A FAIR EXILE
The train was ambling across the hot, russet plain. The wind, strong andwarm and dry, sweeping up from the south, carried with it the subtleodor of September grass and gathered harvests. Out of the unfenced roadsthe dust arose in long lines, like smoke from some hidden burning whichthe riven earth revealed. The fields were tenanted with thrashing crews,the men diminished by distance to pygmies, the long belt of the engineflapping and shining like a ribbon in the flaming sunlight.
The freight-cars on the accommodation train jostled and rocked about andheaved up laterally till they resembled a long line of awkward,frightened, galloping buffaloes. The one coach was scantily filled withpassengers, mainly poorly clothed farmers and their families.
A young man seated well back in the coach was looking dreamily out ofthe window, and the conductor, a keen-eyed young fellow, after passinghim several times, said, in a friendly way:
"Going up to Boomtown, I imagine."
"Yes--if we ever get there."
"Oh, we'll get there. We won't have much more switching. We've only gotan empty car or two to throw in at the junction."
"Well, I'm glad of that. I'm a little impatient, because I've got a casecoming up in court, and I'm not exactly fixed for it."
"Your name is Allen, I believe."
"Yes; J. H. Allen, of Sioux City."
"I thought so. I've heard you speak."
The young lawyer was a tall, slender, dark-eyed man, rather sombre inappearance. He did not respond to the invitation in the conductor'svoice.
"When do you reach the junction?"
"Next stop. We're only a few minutes late. Expect to meet friendsthere?"
"No; thought I'd get a lunch, that's all."
At the junction the car became pretty well filled with people. Two orthree Norwegian families came clattering in, the mothers clothed inheavy shawls and cheap straw hats, the flaxen-haired children in fadedcottonade and blue denims. They filled nearly half the seats. Severaldrummers came in, laughing loudly, bearing heavy valises. Then Allenheard, above the noise, the shrill but sweet voice of a girl, and caughtthe odor of violets as two persons passed him and took a seat justbefore him.
The man he knew by sight and reputation as a very brilliant younglawyer--Edward Benson, of Heron Lake. The girl he knew instantly to beutterly alien to this land and people. She was like a tropic bird seenamid the scant foliage of northern hills. There was evidence of greatcare and taste in every fold of her modish dress. Her hat was simple butin the latest city fashion, and her gloves were spotless. She gave offan odor of cleanliness and beauty.
She was very young and slender. Her face was piquant but notintellectual, and scarcely beautiful. It pleased rather by its life andmotion and oddity than by its beauty. She looked at her companion in apeculiar way--trustfully, almost reverently--and yet with a touch ofcoquetry which seemed perfectly native to every turn of her body orglance of her eyes.
Her companion was a fine Western type of self-made man. He was tall andbroad-shouldered, but walked a little stooping, like a man of fifty. Hewore a long Prince Albert frock-coat, hanging loosely from his rathersquare shoulders. His white vest was noticeably soiled by his watchchain, and his tie was disarranged.
His face was very fine and good. His eyes were gray-blue, deep andquiet, but slightly smiling, as were his lips, which his golden-brownmustache shaded but did not hide. He was kept smiling in this quizzicalway by the nervous chatter of the girl beside him. His profile, whichwas the view Allen had of him, was striking. His strong, straight noseand abrupt forehead formed a marked contrast to the rather characterlessnose and retreating forehead of the girl.
The first words that Allen distinguished out of the merry war in whichthey seemed engaged were spoken in the tone of pretty petulance suchwomen use--a coquette's defence.
"You did! you did! you _did_! _Now_! You know you did! You told methat! You told me you despised girls like me!"
"I said I despised women who had no object in life but dress," hereplied, rather soberly.
"But you were hopping on me; you meant me, now! You can't deny it! Youdespise me, I know you do!" She challenged his flattery in her poutingself-depreciation.
The young man tried to stop her in her course, to change her mood, whichwas descending to real feeling. His low words were lost in the rumble ofthe car.
"Yes, yes, try to smooth it over; but you can't fool me any more. But Idon't want you to flatter me and lie to me the way Judge Stearns did,"she added, with a sudden change of manner. "I like you because you'restraight."
The phrase with which she ended seemed to take on a new meaning, utteredby those red lips in childish pout.
"Now, why are you down on the judge? I don't see," said the man, as ifshe had gone back to an old attack.
"Well, if you'd seen what I have, you'd understand." She turned away andlooked out of the window. "Oh, this terrible country! I'd die out herein six weeks. I know I should."
The young lawyer was not to be turned aside.
"Of course, I'm pleased to have you throw the judge over and employ me,but, all the same, I think you do him an injustice. He's a good, squareman."
"Square man!" she said, turning to him with a sudden fury in her eyes."Do you call it square for a man--married, and gray-haired, too--to takeup with a woman like Mrs. Shellberg? Say, do you, now?"
"Well, I don't quite believe--"
"Oh, I _lie_, do I?" she cried, with another swift change to reproach."You can't take my word for Mrs. Shellberg's visits to his office."
"But he was her lawyer."
"But you know what kind of a woman she is! She didn't need to go thereevery day or two, did she? What did he always receive her in his privateoffice for? Come, now, tell me that!"
"I don't know that he did," persisted the lawyer.
A sort of convulsion passed over her face, her little hands clinched,and the tears started into her eyes. Her voice was very quiet.
"You think I lie, then?"
"I think you are mistaken, just as other jealous women have--"
"You think I'm jealous, do you?"
"You act like a jeal--"
"Jealous of that gray-haired old wretch? No, sir! I--I--" She struggledto express herself. "I liked him, and I hated to lose all my faith inmen. I thought he was good and honest when he prayed--Oh, I've seen himpray in church, the old hypocrite!" Her fury returned at therecollection.
Her companion's face grew grave. The smile went out of his eyes, leavingthem dark and sorrowful.
"I understand you now," he said, at last. She turned to look at him."My practice in the divorce business out here has almost destroyed myfaith in women. If it weren't for my wife and sister--"
She broke in eagerly: "Now I _know_ you know what I mean. Sometimes Ithink men are--devils!" She thrust this word forth, and her little facegrew dark and strained. "But the judge kept me from thinking--I neverloved my father; he didn't care for me; all he wanted to do was to maketen thousand barrels of beer a year and sell it; and the judge seemedlike a father to me till _she_ came and destroyed my faith in him."
"But--well, let Mrs. S. go. There are lots of good men and pure women inthe world. It's dangerous to think there aren't--especially for ahandsome young woman like you. You can't afford to keep in that kind ofa mood long."
She looked at him curiously. "That's what I like about you," she said,soberly. "You talk to me as if I had some sense--as if I were a humanbeing. If you were to flatter me, now, and make love to me, I neverwould believe in any man again."
He smiled again in his frank, good way, and drew a picture from hispocket. It was a picture of a woman bending down over a laughing, nakedchild, sprawling frogwise in her lap. The woman's face was broad andintellectual and handsome. The look of splendid maternity was in hereyes. They both looked at the picture in silence. The girl sighed.
"I wish I was as good as that woman looks."
"You can be if you try."
"Not with a big Chicago bre
wer for a father, and a husband that beatsyou whenever the mood takes him."
"I admit that's hard. I think the atmosphere of that Heron Lake hotelisn't any great help to you."
"Oh, they're a gay lot there! We fight like cats and dogs." A look ofslyness and boldness came over her face. "Mrs. Shellberg hates me ashard as I do her. She used to go around telling: 'It's very peculiar,you know'"--she imitated her rival's voice--"'but no matter which end ofthe dining-room I sit, all the men look that way!'"
The young lawyer laughed at her in spite of himself.
And she went on: "But they don't, now. That's the reason she hates me,"she said, in conclusion. "The men don't notice her when I'm around."
To hear her fresh young lips utter those words with their vileinflections was like taking a sudden glimpse into the underworld, whereharlots dwell and the spirits of unrestrained lusts dance in the shadowyrecesses of the human heart.
Allen, hearing this fragmentary conversation, fascinated yet uneasy,looked at the pair with wonder. They seemed quite unconscious of theirpublic situation.
The young lawyer looked straight before him, while the girl, swept on byher ignoble rage, displayed still more of the moral ulceration which hadbeen injected into her young life.
"I don't see what men find about her to like--unless it is her eyes.She's got beautiful eyes. But she's vulgar--ugh! The stories shetells--right before men, too! She'd kill any one that got ahead of her,that woman would! And yet she'll come into my room and cry and cry, andsay: 'Don't take him away from me! Leave him to me!' Ugh! It makes mesick." She stamped her foot, then added, irrelevantly: "She wears a wig,too. I suppose that old fool of a judge thinks it's her own hair."
The lawyer sat in stony silence. His grave face was accusing in its setexpression, and she felt it, and was spurred on to do still deeperinjustice to herself--an insane perversity.
"Not that I care a cent--I'm not jealous of her. I ain't so bad off forcompany as she is. She can't take anybody away from me, but she must goand break down my faith in the judge."
She bit her lips to keep from crying out. She looked out of the windowagain, seeking control.
The "divorce colony" never appeared more sickening in its innercorruptions than when delineated by this dainty young girl. Allen couldsee the swarming men about the hotels; he could see their hot, leeringeyes and smell their liquor-laden breaths as they named the latestaddition to the colony or boasted of their associations with thosealready well known.
The girl turned suddenly to her companion.
"How do those people live out here on their farms?"
She pointed at a small shanty where the whole family stood to watch thetrain go by.
"By eating boiled potatoes and salt pork."
"Salt pork!" she echoed, as if salt pork were old boot-heels or bark orhay. "Why, it takes four hours for salt pork to digest!"
He laughed again at her childish irrelevancy. "So much the better forthe poor. Where'd you learn all that, anyway?"
"At school. Oh, you needn't look so incredulous! I went toboarding-school. I learned a good deal more than you think."
"Well, so I see. Now, I should have said pork digested in three hours,speaking from experience."
"Well, it don't. What do the women do out here?"
"They work like the men, only more so."
"Do they have any new things?"
"Not very often, I'm afraid."
She sighed. After a pause, she said:
"You were raised on a farm?"
"Yes. In Minnesota."
"Did you do work like that?" She pointed at a thrashing-machine in thefield.
"Yes, I ploughed and sowed and reaped and mowed. I wasn't on the farmfor my health."
"You're very strong, aren't you?" she asked, admiringly.
"In a slab-sided kind of a way--yes."
Her eyes grew abstracted.
"I like strong men. Ollie was a little man, not any taller than I am,but when he was drunk he was what men call a--a holy terror. He struckme with the water-pitcher once--that was just before baby was born. Iwish he'd killed me." She ended in a sudden reaction to hopelessbitterness. "It would have saved me all these months of life in thisterrible country."
"It might have saved you from more than you think," he said, quietly,tenderly.
"What do you mean?"
"You've been brought up against women and men who have defiled you.They've made your future uncertain."
"Do you think it's so bad as that? Tell me!" she insisted, seeing hishesitation.
"You're on the road to hell!" he said, in a voice that was very low, butit reached her. It was full of pain and grave reprimand and gentleness."You've been poisoned. You're in need of a good man's help. You need thecompanionship of good, earnest women instead of painted harlots."
Her voice shook painfully as she replied:
"You don't think I'm _all_ bad?"
"You're not bad at all--you're simply reckless. _You_ are not to blame.It depends upon yourself now, though, whether you keep a true woman orgo to hell with Mrs. Shellberg."
The conductor eyed them, as he passed, with an unpleasant light in hiseyes, and the drummers a few seats ahead turned to look at them. The tiphad passed along from lip to lip. They were like wild beasts roused bythe presence of prey. Their eyes gleamed with relentless lust. They eyedthe little creature with ravening eyes. Her helplessness was theiropportunity.
Allen, sitting there, entered into the terror and the tragedy of thegirl's life. He imagined her reckless, prodigal girlhood; the coarse,rich father; the marriage, when a thoughtless girl, with a drunken,dissolute boy; the quarrels, brutal beatings; the haste to secure adivorce; the contamination of the crowded hotels in Heron Lake, wherethis slender young girl--naturally pure, alert, quick of impulse--waslike a lamb among lustful wolves. His heart ached for her.
The deep, slow voice of the lawyer sounded on. His eyes, turned towardher, had no equivocal look. He was a brother speaking to a youngersister. The tears fell down her cheeks, upon her folded hands. Herwidely opened eyes seemed to look out into a night of storms.
"Oh, what shall I do?" she moaned. "I wish I was dead--and baby, too!"
"Live for the baby--let him help you out."
"Oh, he can't! I don't care enough for him. I wish I was like othermothers, but I'm not. I can't shut myself up with a baby. I'm tooyoung."
He saw that. She was seeking the love of a man, not the care of a child.She had the wifely passion, but not the mother's love. He was silent;the case baffled him.
"Oh, I wish you could help me! I wish I had you to help me all the time!I do! I don't care what you think--_I do! I do!_"
"Our home is open to you and baby, too," he said, slowly. "My wife knowsabout you, and--"
"Who told her--did you?" she flashed out again, angrily, jealously.
"Yes. My wife is my other self," he replied, quietly.
She stared at him, breathing heavily, then looked out of the windowagain. At last she turned to him. She seemed to refer to his invitation.
"Oh, this terrible land! Oh, I couldn't stay here! I'd go insane.Perhaps I'm going insane, anyway. Don't you think so?"
"No, I think you're a little nervous, that's all."
"Oh! Do you think I'll get my divorce?"
"Certainly, without question."
"Can I wait and go back with you?"
"I shall not return for several days. Perhaps you couldn't bear to waitin this little town; it's not much like the city."
"Oh, dear! But I can't go about alone. I hate these men, they stare atme so! I wish I was a man. It's awful to be a woman, don't you think so?Please don't laugh."
The young lawyer was far from laughing, but this was her only way ofdefending herself. These pert, bird-like ways formed her shield againstridicule and misprision.
He said, slowly, "Yes, it's an awful thing to be a woman, but then it'san awful responsibility to be a man."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean
that we are responsible, as the dominant sex, for every tragic,incomplete woman's life."
"Don't you blame Mrs. Shellberg?" she said, forcing him to a concreteexample with savage swiftness.
"No. She had a poor father and a poor husband, and she must earn her ownliving some way."
"She could cook, or nurse, or something like that."
"It isn't easy to find opportunity to cook or nurse. If it were as easyto earn a living in a pure way as it is in a vicious way, all men wouldbe rich and virtuous. But what had you planned to do after yourdivorce?"
"Oh, I'm going to travel for two years. Then I'll try to settle down."
"What you need is a good husband, and a little cottage where you'd haveto cook your own food--and tend the baby."
"I wouldn't cook for any man living," she broke in, to express herbitterness that he could so coldly dispose of her future. "Oh, thisterrible train! Can't it go faster? If I'd realized what a trip thiswas, I wouldn't have started."
"This is the route you all go," he replied, with grim humor, and hiswords pictured a ceaseless stream of divorcees.
She resented his classing her with the rest, but she simply said: "Youdespise me, don't you? But what can we do? You can't expect us to livewith men we hate, can you? That would be worse than Mrs. Shellberg."
"No, I don't expect that of you. I'd issue a divorce coupon with everymarriage certificate, and done with it," he said, in desperate disgust."Then this whole cursed business would be done away with. It isn't aquestion of our laxity of divorce laws," he said, after a pause, "it's aquestion of the senseless severity of the laws in other States. That'swhat throws this demoralizing business into our hands here."
"It pays, don't it? I know I've paid for everything I've had."
"Yes, that's the demoralizing thing. It draws a gang of consciencelessattorneys here, and it draws us who belong here off into dirty work, andit brings us into contact with men and women--I'm sick of the wholebusiness."
She had hardly followed him in his generalizations. She brought him backto the personal.
"You're sick of me, I know you are!" She leaned her head on thewindow-pane. Her eyes closed. "Oh, I wish my heart would stop beating!"she said, in a tense, profoundly significant tone.
Allen, sitting so close behind them, was forced to overhear, sopiercingly sweet was her voice. He trembled for fear some one else mighthear her. It seemed like profanation that any one but God should listento this outcry of a quivering, writhing soul.
She faced her companion again. "You're the only man I know, now, that Irespect, and you despise me."
"No, I don't; I pity you."
"That's worse. I want you to help me. Oh, if you could go with me, or ifI could be with you!" Her gloved hands strained together in the agony ofher desire.
His calm lips did not waver. He did not smile, even about the eyes. Heknew her cry sprang from her need of a brother, not from the passion ofa woman.
"Our home is yours just as long as you can bear the monotony of oursimple lives," he said, in his quiet way, but it was deep-throated andunmistakable in its sincerity.
She laid her hand on his arm and clasped it hard, then turned away herhead, and they rode in silence.
After they left the car Allen sat, with savage eyes and grimly setmouth, going over the problem again and again. He saw that young andhelpless creature walking the gantlet between endless ranks of lustful,remorseless men, snatching at her in selfish, bestial desire.
It made him bitter and despairing to think that women should behelpless--that they should need some man to protect them against someother man. He cursed the laws and traditions that had kept womensubordinate and trivial and deceptive and vacillating. He wished theycould be raised to the level of the brutes till, like the tigress orshe-wolf, they could not only defend themselves, but their young.
He tried to breathe a sigh of relief that she had gone out of his life,but he could not. It was not so easy to shake off the shadow of hisresponsibility. He followed her in imagination on her downward path tillhe saw her stretching out her hands in pitiful need to casualacquaintances--alone and without hope; still petite, still dainty inspite of all, still with flashes of wit, and then--
He shuddered. "O my God! Upon whom does the burden of guilt lie?"
* * * * *
On the night of his return he sat among his romping babes, debatingwhether he should tell the story to his wife or not. As the little onesgrew weary the noise of the autumn wind--the lonely, woful, moaningprairie wind--came to his ears, and he shuddered. His wife observed it.
"What is it, Joe? Did you get a chill?"
"Oh no. The wind sounds a little lonesome to-night, that's all." But hetook his little girl into his arms and held her close.