CHAPTER II
THE GREAT QUESTION
The days that followed after the Elder had taken his wife away, wereunhappy days for Jean Baptiste. In his life there were certain things hehad held sacred. Chief among these was the marriage vow. While a strongwilled, obviously firm sort of person, he was by nature sentimental. Hehad among his sentiments been an enemy of divorces. Nothing to him wasso distasteful as the theory of divorce. He had always conjectured thatif a man did not drink, or gamble, or beat his wife there could be nogreat cause for divorce; whereas, with the woman, if she was not guiltyof infidelity a man could find no just cause, on the whole, to ask for adivorce. But whatever the cause be--even a just cause--he disliked thedivorcing habit. He persisted in believing that if two people whoselives were linked together would get right down to a carefulunderstanding and an appreciation of each other's sentiments, or pointsof view, they could find it possible to live together and be happy.
Fancy therefore, how this man must have felt when he arrived at thelittle house upon the wife's claim and found his grandmother alone. Theyhad taken his wife and all her belongings. He lived in a sort ofquandary in the days that followed. His very existence becamemechanical. And one day while in this unhappy state, he chanced to finda little sun bonnet that they had evidently overlooked. She had boughtit the summer before, and it was too small. But he recalled now that hehad thought that it made her look very sweet. How much the bonnet meantto him now! He placed it carefully away, and when he was alone in thehouse in after days with only her memory as a companion he would get andbring it forth, gaze at it long and tenderly. It seemed to bring backthe summer before when he had been hopeful and happy and gay. It broughthim more clearly to realize and appreciate what marriage really meantand the sacred vow. And during these hours he would imagine he could seeher again; that she was near and from under the little bonnet that wastoo small he communed with her and he would thereupon hold a mythicalconversation, with her as the listener.
Was it all because Jean Baptiste loved his wife? What is there betweenlove and duty? It had never been as much a question with Jean Baptisteas to how much he loved her as it was a question of duty. She was hiswife by the decree of God and the law of the land. Whatever he had been,or might have been to others, therefore had gone completely out of hismind when he had taken her to him as wife. And now that she was away, tohis mind first came the question, _why_ was she away?
Yes, that was the great question. _Why was she away?_
Oh, the agony this question gave the man of our story.
Not one serious quarrel had they ever had. Not once had he spokenharshly to her, nor had she been cross with him. Not once had thethought entered his mind that they would part; that they could part;that they would ever wish to part. In the beginning, true, there hadbeen some little difficulties before they had become adjusted to eachother's ways. But that had taken only a few months, after which they hadgradually become devoted to each other. And so their lives had become.Out there in the "hollow of God's hand," their lives had becomeassimilated, they had looked forward to the future when there would bethe little ones, enlarging their lives and duties.
And yet, why was his wife in Chicago without even a letter from her tohim; or one from him to her? Why, why, _why_?
N. Justine McCarthy!
Oh, the hatred that began to grow--spread and take roots in the breastof this man of the prairie toward the man who had wilfully anddeliberately wronged him, wrecked that which was most sacred to him. Thedays came and went, but that evil, twisting, warping hatred remained; itgrew, it continued to grow until his very existence became a burden anda misery. No days were happy days to him. From the moment he awakened inthe morning until he was lost in slumbers in the evening, Jean Baptisteknew no peace. While that perpetrator of his unhappiness waitedimpatiently in Chicago with plans to grind and humiliate him further,this man began to formulate plans also. With all the bitter hatred inhis soul against the cause of his unhappiness, his plans were not theplans of "getting even," but merely to see his wife where no subtleinfluences could hamper her or warp her convictions and reason. He knewthat to write to her would be but to prove useless. The letters would beexamined and criticized by those around her. He knew that sending hermoney would be only regarded as an evidence of weakening on his part,and if he was to deal, weakness must have no place. So as to how hemight see his wife, and give her an opportunity to appreciate duty,became his daily determination.
The great steam tractor, breaking prairie on his sister's homestead wasdiligently at its task, and while it turned over from twenty to thirtyacres of wild sod each day, it also ate coal like a locomotive. So toit he was kept busy hauling coal over the thirty-five miles from Colome.On the land he was having broken (for he had teams breaking prairie inaddition to the tractor) he had arranged to sow flaxseed. For two yearspreceding this date, crops had been perceptibly shorter, due to drought.Therefore seeds of all kind had attained a much higher price thanpreviously. Flaxseed that he had raised and sold thousands of bushels ofin years gone by for one dollar a bushel he was now compelled to pay thesum of $3.00 a bushel therefor.
So with a steam tractor hired at an average cost of $60 a day; withextra men in addition to be boarded; and with hauling the coal for thetractor himself such a distance and other expenses, Jean Baptiste,unlike his august-father-in-law, had little time or patience to sitaround consuming his time and substance perpetrating a game of spite.
But he was positive that he would needs lose his mental balance unlesshe journey to Chicago and see his wife. Alone she would have time, heconjectured to think, to see and to realize just what she was doing. Whyshould they be separated? Positively there was nothing and never hadbeen anything amiss between them, was what passed daily through hismind. Well, he decided that he would go to her as soon as he hadarranged matters so he could. He was peeved when he recalled that thespring before he had been forced to make a trip to that same city thatcould as well have been avoided. But when anything had to be done, JeanBaptiste usually went after it and was through. In business where he waspitted against men, this was not difficult, and instead of disliking toface such music, he rather relished the zest it gave him. But when a manis dealing with a snake--for nothing else can a man who would sacrificehis own blood to vanity be likened to, it must be admitted that thetask worried Jean Baptiste. If N. Justine McCarthy had been a reader,an observer, and a judge of mankind as well as a student of human natureand its vicissitudes he could have realized that murder was not shortfor such actions as he was perpetrating. But here again Jean Baptistewas too busy. He had no time to waste in jail--for even if killing theman who had done him such an injury be justified he realized thatjustice in such cases works slowly. But it would be vain and untruthfulto say that with the bitterness in his heart, Jean Baptiste did notreach a point in his mind where he could have slain in cold blood theman with whom he was dealing.
At last came the time when he could be spared from his farm, and toChicago he journeyed. Positively this was one trip to that city thatgave him no joy. He estimated before reaching there, that he should bestnot call up the house, but bide his time and try to meet his wifeelsewhere. But when he arrived in the city, and not being a coward, hedismissed this idea and went directly to the house in Vernon Avenue.
He was met at the door by "Little Mother Mary," who did not greet him asshe might have, but for certain reasons. The most she could do even tolive in the same atmosphere with her husband was to pretend to act inaccordance with his sentiments. Baptiste followed her back to the rearroom where she took a seat and he sat down beside her. She had utteredno word of greeting, but he came directly to the point. "Where isOrlean?"
"She's out."
"Out where?"
"She just walked out into the street."
"How is she?"
"Better than when she came home," meaningly.
"When she was _brought_ home," he corrected.
"Well?"
"But I am not here to
argue whereof. I am here to see her."
"But she's out."
"However, she'll return, I hope. If not, then, where might I find her?"
"She'll return presently."
He was silent for a time while she regarded him nervously, listening inthe meantime as if expecting some one. She was afraid. Her husband hadleft the city only that morning; but behind him he had left anescutcheon who could--and was, as capable of making matters asdisagreeable. It was Ethel, and Mrs. McCarthy was aware that that onewas upstairs. The household had been conducted according to the desiresand dictates of the Elder. Wherefore she was uneasy. Baptiste observedher now, and made mental note as to the cause of the expression ofuneasiness upon her face.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
She did not reply, but sighed.
"What's the matter, Mother Mary?" he asked kindly. Her love andadmiration asserted itself momentarily in the look with which shereplied to him. How in that moment she wanted to tell him all, and to beto him as she had always wanted to be. But only a moment was she so,then that look of hunted fear overspread her face again, and she turneduneasily toward the stairs.
"Won't you tell me what the matter is, mother?" she heard him again. Foranswer the quick glance over her shoulder was sufficient. It was as ifto say. "Hush! Enemies are near!" He then estimated that the Elder hadgone to the southern part of the state, but Ethel must be near, and itwas Ethel whom the mother feared. He understood then, that the Reverendhad a cunning way of having Ethel do his bidding. Because she waspossessed of his evil disposition, he could trust her to carry outanything on this order--that is, providing she disliked the person inquestion, and that was usually the case, for, like him, there were fewpeople whom she really liked.
"What have you been doing to my child?" he heard from Mother Mary,presently. He studied her face again and saw that she was trying toreckon with him herself, although he knew that it mattered little whatshe thought or did on the whole.
"Has she told you what I have been doing to her?" he said. She shifteduncomfortably, looked around a little, listened for a sound that sheexpected to hear sooner or later, and then replied, and in doing so, hesaw that she was again subservient to the old training.
"My husband told me," she countered.
"Oh," he echoed.
"You have not acted with discretion," she said again, and he understoodher. Acting with "discretion" would been never to have given theReverend an excuse for making that trip....
"I have been good to your daughter; a husband to the best of myability."
"But you--you--should not have blundered." Again he was reminded of whatit meant to displease or give her husband any excuse.
"I did not agree in this room a year ago to be regardful of the opinionof others," he defended. "I agreed to the word of the law and of God. Ihave tried to fulfill that word. I did not intend to be absent when thechild came." She shifted again uneasily, and her mind went back to theday Orlean was born and that her husband, too, had been away....
"If I can see Orlean that will be sufficient," he said.
"She went to walk."
"Mother?"
She regarded him again, and then turned her eyes away for she could notstand to look long into his. The truth there would upset her and sheknew it.
"Why must this be so?" She shifted uneasily again. Oh, if she could onlybe brave. If she could only dare--but she was not brave, Orlean was notbrave. They had lived their lives too long subservient to the will ofothers to attempt bravery now. She rested her eyes on some sewing shepretended to do and waited. It could only be for a little while. Ethelmust learn sooner or later of his presence, and then--! There would be ascene or he must go.
"It's a shame," said the other.
"You should have been careful," she returned meaningly. But in her mindwas still the dream. If she could be brave....
"Mother!" called some one sharply. Jean recognized the voice, thecommand. The other's face went pale for a moment, while her eyes closed.He understood. The worst had come. In the minutes they had been sittingthere, she had almost dared hope that Orlean would return, and that insome way--perhaps it would have to come from heaven--they could fly. Butchances now were gone. His cohort had appeared. "Who is it out there?"she asked, and came toward where they sat. She saw him then, andregarded him coldly. Through her mind shot the fact that her father hadwaited three weeks for him, and had just left that morning. Herdisappointment was keen. For a moment she was frightened. In truth sheheld a fearsome admiration for the man, and then she stiffened. She hadcome back to herself; to the fact that she had a reputation for beingdisagreeable. She turned to him, and said:
"What are you doing here?"
He answered her not. Her mother was trembling.
"Get out of this house!" she commanded, getting control of herself.
Baptiste was in a quandary. He recalled how he had seen her make herhusband jump as if trying to get out of his skin when she was in herevil spasms.
"Did you hear!" she almost screamed.
"I am waiting for my wife," he replied then calmly.
"She is my sister!" she screamed again.
"I suppose I am aware of that."
"Then you cannot have her!"
"She is mine already."
"You're a liar!" she yelled, crying now, and her evil little facescrewed up horribly in her anger. Mrs. McCarthy was trembling as if achill had come over her. Ethel suddenly flew to the 'phone. She got anumber, and he heard her scream:
"Glavis! Glav--is.... That man is here!... Glav--is!... That man ishere!..." He could understand no more, then, but saw that she wasfrantic. He finally heard Mother Mary.
"You're wanted at the 'phone," she said, tremblingly. He got up and wentto it. Ethel was dancing about the room like a demon.
"Hello!" he called.
"Hello!" came back. "Ah--ha--who--who--who is th-is?" the othersputtered, all excitement.
"Baptiste," replied the other, wondering at his excitement.
"Wh--at a--re yo--u do-i-ng a--t m-y h-o-u-s-e?"
"Oh, say," called back Baptiste. "There's nobody dead out here. Now calmyourself and say what you want to. I'm listening."
"We--ll," said the other, a little better controlled. "I ask what youare doing at my house?"
"Your house!" echoed Baptiste, uncomprehendingly. "Why, I do notunderstand you."
"I want to know what you are doing at my house after what you said aboutme!"
"At your house after what I said about you!" Baptiste repeated.
"Yes. You said I was 'nothing but a thirteen dollars a week jockey,' andall that." Baptiste was thoughtful. He had never said anything aboutGlavis--and then he understood. Some more of the Elder's work.
"Now, Glavis, I do not understand what you mean when you say what I saidabout you; but as for my being here, that is distinctly no wish of mine.But you know my wife is here, and it is her I am here to see. No other."
"But I want to see you downtown--you come down here!"
Baptiste was thoughtful. He knew that he could exert no influence overOrlean when she did return with Ethel acting as she was, so he might aswell be downtown for the present as elsewhere. So he answered:
"Well, alright."
Ethel slammed and locked the door behind him, and he walked over toCottage Grove Avenue and boarded a car.