Blue Ruin

by Grace Livingston Hill

  He did.

  He was surrounded by admiring women, and men who counted their wealth by millions. He was invited to dinner and begged to stay over and take a trip with one of the members up to his summer home on the coast of Maine. If life had been going well with him he would have thought the millennium had reached him, for that was about his idea of the millennium.

  But he declined them all and said he must get away. His only desire was to get off by himself and think—think his way out of this horrible situation. It never occurred to him to pray. He would not have felt intimate enough with God to tell Him about it if it had. He would not have cared to speak of it before God. He would not have felt that his excuses would have had the sympathy from Him they merited.

  Into the sharpness of the hour, as the tide of interest among the people became more and more apparent, there had crept one wild thought, like a ray of hope. He did not stop to think whether it came from above or beneath! It was that he must get rid of Jessie Belle!

  Oh, he would do her no harm, of course. But he would find a way to shake her off and hush her up. Nobody yet knew that they were married, and it was unthinkable that he should have all this phenomenal career stopped by one little silly schoolgirl! There were ways, perfectly respectable ways. Why not buy her off! Send her away! If Lynette ever came to guess anything about it—well, Lynette would forgive. Of course, he had been wrong about some things. He knew that all the time. But she would understand. And then of course, he had not understood what an unusual college that was, quite exclusive, and really scholarly, unique in fact. He would humble himself and tell her that. He would bring her back with him. He would tell her the church wanted her and all about the reception and the beautiful house. They would be married! But! Jessie Belle! He couldn’t marry Lynette; he was married to Jessie Belle! He must get rid of Jessie Belle! There would be some way. Just a few words and a little foolishness could never be so binding as to spoil his life forever. It couldn’t! Of course, it wouldn’t be hard to get rid of Jessie Belle. She wouldn’t mind. He would promise her plenty of money. His salary would be all he needed. He would always make a good salary, and Grandma would come across if she knew that Jessie Belle had got in the way. There would be a way! There must be a way. And Jessie Belle wouldn’t care! She was just a kid. She would rather have the money!

  Sometimes he realized what wild foolishness he was thinking, and then it seemed that he would sink. He must bolster up his soul till he got somehow through this awful day and had a chance to think. And so he bolstered himself with saying that there would be a way. He almost convinced himself sometimes that he had not done any harm.

  Back in the home he had left, Jessie Belle lay around and amused herself as best she could. She went and bought a fashion magazine and began to plan a trousseau. She manicured her nails and shampooed her hair and spent a long time on her makeup and sallied forth to take a walk, declining curtly Justine’s offer to go with her. She hoped to meet that ugly little beast of a Brooke boy and begin his subjugation, for she had decided long ago that that was the next step in her program. But Elim was safe away in the woods with Spud and Snipe and she came back disconsolate.

  She settled down on the front porch in a steamer chair and lighted a cigarette. It was the first time she had dared. She had stolen off to the back of the garage for her smokes until now. If Dana had smoked it would have been different, but somehow she knew Dana had a tradition against it, and it wouldn’t be wise to let him know. Now she was safe, what did it matter? Grandma was taking her nap and couldn’t get out to the porch anyway, at least she never did. Amelia had no sort of power, and she wasn’t afraid of Amelia in any case. As for Justine, she would be only too glad to keep a secret if she gave her one of her smiles. It wouldn’t be hard to even induce Justine to smoke if she set about it. Maybe she would sometime just to horrify Amelia. It would probably make Grandma chuckle. Of course Ella would howl, but Ella didn’t count.

  So Jessie Belle sat on the old, respectable, orthodox front porch of the Whipple house and smoked a cigarette. The neighbors came by, several of them, and saw her, for Mrs. Pettingill had a little tea that afternoon for a cousin from up the state who was visiting and all the guests came home about five o’clock and saw Jessie Belle sitting on the old, respectable, orthodox front porch of the Whipple house and smoking a cigarette! Jessie Belle with her extremely short skirt and her long, fine legs in their nude, silk stockings kicking around carelessly while the neighbors went by! Each group as they came down the hill and passed almost stopped in horror. For everybody knew that Dana Whipple had been taking this girl out every day, morning, noon, and night, and everybody also knew that Dana had gone down to preach in New York in one of the oldest, most respectable, most orthodox churches in the whole denomination.

  Now Grandma Whipple was not asleep. She had not been able to sleep at her usual nap time for three or four days. Her mind was deeply troubled. In all the years she had been conducting the Whipple homestead she had never once had to acknowledge even to herself that she had made a serious mistake in her administration. Until now, in this matter of having invited this hussy from New York to live under the same roof with her cherished grandson, Dana, scion of the old Whipple name and heritage. She was afraid it was even so bad that she was going to try to do something about it. That was equivalent to saying that she had been wrong.

  She lay there grimly and thought about the different things she might do. Of course, she might tell Justine to take her friends off to the seashore and she would foot the bills. That would be an evasive way of getting around it, but then they might return sometime.

  She might pretend to get sick and have the doctor order quiet and everybody out of the house. But that would be expensive, and she doubted if she could keep it up long enough. She hated to stay in bed. She meant to die in her chair, at least, if not on her feet.

  Neither could she consider going away herself and closing the house. That wasn’t being done. Everybody would think she had taken leave of her senses. Besides, none of these means would bring about the desired effect of getting rid of Jessie Belle finally and forever. If she was sent off in any such way, Dana would merely trail after her. It had got as bad as that, she was afraid.

  As she lay there mulling it over in her mind, a strange new odor stole subtly into her open window. It was sort of sweetish and pungent. But there was something about it that aroused her antagonism; she didn’t know just why. It wasn’t some of that heathen incense that Justine had brought in the other night to keep the mosquitoes away, was it? If Justine had dared have that around in a Christian household again, after what she said to her!

  The old lady rose to a sitting posture and sniffed. She turned and put her stockinged feet to the floor. She sat and sniffed again. It wasn’t Amelia baking cinnamon cookies and burning them was it? Amelia wasn’t herself these days. Poor soul! She was probably badly worried. No, it wasn’t cookies, it was a new smell, more pungent, more like—

  She hadn’t walked without her crutches for two years, nor without her strong, flat-soled shoes, but she managed to get over to the window and peek out the curtain. Her room was in an ell off the main part of the house, and she could just see the porch. From her window, she had a full view of Jessie Belle lounging, legs and all, smoking her cigarette and exhaling the smoke through her impudent powdered nostrils, her wide, pink nostrils that somehow reminded Grandma of a little young pig.

  Madame Whipple gave a snort of fury. She caught her breath and stood looking with steadily increasing wrath. On the street, three women were passing, pausing an instant for the full view of the Whipple porch.

  “Now, what do you think of that! My soul! Do you suppose Mrs. Whipple knows that? And to think of Dana!”

  Grandma Whipple hadn’t walked alone for months, but she managed to get herself to the chair where Amelia had stood her crutch, and she managed to open her door and steal down the hall, crutch in hand but not touching the floor for fear of making a sound. Feeling
along the wall, she came to the door and got herself out on the porch as silently in her poor old lame stockinged feet as if she had been a butterfly.

  Jessie Belle was mooning over a fashion paper, half asleep, and didn’t see her till she stood over her, hand clutching the back of the chair, her crutch raised threateningly.

  “Jezebel!” she announced in her deep old voice that had no cackle in it now. “Get out of that chair and throw away that dirty cigarette! Don’t you dare do that in my house again, or out you go!”

  Jessie Belle rose lithely out of the chair and got beyond the reach of the crutch then she laughed lightly.

  “Oh, Grandma, you’re so—”

  But Grandma interrupted roughly.

  “No, Jezebel, I’m not quaint anymore! I mean this. Out you go, and if you don’t throw that dirty thing away this minute you can go right upstairs and pack your bags and tell that pussyfoot of a mother of yours that she can take the next train. I’ve stood all I’m going to stand. This has always been a respectable house.”

  But Jessie Belle stood her ground, her insolent chin lifted deridingly, one hand on her hip, her body slanted in defiance, and coolly brought that cigarette up to her lips and blew a long whiff of smoke out from her nostrils straight into the face of the irate old lady.

  The next instant Grandma’s crutch came crashing down on Jessie Belle’s lifted wrist and the cigarette flew to the ground where it smoldered in the grass, while Jessie Belle doubled up with a howl of pain.

  Grandma Whipple stood her ground, a grand old nemesis, administering justice in spite of startled neighbors passing by in what seemed to Jessie Belle like throngs.

  Grandma waited until the women had passed by, withered by her eagle glance which said as plain as words could speak, “This is my business, not yours. Pass on.”

  Then she turned again to the furious girl who was still holding her smarting wrist and struggling to keep the angry tears from her eyes. Not for anything would Jessie Belle cry now.

  The lifted crutch went up again.

  “Go, Jezebel!” commanded the old warhorse.

  Jessie Belle threw back her head, stuck out her chin, and tossed her lock of sleek black hair till impudence could rise no higher.

  “You can’t send me away unless you send Dana,” she taunted, her eyes bright with defiance. “Dana and I were married last night!”

  The old lady halted, not for amazement. Her brain was quicker than the lightning’s flash. She came one step nearer in her wrath and stood, untottering, straight as in her younger days, and strong. She lifted her crutch a third time now, and brought it down on Jessie Belle’s shoulders, a strong, quick blow that smarted on her tender flesh and bit deep, and made Jessie Belle run screaming into the house to her mother in a fright. Then the old lady turned and walked into the house again, holding her crutch but not leaning on it, upheld by the very strength of her fury.

  Amelia had come from the kitchen, her hands and arms all floury from mixing biscuits, her eyes wide with wonder. Justine had come from a nap, her hair in crimpers, her face all cold cream, her old robe clutched around her shoulders. She screamed in fear as she saw Jessie Belle rush in holding the bruised shoulder and still crying aloud with the pain.

  “What is it, Jessie Belle, dearie?” she cried frantically. “Did something sting you? Did a bee sting my darling child?”

  Ella came trembling from the guestroom where she had been mending her old scarf and thrashing over her poor old problems feebly. But she did not cry out nor pity Jessie Belle. She knew she deserved whatever she had got.

  It had come, then, the awful thing which she had been dreading. Jessie Belle had come to open war somehow, and they would have to go. She never doubted this as she put her frightened face over the stair railing and looked down on her smitten offspring.

  Jessie Belle had sunk down on the lower step of the stair and was making the most of the dramatic situation that her pain would let her make.

  “Oh, oh! She tried to kill me!” she sobbed. “She’s crazy! I believe Grandma’s crazy!” and she sobbed on.

  But Grandma had command of the situation.

  “Shut up! Jezebel!” she commanded, waving her crutch with a menacing movement. Then she turned to her daughter-in-law as the only sensible one of the crowd.

  “Amelia, this hussy was smoking a cigarette on the front porch, in full view of all Mrs. Pettingill’s company coming down the hill, with her long legs spread out for everybody to see. I came out and told her to throw away the dirty thing and go in the house, and she defied me. She told me that she and your son were married last night, and that I couldn’t send her away unless I sent him away, too. Well, I’m sending her away! You can do as you like, but she can’t stay in this house another hour. I hit her, yes, I hit her twice, and I’ll do it again if she defies me. Ella Smith!”

  She lifted her sharp gaze now to the balcony above and fixed the little trembling woman with her gaze.

  “Ella Smith, I’m mighty sorry for you, but you take your little devil of a brat out of my house right away. I won’t have her here another hour. I’ll give you money to pay your way, and enough to keep you at a boardinghouse somewhere awhile, but I won’t have you here any longer. Get out before the sun sets or I’ll have you put out! Dana can go after you if he chooses. He always was a fool! But I’m done!”

  “Oh, Grandma!” gasped Justine bursting into sobs. “Why, Grandma, I never saw you like this before. Amelia, hadn’t we better send for the doctor?”

  “Shut up, Justine, you’re another fool! I’m mistress of my own house, and I don’t want the doctor. If you say another word or try to take this girl’s part you’ll go, too, and when you go you stay, do you hear that?”

  Chapter 22

  Ella Smith and her daughter left town on the seven nineteen. The sun was just dipping behind the farthest hill as their train moved out of the station and glided away into the evening.

  Jessie Belle was a trifle cowed and tearful. She was still outraged at her beating, and still vengeful and determined to win out in the end. But the idea of going to a summer resort up in Canada pleased her immensely. Her mother had a sister up there working in a hotel office, and armed with plenty of money, Ella Smith felt she could hold up her head with the best for a while. Grandma had agreed that Canada was far enough away, and they had wasted little time in packing. Justine had been whining and tearful, frightened lest this cataclysm might affect her also. She dared not speak to Jessie Belle lest the irate tyrant might see and carry out her threat.

  Jessie Belle, uncomforted, angry, black and blue, and furious at Dana for forsaking her, sat down and wrote with her left hand a letter that she knew would make her newly wedded husband wince. She reminded him that he had told her the names of his New York friends, and she had not forgotten what church he was preaching in. He needn’t think he could get away with anything for she was on the job. Then she walked boldly into Dana’s room and laid the letter on his bureau.

  The old Whipple house was very quiet all that long Sabbath day. The guestroom door was closed; Justine Whipple’s door was closed. Amelia’s mouth was closed and set in a thin, hard line of suffering. Grandma refused to come to the table and sat part of the time with her old white head bowed on her folded hands on the little stand beside her chair and part of the time with her head leaning back in the chair, her eyes closed, her hands folded idly in her lap, looking like death. She was walking through her valley of humiliation at last and she found it very bitter indeed.

  Justine came downstairs about the middle of the afternoon. She had her head bound up with a bandage smelling of camphor, and her eyes were red with crying. She cast frightened glances at the old lady while she made herself a cup of tea, and when she had drunk it and eaten a very thin slice of bread and butter, she came meekly over and stood by the old lady’s chair.

  “I suppose you think that I am to blame,” she began with her placating whine, but Grandma sat up and eyed her gravely, her old face haggard wi
th trouble.

  “Well, you are, Justine! You know it, and I know it, and it isn’t worthwhile trying to prove that you aren’t, for it can’t be done. We’ve got this to bear, and it isn’t going to make it any easier to have to prop you up by lies and try to make out you hadn’t any hand in it. You know perfectly well you went about getting that girl here in an underhanded way, making us think she was a child. And now this is the result. It’s done, and it can’t be undone, and we don’t want to hear you whine about it.”

  “Well, but Grandma, deah! Why do you feel so bad? Jessie Belle will make Dana a charming little wife! And Lynette nevah did—”

  “Justine! That’ll be about all from you! Go upstairs, and when I want your opinion on Dana’s marriage I’ll ask it. You can stay here because you haven’t any other home to go to, but you can’t bring anybody else here ever again, and you must keep your mouth shut. Go!”