CHAPTER VI
The father of this unfortunate family, William Gerhardt, was a manof considerable interest on his personal side. Born in the kingdom ofSaxony, he had had character enough to oppose the army conscriptioniniquity, and to flee, in his eighteenth year, to Paris. From there hehad set forth for America, the land of promise.
Arrived in this country, he had made his way, by slow stages, fromNew York to Philadelphia, and thence westward, working for a time inthe various glass factories in Pennsylvania. In one romantic villageof this new world he had found his heart's ideal. With her, a simpleAmerican girl of German extraction, he had removed to Youngstown, andthence to Columbus, each time following a glass manufacturer by thename of Hammond, whose business prospered and waned by turns.
Gerhardt was an honest man, and he liked to think that othersappreciated his integrity. "William," his employer used to say to him,"I want you because I can trust you," and this, to him, was more thansilver and gold.
This honesty, like his religious convictions, was wholly due toinheritance. He had never reasoned about it. Father and grandfatherbefore him were sturdy German artisans, who had never cheated anybodyout of a dollar, and this honesty of intention came into his veinsundiminished.
His Lutheran proclivities had been strengthened by years ofchurch-going and the religious observances of home life, In hisfather's cottage the influence of the Lutheran minister had beenall-powerful; he had inherited the feeling that the Lutheran Churchwas a perfect institution, and that its teachings were ofall-importance when it came to the issue of the future life. His wife,nominally of the Mennonite faith, was quite willing to accept herhusband's creed. And so his household became a God-fearing one;wherever they went their first public step was to ally themselves withthe local Lutheran church, and the minister was always a welcome guestin the Gerhardt home.
Pastor Wundt, the shepherd of the Columbus church, was a sincereand ardent Christian, but his bigotry and hard-and-fast orthodoxy madehim intolerant. He considered that the members of his flock werejeopardizing their eternal salvation if they danced, played cards, orwent to theaters, and he did not hesitate to declare vociferously thathell was yawning for those who disobeyed his injunctions. Drinking,even temperately, was a sin. Smoking--well, he smoked himself.Right conduct in marriage, however, and innocence before that statewere absolute essentials of Christian living. Let no one talk ofsalvation, he had said, for a daughter who had failed to keep herchastity unstained, or for the parents who, by negligence, hadpermitted her to fall. Hell was yawning for all such. You must walkthe straight and narrow way if you would escape eternal punishment,and a just God was angry with sinners every day.
Gerhardt and his wife, and also Jennie, accepted the doctrines oftheir Church as expounded by Mr. Wundt without reserve. With Jennie,however, the assent was little more than nominal. Religion had as yetno striking hold upon her. It was a pleasant thing to know that therewas a heaven, a fearsome one to realize that there was a hell. Younggirls and boys ought to be good and obey their parents. Otherwise thewhole religious problem was badly jumbled in her mind.
Gerhardt was convinced that everything spoken from the pulpit ofhis church was literally true. Death and the future life wererealities to him.
Now that the years were slipping away and the problem of the worldwas becoming more and more inexplicable, he clung with patheticanxiety to the doctrines which contained a solution. Oh, if he couldonly be so honest and upright that the Lord might have no excuse forruling him out. He trembled not only for himself, but for his wife andchildren. Would he not some day be held responsible for them? Wouldnot his own laxity and lack of system in inculcating the laws ofeternal life to them end in his and their damnation? He pictured tohimself the torments of hell, and wondered how it would be with himand his in the final hour.
Naturally, such a deep religious feeling made him stern with hischildren. He was prone to scan with a narrow eye the pleasures andfoibles of youthful desire. Jennie was never to have a lover if herfather had any voice in the matter. Any flirtation with the youths shemight meet upon the streets of Columbus could have no continuation inher home. Gerhardt forgot that he was once young himself, and lookedonly to the welfare of her spirit. So the Senator was a novel factorin her life.
When he first began to be a part of their family affairs theconventional standards of Father Gerhardt proved untrustworthy. He hadno means of judging such a character. This was no ordinary personcoquetting with his pretty daughter. The manner in which the Senatorentered the family life was so original and so plausible that hebecame an active part before any one thought anything about it.Gerhardt himself was deceived, and, expecting nothing but honor andprofit to flow to the family from such a source, accepted the interestand the service, and plodded peacefully on. His wife did not tell himof the many presents which had come before and since the wonderfulChristmas.
But one morning as Gerhardt was coming home from his night work aneighbor named Otto Weaver accosted him.
"Gerhardt," he said, "I want to speak a word with you. As a friendof yours, I want to tell you what I hear. The neighbors, you know,they talk now about the man who comes to see your daughter."
"My daughter?" said Gerhardt, more puzzled and pained by thisabrupt attack than mere words could indicate. "Whom do you mean? Idon't know of any one who comes to see my daughter."
"No?" inquired Weaver, nearly as much astonished as the recipientof his confidences. "The middle-aged man, with gray hair. He carries acane sometimes. You don't know him?"
Gerhardt racked his memory with a puzzled face.
"They say he was a senator once," went on Weaver, doubtful of whathe had got into; "I don't know."
"Ah," returned Gerhardt, measurably relieved. "Senator Brander.Yes. He has come sometimes--so. Well, what of it?"
"It is nothing," returned the neighbor, "only they talk. He is nolonger a young man, you know. Your daughter, she goes out with him nowa few times. These people, they see that, and now they talk about her.I thought you might want to know."
Gerhardt was shocked to the depths of his being by these terriblewords. People must have a reason for saying such things. Jennie andher mother were seriously at fault. Still he did not hesitate todefend his daughter.
"He is a friend of the family," he said confusedly. "People shouldnot talk until they know. My daughter has done nothing."
"That is so. It is nothing," continued Weaver. "People talk beforethey have any grounds. You and I are old friends. I thought you mightwant to know."
Gerhardt stood there motionless another minute or so t his jawfallen and a strange helplessness upon him. The world was such a grimthing to have antagonistic to you. Its opinions and good favor were soessential. How hard he had tried to live up to its rules! Why shouldit not be satisfied and let him alone?
"I am glad you told me," he murmured as he started homeward. "Iwill see about it. Good-by."
Gerhardt took the first opportunity to question his wife.
"What is this about Senator Brander coming out to call on Jennie?"he asked in German. "The neighbors are talking about it."
"Why, nothing," answered Mrs. Gerhardt, in the same language. Shewas decidedly taken aback at his question. "He did call two or threetimes."
"You didn't tell me that," he returned, a sense of her frailty intolerating and shielding such weakness in one of their childrenirritating him.
"No," she replied, absolutely nonplussed. "He has only been heretwo or three times."
"Two or three times!" exclaimed Gerhardt, the German tendency totalk loud coming upon him. "Two or three times! The whole neighborhoodtalks about it. What is this, then?"
"He only called two or three times," Mrs. Gerhardt repeatedweakly.
"Weaver comes to me on the street," continued Gerhardt, "and tellsme that my neighbors are talking of the man my daughter is going with.I didn't know anything about it. There I stood. I didn't know what tosay. What kind of a way is that? What must the man think of me?"
"But he is an old man," returned Gerhardt, voicing the words ofWeaver. "He is a public citizen. What should he want to call on a girllike Jennie for?"
"I don't know," said Mrs. Gerhardt, defensively. "He comes here tothe house. I don't know anything but good about the man. Can I tellhim not to come?"
Gerhardt paused at this. All that he knew of the Senator wasexcellent. What was there now that was so terrible about it?
"The neighbors are so ready to talk. They haven't got anything elseto talk about now, so they talk about Jennie. You know whether she isa good girl or not. Why should they say such things?" and tears cameinto the soft little mother's eyes.
"That is all right," grumbled Gerhardt, "but he ought not to wantto come around and take a girl of her age out walking. It looks bad,even if he don't mean any harm."
At this moment Jennie came in. She had heard the talking in thefront bedroom, where she slept with one of the children, but had notsuspected its import. Now her mother turned her back and bent over thetable where she was making biscuit, in order that her daughter mightnot see her red eyes.
"What's the matter?" she inquired, vaguely troubled by the tensestillness in the attitude of both her parents.
"Nothing," said Gerhardt firmly.
Mrs. Gerhardt made no sign, but her very immobility told something.Jennie went over to her and quickly discovered that she had beenweeping.
"What's the matter?" she repeated wonderingly, gazing at herfather.
Gerhardt only stood there, his daughter's innocence dominating histerror of evil.
"What's the matter?" she urged softly of her mother.
"Oh, it's the neighbors," returned the mother brokenly.
"They're always ready to talk about something they don't knowanything about."
"Is it me again?" inquired Jennie, her face flushing faintly.
"You see," observed Gerhardt, apparently addressing the world ingeneral, "she knows. Now, why didn't you tell me that he was cominghere? The neighbors talk, and I hear nothing about it until to-day.What kind of a way is that, anyhow?"
"Oh," exclaimed Jennie, out of the purest sympathy for her mother,"what difference does it make?"
"What difference?" cried Gerhardt, still talking in German,although Jennie answered in English. "Is it no difference that menstop me on the street and speak of it? You should be ashamed ofyourself to say that. I always thought well of this man, but now,since you don't tell me about him, and the neighbors talk, I don'tknow what to think. Must I get my knowledge of what is going on in myown home from my neighbors?"
Mother and daughter paused. Jennie had already begun to think thattheir error was serious.
"I didn't keep anything from you because it was evil," she said."Why, he only took me out riding once."
"Yes, but you didn't tell me that," answered her father.
"You know you don't like for me to go out after dark," repliedJennie. "That's why I didn't. There wasn't anything else to hide aboutit."
"He shouldn't want you to go out after dark with him," observedGerhardt, always mindful of the world outside. "What can he want withyou. Why does he come here? He is too old, anyhow. I don't think youought to have anything to do with him--such a young girl as youare."
"He doesn't want to do anything except help me," murmured Jennie."He wants to marry me."
"Marry you? Ha! Why doesn't he tell me that!" exclaimed Gerhardt."I shall look into this. I won't have him running around with mydaughter, and the neighbors talking. Besides, he is too old. I shalltell him that. He ought to know better than to put a girl where shegets talked about. It is better he should stay away altogether."
This threat of Gerhardt's, that he would tell Brander to stay away,seemed simply terrible to Jennie and to her mother. What good couldcome of any such attitude? Why must they be degraded before him? Ofcourse Brander did call again, while Gerhardt was away at work, andthey trembled lest the father should hear of it. A few days later theSenator came and took Jennie for a long walk. Neither she nor hermother said anything to Gerhardt. But he was not to be put off thescent for long.
"Has Jennie been out again with that man?" he inquired of Mrs.Gerhardt the next evening.
"He was here last night," returned the mother, evasively.
"Did she tell him he shouldn't come any more?"
"I don't know. I don't think so."
"Well, now, I will see for myself once whether this thing will bestopped or not," said the determined father. "I shall talk with him.Wait till he comes again."
In accordance with this, he took occasion to come up from hisfactory on three different evenings, each time carefully surveying thehouse, in order to discover whether any visitor was being entertained.On the fourth evening Brander came, and inquiring for Jennie, who wasexceedingly nervous, he took her out for a walk. She was afraid of herfather, lest some unseemly things should happen, but did not knowexactly what to do.
Gerhardt, who was on his way to the house at the time, observed herdeparture. That was enough for him. Walking deliberately in upon hiswife, he said:
"Where is Jennie?"
"She is out somewhere," said her mother.
"Yes, I know where," said Gerhardt. "I saw her. Now wait till shecomes home. I will tell him."
He sat down calmly, reading a German paper and keeping an eye uponhis wife, until, at last, the gate clicked, and the front door opened.Then he got up.
"Where have you been?" he exclaimed in German.
Brander, who had not suspected that any trouble of this characterwas pending, felt irritated and uncomfortable. Jennie was covered withconfusion. Her mother was suffering an agony of torment in thekitchen.
"Why, I have been out for a walk," she answered confusedly.
"Didn't I tell you not to go out any more after dark?" saidGerhardt, utterly ignoring Brander.
Jennie colored furiously, unable to speak a word.
"What is the trouble?" inquired Brander gravely. "Why should youtalk to her like that?"
"She should not go out after dark," returned the father rudely. "Ihave told her two or three times now. I don't think you ought to comehere any more, either."
"And why?" asked the Senator, pausing to consider and choose hiswords. "Isn't this rather peculiar? What has your daughter done?"
"What has she done!" exclaimed Gerhardt, his excitement growingunder the strain he was enduring, and speaking almost unaccentedEnglish in consequence. "She is running around the streets at nightwhen she oughtn't to be. I don't want my daughter taken out after darkby a man of your age. What do you want with her anyway? She is only achild yet."
"Want!" said the Senator, straining to regain his ruffled dignity."I want to talk with her, of course. She is old enough to beinteresting to me. I want to marry her if she will have me."
"I want you to go out of here and stay out of here," returned thefather, losing all sense of logic, and descending to the ordinarylevel of parental compulsion. "I don't want you to come around myhouse any more. I have enough trouble without my daughter being takenout and given a bad name."
"I tell you frankly," said the Senator, drawing himself up to hisfull height, "that you will have to make clear your meaning. I havedone nothing that I am ashamed of. Your daughter has not come to anyharm through me. Now, I want to know what you mean by conductingyourself in this manner."
"I mean," said Gerhardt, excitedly repeating himself, "I mean, Imean that the whole neighborhood talks about how you come around here,and have buggy-rides and walks with my daughter when I am nothere--that's what I mean. I mean that you are no man of honorableintentions, or you would not come taking up with a little girl who isonly old enough to be your daughter. People tell me well enough whatyou are. Just you go and leave my daughter alone.
"
"People!" said the Senator. "Well, I care nothing for your people.I love your daughter, and I am here to see her because I do love her.It is my intention to marry her, and if your neighbors have anythingto say to that, let them say it. There is no reason why you shouldconduct yourself in this manner before you know what my intentionsare."
Unnerved by this unexpected and terrible altercation, Jennie hadbacked away to the door leading out into the dining-room, and hermother, seeing her, came forward.
"Oh," said the latter, breathing excitedly, "he came home when youwere away. What shall we do?" They clung together, as women do, andwept silently. The dispute continued.
"Marry, eh," exclaimed the father. "Is that it?"
"Yes," said the Senator, "marry, that is exactly it. Your daughteris eighteen years of age and can decide for herself. You have insultedme and outraged your daughter's feelings. Now, I wish you to know thatit cannot stop here. If you have any cause to say anything against meoutside of mere hearsay I wish you to say it."
The Senator stood before him, a very citadel of righteousness. Hewas neither loud-voiced nor angry-mannered, but there was a tightnessabout his lips which bespoke the man of force and determination.
"I don't want to talk to you any more," returned Gerhardt, who waschecked but not overawed. "My daughter is my daughter. I am the onewho will say whether she shall go out at night, or whether she shallmarry you, either. I know what you politicians are. When I first metyou I thought you were a fine man, but now, since I see the way youconduct yourself with my daughter, I don't want anything more to dowith you. Just you go and stay away from here. That's all I ask ofyou."
"I am sorry, Mrs. Gerhardt," said Brander, turning deliberatelyaway from the angry father, "to have had such an argument in yourhome. I had no idea that your husband was opposed to my visits.However, I will leave the matter as it stands for the present. Youmust not take all this as badly as it seems."
Gerhardt looked on in astonishment at his coolness.
"I will go now," he said, again addressing Gerhardt, "but youmustn't think that I am leaving this matter for good. You have made aserious mistake this evening. I hope you will realize that. I bid yougoodnight." He bowed slightly and went out.
Gerhardt closed the door firmly. "Now," he said, turning to hisdaughter and wife, "we will see whether we are rid of him or not. Iwill show you how to go after night upon the streets when everybody istalking already."
In so far as words were concerned, the argument ceased, but looksand feeling ran strong and deep, and for days thereafter scarcely aword was spoken in the little cottage. Gerhardt began to brood overthe fact that he had accepted his place from the Senator and decidedto give it up. He made it known that no more of the Senator's washingwas to be done in their house, and if he had not been sure that Mrs.Gerhardt's hotel work was due to her own efforts in finding it hewould have stopped that. No good would come out of it, anyway. If shehad never gone to the hotel all this talk would never have come uponthem.
As for the Senator, he went away decidedly ruffled by this crudeoccurrence. Neighborhood slanders are bad enough on their own plane,but for a man of his standing to descend and become involved in onestruck him now as being a little bit unworthy. He did not know what todo about the situation, and while he was trying to come to somedecision several days went by. Then he was called to Washington, andhe went away without having seen Jennie again.
In the mean time the Gerhardt family struggled along as before.They were poor, indeed, but Gerhardt was willing to face poverty ifonly it could be endured with honor. The grocery bills were of thesame size, however. The children's clothing was steadily wearing out.Economy had to be practised, and payments stopped on old bills thatGerhardt was trying to adjust.
Then came a day when the annual interest on the mortgage was due,and yet another when two different grocery-men met Gerhardt on thestreet and asked about their little bills. He did not hesitate toexplain just what the situation was, and to tell them with convincinghonesty that he would try hard and do the best he could. But hisspirit was unstrung by his misfortunes. He prayed for the favor ofHeaven while at his labor, and did not hesitate to use the daylighthours that he should have had for sleeping to go about--eitherlooking for a more remunerative position or to obtain such little jobsas he could now and then pick up. One of them was that of cuttinggrass.
Mrs. Gerhardt protested that he was killing himself, but heexplained his procedure by pointing to their necessity.
"When people stop me on the street and ask me for money I have notime to sleep."
It was a distressing situation for all of them.
To cap it all, Sebastian got in jail. It was that old coal-stealingruse of his practised once too often. He got up on a car one eveningwhile Jennie and the children waited for him, and a railroad detectivearrested him. There had been a good deal of coal stealing during thepast two years, but so long as it was confined to moderate quantitiesthe railroad took no notice. When, however, customers of shipperscomplained that cars from the Pennsylvania fields lost thousands ofpounds in transit to Cleveland, Cincinnati, Chicago, and other points,detectives were set to work. Gerhardt's children were not the onlyones who preyed upon the railroad in this way. Other families inColumbus--many of them--were constantly doing the same thing,but Sebastian happened to be seized upon as the Columbus example.
"You come off that car now," said the detective, suddenly appearingout of the shadow. Jennie and the other children dropped their basketsand buckets and fled for their lives. Sebastian's first impulse was tojump and run, but when he tried it the detective grabbed him by thecoat.
"Hold on here," he exclaimed. "I want you."
"Aw, let go," said Sebastian savagely, for he was no weakling.There was nerve and determination in him, as well as a keen sense ofhis awkward predicament.
"Let go, I tell you," he reiterated, and giving a jerk, he almostupset his captor.
"Come here now," said the detective, pulling him viciously in aneffort to establish his authority.
Sebastian came, but it was with a blow which staggered hisadversary.
There was more struggling, and then a passing railroad hand came tothe detective's assistance. Together they hurried him toward thedepot, and there discovering the local officer, turned him over. Itwas with a torn coat, scarred hands and face, and a black eye thatSebastian was locked up for the night.
When the children came home they could not say what had happened totheir brother, but as nine o'clock struck, and then ten and eleven,and Sebastian did not return, Mrs. Gerhardt was beside herself. He hadstayed out many a night as late as twelve and one, but his mother hada foreboding of something terrible tonight. When half-past onearrived, and no Sebastian, she began to cry.
"Some one ought to go up and tell your father," she said. "He maybe in jail."
Jennie volunteered, but George, who was soundly sleeping, wasawakened to go along with her.
"What!" said Gerhardt, astonished to see his two children.
"Bass hasn't come yet," said Jennie, and then told the story of theevening's adventure in explanation.
Gerhardt left his work at once, walking back with his two childrento a point where he could turn off to go to the jail. He guessed whathad happened, and his heart was troubled.
"Is that so, now!" he repeated nervously, rubbing his clumsy handsacross his wet forehead.
Arrived at the station-house, the sergeant in charge told himcurtly that Bass was under arrest.
"Sebastian Gerhardt?" he said, looking over his blotter; "yes, herehe is. Stealing coal and resisting an officer. Is he your boy?"
"Oh, my!" said Gerhardt, "Ach Gott!" He actually wrung hishands in distress.
"Want to see him?" asked the Sergeant.
"Yes, yes," said the father.
"Take him back, Fred," said the other to the old watchman incharge, "and let him see the boy."
When Gerhardt stood in the back room, and Sebastian was brought outall marked and tousled
, he broke down and began to cry. No word couldcross his lips because of his emotion.
"Don't cry, pop," said Sebastian bravely. "I couldn't help it. It'sall right. I'll be out in the morning."
Gerhardt only shook with his grief.
"Don't cry," continued Sebastian, doing his very best to restrainhis own tears. "I'll be all right. What's the use of crying?"
"I know, I know," said the gray-headed parent brokenly, "but Ican't help it. It is my fault that I should let you do that."
"No, no, it isn't," said Sebastian. "You couldn't help it. Doesmother know anything about it?"
"Yes, she knows," he returned. "Jennie and George just came upwhere I was and told me. I didn't know anything about it until justnow," and he began to cry again.
"Well, don't you feel badly," went on Bass, the finest part of hisnature coming to the surface. "I'll be all right. Just you go back towork now, and don't worry. I'll be all right."
"How did you hurt your eye?" asked the father, looking at him withred eyes.
"Oh, I had a little wrestling match with the man who nabbed me,"said the boy, smiling bravely. "I thought I could get away."
"You shouldn't do that, Sebastian," said the father. "It may goharder with you on that account. When does your case come up?"
"In the morning, they told me," said Bass. "Nine o'clock."
Gerhardt stayed with his son for some time, and discussed thequestion of bail, fine, and the dire possibility of a jail sentencewithout arriving at any definite conclusion. Finally he was persuadedby Bass to go away, but the departure was the occasion for anotheroutburst of feeling; he was led away shaking and broken withemotion.
"It's pretty tough," said Bass to himself as he was led back to hiscell. He was thinking solely of his father. "I wonder what ma willthink."
The thought of this touched him tenderly. "I wish I'd knocked thedub over the first crack," he said. "What a fool I was not to getaway."
Jennie Gerhardt: A Novel Page 6
