He marched through the papers, paragraph after paragraph, question after question, marking them ruthlessly. Misspelled words, how they got on his nerves! He drew sharp blue lines like little swords through them and wrote caustic footnotes on the corners of the pages. The young aspirants for graduation who received them in the morning would quiver when they read them and gather in groups to cast anathemas at him.
But suddenly he came to a paper written in a clear, firm hand as if the owner knew what she was talking about and thought it really worth writing down. The first sentence caught his interest because of the original way in which the statement was made. Here was a young philosopher who had really thought about life and was taking the examination as something of interest in itself rather than a terrible ordeal that must be gone through with for future advantage. As he read, a vision of a clear, smooth brow and calm eyes lifted now and then to the blackboard gradually came back to his memory. He was sure this was the quiet young woman with the beautiful, sincere, unselfish face that he had noticed as he passed through the study hall that morning. There had been half a dozen strangers in from neighboring towns for examination. Only this one had attracted him. He had paused in the doorway watching her a moment while he waited for a book the attending teacher was finding for him, and had marked the quiet grace of her demeanor, the earnest expression of her face, the pure regular features, the soft outline of the brown waves of hair, the sweet old-fashionedness of her, and wondered who she was. He had not been long in the town and did not yet know all the village maidens, yet it seemed as if she must be from another place, for certainly he could not have been in the same town with this girl and not have marked her sooner somewhere in either church or shop or street.
The busy day had surged in, and he had forgotten the face and thought no more of the girl. But now it all came back with conviction as he read on. He turned to the end of the paper for the name Joyce Radway. Somehow it seemed to fit her, and he read on with new interest, noting how she gave interest to the hackneyed themes that had become monotonous through reading over and over the crude, young answers to the same questions. How was it that this young girl was able to give a turn to her sentences that seemed to make any subject a thrilling, throbbing, vital thing? And she did not skim over the answers with the least possible information. She wrote as if she liked to tell what she knew, as if her soul were en rapport with her work, and as if she were writing it for the mere joy of imparting the fact and its thrill to another.
“Now, there’s a girl that would make a teacher all right,” he said aloud to himself as he finished the paper, writing a clear blue “Excellent” upon it with his finest flourish. “I wonder who she is. If she’s the one I saw, I’ll vote for her. I must inquire first thing in the morning. Joyce Radway. What a good name. It fits. She’s the assistant I’d like if I have my way, unless I’m very much mistaken in a human face.”
Chapter 3
Joyce had walked a long way on a long gray ribbon of a road before it wound uphill and she began to realize where her steps were turning. Up there on the top was the dark outline of the old Hill Church, its spire a black dart against the luminous night sky. A fitful moon gleamed palely and showed it for a moment, still and gray like a little lone dove asleep, and around it clustered the white stones of the graveyard on the side of the hill sloping down toward the valley. One tall shaft showed where lay the dust of the rich, old, good man who gave the land and built the church, and others less pretentious flocked close at hand, a little social clique of the select dead who had clung to the old church through the years of their lives, who there had been christened, married, and buried.
With a catch in her breath like a sob, Joyce hurried on, realizing that it was here her heart was longing to go, where she had left all that was mortal of her precious aunt Mary.
It was not that she had any feeling that the spirit she loved was lingering there near its worn-out earthly habitation; it was only that the earth seemed so strange and she so alone that it did her good to creep away to the quiet mound that some kind neighbor had already made velvety with close-shaved turf.
She felt her way to the place, close beside the mound where her mother had been laid. They had always kept it neat and carefully tended when her aunt was alive, and now she sank down between the two graves with her hands spread broodingly, anguishingly over the tender grass and her face drooped down on its coolness.
How long she lay there she did not know. The hot tears flowed relievingly down her cheeks and fell into the cool grass, and overhead the quiet sky, with the single star in a clearing among the floating clouds, and now and then the serene, busy moon above it all, quite as if the world was going as it should even though hearts were being broken.
A sense of peace stole gradually upon her, and the ache drifted out of her weary limbs and out of her lonely heart. It was almost as if some comfort had stolen upon her from the quiet grass and the busy, serene heaven above. She did not feel afraid. She had no sense of the presence of her aunt, only a deep, sweet understanding that this little spot was sacred, and here she might think entirely undisturbed.
It might be that she slept for a space, for she was very weary and the day had been so hard, but she was not sure. Rather, it was as if she were just resting, as she used to rest in her mother’s arms and be rocked long ago, the first thing she could remember. The sense of her troubles and her terrible situation had slipped away from her. She was just resting, not thinking, when suddenly the sound of voices—voices quite near—broke upon her, as if they had suddenly rounded the hill and were close at hand, coming on. Cautious voices, albeit with a carrying sibilant, and something familiar about one of them. She could not tell why they struck terror to her soul, nor at what instant she realized that they were not just foot travelers going on by, but were coming toward her. She found herself trembling from head to foot.
“Look out there, kid,” said the familiar voice. “Don’t skid over that poor stiff. Those headstones aren’t easy to play with, and we can’t afford to lose any of this catch. It’s worth its weight in gold, you know, rare antique! We ought to make about four hundred bucks apiece out of this lot if we place it wisely.”
The footsteps came on, and suddenly as the moon swept out from the clouds for an instant, she saw five dark figures silhouetted against the lighter darkness of the road, stealing slowly into the cemetery among the graves, carrying burdens between them—heavy, bulky, shrouded burdens. The hurrying clouds obliterated everything again, but she could hear the soft thud of their feet as they slowly felt their way. An occasional dart of light from a flashlight flickered fitfully on a headstone here and there as she watched with bated breath. They seemed to be coming straight toward her, and for an instant she thought of trying to flee, but a great weakness overcame her, so that she could hardly breathe, and it seemed impossible to rise. Then the flashlight jabbed into her very eyes, and she crouched against the sod and wished there were some way to get down beneath it out of sight.
“What was that, kid?” the voice whispered. The tiny flash fluttered here and there on the grass all around her as she crouched. In a moment, they would be upon her. It seemed the culmination of all the terrible day. Her heart throbbed painfully while she waited a long minute, hearing distinctly the oncoming feet swishing softly in the grass, the labored breathing of those who carried the heavy burden, the cautious whispers, and then, could it be? They were only two graves away. They were passing by. They were going toward the back part of the cemetery.
She lay absolutely motionless, listening for what seemed hours. The soft thud of burdens laid down was followed by the sound of a spade plunged deep in the earth and the ring of metal as it was drawn forth and hit against a stone.
By and by she gained courage to open her eyes and then to lift her head cautiously and glance around. Her frightened heart almost stifled her with its wild beating.
The sky was luminous off to the east, and against it the five dark figures were darkly visible
, three with shovels and one with a pick, the fifth watching, directing, occasionally flashing with a spot of light on a particular place. On the ground, a long line of something dark like a box or boxes. Had they murdered someone and come to bury him in the night, or were they grave robbers? She found herself shuddering in the darkness, and when she put a trembling hand to her brow, it was cold and wet with perspiration.
She began to wonder if she dared to try to get away, and measured the distance with her eye. The men seemed so close when she considered making a move, especially the one with the flashlight! Its merciless eye would be sure to search her out if she attempted flight. Perhaps it would be safer to lie still till they went away and trust that they would go out by the same path they had entered and not discover her. Yet when she tried to relax and wait, she was trembling so that it seemed as if the very cords that held her being together let loose and she was slowly becoming useless like Dorothea’s big bisque doll that lay on a trunk in the attic with its head and arms lolling at the end of emaciated rubber cords. She had a frightened feeling that if she lay still very long, she would become unable ever to move again, the sensation that comes in nightmares.
Then into her frenzied mind came the thought of Eugene and Nannette and how triumphant they would be if they knew she was going through this agony. They would say it was good punishment for her behavior, a just reward for her headstrong actions. Had she been wrong in going away as she did? Had they been right to insist on her giving up the examinations? Somehow her conscience, hard-pressed as she was, could not see that they had a right to keep her from the only way she knew of earning a living. Somehow she could not feel that any law, either physical or moral, laid any obligation upon her to stay with the children when the mother had known for three weeks of her coming examinations, and when she often of her own accord let them take their lunch to school if it happened to suit her own convenience. Junior might have been hurt playing ball at recess as well as at noon, and he always played ball at recess. No, her conscience was clear on that score. She had a perfect right to put herself in the way of not being dependent upon them financially, and the school teaching was the only way she knew to do it. Still, of course it was all over now. She had gone away from any chance that might have come to her through those examinations, gone out into space alone without any goal or any plan. She might have done that in the first place, of course, if she had known they were going to act that way. Well, it couldn’t be helped now. She had gone, and nothing would induce her to go back. Perhaps when she found a home, if she found a home, she might send back to find out the result of her hard work. It might do her some good somewhere else. But she was too tired now and too frightened to think about it.
She stole another glance toward the invaders. They seemed to be arguing in whispers about something, gesturing, pointing. Perhaps she might manage to slip away while they were absorbed without their notice. She made a soft little move to sit up, and as she put out her arm to steady herself, the metal chain of her handbag clinked just the faintest little bit against the iron pipe of the low fence that surrounded the neighboring grave. Instantly everything was silent among the group of men. The dark figures, as if they had been but shadows, crouched out of sight; only the alert head and shoulders of one showed dimly against the luminous spot in the sky. She could feel that their eyes were focused upon her as if they had been spotlights out of the darkness. She did not dare to move even to relax her fingers, which had been stretched to grasp the iron rail. Her breath was suspended midway, and in the whole wide, peaceful acre, the air seemed tense as though the very dead were waiting with her for the outcome.
“Oh, God!” she prayed. “Oh, God! Help me now!”
It was the first time since Aunt Mary’s death that she felt herself to have really prayed. Somehow her heart had seemed stunned since the funeral, and when she said the words of prayer with her lips, there had been such an empty ache in her heart that they had not seemed to mean anything. Now in her great need, she had the distinct realization of crying out to a God upon whom she relied and whom her faith of the years had tested. And just as distinctly, she felt the certainty that He was there. He had answered.
It was as if that cry for help was a surrender, a committing of her way to Him. As if she had said, “Here am I. I am Yours. However right or wrong I may have been to have put myself into this situation, I am here and helpless. If I am worth anything at all to You, save me, for I cannot save myself. I am giving my future into Your hands.”
Of course there was no such logical sequence of thought or word in the swift flash of her appeal, but afterward she was aware it had been a commitment and a covenant.
As if an answer of assurance had come, a calm came upon her. Her breath moved on, her heart beat naturally. The tensity of the air seemed gone. The dark shadows by the pile of dirt stirred. A low murmur passed among them. They moved and came upright again. Their eyes ceased to pierce her like spotlights. They moved with ease and took up their shovels. One even laughed in a low, half-nervous tone. Only one still stood and watched, his attitude alert, not satisfied that the danger was past. He murmured a low warning.
“Aw! What’s eatin’ ye?” another replied teasingly. “D’ye think the dead can walk? It’s just a wild rabbit jumpin’ amongst the gravel.”
“Wild rabbits aren’t metal shod,” said the familiar voice seeming to come from a face looking her way, and she knew that one at least of the shadowy figures had not ceased to watch and listen.
It seemed hours that she lay there holding her breath, afraid to stir lest they come her way, yet feeling an impulse within her to get away. For at any moment they might come out and walk right in the path by her side. They could not fail to see her if they passed that way. Dear Aunt Mary lying so quietly beneath the sod! How good that she was not really there herself, that she could not know the peril she was in! Or was she perhaps near in spirit? Did God ever let those who had gone to live with Him come to guard and help those they had left behind? But at least she was not worried, for in heaven none could worry, being with the great God who knew all and whose power was over all. God would not really let anything hurt her. She had cried for help, and He would eventually bring her out of all this into safety.
The assurance that came with these swift thoughts made her calmer and finally gave her courage to begin slowly to move a hand and foot out toward the path. There was a sound of the soft thudding of the spade against the turf as if it were being replaced over the excavation and the men would soon be returning to the road. If she would escape unseen, it must be done at once.
Slowly, cautiously, she put out her hand and firmly grasped the rail of the low fence surrounding the next little lot. The cold iron steadied her, and she next moved her foot with a motion so slow and cautious that there was absolutely no sound from it. But it was a work of time. Would the time hold out until she had removed herself entirely from the line of their possible route?
After the other foot had changed its place somewhat, she was able to lift her whole body and move it over several inches into the path without perceiving any sign that she had been heard or seen. Pausing to take a deep breath, and holding her body steady a few inches above the ground, she cautiously began to move forward. It reminded her of those movies of divers and tennis players who by a slower manipulation of the machine are made to perform their tricks in measured rhythm so that every stage of the action can be observed. It meant perfect control of every muscle of the body. It meant deep breathing and a calm mind to perform the feat, and sometimes the wild beating of her frightened heart made her feel that she must just drop in the grass where she was and give it up. Besides, her whole body was trembling with weariness and the excitement of the long, hard day, and her nerves were spent. Big tears welled into her eyes and dropped into the grass, but she was unaware of them. Only her will kept her moving or held her back when she would have jumped to her feet and run screaming from the place; only her sense that God was near somewhere and woul
d help her kept her mind steady enough to direct her movements. And sometimes, as she moved inch by inch away from the direct line of the men, it seemed so slow, so impossible that she could ever get away that she almost fell down.
She had crawled thus on hands and knees some twenty feet and was just considering the wisdom of turning her course a little farther to the left before striking toward the road, when suddenly she heard a low murmur among the men and, glancing back, saw that they had shouldered their implements and were about to start away.
Fear overcame her and made her forget caution, and she lifted one hand with a sudden movement to hasten, grasping the handbag tightly, and once more the tinkling chains, slipping from between her tired fingers, struck against a headstone and gave forth a weird little sound.
Instantly there was silence for the space of about a second, the five men frozen into attention. Then stealthily, his body ducked low, one of them crouched and came forward. Almost silently he came, but she knew he was coming straight toward her. She was paralyzed with fear. She felt she could not move another fraction of an inch, could not any longer hold on to that cold, smooth stone she had grasped, could not draw herself out of sight behind a marble shaft that loomed benevolently close at hand. Then the realization that in a moment more he would be upon her gave strength to her weakness. Who knew what desperate criminals these might be? Grave robbers would not hesitate to dig a new grave and hide a victim in it where no one would ever suspect. Whatever they had been doing, it was evident they did not wish it known, and it would go hard with anyone who might be feared as an eavesdropper. The thought gave wings to her feet as she stumbled up and flew away in the darkness among the shadowy gravestones, out toward the road.
It seemed miles she darted among those stones, as noiselessly as possible, but blindly, for it was dark, so dark, and the little spot of light chased her maddeningly, darting ahead of her and flickering into her eyes from the side unexpectedly, causing her to change her course. She was aware that the men had separated, and she seemed to be encompassed from all sides. Once she stumbled and fell across a grave with the myrtle brushing her face, and the scent of crushed rose geranium in the air. Strange that rose geranium should be identified in her mind at such a time as this. It seemed like a sweet thought reminding her of quiet home and love and peace. But she grasped the mossy stone over her and pulled herself up just in time to evade one of her pursuers; and lo, just at her left was the open field separated only by a scraggy hedge. She parted the shrubs and slipped between, thankful that her dress was dark, and sped away over the stubbly ground, only the impetus of her going keeping her from falling at almost every step. It was almost as if she were flying, as if she were upheld by unseen hands and guided. And the hedge grew taller as she approached the road, completely hiding her flight from those on the other side. She was conscious of confused noises behind her, but her own going was so rapid as to shut out any accurate sound. So at last she gained the fence, crept tremblingly beneath the lichen-covered rails, and tottered to her feet, only to be confronted by a tall, dark figure looming in the road as if he had been waiting there for her a long time.
Not Under the Law Page 3