All in the dark she got out her hat and coat and gloves, and her handbag. She folded and laid her other things in the small bag. Then she stole step by step across the room to the bureau where she gathered up the few things left there and packed them. There was a ball of cord in the upper drawer, and she slipped the end of it through the handle of her suitcase. The window was open. She could let her things down in the early morning.
Then, with everything ready, she went back to her bed with a pencil and paper. Taking one of Ollie’s picture books for a desk she wrote a letter in the dark very carefully. There wouldn’t be time in the morning.
Dear Myra:
It’s best that I go now. You needn’t worry; I was going in a day or two anyway, and you will be happier if I am not here.
Don’t forget to spank Ollie if she is naughty, and if Mark makes a fuss, spank him, too, somehow. Men do need it sometimes, you know, not literally, but in some way. I should have taught you that.
I’m sorry to run away, but it’s easier for us both this way. I love you, dear, and you can write to me.
Lovingly,
Mother
Hannah put this note in a drawer where she knew only Myra would find it, and then she lay down on her bed, but she did not sleep much. She spent the time in praying, asking her heavenly Father to keep her calm and help her through this hard way, and keep Myra, too, and save her from pain as much as was in His will.
At the first hint of dawn in the sky Hannah was up, though even Ollie in the same room could scarcely have heard her, she moved so quietly. She was in her stocking feet, and she went to the window and lifted her suitcase and bag one after the other, and slowly let them down to the grass in the backyard, by the loop of cord through the handle. Then she dropped one after the other, her coat, hat, bag, and shoes softly after them, and with a sad, tender look at her unruly little granddaughter whom she loved in spite of her naughtiness, she opened her door, the hinges of which she had oiled the first day she had been in the house, and slipped silently, slowly, down the stairs, making less noise than a mouse would have made.
Outside at last with the kitchen door locked behind her she sat down on the back doorstep in the early dawning and put on her shoes, her hat, coat and gloves. Then she picked up her bag and suitcase, and walking on the grass, she carefully left the premises, with no echo of her footsteps left behind to stir early consciousnesses.
It was a hard, panting trip to get that baggage to the corner and around another block out of sight. During the last leg she had to set them down and carry one at a time a little way and then go back for the other. She was rather worn with the excitement of the night, and she found her heart pulling pretty hard, but she made the corner at last where the trolley passed, and to her relief saw it coming in the distance. If she could only get to the station, and on a train, even a way train, surely she would be safe. She wanted to get home to her own house, and now that she was on her way she had time to think back to those awful words that Mark had spoken. Maybe he didn’t mean them, but it was bad enough that he should even have thought them, that he should have dared to speak the words to her own child. That he would put her in an insane asylum! That was what his words had practically meant. He said they would swear she was not of sound mind!
Well, of course they couldn’t do that, even if Mark tried. But she would feel more comfortable when she was back among her old friends and neighbors, and in the stronghold of her own house, the house that Charles had left to her, and to Rowan after her.
She was glad she had never hinted to Myra that Charles had left her some money, too, even though it was well guarded so that Mark could not force her to use it for his own purposes. Well, the Lord would work this all out somehow. But oh, if Rowan would only come home!
The trolley conductor was very kind. He helped her onto the car and carried her baggage for her. And she didn’t have to wait long at the station for the first train. She sat back thankfully and closed her eyes when she was moving along at last on her way back home. She mustn’t let herself think of the happenings of the last few hours. It would unnerve her, and she must not be unnerved when Mark came after her as he surely would if what he said about having a purchaser for the house was true, and it likely was. Mark was itching to get hold of any money that could be grasped. Poor Myra!
She slept a little on the way home and dreamed of Charles. The vision of his face steadied her. She thought of his calm assurance in the face of death, of his word that he had left everything all right for her. Charles had sensed what Mark would do. She must not worry. He had fixed it.
When she got home it was good to see familiar faces on the street. The day had just begun. Her heart gave a sudden stab. It almost seemed as if Charles must be there to meet her. But she put on her self-control as a garment and went out into the street. The one taxi of the village was not anywhere, but a neighbor was going up her way and took her, letting her off at her own door and promising to stop at the farmer’s cottage and send him over at once to see if there was anything he could do for her. Maybe she would like him to make a fire to take the dampness out of the house, though the day was not chilly.
So Hannah entered her own door; her baggage was carried in for her to her own wide hall, and the neighbor departed.
Then, first of all, Hannah shut and locked her door and knelt by Charles’s chair and gave thanks. After that she went to the telephone and called up Mr. Goodright, asking if he could come over for a few minutes to talk with her.
He promised to come at once, and Hannah went about making it cheerful in the parlor. A fire on the hearth. She could accomplish that before the farmer came. There was wood in the woodshed, and kindlings.
She had the fire burning brightly, and had washed her face and combed her hair and made herself tidy before the banker came.
By this time the farmer was on hand, welcoming her heartily and promising to make a fire and bring some supplies—milk and butter and eggs. It seemed like living again.
Then she found that Mr. Goodright knew all about Charles’s fears and wasn’t in the least surprised at Mark’s behavior.
“Don’t you worry, Hannah,” he said. “Charles has fixed it all. Mark couldn’t sell this farm if he tried. It is all tied up. It belongs to you as long as you live, and then passes to Rowan, and if so be that anything happens to Rowan in that time it is held in trust for Myra and her children, but never passes into Mark’s control. Charles was very careful about all that.”
“Oh,” said Hannah with relief, “he told me he had done something about it, but I didn’t remember what it was. But I wonder just what I ought to do if Mark comes after me, and brings this man along with him. Should I lock him out? I don’t exactly like to do that. He might even break down the door if he got angry.”
“Well, Hannah, if he comes, you just send him down to me. Or if you prefer, suppose I stay here with you.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t think of letting you do that,” said Hannah. “I’m not afraid of Mark. If you are behind me, I’m all right.”
“Well, you just telephone me,” he said as he left. “Telephone me at once if you want anything. I’ll be in the bank all the morning.”
So Hannah went about getting ready for callers.
It was almost noon when Mark arrived with his buyer. The buyer hadn’t turned up as soon as he had expected, and Mark was boiling with irritation when he finally knocked at the door.
They had had to come on a surmise that Hannah was here. Myra hadn’t found the note yet. She hadn’t tried very hard to find one, knowing that she would have to show it to Mark if she did, so she refrained from looking very thoroughly until Mark was gone. She was not surprised at her mother’s action. She felt a kind of triumph that mark had been frustrated. It was so seldom that he was. He always forced people to do what he demanded, by hook or by crook. He seldom had to make even a gesture of carrying out his threats; he knew how to threaten so effectively that people were simply paralyzed into yielding without a
n attempt to get free. It made him furious that his mother-in-law was the only woman so far who had frustrated him, and he couldn’t seem to put over a thing on her.
But he meant to now. He had her all right this time. The idea was in his eye when he knocked at the door, with the interested eager buyer beside him. He had already accepted a small sum to bind the bargain. He had managed that on the way over, by effective salesmanship, making the man sure there were other eager buyers who might claim the property. There was no denying that the buyer was eager.
Hannah opened her door as calmly as if she had been established in her home right along all winter. An air of well-being and warmth and pleasantness rushed out, with a spicy aroma of something baking in the oven—was it Johnny cake or gingerbread? Mark was hungry and it smelled good. He ignored the past night and their differences.
“This is Mr. Edwards, Mother,” he said, exactly as if it had all been planned between them. “He’s come to look the house over as I told you last night he would.”
But Hannah stood in the doorway, acknowledging the introduction pleasantly, yet not inviting them in.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” said Hannah to the stranger. “My house is not on exhibition. I have just returned from a visit and am about to do some cleaning. It wouldn’t be convenient for you to see around today, even if there were any reason for it. I’m afraid, Mr. Edwards, that you are under a misapprehension. This house is not for sale and never has been. My son-in-law has made a mistake in thinking it was. I’m sure you will understand.”
The prospective buyer’s face went down several degrees. He turned to Mark in indignant amazement and Mark gave him a knowing wink.
“What does this mean?” he asked.
“That’s all right, Edwards,” said Mark with assurance. “Mother here just doesn’t understand. It happens that I’m the head of this family now, and I know that this house has to be sold. Mother naturally is fond of her old home and she hasn’t yet come to realize that it will have to be sold, but it will be quite all right. Mother, you don’t realize that Mr. Edwards has paid a sum down to bind the bargain, and that the place is practically sold to him already. I’ll just have to trouble you to let us pass you. We haven’t much time and Mr. Edwards has to get back home tonight. We won’t bother you long.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Edwards, to have to disappoint you,” said Hannah. “It does not suit me to have anyone go through my house now or at any other time, and if you wish to find out anything further about the matter, I must refer you to my banker who is looking after my affairs. I am sure he will make you understand the matter.”
Hannah spoke with dignity and finality, as she half closed the door and stood firmly in it. Then she turned to her son-in-law. “Mark, I’m sorry not to invite you to come back to dinner, but you know I’ve just got home and there wouldn’t be much to eat in the house. I think you can get something in the village. There’s a very nice little restaurant.”
Then she went in and shut the door, and she heard the chagrined Mark say as she slipped the bolt soundlessly, “Sorry, Edwards, she’s a pretty stubborn old woman, and not quite right in the upper story, you understand, but we’ll just run down to the bank and get it all straightened out. I hadn’t an idea she would act like this.”
So Mark went down to the bank and had an encounter with the stern banker, for Jamie Goodright could be stern upon occasion.
When Mark went away he was thoroughly convinced that it would do no good to try to break Father Parsons’s will. He had it all tied up so thoroughly that Mark couldn’t even get what belonged to Myra except through her mother, and the guardians of the estate, so he went home a sadder and a wiser man and took it out on Myra. Hannah had been afraid he would do this, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it.
Chapter 16
Joyce came over that afternoon, and Hannah held her in her arms and wept over her. It was so good to see her. It seemed to bring real living back again. It brought both Charles and Rowan nearer, and for the first time since the death of her husband, she had a good cry in Joyce’s arms.
It only lasted a minute or two and then she was herself again.
“But oh, my dear, I am ashamed!” she said, wiping her eyes and putting her glasses back on again. “I entirely broke down when I saw you. So many things have happened, and I’ve had to be going on so hard and keeping up so calmly there hasn’t been a chance for a tear. But I’m so glad to see you, child. And how are you, and how is your father?”
“Just about the same,” said Joyce, “that is, he holds his own, the nurse says. I don’t think his face is quite as much twisted. The nurse thinks it is gradually relaxing, and he seems to take more interest in what I say. I truly do believe he understands. The other day I tested him. I asked him if he knew what I was saying to close his eyes, and he looked at me a minute and then he closed them and opened them again, slowly, so I knew he was doing it of himself.”
“Oh, my dear, how wonderful!”
“Yes, it is a great comfort,” said Joyce. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you before you went away, but for the first few days after your husband died he kept watching the door, about the time for him to come over and call. And finally I told him. I said, ‘He has gone home to heaven,’ and I pointed up and he looked at me a minute and his eyes go full of tears. I wiped them off for him and there seemed to be a new look in his eyes, as if it comforted him for me to touch him. It was the next morning that we noticed again that his face wasn’t twisted so much. The nurse said sometimes a shock or emotion did that for one who was paralyzed. But he is a little better; I really think he is. Oh, it would be such a comfort if he could get so he could speak, and I could be sure he understands.”
“Yes, dear child, I know. Perhaps it will come yet. Has your—has Mrs. Whitney come back yet?”
“Not to stay. She comes and she goes. She says her nervous temperament won’t stand it to be around Father, and I think it’s just as well. Although of course people are talking. But somehow—well, it seems as if God had put me above talk, and it doesn’t matter. And I think it’s easier for Father when she isn’t here. She always fusses so when she goes in there, and sits around and weeps and bewails. She won’t believe it that he can hear her, and see her, and understand it. And all the time she is here his eyes look so distressed.”
“Too bad!” said Hannah, wondering why God’s dear children, frail little ones like Joyce, had to have so many severe trials. “Well, have you heard anything more about the bank? Have they heard anything through the Rowley man that was arrested? Did they have a trial? No one has written about it.”
“Yes, they had a trial, but it didn’t amount to much. They condemned him to a long term in the penitentiary. They had plenty of evidence against him, fingerprints and so on, and they found out definitely that his brother, the one who was shot by the policeman, was the one who fired the shot. They found the gun, and seemed very sure he was the one who shot poor old Sam. Sam didn’t die, you know. But he doesn’t seem to get well. He has been so weak that they haven’t dared to question him much about the robbery. But do you know that every time they have spoken of it to him he has declared that neither Jason nor Rowan were on the street that night. Isn’t that grand?”
“Yes, it’s just like our Father to let him be able to tell that. But you look so tired, dear. Don’t you get out at all? You ought to get away awhile each day and get a little rest from bearing burdens.”
“Well, I don’t want to get away,” said Joyce sadly. “Father’s all I’ve got left, now Jason is gone and”—she hesitated—“Rowan,” she added with a shy little apologetic laugh. “I haven’t even a friend left. No, I shouldn’t say that. I have Rose. Rose Allison. She comes over quite often and brings me a flower or a little cake her mother has baked or something. She is a sweet child. Did you know she knew Jason? She did, just a little. They went to school together but they never had much to do with one another. But it seems that the last week Jason was home
she stopped him on the street and asked him to come to some young people’s rally or something, and he promised he would, and then, the day he left the bank he called her up and told her it was going to be impossible, that he had had trouble in the bank and was leaving town. She got worried because they were talking so about Jason and she came to tell me about it. There were several things he said to her that made it almost sure he couldn’t have done the things they said he was doing.”
“She is a dear girl. I have often watched her in church,” said Hannah. “She is the kind of girl who will grow into a wonderful woman. I’m so glad she gave you comfort.”
“Yes, she is,” said Joyce thoughtfully, “and she’s praying for Jason, too. Oh, how wonderful it would have been if Jason could only have stayed at home and gone to that meeting. Then people would have known he wasn’t that kind of a fellow.”
“Don’t worry about that, dear. Just one meeting wouldn’t have changed Jason’s reputation, and when a town begins to talk you can’t stop it so easily. But, dear, I feel sure that God is doing something more wonderful for our two boys than even bringing them to one meeting. Charles felt so. He felt sure that God was in this matter of their going.”
“Yes?” said Joyce. “I’m glad you told me that. If he thought so, too, it must be so. I’ve held on to that, and I’ve been praying it might be so.”
“You dear child! You are a precious child!” And Hannah looked at her lovingly. The girl that Rowan had seemed to like best of all girls! How her heart yearned over her!
And Joyce remembered with a thrill that that was the word that Rowan had used toward her, precious, and now his mother had called her that! She came over and kissed Hannah’s cheek. “You are such a dear mother! Very much like my own mother as I remember her. I was so lonesome while you were away. I missed you so. I don’t seem to have anybody! And I’ve been so annoyed with that Corey Watkins. I think Mother is inviting him. He comes whenever she is here, almost every night, to ask how we are, if nothing more, and he is always trying to coax me to take a ride with him. I don’t want to ride with him. Do you think I need to? Mother says I am rude and disagreeable to him. I don’t really mean to be, but that is the only way I can get rid of him, just to walk out of the room. I simply can’t stand him. Do you think a girl ought to have to go with young men she doesn’t like, just to be polite?”