"Are you taking her part?" demanded Gertie, her voice rising in fury. "What's come over you since she came here. You're not the same to me as you used to be. Why did she come here and get between us?"
"I haven't changed."
"Haven't I been a good wife to you? Have you ever had any complaint to make of me?"
"You know perfectly well I haven't."
"As soon as your precious sister comes along, you let me be insulted. You don't say a word to defend me!"
"Darling," said her husband with grim humor, "you've said a good many to defend yourself."
But Gertie was not to be reached by humor, grim or otherwise.
"I'm sick and tired of being put upon. You must choose between us," she said, with an air of finality.
"What on earth do you mean?"
"If you don't make her apologize right now before the hired men, I'm quit of you."
"I can't make her apologize if she won't."
"Then let her quit."
"Oh, I wish I could! I wish to God I could!" said Nora wildly.
"You know she can't do that," said Marsh roughly. "There's nowhere she can go. I've offered her a home. You were quite willing, when I suggested having her here."
"I was willing because I thought she'd make herself useful. We can't afford to feed folks who don't earn their keep. We have to work for our money, we do."
"I didn't know you grudged me the little I eat," said Nora bitterly. "I wonder if I should begrudge it to you, if I were in your place."
"Look here, it's no good talking. I'm not going to turn her out. As long as she wants a home, the farm's open to her. And she's welcome to everything I've got."
"Then you choose her?" demanded Gertie.
"Choose her? I don't know what you're talking about!" Easy-going as he was, he was beginning to show signs of irritation.
"I said you'd got to choose between us. Very well, let her stay. I earned my own living before, and I can earn it again. I'm going."
"Don't talk such nonsense," said Marsh violently.
"You think I don't mean it? D'you think I'm going to stay here and be put upon? Why should I?"
"Don't you--love me any more?"
"Haven't I shown that I love you? Have you forgotten, Ed?"
"We've gone through so much together, darling," he said huskily.
"Yes, we have that," she said in a softened tone.
"Won't you forgive her, for--for my sake?"
Gertie's face hardened once more.
"No, I can't. You're a man, you don't understand. If she won't apologize, either she must go or I shall."
"I can't lose you, Gertie. What should I do without you?"
"I guess you know me well enough by now. When I say a thing, I do it."
"Eddie!"
Nora had buried her face in her hands. He looked at her a moment without speaking.
"She's my wife. After all, if it weren't for her I should be hiring out now at forty dollars a month."
Nora lifted her face. For a long moment, brother and sister exchange a sad regard.
"Very well," she said huskily, "I'll do what you want."
He made one last appeal:
"You do insist on it, Gertie?"
"Of course I do."
"I'll go and call the men." He looked vacantly about the room, searching for his hat.
"Frank Taylor needn't come, need he?" asked Nora timidly.
"Why not?"
"He's going away almost immediately. It can't matter about him, surely."
"Then why are you so particular about it?"
"The others are English----" She knew she had made an unfortunate speech the moment the words had left her lips and hastened to modify it. "He'll like to see me humiliated. He looks upon women as dirt. He's---- Oh, I don't know, but not before him!"
"It'll do you a world of good to be taken down a peg or two, my lady."
"Oh, how heartless, how cruel!"
"Go on, Ed. I want to get on with my work."
"Why do you humiliate me like this?" asked Nora after the door had closed on her brother. Gertie had seated herself, very erect and judicial, in one of the rocking chairs.
"You came here and thought you knew everything, I guess. But you didn't know who you'd got to deal with."
"I was a stranger and homeless. If you'd had any kindness, you wouldn't have treated me so. I wanted to be fond of you."
"You," scoffed Gertie. "You despised me before you ever saw me."
Nora made a despairing gesture. Even now the men might be on the way, but she had a more unselfish motive for wishing to placate Gertie. Anything rather than bring that look of pain she had seen for the first time that day into her brother's eyes. She staked everything on one last appeal.
"Oh, Gertie, can't we be friends? Can't we let bygones be bygones and start afresh? We both love Eddie--Ed I mean. He's your husband and he's the only relation I have in the world. Won't you let me be a real sister to you?"
"It's rather late to say all that now."
"But it's not too late, is it?" Nora went on eagerly. "I don't know what I do that irritates you so. I can see how competent you are, and I admire you so much. I know how splendid you've been with Eddie. How you've stuck to him through thick and thin. You've done everything for him."
Gertie struck her hands violently together and sprang from her chair.
"Oh, don't go on patronizing me. I shall go crazy!"
"Patronizing you?"
"You talk to me as if I were a naughty child. You might be a school teacher." Nora wrung her hands. "It seems perfectly hopeless!"
"Even when you're begging my pardon," Gertie went on, "you put on airs. You ask me to forgive you as if you was doing me a favor!"
"I must have a most unfortunate manner." Nora laughed hysterically.
"Don't you dare laugh at me," said Gertie furiously.
"Don't make yourself ridiculous, then."
"Did you think I would ever forget what you wrote to Ed before I married him?"
"What I wrote? I don't know what you mean."
"Oh, don't you? You told him it would be a disgrace if he married me. He was a gentleman and I---- Oh, you spread yourself out!"
"And he showed you that letter," said Nora slowly. "Now I understand," she added to herself. "Still," she went on, looking Gertie directly in the face, "I had a perfect right to try and prevent the marriage before it took place. But after it happened, I only wanted to make the best of it. If you had this grudge against me, why did you let me come here!"
"Oh," said Gertie moodily, "Ed wanted it, and it was lonely enough sometimes with the men away all day and no one to say a word to. But I can't bear it," she almost screamed, "when Ed talks to you about the old country and all the people I don't know anything about!"
"Then you are jealous?"
"It's my house and I'm mistress here. I won't be put upon. What did you want to come here for, upsetting everybody? Till you came, I never had a word with Ed. Oh, I hate you, I hate you!" she finished in a sort of ecstasy.
"Gertie!"
"You've given me my chance," said Gertie with set teeth; "I'm going to take it. I'm going to take you down a peg or two, young woman."
"You're doing all you can to drive me away from here."
"You don't think it's any very wonderful thing to have you, do you? You talk of getting a job," she went on scornfully. "You! You couldn't get one. I know something about that, my girl. You! What can you do? Nothing."
Suddenly, from outside, they heard Frank Taylor's laugh. Nora winced as if she had been struck. Gertie's face was distorted with an evil smile. She seated herself once more in the rocking chair and folded her arms across her heaving breast.
"Here they come: now take your punishment," she said harshly.
CHAPTER X
Nora could never after think of what followed with any feeling of reality so far as her personal participation in the scene was concerned. It was like watching a play in which one is
interested, without being in any degree emotionally stirred.
She saw Gertie, erect and stern in her big chair; she saw herself, standing behind the ironing-board, as if at a Bar of Justice, her hands resting loosely upon it; and she saw the door open to admit her brother, followed by Taylor and Trotter; noted that the former had discarded the familiar overalls and was wearing a sort of pea-jacket with a fur collar, and that her brother's face was once more sad and a little stern.
She had been obliged to press her handkerchief to her mouth to hide the crooked smile that the thought: ' he is the executioner,' had brought to her lips.
Then the figures which were Gertie and her brother had exchanged some words.
"Where's Hornby?"
"He's just coming."
"Do they know what they're here for!"
"No, I didn't tell them."
Then the figure which was Reggie had come in with some laughing remark about being torn away from his work, but, stopping so suddenly in the midst of his laughter at the sight of Gertie's face that it was comical; once more she had had to press her handkerchief to her lips.
And all the time she knew that this Nora whom she seemed to be watching had flushed a cruel red clear to her temples and that a funny little pulse was beating,--oh, so fast, so fast!--way up by her cheek-bone. It couldn't have been her heart. Her heart had never gone as fast as that.
Then she had heard Gertie say: "Nora insulted me a while ago before all of you and I guess she wants to apologize."
And then Frank had said: "If you told me it was that, Ed, you wanted me to come here for, I reckon I'd have told you to go to hell."
"Why?"
It must have been she who had asked the question, although she was not conscious that her lips had moved and the voice did not seem like her own. Her own voice was rather deep. This voice was curiously thin and high.
"I've got other things to do besides bothering my head about women's quarrels."
"Oh, I beg your pardon," still in the same high tone. "I thought it might be some kindly feeling in you."
"Go on, Nora, we're waiting," came the voice from the big chair.
Sour-dough! That's what those coats, such as Frank had on, were called. She had been wondering all the time what the name was. It was only the other day that Gertie had used the word in saying that she wished Eddie--no, Ed--could afford a new one. What a ridiculous name for a garment.
"I'm sorry I was rude to you, Gertie. I apologize to you for what I said."
"If there's nothing more to be said, we'd better go back to our work."
While her brother was speaking to his wife, Frank had taken a step forward. Somehow, the smile on his face had lost all of its ordinary mockery.
"You didn't find that very easy to say, I reckon."
"I'm quite satisfied." And then Gertie had dared to add: "Let this be a lesson to you, my girl!"
That was the last straw. The men had turned to go. In a flash she had made up her mind. Her brother's house was no longer possible. Gertie had, in a moment of passion, confessed that she hated her; had always hated her in her secret heart ever since she had read that protesting letter. What daily humiliations would she not have to endure now that she had matched her strength against Gertie and lost! It meant one long crucifixion of all pride and self-respect. No, it was not to be borne!
There was one avenue of escape open, and only one. He had said that he was willing to offer a home to a woman who was willing to assume her share of the burden of making one. It was even possible that he would be both kind and considerate, no matter how many mistakes she made at first, to a woman who tried to learn. Of one thing she was certain, he would know how to see that his wife was treated with respect by all the world. For the moment, her bleeding pride cried to her that that was the only thing in life that was absolutely necessary. Nothing else mattered.
"Frank, will you wait a minute?"
"Sure. What can I do for you?"
"I've understood that I'm not wanted here. I'm in the way. You said just now you wanted a woman to cook and bake for you, wash and mend your clothes, and keep your shack clean and tidy. Will I do?"
"Sure."
"Nora!" Her brother was shaking her by the shoulder.
"I'm afraid you'll have to marry me."
"I guess it would be more respectable."
"Nora, you can't mean it: you're in a temper! See here, Frank, you mustn't pay any attention to her."
"Shameless, that's what I call it." That was Gertie.
"He wants a woman to look after him. He practically proposed to me half an hour ago--didn't you?"
"Practically."
"Nora! You've been like cat and dog with Frank ever since you came. My dear, you don't know what you're in for."
"If he's willing to risk it, I am."
"It ain't an easy life you're coming to. This farm is a palace compared with my shack."
"I'm not wanted here and you say you want me. If you'll take me, I'll come."
For what seemed an interminable moment, he had looked at her with more gravity than she had ever seen in his face.
"I'll take you, all right. When will you be ready? Will an hour do for you?"
"An hour! You're in a great hurry." She had had a funny sensation that her knees were giving way. She had never fainted in her life. Was she going to faint now before them all? Before Gertie? Never! Somehow she must get out of the room and be alone a minute.
"Why, yes. Then we can catch the three-thirty into Winnipeg. You can go to the Y. W. C. A. for the night and we'll be buckled up in the morning. You meant it, didn't you? You weren't just saying it as a bluff?"
"I shall be ready in an hour."
She had pushed Eddie gently aside and, without a glance at anyone had walked steadily from the room.
Once seated on the side of the bed in the room that had been hers, she had been seized with a chill so violent that her teeth had chattered in her head. To prevent anyone who might follow her from hearing them,--and it was probable that her brother might come for a final remonstrance; it was even conceivable that Gertie, herself, might be sorry for what she had done; but no, it was she who had said she was shameless!--she got up and locked her door and then threw herself full length on the little bed and crammed the corner of the pillow into her mouth.
Perhaps she was going to die. She had never really been ill in her life and the violence of the chill frightened her. In her present overwrought state, the thought of death was not disquieting. But supposing she was only going to be very ill, with some long and tedious illness that would make her a care and a burden for weeks? She recalled the unremitting care which she had had to give Miss Wickham, and pictured Gertie's grudging ministrations at her sick-bed. Anything rather than that! She must manage to get to Winnipeg. Once away from the house, nothing mattered.
But after a few moments the violence of the chill, which was of course purely nervous in its origin, subsided perceptibly. Nora rose and began to busy herself with her packing. Fortunately her wardrobe was small. She had no idea how long she had been lying on the bed.
She had just folded the last garment and was about to close the lid of her trunk, when there came a knock at the door.
"Who is it?"
"It's me," said Frank's voice. "The team is at the door. Are you ready?"
For reply, Nora threw open the door and pointed to her box.
"I have only to put on my hat. Will you be good enough to fasten that for me? Here is the key."
While he knelt on the floor, locking and strapping it, she gave a careful look at herself in the mirror, while putting on her hat. She congratulated herself that she had not been crying. Aside from the fact that she looked pale and tired, there was nothing in her face to suggest that she had had a crisis of the nerves: certainly no look of defeat for Gertie to gloat over. Would they all be there to witness her retreat? Well, let them: no one could say that she had not gone out with flying colors. She turned, with a smile to meet Frank's gaze
.
"That's right," he said approvingly. "You look fine. Say," he added, "I'm afraid I'll have to have Reggie up to give me a lift with this trunk of yours. I don't know what you can have in it unless it's a stove, and we've got one at home already. It'll be all right once I get it on my back."
He had taken just the right tone. His easy reference to 'home' and to their common possession of even so humble a piece of furniture as a stove, as if they were an old married couple returning home after paying a visit, had a restorative effect on nerves still a little jangly. That was the only way to look at it: In a thoroughly commonplace manner. As he had said himself, it was a business undertaking. She gave a perfectly natural little laugh.
"No, I haven't a stove; only a few books. I didn't realize how heavy they were. I'm sorry."
"I'm not," he said heartily. "You can read to me evenings. I guess a little more book-learning'll polish me up a bit and I'll be right glad of the chance. You're not afraid to stand at the horses' heads, are you, while Reg runs up here?"
"No, of course not."
She could hear Gertie in the pantry as she crossed the living-room. She was grateful to her for not coming out to make any show of leave-taking. Having sent Reggie on his errand, she stood stroking the horses' soft noses while waiting for the men to return. Just as they reached the door, Eddie came slowly over to her from the barn. His face was haggard. He looked older than she had ever seen him.
"Nora," he said in a low tone, "I beg you, before it is too late----"
"Please, dear," she whispered, her hand on his, "you only make it harder."
"I'll write, Eddie, oh, in a few days, and tell you all about my new home," she called gayly, as Frank, having disposed of her trunk in the back of the wagon, lifted her in. Her brother turned without a word to the others and went into the house.
As she felt herself for the second time in those arms, the reaction came.
"Eddie, Eddie!"
But, strangled by sobs, her voice hardly carried to the man on the seat in front of her.
As he sprang in, Frank gave the horses a flick with the whip. The afternoon air was keen and the high-spirited team needed no further urging. They swung out of the farm gate at a pace that made Reggie cling to the seat.
The Land of Promise: A Comedy in Four Acts (1922) Page 10