The Strange Woman

by Ben Ames Williams

  He, as torn as she, could not comfort her. He was slowly broken on the rack, pulled one way by forces he could not combat, pulled the other by all the convictions on which for years his life had been based; till he lost all will of his own.

  She worked upon him in other ways, as though she sensed the fact that if he could be led to hate John altogether, he would be completely hers. Twice during the summer, when Cap’n Pawl was away on the Lucy brig, Meg came home to visit her father; and on these occasions she and Elder Pittridge and John and Jenny were much together as of old. After the second time Jenny asked challengingly:

  ‘Line, did you watch John and Meg today? Did you see the way she looks at him, and he at her?’

  They’re as they’ve always been.’

  ‘Exactly,’ she retorted. ‘Under my eyes, for years!’

  ‘But Jenny’ he protested, ‘Meg’s married now.’

  ‘Am I not married, darling? And have I been the less generous to you on that account?’

  He said in weak loyalty: ‘You’re not fair to John!’

  ‘To John?’ She smiled. ‘John’s no anchorite, Line. I could tell you some things . . .’ She hesitated faintly, added then: ‘You wouldn’t believe me, but you’ll know better some day.’ There was suddenly a quiet ferocity in her still tones. ‘Everyone will realize what John really is, before I’m through. He’s not so fine as he pretends, be sure of that. I know.’

  There was more than a casual threat in her tone. Elder Pittridge questioned her, uneasily, wondering what she meant to do; but she would tell him nothing, so he had no more explicit warning of what was to come than was contained in her words and tone.

  III

  A new paper was started in Bangor that summer by a man named Andrew Lebbeus. Lebbeus had formerly lived in Old Town, and then in Bangor. He was the younger son of an English county family who had left his own country in some disgrace and who astonished and shocked the good people of Old Town while he lived there by his habit, when—as was usually the case—he was in his cups, of delivering lengthy orations on the high moral values of free love. He spent most of his time in the taverns, and lumbermen just out of the woods or off the river hilariously encouraged him to talk. He was a cultivated man, with a vocabulary which expanded with every drink he took. One of his gleeful audience remarked one night in an awed delight:

  ‘By God, I’ve been doing it ever since I was old enough to wear britches, but I never heard it called so many fancy names!’

  He subsisted on moneys sent him by his family; and at intervals, flushed with sudden wealth, he went to Boston for a month or two. From one of these excursions he returned to Bangor with a floridly decorative young woman whom he introduced as Miss Thorne. Their relationship was an open scandal, an affront to the town; but Lebbeus laughed at protests till he and she were haled into court on a charge of living together without benefit of clergy. Judge Saladine was at that time on the bench and he took a short way to settle the case. He asked:

  ‘Mr. Lebbeus, do you propose to show the court that you are married to this woman?’

  Lebbeus replied in a sardonic tone: ‘We are married, Your Honor, in the eyes of God and in the light of our own consciousness!’

  ‘Do you love this woman well enough to take her for your wife?’

  ‘I do.’

  The Judge asked: ‘Madam, do you love this man enough to take him for your husband?’

  The young woman said amiably: ‘Why, I just certainly do, Judge.’

  Judge Saladine nodded. ‘Good! Then by the authority vested in me by the laws of Maine, I do pronounce you man and wife! Go and sin no more!’

  The result of this judgment of Solomon was not happy for Mr. Lebbeus. His wife clung to him like a harpy for years, making his life a long torment; and he blamed Judge Saladine for his distresses. But during the boom period she left Bangor with a successful speculator and never returned; and Lebbeus, free from her demands, presently came into a small inheritance and found himself possessed of comfortable means. In this summer of 1845 he started a paper in Bangor called the Star, whose guiding editorial principle was a violent opposition to the Bingham interests. Since John was Colonel Black’s right-hand man, he was one of the Star’s occasional targets. Late in October there appeared in that scurrilous sheet the following:

  YOUNG WOMAN INSULTED

  We are requested to publish the affidavit herewith in the interest of morality and decency, and as an imperative act of justice, that the humblest female may be secure from insult on the street or elsewhere. The character of the person signing the affidavit is fully vouched for by the lady in whose house the aggrieved is employed:

  AFFIDAVIT

  Bangor, October 17, 1845 I, Mattie Hanson, residing on Harlow Street in the city of Bangor, and working as a servant by the day in the house of Ira Hodder, make the following statement on oath:

  That until last July I was employed one day a week to do washing in the family of John Evered; and that I quit that employment because Mr. Evered used to come to where I was washing clothes and talk to me and pinch me.

  That a week ago last Saturday evening on my way home from Mr. Hodder’s to Harlow Street Mr. Evered walked close up to me, and talked to me, asking if I was married and if I had any children and said he would not want anyone only if they were willing; and Mr. Evered has spoken in the same way at least six times since I went to work in his house and has asked me to go riding with him and I have felt insulted every time he has spoken to me.

  MATTIE HANSON

  State of Maine, Penobscot, SS. Oct. 17, 1845. Personally appeared the above-named Mattie Hanson and made oath to the truth of the foregoing statement, made and signed by her. Before me,

  Levi S. Spree,

  Justice of the Peace.

  IV

  Elder Pittridge was not a subscriber to the Star; but within half an hour of the paper’s publication, Sam Smith came to find him and to show him the offending passage.

  ‘Here, take a look at that!’ he said in a strong indignation. ‘John’s in Boston, won’t be back till next week; but somebody’s got to do something about this quick—and you’re John’s best friend in town.’

  So Elder Pittridge read the damning paragraphs. He remembered seeing Mattie Hanson at the house, busy over her tubs in the shed or hanging out the clothes; remembered her as a plump young negress with white teeth in the shining black expanse of her face. Though he hated John, this affidavit was obviously absurd; and reading it he remembered those half threats Jenny had made against her husband. He took time to think before he spoke.

  ‘I’ll go see the rascal who printed that,’ he said then. “Do you know him?’ ‘Lebbeus? Yes, certain. He has a one-room office with a printing press in the cellar, down on Water Street.’ He added: ‘Of course this is a hit at the Bingham crowd. Lebbeus has always hated them since Judge Saladine married him to that woman.’

  Elder Pittridge looked at the affidavit again. ‘Who’s Ira Hodder?’

  ‘He’s a no-account loafer,’ Sam told him. ‘Used to be a good house- wright till the speculation. Then he made some big profits, dressed Mrs. Hodder up in fine clothes, bought a carriage, built the house on Harlow Street—and lost all his money. Now he owes everyone in town.’ He laughed. ‘If this girl works for him, she must work for nothing.’

  ‘She’s colored,’ Elder Pittridge said. ‘I’ve seen her out at the house.’

  ‘Colored!’ Sam stared at him. ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ Then he said: ‘Come along. I’ll go with you to talk to Lebbeus.’

  They found Lebbeus in his office. The publisher of the Star was a lean, gangling individual with a watery eye, sallow and unhealthy skin, and yellow buck teeth that were conspicuous when he grinned. Elder Pittridge, not yet sure of his course, stood looking down at the man, who did not rise; and he asked uncertainly:

  ‘Why did you print this scurrilous affidavit?’

  Lebbeus grinned. ‘In the interests of public decency, Elder Pittridge. You and
I are crusaders in the same cause, you see.’

  ‘How did it come into your hands?’

  ‘Levi Spree brought it to the office. He and Mr. Hodder.’ The publisher largely explained: ‘It appears that this girl came home in tears after fighting off your friend Evered’s carnal advances; and Mrs. Hodder comforted her, got her story, and thought something should be done to put a stop to such goings on. That was a conclusion, if I may say so, with which I thoroughly agree.’

  Elder Pittridge looked uneasily at Sam Smith; and he began to say: ‘You know it’s a ridiculous—’ But before he could finish, the door behind him opened. He turned and saw Jenny there, and beside her Pat Tierney; and Pat had his slender whip in his hand.

  Jenny looked at Elder Pittridge without speaking, passed him, faced Lebbeus. ‘Are you the publisher of the Star?’ she asked in low tones.

  Lebbeus, still without rising, said mockingly: ‘I have that honor, Mrs. Evered!’

  Jenny without a word took the whip from Pat. Lebbeus at her movement dodged back, overturning his chair; but the whip cracked across his shoulders, once and then again. The whip was light, the hurt not great; but Lebbeus leaped toward the door that led to the cellar. Sam Smith sprang before him to block his way. Sam was enjoying this. ‘Give it to him, ma’am!’ he cried. Lebbeus, the whip still snapping across his back, dodged to the street door and out; and Jenny followed to give him a last stroke before he escaped beyond her reach. Lebbeus, since she could not pursue him, was satisfied to keep his distance; and he bowed and said profoundly: ‘Thank you, Mrs. Evered, for the attention you have thus attracted to my humble paper. Your indignation does credit to your loyalty, if not to your wit. Yet I can see that the truth struck home.’ He chuckled. ‘Made the galled jade wince!’

  A curious crowd had been quick to collect. Jenny spoke evenly. ‘I have nothing to say to you.’ She turned to the carriage, and Pat helped her in. Elder Pittridge and Sam had followed them out of the little office, stood now as they drove away. Lebbeus came toward them, shrugging his shoulders to ease the smart of the whip.

  ‘That wench cuts hard,’ he said dryly. ‘As for you, Elder, have you finished what you were saying?’

  Elder Pittridge hesitated, but others were watching, and something was expected of him. ‘Not quite,’ he said, and struck an awkward yet a powerful blow, so that the other man staggered backward and went down. Sam cheered, and the crowd pressed closer, hooting an appreciation, eager to see more; but Lebbeus did not rise. Elder Pittridge said hoarsely: ‘I advise you to put Bangor forever behind you before Mr. Evered returns.’

  And, thinking he had done all anyone could expect of him, he brushed through the crowd and walked away.

  V

  By the time John Evered came home from Boston, everyone in Bangor had read that affidavit in the Star; and John and Jenny, Elder Pittridge and Judge Saladine met at the Judge’s house to discuss what should be done.

  ‘I’m sorry you and Jenny took it so seriously,’ John told Elder Pittridge. ‘It might have been the sooner forgotten.’

  ‘I didn’t stop to think, John,’ Jenny confessed. Her tones were low- pitched as always. ‘I was so angry at any attack on you.’

  Elder Pittridge looked at her in a sort of wonder, astonished as he always was at her capacity for such dissimulation; and Judge Saladine said quietly: ‘We can’t silence this thing by blows. The wise procedure is to sue for libel, bring Lebbeus into court, and the Hodders, and this negress—if we can find her. She left for Boston before the libel was published, but I’ve set afoot some inquiries there. I hope to bring her back. I’d like to cross-examine that young woman, find out who prompted her to this.’

  Jenny spoke quickly. ‘We don’t need her to prove this is a lie. John was at home with me that evening.’

  John said in surprise: ‘Wait a minute, Jenny. I came down town, remember? Right after supper?’

  ‘But you were at home till after eight,’ Jenny insisted.

  John seemed about to speak, hesitated, looked at Judge Saladine. ‘She doesn’t say just what time this is supposed to have happened, does she?’

  ‘She says it was on her way home from the Hodder house. That would be after she had done the supper dishes. We can fix the time through them.’ John looked again at Jenny, and Judge Saladine said strongly: ‘In any case, I advise bringing suit, bringing the whole thing into court. Only in that way can we end the whispering.’

  In the end, that was their decision. John had expected to go up-river again this winter; but his plans were of necessity changed. He stayed at home to wait for the trial; and Elder Pittridge was relieved to find that Jenny was now as ready as he to move discreetly.

  ‘I’m worried about what may happen, Line.’ she confessed, one afternoon when he had come to supper and they were waiting for John to arrive. ‘You know—I’ve told you—John’s not blameless. Since we began to live separate lives, I know many disgraceful things he has done, not only here but in Boston and elsewhere, and I’m afraid Mr. Lebbeus may find them out.’ She added ruefully: ‘Mr. Spree came to see me, last week.’ Levi Spree, who had taken the colored girl’s oath to that affidavit, would be counsel for Lebbeus in the approaching trial. ‘He asked me so many questions. It’s not easy for me to lie, Line. You saw how willing John was to let me lie about the time he left the house that night. I hope I don’t have to go on the witness stand; but if I’m called, I must, and I must lie; for John did go down town early that night, you know.’ And she added, almost vengefully: ‘Sometimes I think I’d like to tell the truth, let people know John as I know him.’

  ‘You half-believe this, don’t you?’

  She said ruefully: ‘I don’t know. But—when Mattie left me, she said John was the reason. That’s what hurt me worst, Line; that right here under our roof he should turn to a colored girl!’

  He said helplessly: ‘She must be lying!’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she admitted. ‘I saw John with her once, from the storeroom window. She was hanging out the wash and he was talking to her, standing near her. I couldn’t hear what they said, but I could see that he was laughing and she was mad!’ He colored in a red anger at John who had hurt her so; but then he saw a shrewdness in her eyes, and his own expression must have changed, for she said evenly: ‘I sec you don’t believe me.’

  Before he could answer, John appeared, so they said no more; yet Jenny’s assertion left Elder Pittridge bewildered and confused. He told himself it was impossible she could have prompted the colored girl to this accusation; and yet his doubts of her persisted. She had certainly no love left for John; and it would have been so easy to bribe the girl to make this affidavit and then to disappear.

  But he remembered the Jenny the world knew, active in every worthy cause, sacrificing money and time and energy to help the unfortunate, beloved by so many of the poorer folk of the city whom she had befriended, and respected and esteemed by every good man and woman who knew her. To such a woman, the thing he imagined must have been impossible. He fought his suspicions down, and as the alternative he began to accept the idea of John’s guilt. He had cause enough to hate John as we hate those we have wronged; and Jenny, even while she pretended to defend her husband, fed this hatred, till Elder Pittridge was ready to believe the other man guilty of any shame.

  He learned in these weeks to dissemble, too; for during the months before the trial—it was set for the second week of February—he saw John often. When on the first of January Ike Billings, to win a wager, working in Aaron Wingate’s blacksmith shop, forged two hundred and ten horseshoes from the bar in ten and a half hours with one sledge man to help, John and Elder Pittridge were among those who watched and cheered the feat. Meg often came up from Searsport—Captain Pawl was at sea—to join them in loyal friendliness; and once they all drove out to Pushaw Lake in a jingling sleigh for supper at John Hasey’s Tavern there, coming home through the still, cold, moonlit night while their runners squeaked on the snow. Mr. Lebbeus must have heard of that
excursion, for he wrote in the Star:

  Sleighing parties are now the rage. The delightful weather, the brilliant moon, the charming company of a carefree social party in an ample hotel, and a good frolic—perfectly harmless of course—are all thought to be excellent for brushing from the mind and heart the cobwebs of morbid care which dread of an imminent appearance in court may have spun there.

  They attended together the temperance meeting where Mr. Kellogg of Ohio lectured on the evils of drink, they heard Professor Goodwin’s Lyceum lecture on Goethe’s Faust, they were seen publicly at every opportunity. It was Jenny who insisted on this, pointing out that she and they could thus best demonstrate to the world their trust in John. Elder Pittridge lent himself to this play-acting, but his hatred of the other man was whetted by the necessity for such dissimulation.

  Also, he saw that Jenny was suffering under the long strain, thinner, her color fading; and he blamed John—of whose guilt he had by this time no doubt at all—for imposing this torment on her. Long before the day set for the trial arrived he had persuaded himself, or Jenny had persuaded him, that John deserved the contempt of every honest man.

  VI

  When the trial opened, the courtroom was crowded to the doors, with people standing everywhere. Neither Jenny nor Meg was present, but Elder Pittridge sat among the spectators; and he watched John at the table beside Judge Saladine with a white hostility. Judge Saladine with his first witnesses made formal proof of publication. He called Charles Page, the printer, to testify that Mr. Lebbeus had handed him the copy for the offending paragraphs and that he had set it up and printed it. He called Mr. Lebbeus himself to admit that he had written the introductory lines and had given the copy to Mr. Page, and to describe the circumstances under which the affidavit came into his hands. It was brought to him, Mr. Lebbeus said, by Levi Spree and Ira Hodder.

  Judge Saladine asked no further questions; but Mr. Spree inquired: ‘Now, Mr. Lebbeus, why did you print this affidavit?’