The Wide House

by Taylor Caldwell

  Sam was instantly anxious. He sat down, slowly, and peered at Stuart with his short-sighted eyes. “Money?” he said, slowly, and with regret. “It is money again, Stuart? You need money?”

  “Damn it!” exclaimed Stuart, irately, moving in his chair. “Do I always need money?”

  “Nearly always,” said Sam, with a smile.

  “Am I a pauper? You are implying I am a pauper, Berkowitz?”

  But Sam was undisturbed. “I am but implying, my dear Stuart, that you usually need money.”

  Stuart scowled. Then he could not help smiling. “Who doesn’t?” he asked, frankly. “Besides, a business needs only one solvent partner. Yes, it is money. But not my need for it. Money that is about to fall into my hands.”

  Now Sam was truly alarmed. He knew Stuart very well. When he had this carefree attitude, this insouciance, matters were precarious. Then a greater alarm seized Sam. Was Stuart about to announce his betrothal to Miss Marvina?

  “Don’t look so haggard, Sam,” said Stuart, laughing. His color was excellent. He was in high good spirits. “I mean it when I say I can get my hands immediately on twenty thousand dollars.”

  Sam pursed his lips, and his expression deepened into real concern. “When a man says he can get twenty thousand dollars, like a whistle, Stuart, it is time to call the police. Forgive me. I haf interrupted. You shall tell me.”

  “I am trying to, God forgive me!” said Stuart, with irritation. “Twenty thousand dollars, at once. And no police, damn you. I’m not a bank-robber yet, though I confess it has its points. No, it is my cousin, Mrs. Cauder. She has consented to lend me twenty thousand dollars. Immediately.”

  Sam stared, in silence. Certainly, it was plain to see. Stuart was handsome and magnetic, and very ingratiating. It would be a little matter for such a one to persuade a susceptible woman to part with so large a sum of money. Sam was both relieved and regretful, and very sorry. He had not believed it of Stuart.

  “That is very kind of the lady, Stuart,” he said slowly. “And, as she is your cousin, she does not demand security?”

  Stuart coughed. He had come to the difficult point. He studied the gilded head of his cane with great concentration. Then he put it aside and said blandly: “She does not demand it, no. But I offered it.”

  Sam could not help saying, with some somber mischief: “Your house, Stuart, which is so heavily mortgaged to Mr. Allstairs?”

  “I resent that tone, Sam, and your sarcasm! It is uncalled for, and ungenerous. Am I a rascal, Sam, to deceive a poor widow, lone and forlorn, which she, herself, says she is? Do I rob orphans of their bread, and kick them in the backside to boot? Damn it, you have a high opinion of me!”

  “There, now,” said Sam, soothingly, but with a brighter smile, “I haf nothing but the best opinion of my friends. Do not be so angered, my dear Stuart. I haf said nothing at all. I haf been impertinent, yes, in inquiring about the security?”

  “Well, no,” replied Stuart, mollified, but still uneasy. “That is why I have come. To talk about the security. You see, I offered Janie a sort of partnership in the shops.”

  Sam was shocked. He got slowly to his feet. He looked incredulously at Stuart. He could not speak.

  “Don’t look so much like a hanged corpse, Sam,” said Stuart, with an attempt at a laugh. “I will explain it to you, briefly.

  “I have intimated to her—and it is no lie—that an investment of twenty thousand dollars in the shops will bring her at least five thousand a year, more or less. She was very avid about it, I assure you. Her lips dripped greedily. It was very edifying, this female cupidity. You and I draw hardly twice that much apiece, just at this time, from the business, and we have considerably more invested, as you know very well. Another partner, a silent and female one, who has placed twenty thousand dollars at our disposal, is to be welcomed with glad cries. You agree with me?” He paused. “I see you don’t agree. Well, no matter. Hear me out.

  “Think what we can do with twenty thousand dollars, Sam. You remember that bankrupt stock in New York, which we can get for a song? I am going to order it immediately. You remember how regretfully we discussed it the other day, and wished we might be able to negotiate a loan to buy it. Now, we can. I am still waiting for the glad cries.”

  Sam sat down, slowly. Now his brown eyes were no longer gentle, but penetrating and very somber. Stuart waited for is comment. But he only said, very quietly: “You haf not told me everything, Stuart.”

  “Well, no, I haven’t. Not quite.” Stuart hesitated. He chewed his lips. He did not look Sam directly in the eye. “I need ten thousand dollars, Sam. I need it very bad. I need it to pay off that old bastard, Allstairs. At once. I intend to do it.

  “I will put the whole twenty thousand dollars into the business, and borrow ten thousand of it back, repaying it in a stated sum each month out of my own pocket. Once rid of the ruinous interest which I pay to that usurer, I can manage the payments easily. Janie will receive a sum at stated intervals, herself, as her income from the investment. I am to draw up the proper papers, today.”

  Sam looked at him steadfastly. “I shall offend you, Stuart, but I must. It is necessary. You repay Mr. Allstairs regularly because you fear to lose your house. Because you fear for your prestige with him. But relieved of that, you will not pay back regularly into the business. And the business will pay Mrs. Cauder regularly, in spite of the prosperity or the decline of the shops. You and I, Stuart, we can wait. We can be calm and patient. We can tighten what you call our belts. But she cannot tighten her belt. She is a woman, with children.”

  “Curse you, you are calling me an irresponsible thief!” shouted Stuart, crimson, covering his confusion with bluster. “You are actually saying that I shall default on my payments back into the shops! You are implying I intend to rob you of your damned profits!”

  Sam lifted his hand. He said in a clear, firm tone: “I haf told you often, my dear Stuart, that what I haf is yours, when you need it. I do not resent the tone; I am not angered. I am only afraid. For you.

  “You will listen to me, please. You and I—we can wait. Mrs. Cauder cannot. It is to protect her that I speak, and this you know, in your heart. You are in debt, Stuart. You haf debts everywhere. Last month, it was nearly one thousand dollars, in gambling and women. You haf told me yourself. There was that necklace for the handsome lady in Saratoga last year. Haf you paid that yet, Stuart? I think it is two thousand dollars more. And the horse-racing, Stuart. You cannot resist the horses. I know all this. You are angered with me. But you know it is the truth.”

  “I will sign notes!” shouted Stuart, furiously. “I will give you all the cursed notes you want! Turn them over to your usurers! Sell me out, damn you!”

  But Sam only smiled sadly. He shook his head, over and over. “You know you talk wildly, Stuart. You know that if you go bankrupt, I go with you, gladly. What need haf I for money, except what I had planned for my people? What I haf is yours. But I cannot see you ruined. I cannot stand by while you ruin yourself.”

  Stuart got up, with a violent gesture. He said, vehemently: “I swear to God, Sam, that you misjudge me. I will pay everything back, promptly. I give you my word of honor. I’ve been strapped before. I don’t mind being strapped again. No more debts, personal debts, until the money is repaid.”

  He smiled grimly. “There is something else, which will assure the payments. I intend to marry Miss Marvina Allstairs. Very, very soon. With or without her father’s consent.”

  If Sam had been disturbed before, he was distraught now. But it was a dumb distraction. He wrung his hands together. He looked at Stuart with a kind of despair.

  Stuart was recovering his good spirits. He did not notice the sunken expression in Sam’s eyes, the wringing of his hands. He said, jubilantly: “Even if the old swine holds out, there will be other ways. Miss Marvina inherits quite a fortune in her own name when she is twenty-one, from her late deceased grandfather, her mother’s father, from Pittsburgh. I believe it is
nearly one hundred thousand dollars. You and I, Sam, could manage very well for three more years, even if things went badly with us, which they won’t. The shops are growing more prosperous every day. You told me that, yourself.”

  But Sam said, in a low and shaking voice, his eyes fixed on the floor: “You will marry this lady, Stuart, because you love her, and not because of the shops?”

  “Certainly.” Stuart stared. “I am much attached to the young lady. I would not go so far as to say that I would marry her without a penny, for I would not. But I should prefer her with a small fortune to a lady with a larger one. Unless,” he added, grinning, “the second lady had too attractive a fortune.”

  He sat down again, full of eager vitality. “The old bastard won’t hold out for long, Sam. He loves that girl too much. I shall make a model husband. He will soon soften. I know it!”

  Sam’s despair increased. That strange, dead young woman! That Golem with the beautiful face! She would freeze Stuart’s hot and vigorous heart; she would destroy his soul! It was not to be endured. Yet there was nothing to be done. When men were bent on destruction, the cries of friends were smothered in the winds of passion.

  Stuart put his hand on his friend’s numb knee, and shook it affectionately. “Why do you look at me like that, Sam? Don’t you understand? Everything is going splendidly. I am sorry I insulted you. But you understand me, Sam, don’t you? I wouldn’t hurt you for the world. It is all my damned hasty tongue. I know what you are, in my heart. Sam, damn it, I love you.”

  Sam put his cold knotted fingers over Stuart’s warm hand. He said nothing.

  “Sam, you forgive me, don’t you?”

  Sam rose. He put his hand over his face for a moment. “There is nothing to forgive, Stuart.” He dropped his hand. His haggard face was ravaged. “You will wait for me? And then, we shall go to the banks, and our lawyer.”

  But again, after all negotiations, the exuberant Stuart was frustrated, at least for the time being, in his plan to march boldly to Joshua and deliver him the cheque for ten thousand dollars.

  For Joshua and Miss Marvina had been quite ill of their influenza, and immediately upon making recovery, went for three weeks to a mountain inn to recuperate in airs higher and sweeter than those that blew with hard cold strength in Grandeville.

  While in the mountains, Joshua perfected his plans to take his daughter to England that summer and leave her there, a suitable chaperone and sponsor having been obtained;

  Stuart was glad of the reprieve, though momentarily disappointed. He, too, laid his plans, and they were bold ones indeed.

  Janie Cauder was now a silent partner in the Grandeville Supreme Emporium, and considered herself fortunate. She no longer had doubts that Stuart would marry her. He was all gallantry and affection. He was kind to her children, who apparently were very fond of him, except Robbie, who privately considered Stuart a simpleton. When Stuart suggested that the three boys attend the “gentleman’s school” which he himself had attended, Janie was pleased. It was so kind and civil of dear Stuart to be interested in her children’s welfare!

  Little Laurie appeared to be his favorite. He walked with her in the late afternoons along the river, and from her windows Janie could see the pair of them, the tall and dashing Stuart in his tall hat and furred collar, and the child, in her cape and bonnet, walking hand in hand along the banks of the turbulent water.

  CHAPTER 21

  Angus looked about Father Houlihan’s house with shy curiosity and uncertain wariness. It was not at all the “den of iniquity” he had been led to believe all priests’ homes were, according to his grandfather, who had had a dour hatred of “Popery.” It was, rather, a mild little white cottage with a picket fence about it, which enclosed a small lawn, turning steadily green now in the brisk May weather. Close to the house were flourishing rose bushes, already in full leaf. The small windows were brightly polished, and the draperies framing them were of some heavy cheap cloth the color of oatmeal. The white door boasted a brilliantly polished brass knocker in the shape of a ferocious bear’s head. The cottage was next door to the beautiful little white church, and seemed to bask gently in its protection.

  The inside was as simple, bright and unpretentious as its exterior. A Turkey-red rug stretched over polished broad boards, and the furniture was all of solid oak and leather, with here and there a small good holy picture on the oaken walls. There was even a small organ, and some oaken tables, and a bright little fire on a blue-tiled hearth. (Stuart had presented practically all the furniture in the house.) On some of the tables were blue bowls of narcissi and tulips, the pride of Father Houlihan’s garden, which he cultivated himself, muddying his cassock and getting quite apoplectic in the process.

  Over the mantel was a large crucifix (also a present from Stuart) all of ebony and ivory, and beautifully carved. Angus glanced at the crucifix, startled, then, to Stuart’s irritation, averted his eyes as from something indecent. But the boy was very polite, and when Stuart indicated a chair, he sat down on the edge of it, his hat on his knees.

  Stuart regarded Angus with an attempt at sternness. But in truth he was really worrying how he was to impress the lad with the necessity of keeping this visit a secret from Janie. This was Sunday evening, and Stuart was to meet his friend Sam Berkowitz here, for the usual card game after Vespers. There would be beer waiting, and some of Mrs. O’Keefe’s good baked ham, and crusty bread. Now that he had brought Angus here Stuart, as usual, cursed himself for his impulsiveness. That afternoon he had seen Angus languishing wistfully, and with a tragic face, near the river, and had impetuously asked him if he would like to go visiting a friend that evening with his cousin. The boy had eagerly and gratefully accepted. Stuart had not revealed the identity of the friend until almost at the door of the cottage. Now he almost forgot what impulse had moved him to bring Angus here, except that some faint instinct, born of pity, had suggested it. That instinct had recognized that Angus needed a friend, someone compassionate and simple and good, and as usual, when thinking of these virtues, Stuart thought of the priest.

  He smiled irrepressibly. Perhaps, some day, he would tell Angus how he had come to know Father Houlihan. But that must be years from now.

  The meeting had occurred under disgraceful circumstances. It seemed that two of Father Houlihan’s flock were fairly wealthy men, a surprising circumstance. These two families had each a favorite and only son, handsome lads in their late teens, coddled and pampered by their parents and given entirely too much ready cash. As a result the lads were headstrong and wilful, and very extravagant. They had found their way, one Saturday evening, to the house of the town’s most expensive and luxurious brothel (owned, of course, by Joshua Allstairs). Stuart had met them there. The ladies were very sparsely clad, and very young and gay, and the lads had begun to enjoy themselves immensely in the elegant parlor, each with a lady on his knee and a glass of whiskey in his hand. Stuart was in a similar position.

  Someone must have informed the fathers of the lads of this nocturnal excursion into the realms of illegal Venus. As, apparently, the fathers themselves were too well known in this house, they had appealed to the priest, obviously unwilling to go to the police for assistance. Father Houlihan, that doughty soul, had invaded the brothel armed with nothing more than his indignation and regret. He had had no intention of upbraiding either the madam or her girls, but only of rescuing the misguided boys. Had he thought for a moment or two, Stuart reflected later, he might have acted less impulsively, and with a regard for his cloth. But Celt as he was, he acted first and regretted later. How he was able to force his way past the gargoyle that guarded the brothel, no one ever rightly knew, least of all the inflamed Father Houlihan.

  At any rate, he had exploded vehemently into the parlor, shouting, very red and swollen in the face from embarrassment and anger. The lads had turned white and dumb, had let the coquettish ladies slip from their laps, and had dropped the glasses with a crash to the floor. Father Houlihan, more and more emba
rrassed, and very enraged now, had struck each lad violently on the cheek, had stamped and shouted some more, and ordered them out of the house, uttering imprecations in a thick brogue.

  During the ensuing confusion, one of the young ladies had shrieked: “Who is that, in the name of God?”

  Stuart, laughing uncontrollably, had glanced at the long black cassock that swirled energetically about Father Houlihan’s legs, and shouted: “Why, damn it, it’s Mrs. Grundy!”

  As Father Houlihan, overcome by his embarrassment and his anger, was exhibiting symptoms of even more complete mayhem on the lads who had caused him to come here, Stuart rushed to the rescue, almost beside himself with mirth. Father Houlihan’s lusty vocabulary had aroused Stuart’s intense admiration, and the priest’s vigor, his shame, his utter blustering confusion, inspired Stuart with affectionate compassion. He had finally and dexterously pushed the boys from the house, and had returned to the priest who was panting hoarsely, and wiping his face with a huge white kerchief. Stuart took his arm. The priest resisted, and in a quite unclerical flow of language, had consigned him to hell. The two left the house together.

  Once on the sidewalk, the priest had turned to him fiercely. “It’s ashamed you should be before your God, leadin’ young spalpeens like that to their doom and damnation!” he had exclaimed.

  “I didn’t lead them there.” Stuart, still laughing, explained what had actually led the miscreants’ steps to that house. The priest had stared, horrified, and then had begun to laugh helplessly, despite himself. Besides, Stuart pointed out to him, it was very unseemly for a priest to go roaring into a brothel, even for the rescue of misguided youth.

  “I never think,” confessed Father Houlihan, ruefully. He stared at Stuart, aghast. “D’ye think I was seen, eh?”

  “No doubt,” Stuart comforted him. He loved Father Houlihan immediately. “I never think” had a familiar sound. Stuart walked to the priest’s cottage with his new friend. It was not white then, but a miserable bleak little shack with broken clapboarded walls. During that walk Father Houlihan bewailed his temper, and declared that he would have much to confess because of it. His manner was so earnest, so robust, and so childlike, that Stuart was more and more delighted.