Money Magic: A Novel

by Hamlin Garland

  CHAPTER XXIV

  THE HANEYS RETURN TO THE PEAKS

  The forces that really move most men are the small, concrete, individualexperiences of life. The death of a child is of more account to itsparents than the fall of a republic. Napoleon did not forget Josephinein his Italian campaigns, and Grant, inflexible commander of ahalf-million men, never failed, even in the Wilderness, to remember theplain little woman whose fireside fortunes were so closely interwovenwith his epoch-making wars.

  As Ben Fordyce lost interest in the question of labor and capital andthe political struggles of the state (because they were of less accountthan his own combat with the powers of darkness), so Bertha had littlethought of the abstract, the sociologic, in her uneasiness--the strifewas individual, the problems personal--and at last, weary of question,of doubt, she yielded once more to the protecting power which lay inHaney's gold and permitted herself to enjoy its use, its command of men.There was something like intoxication in this sense of supremacy, thisfreedom from ceaseless calculation, and to rise above the doubt in whichshe had been plunged was like suddenly acquiring wings.

  She accepted any chance to penetrate the city's life, determined tosecure all that she could of its light and luxury, and in returnintrusted Lucius with plans for luncheons and dinners, which he carriedout with lavish hand.

  Mart seconded all her resolutions with hearty voice. "There's nothingtoo good for the Haneys!" he repeatedly chuckled.

  In the midst of other gayeties she had the McArdles over to mid-daydinner one Saturday, and afterwards took them all, a noisy gang, to thetheatre--Patrick Haney as much of a boy as his grandsons, McArdle alonebeing unhappy as well as uneasy.

  She went about the shops, buying with reckless hand treasures for thehouse in the Springs, and this gave her husband more satisfaction thanany other extravagance, for each article seemed a gage of the permanencyof his home. In support of her mood he urged her to even largerexpenditures. "Buy, buy like a queen," he often commanded, as she musedupon some choice. "Take the best!"

  There was instruction as well as a guilty delight in all this conjuringwith a magic check-book, and Bertha grew in grace and dignity in herrole as hostess. Her circle of acquaintances widened, but the Mosses,her first friends in the city, were not displaced in her affections. Tothem she continued to play the generous fairy in as many pleasant waysas they would permit. The theatre continued to be her delight, as wellas her school of life, and a box-party followed nearly every dinner. Shewas like a child in the catholicity of her appetite, for she devouredShakespearian bread, Ibsen roasts, and comic opera cream-puffs withalmost equal gusto--and mentally thrived upon the mixture. To theoutsider she seemed one of the most fortunate women in the world.

  And yet every day made her less tolerant of the crippled old man at herside. She did not pout or sulk or answer him shortly, but she oftenforgot him--failed to answer him--not out of petulance or disgust, butbecause her mind was busy with other people. Gradually, withoutrealizing it, she got into the habit of leaving him to amuse himself, ashe best could, for she knew he did not specially care for the pursuitswhich gave her the keenest joy. In consequence of this unintentionalneglect he very naturally fell more and more into the hands of thebar-room spongers who loitered about the hotel corridors. He dreadedloneliness, and it was to keep his companions about him that he became aspendthrift in liquors. Sternly and deliberately temperate during hislong career as a gambler, he fell at last into drinking to excess, andon one unhappy afternoon returned to Bertha quite plainly drunk.

  She was both startled and disgusted by this sign of weakness, and he wasnot so blinded by the mist of his potations but that he perceived theshrinking reluctance of her touch as she aided Lucius in lifting himinto the bed. His inert, lumpish form was at the moment hideouslyrepulsive to her, and physical contact with him a dreaded thing. Whatwas left if he lost that self-control which had made him admirable? Shehad always been able to qualify his other shortcomings by saying, "Well,anyhow, he don't drink." She could boast of this no longer.

  It was a most miserable night for her. At dinner she was forced to lieabout him (for the first time), and she did it so badly that Joe Mossdivined her trouble and came generously to her aid with a long andamusing story about Whistler.

  The play to which she took her guests did not help her to laughter, forit set forth with diabolic skill the life of a woman who loathed herhusband, dreaded maternity, and hated herself--a baffling, marvellouslyintricate and searching play--meat for well people, not for thosementally ill at ease or morally unstable. Of a truth, Bertha saw buthalf of it and comprehended less, for she could not forget the leadenhands and flushed face of the man she called husband--and whom she hadleft in his bed to sleep away his hours of intoxication. She pitied himnow--but in a new fashion. Her compassion was mixed with contempt, andthat showed more clearly than any other feeling could the depth to whichMarshall Haney had sunk.

  When she came home at midnight she listened at his door, but did notenter, for Lucius--skilled in all such matters--reported the Captain tobe "all right."

  She went to her own room in a more darkly tragic mood than she had everknown before. Her punishment, her time for trouble, had begun. "I reckonI'm due to pay for my fun," she said to herself, "but not in the wayI've been figuring on." Haney seemed at the moment a complete physicalruin, and the change which his helplessness wrought in her was mostradical.

  His deeply penitent mood next morning hurt and repelled her almost asmuch as his maudlin jocularity of the night before. She would havepreferred a brazen levity to this humble confession. "'Twas me boast,"he sadly asserted, "that no man ever caught me with me eyes full of sandand me tongue twisted--and now look at me! 'Tis what comes of havingnothing to do but trade lies with a lot of flat-bottomed loafers in agaudy bar-room. But don't worry, darlin', right here old Mart pulls up.You'll not see anny more of this. Forget it, dear-heart--won't you now?"

  She promised, of course, but the chasm between them was widened, and afear of his again yielding to temptation cut short her stay in the city,for Lucius warningly explained: "The Captain is settling into a cornerof the bar-room with a gang of sponging blackguards around him, andevery day makes it less easy for him to break away. I'd advise goinghome," he ended, quietly. "The Springs is a safer place for him now."

  The hyenas were beginning to prowl around the disabled lion, and thisthe faithful servant knew even better than the wife.

  "All right, home we go," she replied, and the thought of "home" was bothsweet and perilous.

  Haney met her decision with pathetic, instant joy. "I'm ready, I wasonly waitin'," he said. "After all, your own shack is better than apearl palace in anny town, and it's gettin' hot besides."

  Bertha parted from the Mosses with keen sorrow. Joe had come to be likean elder brother to her--a brother and a teacher, and, next to BenFordyce, was more often in her thought than any other human being. Shehad lost part of her awe of him, but her affection had deepened as shecame to understand the essential manliness and simplicity of hischaracter. He redeemed the artist-world from the shame men like Humistonhad put upon it.

  As she entered for the last time the studio in which she had spent somany happy hours and from whose atmosphere of work and high endeavor shehad derived so much mental and moral development she was sad, and thissadness lent a beauty to her face that it had never before attained. Shelooked older, too; and contrasting her with the girl who had firstlooked in at his door, Moss could scarcely believe that less than half ayear had affected this change in her. He was too keen an observer not toknow that part of this was due to a refining taste in hats and gowns,but beneath all these superficial traits she had grown swiftly in theexpression of security and power.

  He greeted her as usual with a frank nod and (his hands being free fromclay) advanced to shake hands. "Don't tell me you've come to saygood-bye."

  "That's what," she curtly said. "It's up to me to take the Captain home.He's getting into bad habits lying around this hot
el."

  His face clouded. "I've been afraid of that," he answered, gently. "Yes,you'd better go home. It's harder for a man to have a good, easy timethan it is for a woman. But sit down, Julia will be in soon; you mustn'tgo without seeing her."

  After some further talk on trains and other common-places she becameabruptly personal. "I've been having a whole lot of fun buying thingsand planting dollars, but I'm beginning to see an end to that kind ofbusiness. After you've got your house filled up with furniture andjimcracks, what you going to do then?"

  "Burn 'em."

  "And begin all over again? You can't buy out the town. It's a realcircus for a while, but I can see there's a limit to it. Once you findout you can just go down here to one of these jewelry-stores and orderanything you want--you don't want anything. Here I am with a lot ofmoney that ain't mine, having a gay whirl spending it, but I can see myfinish right now. To go on in this line would take all the fun out oflife. What am I to do?"

  Moss took a seat and looked at her thoughtfully. "I don't know. I usedto think if I had money I'd start out and 'do good to people,' but I'mnot at all sure that charity isn't all a damned impertinence. A coupleof years ago I would have said go in for 'Neighborhood Settlements,'free libraries, 'Noonday Rests,' 'Open-air Funds,' and all the rest ofit, but now I ask, 'Why?' We've had our wave of altruism, and I'minclined to think a wave of selfishness would do us all good--but you'retoo young to be bothered with these problems. Go home and be happy whileyou can. Enjoy your gold while it glitters. Work is my only fun--real,enduring fun--and I'm not a bit sure _that_ will last. Whatever you do,be yourself. Don't try to be what you think I or some one else wouldlike to have you. I like you because you are so straight-forwardlyyourself; I shall be heart-broken if you take on the disease of the ageand begin to prate of your duty."

  She listened to him with only partial comprehension of his meaning, butshe answered: "I was brought up to think duty was the whole works."

  "Yes, and your teacher meant duty to God, duty to others. Well, there'sduty to one's self. The war of money and duty is the biggest mix of ourday. It's simpler to be poor; then all you've got to worry about isbread and shoes and shingles."

  "That's just it. Sometimes I wish I was back in the Golden Eagle, whereI--" she ended in mid-sentence.

  He laughed. "You sound like a middle-aged financier who mourns (tattooedwith dollar-marks) for the days when he used to husk corn at seventycents a day." She saw the humor of this, but was aware that without aknowledge of Ben Fordyce Joe could not understand her problem, thereforeshe abandoned her search for light and leading. "Well, anyhow, righthere I quit what you fellows call civilization. I hate to lose you andJulia and the rest of the folks, but it's me to the high hills. You'llnever know how much you've helped me."

  "I hope you'll never know how thoroughly we've _done_ you. Anevil-minded person would say we'd worked you for dinners and drives mostshameful. However, if you have enjoyed our company as thoroughly aswe've delighted in your champagne and birds, we'll cry quits. All mytheories of art and life I advance _gratis_. I ought to do somethinghandsome for you--you've listened so divinely."

  Underneath his banter Moss was sincerely moved. It was hard to saygood-bye to this curious, earnest, seeking mind, this unspoiled child inwhose face the world was being reflected as in a magical mirror. Heloved her with frank affection--a pure passion that was more intimatethan fraternal love and more exalted, in a sense, than the selfish,devouring passion of the suitor. It would have been difficult for him tosay what his relationship to her at the moment was. It was more thanfriendship, more than brotherly care, and yet it was definably less thanthat of the lover.

  Julia came in and was quite as outspoken in her regret, and both refusedto say good-bye at the moment. "We'll see you at the station," theysaid, and Bertha went away, feeling the pain of parting less keen byreason of this promise.

  Afterwards, as the hour for departure came near, she hoped they wouldnot come. It was less difficult to say "I'll see you again" than toutter the curt "good-bye" which means so much in Anglo-Saxon life.

  They came, however, together with several others of her friends, but inthe bustle and confusion of the depot not much of sentiment could beuttered, and, though she felt that she was going for a long stay, shewas prodigal of promises to return soon.

  Patrick Haney was there, but refused to go with them. "Sure I'm at thejumpin'-off place now, and to immigrate furder would be to put meself inthe hands of the murtherin' redskins." His talk was the touch of comedywhich the situation needed. "Av ye don't mind I'll stay wid Fan," hesaid, a little more seriously, to Haney, who replied:

  "All right, 'tis as Fan says," and so they entered the train for theupward climb.

  Haney himself had only joy of the return. He sat at one of the windowsof the library car and studied the prairie swells with a faint, musingsmile, till the darkness fell, and was up early next morning, eager andcurious, to see how the increasing altitude would affect him. Onlytowards the end of the second day after eating his dinner did he beginto feel oppressed.

  "I smell the altitude," he confessed--"me breath is shortenin' a bit,but 'tis good to see the peaks again."

  In this long ride the girl-wife dwelt dangerously on the bright face ofBen Fordyce. It was the thought of seeing him again that came at last tosteal away her regret at parting from her Eastern friends. The splendorof the Eastern world faded at last, and she, too, soared gladly towardsthe mountains. Every doubt was swallowed up in a pleasure which was atonce pure and beyond her control.

  Ben would be at the station, she was certain, for Lucius had wired tohim the time of their arrival, and he had instantly replied. "I'll bethere, and very glad to see you"--these words, few and simple, wereaddressed to Marshall Haney, but they thrilled her almost as if Ben hadspoken them to her. Was he as glad to have her return as she was to meethim again?

  "A fine lad," remarked Haney, as he pocketed the envelope. "I wonderdoes he marry soon? He'd better decide now. I reckon Alice is not longfor this climate--poor girl!"

  His remark, so simple in itself, pierced to the centre of Bertha'smomentary self-deception. "I have no right to think of him. He belongsto Alice Heath!" But the feeling that she herself belonged to MarshallHaney was gone. That she owed him service was true, but since the nightof his drunkenness she had definitely and finally abandoned all thoughtof being his wife, soul to soul, in the rite that sanctifies law. True,he had kept his word, he had not offended again, but the mischief wasdone. To return to the plane on which they had stood when she gave herpromise was impossible.

  The day and the hour were such as make the plain lover content with hisworld. The earth, a mighty robe of closely woven velvet, mottled softlyin variant greens, swept away to the west, under a soaring convexity ofsaffron sky, towards a cloudy altar whereon small wisps of vapor wereburning down to golden embers, while beneath lay the dark-blue Rampartrange. It was a world for horsemen, for free rovers, and for swift andtireless desert-kine. The course of winds, it lay, a play-ground fortempests that formed along the great divide and swept down over theantlike homes of men, acknowledging no barrier, exultant of theirstrength of wing and the weight of their horizon-touching armament.

  Bertha loved this land, but only because it was an approach to thehills. She would have shuddered at its desolate, limitless sweep,treeless, shelterless, had not the dim forms of the distant peaks sheloved so well rose just beyond. She lost her doubt as they approached,welcoming them as the gates of home. She forgot all save the swellingtide of longing in her heart.

  As the train drew slowly in she caught sight of Ben's intent face amongthe throng, and was moved to the point of beating upon the window. Heseemed care-worn and older in this glimpse, but at sight of her hissunny smile came back radiantly to his lips and glinted like sunshinefrom his eyes. In tremulous voice she called: "_There he is!_"

  Self-revelation lay in this ecstatic cry and in the glad haste whichkept her on her feet; but Haney, unsuspicious, content, found n
o causefor jealousy in her innocent and unrestrained delight at getting home.

  Progress down the aisle seemed intolerably slow, for the passengersahead of her, stubbornly sluggish, barred her way, but at last she stoodlooking into her lover's face, her eager hand pressed between his palms.

  "Welcome home!" he called, and drew her to him as if moved almost beyondhis control with desire to clasp her to his bosom. In that instant theyforgot all their doubts and scruples--overpowered by the sense of eachother's nearness.

  She was the first to recover her self-command, and, pushing him awaywith a quick, decisive gesture, turned to aid Mart, whom Lucius wasbringing slowly down the step.

  Her heart was still laboring painfully as she faced Congdon, but shecontrived to return his greeting as he remarked with quizzical glance,"I hope you'll not find our little town dull, Mrs. Haney."

  Dull! She wanted to scream out her joy. She felt like racing to the bigblack team to throw her arms about their necks. Dull! There was no otherspot in all the world so exalting as this small town and itsover-peering peaks.

  "Where is Mrs. Congdon?" she succeeded in asking at last.

  "She has visitors and couldn't come," he answered. "But where's that'mobile we've heard so much about?"

  "Coming by fast freight."

  "Freight! From all I've heard of your doings in Chicago I expected it tocome as excess baggage."

  It was cool, delicious green dusk--not dark--with a small sickle of moonin the west, and as they drove up the broad avenue towards home thetown, the universe, was strangely sweet and satisfying. It seemed asthough she had been gone an age--so much had come to her--so thick wasthe crowd of new experiences standing between her going and herreturn--so swiftly had her mind expanded in these months of vivid citylife. "I'll never go away again," she said to Ben. "This country suitsme."

  "I'm glad to hear you say that," he answered, softly. In the mostnatural way he had put Congdon with Haney in the rear seat and had takenthe place beside Bertha, and this nearness filled her with pleasure andan unwonted confusion. How big he was! and how splendid his clear,youthful profile seemed as it gleamed silver-white in the light of thebig street-lamps. Never had his magnetic young body acted upon her sopowerfully, so dangerously. His firm arm touching her own was at once adelight and a dread. She was all woman at last, awake, palpitant withlove's full-flooding tide--bewildered, dizzy with rapture. Speech wasdifficult and her thought had neither sequence nor design.

  Fordyce was under restraint also, and the burden of the talk fell uponCongdon, who proceeded in his amusingly hit-or-miss way to detail theimportant or humorous happenings, of the town, and so they rolled alongup the wide avenue to the big stone steps before the looming, lamp-litpalace which they called home.

  Ben sprang out first, glad of another opportunity to take Bertha's hand,a clasp that put the throbbing pain back in her bosom--filling her witha kind of fear of him as well as of herself--and without waiting for theCaptain she ran up the walk towards the wide doorway where Miss Franklinstood in smiling welcome.

  Her greeting over, the young wife danced about the hall, crying: "Oh,isn't it big and fine! And aren't you glad it's our own!" She appearedoverborne by a returning sense of security and ownership, and ran fromroom to room with all the ecstasy and abandon of a child--but shestopped suddenly in the middle of her own chamber as if a remorselesshand were clutching at her heart. "But it is _not_ mine!--I must give itall up!"

  Thrusting this intruding thought away, she hurried back to the library,where the men were seated at ease, sipping some iced liquor in grosscontent.

  Haney was beaming. "It makes me over new to sniff this air again," hewas saying. "'Tis a bad plan to let go your hold on mountain air. Melungs have contracted a trifle, but they'll expand again. I'll be ridinga horse in a month."

  Ben was sympathetic, but had eyes only for Bertha, whose improvement (inmind as in bearing) astonished and delighted him. Her trip, coming justat the period when her observation was keenest and her memory mosttenacious, had subtly, swiftly ripened her. Wrought upon by a thousandpictures, moved by strange words and faces, unconsciously changing tothe color of each new conception, deriving sweetness and charm fromevery chance-heard strain of music and poetry, she had opened like arose.

  The middle-aged are prone to go about the world carrying their habits,their prejudices, and their ailments with them to return as they wentforth; but youth like Bertha's adventures out into the world eager to bebuilt upon, ready to be transformed from child to adult, as it wouldseem, in a day.

  "She has achieved new distinction!" Ben exulted as he watched her movingabout the room, so supple, so powerful, and so graceful, but, though hewas careful not to utter one word of praise, he could not keep the glowof admiration from his eyes.

  An hour later as he said good-night and went away with Congdon, hisheart burned with secret, rebellious fire. "Was it not hateful that thisglorious girl should be doomed to live out the sweetest, most alluringof her years with a gross and crippled old man?" To leave her under thesame roof with Mart Haney seemed like exposing her to profanation anddespair.

  They were hardly out of the gate before Congdon broke forth in openpraise of her. "When Mart dies, what a witching morsel for some man!"

  Fordyce did not answer on the instant, and when he did his voice wasconstrained. "You don't think he's in immediate danger of it--do you?"

  "Quite the contrary. He looks to be on the upgrade; but it's a safe betshe outlives him, and then think of her with a hundred thousand dollarsa year to spend! Talk about honey-pots!--and flies!" After a moment'ssilence he added, musingly: "Funny how one's ideas change. A year ago Ithought she was deeply indebted to him; now I feel that with all hismoney he can't possibly repay her for what she's giving up on hisaccount. And yet his chink has made her what she is. Money is a weirdpower when applied to a woman. Tiled bath-rooms, silk stockings andbonnets work wonders with the sex. She's improved mightily on thistrip."

  After leaving Congdon, Ben went to his apartment and telephoned Alice tosay that the Haneys had arrived and that he had left them under theirown roof in good repair.

  "How is the Captain's health?" she asked, with the morbid interest ofthe invalid gossip.

  "He feels the altitude a little, but that is probably only temporary.They both seem very glad to get home."

  "He's made a mistake. He can't live here--I am perfectly sure of it. Howis she?"

  "Very well--and beautifully dressed, which is the main thing," he added,with a slight return of his humor. "They asked after you veryparticularly."

  Unable to sleep, he went out to walk the night, blind envy in his brainand a hot hunger in his heart, moved as he had never been moved beforeat thought of Haney's nearness to that glowing girl. Their union wasmonstrous, incredible.

  He no longer attempted to deceive himself. He loved this young wifewhose expanding personality had enthralled him from their first meeting.It was not alone that she was possessed of bodily charm--she called tohim through the mysterious ways which lead the one man to thepredestined woman. The affection he had borne towards Alice Heath wasbut the violet ray of friendship compared to the lambent, leaping, redflame of his passion for Bertha Haney. She represented to him themysterious potency and romance of the West--typifying its amazingresiliency, its limitless capability of adaptation. In a way that seemedroundabout and strange, but which was, after all, very simple and verydirect, she had lifted her family as well as herself out of poverty backinto the comfort which was their right. Odd, masculine, unexpected ofphrase, she had never been awkward or cheap. Congdon was right, she wascapable of high things. She made mistakes, of course, but they were notthose which a shallow personality would make--they sprang rather fromthe overflow of a vigorous and abounding imagination.

  "All she needs is contact with people of the right sort. She is capableof the highest culture," he concluded.

  That she was more vital to him than any other woman in the world he nowknew, but he acknowledged nothi
ng base in this confession. He was notseeking ways to possess her of his love--on the contrary, he wasresolved to conduct himself so nobly that she would again trust andrespect him. "My love is honorable," he said. "I will go forward as inthe beginning--why should I not?--enjoying her companionship as anyhonest man may do."

  The question of his relation to Alice was not so easily settled. She hadcome to irritate him now. Her changeable, swift-witted, moody,hysterical invalidism had begun to wear upon him intolerably. Everythingshe did was wrong. It was brutal even to admit this, but he could nolonger conceal it either from himself or from her. It was deeply, sadlypainful to recall the promise, the complete confidence and happinesswith which they had both started towards the West. How sure of herrecovery they had been, how gay and confident of purpose! Now she notonly refused to listen to his demand for an early marriage, but hamperedand annoyed him in a hundred ways. As he walked the silent night he wasforced to acknowledge that she had been right in delaying their union.And yet how dependent upon him she was. Her life was so tragicallyinwound with his that to think of shaking away her hand seemed the actof a sordid egoist.

  "And even were I free, nothing is solved."

  The situation took on the insoluble and the tragic. In the fashion ofwell-bred, soundly nurtured American youth he had thought of suchcomplications only as subjects for novelists. "There must beconcealment, but not duplicity, in my attitude," he decided. He longedfor the constant light of Bertha's face, the frequent touch of her hand.Her laughter was so endlessly charming, her step so firm, so light, sograceful. The grace of her bosom--the sweeping line of her side--

  He stopped there. In that direction lay danger. "She trusts me, and Iwill repay her trust. She has chosen me to be her adviser, putting herwealth in my hands!--Well, why not? We will see whether an honorable mancannot carry forward even so difficult a relationship as this. I willvisit her every day, I will enjoy her hospitality as freely as Congdon,and I will fulfil my promise to Alice--if she asks it of me."

  But deep under the sombre resolution lay an unuttered belief in hisfuture, in his happiness--for this is the prerogative of youth. The dimmountains, the sinking crescent moon, and the silence of the plain allseemed somehow to prophesy both happiness and peace.