V
"ON MY BUREAU WAS A KNIFE--"
My father stood behind me, such a picture it chills me to think of him.All of his face was chalk-white; his hands shook like palsy. I reckon Ican slide over the next little while. You guess what a crazy-mad man,who's fed his mind on darkness for years, would be likely to do. I neverraised a hand in defense--took it. At the same time I made my mind up toend this business, quick and strong. I had enough.
Of course, from father's point of view, something could be said. Had Ibeen drunk and fighting at the tavern, as my nice, gentlemanly littlefriend, Algy Anker, ran and told him, nobody'd blamed him for gettingorry-eyed. But he might have asked me what I had to say--a woman-killergets that show. He used me bad enough, so Eli interfered. "I don't careif I never sell another thing to you," says he; "but, neighbor, yousha'n't hit thet boy ag'in--no, now! There's no use to squirm--yousha'n't do it, and that's all. You run along, Bill."
When mother saw me, she cried out. I was a sight, for sure. Ought tohave washed up a bit, and not give her such a shock, but my head wassizzing like a pin-wheel. Only one idea stuck.
"I'm not hurt much, mother," I says. "I want to speak to you."
Mother was quick-witted and hardy-witted, too. She knew there was no boyfoolishness in this, so she choked down her feelings, got a basin, cleanwater, and a towel, and said, "Tell me while I bathe your face."
I told her. It was queer how quiet I felt. I don't know but what it'salways that way, though, when a man has made his mind up tight. Weseemed almost of an age, mother and me, that little while.
She pleaded with me. "Don't leave your home, Will. I have been wrong; Ishould have done more; I didn't, thinking things would right themselves;but now I'll promise to stand between."
"And what will your life be like?" I asked her. I grew old pretty fast,under pressure.
"Never mind that!" she cried. "My boy, to have you with me--"
"Sh!" I says. "How could I help minding it?"
She was still.
"And worse might come," I went on. "I don't like to say it, yet everytime I couldn't promise to be.... There'd come a day too often ... I'mstrong, and if I should--" She put her hand on my lips.
"Go to your room, Will; and let me think alone for a while," she said.She caught me and held me close, with never a tear, but a look worsethan an ocean of tears. I couldn't have stood it, if I hadn't known Iwas doing the right thing. To a dead certainty, there would be no peacewith me in the house. Any doubts anybody might have had was removed whenfather come in. He went straight to mother's room. I heard him shouting;talking so fast his words were broken; stamping around; quotingScripture one minute, crying threats and slaughter the next. It waspitiful. I hustled, getting things ready; I knew, a little more oflistening, and I'd have nothing but contempt for my father. Thenmother's voice rung out, telling him to leave until he could talk like aman. Usually, she could force him, when she wished, hers being so muchbigger a mind, but this time the littler soul was beyond itself withfury. "Don't take that tone with me!" he roared. "I won't stand it! Andas for the lies that boy told you, I'll have them out of his back!"Their door slammed open, and he fairly ran toward mine. I jumped andlocked it. Mother was close after him. "You shall _not_!" she said."Listen to reason! You've done enough harm--Oh!" she cried, in pain. Ithought he hit her.
What I feared boiled up in me. On my bureau was a knife; a big, heavyknife, that got into my hand somehow. It was me and the devil for thatround. How long I stood with the knife raised, I don't know. Then motherspoke calmly. "You hurt my arm, holding it so tight," she said. "Thatcertainly isn't necessary." He had grace enough to beg her pardon.Finally, she got him to leave. A good job. That day had been a trifletoo much for me, already. I can't see a bare knife since, without ashudder. Don't like the glint of steel at all. Years after, a flash ofsun on water would bring things back, and I'd have a sickness in thestomach.
An hour after, mother came in. "Well, my boy, you are right," she says,as if the very life were out of her.
"Yes," I says, thinking of the knife; "and I'll just slide out quiet,and no trouble to anybody."
She roused herself. "You will leave in daylight, my son," she says,"with your mother to say good-by. You have done nothing wrong, and yousha'n't leave ashamed."
"But, mother, that will make it bad for you," I says.
"I married your father; I brought you into the world," she says. "I knowmy duty, and I shall do it, if it costs all our lives, let alone alittle trouble. And, besides," she says, getting up, excited, "no matterwhat any one can say, you've been a good--" She broke down, all at once.The rest of it she cried into my shoulder, whilst I told her about howI'd be rich and great in no time, and father'd come around all rightafter a while, and we'd all be happy, till she felt better. And Ibelieved it myself so strong, and put it out so clear, that I think Iconvinced her. Anyway, they got along all right after I left. That's acomfort.
So it was arranged. I shouldn't say anything, but keep out of father'sway until she made him yield the point. She laid it out to the oldgentleman clear and straight, Mattie tells me--(Mattie's mother was mymother's half-sister)--telling him I wasn't drunk, as he could readilyprove, and as for the fighting, if he intended to beat me every time Idefended a woman, why, she'd leave, too. That part of it stuck inmother's mind; she would not listen when I told her it was only one ofthe reasons for the row. And she summed the thing up by saying I wasdetermined to leave; that it was best all around; and that he must actlike a human being and a father for once. By this time, I reckon hedidn't feel so terrible proud of himself. At least, it was pulled offeasy. I left home, with some small money in my pocket, a trunk ofclothes in Eli's care, and mother and father both waving me good-by inthe road, for the Great World, per Boston, and a schooner trading South,that belonged to Eli's cousin.
"I left home ... mother and father both waving me good-byin the road"]
And here's a queer thing. The day I left, Mick went into the tavern andcalled for a glass of whisky. He poured out a snorter and balanced it onthe flat of his thumb. "Ladies and gintlemen," says he, "ye here beholdth' koind friend that led Mick Murphy--that's licked the country--tobang a bit of a bye, after misnamin' a dacent woman." Smash! goes theglass on the floor. "Tra-la-loo to you!" says Mick, flinging thebarkeep' a half-dollar. "Keep the change," he says. "It's the last centI have, and the last you'll get from me."
And that's just what happened, too. He's located about twenty mile overyonder, with a good factory and somewheres between ninety and ninethousand Murphys claiming him as their start. And my best friend is oldMick. He cried when I first went to see him. I reformed him, but it costme my home. I never knew, either, till he told me himself, a year ago.
Plain Mary Smith: A Romance of Red Saunders Page 5