The Sins of the Father: A Romance of the South

by Thomas Dixon

  CHAPTER XII

  THE JUDGMENT BAR

  He paused at the gate. His legs for the moment simply refused to go anyfurther. A light was burning in his wife's room. Its radiance streamingagainst the white fluted columns threw their shadows far out on the lawn.

  The fine old house seemed to slowly melt in the starlight into a solemnCourt of Justice set on the highest hill of the world. Its white boardswere hewn slabs of gleaming marble, its quaint old Colonial door the grandentrance to the Judgment Hall of Life and Death. And the judge who sat onthe high dais was not the blind figure of tradition, but a blushing littlebride he had led to God's altar four years ago. Her blue eyes were burninginto the depths of his trembling soul.

  His hand gripped the post and he tried to pull himself together, and lookthe ugly situation in the face. But it was too sudden. He had repented andwas living a clean life, and the shock was so unexpected, its coming sounforeseen, the stroke at a moment when his spirits had climbed so high,the fall was too great. He lay a mangled heap at the foot of a precipiceand could as yet only stretch out lame hands and feel in the dark. He couldsee nothing clearly.

  A curious thing flashed through his benumbed mind as his gaze fascinatedby the light in her room. She had not yet sent for him. He might havepassed a messenger on the other side of the street, or he may have gone tothe Capitol by another way, yet he was somehow morally sure that no wordhad as yet been sent. It could mean but one thing--that his wife hadutterly refused to believe the girl's story. This would make the only sanething to do almost impossible. If he could humbly confess the truth and begfor her forgiveness, the cloud might be lifted and her life saved.

  But if she blindly refused to admit the possibility of such a sin, thecrisis was one that sickened him. He would either be compelled to risk herlife with the shock of confession, or lie to her with a shameless passionthat would convince her of his innocence.

  Could he do this? It was doubtful. He had never been a good liar. He hadtaken many a whipping as a boy sooner than lie. He had always dared to tellthe truth and had felt a cruel free joy somehow in its consequence. He hadbeen reserved and silent in his youth when he had sowed his wild oatsbefore his marriage. He had never been forced to lie about that. Noquestions had been asked. He had kept his own counsel and that side of hislife was a sealed book even to his most intimate friends.

  He had never been under the influence of liquor and knew how to be a goodfellow without being a fool. The first big lie of his life he was forced toact rather than speak when Cleo had entered his life. This lie had not yetshaped itself into words. And he doubted his ability to carry it offsuccessfully. To speak the truth simply and plainly had become an ingrainedhabit. He trembled at the possibility of being compelled to deliberatelyand continuously lie to his wife. If he could only tell her the truth--tellher the hours of anguish he had passed in struggling against the Beast thatat last had won the fight--if he could only make her feel to-night thepain, the shame, the loathing, the rage that filled his soul, she mustforgive.

  But would she listen? Had the child-mind that had never faced realities thepower to adjust itself to such a tragedy and see life in its widerrelations of sin and sorrow, of repentance and struggle to the achievementof character? There was but one answer:

  "No. It would kill her. She can't understand----"

  And then despair gripped him, his eyes grew dim and he couldn't think. Heleaned heavily on the gate in a sickening stupor from which his mind slowlyemerged and his fancy began to play pranks with an imagination suddenlyquickened by suffering into extraordinary activity.

  A katydid was crying somewhere over his head and a whip-poor-will broke thestillness with his weird call that seemed to rise from the ground under hisfeet. He was a boy again roaming the fields where stalwart slaves wereworking his father's plantation. It was just such a day in early springwhen he had persuaded Andy to run away with him and go swimming in Buffalocreek. He had caught cold and they both got a whipping that night. Heremembered how Andy had yelled so loud his father had stopped. And how hehad set his little jaws together, refused to cry and received the worstwhipping of his life. He could hear Andy now as he slipped up to himafterward, grinning and chuckling and whispered:

  "Lordy, man, why didn't ye holler? You don't know how ter take er whippin'nohow. He nebber hurt me no mo' dan a flea bitin'!"

  And then his mind leaped the years. Cleo was in his arms that night at oldPeeler's and he was stroking her hair as he would have smoothed the fur ofa frightened kitten. That strange impulse was the beginning--he could seeit now--and it had grown with daily contact, until the contagious animalmagnetism of her nearness became resistless. And now he stood a shiveringcoward in the dark, afraid to enter his own house and look his wife in theface.

  Yes, he was a coward. He acknowledged it with a grim smile--a coward! Thisboastful, high-strung, self-poised leader of men! He drew his tall figureerect and a bitter laugh broke from his lips. He who had led men to deathon battlefields with a smile and a shout! He who had cried in anguish theday Lee surrendered! He who, in defeat, still indomitable and unconquered,had fired the souls of his ruined people and led them through riot andrevolution again to victory!--He was a coward now and he knew it, as hestood there alone in the stillness of the Southern night and looked himselfsquarely in the face.

  His heart gave a throb of pity as he recalled the scenes during the war,when deserters and cowards had been led out in the gray dawn and shot todeath for something they couldn't help.

  It must be a dream. He couldn't realize the truth--grim, hideous andunthinkable. He had won every fight as the leader of his race againstoverwhelming odds. He had subdued the desperate and lawless among his ownmen until his word was law. He had rallied the shattered forces of adefeated people and inspired them with enthusiasm. He had overturned thenegroid government in the state though backed by a million bayonets in thehands of veteran battle-tried soldiers. He had crushed the man who ledthese forces, impeached and removed him from office, and hurled him intomerited oblivion, a man without a country. He had made himself the centralfigure of the commonwealth. In the dawn of manhood he had lived already aman's full life. A conquered world at his feet, and yet a little yellow,red-haired girl of the race he despised, in the supreme hour of triumph hadlaid his life in ruins. He had conquered all save the Beast within and hemust die for it--it was only a morbid fancy, yes--yet he felt the chill inhis soul.

  How long he had stood there doubting, fearing, dreaming, he could form noidea. He was suddenly roused to the consciousness of his position by thedoctor who was hurrying from the house. There was genuine surprise in hisvoice as he spoke slowly and in a very low tone.

  Dr. Williams had the habit of slow, quiet speech. He was a privilegedcharacter in the town and the state, with the record of a half century ofpractice. A man of wide reading and genuine culture, he concealed a bigheart beneath a brutal way of expressing his thoughts. He said exactly whathe meant with a distinctness that was all the more startling because of hiscurious habit of speaking harsh things in tones so softly modulated thathis hearers frequently asked him to repeat his words.

  "I had just started to the banquet hall with a message for you," he saidslowly.

  "Yes--yes," Norton answered vaguely.

  "But I see you've come--Cleo told you?"

  "Yes--she came to the hall----"

  The doctor's slender fingers touched his fine gray beard.

  "Really! She entered that hall to-night? Well, it's a funny world, this. Wespend our time and energy fighting the negro race in front and leave ourback doors open for their women and children to enter and master our life.I congratulate you as a politician on your victory----"

  Norton lifted his hand as if to ward off a blow:

  "Please! not to-night!"

  The doctor caught the look of agony in the haggard face and suddenlyextended his hand:

  "I wasn't thinking of your personal history, my boy. I was--I was thinkingfor a moment of the folly of a p
eople--forgive me--I know you need helpto-night. You must pull yourself together before you go in there----"

  "Yes, I know!" Norton faltered. "You have seen my wife and talked withher--you can see things clearer than I--tell me what to do!"

  "There's but one thing you can do," was the gentle answer. "Lie toher--lie--and stick to it. Lie skillfully, carefully, deliberately, andwith such sincerity and conviction she's got to believe you. She wants tobelieve you, of course. I know you are guilty----"

  "Let me tell you, doctor----"

  "No, you needn't. It's an old story. The more powerful the man the easierhis conquest when once the female animal of Cleo's race has her chance.It's enough to make the devil laugh to hear your politicians howl againstsocial and political equality while this cancer is eating the heart out ofour society. It makes me sick! And she went to your banquet hall to-night!I'll laugh over it when I'm blue----"

  The doctor paused, laughed softly, and continued:

  "Now listen, Norton. Your wife can't live unless she wills to live. I'vetold you this before. The moment she gives up, she dies. It's the iron willinside her frail body that holds the spirit. If she knows the truth, shecan't face it. She is narrow, conventional, and can't readjust herself----"

  "But doctor, can't she be made to realize that this thing is here a livingfact which the white woman of the South must face? These hundreds ofthousands of a mixed race are not accidents. She must know that this racialdegradation is not merely a thing of to-day, but the heritage of twohundred years of sin and sorrow!"

  "The older women know this--yes--but not our younger generation, who havebeen reared in the fierce defense of slavery we were forced to make beforethe war. These things were not to be talked about. No girl reared as yourwife can conceive of the possibility of a decent man falling so low. I warnyou. You can't let her know the truth--and so the only thing you can do isto lie and stick to it. It's queer advice for a doctor to give an honorableman, perhaps. But life is full of paradoxes. My advice is medicine. Ourbest medicines are the most deadly poisons in nature. I've saved many aman's life by their use. This happens to be one of the cases where Iprescribe a poison. Put the responsibility on me if you like. My shouldersare broad. I live close to Nature and the prattle of fools never disturbsme."

  "Is she still hysterical?" Norton asked.

  "No. That's the strange part of it--the thing that frightens me. That's whyI haven't left her side since I was called. Her outburst wasn't hysteria inthe first place. It was rage--the blind unreasoning fury of the woman whosees her possible rival and wishes to kill her. You'll find her very quiet.There's a queer, still look in her eyes I don't like. It's the calm beforethe storm--a storm that may leave death in its trail----"

  "Couldn't I deny it at first," Norton interrupted, "and then make my pleato her in an appeal for mercy on an imaginary case? God only knows whatI've gone through--the fight I made----"

  "Yes, I know, my boy, with that young animal playing at your feet inphysical touch with your soul and body in the intimacies of your home, younever had a chance. But you can't make your wife see this. An angel fromheaven, with tongue of divine eloquence, can make no impression on her ifshe once believes you guilty. Don't tell her--and may God have mercy onyour soul to-night!"

  With a pressure on the younger man's arm, the straight white figure of theold doctor passed through the gate.

  Norton walked quickly to the steps of the spacious, pillared porch, stoppedand turned again into the lawn. He sat down on a rustic seat and trieddesperately to work out what he would say, and always the gray mist of afog of despair closed in.

  For the first time in his life he was confronted squarely with the factthat the whole structure of society is enfolded in a network ofinterminable lies. His wife had been reared from the cradle in theatmosphere of beauty and innocence. She believed in the innocence of herfather, her brothers, and every man who moved in her circle. Above all, shebelieved in the innocence of her husband. The fact that the negro race hadfor two hundred years been stirring the baser passions of her men--thatthis degradation of the higher race had been bred into the bone and sinewof succeeding generations--had never occurred to her childlike mind. Howhopeless the task to tell her now when the tragic story must shatter herown ideals!

  The very thought brought a cry of agony to his lips:

  "God in heaven--what can I do?"

  He looked helplessly at the stream of light from her window and turnedagain toward the cool, friendly darkness.

  The night was one of marvellous stillness. The band was playing again inhis banquet hall at the Capitol. So still was the night he could heardistinctly the softer strains of the stringed instruments, faint, sweet andthrilling, as they floated over the sleepy old town. A mocking-bird abovehim wakened by the call of melody answered, tenderly at first, and then,with the crash of cornet and drum, his voice swelled into a flood ofwonderful song.

  With a groan of pain, Norton rose and walked rapidly into the house. Hisbird-dog lay on the mat outside the door and sprang forward with a joyouswhine to meet him.

  He stooped and drew the shaggy setter's head against his hot cheek.

  "I need a friend, to-night, Don, old boy!" he said tenderly. And Donanswered with an eloquent wag of his tail and a gentle nudge of his nose.

  "If you were only my judge!--Bah, what's the use----"

  He drew his drooping shoulders erect and entered his wife's room. Her eyeswere shining with peculiar brightness, but otherwise she seemed unusuallycalm. She began speaking with quick nervous energy:

  "Dr. Williams told you?"

  "Yes, and I came at once." He answered with an unusually firm and clearnote of strength. His whole being was keyed now to a high tension of alertdecision. He saw that the doctor's way was the only one.

  "I don't ask you, Dan," she went on with increasing excitement and a touchof scorn in her voice--"I don't ask you to deny this lie. What I want toknow is the motive the little devil had in saying such a thing to me.Mammy, in her jealousy, merely told me she was hanging around your room toooften. I asked her if it were true. She looked at me a moment and burstinto her lying 'confession.' I could have killed her. I did try to tear hergreen eyes out. I knew that you hated her and tried to put her out of thehouse, and I thought she had taken this way to get even with you--but itdoesn't seem possible. And then I thought the Governor might have takenthis way to strike you. He knows old Peeler, the low miserable scoundrel,who is her father. Do you think it possible?"

  "I--don't--know," he stammered, moistening his lips and turning away.

  "Yet it's possible"--she insisted.

  He saw the chance to confirm this impression by a cheap lie--to invent astory of old Peeler's intimacy with the Governor, of his attempt to marryLucy, of his hatred of the policy of the paper, his fear of the Klan andof his treacherous, cowardly nature--yet the lie seemed so cheap andcontemptible his lips refused to move. If he were going to carry out thedoctor's orders here was his chance. He struggled to speak and couldn't.The habit of a life and the fibre of character were too strong. So he didthe fatal thing at the moment of crisis.

  "I don't think that possible," he said.

  "Why not?"

  "Well, you see, since I rescued old Peeler that night from those boys, hehas been so abjectly grateful I've had to put him out of my office once ortwice, and I'm sure he voted for me for the Legislature against his ownparty."

  "He voted for you?" she asked in surprise.

  "He told me so. He may have lied, of course, but I don't think he did."

  "Then what could have been her motive?"

  His teeth were chattering in spite of a desperate effort to think clearlyand speak intelligently. He stared at a picture on the wall and made noreply.

  "Say something--answer my question!" his wife cried excitedly.

  "I have answered, my dear. I said I don't know. I'm stunned by the wholething."

  "You are _stunned_?"

  "Yes----"

  "Stunned? You, a
strong, innocent man, stunned by a weak contemptible lielike this from the lips of such a girl--what do you mean?"

  "Why, that I was naturally shocked to be called out of a banquet at such amoment by such an accusation. She actually beckoned to me from the doorover the heads of the guests----"

  The little blue eyes suddenly narrowed and the thin lips grew hard:

  "Cleo called you from the door?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  "You left the hall to see her there?"

  "No, I went down stairs."

  "Into the Capitol Square?"

  "Yes. I couldn't well talk to her before all those guests----"

  "Why not?"

  The question came like the crack of a pistol. Her voice was high, cold,metallic, ringing. He saw, when too late, that he had made a fatal mistake.He stammered, reddened and then turned pale:

  "Why--why--naturally----"

  "If you are innocent--why not?"

  He made a desperate effort to find a place of safety:

  "I thought it wise to go down stairs where I could talk withoutinterruption----"

  "You--were--afraid," she was speaking each word now with cold, deadlydeliberation, "to take-a-message-from-your-servant-at-the-door-of-a-publicbanquet-hall----" her words quickened--"then you suspected her possiblemessage! There _was_ something between you----"

  "My dear, I beg of you----"

  He turned his head away with a weary gesture.

  She sprang from the side of the bed, leaped to his side, seized him by botharms and fairly screamed in his face:

  "Look at me, Dan!"

  He turned quickly, his haggard eyes stared into hers, and she looked withslowly dawning horror.

  "Oh, my God!" she shrieked. "It's true--it's true--it's true!"

  She sprang back with a shiver of loathing, covered her face with her handsand staggered to her bed, sobbing hysterically:

  "It's true--it's true--it's true! Have mercy, Lord!--it's true--it's true!"She fell face downward, her frail figure quivering like a leaf in a storm.

  He rushed to her side, crying in terror:

  "It's not true--it's not true, my dear! Don't believe it. I swear it's alie--it's a lie--I tell you!"

  She was crying in sobs of utter anguish.

  He bent low:

  "It's not true, dearest! It's not true, I tell you. You mustn't believe it.You can't believe it when I swear to you that it's a lie----"

  His head gently touched her slender shoulder.

  She flinched as if scorched by a flame, sprang to her feet, and faced himwith blazing eyes:

  "Don't--you--dare--touch--me----"

  "My dear," he pleaded.

  "Don't speak to me again!"

  "Please----"

  "Get out of this room!"

  He stood rooted to the spot in helpless stupor and she threw her littlebody against his with sudden fury, pushing him toward the door. "Get out, Isay!"

  He staggered back helplessly and awkwardly amazed at her strength as shepushed him into the hall. She stood a moment towering in the white frame ofthe door, the picture of an avenging angel to his tormented soul. Throughteeth chattering with hysterical emotion she cried:

  "Go, you leper! And don't you ever dare to cross this door-sill again--noteven to look on my dead face!"

  "For God's sake, don't!" he gasped, staggering toward her.

  But the door slammed in his face and the bolt suddenly shot into its place.

  He knocked gently and received no answer. An ominous stillness reignedwithin. He called again and again without response. He waited patiently forhalf an hour and knocked once more. An agony of fear chilled him. She mightbe dead. He knelt, pressed his ear close to the keyhole and heard a long,low, pitiful sob from her bed.

  "Thank God----"

  He rose with sudden determination. She couldn't be left like that. He wouldcall the doctor back at once, and, what was better still, he would bringher mother, a wise gray-haired little saint, who rarely volunteered advicein her daughter's affairs. The door would fly open at her soft command.