CHAPTER XXIIThe Repudiation
A week after the arrival of Frederick and Madelene Graves in Ithaca, Tessibel Skinner sat sewing near the kitchen stove and talking to Andy Bishop in the shanty garret. Outside the wind gusted over the lake, the snow birds making shrill, protesting twitters against the coming blizzard.
"You ain't mournin' 'bout somethin', kiddie, be ye?" whispered the dwarf from the hole in the ceiling.
"A little," she confessed, glancing up at the dwarf, while she knotted the thread. "I air jest thinking how awful it air fer Daddy to sleep so hard. That medicine he takes must be awful strong."
"So it air, brat, but he don't suffer," comforted Andy.
"Get back, Andy," warned Tess, getting up. "Some one air walkin' in the lane."
She could hear the steps plainly, now. Whoever it was paused in front of the shack. When the knock came, she placed her sewing on the chair. With a glance at the attic, she walked forward and took down the bar. The opening door revealed Frederick Graves standing in the falling snow.
"I've come back, Tess," he breathed brokenly.
The girl staggered back speechless to the middle of the room. Dismayed eyes sought Frederick's, eloquently demanding a reason for his coming. The boy followed her swiftly in and closed the door. How ill she looked! God, could it have been his own conduct that had made Tessibel so fragile! He had promised to love and cherish her forever. The thought that he could revivify her by the very strength of his overflowing love took him forward a step. Tess looked helplessly about and retreated a little.
"Daddy's sick," she murmured.
"I'm sorry. I'm very sorry, dear.... I had to see you, Tessibel," cried Frederick, passionately. "I hurried back from abroad because of you, my darling.... Oh, Tess dear—"
Tessibel made a dissenting gesture.
"Please go away," said she, in agitation. "Go away, please."
Instead of obeying her, the boy came nearer.
"I can't go!" he answered hoarsely, running his fingers through his thick hair. "I've suffered horribly for what I've done.... Tess, don't make me suffer any more—Oh, darling, please understand—"
"I air understandin'," interrupted Tess, steadying herself. "Ye can't do nothin' now.... Won't ye please go?"
"No," replied Frederick, setting his teeth sharply. "No, I won't! I came to tell you what I want you to do."
Tessibel sank into the chair, her legs refusing to hold her up any longer. Frederick was looking down at her sorrowfully. How could he ever have left her? His excuse about his mother's needing money now seemed small and unimportant. How like a glorious golden mantle her curls encompassed her! A spasmodic desire to twine them again around his fingers gripped him. He wanted to take her in his arms, to love her, to be loved in return, as she had loved him on the ragged rocks. How beautiful she was—yet how frail and worn! It seemed as if the ice that had warped and frozen his heart to a hard, unresponsive mass, during the months with Madelene, was melting in the presence of the girl he loved. His soul had thirsted for the sight of her, his arms yearned to hold and press her close. He stood a moment undecided, then suddenly bent forward and drew her forcibly to him. Groaning deeply, he dropped his hot lips upon her neck, and Tessibel started back as if he'd stung her.
"If you look at me so cold and white, Tess," he moaned, "I shall—I'll—"
Then he sought for her lips and found them, kissing her stormily until she felt a keen sense of terror andphysical pain. His passionate insistence carried her completely out of herself for the instant.
"Tess, Tess!" he murmured, "nothing matters now! Don't send me away from you again, sweet."
Tess lay in his arms, mute and unresponsive.
"Say one little kind word to me, Tess," he implored again, brokenly.
But Tess couldn't speak. She felt her tongue burn as if infinitesimal sparks had touched each groove upon it. She could not stay in his arms! Before the world he belonged to another woman. She pushed him away, drew herself from his embrace, and sat down again. Her action brought a fierce ejaculation from the boy's lips.
When Frederick ordered his horse that morning, Madelene had slipped her hand into his.
"May I go with you, dear?" she begged. "Do order my horse, too, won't you?"
He colored to the roots of his hair and shrugged his shoulders impatiently.
"I'd rather go by myself," he returned so curtly that Madelene bit her lips to keep back the tears.
Stung with jealousy, the young wife watched her husband ride out under the bare trees to the road beyond. Then she ordered her own horse, and dressed herself quickly.
Affairs between the young couple had reached a crucial point. Madelene's suspicions of Frederick were unusually active. She had it clearly in mind that he had gone to the Skinner hut. All the distance to the lake her face burned. She knew well enough she was doing something unpardonable, but how could she stay calmly at home when stinging jealousy goaded her to action?
She cantered past Kennedy's farm and on down the hill, her thoughts in a turmoil. If Frederick were not with the squatter girl, how happy she'd be! She hadn't formulated an excuse for Tessibel if she found her suspicions incorrect. She'd have to tell her something reasonable. Ah, she would pretend she'd come about the church singing.
Beyond and below the lake lay grey and somber,shadowed by the winter sky. The wind stung her face and tweaked her fingers through her warm gloves. Directly in front of the Young house, she reined in her horse and contemplated it. How much had happened since she had married Frederick, and Ebenezer had married Helen Young—how much to her and to him!
Frederick's conduct had destroyed her illusions about marriage. She could be supremely happy if he would treat her a little more as if she were his wife, more as the husbands of her friends treated them. She rode on again slowly until through the willow trees she saw the smoke curling upward from the chimney of the Skinner shanty. Her heart beat furiously when she slipped from her horse and tied him to a fence post. Intuitively, she felt she'd find her husband with Tessibel Skinner. She walked the rest of the way down the hill, stopped before the hut and looked it over. All without lay dressed in its winter garb, and the small house, save for the smoke, appeared uninhabited.
Then as a human sound from a tomb, came Frederick's voice. Madelene staggered back. She realized that not for one single instant had she doubted she would find her husband there. And he was there! She'd heard his voice passionately insisting something. Red fire flashed in front of her eyes.
Without thought of consequences, she flung open the door and stood on the threshold, breathless and crimson, in all her indignant wifehood. Frederick stood near the chair in which sat Tessibel. In one single moment Madelene sent an appraising glance over the girl huddled in the wooden rocker—a woman's glance, mercilessly discovering her condition. Then her blazing eyes came back to Frederick. He had not spoken at her appearance—he had only reeled backward a few steps.
"You see I followed you," said Madelene in cold, metallic tones. "I knew you were coming here when you left home."
Tessibel got up slowly, went forward, and closed the door. Once more the man she loved had brought humiliation upon her.
"He were just a goin' to go!" she whispered, and she went back and dropped into her chair.
"Oh, he was, eh?" Madelene laughed harshly. "It's very good of you to let him go. I'll give you to understand my husband—"
She made a rapid step toward Tess, whose head went up instantly. The red-brown eyes battled an instant with the blue, stopping Madelene's progress. Frederick, stung to action, reached forth and grasped his wife's arm.
"Madelene!" he exclaimed. His tone brought flashing eyes upon him.
"You think I'm going to stand tamely by and watch you come here to see her?... You both think I'm a fool, I suppose. Well, I'm not such a fool as I look!"
Defiantly, the speaker surveyed her husband up and down. "I knew very well you intended coming here. That's why I asked—you to take me today and why I—followed you. I've had hard work to make myself believe you'd leave me for—"
Her scintillating look swept again over Tess from head to foot. Her eyes drew down at the corners; so did her lips. It dawned dazedly on Tess how much Madelene looked like her brother. Then, suddenly Mrs. Graves laughed, a note of triumph riding in her tones. She faced Frederick and throwing out both hands, disdainfully, at the squatter girl huddled in the chair, cried,
"My God, look at her! If you've any eyes, you'll see ..." and turning upon Tessibel, "Were you trying to pass off on my husband a spurious—" The scorn in the contemptuous tones of the shrill voice stung like a whip lash.
The appeal gathering slowly in Tess' eyes was but a dumb response to the other woman's taunting, bitter words. She could not have spoken had her life been at stake. She crouched down in terrified shame.
Then like a flash the meaning of his wife's words rushed over the almost stupefied man! God! and he had not known! Tessibel, her new light of coming motherhood, cowered before him like a stricken thing. He sprang forward during Madelene's hesitation andgrasped his wife's arm again. He was so furiously angry his tightening fingers brought a cry of pain from her.
"Hush!" he cried peremptorily. "Hush!... You're crazy!... Haven't you any heart?... You've gone mad!"
Madelene shook off his hand.
"Yes, I'm mad half crazy. And you've made me so. Ever since I married you, you've had this girl in your mind morning, noon and night.... Now I know it! Oh, what a fool I was! I—I suppose possibly the next thing we'll know you'll be claiming the—"
Frederick shook her roughly.
"I said to stop it," he gritted. "Come away this minute."
Madelene, crying now, was struggling to pull herself from Frederick's grasp.
"I want to talk to that woman before I go," she screamed in desperation. "Let me go, Fred! Iwillspeak to her."
"You'll not if I can help it," answered Frederick. "Come out of here, I say!"
By main strength he was drawing his wife toward the door. Tess was staring at them as if they were creatures from another world.
"I'm sorry," Frederick said directly over Madelene's head to her. "Dreadfully sorry."
"Sorry!" shrieked Madelene. "Sorry for such a woman! Look what you've done to me, both of you!" She wrenched herself from the strong fingers and flung back to the squatter girl. "I want to know if my husband is the father—"
Frederick had hold of her once more. The anger in his white face was terrible to see.
"If you speak to her again," he said murderously, "I'll—I'll—"
"I suppose you'll kill me," shrilled his wife. "Well, go ahead! The only way you'll ever get her will be when I'm dead!" Then she thrust her white working face close to his. "If she won't speak, will you? You're my husband, and I find you here with this—this—.... Are you the father of her baby?"
"No," said Frederick, dropping his eyes. "No, of course not!"
Tessibel bent her head to receive the last brutal stroke he had to give. She moved but uttered no sound.
"Well, do you love her then?" demanded Madelene.
And Frederick, not daring to look at Tess, repeated, "No, of course not.... Don't be a fool!"
"Then, what do you want of him, girl?" Madelene cried hoarsely to Tessibel. "You've heard what he said."
Tess thought she was going to die. All the awful hurt which had lain dormant for so many weeks rose up with ten thousand times the vigor. It was as if Heaven had belched out flames to consume her, and she knew there was no escape from this thing that had come upon her. Frederick had not only repudiated his love for her, but his baby too. She threw back her curls with a proud gesture.
"I don't want 'im," she said straight to Madelene. "Take 'im away an' don't let 'im come here any more."
When Madelene started to speak again, Frederick shoved her from the hut into the gray day. He turned once and looked at Tess. She was just where he'd left her, her eyes brimmed with sorrow and her teeth locked tightly together.
Then the door banged shut and she was alone in the kitchen. A little later she heard as in a dream the sound of horses' hoofs retreating far up the lane. Then all the powers of darkness closed in about her, and malicious elfin voices chattered her shame in her ears. Frederick had repudiated her and his child and had gone! Tess staggered forward, and a few minutes afterward, when Andy slipped down the ladder, he found her curled up on the cot insensible, her face shrouded in red curls.
CHAPTER XXIIIThe Quarrel
When Frederick Graves closed the door of the Skinner hut, he wheeled furiously upon his young wife.
"Come home," he said gruffly. "You've done enough harm for today."
"If I've done more than you have," retorted Madelene, tartly, "then I'm some little harm maker!" Suffering intensely from jealousy, she whirled about, crying, "That's what's been the matter with you all the time we've been abroad! And I know very well Tessibel Skinner sent for you to come home."
"That's a lie," interrupted Frederick, fiercely.
Madelene paused in her ascent of the hill lane.
"What made you come down here today, then, if you didn't want to see her yourself?"
Frederick was silent. He hated scenes like this. If he spoke his real mind, he'd plunge himself into hot water at once. And he was always careful not to do that. Silence at the present moment was better than speech. Besides, his late contact with Tessibel Skinner had left him aquiver. Oh, how he loved her! Every nerve in his body called out for sight of his beloved. He would have gone back to the shack if he'd dared.
"Where did you leave your horse?" snapped Madelene, when they'd nearly reached her own.
"In the lower stable at my father's old place,—over there."
"I'll help you mount and then get my horse," said he. "Do you wish to ride on without me?"
Mrs. Graves made a dissenting gesture.
"No, of course, I don't. I want you to come with me directly. I won't let you out of my sight so near that girl. I think it's perfectly outrageous! I somehow believe you lied to me about—"
"Keep your opinions to yourself," growled Frederick. "I've no wish to hear them."
Madelene was about to put her foot into the stirrup. Instead, she stood while fresh tears gathered under her lids.
"Frederick, you're cruel and awfully ugly to me," she said plaintively. "How can you do such things afterallthe money I've given you?"
Frederick expressed his feeling by a cynical little laugh.
"Perhaps if you didn't throw up your confounded benevolence so often, I might show more gratitude," he snapped back.
Then he lifted her to the saddle, gave her the bridle, and walked beside her to the barn.
His thoughts were busy until, when they reached home, the silence between them was appalling. Thankful to be a few minutes by himself, the young man went away to stable the horses and his wife entered the house. Madelene found her brother sitting before the grate fire. Helen looked up and smiled at her sweetly.
"Come and get warm, dear," she said. "You've had a long ride, haven't you?... Why, what's the matter, Madelene?"
Mrs. Graves dropped into a chair.
"I'm so awfully unhappy," she cried, "and Frederick's as mean as he can be.... I hate that Skinner girl!"
Mrs. Waldstricker dropped her work into her lap.
Ebenezer looked at his sister critically.
"What's she done to you now?" he asked, without waiting for his wife to speak.
Madelene flung up an angry, flushed face.
"She's done enough! I hate her and always shall. She sent for Frederick to come down there—and he went—"
"Are you sure?" asked Mrs. Waldstricker, in a shocked voice.
"Of course I'm sure! I'm not in the habit of saying things I'm not sure of, Helen. I might have known when people told me he was in love with that squatter it was true."
"HUSH!" HE CRIED, "HAVEN'T YOU ANY HEART?""HUSH!" HE CRIED, "HAVEN'T YOU ANY HEART?"
Her loud, angry voice reached Frederick as he entered the room. The frown deepened on his brow. He looked at his brother-in-law for a minute. He never remembered being so angry before.
"Madelene has told a direct falsehood when she says Tessibel Skinner sent for me," he said. "She did not!"
"But I found him in her shanty, Ebenezer dear," thrust in Madelene, "and she's a wicked, little huzzy."
"Hush!" cried Frederick, white-lipped.
"I won't hush, so there!" screamed his wife. "I won't! I won't!... And, Ebenezer, she's bad, she is! She's going to have a—"
Frederick wheeled around desperately. Madelene was placing him at the extreme of his endurance. Human nature could bear no more.
"Oh, my God, such a woman!" he exclaimed.
"There, you see!" gasped Madelene. "He won't listen to a thing against her, and he's been acting as guilty as he could all the way home.... No wonder I don't believe a word he says!"
Mrs. Waldstricker picked up her work, folded it, and laid it on the table.
"But, Madelene, it's so bewildering," she exclaimed. "Tell us, dear, just what happened."
Between sobs and tears Madelene went over the trial she had passed through, and continued, "While we were abroad, I thought there was something the matter with him, and I know one day he got a letter. He wouldn't let me see it, though I begged him to. Now, I know it was from her!" The speaker flung about upon her sister-in-law. "If you could have seen her today, Helen, the shameless thing! She didn't even have the grace to say she was sorry for anything she'd done."
"She probably wasn't," monotoned Waldstricker. Then he looked directly at his wife. "I've often argued with your brother about those squatters. They're a pest to the county. Deforrest—"
"Oh, don't blame Deforrest, Ebenezer," Helen interjected agitatedly. "He's so good at heart, and he did all he could for the little Skinner girl. I know there's some mistake. I'll go down and see her tomorrow."
Waldstricker got up heavily.
"You'll do no such thing," he retorted. "Don't darego near—her!"
Helen flushed at her husband's tone.
"But Deforrest is away," she argued timidly. "I feel I ought to do something."
Madelene went hastily to her brother's side.
"Don't let her go, Ebbie," she gasped. "It's an awful place; a little bit of a hut—"
"I've been in it many times," interrupted Helen, with dignity, "and I do feel, Ebenezer—"
"I want no argument about the matter," said Waldstricker, sternly. "If she's in the condition Madelene says she is, then her home is no place for my wife.... It's shameful, absolutely shameful!"
"But, Ebenezer, she's probably been unfortunate. Poor little child! I wish you'd—"
Waldstricker cut her plea in two with an angry gesture.
"I command you not to go there," said he, sharply.
"Very well," sighed Helen. "Of course, I'll do as you wish."
Then she got up quietly and went upstairs. Indeed, had she her way, she'd have gone to Tessibel Skinner without hesitation. She knew her brother would be grieved to his heart's core, if this awful thing had happened to the little red-headed squatter girl. But she had no choice in the matter.
Frightened, too, she wondered what Ebenezer's plans were. He was so relentless in his desire to punish sinners. Bye and bye, when she was less nervous, she'd ask him to wait until Deforrest returned before doing anything.
Her head was throbbing with excitement. Her heart, too, ached for Tessibel. She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. Presently, she heard Ebenezer's slow tread coming upstairs. When he entered the room, she raised her lids and smiled.
"Come here, dear," she murmured.
He came directly to her side.
"What is it, my darling?" he asked tenderly.
"I feel so unhappy about the little Skinner girl," sobbed Helen.
"I'm sorry, dear, but you must not go against my wishes. As a good and obedient wife, you should realize I know best. I can't allow you to go down into that cabin."
"I won't go, dearest, but will you please promise me one thing—"
Ebenezer bent upon her a look so stern she dared not finish. "Oh, I do wish Deforrest were here!" she ended irrelevantly.
"I do, too; but as long as he is not, you must trust me to do what I think best."
He went out abruptly, and Helen Waldstricker cried herself to sleep.
CHAPTER XXIVWaldstricker Interferes
That evening Frederick Graves shook in his shoes when he returned home and received Waldstricker's message to meet him in the library at nine o'clock. If there was one person in the world he didn't want to see just then, it was his dictatorial brother-in-law. He stood in his room considering the situation, when he heard the grandfather's clock on the stairs slowly strike the hour of nine.
"Well, it won't help any to keep him waiting," he muttered.
Unwillingly, he walked down the stairs to the library door. Pausing, he saw Ebenezer seated at the table reading the Bible.
"Come in and sit down," greeted the latter, curtly.
"Thanks," said Frederick, taking a chair. "Mind if I smoke?"
The man thus addressed made no answer. He read a verse or two partly aloud as if to himself, then closed the book and laid it on the table.
"What's the matter between you and Madelene?" he inquired presently, fixing Frederick with a steady gaze.
"Nothing.... Nothing, that I'm to blame for. Madelene followed me to the lake and found me in Skinner's shack. That's all the row was about."
"Why were you there?" Waldstricker did not change his tone.
Frederick threw his cigarette into the smoldering grate and shrugged his shoulders impatiently.
"Can't a fellow stop in a shanty without the whole town gossiping about it?" he demanded peevishly.
"That's just it, Frederick. I don't want people talking about my sister's husband and a squatter girl," the older man explained. "I must know why you were there."
"Look at here, Eb," exclaimed the boy, "why don't you let Madelene and me fight out our own quarrels? I don't interfere with you and Helen."
"Huh! I should hope not!" growled Waldstricker. "But quarrels are not what we're talking about.... Why were you in the Skinner hut?... Are you in love with that girl?"
"God! No! Are you mad? What's the matter with everybody?"
"There's nothing the matter, my boy, only I want to warn you I won't have my sister unhappy."
"She makes herself unhappy," growled Frederick, selecting another cigarette from his case.
"I can't see any use of your going down there at all," Ebenezer went on, turning to poke the fire. "It doesn't look well after the things that happened in your family."
"That's just it," said Frederick, using the elder's words as an excuse; "our trouble makes it quite proper some one of my family should go there. The girl did enough for us, God knows."
Waldstricker gave a decided negative shake of his head.
"It's your mother's place to go, not yours. You don't want a scandal, do you?... Let her go there if any one does."
Again Frederick found an excuse.
"She can't go when she's out of Ithaca, and I took Miss Skinner a message from my mother today. If Madelene hadn't acted so abominably, I'd have told her about it."
Waldstricker looked keenly at the other man.
"I didn't notice you tried very hard to explain matters this afternoon! Now, did you?"
"I was mad," retorted Frederick, sulkily.
"May I see the message your mother sent?" came quickly from Waldstricker.
Frederick started. Evidently his brother-in-law didn't believe his story.
"If Miss Skinner'll give it to you, you can!" said he. "... I say, Eb, let Madelene and me get out of this the best way we can, won't you? Tell Maddie to behaveherself and leave the Skinner girl's name out of her rages at me.... That's all I ask."
"No," thundered Ebenezer, wrathfully. "I won't have my sister in tears all the time over a squatter girl. Madelene says you received letters from her abroad."
"Well, I didn't," snapped back Frederick.
"That's past, anyhow! Now, then, I'm going to tell you something. I need a man to go to San Francisco to our office there, and as Madelene wants a change, I'm going to send you."
Frederick shuddered. Had he dared, he would have rebelled at this wholesale delivering him over, tied hand and foot, to his tempestuous young wife. If he were sent away, what would become of Tessibel? His heart turned sick with apprehension. He had had no time to explain his plans to her.
"You have no objections to going, I suppose?" Ebenezer broke in on his harassing thoughts.
"No! If Madelene's satisfied, I am," replied Frederick, flipping the ash from his cigarette.
"Then be ready to get away by, let me see, early in March," his brother-in-law announced.
Early in March, and this was but December! He had that much grace then. He could do something for Tess if the family relaxed its vigilance upon him a little.
"And there's something else," proceeded Waldstricker. "It's—it's this!"
Then he deliberately made a statement that brought a red fire into Frederick's eyes. He staggered to his feet.
"You wouldn't, you couldn't do that, Ebenezer," he groaned.
"Oh, ho!... That gets you on the raw, does it, young man?" sneered the elder, one lip-corner rising to an unusual height. "So you do care that much, eh?... A while ago you made the statement she was nothing to you."
"I want to be human," Frederick managed to get out.
"Human, eh? No, that's not it! What you want is a few other women on your staff besides your wife. But you won't as long as you're married to my sister, and I'm running things. I'll see that none of the membersof my family disobey my law or God's law either."
The big man got to his feet, slipped his hands into his pocket, and stared at his white-faced, young brother-in-law.
"How does my little scheme suit you?" he demanded grimly.
"I think it perfectly devilish, by God, I do," cried Frederick.
"Oh, you do, eh? So you swear with your other faults?... Does my sister approve of that?"
"I've never asked her," snapped Frederick, "and if you're through with me, I'd like to go."
"Have a little talk with Madelene before you go to bed—and, oh, Fred—" he called after the young man hurrying up the stairs.
Frederick paused, his hand on the banister.
"By the way, I shall want your assistance in the little matter I spoke of."
CHAPTER XXVThe Summons
Jake Brewer paused in the lane opposite Skinner's home. The shanty was almost snowed in. A thin curl of smoke trailed up from the chimney and drifted among the leafless branches of the willow trees.
Brewer dropped a pair of dead rabbits to the deep snow at his side, and shifted the gun he held in his right hand to his left. Then, he fumbled in his overcoat pockets. Discovering what he wanted, he picked up the rabbits and walked through the path to the hut.
Tess took down the bar at his rap.
"Lot o' snow, Tessie," smiled Brewer. "Here, I brought ye some letters."
Tessibel took the two letters the fisherman handed her.
"They got yer name writ on 'em, brat," said he, knocking the snow from his boots against the clap boards. "That's how I knowed they was your'n."
A shadowy smile flitted over the squatter girl's face.
"Sure, they be fer me," she replied. She turned the letters over in her hands. "Thank ye, Jake, fer bringin' 'em.... Come in a minute, won't ye?"
"Sure, an' I air always glad to do somethin' fer ye, kid.... How's yer pa this mornin'?"
Brewer stepped into the hut, placed his gun and the rabbits in the corner, and spread his hands over the stove.
"He ain't so well today, Jake! Poor Daddy, he suffers somethin' awful with his heart, Daddy does.... It air rheumatism."
"Ever try eel skins, brat?" asked Brewer, sitting down. "My grandma wore a eel skin for rheumatiz for twenty-five years, an' Holy Moses, the sufferin' that woman had durin' 'em times my tongue ain't able to tell!"
Tess glanced at the letters in her hand half-heartedly.
"We've tried 'em, too, Jake," she answered. "Daddy's been wrapped in 'em night after night. But they don't seem to do no good."
"D'ye ever have Ma Moll incant over him, Tessie?"
Tessibel nodded her head.
"Yep, I give 'er three dollars for ten incants an' they didn't do no good uther." She went a step nearer Brewer. "But I air prayin' hard, Jake, every day for 'im," she confided softly.
Brewer nodded his head.
"I guess that air better'n incants any time if ye can do it, kid," he smiled.
"I guess so, too," agreed the girl. "Tell Miss Brewer I'll be to see her soon as the weather gits better."
Jake got up, scratched his head, and thought a moment.
"I might leave ye a rabbit, seein' yer daddy ain't well 'nough to do no gunnin'," said he.
"Ye're awful good, Jake," murmured Tessibel, following the man to the door. "Stop in any day."
"All right," and Jake struck out toward the rock path.
Tess closed the door and put up the bar. Andy was eyeing her from the ceiling.
"What ye got, kid?" he whispered.
Tess held up the letters.
"Two of 'em, an' this one air from Mr. Young. Shall I read it to ye, Andy?" she asked, looking up.
The little man chuckled with joy.
"I'd like to hear it," said he.
Tess drew a chair under the boyish face peering upon her, and sat down.
"Dear Tessibel," she read.
"I hoped to be home this week, but find my work won't be finished. Please keep at your books and study hard. Get the doctor any time you need him for your father. I know you're trying to be a brave little girl, and may God bless you.
Affectionately,"Deforrest Young."
Tessibel choked on the last word.
"It air awful hard to be brave, Andy," she faltered, brushing away a tear.
The dwarf made a dash at his own eyes.
"Ye got another letter," he cut in irrelevantly.
"Yep," said Tess.
After pulling forth the second sheet, she spread it out and read it through without looking up.
"Miss Tessibel Skinner:
"It is necessary for you to attend a church meeting next Wednesday afternoon at three o'clock in the chapel. Please oblige,
"Silander Griggs,Pastor."
"Anything much?" demanded the dwarf, interestedly.
"Nope, Andy, only a note askin' me to come to church tomorrow afternoon, but I jest can't go, Andy!... I can't! I ain't been fer two Sundays, now, 'cause I been feelin' so bad."
She raised her eyes full of misery to meet Andy's sympathetic gaze. How could she go after that awful scene nearly three weeks before with Madelene and Frederick? She never could face the Waldstricker family again.
"I won't never go to church, ever any more," she mourned presently.
"Mebbe not, dear," returned the dwarf, smothered in his throat. "An' the church'll be worser off'n you!"
Troubled in spirit, Tess considered the letter a few minutes.
"I s'pose they be gittin' up somethin' fer Christmas, an' I ought to go an' tell 'em I can't sing. I said as how I would over three months ago if Miss Waldstricker'd help me; but I can't.... Will ye look after Daddy while I air gone, Andy?"
"Sure," agreed the dwarf. "I'll slide under his bed an' talk the pains right out o' 'im."
"I wish the meetin' was in the mornin'," Tess sighed. "It gits dark so early, an' Mr. Young ain't home! He'd come an' git me an' bring me back if he were. It air a long walk," and she sighed again.
"Mebbe 'twon't be so cold tomorrow as it air today," cheered Andy and they lapsed into silence.
CHAPTER XXVIThe Churching
The dawning of Wednesday brought one of those drab days so frequent in the lake-country. The daylight, dim even at high noon, hardly suggested a possible sun shining anywhere. Misty sheets of stinging ice-particles drove from the northern skyline to the hill south of Ithaca.
The snow crunched sharply under Tessibel's feet as she picked her way from the shanty to the lane. Kennedy's brindle bull, leaping and barking, invited her to a frolic. The girl called the dog to her, and petted him.
"No, no, Pete, Tess ain't able to run an' play with ye any more," she told him, sadly, "but ye can go with me to Hayt's."
Nuzzling her hand, the great dog walked soberly by her side, as though he understood. Tess shivered a little as the frost-laden air bit nippingly at her ears. The winter birds between her and the lake lifted their wings and mounted against the wind, some driving in flocks, others now and then by twos and threes. Tess followed their flight through the storm.... How strong and happy they seemed!
For an instant she paused at the gate in front of Deforrest Young's empty house. The snow had drifted until the path could no longer be discerned. A little twinge of loneliness touched Tessibel's heart. Her friend would not be at the church that day.
When she came within sight of the chapel, she bent and petted Pete. She took his head between her gloved hands and looked into the lovely eyes shining out of his ugly face.
"Go home, Petey dearie," she said. "Tessibel air goin' to church. They don't let dogs in God's house, honey."
Obediently the dog turned and trotted off.
Tess opened the chapel door and stepped in. Buffeted, as she had been by the storm, she met the warmth within with a grateful little sigh.
Half-way to the stove in the middle of the room, she stopped, arrested by the unusual group beyond. Ebenezer Waldstricker stood there, surrounded by the elders of the church. In all she counted five men: the minister, Silander Griggs, and three elders. At one side sat Frederick Graves.
Puzzled and embarrassed by Frederick's presence and appearance, half-conscious of something menacing in the stern faces turned toward her, she was tempted, weary as she was, to turn back into the blizzard raging without. As she awkwardly scraped the snow from her shoes, Pastor Griggs came to her and led her to a seat near the fire.
Waldstricker gazed at her critically, but didn't bow his head. Tessibel didn't mind if people failed to speak to her, and she didn't like Waldstricker anyway. She did not look at Frederick after that first fleeting glance, but bowed her head on the pew-back in front from sheer weariness. The memory of that scene in the cabin three weeks previous recurred with renewed clearness. Madelene's insulting words, re-echoing in her ears, made her grow faint from stinging humiliation. Oh, how sorry she was she'd come to church! She could have asked Jake Brewer to bring up a note explaining that she could not take part in the Christmas doings.
The sound of moving feet told her the time had arrived for opening the meeting. If she thought at all of the absence of the female members of the church, she sought for no other reason than the steadily increasing blizzard.
One by one she heard the men take their places. Then, the pastor cleared his throat loudly and began to pray. Perfect silence save for his droning voice filled the small chapel. Tess heard him praying for the members of the congregation, for the mothers at home with their children, and as usual for all earthly sinners.
"And particularly, dear Lord," continued the deep voice, "may thy tender mercy and loving kindness visitthe heart of our sinning sister here present and soften it, making her obedient to these thy servants, to whom Thou hast committed the government of thy church."
Why! What had he said? "Sinning sister ... here present." Why, they were all men but her! The pastor finished his prayer with a resounding "Amen," in which the elders joined reverently. Confused, Tessibel sat back in the pew, puzzled and frightened.
"I have before me here on my desk," Griggs announced, "a letter from Deforrest Young. In answer to a letter from the church, asking him to be with us this afternoon, he has requested that Brother Ebenezer Waldstricker be instructed to vote in his name.... I do so instruct you, Brother Waldstricker."
Ebenezer moved in his seat as if in consent.
"It's a delicate matter which we have to consider," observed the minister, looking from pale face to pale face.
Tessibel glanced at the speaker. He, too, was ashen in the dim afternoon light.
"Come to the point, please," commanded Waldstricker, curtly.
The minister bowed his head in silent prayer.
"Tessibel Skinner," he said, "I ask you to stand up."
The girl got up obediently, but sank down again, her trembling legs refused to support her. She did not, however, turn her startled brown eyes from her pastor's face.
"It is charged against you, Tessibel Skinner," he read from a paper before him, "that you have broken the laws of God and violated the discipline of this church; that you, an unmarried woman, are now pregnant. Are you guilty or not guilty?"
As the accusing voice ceased, the stern eyes of the dark-faced men, who had watched her closely during the reading, seemed to pierce her through and through, ... to lay bare her most intimate secrets.
What should she say? She wasn't unmarried, as the pastor had charged, but the rest was true. Without Frederick's consent, she couldn't explain; she couldn't deny the charge. Surely, Frederick would stand forth and defend her now. She listened intently for a soundfrom him. She dared not turn toward him, for fear she might break her promise by some look or word. But nothing except the storm-sounds disturbed the silence of the little church. Frederick had failed her again!
Unable alike to plead guilty or not guilty, she sat head bowed and eyes downcast before her judges.
Waldstricker broke the appalling hush.
"Speak up, girl," he ordered harshly. "You're guilty, aren't you?"
The forlorn child struggled to her feet and raised her eyes to the speaker's face.
"Oh, sirs, don't ask me 'bout it," she begged with outstretched hands. "I can't tell ye nothing 'bout it 'cept ... I air goin' to have a baby in the spring."
Waldstricker glanced significantly at the other elders who nodded in acquiescence. Then he turned to the minister, still in the pulpit.
"It is enough," he decided sternly. "She has confessed her sin."
Dropping again into the pew, Tessibel cast a quick glance toward Frederick, who stared set-faced out into the storm.
"We find, Tessibel Skinner," continued the minister, as though reciting a carefully rehearsed speech, "you have sinned grievously. Your silence convicts you. You are no longer worthy of membership in this church, of communion with Christian people. But it is not right that you should suffer alone. For your soul's welfare and in the interest of justice, I ask you the name of the man—"
Tess got up again and faced them ... disgraced and outcast might be, but she must be loyal to her promise.
"Don't ask me that, sir," she pleaded, bewildered, flinging a terrified glance toward the door. "I air goin' now, an'll never come no more, but don't ask me to say nothin', please."
She turned into the aisle as Griggs stepped from the platform. She directed an appealing glance toward him that cut the man's heart through like a knife.
"I want to go," she repeated. "Please!"
"Not yet," broke in Waldstricker, grim-jawed. "It's the duty of this church to teach you a lesson if it can."
Tess looked helplessly at the row of stern men. What did they intend to do to her? Oh, if they'd but let her go back to Daddy Skinner!
"Please let me go home to my daddy," she pleaded faintly. "I'll never come no more, but I can't—I can't talk."
Waldstricker walked toward her menacingly.
"You've got to talk," he gritted, grasping her arm. "You've simply got to answer what the pastor just asked you."
Tess flashed him a look of abhorrence. Oh, how she hated this man!... It seemed to her that he killed for the sake of killing ... tortured for the pure joy of it. She set her teeth hard on her under lip, shaking his hand from her arm.
"I won't talk!" she cried. "You let go of me! See? You touch me again an'—an'—I'll—I'll—"
She paused for some fitting threat. Would no one help her? No, not a friendly face met her searching gaze. If she could get to the door—out into the snow, under God's grey sky! But as if divining her intention, the elders gathered in an accusing squad in front of her. Frederick remained in his chair by the window, apparently oblivious to the tragedy being enacted in his presence.
"I wish ye'd let me go home to my Daddy Skinner," she prayed again.
Her curls fell in a cluster over either shoulder as she sank to her knees in the aisle.
Waldstricker whirled upon Griggs.
"Makeher tell us what we must know," he insisted, "or by the God that rules this house, I'll have her sent to some place where incorrigible girls go!"
Incorrigible girls! He had said incorrigible girls of her, Tessibel Skinner, who obeyed even a glance from any one she loved. Desperately, she made a direct appeal to him.
"My daddy's near dead, Mr. Waldstricker. Please don't send me away from him, not yet—not just yet."
"Then answer what we ask of you, child," interjectedthe minister. "I think Brother Waldstricker has some questions to ask you."
Waldstricker drew a paper from his pocket.
"How old are you, Tessibel Skinner?" he demanded.
"Over half past sixteen," whispered the girl's white lips.
Shewasover half past sixteen. There was no harm in telling that. It wouldn't hurt Frederick for the church people to know her age.
"Are you a member of this church?"
Tessibel lifted her head. "Ye all know I air."
"Then answer this," shouted Eb. "Who is the man that made you unfit for decent people to speak to?"
The wobegone face hid its crimson tide in two quivering hands. The end of the shining red curls swept the floor. Frederick made no sound.
"Who is he?" insisted Waldstricker once more.
"I can't tell," moaned the girl.
"I'll make you tell," he threatened, infuriated.
"I won't!" reiterated Tess, raising her head. "I can't."
Madelene's sad, tearful face flashed through Waldstricker's mind with the suspicions she had aroused against Frederick. Like an angry horse, his nostrils lifted and sniffed the air. Fury against this girl rode in his heart.
"You needn't tell us the man's name," he taunted triumphantly. "We already know it."
Up struggled Tess to her feet and thrust back the tawny curls feverishly. If they knew, then Frederick had told them.
"And you've got to marry him," Waldstricker's hoarse voice came to her ears.
Why, she was married to him!... that long ago night. If he had told them anything, why had he not told them all? She dared not look around, but waited breathlessly.
"We've decided," Ebenezer proceeded, "that if you consent to our plans, you will suffer no further disgrace. You can go away with your husband and have your home—"
Tess grew dizzy ... this time with joy. She hadbeen given back her husband, her Frederick! Waldstricker had used the word "home." A home with—with—His voice broke in upon her dreams brusquely, creating grotesque figures in her brain. What was he saying? She turned dilating eyes toward him.
"Lysander Letts! Lysander Letts!" Waldstricker shouted again.
The door at the side of the pulpit swung open and Sandy slouched in and came forward.
"Here's your woman," the elder continued, looking from Tess to the squatter. "Take her, and may God forgive you both for the sin you've committed."
Tess stood rigidly waiting. She didn't turn her head toward the oncoming man; rather she centered a prolonged gaze upon her persecutor. When she felt some one pause at her side, she moved away, still without speaking.
"Parson Griggs, marry the man and woman," roared Waldstricker.
Excitedly he tossed the damp hair from his forehead, his cheek muscles working involuntarily. His scheme was near its fruition. Tessibel Skinner was almost married. Already Ebenezer could see, in his mind's eye, how happy Madelene would be when he brought her the news.
The big, dark-faced squatter was standing beside the red-headed girl, and Silander Griggs was hurriedly hunting through a book for the marriage ceremony.
"Make it short," gritted Waldstricker to the minister.
Tess stood as if she had died standing, her face devoid of blood even to the lips. Misery, deep and unutterable, rested upon the white face. When she raised her eyes and saw Letts at her side, and Griggs with an open book in front of her, she wheeled away without a word.
"Marry him!" cried Waldstricker.
"No," said Tess.
"Letts, take hold of her hand," commanded the elder.
Sandy, rage working alive in his eyes, tried to obey the churchman. But the girl took another step away.
"Gimme yer hand," growled Sandy.
All he wanted was to get the squatter girl into his possession. He had not forgotten the threats he had made in other days, and in another hour, he would wring from her the name he wanted.
"No," said Tess again.
"You mean you're not going to marry Mr. Letts?" asked Griggs.
Tessibel caught her breath, swayed, but shook her head.
"No, I ain't goin' to marry 'im," she answered.
Marry Sandy Letts, a man she hated! Of course she couldn't!... She was already married. She couldn't commit such a sin as that, not even if—if—She turned a little and glanced in the direction of Frederick, but dropped her eyes before they found him.
Waldstricker grew intense with suspense, and a sudden determination to test his and Madelene's suspicions came over him.
"Frederick," he cried, "come here and help us force this huzzy to marry the man who betrayed her!"
Frederick rose from his chair as though to obey, and in turning, looked squarely into the girl's eyes.
"My God, Eb, I can't!" he protested, his voice thick with horror. "Let her go, Eb! For God's sake, man, you can't marry her against her will! Let her go!"
He sank down, and rested his head on his arms upon the chair back, his shoulders shaking violently.
The minister came to Tessibel's side. He placed a pitying hand on her head, facing his elders.
"Let her go home, brethren," he entreated. "You can't make her do this thing if she refuses, and the ... business can go on without her."
"She's a wicked girl," snorted Ebenezer, with a bitter twist of his lips.
"I say to let her go," repeated Griggs.
"And I say she shall be punished," Waldstricker glared from the minister to the elders and then rested his gaze on Frederick, who was by this time sobbing in great gulps.
Pastor Griggs considered his parishioner's angry face. Griggs was young and stood in awe of some members of his flock—Waldstricker most of all, butthe sight of the girl in such anguish overcame his timidity, and he cried:
"Let him that is without sin among you first cast a stone at her."
Tessibel sank sobbing to the floor, and her pastor stood by her side, hand uplifted, waiting.
Then over Ebenezer's countenance flashed a look of self-righteous fanaticism, which made large the pupils of his dark eyes and inflamed his swarthy skin deepest crimson. He strode to the stove, picked from the scuttle a ragged chunk of coal, and when he turned again, he had changed from red to white. Crazed, he took two steps toward the kneeling girl.
"I can cast the first stone," he said swiftly.
He lifted his arm and before any man could stay his hand, something whirled through the intervening space and struck the kneeling squatter girl. High pandemonium broke loose. Voices, some censorious, some approving, contended.
"I have first cast a stone at her," cried Waldstricker, above the din. "Let others follow if they dare!"
Tessibel crouched lower to the floor, a bleeding wound in her neck. She had made no outcry when the missile met and lacerated her flesh. Dully, she wondered if they intended to kill her, and for a moment a sickening dread took possession of her when she thought of Daddy and Andy. She was growing faint and dizzy, but struggled to her feet as Griggs took her arm. He led her through the Chapel aisle, pushing aside the other men. At the door, Tess caught one glimpse of Sandy Letts' dark, passionate face.
"Go home," the minister said hoarsely; "and may God forgive us all."
How Tessibel found her way home, she could never afterwards tell. Spent by the struggle with the storm, she staggered into the shanty. It took almost the last atom of her strength to close the door against the howling blizzard. Leaning against the wall, she looked up and saw Andy staring at her from the hole in ceiling, his fingers on his lips.
"It were awful cold under the bed," he told her. "Yer Daddy air asleep, so I came up here to keep warm!"
When he noticed the girl's unusual appearance, he scurried down the ladder, waddled across the kitchen, and stood in front of his friend.
"What air the matter, brat?" he quivered.
Solicitous, he helped her into a chair near the fire and took off her hat and coat. The blood from the neck wound had made crimson blotches on her white waist.
"Ye're hurt, honey," he cried, alarmed. "How'd it happen?"
"I air hurt a little," said she, faintly. "Fetch me some water, dear, an' don't—don't tell Daddy!"
"Get on the cot, kid," said he, "an' I'll put up the bar."
In another moment he was leaning over her. He brushed back the tousled hair from the girl's forehead, and pulled away the long curls seeped with blood.
"I air yer friend, brat," he whispered. "Tell me 'bout it."
Tessibel had to confide in somebody.
"I'll get a rag first an' wipe ye off," said the dwarf. "My, but ye did get a cut, didn't ye?... What did it?"
Gently he began to wash away the crimson stain from her face and neck.
"Somebody hit ye?" he demanded presently.
"Yep."
"Who?... Who dared do it?" The dwarf's face darkened with rage. "Where were the brute that done it?"
"Andy," sobbed Tess, "I air goin' to tell ye somethin'; ye may think I air awful wicked, but—but—Andy, don't tell Daddy, but in the spring I air goin' to—"
"Yep, I know, Tess," he murmured. "I heard the woman yellin' at ye the uther day way through my blankets. But 'tain't nothin' to cry over. God'll bless ye, brat, and God'll bless—it!"
Her sobbing slowly subsided, and in halting words Tess told the dwarf the story of the afternoon's dreadful experience.
"And, Andy, it were awful. Mr. Griggs wanted to let me go home, but the uther men wouldn't, an' then the minister says like Jesus did to the men who were goin' to stone the poor woman, 'Let him that ain't a sinner throw the first stone,' an' Waldstricker picked up a great hunk o' coal and hit me with it. Do ye suppose he air so awful good an' I air so awful wicked he had a right to strike me?"
"Sure he didn't, Tess," Andy comforted. "Course not!"
The willows moaned their weird song to the night, the wind shrieked in battling anger over the tin on the roof, while the snowflakes came against the window like pale eyes looking in upon the squatter girl and the dwarf on his knees beside the cot bed.