CHAPTER XIII
THE WOLF
"Now, Elder," said Baptiste, getting up from the table without goingthrough the usual formalities of resting a few minutes after the meal."I've bought a building in town that I'm going to move onto Orlean'splace. I'm preparing to jack it up and load it, so if you would like tocome along, very well, we'll be glad to have you. But it's rather arough, hard task, I'll admit."
"Now, now, son," started the Reverend, holding back his exasperationwith difficulty. His son-in-law had never addressed him more than onceby the same name. It was either Colonel, Judge, Reverend, Elder, or someother burlesque title in the sense used. He wanted to tell him that heshould call him father, but before he had a chance to do so, that worthyhad bounced out of the room and was heard from the barn. The Reverendlooked after him with a glare.
"Dreadful!" he exclaimed when the other was out of hearing distance.
"What, papa?" inquired his daughter, regarding him questioningly. Shehad become accustomed to Jean's ways and did not understand her father'sexclamation.
"Why, the man! Your husband!"
"Jean?"
"Such rough ways!"
"Oh," she exclaimed. "That's his way. He has always lived alone, youknow. And is so ambitious. Is really compelled to hurry a little becausehe has so much to do."
"Well, I never saw the like. I'm afraid he and Ethel would never getalong very well. No, he--is rather unusual."
"Oh, father. You must pay no attention to that! Jean is a fine fellow, alikeable man, and is loved by every one who knows him," she argued,trying to discourage her father's mood to complain. She had never beenable to bring her father and husband very close. Perhaps it was becauseof their being so far apart in all that made them; but she was awarethat Jean had never flattered her father, and that was very grave! Norelation had ever risked that. Her father was accustomed to beingflattered by everybody who was an intimate of the family, and JeanBaptiste had come into the family, married her, and apparently forgot totell the Reverend that he was a great man. Moreover, from what she knewof her husband, he was not likely to do so. Her mother had tried to haveBaptiste see it, she recalled, her little mother of whom Baptiste wasvery fond of. As has been stated it was generally known that her fatherwas not very kind and patient, with her mother, and never had been.
It was, moreover, no secret that her father was unusually friendly withMrs. Pruitt. But she was not supposed to let on that she was aware ofsuch. If she was--and she certainly was--she did not mention the fact.Jean Baptiste knew of the Reverend's subtle practices, and in his mindcondemned rather than admired him therefor. He knew that the Elderexpected to be praised in spite of all these things. Now what would itall come to?
This thought was passing through Orlean's mind when she heard her fatheragain:
"Now, he said something about a contest." She caught her breath quickly,swallowed, changed color, and then managed, hardly above a whisper, tosay:
"Oh!"
"I don't understand. And he never takes the time to explain anything.Seems to take for granted that everybody should know, and tries to knowit all himself, and it makes it very awkward," he said complainingly.
"It's all my fault, papa," Orlean admitted falteringly.
"Your fault!" the other exclaimed, not understanding.
"Yes," she breathed with eyes downcast.
"And what do you mean? How can it be your fault when you have sacrificedthe nice home in Chicago for this wilderness?"
"But, papa," she faltered. "You have never been West before. You--youdon't understand!"
"Don't understand!" cried the Reverend, anger and impatience evident."What is there to understand about this wilderness?"
"Oh, papa," she cried, now beseechingly. "You--" she halted andswallowed what she had started to say. And what she had started to saywas, that if he kept on like he had started, he would make it verydifficult for her to be loyal to her husband and obedient to him as shehad always been; as she was trying to be. Perhaps it was becomingdifficult for her already. Subservience to her father, who insisted uponit, and obedience and loyalty to her husband who had a right andnaturally expected it. It was difficult, and she was a weak willedperson. Already her courage was failing her and she was beginning tosigh.
"It is very hard on my daughter, I fear," said the Elder, his face nowfull of emotion and self pity. "I worked all my life to raise my twodarlings, and it grieves me to see one of them being ground down by aman."
"Oh, father, my husband is not cruel to me. He has never said an unkindword. He is just as good to me as a man can be--and I love him." Thiswould have been sufficient to have satisfied and pacified any man, evenone so unscrupulous. But it happens that in our story we have met onewho is considerably different from the ordinary man. The substance of N.Justine McCarthy's vanity had never been fully estimated--not even byhimself. Orlean did not recall then, that since she had been married shehad not written her father and repeated what a great man he was. Shehad, on the other hand, written and told him what a great man herhusband was. In her simplicity, she felt it was expected of her to tellthat one or the other was great. But here she had encountereddiscouragement. Her husband apparently was considerably opposed toflattery. And she had difficulty to have him see that it was an evidenceof faith on her part. But her husband had not seen it that way. He haddismissed it as a waste of time and had gradually used his influencewith her to other ends; to the road they were following; the road toultimate success, which could only be achieved by grim, practicalmethods. And that was one of his words, practical. But her father wasspeaking again.
"Now I wish you would explain how you could be at fault for this contestupon your place, and why your husband accuses you of such?"
"But Jean does not accuse me of being at fault, father," she defendedweakly. "I accuse myself. And if you will be just a little patient," shebegged almost in tears, "I'll explain." He frowned in his usual way,while she sighed unheard, and then fell to the task before her.
"It is like this," she began with an effort at self control. "Jean hasnot wished to ask me to stay on my claim alone as his sister andgrandmother have done, you see."
"Oh, so he has them living out there alone like cattle, helping him toget rich!"
"They do not live like cattle, father," she defended in the patientmanner she had been trained to. "They have a horse and buggy that he hasfurnished them, and get all their needs at the stores which is chargedto him. They have good neighbors, awfully nice white people--women, too,who live alone on their claims as his sister and grandmother are doing."
"But they are not like you, daughter. Those are all rough people. Youcannot live like them. You have been accustomed to something."
She sighed unheard again and did not try to explain to his Majesty thatmost of the people--women included--were in a majority from the besthomes in the East, as well as families; that many had wealth where shehad none; and that Jean's sister had been graduated from high school andwas very intelligent. It was difficult, and she knew it, to explainanything to her father; but she would endeavor to tell him of thecontest.
"Well, father, since I was not on my place as I should have been, a mancontested it, and now we must fight it out, Jean says, so that is it."
"M-m-m," sighed that one. "He's going to kill you out here to make himrich. And then when you are dead and--"
"Please, don't, father," she almost screamed. She knew he was going tosay: "and in your grave, he will marry another woman and bring her into enjoy what you have died for." But she could not quite listen tothat. It was not fair. It was not fair to her and it was not fair toJean. She was surprised at the way she felt. She forgot also, and forhis benefit, that they had never been very happy at home when he was inChicago. They had only pretended to be. It had been because of him beingaway all the time and their relation having been confined to lettersthat they had been contented. But Orlean had made herself believe forthis occasion that when he came to visit, they were going to have areally ple
asant time. And now so soon she was simply worn out. She hadbecome more sensitive of her tasks in life than it had occurred to hershe could ever be. For the first time she was getting the idea that,after all they were burdensome.
From a painting by W.M. Farrow.
"HE'S GOING TO KILL YOU OUT HERE TO MAKE HIM RICH, AND THEN WHEN YOU AREDEAD AND"--"PLEASE DON'T, FATHER!" SHE ALMOST SCREAMED. SHE KNEW HE WASGOING TO SAY: "IN YOUR GRAVE, HE WILL MARRY ANOTHER WOMAN TO ENJOY WHATYOU HAVE DIED FOR," BUT SHE COULD NOT QUITE LISTEN TO THAT.]
"Wouldn't you like to go to town, papa?" she cried, trying to be jolly."Jean is ready now, and please come along and see the nice little househe has bought and is going to move on my claim." She was so cheerful, soanxious to have him enjoy his visit that his vanity for once took a backseat, and a few minutes later they were driving into Gregory.
As they drove along Baptiste told of what he was doing; discussing atlength the West and what was being done toward its development. Whenthey arrived in the town they approached the small but well made littlebuilding that he had purchased for $300, and went inside.
"Awfully small, my boy," said the Reverend, as they looked around.
"Of course," admitted Baptiste. "But it is not practical to invest inbig houses in the beginning, you know. We must first build a good bigbarn, and that, I cannot even as yet afford."
"Places his horses before his wife, of course," muttered the Reverend,but obligingly unheard.
"And you say you intend to move it. Where? Not away down on that farmsoutheast?" he said, standing outside and looking up at the building.
"Oh, no," Baptiste returned shortly. "Onto Orlean's place, west ofhere."
"Oh. How far is that?"
"Not so far. About fifty miles."
"Good lord!" And the Reverend could say no more.