CHAPTER XXXIWaldstricker's Threat
Something had happened in the house of Waldstricker. Since the churching of Tessibel Skinner, everything had been topsy turvy. The criticism heaped on Ebenezer for his part in it had only served to make him more arrogant at home and abroad.
One morning at breakfast, Frederick being absent, Madelene was alone with Ebenezer and his wife.
"Put down your paper a minute, Eb," said Madelene, "will you?"
Scowling, Waldstricker let the paper rattle to the floor.
"What do you want now?... I can't have a minute's peace. What is it?... More money?"
"No, nor nothing to do with it, Ebenezer. I want to ask you something, and do be quite frank with me. Does Fred ever go to see that Skinner girl?"
The man's heavy brows drew into a straight dark line above his eyes.
"He'd better not," he gritted between his teeth.
"That isn't the point," answered Madelene. "Does he?"
"I don't believe I'd give myself much concern about that if I were you," he said presently. "I understand that man Letts, Sandy Letts, who is working for me on the Bishop matter, still wants to marry her."
"Of course she won't as long as Frederick—"
Waldstricker interrupted her.
"If Frederick does go there, he won't long when Letts finds it out."
Madelene's eager glance brought the unmatched lips aslant of each other.
"I don't think he'll go often," he repeated. "I'll see to it myself. She can marry Lysander Letts or—"
"Or what?" Madelene's elbows came to the table, ahand on each cheek. "Oh, Ebbie, do tell me! I'm so miserable about her. I wish she was dead!"
"But, Ebenezer," said Helen, "it seems awful for such a refined girl to marry such a man!"
The elder's uplifted hand came down on the table with a bang, and higher mounted his proud lip. He ignored his wife's pleading speech, but answered his sister's.
"So will Miss Skinner wish she were dead before I'm done with her," said he.
"Why?"
Waldstricker leaned over the table, looking first at his wife, then at Madelene. Helen shuddered. How relentless he looked when his mouth turned down at both corners! She had grown so afraid of him of late.
"I've an effective way to keep him from her," said he.
"Goody!" exclaimed Madelene, and "How, dear?" asked Helen.
The man spoke only two words in a low, husky voice, but each woman heard them.
"Good!" gasped Madelene, standing quickly. "How perfectly glorious!"
"How perfectly awful!" groaned Helen. "Ebenezer, don't do anything so dreadful."
Waldstricker looked across the table with that strange glitter in his eyes.
"Helen, must we go over again the same painful ground that women should not interfere!"
Mrs. Waldstricker rose to her feet.
"No, Ebenezer, no, no! Only I was thinking of Deforrest!"
"Deforrest will not know of it until it's too late," said Waldstricker, rising too.
"Does he know of Letts' trying to force her to marry him?" asked Helen.
"I've never told him. Possibly the girl has."
"I think not," answered Helen, gravely. "He'd have mentioned it to me, I think!"
As her brother passed Madelene, he tweaked her ear.
"Just clear your pretty head of further worry, little kitten ... See?"
Madelene caught his hand affectionately in hers.
"Kiss me, best of good brothers," she smiled. "You've made me perfectly happy! Isn't it dreadful to have to keep tabs on one's husband?"
"You won't have to long," Waldstricker assured her.
Then he kissed her and followed his wife into the library. Mrs. Waldstricker walked to the window and looked out, her eyes full of tears.
"Helen," said Ebenezer, gravely, taking her by the shoulders and turning her face toward him. "You displease me very much."
The drops hanging on the long lashes fell suddenly.
"I'm sorry, dear, but I can't see why you always antagonize Deforrest. You remember how angry he was after that church affair."
"Your brother's anger doesn't affect me in the slightest," returned Ebenezer coldly. "When I see my duty to God, I do it, that's all."
"And you're really determined—Oh, Eb dear, for my sake, please—"
The husband made an impatient movement.
"Helen, how many times have I got to forbid your crying this way. You're always in tears. You'll make yourself sick."
"Lately you've been so cross to me," sobbed Helen, burying her face in her handkerchief.
Waldstricker put his arm about her.
"I don't want to be cross.... There!... Now lie down here on the divan.... I'm going out for an hour or two."
Then he put on his cap, took up his riding whip, and went away to the stables.
A few minutes later Helen Waldstricker sat up straight, and rang the bell. To the servant who appeared, she said,
"Find Mr. Graves and send him to me immediately."
When Frederick received the message, cold chills chased each other up and down his back. Dismayed, he desired to disobey but dared not, besides Helen was the least dangerous of the three. What could she want, he considered queruously. He hadn't had a minute's peace since he came home. Madelene was in a state of tearsnearly all the time; his brother-in-law, dictatorial, difficult even in his milder moods, seemed secretive and suspicious. As far as he was concerned, he kept from the house as much as possible, but this only provoked to a greater degree his young wife's tears and complaints. Only this morning, he had been treated to a spell of hysterics the like of which Madelene had never before equalled.
His wife would not believe his oft-repeated assertions that he had not been to the Skinner cabin since the day she had surprised him there. Frederick had spoken truly. His fear of his powerful brother-in-law and his own lack of moral courage allowed the days to drift along until now he felt he could not go into the presence of the girl he had thus neglected.
He watched until his brother-in-law drove from the stables and disappeared. Then he turned and went into the library. Helen beckoned to him to come near her.
"I must tell you something," she breathed.
She pointed to a chair near the divan. For a time she talked in an undertone, telling him something which sent the blood flying from the young man's face, and left him faint and sick at heart.
And later by an hour, Frederick Graves was walking the railroad tracks toward the Skinner shanty.
CHAPTER XXXIIHelen's Message
Tessibel Skinner was sitting in the shanty kitchen. She had a book in her lap but her mind was far from her surroundings. Andy had been quiet so long she'd almost forgotten him. Suddenly, his slight cough brought her back to the present.
"Ye look awful peeked, brat, dear," he said. "I think ye'd ought to see Young's doctor, hadn't ye?"
A vague smile crossed the girl's face, and she shook her head.
"No, Andy," she answered, "I don't need no doctor, yet."
"I wish ye felt better," sighed the dwarf. "An' the days is gettin' awful blizzardy for ye to go outdoors."
"But I got to go out, dear, fer wood an' other things. Hark!" She got up swiftly. "There air some one comin'."
In another instant the little man had crawled away from the ceiling hole and was under the tick. The garret was as silent as the frozen lake and the kitchen below, where Tess stood in anxious expectation. Tessibel, knowing it couldn't be Sandy, put aside her first impulse not to heed the rap. An instant later, she opened the door. That it might be Frederick was farthest from her mind, until she saw him standing there so thin and tired. Surprised and shocked at seeing him, the stress of her feeling found her faint. She would have fallen if he had not suddenly seized her.
"Tessibel!... Tess, darling!" he cried, sharply. Lifting her up, he carried her into the room. She clung to him, crying, her confusion calmed by his caresses. He placed her in a chair and sat down beside her. Suddenly, she sat back in her seat, roused from her revery by mocking memories of her wrongs.
"Couldn't ye let me alone?" she breathed hoarsely,covering her face with her hands. "Ye might a let me be."
"I had to come, dear," Frederick told her. "I want you to do something for both our sakes.... Oh, Tess, what terrible days have passed since I saw you last!"
After a short pause, she dropped both hands and glanced up at him. Then knitting her fingers together, she pressed them hard until they looked like the veined stems of a pale flower. He had come to make another demand of her—and she was so tired—so sick!
"I want you to make me a promise, Tessibel," urged Frederick.
"I said as how I'd help ye all I could," murmured Tess. "Ye're wantin' me to do somethin' awful hard, huh?"
Her soul in her eyes, she looked at him, but his gaze was on the gloves he was twisting back and forth between his fingers.
"Ain't ye goin' to tell me?" groaned Tess.
She dropped her chin into her hands with a touching gesture of pathos. Frederick bent nearer.
"Tess, Mrs. Waldstricker sent me with a message—and you've got to do what I want you to."
His strangely persistent reiteration that she should do his will served only to produce another, "Why don't ye tell me, then?" from Tess.
"You must do something to save yourself!" he cried.
To save herself? What did he mean by saving herself? What did any one intend to do? She'd stayed so alone no one could intrude upon her now. And then, there was Andy, poor forlorn little man!
"Is anyone goin' to hurt me?" she faltered, faint and frightened.
"Yes, dearest, yes, and you must—"
He was on his feet and Tess struggled up, too.
"What've I got to do?" she breathed miserably.
"Tess," he groaned, "can't you understand how much I love you; that I would save you if I could?"
With uplifted hand, he tried to raise her face to his.
"Don't!" she cried, pushing him away. "Tellme what Mrs. Waldstricker said!"
"You've got to do it, dear," urged Frederick, "or they'll take you away."
"What do ye mean by takin' me away?" she implored, moving a frightened step backward. "Who's goin' to try to take me any place?"
"Why—why—Mrs. Waldstricker says—"
He paused so long Tess could not bear the suspense.
"Oh, tell me!" she gasped. "Can't ye see ye air killin' me?"
Frederick began again.
"Mr. Ebenezer Waldstricker—"
Tess swayed on her feet.
"What air he goin' to do?" she panted.
Had her enemy discovered she was protecting Andy?
"He's going to take you to a—a—" stammered Frederick.
Tessibel grew faint and dizzy. She uttered a sharp scream.
"A reform school!" she cried.
"Yes."
The blow had fallen at last! She would be dragged from her home, up before the eyes of the world in all her illness and shame. Then she sank to the floor in abandoned misery.
"Oh, Frederick, save me!" she wailed. "Don't let him take me away, and I'll promise never to go outside the shanty. Oh, make him let me stay! Why can't I stay, oh, why can't I?"
"Waldstricker says you've got to go," said Frederick, sadly.
Tess sat up and flung back her curls.
"Well, he don't own the hull world, does he.... Couldn't you, well couldn'tyousay somethin' to make him let me be?"
"I don't know what to say," the boy mumbled.
"Couldn't ye tell 'em?" entreated Tess. "Please listen. Couldn't ye—couldn't ye tell Mr. Waldstricker 'bout our little baby—our baby, Frederick?"
He refused by a negative gesture of head and hand.
"Oh, don't shake your head, Frederick!" cried Tess, frantically. "Please!... Please!... Me an' the baby won't be any bother to you!... We'll jestlove ye always an' forever, me an' the baby will....
"Ye could save us that way! Ye needn't tell 'em anythin' but that!"
Suddenly another thought took possession of her.
"What else did Mrs. Waldstricker say?" she demanded. "What were ye both wantin' me to do?"
"Mr. Waldstricker told his wife and my—I mean Madelene—that you'll either be sent away or must marry—marry Lysander Letts."
Tess stared at him wildly as though he were going mad. Orwasshe losing her reason! What awful thing had he said. Lysander Letts—surely she had not heard straight.
"Ye weren't tellin' me what were true, Frederick," she whimpered overwhelmed. "Oh, ye scared me so!"
"But I am telling you the truth!" he exclaimed miserably. His voice broke. "I can't save you, Tessibel. Waldstricker can do anything he wants. Why—why—Waldstricker's hands're stronger—are stronger than God's."
She heard his words as if in a dream. "Stronger'n God's," echoed through the recesses of her brain in fearful mockery. She was lost, engulfed in the hatred of Waldstricker. She saw through the mist over her eyes, Lysander Letts leering menacingly at her. She sat very still and held her breath. If she let it go, her heart would break.
"Stronger'n God's," were the only words she remembered. Then, if that were true, and Frederick had said it—then—then, nothing—nobody—could take from her this brimming cup of disgrace and destruction. She struggled to her feet, walked to the door and opened it. Her eyes sought the dejected looking man.
"I air askin' ye to go now, please, right now," she said quietly. "Tell Mrs. Waldstricker, I air much obliged."
"And haven't you something to say to me, Tess?... Oh, God, don't send me away like this!"
She laid one hand on her heart. "Only go," she whispered, "an' never, never come again!"
Frederick stepped over the threshold, and Tess shut the door behind him.
CHAPTER XXXIIIHands Stronger Than Waldstricker's
Tess stood with swift-coming breath, her back to the door, waiting. Frederick must leave before she dared speak to Andy. It seemed an eternity ere the sound of the retreating footsteps died away, and she knew he was gone.
Then she started across the room, haltingly. Strange, how difficult it was to walk, and how giddy her head felt! What was it that had happened? What was going to happen a thousand times worse? Frederick's brutality left her bruised and broken. His threats twisted themselves through the tangled tumult of her thoughts and his sinister suggestions stunned and stupefied her.
Frederick had come and gone! She remembered that. Her skin still burned where his hot lips had touched her. He had told her he loved her, had begged her to say she loved him! Love? Yes, she had loved him—she did love him, but her love lay low, its structure, like a squatter's hut, she had seen, shattered on the sand by a storm.
Tess put a stick of wood in the stove, and a second later forgot she'd done it.
Ebenezer Waldstricker came into her mind vaguely ... vindictive and violent. Her hand went suddenly to her face. He was going to send her to a reform school, going to take her from the shanty for years! How powerful he was! Frederick had said Waldstricker's hands were stronger than God's. What strong hands he must have—those hands descending upon her defenseless, desolate life.
Andy was peering through the hole. Tessibel collapsed into Daddy Skinner's chair.
"Brat," he said in a whisper, "I'm comin' down!"
Tess mechanically got up and barred the door.... Then she returned to her seat. The dwarf was already squatted beside it, his eyes fastened on the girl in eloquent silence. His chin sank between his knees. Then the two of them sat.... The crackling of the freshly burning wood and the ticking of the clock were the only sounds in the room.
"I heard what the man said 'bout Waldstricker's hands bein' stronger'n God's," reflected Andy, aloud, presently. Then he raised his body a little from the floor that he might look into the girl's face. "Say, brat, has old Eb got any marks on his hands?"
Tess shook her head, brown eyes sombrous with suffering.
"No," she denied. "His hands are big an' white an' long an' soft."
Andy pondered a minute.
"They ain't no marks of nails on 'em, air there, kid?" he demanded, solemnly.
The pursed, hurt lines around Tessibel's mouth softened a little.
"No," she murmured wearily, again. "No, Andy."
The dwarf reached and took one of the girl's hands. It lay on his own quite limply.
"Look at me, brat, dear."
The red-brown eyes moved toward the upturned face.
"Tessibel, will ye think of this one little thing?
"The Christ's holdin' his hands over the hull world, givin' everybody peace; you an' me, too, brat-kid. Waldstricker's hands ain't dragged me back to Auburn, an' God's hands has kept me here.... You showed me that from the beginnin', eh, brat?... It's sure, ain't it?"
He hunched himself nearer her, his face beautiful with faith.
"Ain't it true, kid?"
"Sure! Sure, it air true!" faltered Tessibel.
"Then if God's hands kept me here in the shanty 'gainst all Waldstricker could do, can't they keep you here, huh?"
Tessibel's head lifted suddenly. What was Andy saying about hands—Waldstricker's and—and—With her free fingers she brushed the dampened curlsfrom her forehead. Waldstricker's hands! Oh, incomparable memory! How could she have forgotten the hands of the Christ! They had brought Daddy Skinner from the shadow of the rope. She had forgotten the power of those hands.... Hands of peace—hands of love! As shadows fade before the majestic advance of the sun, so under the inrush of divine light did the agonized expression fade from Tessibel's eyes. The menacing figure of Waldstricker slipped away like a gliding night-serpent, and Tess got to her feet.
"Andy," she breathed, bending over him. "Oh, Andy, darling! Ye're telling me Jesus can keep me from bein' sent to that awful place? Ain't that what ye're tryin' to show me?"
The dwarf scrambled up, reaching forth his hands.
"And he sure can, brat," he made answer. "Waldstricker can't pull ye out of this hut when God's holdin' ye in."
Andy was smiling his rare, boyish smile. A large lump rose in Tessibel's throat.
"I air goin' to ask God to hold me here, Andy," she choked brokenly.
So when night closed the grey eyes of the winter day, and darkness descended on the Skinner shanty, a red-haired squatter girl and a wee dwarf knelt in the glow of the hut lamp and petitioning lips framed in whispers a simple prayer for their protection.
The next day passed, quiet in the shanty and over the shining span of frozen water. Waldstricker had not come. Tess crept into bed sighing with relief. Andy rolled himself in his blankets and slept.
The morning arrived crisply cold, bleakly grey. Tess shivered as she broke the ice for water. Would this day bring Waldstricker? Then, as that harrowing thought flitted through her mind, another exultant, smiling flash took its place. Tessibel's head reared with a proud uplift. No human power could set aside the majestic promise of Heaven that she might stay in the hut. Smilingly, she opened the shanty door and cheerfully answered the dwarf's, "How d'y' do, brat dear?"
But the next few hours were laden with a sense of approaching calamity, that sense which ties the tongue in apprehension. Andy was perched on the ladder while Tess sat just below in the wooden rocker.
Suddenly, from far up the lane, the sound of wheels grating on the snow, could be heard plainly. Both man and girl stared white-faced at each other for perhaps thirty seconds.
"They're comin', but they can't take ye, Brat," muttered Andy. "You'll stay in this shanty the same 's if you was nailed to the floor."
Then, he sought his place under the straw tick, and as nearer and louder came the clatter of the horses hoofs, the more quiet grew the Skinner hut.
Tessibel stood in the middle of the kitchen, her hand pressing down the beatings of her heart. Somebody was approaching! There were footsteps on the dry snow!
Directly the crunching sound ceased, a loud knock fell on the door. Tessibel lifted the bar, and at her faint, "Come in," the door flung back on its hinges and Ebenezer Waldstricker stepped over the threshold. Another man, seemingly by common consent, waited outside. Waldstricker came to a halt at the sight of the squatter girl. Even in her mourning, and ashen pale, she looked glorious. Her burnished, unmanageable hair clung like a golden mantle about her. She had lifted heavy lashes and was looking him straight in the face.
Ebenezer, suddenly, felt a wild desire to strike, but he dared not touch her, nor dared he go forward one step. Her advancing motherhood crowned her with unapproachable dignity, and the man muttered an imprecation under his breath. To have her appear in court so austerely lovely would be to lose his case. He had expected she would plead, cry, perhaps scream. What should he say to break that steady calm? He did not know what a day and night of communion with the Infinite had done for the squatter girl. He did not understand that beneath her were everlasting arms, that her life was held in the hollow of a hand more powerful than his own.
"I believe, my girl," said he, without preliminaries, "I told you when the church took action against you, you'd be sent to some place where girls of your class go, didn't I?"
Tess didn't move by so much as a wink. She seemed simply to have grown deaf and dumb. How could she answer when she had not heard? She was staring back into the man's bold, dark eyes. Her silence was like a spark to his inflammatory temper.
"Aren't you going to answer me, Miss?" His rasping voice aroused Tess from her trance.
"I didn't hear what you said," she told him, still very calm.
"I said," replied Ebenezer, arrogantly, "you're going to be sent to a reform school."
"Today?" asked Tess, breathing deeply, now fully possessed of her senses.
"Yes, today." Then he remembered Madelene.... he had made her a promise. "But I'll help you to get out after a while, if you tell me who—who brought you to this condition." He threw out both hands disdainfully toward her. Waldstricker's white hands, hands stronger than God's! Who had dared say it?
The girl cast her eyes to the rafters. There, the nets hung in strings and mingled their tassled ends with the dry herbs. There, somewhere, were that other pair of hands upholding her. She lowered her eyes again to the man.
"Don't you hear me talkin' to you?" he grated. "I said you were going today—but if you tell me—"
He bit off his words, her apparent helplessness shaming him to silence. Then the import of what he had said flashed over Tessibel and she swayed backward. This small break in that superb calm brought Waldstricker forward the step the girl had yielded.
"Are you going to tell me?" he demanded again.
"Nope," said Tess rigidly, "Air I to go with ye now, this minute?"
He inclined his head with a bitter nod. "Yes," he snarled. He strode to the door, and addressed the officer. "Come in! Come in! She's a hardened huzzy.... Serve the warrant on her."
Tessibel took the paper but dropped it to the floor without glancing at it. She didn't care what it contained, for minute by minute came the sweet assurance from up there among the nets that God had heard and would answer.
The officer was staring at her, askance. He remembered distinctly when she had climbed up the ivy on the county jail to see her father. Then she had been a child. Now she was a woman. Being a good-hearted man, he hated his task, and a moment later hated it worse than ever. She sent him one pleading, heart-rending glance, then dropped her lids.
"Ye couldn't let me stay till after March?" she whispered. "If ye only would—"
It had been an effort to say it; an effort to both inclination and voice. It was as if her throat were filled with ashes ... nor could she finish the appeal.
"You can't stay even one day," thrust in Waldstricker, "I told you long ago what to expect.... Get your things together."
Tess made no move to obey. She was waiting for an answer from out of the dry nets, even from far behind the snow clouds where the blue slept.
"Get your things on," commanded the man, once more.
Oh, yes, she could do that! Putting on her things didn't say she was going. She turned mechanically, took down her coat and scarf. These she put on and went for her rubbers. She stood very near the wall as she bent dizzily to slip them on. All the time her soul was looking upward for the eternal answer, an answer from a power stronger than Waldstricker's.
Then she went slowly to the little box where she kept her hat. After brushing her hair back, she pinned it on in front of the mirror. Today—well, now she was dressed, ready to go. She turned and came forward. The constable stared from Waldstricker back to her. Was this the girl who had stamped and screamed when Daddy Skinner had been taken to Auburn?
"Are you goin' without any fuss, miss?" he asked dully.
"If I go at all," was all Tess said.
At the door she flung back her head, her eyes searching the rafters. Straight as knife cuts hung the broken strings of the unused nets, threaded here and there with wheels of silken cobwebs. Up through these Tessibel stared. Up and up, above the curling of the chimney smoke, up among the stars, up where the hands of love—God's hands, were ever spread in benediction over her own wild, beautiful world. She smiled as if responding to a smile. Waldstricker touching her made her turn suddenly.
The cold wind from the door just opened by the officer, swept her hot face. She flashed her eyes past him to the vast open stretches of winter, and there, standing in the lane, smiling directly back at her, was Deforrest Young. God in his own good time had sent her hands stronger than Waldstricker's.
CHAPTER XXXIVLove Air Everywhere the Hull Time
The moment the red-brown eyes fell upon Professor Young, the pale face of the girl lit with a radiant smile.
"Oh, ye've come!... God sent ye, didn't He?"
At the sight of the tall, commanding lawyer, the officer and his powerful principal stepped each to one side of the path in front of the house and left Tess standing in the doorway, with trembling arms outstretched to her approaching friend. Young came directly to her, ignoring his brother-in-law.
"My dear," he murmured, snatching her hands, "you needed me! Poor child, you certainly did!"
"Are you coming in," pausing on the threshold, he spoke to Waldstricker, "or are you going on to Ithaca, Ebenezer?"
A smile passed over the elder's lips. He was secretly much amused at the professor's assumption of authority.
"I'm coming in," said he. "I've something to show you."
Evidently not impressed by his brother-in-law's statement, Deforrest led the passive girl back from the threshold of the shanty into the kitchen.
"Let me take off your wraps, dear child," he said tenderly.
Waldstricker's growing amusement found audible expression in a condescending laugh.
"Wait a minute, Forrie," he commanded, spreading his feet pompously. "She can't take 'em off. She's coming with us."
"And why with you?" Young asked, in simulated surprise.
Waldstricker fairly gloated with joy. Never had he felt so righteous and uplifted. By his brother-in-law's actions, he was assured he did not know of thewarrant for Tessibel Skinner. But the girl's attitude amazed him. To the quiet dignity with which she had submitted to arrest, there had succeeded an air of complete detachment as though her responsibility, even her interest in the matter, had wholly ceased. Mutely watching the two strong men, she seemed like some small prey over which fierce forces fought. Young began to remove the hat from her bronze curls.
"We're going to take her away," cut in Waldstricker, putting one hand in his pocket.
"Where to?" demanded Young, laying the hat on the table.
"To a—to a—" Waldstricker hesitated.
The frown on Young's brow deepened. He had paused for the other's explanation, his under lip gathered between his teeth. Then, he laid his hand protectingly on that of the silent, white-faced girl. Tessibel's fingers turned upward and closed over his, and they stood thus a moment, Waldstricker contemplating them through half-closed lids, one corner of his mouth superciliously curled.
"You haven't told me where you were going to take her," Deforrest insisted.
Bitter anger rose in Eb's throat. He had been balked at every turn he'd taken against this red-headed girl, and instead of helping him, Deforrest was aiding her. He did not intend that Madelene should suffer any more, and he imagined his own home life would be more peaceful when Tessibel Skinner was wiped from its horizon.
"If you'll have it plain," he cried triumphantly, "she's going to be sent to a reform school! If ever a girl needed correcting, she does. She's already been served with the warrant."
Young muttered under his breath. Holding out his hand, he said,
"Let me see the warrant."
Ebenezer pointed to the paper on the floor where Tess had dropped it. Stooping, he picked it up.
"Look that over!" he said and handed it to the lawyer.
Professor Young took the paper, and before readingit, looked reassuringly at Tess with that wide, white-toothed smile of his that always cheered her heart.
"Sit down," he told her. "You do look tired, child."
With one swift glance at Waldstricker's face, she obeyed him.
Deforrest merely glanced at the paper in his hand.
"Oh, is that all you have?" he asked the constable.
"Yes, sir," the officer replied obsequiously.
"You're sure you haven't anything else?"
"Quite sure, sir," was the answer.
"That being the case," said Deforrest, quietly, "I'll match it with—with this."
He drew from his pocket another paper which he tendered the officer. After the man scanned it, he handed it without a word to Waldstricker. The elder in his turn read it through. It was an order from the court recalling the warrant obtained by Ebenezer Waldstricker for Tessibel Skinner's arrest. The constable grinned sheepishly at Waldstricker.
"I guess that ends my usefulness here," he said, smiling admiringly at Professor Young. "Good afternoon, miss! Goodday, gentlemen!"
Waldstricker, murder in his heart, took one stride toward Young, as the door closed behind the departing man.
"How'd you find out this was to happen today?" he gritted through his teeth. "I insist upon knowing."
"A little bird told me," grinned Professor Young. Then, glancing at Tess, and seeing how white she was, there rose within him a righteous indignation, and he went on, "You might employ your time to better advantage than torturing—"
For a moment he didn't know what to call Tessibel. She was no longer a child, no longer a little girl, although she looked deplorably young and sick as she sat huddled in the chair.
"Tormenting women," he finished, sharply. "And, Ebenezer, unless you want to make an enemy of me, you better let Tess alone. You can't do anything to harm her, for I won't let you. I may as well tell you, too, that the day after her father's death I constituted myself her guardian, and I'll move Heaven and earthto prevent any one harming her. Just remember that when you plot against her next time.... Now go home and forget there are such people as squatters.... You'll be happier, and so will I."
"Deforrest," Waldstricker appealed, changing his belligerent tactics, "if you keep this thing up, you'll rue it! You know very well Bishop is hidden somewhere in this squatter settlement. I can only get him by rooting his people out one by one; if you'll have that court order rescinded and let me send the girl away, I'll make it possible for you to run for Governor next fall."
For one minute, the lawyer surveyed Waldstricker critically. He reached one hand toward Tess. She got to her feet, grasping his fingers with hers.
"Ebenezer," Young said with great deliberation, "if I crawled across this girl's body into the Governor's chair, I'd be the basest cur alive. And furthermore, you promise too much! You can't deliver the goods! What!Youname the next Governor! Why you can't even remove this little squatter girl from her lonely hut!"
Waldstricker shrank from the scorn in his brother-in-law's voice, opened the door and strode out.
"Tess," Deforrest said, putting an arm around her, "when are you going to let me take you away from such things as this? I shudder to think what might have happened if I hadn't come today, and I've got to go away again."
Tess smiled up at the big man. Drawing herself erect and lifting her head proudly, she looked into his face, exultantly, full of buoyant joy at the tremendous proof of Love's protecting power in the hour of her great need.
"I jest knowed old Eb couldn't get me," she asserted. "Jesus sent ye jest in the nick of time, didn't he, huh?"
"But, my dear, listen," Young argued, his love making him apprehensive. "It's awful for you to be here alone and unprotected. Let me take you away somewhere."
"I ain't alone," Tess insisted confidently, serene courage resounded in the sweet voice. "Jesus air herean' He keeps me safe all the time. He got Daddy out of Auburn an' kept Andy an' me in the shanty. Why, He sent you today. I know He won't let nothin' bad happen to me."
Untroubled, the brave eyes looked into his, conveying a message of courage and perfect peace that somehow uplifted the man's anxious thought to catch a glimpse of her exalted faith.
"But you know, Tess," he continued, "you are not so well this winter and you ought to have some one here to look after you."
Tess shook her head, the bronze curls twisting and falling over her shoulders and upon the arms embracing her.
"No, siree," she answered. "I can't have any one here, on 'count of Andy. Oh, ye mustn't worry 'bout me. I air all right an' will be every minute."
"At least, dear," Deforrest insisted, "let me get a doctor and nurse when—when—"
The brilliant head suddenly bowed itself forward against Young's rough coat. For a moment, her high courage faltered, but not for long. Surely, the same power that had cared for her today would see her through this other trial.
"Nope, not any doctor or nurse," she refused. "I'll have Mother Moll. She knows what to do an' she air safe."
Withdrawing herself from Young's arms, she took his hand and kissed it.
"God sure air good to Tessibel," she murmured.
A moment they stood there. Then the lawyer took up his hat and turned to the door.
"You know, Tess, I love you and want to help you always."
In the doorway, he paused and with bared head heard the girl's parting speech.
"Sure, ye're lovin' me an' I air lovin' you, too. I know Mr. Young, love air here an' everywhere the hull time."
CHAPTER XXXVBoy Skinner
A pale winter moon nestled among the snow clouds in the storm country. The shacks of the squatter settlement were dark and silent, save for a slender little light glimmering from the side of the curtains of the Skinner shanty. Inside, all was quiet. The squatter girl had been in the valley of shadows, and had struggled back from its depths, bringing with her that miracle of miracles, a son, a little son not much bigger than the hand of a man; and, now, pillowed on her arm, very near her heart, lay a small head, a baby's head, covered with soft, damp curls.
Mother Moll had come and gone. When the old, old woman had looked down upon the girl, she'd smiled that senile smile of age that split her lips like a knife cut.
"Ha! So it air another brat comin' to the shanty," she shrilled. "Holy Mary! It air the way of the world, the way of woman."
And now she'd gone, leaving the boy baby under the coverlet with Tessibel.
A weary apathy had settled over the young mother. Strange dreams filled the small room with haunting, tangible things which she could reach out and touch if she dared. The rafters, too, were peopled with faces partly hidden in the dry nets. But she seemed to be staring at something out and beyond—as Daddy Skinner, too, had stared that never-to-be-forgotten night.
The past months, where the grey days and sun days had all been the same, moved vaguely in silent procession before her. She had lived through them like a pale ghost indifferent alike to sunshine or shadow, and this night she had drained to the last drop the bitter cup Frederick Graves had given her to drink. Frederick, her husband, her beloved! She thought of himindifferently. Even his babe at her breast seemed unimportant. She considered them without emotion. But the ghostly faces, hovering among the nets, interested her.
Then, distinctly from among them advanced a figure, a dear, familiar figure. Daddy Skinner ... the same old adorable daddy—his shaggy, thready beard hanging over his chest. For one single instant he bent over her, lovingly laid his hand upon the bronze curls and smiled in the way he had of doing before he had gone away with mummy. Tess flung up her hands.
"Daddy! Daddy Skinner!" she cried.
The movement startled the babe from his sleep. The dwarf, roused by the cries scrambled to the open hole.
"Tessibel—Tess," he called brokenly.
The girl lifted heavy lids.
"Daddy was here, Andy," she wailed in misery. "My own Daddy Skinner. I want to go with him.... I can't live any longer without him."
"Can I come down, brat?" begged the dwarf, huskily.
"Yep," whispered Tess. "Mother Moll air gone."
"I heard 'er when she went," said Andy, and he slipped down the ladder.
The babe's shrill cry continued as the dwarf went to the bed.
"Yer daddy don't need ye as much as me an' the little feller. Let me take 'im—I ain't seen 'im yet, ye know."
Andy bent over the cot. Gently he lifted the infant and carried him nearer the lamp's dim rays. He stood gazing intently into the rosy face. Then, he raised a tiny hand and spread first one finger, then each baby fellow out in his own palm.
"Why he's real handsome," he decided at last. "Brat, he air the most beautifulest in the world!"
At the last words he turned shining eyes toward Tessibel. She lay gazing, not at Andy or the babe in his arms, but up into and beyond the nets in the rafters, seeking another glimpse of her father's dear face. Alarmed by her strange silence, the little man bore his precious burden back to the cot and knelt beside thepassive figure. Holding the baby close, he breathed,
"Don't, brat, dear! Look at me. I been feelin' yer daddy round all day, too. He'll always be near to help you an' the little kid."
A pathetic trembling of her lips hushed the flow of his words.
"It seems's if I couldn't live, Andy. I dunno how I can, I dunno how!"
Her voice trailed away into a plaintive moan.
"Let me take hold of yer hand, brat," murmured Andy. "I want to tell ye somethin'."
He clasped one of her hands in his, while her free fingers shaded her eyes.
"You got three folks standin' by you, kid," continued Andy, earnestly. "Me, Young an' Jesus. While I been alone in the garret, all this time, I been readin' an' a reasonin' out things. Don't ye remember when Mr. Young come that night how he said he didn't blame ye fer nothin' ye'd done?"
Beneath the tense fingers, she breathed a simple, "Yes."
"An' me—why me—I know yer heart's if I'd made it, honey, an' Jesus—Air ye listening Tess?"
"Sure," assented Tess.
"Then I'll tell ye a story. Once a woman loved a man awful much, an' she loved 'im like all women love men folks. An' a hull lot of righteous ones dragged 'er right up to Jesus an' says, 'She air a sinner, sir, what'll we do with 'er?' An' he says, 'Go away an' leave 'er with me.'"
Tessibel's hand clutched at the fingers holding hers.
"An' when he were alone with 'er," went on the dwarf, "an' she were a kneelin' at 'is feet, he jest touched her lovin' like, an' says—"
"Don't, Andy, you—you hurt me ..." moaned Tess. "Don't!"
"An' I wanted to help ye, sweet," insisted Andy. "But still, I air askin' ye to listen to the rest. Will ye?"
Tess acquiesced silently, her hand falling away from her white, drawn face.
"An' Jesus says to the woman in baby trouble likeyours, he says, 'Poor soul, I ain't blamin' ye this day, I ain't!'"
The little man's eyes shone with the sublimity of the truth he was imparting, and an uplifted expression of faith settled on his features. The baby whimpered in his arms, and loosening his hold upon the girl's hand, he rose to his feet carefully. Tessibel was crying now, in low caught breaths that wrenched and tore at Andy's heart cruelly.
To soothe the child, he pattered to and fro upon the shanty floor; and when he began to chant in a low, sweet voice that old, old precious hymn, "Rescue the Perishin';" Tess cried out again. Andy Bishop, the dwarf, was impressing upon Tessibel Skinner's heart that mysterious faith she'd known so long, that same sense of God's love which she'd taught him in those days when the dark doors of Auburn Prison yawned wide for him.
The state had branded him a murderer, but here, with glistening eyes, he preached the Christ and Him crucified. In the solitude of the garret, he had learned his lesson well ... by the dim attic light, he had studied the story of the forgiveness of sin. Suddenly, he ceased his song, and as he trotted back and forth, swaying the little child in his arms, Tessibel caught murmured words, "'Nuther do I condemn thee," said Jesus. "Nuther do I condemn thee," said he.
And in that next pulsing minute through the eyes of her soul, the watching girl saw above the squat dwarf the shadowy image of the smiling Christ, and unspeakable peace descended upon her like a benediction. The lines of suffering vanished from about her pursed mouth. The hurt within her heart gave way to the "still waters."
"'Nuther do I condemn thee,' said Jesus Christ," whispered Andy over the boy's face, and "neither do I condemn thee" sank into the very being of the squatter girl as warm rain sinks to the heart of a parched flower.
She followed the waddling figure, a gleam of gratitude beaming in her eyes. Surely, the bread Tessibel Skinner had cast upon the waters of Andy Bishop'sstormy life was returning after many weary days!
"Andy," she called. "Andy, dear, bring me my baby."
The dwarf laid the sleeping child within its mother's arms.
"The man on the cross, your man an' mine, brat," he whispered, "said, 'If ye have burdens, come an' I'll rest ye.' Didn't he say it, kid?"
"Yes, yes, Andy," whispered Tessibel. "Everything'll be all right fer—you an' me an' the baby," and she ended, ... "Get back in the garret an' pray for my brat's daddy, too, Andy. He air needin' it worser'n me an' you."
Then the squatter girl turned her face to the wall, drew the baby under the coverlet, and the dwarf scuttled up the ladder.