Anne: A Novel

by Constance Fenimore Woolson

  CHAPTER XXXIX.

  "God made him; therefore let him pass for a man."

  --SHAKSPEARE.

  When Miss Lois returned, and saw Anne's face, she was herself stirred toexcitement. "You have seen him!" she said, in a whisper.

  "Yes. He is the murderer: I feel it."

  "Did he say 'gold'?"

  "He did."

  They sat down on the couch together, and in whispers Anne told all. Thenthey looked at each other.

  "We must work as lightly as thistle-down," said Miss Lois, "or we shalllose him. He was not in the village to-day, and as he was not, I thoughtit safer not to inquire about him. I am glad now that I did not. But youare in a high fever, dear child. This suspense must be brought to anend, or it will kill you." She put her arms round Anne and kissed herfondly--an unusual expression of feeling from Miss Lois, who had beenbrought up in the old-fashioned rigidly undemonstrative New Englandmanner. And the girl put her head down upon her old friend's shoulderand clung to her. But she could not weep; the relief of tears was notyet come.

  In the morning they saw the fisherman at the foot of the meadow, andwatched him through the blinds, breathlessly. He was so much and soimportant to them that it seemed as if they must be the same to him. Buthe was only bringing a string of fish to sell. He drew up his dug-out onthe bank, and came toward the house with a rolling step, carrying hisfish.

  "There's a man here with some fish, that was ordered, he says, bysomebody from here," said a voice on the stairs. "Was it you, Mrs.Young?"

  "Yes. Come in, Mrs. Blackwell--do. My niece ordered them: you knowthey're considered very good for an exhausted brain. Perhaps I'd bettergo down and look at them myself. And, by-the-way, who is this man?"

  "It's Sandy Croom; he lives up near the pond."

  "Yes, we met him up that way. Is he a German?"

  "There's Dutch blood in him, I reckon, as there is in most of the peopleabout here who are not Marylanders," said Mrs. Blackwell, who _was_ aMarylander.

  "He's a curious-looking creature," pursued Mrs. Young, as they descendedthe stairs. "Is he quite right in his mind?"

  "Some think he isn't; but others say he's sharper than we suppose. Hedrinks, though."

  By this time they were in the kitchen, and Mrs. Young went out to theporch to receive and pay for the fish, her niece Ruth silentlyfollowing. Croom took off his old hat and made a backward scrape withhis foot by way of salutation; his small head was covered with a mat ofboyish-looking yellow curls, which contrasted strangely with his redface.

  "Here's yer fish," he said, holding them out toward Anne.

  But she could not take them: she was gazing, fascinated, at hishand--that broad short left hand which haunted her like a horriblephantom day and night. She raised her handkerchief to her lips in orderto conceal, as far as possible, the horror she feared her face mustbetray.

  "You never _could_ abide a fishy smell, Ruth," said Mrs. Young,interposing. She paid the fisherman, and asked whether he fished in thewinter. He said "no," but gave no reason. He did not, as she had hoped,pronounce the desired word. Then, after another gaze at Anne, he wentaway, but turned twice to look back before he reached the end of thegarden.

  "It can not be that he suspects!" murmured Anne.

  "No; it's your face, child. Happy or unhappy, you can not help havingjust the same eyes, hair, and skin, thank the Lord!"

  They went upstairs and watched him from the window; he pushed off hisdug-out, got in, and paddled toward the village.

  "More whiskey!" said Miss Lois, sitting down and rubbing her forehead."I wish, Ruth Young--I devoutly wish that I knew what it is best to do_now_!"

  "Then you think with me?" said Anne, eagerly.

  "By no means. There isn't a particle of _certainty_. But--I don't denythat there _is_ a chance. The trouble is that we can hardly stir in thematter without arousing his suspicion. If he had lived in the villageamong other people, it would not have been difficult; but, all alone inthat far-off cabin--"

  Anne clasped her hands suddenly. "Let us send for Pere Michaux!" shesaid. "There was a picture of the Madonna in his cabin--he is a RomanCatholic. Let us send for Pere Michaux."

  They gazed at each other in excited silence. Miss Lois was the first tospeak. "I'm not at all sure but that you have got hold of the difficultyby the right handle at last, Anne," she said, slowly, drawing a longaudible breath. It was the first time she had used the name since theirdeparture from New York.

  And the letter was written immediately.

  "It's a long journey for a small chance," said the elder woman,surveying it as it lay sealed on the table. "Still, I think he willcome."

  "Yes, for humanity's sake," replied Anne.

  "I don't know about humanity," replied her companion, huskily; "but hewill come for _yours_. Let us get out in the open air; I'm perfectlytired out by this everlasting whispering. It would be easier to roar."

  The letter was sent. Four days for it to go, four days for the answer toreturn, one day for chance. They agreed not to become impatient beforethe tenth day.

  But on the ninth came, not a letter, but something better--Pere Michauxin person.

  They were in the fields at sunset, at some distance from the house, whenAnne's eyes rested upon him, walking along the country road in his oldrobust fashion, on his way to the farm-house. She ran across the fieldto the fence, calling his name. Miss Lois followed, but more slowly; hermind was in a turmoil regarding his unexpected arrival, and thedifficulty of making him comprehend or conform to the net-work of fableshe had woven round their history.

  The old priest gave Anne his blessing; he was much moved at seeing heragain. She held his hand in both of her own, and could scarcely realizethat it was he, her dear old island friend, standing there in personbeside her.

  "Dear, dear Pere Michaux, how good you are to come!" she said,incoherently, the tears filling her eyes, half in sorrow, half in joy.

  Miss Lois now came up and greeted him. "I am glad to see you," she said.Then, in the same breath: "Our names, Father Michaux, are Young;Young--please remember."

  "How good you are to come!" said Anne again, the weight on her heartlightened for the moment as she looked into the clear, kind, wise oldeyes that met her own.

  "Not so very good," said Pere Michaux, smiling. "I have been wishing tosee you for some time, and I think I should have taken the journeybefore long in any case. Vacations are due me; it is years since I havehad one, and I am an old man now."

  "You will never be old," said the girl, affectionately.

  "Young is the name," repeated Miss Lois, with unconsciousappositeness--"Deborah and Ruth Young."

  "I am glad at least that I am not too old to help you, my child,"answered Pere Michaux, paying little heed to the elder woman's anxiousvoice.

  They were still standing by the road-side. Pere Michaux proposed thatthey should remain in the open air while the beautiful hues of thesunset lasted, and they therefore returned to the field, and sat downunder an elm-tree. Under ordinary circumstances, Miss Lois would havestrenuously objected to this sylvan indulgence, having peculiarlycombative feelings regarding dew; but this evening the maze of doubt inwhich she was wandering as to whether or not Pere Michaux would stay inher web made dew a secondary consideration. Remaining in the fieldswould at least give time.

  Pere Michaux was as clear-headed and energetic as ever. After the firstfew expressions of gladness and satisfaction, it was not long before heturned to Anne, and spoke of the subject which lay before them. "Tell meall," he said. "This is as good a time and place as any we could have,and there should be, I think, no delay."

  But though he spoke to Anne, it was Miss Lois who answered: it wouldhave been simply impossible for her not to take that narrative into herown hands.

  He listened to the tale with careful attention, not interrupting hermany details with so much as a smile or a shrug. This was very unlikehis old way with Miss Lois, and showed more than anything else couldhave done his absorbed interest in
the story.

  "It is the old truth," he said, after the long stream of words hadfinally ceased. "Regarding the unravelling of mysteries, women seemsometimes endowed with a sixth sense. A diamond is lost on a turnpike. Aman goes along the turnpike searching for it. A woman, searching for italso, turns vaguely off into a field, giving no logical reason for hercourse, and--finds it."

  But while he talked, his mind was in reality dwelling upon the pale girlbeside him, the young girl in whom he had felt such strong interest, forwhom he had involuntarily cherished such high hope in those early dayson the island.

  He knew of her testimony at the trial; he had not been surprised. Whathe had prophesied for her had come indeed. But not so fortunately or sohappily as he had hoped. He had saved her from Erastus Pronando forthis! Was it well done? He roused himself at last, perceiving that Annewas noticing his abstraction; her eyes were fixed upon him with anxiousexpectation.

  "I must go to work in my own way," he said, stroking her hair. "Onepoint, however, I have already decided: _you_ must leave thisneighborhood immediately. I wish you had never come."

  "But she can not be separated from me," said Miss Lois; "and of course_I_ shall be necessary in the search--_I_ must be here."

  "I do not see that there is any necessity at present," replied PereMichaux. "You have done all you could, and I shall work better, I think,alone." Then, as the old quick anger flashed from her eyes, he turned toAnne. "It is on your account, child," he said. "I must _make_ you go. Iknow it is like taking your life from you to send you away now. But ifanything comes of this--if your woman's blind leap into the dark provesto have been guided by intuition, the lime-light of publicity willinstantly be turned upon this neighborhood, and you could not escapediscovery. Your precautions, or rather those of our good friend MissLois, have availed so far: you can still depart in their shadowunobserved. Do so, then, while you can. My first wish is--can not helpbeing--that you should escape. I would rather even have the clew failthan have your name further connected with the matter."

  "This is what we get by applying to a _man_," said Miss Lois, in highindignation. "Always thinking of evil!"

  "Yes, men do think of it. But Anne will yield to my judgment, will shenot?"

  "I will do as you think best," she answered. But no color rose in herpale face, as he had expected; the pressing danger and the fear clothedthe subject with a shroud.

  Miss Lois did not hide her anger and disappointment. Yet she would notleave Anne. And therefore the next morning Mrs. Young and her niece,with health much improved by their sojourn in the country, bade good-byto their hostess, and went southward in the little stage on their wayback to "Washington."

  Pere Michaux was not seen at the farm-house at all; he had returned tothe village from the fields, and had taken rooms for a short sojourn atthe Timloe hotel.

  The "Washington," in this instance, was a small town seventy milesdistant; here Mrs. Young and her niece took lodgings, and began, withwhat patience they could muster, their hard task of waiting.

  As for Pere Michaux, he went fishing.

  EXTRACT FROM THE LETTER OF A SUMMER FISHERMAN.

  "I have labored hard, Anne--harder than ever before in my life. Ithought I knew what patience was, in my experience with my Indians andhalf-breeds. I never dreamed of its breadth until now! For my task hasbeen the hard one of winning the trust of a trustless mind--trustless,yet crafty; of subduing its ever-rising reasonless suspicion; of rousingits nearly extinct affections; of touching its undeveloped, almost dead,conscience, and raising it to the point of confession. I said to myselfthat I would do all this in sincerity; that I would make myself do it insincerity; that I would teach the poor creature to love me, and havingonce gained his warped affection, I would assume the task of caring forhim as long as life lasted. If I did this in truth and real earnestnessI might succeed, as the missionaries of my Church succeed, with the mostbrutal savages, _because_ they are in earnest. Undertaking this, ofcourse I also accepted the chance that all my labor, regarding the hopethat _you_ have cherished, might be in vain, and that this poor bundleof clay might not be, after all, the criminal we seek. Yet had it beenso, my care of him through life must have been the same; having gainedhis confidence, I could never have deserted him while I lived. Each dayI have labored steadily; but often I have advanced so slowly that Iseemed to myself not to advance at all.

  "I began by going to the pond to fish. We met daily. At first I did notspeak; I allowed him to become accustomed to my presence. It was a longtime before I even returned his glance of confused respect andacquaintance as our boats passed near each other, for he had at oncerecognized the priest. I built my foundations with exactest care andpatience, often absenting myself in order to remove all suspicion ofwatchfulness or regularity from his continually suspicious mind; forsuspicion, enormously developed, is one of his few mental powers. I hadto make my way through its layers as a minute blood-vessel penetratesthe cumbrous leathern hide of the rhinoceros.

  "I will not tell you all the details now; but at last, one morning, by alittle chance event, my long, weary, and apparently unsuccessful laborwas crowned with success. He became attached to me. I suppose in all hispoor warped life before no one had ever shown confidence in him or triedto win his affection.

  "The next step was not so difficult. I soon learned that he had asecret. In his ignorant way, he is a firm believer in the terrors ofeternal punishment, and having become attached to me, I could see thathe was debating in his own mind whether or not to confide it to me as apriest, and obtain absolution. I did not urge him; I did not even invitehis confidence. But I continued faithful to him, and I knew that in timeit would come. It did. You are right, Anne; he is the murderer.

  "It seems that by night he is tormented by superstitious fear. He is notable to sleep unless he stupefies himself with liquor, because heexpects to see his victim appear and look at him with her hollow eyes.To rid himself of this haunting terror, he told all to me under the sealof the confessional. And then began the hardest task of all.

  "For as a priest I could not betray him (and I should never have doneso, Anne, even for your sake), and yet another life was at stake. I toldhim with all the power, all the eloquence, I possessed, that hisrepentance would never be accepted, that he himself would never beforgiven, unless he rescued by a public avowal the innocent man who wassuffering in his place. And I gave him an assurance also, which must bekept even if I have to go in person to the Governor, that, in case ofpublic avowal, his life should be spared. His intellect is plainlydefective. If Miss Teller, Mr. Heathcote, and the lawyers unite in anappeal for him, I think it will be granted.

  "It has been, Anne, very hard, fearfully hard, to bring him to thedesired point; more than once I have lost heart. Yet never have I usedthe lever of real menace, and I wish you to know that I have not. Atlast, thanks be to the eternal God, patience has conquered. Urged by thesuperstition which consumes him, he consented to repeat to the localofficials, in my presence and under my protection, the confession he hadmade to me, and to give up the watch and rings, which have lain all thistime buried in the earth behind his cabin, he fearing to uncover themuntil a second crop of grass should be green upon his victim's grave,lest she should appear and take them from him! He did this in order tobe delivered in this world and the next, and he will be delivered; forhis crime was a brute one, like that of the wolf who slays the lamb.

  "I shall see you before long, my dear child; but you will find me wornand old. This has been the hardest toil of my whole life."

  * * * * *

  Pere Michaux did not add that his fatigue of body and mind washeightened by a painful injury received at the hands of the poor wretchhe was trying to help. Unexpectedly one morning Croom had attacked himwith a billet of wood, striking from behind, and without cause, savethat he coveted the priest's fishing-tackle, and, in addition, somethingin the attitude of the defenseless white-haired old man at that momenttempted him, as a lasso-thrower is tempted
by a convenient chanceposition of cattle. The blow, owing to a fortunate movement of PereMichaux at the same instant, was not mortal, but it disabled the oldman's shoulder and arm. And perceiving this, Croom had fled. But whathad won his brute heart was the peaceful appearance of the priest at hiscabin door early the next morning, where the fisherman had made allready for flight, and his friendly salutation. "Of course I knew it wasall an accident, Croom," he said; "that you did not mean it. And I havecome out to ask if you have not something you can recommend to apply tothe bruise. You people who live in the woods have better balms thanthose made in towns; and besides, I would rather ask _your_ help thanapply to a physician, who might ask questions." He entered the cabin ashe spoke, took off his hat, sat down, and offered his bruised armvoluntarily to the hands that had struck the blow. Croom, frightened,brought out a liniment, awkwardly assisted the priest in removing hiscoat, and then, as the old man sat quietly expectant, began to applyit. As he went on he regained his courage: evidently he was not to bepunished. The bruised flesh appealed to him, and before he knew it hewas bandaging the arm almost with affection. The priest's trust had wonwhat stood in the place of a heart: it was so new to him to be trusted.This episode of the injured arm, more than anything else, won in the endthe confession.

  EXTRACT FROM THE NEW YORK "ZEUS."

  "Even the story of the last great battle was eclipsed in interest incertain circles of this city yesterday by the tidings which were flashedover the wires from a remote little village in Pennsylvania. Our readerswill easily recall the trial of Captain Ward Heathcote on the charge ofmurder, the murder of his own wife. The evidence against the accused wasclose, though purely circumstantial. The remarkable incidents of thelatter part of the trial have not been forgotten. The jury were unableto agree, and the case went over to the November term.

  "The accused, though not convicted, has not had the sympathy of thepublic. Probably eight out of ten among those who read the evidence havebelieved him guilty. But yesterday brought the startling intelligencethat human judgment has again been proven widely at fault, that the realmurderer is in custody, and that he has not only confessed his guilt,but also restored the rings and watch, together with the missing towel.The chain of links is complete.

  "The criminal is described as a creature of uncouth appearance, inmental capacity deficient, though extraordinarily cunning. He spent thesmall amount of money in the purse, but was afraid to touch the ringsand watch until a second crop of grass should be growing upon hisvictim's grave, lest she should appear and take them from him! It is toignorant superstitious terror of this kind that we owe the final captureof this grotesque murderer.

  "His story fills out the missing parts of the evidence, and explains theapparent participation of the accused to have been but an interminglingof personalities. After Captain Heathcote had gone down the outsidestairway with the two towels in his pocket, this man, Croom, who waspassing the end of the garden at the time, and had seen him come out bythe light from the lamp within, stole up the same stairway in order topeer into the apartment, partly from curiosity, partly from the thoughtthat there might be something there to steal. He supposed there was noone in the room, but when he reached the window and peeped through acrack in the old blind, he saw that there was some one--a woman asleep.In his caution he had consumed fifteen or twenty minutes in crossing thegarden noiselessly and ascending the stairway, and during this intervalMrs. Heathcote had fallen asleep. The light from the lamp happened toshine full on the diamonds in her rings as they lay, together with herpurse and watch, on the bureau, and he coveted the unexpected booty assoon as his eyes fell upon it. Quick as thought he drew open the blind,and crept in on his hands and knees, going straight toward the bureau;but ere he could reach it the sleeper stirred. He had not intendedmurder, but his brute nature knew no other way, and in a second the deedwas done. Then he seized the watch, purse, and rings, went out as he hadcome, through the window, closing the blind behind him, and stole downthe stairway in the darkness. The man is left-handed. It will beremembered that this proved left-handedness of the murderer was regardedas a telling point against Captain Heathcote, his right arm being at thetime disabled, and supported by a sling.

  "HE REACHED THE WINDOW, AND PEEPED THROUGH A CRACK IN THEOLD BLIND."]

  "Croom went through the grass meadow to the river-bank, where his boatwas tied, and hastily hiding his spoil under the seat, was about to pushoff, when he was startled by a slight sound, which made him think thatanother boat was approaching. Stealing out again, he moved cautiouslytoward the noise, but it was only a man bathing at some distance downthe stream, the stillness of the night having made his movements in thewater audible. Wishing to find out if the bather were any one he knew,Croom, under cover of the darkness, spoke to him from the bank, askingsome chance question. The voice that replied was that of a stranger;still, to make all sure, Croom secreted himself at a short distance,after pretending to depart by the main road, and waited. Presently thebather passed by, going homeward; Croom, very near him, kneeling besidea bush, was convinced by the step and figure that it was no one he knew,that it was not one of the villagers or neighboring farmers. Afterwaiting until all was still, he went to the place where the man hadbathed, and searched with his hands on the sand and grass to see if hehad not dropped a cigar or stray coin or two: this petty covetousness,when he had the watch and diamonds, betrays the limited nature of hisintelligence. He found nothing save the two towels which CaptainHeathcote had left behind; he took these and went back to his boat.There, on the shore, the sound of a dog's sudden bark alarmed him; hedropped one of the towels, could not find it among the reeds, and,without waiting longer, pushed off his boat and paddled up the streamtoward home. This singular creature, who was bold enough to commitmurder, yet afraid to touch his booty for fear of rousing a ghost, hasbeen living on as usual all this time, within a mile or two of thevillage where his crime was committed, pursuing his daily occupation offishing, and mixing with the villagers as formerly, without betrayinghis secret or attracting toward himself the least suspicion. His narrowbut remarkable craft is shown in the long account he gives of theintricate and roundabout ways he selected for spending the money he hadstolen. The purse itself, together with the watch, rings, and towel, heburied under a tree behind his cabin, where they have lain undisturbeduntil he himself unearthed them, and delivered them to the priest.

  "For this notable confession was obtained by the influence of one of abody of men vowed to good works, a priest of the Roman Catholic Church.Croom was of the same faith, after his debased fashion, and in spite ofhis weak mind (perhaps on account of it) a superstitious, almost craven,believer.

  "The presence of this rarely intelligent and charitable priest inTimloesville at this particular time may be set down as one of thesefortunate chances with which a some what unfortunate world isoccasionally blessed. Resting after arduous labor elsewhere and engagedin the rural amusement of fishing, this kind-hearted old man noticed thedegraded appearance and life of this poor waif of humanity, and in agenerous spirit of charity set himself to work to enlighten and instructhim, as much as was possible during the short period of his stay. Inthis he was successful far beyond his expectation, far beyond hisconception, like a laborer ploughing a field who comes upon a vein ofgold. He has not only won this poor wretch to repentance, but has alsocleared from all suspicion of the darkest crime on the record of crimesthe clouded fame of a totally innocent man.

  "Never was there a weightier example of the insufficiency of what iscalled sufficient evidence, and while we, the public, should be deeplyglad that an innocent man has been proven innocent, we should also becovered with confusion for the want of perspicacity displayed in thegeneral prejudgment of this case, where minds seem, sheep-like, to havefollowed each other, without the asking of a question. The people of arural neighborhood are so convinced of the guilt of the person whom theyin their infallibility have arrested that they pay no heed to otherpossibilities of the case. _Cui bono!_ And their wise-acre be
liefspreads abroad in its brightest hues to the press--to the world. It isthe real foundation upon which all the evidence rested.

  "A child throws a stone. Its widening ripples stretch across a lake, andbreak upon far shores. A remote and bucolic community cherishes asurmise, and a continent accepts it. The nineteenth century is hardly tobe congratulated upon such indolent inanity, such lambent laxity, asthis."