she lived, so sure was she that Lafe had not committed the crime. The cobbler had explained it all to her, and she believed him. Peggy was dreadfully ill! After her fainting spell, the girl put Mrs. Grandoken to bed, and then went to comfort Bobbie. She found him huddled on his pillow, clasping Happy Pete in his arms. The small face was streaked with tears and half buried from sight.
“Bobbie,” called Jinnie softly.
The yellow head came up with a jerk, the flashing grey eyes begging in mute helplessness an explanation for these unusual happenings.
“I’m here, Jinnie. What’s the matter with everybody?”
Jinnie lay down beside him.
“Peggy’s sick,” she said, not daring to say more.
“Where’s Lafe?”
An impulsive arm went across the child’s body.
“He’s gone away for a little while, dear, just for a few days!”
Something in her tones made Bobbie writhe. With the acuteness of one with his affliction, his ears had caught the commotion in the shop.
“But he can’t walk, Jinnie. Did he walk?” he demanded.
“No.”
“How’d he go, in a motor car?”251
“No,” repeated the girl.
“Some one took him, then?” demanded Bobbie.
“Yes.”
“In a wagon?”
By this time she could feel the tip-tap of his anguished heart against hers.
“Yes,” she admitted, but that was all. She felt that to tell the truth then would be fatal to the throbbing young life in her arms.
“Bobbie,” she whispered, cuddling him. “Lafe’s coming home soon. Be a good boy and lie still and rest. Jinnie’ll come back in a few minutes.”
She crawled off the bed, and went to the shop door. By main force she had to drag her unwilling feet over the threshold. She stood for two tense minutes scanning the room with pathetic keenness. Then she walked forward and stood beside the bench. It seemed to be sentiently alive with the magnetism of the man who had lately occupied it. Jinnie sat on it, a cry bursting from her white lips. She wanted to be with him, but she had promised to take care of Peggy, and she would rather die than betray that trust. Her eyes fell upon two dark spots upon the floor, one near the door and one almost under her feet. She shuddered as she realized it was blood. Then she went to the kitchen for water and washed it away. This done, she gathered up Lafe’s tools, reverently kissing each one as she laid it in the box under the bench. How lonely the shop looked in the gathering gloom! To dissipate the lengthening shadows in the corners, she lighted the lamp. The flickering flame brought back keenly the hours she had spent with Lafe—hours in which she had learned so much. The whole horror that had fallen on the household rushed over her being like a tidal wave over a city. Misery of the most exquisite kind252was tearing her heart in pieces, stabbing her throat with long, forklike pains. Tense throat muscles caught and clung together, choking back her breath until she lay down, full length, upon the cobbler’s bench.
In poignant grief she thought of the expression of Lafe’s face when he had been wheeled from the room. His voice came back through the faint light.
“He has given His angels charge over thee, lassie.”
But how could she believe in the angels, with Lafe in prison and Theodore dying? She got up, spent and worn with weeping, and went in to Peggy, sitting for a few minutes beside the agonized woman, but she could not say one word to make that agony less. In losing the two strong friends, she had lost her faith too. Peg’s face was turned to the wall, and as she didn’t answer when the girl laid her hand on her shoulder, Jinnie tiptoed out. In her own room she lay for seemingly century-long hours with Bobbie pressed tightly to her breast.
253CHAPTER XXXVIJINNIE EXPLAINS THE DEATH CHAIR TO BOBBIE
Seven days had dragged their seemingly slow length from seconds to minutes, from minutes to hours, from hours to days. In the cobbler’s shop Jinnie and Bobbie waited in breathless anxiety for Peg’s return. She had gone to the district attorney for permission to visit her husband in his cell. Nearly three hours had passed since her departure, and few other thoughts were in the mind of the girl save the passionate wish for news of her two beloved friends. She was standing by the window looking out upon the tracks, and as a heavy train steamed past she counted the cars with melancholy rhythm. There came to her mind the day she had found Bobbie on the hill, and all the sweet moments since when the cobbler had been with them. She choked back a sob that made a little noise in her tightened throat.
Bobbie stumbled his unseeing way to her and shoved a small, cold hand into hers.
“Jinnie’s sad,” he murmured. “Bobbie’s stars’re blinkin’ out.”
Mrs. Grandoken and Jinnie had come to an understanding that Bobbie should not know of the cobbler’s trouble, so the strong fingers closed over the little ones, but the girl did not speak. At length she caught a glimpse of Peg, who, with bent head, was stumbling across the tracks. Peggy had failed in her mission! Jinnie knew254it because the woman did not look up as she came within sight of the house.
As Mrs. Grandoken entered slowly, Jinnie turned to her.
“You didn’t see him?” she said in a tone half exclamation, half question.
“No,” responded Peg, wearily, sitting down. “I waited ’most two hours for the lawyer, an’ when he come, I begged harder’n anything, but it didn’t do no good. He says I can’t see my man for a long time. I guess they’re tryin’ to make him confess he killed Maudlin.”
Jinnie’s hand clutched frantically at the other’s arm. Both women had forgotten the presence of the blind child.
“He wouldn’t do that,” cried Jinnie, panic-stricken. “A man can’t own up to doing a thing he didn’t do.”
“Course not,” whispered Bobbie, in an awed whisper, and the girl sat down, drawing him to her lap. She could no longer guard her tongue nor hide her feelings. She took the afternoon paper from Mrs. Grandoken’s hand.
“Read about it aloud,” implored the woman.
“It says,” began Jinnie, “Mr. King’s dying.”
The paper fluttered from her hand, and she sat like a small graven image. To see those words so cruelly set in black and white, staring at her with frightful truth, harrowed the very soul of her. A sobbing outburst from Bobbie mingled with the soft chug, chug of the engine outside on the track. Happy Pete, too, felt the tragedy in the air. He wriggled nearer his young mistress and rested his pointed nose on one of her knees, while his twinkling yellow eyes demanded, in their eloquent way, to know the cause of his loved ones’ sorrow.
Peggy broke a painful pause.
“Everybody in town says Lafe done it,” she groaned, “an’––” she caught her breath. “Oh, God! it seems I can’t stand it much longer!”255
Jinnie got up, putting the limp boy in her chair. She was making a masterful effort to be brave, to restrain the rush of emotion demanding utterance. Some beating thing in her side ached as if it were about to burst. But she stood still until Peg spoke again.
“It’s all bad business, Jinnie! an’ I can’t see no help comin’ from anywhere.”
If Peg’s head hadn’t fallen suddenly into her hands, perhaps Jinnie wouldn’t have collapsed just then. As it was, her knees gave way, and she fell forward beside the cobbler’s wife. Bobbie, in his helpless way, knelt too.
Since Lafe’s arrest the girl had not prayed, nor could she recall the promises Lafe had taught her were made for the troubled in spirit. Could she now say anything to make Peg’s suffering less, even if she did not believe it all herself?
“Peg,” she pleaded, “don’t shiver so!... Hold up your head.... I want to tell you something.”
Peggy made a negative gesture.
“It ain’t to be bore, Jinnie,” she moaned hoarsely.
“Lafe ain’t no chance. They’ll put him in the chair.”
Such awful words! The import was pressed deeper into two young hearts by Peg’s wild weeping.
Jinnie staggered to her feet. Blind Bobbie broke into a prolonged wail.
“Lafe ain’t never done nothin’ bad in all his life,” went on the woman, from the shelter of her hands. “He’s the best man in the world. He’s worked an’ worked for everybody, an’ most times never got no pay. An’ now––”
“Don’t say it again, Peggy!” Jinnie’s voice rang out. “Don’t think such things. They couldn’t put Lafe in a wicked death chair—theycouldn’t.”
Bobbie’s upraised eyes were trying to pierce through their veil of darkness to seek the speaker’s meaning.256
“What chair, Jinnie?” he quivered. “What kind of a chair’re they goin’ to put my beautiful Lafe in?”
Jinnie’s mind went back to the teachings of the cobbler, and the slow, sweet, painful smile intermingled with her agony. Again and again the memory of the words, “He hath given his angels charge over thee,” swelled her heart to the breaking point. She wanted to believe, to feel again that ecstatic faith which had suffused her as Maudlin Bates pulled her curls in the marsh, when she had called unto the Infinite and Theodore had answered.
Peg needed Lafe’s angels at that moment. They all needed the comfort of the cobbler’s faith.
“Peg,” she began, “your man’d tell you something sweet if he could see you now.”
Peg ceased writhing, but didn’t lift her face. Jinnie knew she was listening, and continued:
“Haven’t you heard him many a time, when there wasn’t any wood in the house or any bread to eat, tell you about—about––”
Down dropped the woman’s hands, and she lifted a woebegone face to her young questioner.
“Yes, I’ve heard him, Jinnie,” she quavered, “but I ain’t never believed it!”
“But you can, Peggy! You can, sure! Lots of times Lafe’d say, ‘Now, Jinnie, watch God and me!’ And I watched, and sure right on the minute came the money.” She paused a moment, ruminating. “That money we got the day he went away came because he prayed for it.”
The girl was reverently earnest.
“Lafe’s got a chance, all right,” she pursued, keeping Peg’s eye. “More’n a chance, if—if—if––Oh, Peggy, we’ve got to pray!”
“I don’t know how,” said Peg, in stifled tones.
Jinnie’s face lighted with a mental argument Lafe had257thrown at her in her moments of distrust. She was deep in despondency, but something had to be done.
“Peg, you don’t need to know anything about it. I didn’t when I came here. Lafe says––”
“What’d Lafe say?” cut in Peggy.
“That you must just tell God about it––” Jinnie lifted a white, lovely face. “He’s everywhere—not away off,” she proceeded. “Talk to Him just like you would to Lafe or me.”
Mrs. Grandoken sunk lower in her chair.
“I wisht I’d learnt when Lafe was here. Now I dunno how.”
“But will you try?” Jinnie pleaded after a little.
“You know ’em better’n I do, Jinnie,” Peg muttered, dejectedly. “You ask if it’ll do any good.”
Jinnie cleared her throat, coughed, and murmured:
“Close your eyes, Bobbie.”
Bobbie shut his lids with a gulping sob, and so did Peg.
Then Jinnie began in a low, constrained voice:
“God and your angels hovering about Lafe, please send him back to the shop. Get him out of jail, and don’t let anybody hurt him. Amen.”
“Don’t let any chair hurt my beautiful cobbler,” wailed Bobbie, in a new paroxysm of grief. “Gimme Lafe an’ my stars.”
In another instant Peggy staggered out of the room, leaving the blind boy and Jinnie alone.
As the door closed, Bobbie’s voice rose in louder appeal. Happy Pete touched him tenderly with a cold, wet nose, crawling into his arms with a little whine.
Jinnie looked at her two charges hopelessly. She knew not how to comfort them, nor could she frame words that would still the agony of the child. Yet she lifted Bobbie and Happy Pete and sat down with them on her lap.258
“Don’t cry, honey,” she stammered. “There! There! Jinnie’ll rock you.”
Her face was ashen with anxiety, and perspiration stood in large drops upon her brow. Mechanically she drew her sleeve across her face.
“I’m going to ask you to be awful good, Bobbie,” she pleaded presently. “Lafe’s being arrested is hard on Peg—and she’s sick.”
Bobbie burst in on her words.
“But they’ll sit my cobbler in a wicked chair, and kill him, Jinnie. Peggy said they would.”
“You remember, Bobbie,” soothed the girl, “what Lafe said about God’s angels, don’t you?”
The yellow head bent forward in assent.
“And how they’re stronger’n a whole bunch of men?”
“Yes,” breathed Bobbie; “but the chair—the men’ve got that, an’ mebbe the angels’ll be busy when they’re puttin’ the cobbler in it.”
This idea made him shriek out louder than before: “They’ll kill Lafe! Oh, Jinnie, they will!”
“They can’t!” denied Jinnie, rigidly. “They can’t! Listen, Bobbie.”
The wan, unsmiling blind face brought the girl’s lips hard upon it.
“I want to know all about the death chair,” he whimpered stubbornly.
“Bobbie,” she breathed, “will you believe me if I tell you about it?”
“Yes,” promised Bobbie, snuggling nearer.
“Hang on to Pete, and I will tell you,” said Jinnie.
“I’m hangin’ to ’im,” sighed Bobbie, touching Pete’s shaggy forelock. “Tell me about the chair.”
Jinnie was searching her brain for an argument to satisfy him. She wouldn’t have lied for her own welfare—but259for Bobbie—she could feel the weak, small heart palpitating against her arm.
“Well, in the first place,” she began deliberately, “Peg doesn’t know everything about murders. Why, Bobbie, they don’t do anything at all to men like Lafe. Why, a cobbler, dear, a cobbler could kill everybody in the whole world if he liked.”
Bobbie’s breath was sent out in one long exclamation of wonder.
“A cobbler,” went on Jinnie impressively, “could steal loaves of bread right under a great judge’s nose and he couldn’t do anything to him.”
Jinnie had made a daring speech, such a splendid one; she wanted to believe it herself.
“Tell me more,” chirped Bobbie. “What about the death chair, Jinnie?”
She had nursed the hope that the boy would be satisfied with what she had already told him, but she proceeded in triumphant tones:
“Oh, you mean the chair Peg was speaking about, huh? Sure I know all about that.... There isn’t anything I don’t know about it.... I know more’n all the judges and preachers put together.”
A small, trustful smile appeared at the corners of Bobbie’s mouth.
“I know you do, Jinnie,” he agreed. “Tell it to me.”
Jinnie pressed her lips on his hair.
“And if I tell you, kiddie, you’ll not cry any more or worry Peggy?”
“I’ll be awful good, and not cry once,” promised the boy, settling himself expectantly.
“Now, then, listen hard!”
Accordingly, after a dramatic pause, to give stress to her next statement, she continued:260
“There isn’t a death chair in the whole world can kill a cobbler.”
Bobbie braced himself against her and sat up. His blind eyes were roving over her with an expression of disbelief. Jinnie knew he was doubting her veracity, so she hurried on.
“Of course they got an electric chair that’ll kill other kinds of men,” she explained volubly, “but if you’ll believe me, Bobbie, no cobbler could ever sit in it.”
Bobbie dropped back again. There was a ring of truth in Jinnie’s words, and he began to believe her.
“And another thing, Bobbie, there’s something in the Bible better’n what I’ve told you. You believe the Bible, don’t you?”
“Lafe’s Bible?” asked Bobbie, scarcely audible.
“Sure! There isn’t but one.”
“Yes, Jinnie, I believe that,” said the boy.
“Well,” and Jinnie glanced up at the ceiling, “there’s just about a hundred pages in that book tells how once some men tried to put a cobbler in one of those chairs, and the lightning jumped out and set ’em all on fire––”
Bobbie straightened up so quickly that Happy Pete fell to the floor.
“Yes, yes, Jinnie dear,” he breathed. “Go on!”
Jinnie hesitated. She didn’t want to fabricate further.
“It’s just so awful I hate to tell you,” she objected.
“I’d be happier if you would,” whispered Bobbie.
“Then I will! The fire, jumping out, didn’t hurt the cobbler one wee bit, but it burned the wicked men––” Jinnie paused, gathered a deep breath, and brought to mind Lafe’s droning voice when he had used the same words, “Burned ’em root and branch,” declared she.
Bobbie’s face shone with happiness.
“Is that all?” he begged.261
“Isn’t it enough?” asked Jinnie, with tender chiding.
“Aren’t there nothin’ in it about Lafe?”
“Oh, sure!” Again she was at loss for ideas, but somehow words of their own volition seemed to spring from her lips. “Sure there is! There’s another hundred pages in that blessed book that says good men like Lafe won’t ever go into one of those chairs, never, never.... The Lord God Almighty ordered all those death chairs to be chopped up for kindling wood,” she ended triumphantly.
“Shortwood?” broke out Bobbie.
Unheeding the interruption, Jinnie pursued: “They just left a chair for wicked men, that’s all.”
Bobbie slipped to the floor and raised his hands.
“Jinnie, pretty Jinnie. I’m goin’ to believe every word you’ve said, every word, and my stars’re all shinin’ so bright they’re just like them in the sky.”
Jinnie kissed the eager little face and left the child sitting on the floor, crooning contentedly to Happy Pete.
“Lafe told me once,” Jinnie whispered to herself on the way to the kitchen, “when a lie does a lot of good, it’s better than the truth if telling facts hurts some one.”
She joined Peggy, sighing, “I’m an awful liar, all right, but Bobbie’s happy.”
262CHAPTER XXXVIIWHAT THE THUNDER STORM BROUGHT
In the past few weeks Jinnie Grandoken had been driven blindly into unknown places, forced to face conditions which but a short time before would have seemed unbearable. However, there was much with which Jinnie could occupy her time. Blind Bobbie was not well. He was mourning for the cobbler with all his boyish young soul, and every day Peggy grew more taciturn and ill. The funds left by Theodore were nearly gone, and Jinnie had given up her lessons. She was using the remaining money for their meagre necessities.
So slowly did the days drag by that the girl had grown to believe that the authorities would never bring Lafe to trial, exonerate him, and send him home. Then, too, Theodore was still in the hospital, and she thought of him ever with a sense of terrific loss. But the daily papers brought her news of him, and now printed that his splendid constitution might pull him through. It never occurred to her that her loved one would believe Lafe had shot him and Maudlin Bates. Theodore was too wise, too kindly, for such suspicions.
For a while after receiving permission from the county attorney, she visited Lafe every day. Peggy had seen him only once, being too miserable to stand the strain of going to the jail. But Mrs. Grandoken never neglected sending by the girl some little remembrance to her husband.263Perhaps it was only a written message, but mostly a favorite dish of food or an article of his wearing apparel.
One afternoon Bobbie sat by the window with his small, pale face pressed close to the pane. Outside a great storm was raging, and from one end of Paradise Road to the other, rivulets of water rushed down to the lake. Several times that day, when the boy had addressed Mrs. Grandoken, she had answered him even more gruffly than of yore. He knew by her voice she was ill, and his palpitating heart was wrung so agonizingly that he was constantly in tears. Now he was waiting for Jinnie, and the sound of the buffeting rain and the booming roar of heavy thunder thrilled him dismally. To hear Jinnie’s footsteps at that moment would be the panacea for all his grief.
Peg came into the shop, and Bobbie turned slightly.
“Jinnie’s stayin’ awful long at the jail to-day,” said the woman fretfully. “Do you hear her comin’, Bobbie?”
“No,” said Bobbie, “I’ve been stretchin’ my ears almost to the hill to hear her. If she doesn’t come soon, I’ll die—my stars’ve been gone a long time.”
“I wish she’d come,” sighed Mrs. Grandoken.
“Bend over here, Peg,” entreated Bobbie, “I want to touch your eyes!”
Without comment the woman leaned over, and the boy’s fingers wavered over her wrinkled countenance.
“You’re awful sick, dearie,” he grieved, pressing against her. “Can Blind Bobbie do anything?”
Peg dropped her arm around him.
“I’m afraid,” she whispered. “I wish Lafe and Jinnie was here.”
One long shiver shook Bobbie’s slender body. That Peg could ever be afraid was a new idea to him. It terrified him even to contemplate it. He began to sob wistfully, but in another instant raised his head.264
“She’s comin’,” he cried sharply. “I hear ’er. I got two stars, mebbe three.”
When Jinnie opened the door, the water was dripping from her clothes, and her hair hung in long, wet curls to her waist. One look into Peg’s twisted, pain-ridden face, and she understood.
“I’m glad you’re here,” said the woman, with a gesture of helplessness. And Bobbie echoed, with fluttering hands, “I’m glad, too, Jinnie. Me and Peg was so ’fraid.”
The girl spoke softly to Bobbie, and drew Peggy into the bedroom. There, with her arm thrown across Mrs. Grandoken’s shoulder, she gave all the assurance and comfort of which she was capable.
Long after midnight, the rain still came down in thrashing torrents, and through the pieces of broken tin on the roof the wind shrilled dismally.
There was a solemn hush in the back bedroom where Peggy lay staring at the ceiling. In front of the shadowy lamp was a bit of cardboard to protect the sick woman’s eyes from the light. At Peggy’s side sat Jinnie, and in her arms lay a small bundle. Jinnie had gained much knowledge in the last few hours. She had discovered the mystery of all existence. She had seen Peg go down into that wonderful valley of life and bring back Lafe’s little boy baby, and the girl’s eyes held an expression of impenetrable things. She moved her position slightly so as to study Mrs. Grandoken’s face.
Suddenly Peg’s eyes lowered.
“Jinnie, gimme a drink, will you?”
Placing the child on the bed, the girl got up instantly. She went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of milk. It had scarcely touched the woman’s lips before she raised her hand and pushed it away.
“I mustn’t drink that,” she whispered feebly.265
“I got it specially for you, Peggy dear,” insisted Jinnie.... “Drink it,” she wheedled, “please.”
Then Jinnie sat down again, listening as the elements kept up their continuous rioting, and after a while they lulled her to rest. Suddenly her head dropped softly on the bundle in her arms, and the three—Peggy, Jinnie and the tiny Jewish baby—slept.
Jinnie’s name, spoken in low tones, roused her quickly. She raised her head, a sharp pain twisting her neck. Peggy was looking at her, with misery in her face.
“I feel awful sick, Jinnie,” she moaned. “Can’t you say somethin’ t’me, somethin’ to make me feel better?”
Something to make her feel better! The words touched the listener deeply. Oh, how she wanted to help! To alleviate Peg’s suffering was her one desire. If it had been Bobbie, or even Lafe, Jinnie would have known exactly what to say; but Peggy, proud, stoical Peggy!
“Let me put the baby with you where it’s warm, Peg,” she said, gently. “I’m going to talk to you a minute.... There, now, you’re all safe, little mister, near your mammy’s heart.”
Then she knelt down by the bed and took the woman’s hot fingers in hers.
“Peggy,” she began softly, “things look awful bad just now, but Lafe told me once, when they looked that way, it was time for some one to come along and help. I’ll tell you about it, Peg! Eh?”
“Who c’n come?” demanded Mrs. Grandoken, irritably. “Mr. King can’t, an’ we hain’t no other friends who’ll come to a cobbler’s shop.”
The question in her voice gave Jinnie the chance she was looking for.
“Yes, there is,” she insisted. “Now listen, while I say something; will you?”266
“Sure,” said Peg, squeezing Jinnie’s fingers.
Then Jinnie started to repeat a few verses Lafe had taught her. She couldn’t tell exactly where they were in the Bible, but the promise in them had always made her own burdens lighter, and since seeing Lafe daily, she had partially come back to her former trust.
“‘The Lord is my Shepherd,’” she droned sleepily. Then on and on until she came to, “‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,’” and Peg broke into a sob.
“‘I will fear no evil,’” soothed Jinnie, amid the roaring of the wind and the crackling of the thunder over the hill.
“‘For thou art with me,’” she finished brokenly. “He’s the one I was talking about, Peggy. He’ll help us all if we can believe and be––”
Then she quickly ended, “Happy in Spite.”
Peg continued to sob. One arm was across her baby boy protectingly, and the other hand Jinnie held in hers.
“Somehow things seem easier, Peggy, when you hold your head up high, and believe everything’ll come all right.... Lafe said so; that’s why he started the club.”
“I wisht I could think that way. I’m near dead,” groaned the woman.
Jinnie smoothed the soft, grey-streaked hair.
“Wouldn’t you like to come into the club, dear?” she faltered, scarcely daring to put the question. “Then you’ll be happy with us all—with Lafe and Bobbie and—and––”
Jinnie wanted to say another name, but doubted its wisdom—and then abruptly it came; “and Jinnie,” she finished.
Peggy almost sat up in bed.
“Darlin’,” she quivered. “Darlin’ girl, I’ve been cussed267mean to Lafe an’ you. I’ve told you many a time with my own mouth I hated you, but God knows, an’ Lafe knows, I loved you the minute I set eyes on you.” She dropped back on the pillow and continued, “If you’ll take me in your club, an’ learn me how to believe, I’ll try; I swear I will.”
For a long time Jinnie sat crooning over and over the verses she’d learned from Lafe, and bye-and-bye she heard Peg breathing regularly and knew she slept. Then she settled herself in the chair, and sweet, mysterious dreams came to her through the storm.
268CHAPTER XXXVIIITHE STORY OF A BIRD
Lafe Grandoken, in his wheel chair, sat under the barred prison window, an open Bible on his knees. Slowly the shadows were falling about him, and to the man every shade had an entity of its own. First there trooped before him all the old memories of the many yesterdays—of Peg—his little dead lad—and Jinnie. And lastly, ghostlike, came the shattered hopes of to-morrow, and with these he groaned and shivered.
Jinnie stole in and looked long upon her friend through the iron-latticed door. The smile that played with the dimples in her cheeks and the dancing shadows in the violet eyes indicated her happiness. Lafe looked older and thinner than ever before, and her heart sang when she thought of the news she had to tell him. She longed to pronounce his name, to take away the far-away expression that seemed to hold him in deep meditation. During her tramp to the jail she’d concocted a fairy story to bring a smile to the cobbler’s lips. So at length:
“Lafe,” she whispered.
Mr. Grandoken’s head came up quickly, and he turned the chair and wheeled toward her. There was the same question in his eyes that had been there for so many days, and Jinnie smiled broadly.
“Lafe,” she began mysteriously, “a great big bird flew right into the house last night. He flopped in to get out of the storm!”269
“A bird?” repeated Lafe, startled.
“Yes, and everybody says it’s awful good luck.”
Lafe’s expression grew tragic, and Jinnie hurried on with her tale.
“I’ll bet you can’t guess what kind of a bird ’twas, Lafe.”
Lafe shook his head. “I can’t lessen ’twas a robin,” said he.
Jinnie giggled.
“My, no! He was a heap bigger’n a robin. Guess again!”
Such chatter from Jinnie was unusual, especially of late, but Lafe bore it patiently.
“I can’t,” he sighed, shaking his head.
Jinnie clapped her hands.
“I knew you couldn’t! Well, Lafe, it was a—a––”
“Yes?” queried Lafe wearily, during her hesitation. “Well, Jinnie?”
“It was a great, big, beautiful white stork, Lafe, and he brought you a new Jew baby. What’d you think of that?”
“Jinnie, girl, lass, you ain’t tellin’ me––”
“Yes, dear, he’s there, as big as life and twice as natural, Peg says.... Of course,” she rambled on, “the stork went away, but the Jew baby—to make a long story short, he’s with––”
“His ma, eh, dear?” interjected Lafe. “How’s Peg, honey?”
“Oh, she’s fine,” replied Jinnie, “and I’ve a lot to tell you, dearest.”
“Begin,” commanded Lafe, with wide, bright eyes.
Jinnie commenced by telling how lovely the baby was. Of course she didn’t rehearse Peg’s suffering. It wouldn’t do any good.270
“And the baby looks like you, Lafe,” she observed.
“Does he really?” gasped Lafe, trying to smile.
“He’s got your Jew look ’round his nose,” added Jinnie gravely. “You wanted him to look like you, didn’t you, Lafe?”
“Sure, Jinnie. And now about Peggy? Tell me about Peggy.”
“Peggy’s with us, Lafe––” Jinnie stopped and drew a long breath. “What’d you think? Oh—guess!”
“I couldn’t! Tell me, Jinnie! Don’t keep me waitin’ for good things.”
“Peggy’s in the ‘Happy in Spite’, and I’m learning her all the verses you taught me.”
Then Lafe’s head dropped on his hands and tears trickled through his fingers.
“I wish I could see her,” he groaned deeply.
“When she gets well, you can,” promised Jinnie, “and mebbe the baby.”
Lafe’s head was raised quickly and his eyes sparkled.
“I’d love to see ’em both,” was all he could stammer.
The girl thrust her fingers through the bars to him, and they stood thus, regarding each other in all confidence and faith, until Jinnie dropped his hand.
“Mr. King’s getting well,” she said softly.
“I’m glad, very glad. He don’t think I done it, does he, Jinnie?”
“No, and when I see him I’ll tell him you didn’t.”
And as if that settled it, she turned to go; then hesitating, she smiled upon him.
“Give me four nice kisses, Lafe. I’ll take one to Peg, Bobbie, and the baby, and keep one for myself.” Then after their lips had met through the bars in resounding smacks, Jinnie gasped, “We can’t forget Milly Ann and Happy Pete. Two more, honey!”271
“God bless you, Jinnie lass,” murmured Lafe, trying to hide his emotion, and then he wheeled quickly back into the falling afternoon light under the window.
Jinnie’s energetic mind was busy with a scheme. She wasn’t sure it would meet with Peg’s approval, but when she arrived home, she sat down beside Mrs. Grandoken.
“Now, Peggy,” she began emphatically, “I want you to pay attention to what I’m saying to you.”
“I will,” said Peggy.
“Lafe wants to see the baby!”
“Now?” asked Mrs. Grandoken, surprised.
“Well, he didn’t say just now, but his eyes asked it, and, Peg, I was wondering if I couldn’t take the little kid up to the jail.”
Peggy shook her head.
“They wouldn’t let you in with ’im,” she objected.
Jinnie thought a long time. Presently she laughed a little, chuckling laugh.
“I know how to get him in there!”
“How?” asked Peggy, incredulously.
“Why, everybody knows I’ve been a shortwood girl. I’ll roll him up in a bundle––”
Peg’s hand sought the little body under the covers protectingly.
“Oh, I won’t hurt him, Peg,” assured Jinnie. “We’ll wrap him up the first fine day! You can do it yourself, dear.”
One week later Jinnie went slowly up the incline that led to the prison. On her back was a shortwood strap filled with brush and small twigs.
“I want to see Lafe Grandoken,” she said.
To surprise Lafe she crept softly along the corridor until she halted at his cell door. She could see him plainly, and the troubled lines were almost erased from between his272brows. She was glad of that, for she wanted him to smile, to be “Happy in Spite.”
She called his name and he turned, wheeling toward her.
“I hoped you’d be comin’,” he said, smiling gravely. Then noting the shortwood, he exclaimed, “Have you had to go to work again, lass?”
“Just for to-day,” and Jinnie displayed her white teeth in a broad smile. “I’ve brought you something, Lafe, and I wrapped it up in shortwood.”
The girl carefully slipped the strap from her shoulders and sat down beside it on the floor. Watching eagerly, Lafe peered between the bars, for surely his Peggy had sent him some token of her love. The girl paused and looked up.
“Shut your eyes tight, Lafe,” she commanded playfully.
Lafe closed his eyes, wrinkling down his lids. Then Jinnie lifted the baby and uncovered the small face. The little chap opened his eyes and yawned as the girl held him close to the bars.
“Now, Lafe, quick! Look! Ha! It’s a Jew!”
The cobbler’s eyes flew open, and he was staring squarely into a small, rosy, open-eyed baby face. For a moment he thought he was dreaming—dreaming a dream he had dreamed every night since the thunder storm. He caught at his chin to stay the chattering of his teeth.
“It ain’t him, Jinnie, my Jew baby?” he murmured brokenly.
“Yes, ’tis,” and she laughed. “It’s your own little feller. I brought him to get a kiss from his daddy. Kiss him! Kiss him smack on the mouth, Lafe.”
And Lafe kissed his baby—kissed him once, twice, and three times, gulping hard after each caress. He would never have enough of those sweet kisses, never, never! And as his lips descended reverently upon the smooth, rose-colored273skin, Mr. Grandoken laughed, and Jinnie laughed, and the baby, too, wrinkled up his nose.
“Lafe,” Jinnie said tenderly, drawing the baby away, “I knew you wanted to see him; didn’t you?”
Lafe nodded. “An’ I’ll never be able to thank you for this, Jinnie.... Let me kiss him once more.... Oh, ain’t he beautiful?”
Just before the girl wrapped the boy again in the shortwood, she suggested,
“Lafe, what’s against taking him into the ‘Happy in Spite’? He’s happier’n any kid in the whole world, having you for a daddy and Peg for his mother.”
Jinnie thrust the baby’s plump hand through the bars, and Lafe, with tears in his eyes, shook it tenderly, then kissed it.
“Lafe Grandoken, Jr,” he whispered, “you’re now a member of the ‘Happy in Spite’ Club.”
And then Jinnie took the baby back to Peggy.