CHAPTER IX
THE SEALED ENVELOPE
In the light of Joe's reluctant testimony and his strange, stubborn, andstiff-necked refusal to go into the matter of the quarrel betweenhimself and Isom; the unexplained mystery of the money which had beenfound in the burst bag on Isom's breast; and Joe's declaration that hehad not seen it until Isom fell: in the light of all this, the people ofthat community believed the verdict of the coroner's jury to be just.
This refusal of Joe's to talk out and explain everything was a displayof the threadbare Newbolt dignity, people said, an exhibition of whichthey had not seen since old Peter's death. But it looked more likebull-headedness to them.
"Don't the darned fool know he's pokin' his head under the gallus?" theyasked.
What was the trouble between him and Isom about? What was he doin' therein the kitchen with the lamp lit that hour of the night? Where did thatthere money come from, gentlemen? That's what I want you to tell _me_!
Those were the questions which were being asked, man to man, group togroup, and which nobody could answer, as they stood discussing it afterJoe had been taken away to jail. The coroner mingled with them, givingthem the weight of his experience.
"That Newbolt's deeper than he looks on the outside, gentlemen," hesaid, shaking his serious whiskers. "There's a lot more behind this casethan we can see. Old Isom Chase was murdered, and that murder wasplanned away ahead. It's been a long time since I've seen anybody on thewitness-stand as shrewd and sharp as that Newbolt boy. He knew just whatto so say and just what to shut his jaws on. But we'll fetch it out ofhim--or somebody else."
As men went home to take up their neglected tasks, they talked it allover. They wondered what Joe would have done with that money if he hadsucceeded in getting away with it; whether he would have made it out ofthe country, or whether the invincible Bill Frost, keen on his scent asa fox-hound, would have pursued him and brought him back.
They wondered how high they built the gallows to hang a man, anddiscussed the probability of the event being public. They speculated onthe manner in which Joe would go to his death, whether boldly, with hishead up that way, or cringing and afraid, his proud heart and spiritbroken, and whether he would confess at the end or carry his secret withhim to the grave. Then they branched off into discussions of the pain ofhanging, and wondered whether it was a "more horribler" death thandrowning or burning in a haystack, or from eating pounded glass.
It was a great, moving, awakening sensation in the countryside, thattaking off of Isom Chase by a mysterious midnight shot. It pulled peopleup out of the drowse of a generation, and set them talking as they hadnot talked in twenty years. Their sluggish brains were heated by it,their sleeping hearts quickened.
People were of the undivided opinion that Isom had caught Joe robbinghim, and that Joe had shot him in the fear of punishment for the theft.Perhaps it is because chivalry is such a rare quality among the businessactivities of this life, that none of them believed he was shieldingIsom's wife, and that he was innocent of any wrong himself. They did notapprove the attempt of the coroner to drag her into it. The shrewdinsight of the little man cost him a good many votes that day.
Joe Newbolt could very well be a robber, they said, for all his life hadprepared him for a fall before the temptation of money. He could verywell be a robber, indeed, and there was no room for him to turn outanything nobler, for wasn't he the pore folks' boy?
Ollie was almost as short in her realization of what Joe had done forher as those who knew nothing at all of his motive of silence. In therelief of her escape from public disclosure of her intrigue with Morgan,she enjoyed a luxurious relaxation. It was like sleep after longwatching.
She did not understand the peril in which Joe stood on her account, norconsider that the future still held for both of them a trial which wouldtest Joe's strength as the corrosive tooth of acid challenges the purityof gold. It was enough for her that sunny afternoon, and sufficient toher shallow soul, to know that she was safe. She lay warm and restful inher bed while the neighbor women set the house to rights, and the menmoved Isom's body into the parlor to wait for the coffin which SolGreening had gone after to the county-seat.
Ollie watched the little warm white clouds against the blue of theOctober sky, and thought of the fleecy soft things which a mother lovesto swaddle her baby in; she watched the shadow of falling leaves uponthe floor, blowing past her window on the slant sunbeams.
She was safe!
Joe was accused, but she seemed to hold that a trivial incident in anexciting day. It would pass; he would clear himself, as he deserved tobe cleared, and then, when Morgan came back for her and carried her awayinto his world, everything would be in tune.
Perhaps it was because she knew that Joe was innocent that hisaccusation appeared so untenable and trivial to her. At any rate, thelawyers over at Shelbyville--wasn't their cunning known around theworld--could get him off. If it came to that, she would see that he hada good one, as good as money could employ. Joe had stood by her; shewould stand by Joe. That was the extent of her concern that afternoon.
It was pleasant to stretch there in peace, with no task before her, norude summons to arise and work. Isom would call her no more at dawn; hisvoice would be silent in that house forever more. There was no regret inthe thought, no pang, no pain.
As one lives his life, so he must be pitied in death. Soft deedsfather soft memories. There never was but one man who rose with therecollection of pleasant dreams from pillowing his head upon a stone,and that man was under the hand of God. Isom Chase had plantedbitterness; his memory was gall.
She was safe, and she was free. She had come into her expectations; thepre-nuptial dreams of enjoying Isom Chase's wealth were suddenly athand.
Together with the old rifle and Isom's blood-stained garments, thecoroner had taken away the little bag of gold, to be used as evidence,he said. He had taken the money, just as it was in the little sack, asmear of blood on it, after counting it before witnesses and giving hera receipt for the amount. Two thousand dollars; one hundred pieces oftwenty dollars each. That was the tale of the contents of the canvas bagwhich had lain grinning on Isom's pulseless heart. It was not a greatamount of money, considering Isom's faculty for gaining and holding it.It was the general belief that he had ten, twenty, times that amount,besides his loans, hidden away, and the secret of his hiding-place hadgone out of the world with Isom.
Others said that he had put his money into lands, pointing to the manyfarms which he owned and rented in the county. But be that as it might,there was Ollie, young and handsome, well paid for her hard year asIsom's wife, free now, and doubtless already willing at heart to makesome young man happy. Nobody blamed her for that.
It was well known that Isom had abused her, that her life had beencheerless and lonely under his roof. Those who did not know it fromfirst-hand facts believed it on the general notoriety of the man.Contact with Isom Chase had been like sleeping on a corn-husk bed; therewas no comfort in it, no matter which way one turned.
Ollie, her eyes closed languidly, now languidly opened to follow thetrack of the lamb-fleece clouds, her young body feeling warm andpleasant, as if lately released from a sorely cramped state; Ollie, withlittle fleeting dreams in her pretty, shallow head, was believed by thewomen of the neighborhood to be in the way of realizing on Isom'sexpectations of an heir. It was a little fiction that had taken itsbeginning from Sol Greening's early talk, and owing to that rumor thecoroner had been gentle with her beyond the inclination of his heart.
The young widow smiled as she lay on her pillow and thought of thelittle intimate touches of tenderness which this baseless rumor had madeher the beneficiary of at her neighbor's hands. She was selfish enoughto take advantage of their mistaken kindnesses and to surrender to theirvigorous elbows the work below stairs. That was her day of freedom; itwas her dawn of peace.
It was pleasant to have come through stress and hardship to this restfuleddy in the storm of life; to have faced peril and
disgrace and comeaway still clean in the eyes of men. Ollie was content with things asthey were, as the evening shadows closed the door upon the events ofthat trying day.
Quite different was the case of Sarah Newbolt, once more back in herpoor shelter, nested in bramble and clambering vine. She was dazed, thesong was gone out of her heart. She was bereaved, and her lips weremoving in endless repetition of supplication to the Almighty for thesafety and restoration of her son.
What was this grim thing of which they had accused her Joe? She couldnot yet get to the bottom of it, she could not understand how men couldbe so warped and blind. Why, Joe had told them how it happened, he hadexplained it as clear as well water, but they didn't believe him. Shewent out and sat on the porch to think it out, if possible, and come tosome way of helping Joe. There was not a friend to turn to, not acounselor to lean upon.
She never had felt it lonely in the old place before, for there wascompanionship even in the memory of her dead, but this evening as shesat on the porch, the familiar objects in the yard growing dim throughthe oncoming night, the hollowness of desolation was there. Joe was inprison. The neighbors had refused to believe the word of her boy. Therewas nobody to help him but her. The hand of everybody else was againsthim. She had delivered him into bondage and brought this trouble to him,and now she must stir herself to set him free.
"It's all my own doin's," said she in unsparing reproach. "My chickenshas come to roost."
After nightfall she went into the kitchen where she sat a dreary whilebefore her stove, leaning forward in her unlovely, ruminating pose.Through the open draft of the stove the red coals within it glowed,casting three little bars of light upon the floor. Now and then a stickburned in two and settled down, showering sparks through the grate.These little flashes lit up her brown and somber face, and discoveredthe slow tears upon her weathered cheeks. For a long time she sat thus,then at last she lifted her head and looked around the room. Her tablestood as she had left it in the morning, no food had passed her lipssince then. But the frantic turmoil of the first hours after Joe hadbeen led away to jail had quieted.
A plan of action had shaped itself in her mind. In the morning she wouldgo to Shelbyville and seek her husband's old friend, Colonel HenryPrice, to solicit his advice and assistance. In a manner comforted bythis resolution, she prepared herself a pot of coffee and some food.After the loneliest and most hopeless meal that she ever had eaten inher life, she went to bed.
In the house of Isom Chase, where neighbors sat to watch the night outbeside the shrouded body, there was a waste of oil in many lamps, suchan illumination that it seemed a wonder that old Isom did not rise upfrom his gory bed to turn down the wicks and speak reproof. Everybodymust have a light. If an errand for the living or a service for the deadcalled one from this room to that, there must be a light. That was aplace of tragic mystery, a place of violence and death. If light hadbeen lacking there on the deeds of Isom Chase, on his hoardings andhidings away; on the hour of his death and the mystery of it, then allthis must be balanced tonight by gleams in every window, beams throughevery crevice; lamps here, lanterns there, candles in cupboards, cellar,and nook.
Let there be light in the house of Isom Chase, and in the sharpespionage of curious eyes, for dark days hang over it, and the youngwidow who draws the pity of all because she cannot weep.
No matter how hard a woman's life with a man has been, when he dies sheis expected to mourn. That was the standard of fealty and respect in theneighborhood of Isom Chase, as it is in more enlightened communities inother parts of the world. A woman should weep for her man, no matterwhat bruises on body his heavy hand may leave behind him, or what scarsin the heart which no storm of tears can wash away. Custom has madehypocrites of the ladies in this matter the wide world through. Let noman, therefore, lying bloodless and repellent upon his cooling-board,gather comfort to his cold heart when his widow's tears fall upon hisface. For she may be weeping more for what might have been than was.
Isom Chase's widow could not weep at all. That was what they said ofher, and their pity was more tender, their compassion more sweet. Drygrief, they said. And that is grief like a covered fire, which smoldersin the heart and chars the foundations of life. She ought to be crying,to clear her mind and purge herself of the dregs of sorrow, which wouldsettle and corrode unless flushed out by tears; she ought to get rid ofit at once, like any other widow, and settle down to the enjoyment ofall the property.
The women around Ollie in her room tried to provoke her tears byreference to Isom's good qualities, his widely known honesty, hisceaseless striving to lay up property which he knew he couldn't takewith him, which he realized that his young wife would live long yearsafter him to enjoy. They glozed his faults and made virtues out of hisclose-grained traits; they praised and lamented, with sighs and mournfulwords, but Isom's widow could not weep.
Ollie wished they would go away and let her sleep. She longed for themto put out the lamps and let the moonlight come in through the windowand whiten on the floor, and bring her soft thoughts of Morgan. Shechafed under their chatter, and despised them for their shallowpretense. There was not one of them who had respected Isom in life, butnow they sat there, a solemn conclave, great-breasted sucklers of thesons of men, and insisted that she, his unloved, his driven, abused andbelabored wife, weep tears for his going, for which, in her heart, shewas glad.
It was well that they could not see her face, turned into the shadow,nestled against the pillow, moved now and then as by the zephyr breathof a smile. At times she wanted to laugh at their pretense and humbug.To prevent it breaking out in unseemly sound she was obliged to bite thecoverlet and let the spasms of mirth waste themselves in her body andlimbs.
When the good women beheld these contractions they looked at each othermeaningly and shook dolefully wise heads. Dry grief. Already it waslaying deep hold on her, racking her like ague. She would waste underthe curse of it, and follow Isom to the grave in a little while, if shecould not soon be moved to weep.
Ollie did not want to appear unneighborly nor unkind, but as the nightwore heavily on she at last requested them to leave her.
"You are all so good and kind!" said she, sincere for the moment, forthere was no mistaking that they meant to be. "But I think if you'd takethe lamp out of the room I could go to sleep. If I need you, I'llcall."
"Now, that's just what you do, deary," said red-faced Mrs. Greening,patting her head comfortingly.
The women retired to the spare bedroom where Joe had slept the nightbefore, and from there their low voices came to Ollie through the opendoor. She got up and closed it gently, and ran up the window-blind andopened the window-sash, letting in the wind, standing there a littlewhile drawing her gown aside, for the touch of it on her hot breast. Sheremembered the day that Joe had seen her so, the churn-dasher in herhand; the recollection of what was pictured in his face provoked asmile.
There was a mist before the moon like a blowing veil, presaging raintomorrow, the day of the funeral. It was well known in that part of thecountry that rain on a coffin a certain sign that another of that familywould die within a year. Ollie hoped that it would not rain. She was notready to die within a year, nor many years. Her desire to live was largeand deep. She had won the right, Isom had compensated in part for theevil he had done her in leaving behind him all that was necessary tomake the journey pleasant.
As she turned into her bed again and composed herself for sleep, shethought of Joe, with a feeling of tenderness. She recalled again whatIsom had proudly told her of the lad's blood and breeding, and sheunderstood dimly now that there was something extraordinary in Joe'smanner of shielding her to his own disgrace and hurt. A common man wouldnot have done that, she knew.
She wondered if Morgan would have done it, if he had been called upon,but the yea or the nay of it did not trouble her. Morgan was secure inher heart without sacrifice.
Well, tomorrow they would bury Isom, and that would end it. Joe would beset free then, she thought, the future
would be clear. So reasoning, shewent to sleep in peace.
Ollie's habit of early rising during the past year of her busy life madeit impossible for her to sleep after daylight. For a while after wakingnext morning she lay enjoying that new phase of her enfranchisement.From that day forward there would be no need of rising with the dawn.Time was her own now; she could stretch like a lady who has servants tobring and take away, until the sun came into her chamber, if shechoose.
Downstairs there were dim sounds of people moving about, and the odorsof breakfast were rising. Thinking that it would be well, for the sakeof appearances, to go down and assist them, she got up and dressed.
She stopped before the glass to try her hair in a new arrangement, itwas such bright hair, she thought, for mourning, but yet as somber asher heart, bringing it a little lower on the brow, in a sweep from thepoint of parting. The effect was somewhat frivolous for a season ofmourning, and she would have to pass through one, she sighed. After awhile, when she went out into Morgan's world of laughter and chatter andfine things. She smiled, patting her lively tresses back into theiraccustomed place.
Ollie was vain of her prettiness, as any woman is, only in her casethere was no soul beneath it to give it ballast. Her beauty was prettymuch surface comeliness, and it was all there was of her, like a greatsinger who sometimes is nothing but a voice.
Sol Greening was in the kitchen with his wife and his son's wife and twoof the more distant neighbor women who had remained overnight. The othermen who had watched with Sol around Isom's bier had gone off to dig agrave for the dead, after the neighborly custom there. As quick as herthought, Ollie's eyes sought the spot where Isom's blood had stood inthe worn plank beside the table. The stain was gone. She drew her breathwith freedom, seeing it so, yet wondering how they had done it, for shehad heard all her life that the stain of human blood upon a floor couldnot be scoured away.
"We was just gettin' a bite of breakfast together," said Mrs. Greening,her red face shining, and brighter for its big, friendly smile.
"I was afraid you might not be able to find everything," explainedOllie, "and so I came down."
"No need for you to do that, bless your heart!" Mrs. Greening said. "Butwe was just talkin' of callin' you. Sol, he run across something lastnight that we thought you might want to see as soon as you could."
Ollie looked from one to the other of them with a question in her eyes.
"Something--something of mine?" she asked.
Mrs. Greening nodded.
"Something Isom left. Fetch it to her, Sol."
Sol disappeared into the dread parlor where Isom lay, and came back witha large envelope tied about with a blue string, and sealed at the backwith wax over the knotted cord.
"It's Isom's will," said Sol, giving it to Ollie. "When we was makin'room to fetch in the coffin and lay Isom out in it last night, we had tomove the center table, and the drawer fell out of it. This paper was inthere along with a bundle of old tax receipts. As soon as we seen whatwas on it, we decided it orto be put in your hands as soon as you wokeup."
"I didn't know he had a will," said Ollie, turning the envelope in herhands, not knowing what to make of it, or what to do with it, at all.
"Read what's on the in-vellup," advised Sol, standing by importantly,his hands on his hips, his big legs spread out.
Outside the sun was shining, tenderly yellow like a new plant. Olliemarked it with a lifting of relief. There would be no rain on thecoffin. It was light enough to read the writing on the envelope whereshe stood, but she moved over to the window, wondering on the way.
What was a will for but to leave property, and what need had Isom formaking one?
It was an old envelope, its edges browned by time, and the ink upon itwas gray.
My last Will and Testament. Isom Chase.
N. B.--To be opened by John B. Little, in case he is living at the time of my death. If he is not, then this is to be filed by the finder, unopened, in the probate court.
That was the superscription in Isom's writing, correctly spelled,correctly punctuated, after his precise way in all business affairs.
"Who is John B. Little?" asked Ollie, her heart seeming to grow small,shrinking from some undefined dread.
"He's Judge Little, of the county court now," said Sol. "I'll go overafter him, if you say so."
"After breakfast will do," said Ollie.
She put the envelope on the shelf beside the clock, as if it did notconcern her greatly. Yet, under her placid surface she was deeply moved.What need had Isom for making a will?
"It saves a lot of lawin' and wastin' money on costs," said Sol, as ifreading her mind and making answer to her thought. "You'll have a rightsmart of property on your hands to look after for a young girl likeyou."
Of course, to her. Who else was there for him to will his property to? Aright smart, indeed. Sol's words were wise; they quieted her sudden,sharp pain of fear.
Judge Little lived less than a mile away. Before nine o'clock he wasthere, his black coat down to his knees, for he was a short man andbowed of the legs, his long ends of hair combed over his bald crown.
The judge was at that state of shrinkage when the veins can be countedin the hands of a thin man of his kind. His smoothly shaved face waspurple from congestion, the bald place on his small head was red. He wasa man who walked about as if wrapped in meditation, and on him rested anotarial air. His arms were almost as long as his legs, his hands wereextremely large, lending the impression that they had belongedoriginally to another and larger man, and that Judge Little must havebecome possessed of them by some process of delinquency against adebtor. As he walked along his way those immense hands hovered near theskirts of his long coat, the fingers bent, as if to lay hold of thatimpressive garment and part it. This, together with the judge'smeditative appearance, lent him the aspect of always being on the pointof sitting down.
"Well, well," said he, sliding his spectacles down his nose to get thereading focus, advancing the sealed envelope, drawing it away again, "soIsom left a will? Not surprising, not surprising. Isom was a carefulman, a man of business. I suppose we might as well proceed to open thedocument?"
The judge was sitting with his thin legs crossed. They hung as close andlimp as empty trousers. Around the room he roved his eyes, red, watery,plagued by dust and wind. Greening was there, and his wife. Thedaughter-in-law had gone home to get ready for the funeral. The othertwo neighbor women reposed easily on the kitchen chairs, arms tightlyfolded, backs against the wall.
"You, Mrs. Chase, being the only living person who is likely to have aninterest in the will as legatee, are fully aware of the circumstancesunder which it was found, and so forth and so forth?"
Ollie nodded. There was something in her throat, dry and impeding. Shefelt that she could not speak.
Judge Little took the envelope by the end, holding it up to the light.He took out his jack-knife and cut the cord.
It was a thin paper that he drew forth, and with little writing on it.Soon Judge Little had made himself master of its contents, with an_Um-m-m_, as he started, and with an _A-h-h_! when he concluded, and asucking-in of his thin cheeks.
He looked around again, a new brightness in his eyes. But he saidnothing. He merely handed the paper to Ollie.
"Read it out loud," she requested, giving it back.
Judge Little fiddled with his glasses again. Then he adjusted the paperbefore his eyes like a target, and read:
I hereby will and bequeath to my beloved son, Isom Walker Chase, all of my property, personal and real; and I hereby appoint my friend, John B. Little, administrator of my estate, to serve without bond, until my son shall attain his majority, in case that I should die before that time. This is my last will, and I am in sound mind and bodily health.
That was all.
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