XVI
The heir of the Tyee mills and forests was not of a religious turn ofmind for all his strict training in Christian doctrine, althoughperhaps it would be more to the point to state that he was inclined tobe unorthodox. Nevertheless, out of respect to the faith of hisfathers, he rose that Sunday morning and decided to go to church. Notthat he anticipated any spiritual benefit would accrue to him byvirtue of his pilgrimage down to Port Agnew; in his heart of hearts heregarded the pastor as an old woman, a man afraid of the world, andwithout any knowledge of it, so to speak. But old Hector was a pillarof the church; his family had always accompanied him thither onSundays, and a sense of duty indicated to Donald that, as the futurehead of the clan, he should not alter its customs.
By a strange coincidence, the Reverend Mr. Tingley chose as the textfor his sermon the eighth chapter of the Gospel according to St. Johnfrom the first to the eleventh verses, inclusive. Donald, instantlyalert, straightened in the pew, and prepared to listen with interestto the Reverend Mr. Tingley's opinion of the wisdom of Jesus Christ inso casually disposing of the case of the woman taken in adultery.
"Dearly beloved," the pastor began, carefully placing an index-fingerbetween the leaves of his Bible to mark the passage he had just read,"the title of my sermon this Sunday shall be: 'The First Stone. Lethim who is without sin cast it.'"
"Banal, hypocritical ass!" Donald soliloquized. "She was themezzo-soprano soloist in your choir four years, and you haven't triedto help her since she came back to the Sawdust Pile."
It was a good sermon, as sermons go. In fact, the Reverend Mr.Tingley, warming to his theme, quite outdid himself on the subject ofcharity as practised by his Redeemer, and, as a result, was therecipient of numberless congratulatory handshakes later at the churchdoor. Donald agreed that it was an unusually good sermon--in theory;but since he knew it would collapse in practise, he avoided Mr.Tingley after service.
On the steps of the church he was accosted by Andrew Daney and thelatter's wife, who greeted him effusively. Unfortunately for Mrs.Daney, Nan, in one of those bursts of confidence that must ever existbetween lovers, had informed Donald the night previous of the motherlysoul's interest in his affairs; wherefore he returned Mrs. Daney'swarm greeting with such chilly courtesy that she was at no loss toguess the reason for it and was instantly plunged into a slough ofterror and despair. She retained sufficient wit, however, to draw herhusband away, thus preventing him from walking with Donald.
"I want to tell him about Dirty Dan," Daney protested, in a low voice."As the boss, he ought to be told promptly of any injury to anemploye."
"Never mind Dirty Dan," she retorted. "He'll hear of it soon enough.Let us congratulate Mr. Tingley on his sermon."
Donald, having turned his back on them almost rudely, strode down thestreet to his car and motored back to The Dreamerie. He spent theremainder of the morning force-breaking a setter puppy to retrieve; atone o'clock, he ate a cold luncheon, and immediately thereafter drovedown to Port Agnew and brazenly parked his car in front of CalebBrent's gate.
He entered without the formality of knocking, and Nan met him in thetiny entrance-hall.
"I couldn't wait until dinner-time," he explained. "Nobody home at TheDreamerie--" He took her face in his calloused hands, drew her to him."You're sweet in that calico gown," he informed her, waiving apreliminary word of greeting. "I love you," he added softly, andkissed her. She clung to him.
"You should not have come here in broad daylight," she protested. "Oh,you big, foolish, impulsive dear! Don't you realize I want to protectyou from the tongue of scandal? If you persist in forgetting who youare, does it follow that I should pursue a similar course?"
He ignored her argument.
"I'll help you get dinner, old blue-eyes," he suggested. "Let me shucksome corn or shell some peas or string some beans--any job where I cansit and look at you and talk to you."
"It will please me if you'll visit a little while with father Caleb,"she suggested. "He's out on the sun-porch. He's far from well thismorning. Do cheer him up, Donald dear."
Old Caleb hailed him with a pleasure that was almost childish. Duringthe two weeks that had elapsed since Donald had seen him last, he hadfailed markedly.
"Well, how does the old sailor feel this morning?" Donald queriedcasually, seating himself opposite the old man.
"Poorly, Mr. Donald; poorly." He turned, satisfied himself that Nanwas busy in the kitchen, and then leaned toward his visitor. "I've gotmy sailing-orders," he whispered confidentially. The man who had won aCongressional medal of honor, without clearly knowing why or how, hadnot changed with the years. He advanced this statement as a simpleexposition of fact.
"Think so, Caleb?" Donald answered soberly.
"I know it."
"If you have no desire to live, Caleb, of course nature will yield toyour desires. Remember that and buck up. You may have yoursailing-orders, but you can keep the bar breaking indefinitely toprevent you from crossing out."
"I've done that for a year past. I do not wish to die and leave her,for my three-quarter pay stops then. But I suffer from anginapectoris. It's the worry, Mr. Donald," he added.
"Worry as to the future of Nan and the child?"
"Aye, lad."
"Well, Caleb, your worries are unnecessary. I feel it my duty to tellyou that I love Nan; she loves me, and we have told each other so. Sheshall not suffer when you are gone. She has indicated to me that, someday, this--this mess may be cleared up; and when that happens, I shallmarry Nan."
"So Nan told me this morning. I was wondering if you'd speak to meabout it, and I'm glad you have done so--promptly. You--you--honor us,Mr. Donald; you do, indeed. You're the one man in the world I cantrust her with, whether as good friend or husband--only, her hushandyou'll never be."
"I see breakers ahead," Donald admitted. He had no desire to dissemblewith this straightforward old father.
"We're poor folk and plain, but--please God!--we're decent and we knowour place, Mr. Donald. If your big heart tells you to dishonoryourself in the eyes of your world and your people--mark you, lad, Ido not admit that an alliance with my girl could ever dishonor you inyour own eyes--Nan will not be weak enough to permit it."
"I have argued all that out with myself," Donald confessed miserably,"without having arrived at a conclusion. I have made up my mind towait patiently and see what the future may bring forth."
"It may be a long wait."
"It will be worth while. And when you have sailed, I'll finance her toleave Port Agnew and develop her glorious voice."
"You haven't the right, Mr. Donald. My girl has some pride."
"I'll gamble a sizable sum on her artistic future. The matter will bearranged on a business basis. I shall lend her the money, and sheshall pay me back with interest."
"Nan has a woman's pride. The obligation would remain always, eventhough the money should be repaid."
"I think we'll manage to adjust that," Donald countered confidently.
"Ah, well," the old fellow answered; "we've always been your debtors.And it's a debt that grows."
He loaded his pipe and was silent, for, after the fashion of the aged,he dared assume that his youthful auditor would understand just howthe Brents regarded him.
"Well, my heart's lighter for our talk, lad," he declared presently."If you don't mind, I'll have a little nap."
Donald, grateful for the dismissal, returned to the kitchen, where Nanwas preparing the vegetables. Her child at once clamored forrecognition, and, almost before he knew it, Donald had the tyke in hislap and was saying,
"Once upon a time there was a king and he had three sons----"
"He isn't interested in kings and princes, dear," Nan interrupted."Tell him the story of the bad little rabbit."
"But I don't know it, Nan."
"Then you'll fail as a daddy to my boy. I'm surprised. If Don wereyour own flesh and blood, you would know intuitively that there isalways a bad little rabbit and a good little rabbit. They dwell
in ahollow tree with mother Rabbit and father Rabbit."
"Thanks for the hint. I shall not fail in this job of dadding. Wellthen, bub, once upon a time there was a certain Mr. Johnny Rabbit whomarried a very beautiful lady rabbit whose name was Miss MollyCottontail. After they were married and had gone to keep house under alumber-pile, Mr. Hezekiah Coon came along and offered to rent themsome beautifully furnished apartments in the burned-out stump of ahemlock tree. The rent was to be one nice ear of sweet corn everymonth--"
The tale continued, with eager queries from the interestedlistener--queries which merely stimulated the young laird of Tyee towilder and more whimsical flights of fancy, to the unfolding ofadventures more and more thrilling and unbelievable until, at last,the recital began to take on the character of an Arabian Nights' talethat threatened to involve the entire animal kingdom, and only ceasedwhen, with a wealth of mournful detail, Donald described the tragicdeath and funeral of the gallant young Johnny Rabbit, his fatherlessaudience suddenly burst into tears and howled lugubriously; whereuponDonald was hard put to it to bring Johnny Rabbit back to lifemysteriously but satisfactorily, and send him scampering home to thehollow hemlock tree, there to dwell happily ever after.
His tale completed, Donald happened to glance toward Nan. She wasregarding him with shining eyes.
"Donald," she declared, "it's a tremendous pity you haven't a boy ofyour own. You're just naturally intended for fatherhood."
He grinned.
"My father has been hinting rather broadly that a grandson would bethe very last thing on earth to make him angry. He desires to see thename and the breed and the business in a fair way of perpetuationbefore he passes on."
"That is the way of all flesh, Donald."
"I wish it were not his way. My inability to comply with his desiresisn't going to render dad or me any happier."
"Dear old boy, what a frightful predicament you're in!" she murmuredsympathetically. "I wish I could be quite certain you aren't really inlove with me, Donald."
"Life would be far rosier for all concerned if I were quite certain Iwas mistaking an old and exalted friendship for true love. But I'mnot. You're the one woman in the world for me, and if I cannot haveyou, I'll have none other--Hello! Weeping has made this young fellowheavy-lidded, or else my fiction has bored him, for he's nodding."
"It's time for his afternoon nap, Donald." She removed the sleepy totfrom his arms and carried him away to his crib. When she returned, sheresumed her task of preparing dinner.
"Nan," Donald queried suddenly, "have I the right to ask you the nameof the man who fathered that child?"
"Yes," she answered soberly; "you have. I wish, however, that youwould not ask me. I should have to decline to answer you."
"Well, then, I'll not ask. Nevertheless, it would interest me mightilyto know why you protect him."
"I am not at all desirous of protecting him, Donald. I am merelystriving to protect his legal wife. His marriage to me was bigamous;he undertook the task of leading a dual married life, and, when Idiscovered it, I left him."
"But are you certain he married you?"
"We went through a marriage ceremony which, at the time, I regarded asquite genuine. Of course, since it wasn't legal, it leaves me in thestatus of an unmarried woman."
"So I understood from your father. Where did this ceremony takeplace?"
"In San Francisco." She came over, sat down beside him, and took oneof his hard, big hands in both of hers. "I'm going to tell you as muchas I dare," she informed him soberly. "You have a right to know, andyou're too nice to ask questions. So I'll not leave you to the agoniesof doubt and curiosity. You see, honey dear, father Brent wanted me tohave vocal and piano lessons, and to do that I had to go to Seattleonce a week, and the railroad-fare, in addition to the cost of thelessons, was prohibitive until your father was good enough to secureme a position in the railroad-agent's office in Port Agnew. Of course,after I became an employe of the railroad company, I could travel on apass, so I used to go up to Seattle every Saturday, leaving here onthe morning train. Your father arranged matters in some way so that Iworked but five days a week."
"Naturally. Dad's a pretty heavy shipper over the line."
"I would receive my lessons late Saturday afternoons, stay overnightwith a friend of mine, and return to Port Agnew on Sunday. _He_ usedto board the train at--well, the name of the station doesn'tmatter--every Saturday, and one day we got acquainted, quite byaccident as it were. Our train ran through an open switch and collidedwith the rear end of a freight; there was considerable excitement, andeverybody spoke to everybody else, and after that it didn't appearthat we were strangers. The next Saturday, when he boarded the train,he sat down in the same seat with me and asked permission to introducehimself. He was very nice, and his manners were beautiful; he didn'tact in the least like a man who desired to 'make a mash.' Finally, oneday, he asked me to have dinner with him in Seattle, and I accepted. Ithink that was because I'd never been in a fashionable restaurant inall my life. After dinner, he escorted me to the studio, and on Sundaymorning we took the same train home again. He was such good companyand such a jolly, worldly fellow--so thoughtful and deferential! Can'tyou realize, Donald, how he must have appealed to a little countrygoose like me?
"Well, finally, daddy Brent learned that Signor Moretti, a tenor whohad retired from grand opera, had opened a studio in San Francisco. Weboth wanted Moretti to pass on my voice, but we couldn't afford theexpense of a journey to San Francisco for two, so daddy sent me alone.I wrote--that man about our plans, and told him the name of thesteamer I was sailing on. Your father gave me a passage on one of hissteam-schooners, and when we got to the dock in San Francisco--"
"_He_ was there, eh? Came down by train and beat the steamer in."Donald nodded his comprehension. "What did Moretti say about yourvoice?"
"The usual thing. My Seattle teacher had almost ruined my voice, hedeclared, but, for all that, he was very enthusiastic and promised mea career within five years if I would place myself unreservedly in hishands. Of course, we couldn't afford such an expensive career, and therealization that I had to forego even the special inducements SignorMoretti was generous enough to make me quite broke my heart. When Itold _him_ about it--we were engaged by that time--he suggested thatwe get married immediately, in order that I might reside with him inSan Francisco and study under Moretti. So we motored out into thecountry one day and were married at San Jose. He asked me to keep ourmarriage secret on account of some clause in his father's will, but Iinsisted upon my right to tell daddy Brent. Poor old dear! My marriagewas such a shock to him; but he agreed with me that it was all for thebest--"
"Well, I was quite happy for three months. My husband's businessinterests necessitated very frequent trips North--"
"What business was he in, Nan?"
"That is immaterial," she evaded him. "Presently, Signer Moretticontracted a severe cold and closed his studio for a month. Myhusband--I suppose I must call him that to identify him when I referto him--had just gone North on one of his frequent trips, and since healways kept me generously supplied with money, I decided suddenly totake advantage of Moretti's absence to run up to Port Agnew and visitmy father.
"In Seattle, as I alighted from the train, I saw my husband in thestation with another woman. I recognized her. She was a friend ofmine--a very dear, kind, thoughtful friend of several years'standing--the only woman friend I had in the world. I loved herdearly; you will understand when I tell you that she had frequentlygone out of her way to be kind to me. It struck me as strange that hehad never admitted knowing her, although frequently he had heard mespeak of her. While I stood pondering the situation, he took her inhis arms and kissed her good-by and boarded the train without seeingme. I slipped out of the station without having been seen by either ofthem; but while I was waiting for a taxicab, my friend came out of thestation, saw me, and rushed up to greet me. It developed, in thecourse of our conversation following the usual commonplaces ofgreeting, that she had been dow
n to the station to see her husband offon the train for San Francisco."
Donald whistled softly.
"How did you manage to get away with it, Nan?" he demandedincredulously.
"All my life I have been used to doing without things," she repliedsimply. "I suppose that helped a little. The shock was not so abruptthat I lost my presence of mind; you see, I had had a few minutes toadjust myself after seeing him kiss her in the station--and just thenthe taxicab came up and I escaped. Then I came home to the SawdustPile. I wrote him, of course, and sent the letter by registered mail,in order to make certain he would receive it. He did, but he did notanswer. There was no reason why he should, for he was quite safe. Ihad assured him there was no necessity for worry on my account."
"Of all the crazy, fool things for you to do!" Donald cried sharply."Why under the canopy did you deem it necessary to sacrifice yourselffor him? Surely you did not love him--"
"I'm afraid I never loved him," she interrupted. "I--I thought I did,although, if he hadn't been away so frequently after our marriage, Iwould have learned to love him dearly, I think."
"Just human nature," Donald suggested. "Something akin to whattrapshooters and golfers call a mental hazard."
"Of course he married me under an assumed name, Donald."
"Did you ever see a marriage certificate?"
"Oh, yes; I had to sign it in the presence of the minister."
Donald was relieved.
"Then, you great goose of a girl, you can clear your record any timeyou desire. The minister forwarded the marriage certificate to thestate capital, and it is registered there with the State Board ofHealth. After registration, it was returned to the minister whosesignature appeared on the certificate as the officiating clergyman.The minister undoubtedly returned the certificate to your husband."
"I never saw it again."
"What if you did not? You can procure a certified copy from the recordin the county-clerk's office or from the records of the State Board ofHealth. Marriage records, old dear, are fairly well protected in ourday and generation."
"I wrote to the State Board of Health at Sacramento. There is norecord of my marriage there."
"That's strange. Why didn't you write the county clerk, of the countyin which the license was issued?"
She smiled at him.
"I did. I had to, you know. My honor was at stake. The license wasissued in Santa Clara County."
"Well, it will be a simple matter to comb the list of ministers untilwe find the one that tied the knot. A certified copy of the marriagelicense, with a sworn affidavit by the officiating clergyman--"
"The officiating clergyman is dead. A private detective agency in SanFrancisco discovered that for us."
"But couldn't you cover your tracks, Nan? Under the circumstances, alie--any kind of deceit to save your good name--would have beenpardonable."
"I couldn't help being smirched. Remember, my father was the onlyperson in Port Agnew who knew I had been married; he heeded my requestand kept the secret. Suddenly I returned home with a tale of marriagein anticipation of my ability to prove it. In that I failed. Presentlymy baby was born. People wondered who my husband was, and where hekept himself; some of the extremely curious had the hardihood to comehere and question me. Was my husband dead? Of course not. Had I fibbedand told them he was, they would have asked when and where and thenature of the disease that carried him off. Was I divorced? Again Iwas confronted with the necessity for telling the truth, because a liecould be proved. Then the minister, to quiet certain rumors that hadreached him--he wanted me to sing in the choir again, and there was anuproar when he suggested it--wrote to the California State Board ofHealth. When he received a reply to his letter, he visited me to talkit over, but I wasn't confiding in Mr. Tingley that day. He said Imight hope for salvation if I confessed my wickedness and besoughtforgiveness from God. He offered to pray for me and with me. He meantwell--poor, silly dear!--but he was so terribly incredulous thatpresently I told him I didn't blame him a bit and suggested that I bepermitted to paddle my own canoe, as it were. Thanked him for calling,but told him he needn't call again. He departed in great distress."
"I hold no brief for the Reverend Tingley, Nan; but I'll be shot ifyour story will hold water in a world that's fairly well acquaintedwith the frailty of humankind. Of course I believe you--and, for somefool reason, I'm not ashamed of my own intelligence in so believing. Ihave accepted you on faith. What sets my reason tottering on itsthrone is the fact that you insist upon protecting this scoundrel."
"I insist upon protecting his wife. I love her. She has been kind tome. She's the only friend of my own sex that I have ever known. She'stubercular, and will not live many years. She has two children--andshe adores her scamp of a husband. If I cannot convict that man ofbigamy, would it not be foolish of me to try? And why should I inflictupon her, who has shown me kindness and love, a brimming measure ofhumiliation and sorrow and disgrace? I can bear my burden a year ortwo longer, I think; then, when she is gone, I can consider myvindication." She patted his hand to emphasize her unity of purpose."That's the way I've figured it all out--the whole, crazy-quiltpattern, and if you have a better scheme, and one that isn't foundedon human selfishness, I'm here to listen to it."
A long silence fell between them.
"Well, dear heart?" she demanded finally.
"I wasn't thinking of _that_," he replied slowly. "I was just tryingto estimate how much more I love you this minute than I did fiveminutes ago."
He drew her golden head down on his shoulder and held her to him along time without speaking. It was Nan who broke the spell by saying:
"When the time comes for my vindication, I shall ask you to attend toit for me, dear. You're my man--and I think it's a man's task."
His great fingers opened and closed in a clutching movement. Henodded.
Kindred of the Dust Page 16
