CHAPTER XLIX
BACK HOME
Late the next afternoon Jinnie left the train at Mottville station,her fiddle box in one hand, and a suitcase in the other. She stood amoment watching the train as it disappeared. It had carried her fromthe man she loved, brought her away from Bellaire, the city of herhopes. One bitter fact reared itself above all others. The world ofwhich Theodore King had been the integral part was dead to her. Whatwas she to do without him, without Bobbie to pet and love? But afeeling of thanksgiving pervaded her when she remembered she still hadLafe's smile, the baby to croon over, and dear, stoical Peggy. Theywould live with her in the old home. It was preferable to staying inBellaire, where her heart would be tortured daily. Rather the broodinghills, the singing pines, and all the wildness of nature, which wasakin to the struggle within her, and perhaps in the future she mightgather up the broken threads of her life.
She shook as if attacked with ague as she came within sight of thegaunt farmhouse, and the broken windows and hanging doors gave her asense of everlasting decay.
Below her in the valley lay the blue lake, a shining spread of water,quiet and silent, here and there upon it the shadow of a floating,fluffy cloud. She listened to the nagging chatter of the squirrels,mingled with the fluttering of the forest birds high above her head.As she stood on the hill, the only human being in all the wildernessabout, in fancy she seemed to be at the very top of the world.
She heard the old familiar voices of the mourning pines, andremembered their soothing magic, and a stinging reproach swept overher at the thought of her forgetfulness of them. They had been friendswhen no other friends were near. Along with the flood of memories cameMatty's ghastly ghost stories and her past belief that her mother'sspirit hovered near her.
She went through the lane leading to the house and paused under thetrees. Presently she placed her violin box and suitcase on the grassand lay down beside them. In the eaves of the house a dove cooed hislate afternoon love to his mate, and Jinnie, because she was veryyoung and very much in love, brought Theodore before her with thatlingering retrospection that takes possession in such sensuousmoments. She could feel again the hot tremor of his hands as theyclung to hers, and she bent her head in shame at the acute,electrifying sensations. He belonged to another woman; he no longerbelonged to her. She must conquer her love for him, and at that momentevery desire to study, every thought of work seemed insipid anduseless. The whole majestic beauty of the scene, her sudden cominginto a great deal of money, did not add to her happiness. She wouldgladly give it all up to be again with her loves of yesterday. Butthat could not be! The future lay in a hard, straight line before her.She was striving against a ceaseless, resisting force,--the force ofher whole passionate nature.
With their usual reluctance, the things of night at length creptforth. Jinnie felt some of them as they touched her hands, her face,and moved on. One of the countless birds fluttered low, as iffrightened at the advancing dark, brushed her cheek, then winged onand up and was lost in the tree above her. Somewhere deep in the gloomshrouding the little graveyard came the ghostly flutter of an owl.
Jinnie was flat on her back, and how long she lay thus she could neverafterward remember, but it was until the stars appeared and the moonformed queer fantastic pictures, like frost upon a window pane. Insolemn review passed the days,--from that awful night when she hadleft her father dead upon the floor in the house nearby to the presentmoment. She glanced at the windows. They looked back at her likesquare, darkening eyes.
She wondered dully how that wee star away off there could blink sopeacefully in its nightly course when just below it beat a heart thathurt like hers. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again,long black fingers were drawing dark pictures across the sky. A dropof rain fell upon her face, but still she did not move. Then, likerows of soldiers, the low clouds drew slowly together, and the starssoftly wept themselves out.
Suddenly, from the other side of the lake, the thunder rolled up, andwith the distant boom came the thought of Lafe's infinite faith, andthe memory fell upon Jinnie like a benediction from God's dark sky.
She arose from the grass, took the fiddle box and bag, and walked tothe porch. She went in through the broken door. It was dark, too darkto see much, and from the leather case she took a box of matches and acandle. Memories crowded down upon her thick and fast. In the kitchen,which was bare, she could mark the place where Matty used to sit andwhere her own chair had been.
The long stairs that led from the basement to the upper floor yawnedblack in the gloom. Candle and fiddle in hand, Jinnie mounted them andhalted before the unopened door. Somehow it seemed as if she wouldfind before the grate the long, thin body of her dead father, and shedistinctly remembered the spindle fire-flames falling in golden yellowlicks upon his face. In her imagination she could again see theflake-like ashes, thrown out from the smoldering fire, rise grey tothe ceiling, then descend silently over him like a pale shroud.
After this hesitation, she slowly turned the handle of the door andwalked in. The only things remaining in the room were a broken tableand chair. She placed the violin on the floor and the candle on thetable. Then with a shudder Jinnie drew from her blouse an unopenedletter, studying it long in the flickering light. It had been writtenin this very room three years before, and within its sealed pages laythe whole secret which now none but the dead knew.
It took no effort on her part to bring back to her memory JordanMorse's handsome face and his rock-grey eyes, eyes like Bobbie's. Heand Bobbie had gone away together. She touched the corner of theenvelope to the candle, watching it roll over in a brown curl as itburned.
"He's happy now," she murmured. "He's got his baby and Lafe'sangels."
Then she gathered up the handful of ashes, opened the window, andthrew them out. The hands of the night wind snatched them as they felland carried them swiftly away through the rain.
On her way to the attic stairs, she stood a minute before the window,awe-stricken. From the north the great storm was advancing, and fromamong the hills rolled the distant roar of thunder. It brought to hermind the night when Peggy had gone into the life-valley and broughtback Lafe's baby; and she remembered, too, with a sob, Blind Bobbie,and how she missed him. Ah, it was a lonely, haunted little spiritthat crept up the dark narrow stairs to the garret!
Only that the room seemed lower and more stuffy, it, too, was much thesame as she had left it. She brushed aside some silvery cobwebs,raised the window, and sat down on a dilapidated trunk. On the floorat her feet, almost covered with dust, was the old fairy book aboutthe famous kings. She picked it up mechanically. On the first page wasthe man in the red suit, with the overhanging nose and fat body,--hewhom she at one time believed to be related to Theodore.
Again she was overwhelmed with her misery. Theodore belonged toanother woman, and Jinnie, alone with her past and an uncertainfuture, sat staring dry-eyed into the stormy night.
CHAPTER L
"GOD MADE YOU MINE"
"I haven't seen any papers for three days, Molly. What's become ofthem all?"
Theodore and Molly were sitting in the waning sunshine, themany-colored autumn leaves drifting silently past them to form avaried carpet over the grass.
All fear had now left the woman. She had Jinnie's promise not to seeTheodore, and he had apparently forgotten there ever was such a girlin the world.
"I'd really like to see the papers," repeated Theodore. "Dear me, howglad I am to be so well!"
"We're all glad," whispered Molly, with bright eyes.
She had kept the papers from him purposely, playfully pretending shewould rather give him an account of the court proceedings. When shedescribed how another man had confessed to the shooting, Theodore felta glad thrill that the cobbler was exonerated. Later Molly decided shewould tell him about Morse, but never that she had married him. It wasshe who suggested, after a time of silence:
"Theodore, don't you think a little trip would do us all good? Yourmother's been so worried o
ver you----"
"Where would we go?" he asked, without interest.
"Anywhere to get away from Bellaire for a season."
"We might consider it," he replied reluctantly. Then he fell tothinking of a blue-eyed girl, of the letter,--that puzzling lettershe had sent him. When he could bear his thoughts no longer, he got upand walked away under the trees, and Molly allowed him to go. Shewatched him strolling slowly, and was happy. He had been so sweet, sokindly, almost thrilling to her of late. She would make him love her.It would be but a matter of a few weeks if she could get him away fromBellaire. Just at that moment Mrs. King's bell rang, and she went intothe house. When she came back, Theodore was sitting on the verandareading a letter, with another one unopened on his knee. The sight ofhis white face brought an exclamation from her lips.
"Theodore!" she cried.
He reminded her she was standing by saying:
"Sit down!"
This she was glad to do, for her knees trembled. Her eyes caught thehandwriting on the unopened letter, resting like a white menace onTheodore's lap. She saw her own name upon it, but dared not, nor hadshe the strength, to ask for it.
At length, with a long breath, Theodore looked at her steadily.
"This letter is for you," he said, picking up her own. "Open it andthen--give it to me."
Never had she heard such tones in his voice, nor had she ever been sothoroughly frightened. Mechanically she took the letter, tore open theflap, and read the contents:
* * * * *
"DEAR MISS MERRIWEATHER:
"After you left the shop, I decided to do as you wanted me to. I shallgo back to Mottville, and afterwards Peggy and Lafe will come to me.I'll keep my promise and won't see Theodore. I hope you will make himhappy.
JINNIE GRANDOKEN."
* * * * *
Molly crushed the paper between her fingers.
"Don't do that," commanded Theodore sharply. "Give it to me."
"It's mine," murmured Molly, lacking breath to speak aloud.
"Give it to me!" thundered Theodore.
And because she dared not disobey, she slowly extended the letter.
With deliberation the man spread out the crumpled page and read itthrough slowly. Then once more he took up his own letter and perusedit.
* * * * *
"DEAR MR. KING:
"I'm going back to my home in the hills to-morrow. I'm so glad you'rebetter. I thank you for all you've done for Lafe and Peggy, and hopeyou'll always be happy. For what you did for me I can't thank youenough, but as soon as I get my money, I'll send back all you'veadvanced for my lessons and other things. I'm praying all the time foryou.
"JINNIE GRANDOKEN SINGLETON."
* * * * *
Sudden tears almost blotted the signature from Theodore's vision.
On the spur of the moment he picked up both letters and thrust theminto his pocket.
"Come upstairs with me," he ordered the woman staring at him withfrozen features.
Molly followed him as in a dream, preceding him when he stepped asideto allow her to enter the little sitting-room, where of late she hadpassed so many pleasant hours. Then as he closed the door, he whirledupon her.
"Now I want the meaning of those letters. Have you seen MissGrandoken?"
"Yes!" She could say no more.
"When?"
"Yesterday."
"There's something I don't know. Ah! That's why you kept the papersfrom me." Quickly he turned to the bell.
"Theodore!" gasped Molly. "Wait! Wait! Don't--don't ring! I'll tellyou; I will!"
He pressed the bell button savagely.
"I wouldn't believe you under oath," he muttered.
"I want all this week's papers, and I want 'em quick!" he snapped atthe servant. "Every one! Last night's too!"
He walked to the window, but turned again as a knock came upon thedoor.
"I can't find the papers, sir," excused the maid.
"Wait!" Theodore closed the door, exclaiming in white heat, "Molly,where are those papers?"
"In my room," replied Molly sulkily.
Mr. King gave the order, and again they were behind closed doors.Molly made a sorry picture of shame when Theodore looked at her.
"I'll get to the bottom of this if it kills me," he said wearily.
"Theo, Theo, don't read the papers!" she gasped. Then she fell forwardat his feet. "I love you, dear; I love you."
"You've lost your mind, Molly," he said harshly. "You're mad,completely mad."
"No, I'm not. Listen, Theodore, I'm here at your feet, miserable,unhappy; I want to be forgiven----"
"Then tell me what you did to Jinnie Grandoken."
"I can't! I can't!"
When another knock sounded on the door, Theodore opened it and tookthe papers through the smallest imaginable crack. Molly crawled to achair and leaned her head upon the seat. Without a word, Theodore satdown and began to turn the pages of the papers nervously. As he readboth accounts of Lafe's trial, bitter ejaculations fell from his lips.The story of Bobbie's dramatic death and Morse's suicide brought fortha groan. When he placed the papers slowly beside him on the floor,Molly raised her face, white and torn with grief.
"Now you know it all, forgive me!"
"Never, while I live!" he cried. "What ungodly wretchedness you'vemade that child suffer! And you were married all the time to Morse,and the mother of that poor little boy!"
"Yes," sobbed Molly.
Then a sudden thought took possession of him.
"You and Morse made Jinnie write me that first letter."
Molly nodded.
"May God forgive you both!" he stammered, and whirled out of theroom.
An hour later, with new strength and purpose, Theodore threw a fewclothes into a suitcase, ordered the fastest motor in the garage, andwas standing on the porch when Molly came swiftly to him.
"Theodore," she said, with twitching face, "if you go away now, youwon't find me here when you get back."
He glanced her over with curling lip.
"As you please," he returned indifferently. "You've done enough damageas it is. If you've any heart, stay here with the only person in theworld who has any faith in you."
Vacantly the woman watched the motor glide away over the smooth whiteroad, and then limply slid to the floor in a dead faint.
All the distance from Bellaire to Mottville Theodore was tortured withdoubt. He brought to mind Jinnie's girlish embarrassment when they hadbeen together; the fluttering white lids as his kisses brought a blueflash from the speaking love-lit eyes. She had loved him then; did shenow? Of course she must love him! She had brought to him the freshnessof spring--the love of the mating birds among the blossoms--thepassionate desire of a heaven-wrought soul for its own, to whom couldbe entrusted all that was his dearest and best. He would follow herand win her,--yea, _win_ the woman God had made for him and him alone,and into his eyes leapt the expression of the conquering male, theforce God had created within him to reach for the woman sublime andcherish her.
When the car entered Mottville, rain was falling and the wind wasmourning ceaselessly.
By inquiry, Theodore found the road to the Singleton farm, and again,as he impatiently sank back in the motor, he mentally vowed, with thevow of a strong man, that the girl should listen to him. He neverrealized, until they were climbing the rain-soaked hill, how starvedwas the very soul of him.
The road was running with water, but they ploughed on, until throughthe trees the farmhouse loomed up darkly. Bennett stopped the car atthe gate and Theodore jumped out. A light twinkling in the upper partof the house told him she was there. Harmonious echoes were soundingand resounding in his ears. They were notes from Jinnie's fiddle, andfor a moment, as they sobbed out through the attic window
, he leanedback against the wet fence, feeling almost faint. The wild, sweet,unearthly melody surged over him with memories of the past.
Then he passed under the thrashing pines, mounted the broken steps,and entered the house.
It took but a minute to find the stairs by which to reach her, andthere he stood in the gloom of the attic door, watching the swayingyoung figure and noting the whole pitiful dejection of her. In thesingle little light her eyes were as blue as the wing of a royal bird,and oh, what suffering she must have gone through! Then Jinnie ceasedplaying, and, as if drawn by a presence she knew not of, she turnedher eyes slowly toward the door, and when she saw him, she fell,huddled with her violin on the garret floor, staring upward withfrightened eyes.
"If you're there," she panted, "if--if--speak to me!"
He bounded forward and gathered her up, and the light of an adoringlove shone full upon him.
"My sweet, my sweet, my beautiful, my little wonder-woman!" hebreathed. "Did you think I could live without you?"
She was leaning, half fainting, against his breast, like a wind-blownflower.
"I've come for you," he said hoarsely. "Dearest, sweetest Jinnie!"
She pressed backward, loyalty for another woman rising within her.
"But Molly, Molly the Merry----" she breathed.
Theodore shook his head.
"I only know I love you, sweetheart, that I've come for you," and ashis lips met hers, Jinnie clung to him, a very sweet young thing, andbetween those warm, passionate kisses she heard him murmur:
"God made you mine, littlest love!"
And so they went forth from the lonely farmhouse, with none but thecobbler's angels watching over them.
THE END
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