The White Lady (15 page)

The next-door neighbor’s niece had not been the only one who had known of his being at the Cedars that afternoon. Holly had stood across the road, and by his side Silas Barton, onetime saloonkeeper, now a bootlegger masquerading as a druggist.

Holly had just been boasting to Silas of his dinner. Here was opposition springing under Silas’s very nose! He had intended opening a sort of restaurant soon himself, and now he was taken unawares and would not have the advantage of the first trade in that line. Silas was angry, and his face took on an ugly sneer.

“It won’t last,” he growled. “No one could do anything in that house. It’s been tried and failed.”

Holly declared that the good looks of the present innkeeper would keep up trade, if nothing else. Holly had the advantage of seeing the young proprietor a good deal, when he helped them to move in.

“Ef she’s such a beaut,” boasted Barton, “I’ll
marry
her and take over the business myself!”

Holly laughed loud and long. He was not too dull to see how far apart these two would be. The laugh, for some reason, angered Barton beyond his usual control, and he turned an ugly face toward Holly.

Holly just then spied the minister and, thinking to have a little more fun, for he meant no harm to anyone, answered the minister’s bow with a familiar greeting. “Ben to try the new eatin’ shop, Parson? Purty good, ain’t it?”

John Endicott smiled pleasantly and agreed heartily that everything was very nice, adding a commonplace remark about the desirability of having such a convenience in the town. Si Barton turned his evil eyes on the minister with a leer and spoke in a loud voice that all in the vicinity could hear.

“So you’ve fell for her, too, have ya? A painted face and a wicked smile’ll get ’em every time. I thought you wasn’t so doggone holy as you try to make out!”

A loud guffaw from a few loungers around the drugstore followed this insinuation, and John Endicott, his face white with righteous anger, wheeled and faced the ugly bully.

B
y this time, Jimmy had arrived. Jimmy was never known to have missed anything that happened in Rushville since he was old enough to toddle, except the wreck the day that Constance arrived, and he never quite forgave himself for having missed that.

A crowd gathered instantly from nobody knew where. For a moment it looked as if there was going to be a fight. The bootlegger’s face was red with challenge. He was almost twice the size of his adversary. But there was something about John Endicott’s attitude that made one think he could fight, and the sudden quick lifting of his arm gave the impression of not only strength, but skill.

The crowd flashed a mute admiration at their minister, and stood back respectfully.

Then, suddenly, it was as if something unseen restrained him. As if he had been denied permission to do this thing, the hand that had been lifted was slowly lowered to his side. Though his eyes still held Barton in a stern look of rebuke, contempt flamed high in the red face of Barton, and a laugh that was not good to hear rang out, feebly echoed by two or three bystanders.

Some would be glad to see the minister downed. They had a contempt for all ministers in general, and this one in particular, because his preaching had aroused the interest of the girls they went with, but they were too cowardly themselves to admit it.

With an oath the bootlegger, as if to draw his adversary on, brought out a sentence about Constance that was enough to make the blood of any good man boil. For a second time John Endicott’s eyes and arm moved, but still the restraining power was upon him, and an exalted look of submission seemed flung over his face like a light from above. He stepped back suddenly as if a serpent had been in the way.

“Barton!” said he, a contempt now in his own voice, “you dishonor yourself by such words more than you could possibly dishonor me or any woman, good or bad; and this one is a stranger to us both.”

He turned after his rebuke, and walked away amid a silence that was unbroken until he reached the corner and was just about to pass out of sight. Then a single word was hurled at him by a boy on the edge of the crowd, a thin boy with hay-colored hair, light eyes, and a weak, contemptible mouth.

“Coward!” he yelled, loud and distinct. He would not have dared do it with the minister’s eye upon him. It reached the minister’s ears, and the crowd knew it must have done so, but he did not swerve a hair’s breadth from his course and was gone from their sight. The word seemed to rebound from him as if it had struck a wall of cement.

Instantly, Jimmy dived under the arm of the man who stood between him and the tall boy. It was Lanky, whom he had whipped once that day. Jimmy gave him no time to prepare this time. Without warning he bounced, head down, straight into the stomach of the boy who had dishonored the minister, and, taking him thus unexpectedly, upset him into the road.

Jimmy was upon him before the boy fairly knew he was landed, and once more he recoiled under the iron grip of the wiry little fingers. Sitting astride of him, his seat well chosen for distance, his small bare legs encircling his victim’s arms, pinioning them to his sides, Jimmy rained the blows thick and fast upon him.

The crowd stood back, well pleased, not interfering, though a passing woman protested, “Someone ought to separate them kids.” The crowd was being amused, and now that the fight between the minister and Barton was off, they were willing to have a substitute.

“You gotta say thet you know the minister ain’t no coward,” said Jimmy calmly, holding a threatening fist aloft, ready to strike again.

Lanky, looking eagerly among the crowd for a friend and meeting the wavering laugh of the bystanders, shut his mouth sullenly. He had not much choice. If he obeyed Jimmy, he would be the laughingstock of the town, and, of all things, Lanky hated to be laughed at.

But he had not long to wait. The blows descended upon him once more with redoubled force and energy. There was determination in Jimmy’s red, mad little face, and his grip was that of a bulldog. Lanky tried to unseat him, but in vain. At last he cried out, “All right, have it yer own way!”

“Well, say it then, good an’ loud.” The blows continued, though lighter.

“I say it,” said Lanky at the top of his voice.

“No, that ain’t what I mean. Yer to say the words, ‘the minister ain’t no coward,’ just like that, only louder.”

“The minister—aint—no—boo—ow!—ow!—ow! you stop! I can’t talk when you hit me like thet.”

“Well then, say it good an’ loud, loud enough fer the minister to hear. I’ll wait till you get it said.”

Jimmy paused threateningly.

“The—minister—ain’t no—coward!” gasped Lanky shamedly.

“No, that ain’t loud ’nough. The minister’s clear to Mis’ Bartlett’s gate by this time. You
holler
it! Holler it loud ’nough fer him to hear!” And this time Lanky “hollered,” and the word “coward” came sounding through the air, alone, to the minister’s ear, making him long to turn and face them all. He looked down the street, half expecting to see a mob of small boys after him.

“Now,” said Jimmy, looking down into his victim’s face, “you ken git up. An’ ef I ever catch you at anythin’ like thet again, I won’t let you off so easy.”

Lightly he sprang up from his work, and turning toward the crowd, who had of course sided with the victor, he cast one glance of scorn at them all as if he had but been doing what they should have done. The red face of Barton leered in the center, and Jimmy’s eyes fixed themselves upon it for an instant, recognizing some subtle enmity between them; then he said, as he stuck his hands unconcernedly in his pockets and turned to swagger away, “Fer half a cent I’d lick
you
, too!”

The ready guffaw of the listeners followed him down the street, and he knew that he had the laugh on the bootlegger, whose angry, menacing glance he did not see. Straight into the gate of the Cedars he marched, and shut it slowly after him as if he were Constance’s natural protector, and whistled as he walked up the path, reflecting on all that had happened.

“Thet’s a great kid, thet is,” reflected Holly aloud as he turned to leave the audience after the play was over. “He’ll make his way in the world, I’ll bet—an’ some other folks’, too, mebbe!” And he walked away, pondering on chivalry. Later he took his way to the side door of the drugstore and asked Jennie if she would go with him to have a dish of ice cream.

Jennie was a pretty girl, though she was Si Barton’s sister. Her chin tilted slightly; she had synthetic pink cheeks, large blue eyes that were not shy, and wore cheap, abnormally brief silk frocks, gaudy beads, and her hair in a bushy bob, which she constantly patted and smoothed. Jennie subscribed to a fashion magazine and aimed to keep up with the times.

Usually, Jennie looked with contempt upon Holly’s advances, but this time she was bored. Besides, she had another admirer whom she felt needed a little punishment. Therefore, Jennie accepted the invitation.

She had on her pink sweater that night and a pink-and-white pleated skirt. Holly thought she looked unusually pretty. He decided that she was really prettier than the new lady who kept the tearoom, though there was something stately and far away about
her
that made her seem like a picture that one ought not to touch. Holly was a thinker, in his way.

Jennie, half fearful of the twilight as she passed the cedar trees, clung to Holly’s great arm and giggled a good deal. She looked around the palm room with open admiration and declared it would make a lovely ballroom. She wondered whether the new lady would have a dance sometime and invite them all. Then she remarked upon the missing mirror that was supposed to exercise such strong ghostly power, and wondered what the new lady had done with it. Holly called her attention to the great painting of the sea. Jennie said, “Yes, it is pretty. Gosh! What a frame! It must have cost a pile!” Holly saw she did not feel as he did about the water, nor seem to imagine ships coming by in the misty horizon. Holly was greatly struck by that picture.

Norah was very tired, though she would not admit it, and Constance had sent her upstairs to rest, telling her she was sure there would be no one else there that evening. Norah, saying she would just lie down a bit if Miss Constance would call her if anyone came, had finally submitted.

Constance was sitting in the sweet spring darkness of the veranda in her white flannel dress when Holly and Jennie arrived. The room was lit up behind her, making a halo of light. Her grandmother had retired for the night, and there was nothing for Constance to do but wait to see whether other customers would come. She did not expect any, or she would perhaps have kept Norah, for she shrank from coming into contact with people; yet she was trying to make up her mind to it, for she knew it would have to be done sooner or later.

So it was Constance who took the order and went in her unaccustomed awkward way to the freezer for the cream. It was a wonder she did not flavor the cream with salt, but good fortune attended her efforts, and when she had placed it before her customers, she felt that she had accomplished a Herculean task. She was as pleased as a child being allowed to try some new duty. She sat in the library across the hall, waiting to see whether there was anything else needed while Holly and Jennie ate their cream and cake and talked in low, half-shy tones.

“My! Ain’t she handsome?” exclaimed Jennie under her breath, following Constance with her eyes as she went out of the room. “She looks for all the world like one of the ladies in my fashion magazine, and I don’t see what makes it! She hasn’t got much jewelry and no makeup at all. Her clothes look as if they grew on her and didn’t bother her a bit.”

“I don’t see’s they look’s purty’s yourn,” said Holly gallantly. “Thet there bias pink rosette you’ve got slung on your shoulder, ef that’s what you call it, ’s mighty becomin’.”

Jennie giggled and flushed a pretty pink over the compliment to the artificial rose she wore, but she could not get done with the appearance of Constance.

“Wisht I knew how she waves her hair,” she murmured.

“Why don’t you ask her? I would,” said Holly. He always went straight to the point.

“Would you?” said Jennie, pleased with the thought. “Mebbe I will when I get to know her better.”

“Seems to me your hair’s purty enough as ’tis,” said Holly, with a clumsy wink that was meant to show appreciation.

Jennie felt a glow of pleasure over his gentle tone. She looked her rough admirer over critically. He wouldn’t be so bad-looking, she thought, if he could be dressed up like a real gentleman. A white shirt and a stylish necktie was the making of a man in Jennie’s opinion.

When they had finished, Jennie lingered in the hall casting a wistful eye into the open library that had a look about it of a world Jennie did not know. It invited her, and she longed to go in and investigate. But Holly had in view a walk in the moonlight, and he hurried her out.

It was late the next afternoon, when Constance sat down in the library to answer some letters and put a few old friends off their trail, that Jennie made her first venture.

She came stealing to the front door, half afraid. Tiptoeing into the hall and finding no one about, she ventured to knock on the library door then, abashed, drew back to the shelter of the front entrance.

Constance, surprised, opened the door, and there stood the girl, in all her bravery of best clothes. She had chosen a new, cheap, bright blue silk for the occasion, and she looked shy and uncomfortable.

“I thought I’d come over to call,” said Jennie shyly, as she found Constance expected her to speak first, evidently thinking she had come to order something in the tearoom. “I thought mebbe you’d be lonesome in a new place and would like another girl to come in and be friendly.”

“Why, certainly,” said Constance, bewildered. It occurred to her that this was kindness. “Won’t you come in and sit down? Come right in here,” she said on second thought, pushing back the heavy curtains of her own inner sanctum, the room back of the library, where stood her beautiful piano, her favorite books, and all the prettiest of her own particular things. It was her spot where she could come and feel at home when the new life grew hard and unbearable, if it ever did. Just now it was interesting, though she saw possibilities in the future that made this room seem like a city of refuge. What impulse seized her to bring this girl into her inner sanctum she did not know.