CHAPTER XII. A LESSON IN FORGIVENESS
"Well, old-timer, how you coming? You sure do sleep sound--this is thethird time I've come to tell you breakfast is ready and then some. You'llget the bottom of the coffeepot, for fair, if you don't hustle." Kent leftthe door of the ice house wide open behind him, so that the warmth ofmid-morning swept in to do battle with the chill and damp of wet sawdustand buried ice.
Manley rolled over so that he faced his visitor, and his reply was abusivein the extreme. Kent waited, with an air of impersonal interest, untilhe was done and had turned his face away as though the subject was quiteexhausted.
"Well, now you've got that load off your mind, come on over and get a cupof coffee. But while you're thinking about whether you want anything but myheart's blood, I'm going to speak right up and tell you a few things thatcommonly ain't none of my business.
"Do you know your wife came within an ace of burning to death yesterday?"Manley sat up with a jerk and glared at him. "Do you know you're burnedout, slick and clean--all except the shack? Hay, stables, corral, wagons,chickens--" Kent spread his hands in a gesture including all minor details."I rode over there when I saw the fire coming, and it's lucky I did,old-timer. I back-fired and saved the house--and your wife--from going upin smoke. But everything else went. Let that sink into your system, willyou? And just see if you can draw a picture of what woulda happened ifnobody had showed up--if that fire had hit the coulee with nobody there butyour wife. Why, I run onto her half-way up the bluff, packing a wet sack,to fight it at the fire guards I Now, Man, it ain't any credit to, _you_that the worst didn't happen. I'd sure like to tell you what I think of afellow that will leave a woman out there, twenty miles from town and tenfrom the nearest neighbor--and them not at home--to take a chance on athing like that; but I can't. I never learned words enough.
"There's another thing. Old lady Hawley took more interest in her thanyou did; she drove out there to see how about it, as soon as the firehad burned on past and left the trail safe. And it didn't look good toher--that little woman stuck out there all by herself. She made her pack upsome clothes, and brought her to town with her. She didn't want to come;she had an idea that she ought to stay with it till you showed up. But theonly original Hawley is sure all right! She talked your wife plumb outa thehouse and into the rig, and brought her to town. She's over to the hotelnow."
"Val at the hotel? How long has she been there?" Manley began smoothing hishair and his crumpled clothes with his hands, "Good heavens! You told herI'd gone on out, and had missed her on the trail, didn't you, Kent? Shedoesn't know I'm in town, does she? You always were a good fellow--Ihaven't forgotten how you--"
"Well, you can forget it now. I didn't tell her anything like that. Ididn't think of it, for one thing. She knew all the time that you were intown. I'm tired of lying to her. I told her the truth. I told her you weredrunk."
Manley's jaw dropped. "You--you told her--"
"Ex-actly. I told her you were drunk." Kent nodded gravely, and his lipscurled as he watched the other cringe. "She called me a liar," he added,with a certain reminiscent amusement.
Manley brightened. "That's Val--once she believes in a person she's loyalas--"
"She ain't now," Kent interposed dryly. "When I let up she was plumbconvinced. She knows now what ailed you the day she came and you didn'tmeet her."
"You dirty cur! And I thought you were a friend. You--"
"You thought right--until you got to rooting a little too deep in the mud,old-timer. And let me tell you something. I was your friend when I toldher. She's got to know--you couldn't go on like this much longer withouthaving her get wise; she ain't a fool. The thing for you to do now is tobuck up and let her reform you. I've always heard that women are tickledplumb to death when they can reform a man. You go on over there and makeyour little talk, and then buckle down and live up to it. Savvy? That'syour only chance now. It'll work, too.
"You _ought_ to straighten up, Man, and act white! Not just to squareyourself with her, but because you're going downhill pretty fast, if youonly knew it. You ain't anything like you were two years ago, when webached together. You've got to brace up pretty sudden, or you'll be so fargone you can't climb back. And when a man has got a wife to look after,it seems to me he ought to be the best it's in him to be. You were a finefellow when you first hit the country--and she thought she was getting thatsame fine fellow when she came away out here to marry you. It ain't any ofmy business--but do you think you're giving her a square deal?" He waited aminute, and spoke the next sentence with a certain diffidence. "I'll gambleyou haven't been disappointed in _her_."
"She's an angel--and I'm a beast!" groaned Manley, with the exaggeratedself-abasement which so frequently follows close upon the heels ofintoxication. "She'll never forgive a thing like that--the best thing I cando is to blow my brains out!"
"Like Walt. And have your picture enlarged and put in a gold frame, andhubby number two learning his morals from your awful example," elaboratedKent, in much the same tone he had employed when Val, only the day before,had rashly expressed a wish for a speedy death.
Manley sat up straighter and sent a look of resentment toward the man whobantered when he should have sympathized. "It's all a big joke with you, ofcourse," he flared weakly. "You're not married--to a perfect woman; a womanwho never did anything wrong in her life, and can't understand how anybodyshould want to, and can't forgive him when he does. She expects a man to bea saint. Why, I don't even smoke in the house--and she doesn't dream I'dever swear, under any circumstances.
"Why, Kent, a fellow's _got_ to go to town and turn himself loosesometimes, when he lives in a rarified atmosphere of refined morality, andlistens to Songs Without Words and weepy classics on the violin, and nevera thing to make your feet tingle. She doesn't believe in public dances,either. Nor cards. She reads 'The Ring and the Book' evenings, and wants todiscuss it and read passages of it to me. I used to take some interest inthose things, and she doesn't seem to see I've changed. Why, hang it, Kent,Cold Spring Coulee's no place for Browning--he doesn't fit in. All thatsort of thing is a thousand miles behind me--and I've got to--" He stoppedshort and brooded, his eyes upon the dank sawdust at his feet.
"I'm a beast," he repeated rather lugubriously. "She's an angel--anEastern-bred angel. And let me tell you, Kent, all that's pretty hard tolive up to!"
Kent looked down at him meditatively, wondering if there was not a gooddeal of truth and justice in Manley's argument. But his sympathies hadalready gone to the other side, and Kent was not the man to make anemotional pendulum of himself.
"Well, what you going to do about it?" he asked, after a short silence.
For answer Manley rose to his feet with a certain air of determination,which flamed up oddly above his general weakness, like the last sputterof a candle burned down. "I'm going over and take my medicine--face themusic," he said almost sullenly, "She's too good for me--I always knew it.And I haven't treated her right--I've left her out there alone too much.But she wouldn't come to town with me--she said she couldn't endure thesight of it. What could I do? _I_ couldn't stay out there all the time;there were times when I had to come. She didn't seem to mind staying alone.She never objected. She was always sweet sad good-natured--and shut upinside of herself. She just gives you what she pleases of her mind, and therest she hides--"
Kent laughed suddenly. "You married men sure do have all kinds of trouble,"he remarked. "A fellow like me can go on a jamboree any time he likes, andas long as he likes, and it don't concern anybody but himself--and maybethe man he's working for; and look at you, scared plumb silly thinking ofwhat your wife's going to say about it. If you ask me, I'm going to trotalone; I'd rather be lonesome than good, any old time."
That, however, did not tend to raise Manley's spirits any. He entered thehotel with visible reluctance, looked into the parlor, and heaved a sighof relief when he saw that it was empty, wavered at the foot of the steep,narrow stairs, and retreated to the dining room, with Kent at his h
eelsknowing that the matter had passed quite beyond his help or hindrance andhad entered that mysterious realm of matrimony where no unwedded man orwoman may follow and yet is curious enough to linger.
Just inside the door Manley stopped so suddenly that Kent bumped againsthim. Val, sweet and calm and cool, was sitting just where the smoke-dimmedsunlight poured in through a window upon her, and a breeze came with it andstirred her hair. She had those purple shadows under her eyes which betrayus after long, sleepless hours when we live with our troubles and the worlddreams around us; she had no color at all in her cheeks, and she had thataloofness of manner which Manley, in his outburst, had described as beingshut up inside herself. She glanced up at them, just as she would have donehad they both been strangers, and went on sugaring her coffee with a daintyexactness which, under the circumstances, seemed altogether too elaborateto be unconscious.
"Good morning," she greeted them quietly. "I think we must be the laziestpeople in town; at any rate, we seem to be the latest risers."
Kent stared at her frankly, so that she flushed a little under thescrutiny. Manley consciously avoided looking at her, and muttered somethingunintelligible while he pulled out a chair three places distant from her.
Val stole a sidelong, measuring look at her husband while she took a sip ofcoffee, and then her eyes turned upon Kent. More than ever, it seemed tohim, they resembled the eyes of a lioness watching you quietly from thecorner of her cage. You could look at them, but you could not look intothem. Always they met your gaze with a baffling veil of inscrutability. Butthey were darker than the eyes of a lioness; they were human eyes; womaneyes--alluring eyes. She did not say a word, and, after a brief stare whichmight have meant almost anything, she turned to her plate of toast andbroke away the burned edges of a slice and nibbled at the passable centeras if she had no trouble beyond a rather unsatisfactory breakfast.
It was foolish, it was childish for three people who knew one another verywell, to sit and pretend to eat, and to speak no word; so Kent thought,and tried to break the silence with some remark which would not soundconstrained.
"It's going to storm," he flung into the silence, like chucking a rock intoa pond.
"Do you think so?" Val asked languidly, just grazing him with a glance,in that inattentive way she sometimes had. "Are you going out home--or towhat's left of it--to-day, Manley?" She did not look at him at all, Kentobserved.
"I don't know--I'll have to hire a team--I'll see what--"
"Mrs. Hawley thinks we ought to stay here for a few days--or that Iought--while you make arrangements for building a new stable, and allthat."
"If you want to stay," Manley agreed rather eagerly, "why, of course, youcan. There's nothing out there to--"
"Oh, it doesn't matter in the slightest degree where I stay. I onlymentioned it because I promised her I would speak to you about it." Therewas more than languor in her tone.
"They're going to start the fireworks pretty quick," Kent mentallydiagnosed the situation and rose hurriedly. "Well, I've got to hunt ahorse, myself, and pull out for the Wishbone," he explained gratuitously."Ought to've gone last night. Good-bye." He closed the door behind him andshrugged his shoulders. "Now they can fight it out," he told himself. "Glad_I_ ain't a married man!"
However, they did not fight it out then. Kent had no more than reached theoffice when Val rose, hoped that Manley would please excuse her, and leftthe room also. Manley heard her go up-stairs, found out from Arline whatwas the number of Val's room, and followed her. The door was locked, butwhen he rapped upon it Val opened it an inch and held it so.
"Val, let me in. I want to talk with you. I--God knows how sorry I am--"
"If He does, that ought to be sufficient," she answered coldly. "I don'tfeel like talking now--especially upon the subject you would choose. You'rea man, supposedly. You must know what it is your duty to do. Please let usnot discuss it--now or ever.
"But, Val--"
"I don't want to talk about it, I tell you! I won't--I _can't_. You must dowithout the conventional confession and absolution. You must have some sortof conscience--let that receive your penitence." She started to close thedoor, but he caught it with his hand.
"Val--do you hate me?"
She looked at him for a moment, as if she were trying to decide. "No," shesaid at last, "I don't think I do; I'm quite sure that I do not. But I'mterribly hurt and disappointed." She closed the door then and turned thekey.
Manley stood for a moment rather blankly before it, then put his hands asdeep in his pockets as they would go, and went slowly down the stairs. Atthat moment he did not feel particularly penitent. She would not listen to"the conventional confession!"
"That girl can be hard as nails!" he muttered, under his breath.
He went into the office, got a cigar, and lighted it moodily. He glanced atthe bottles ranged upon the shelves behind the bar, drew in his breath forspeech, let it go in a sigh, and walked out. He knew perfectly well whatVal had meant. She had deliberately thrown him back upon his own strength.He had fallen by himself, he must pick himself up; and she would standback and watch the struggle, and judge him according to his failure or hissuccess. He had a dim sense that it was a dangerous experiment.
He looked for Kent, found him just as he was mounting at the stables, andlet him go almost without a word. After all, no one could help him. Hestood there smoking after Kent had gone, and when his cigar was finished hewandered back to the hotel. As was always the case after hard drinking, hehad a splitting headache. He got a room as close to Val's as he could,shut himself into it, and gave himself up to his headache and to gloomymeditation. All day he lay upon the bed, and part of the time he slept. Atsupper time he rapped upon Val's door, got no answer, and went down alone,to find her in the dining room. There was an empty chair beside her, and hetook it as his right. She talked a little--about the fire and the damage ithad done. She said she was worried because she had forgotten to bring thecat, and what would it find to eat out there?
"Everything's burned perfectly black for miles and miles, you know," shereminded him.
They left the room together, and he followed her upstairs and to her door.This time she did not shut him out, and he went in and sat down by thewindow, and looked out upon the meager little street. Never, in the yearshe had known her, had she been so far from him. He watched her covertlywhile she searched for something in her suit case.
"I'm afraid I didn't bring enough clothes to last more than a day or two,"she remarked. "I couldn't seem to think of anything that night. Arline didmost of the packing for me. I'm afraid I misjudged that woman, Manley;there's a good deal to her, after all. But she _is_ funny."
"Val, I want to tell you I'm going to--to be different. I've been a beast,but I'm going to--" So much he had rushed out before she could freeze himto silence again.
"I hope so," she cut in, as he hesitated, "That is something you must judgefor yourself, and do by yourself. Do you think you will be able to get ateam tomorrow?"
"Oh--to hell with a team!" Manley exploded.
Val dropped her hairbrush upon the floor. "Manley Fleetwood! Has it cometo that, also? Isn't it enough to--" She choked. "Manley, you can be a--adrunken sot, if you choose--I've no power to prevent you; but you shallnot swear in my presence. I thought you had some of the instincts of agentleman, but--" She set her teeth hard together. She was white around themouth, and her whole, slim body was aquiver with outraged dignity.
There was something queer in Manley's eyes as he looked at her, the lengthof the tiny room between them.
"Oh, I beg your pardon. I remember, now, your Fern Hill ethics. I may _go_to hell, for all of you--you will simply hold back your immaculate, moralskirts so that I may pass without smirching them; but I must not mention mydestination--that is so unrefined!" He got up from the chair, with a laughthat was almost a snort. "You refuse to discuss a certain subject, thoughit's almost a matter of life and death with me; at least, it was. Yourhappiness and my own was at stake, I thought
. But it's all right--I needn'thave worried about it. I still have some of the instincts of a gentleman,and your pure ears shall not be offended by any profanity or anydisagreeable 'conventional confessions.' The absolution, let me say, Iexpected to do without." He started, full of some secret intent, for thedoor.
Val humanized suddenly. By the time his fingers touched the door knob shehad read his purpose, had readied his side, and was clutching his arm withboth her hands.
"Manley Fleetwood, what are you going to do?" She was actually panting withthe jump of her heart.
He turned the knob, so that the latch clicked. "Get drunk. Be the drunkensot you expect me to be. Go to that vulgar place which I must not mentionin your presence. Let go my arm, Val."
She was all woman, then. She pulled him away from the door and the unnamedhorror which lay outside. She was not the crying sort, but she cried, justthe same--heartbrokenly, her head against his shoulder, as if she herselfwere the sinner. She clung to him, she begged him to forgive her hardness.
She learned something which every woman must learn if she would keep alittle happiness in her life: she learned how to forgive the man she loved,and to trust him afterward.