The letter for which Reliance had so anxiously waited came in the
evening mail next day. Esther had written it from Boston. She had spent
the night at the house of Bob’s cousin in South Denboro, and she and
her husband had taken the early train from that station, as they had
planned. They were going at once to the steamship office to see what
arrangements could be made for their passage to Europe. She would write
again as soon as those arrangements were made. Bob had broken the news
to his grandfather and there had been another distressing scene.
“It is all so dreadful,” wrote Esther, “that I don’t want to think
about it now. Poor Bob! And poor Mr. Cook! And Uncle Foster! And you,
Auntie! I feel as if I must be a wicked, ungrateful girl. He says I am
not and that we have done the only thing that could be done. He is a
dear fellow and I love him. He is sure we will never be sorry and that
by and by everything will be right again. Oh, I hope so!... You will
tell Uncle Foster how sorry I was to leave him, won’t you? _Make_ him
understand just why I had to do it, Aunt Reliance. And then write me
what he says. I will write him as soon as I hear from you that he cares
to have me write. _Do_ you think he will ever forgive me?”
Reliance felt no certainty on this point. She had not seen Foster
Townsend that day. Nor had she heard from him. Varunas came for the
mail, as usual, but he had nothing to tell. “The old man is glum as an
oyster,” he said. “Ain’t hardly spoke a word all day and Nabby she’s
scared he’s goin’ to be sick or somethin’. Say, where’s Esther gone? I
thought likely she was down here to your house, Reliance, but Millard
says she ain’t. He’s struck dumb, too, seems so. What’s the matter with
all hands?”
His question was answered next morning. Where, or from where, the
amazing rumor first came is uncertain. Whether the Reverend Mr. Barstow
told of the marriage ceremony, or Ezra Farmer told of issuing the
certificate--whether the news was first made public in Denboro, or
South Denboro, or there in Harniss, is still but a guess. And very few
guessed or tried. The essential fact was all that mattered. Within a
dozen hours the whole county buzzed. The great Foster Townsend’s niece
had married the grandson of the almost as famous Elisha Cook. They were
married and had run away together to Boston--to Chicago--to Europe--to
nobody knew for certain where. Mrs. Benjamin Snow said, “Heavens and
earth!” when she heard it. Mrs. Tobias Eldridge said, “My good land
of love!” Every one said something and followed it with: “_What_ will
Foster Townsend do? Has anybody seen him since it happened?”
No one had, for he had kept out of their way. The few who called at the
mansion--Mr. Colton, Captain Ben Snow, and others who had a claim to
close acquaintanceship--were told by the maid or Nabby Gifford that he
was busy with “law papers” and could not see anybody. Reliance Clark
was the next best bet and they hurried to the post office. Reliance
was quite willing to talk, up to a certain point. Yes, it was true.
Esther Townsend was now Mrs. Robert Griffin. They had been married in
her sitting-room by the Baptist minister and she was present at the
wedding. Why the haste? Was it true that they had run off? Did Foster
Townsend know of it before it happened? Where were they now? All these
queries she parried or answered non-committally. To too-persistent
questioners, of a certain type, she replied in another fashion. “If
you are so terribly anxious to know how Cap’n Townsend takes it,” she
observed, “why don’t you go and ask him? Bob and Esther are married.
That much I do know. And you can advertise it to all creation.”
This was so far the greatest sensation of a sensational season.
Following so closely upon the accident to Seymour Covell it drove
even that and its trail of gossip and surmise from the public mind.
The whisperings concerning Bob Griffin’s part in that accident, or his
responsibility for it, were forgotten. Covell, in the Boston hospital,
was reported to have regained consciousness and to be on the road to
recovery. The question of what he was doing on the lower road--of
who saw him and Griffin there, if indeed any one saw them--ceased
to be debated. Carrie Campton and her parents began to breathe more
easily. So did Millard Clark, although breathing was practically
the only luxury his sister permitted him to indulge in just then.
Millard’s position was hard indeed. To be an inmate of the very house
in which the amazing marriage had taken place, to be as wildly excited
concerning it as every one else, and to be ordered to hush, or be
still, or to mind his own business whenever he dared venture to hint a
request for inside information, was torture indeed for Mr. Clark. And,
worst of all, his orders--orders which, in fear of Foster Townsend and
his sister, he did not dare disobey--were to say that he knew nothing
and keep on saying it. “It is the truth,” declared Reliance. “You don’t
know anything and, so far as I am concerned, you never will. And, if my
shoulder was as lame as yours is, I don’t think I should run the risk
of doin’ anything likely to bring Cap’n Foster down on me again. He
might break your neck next time.”
Many pairs of eyes were on the watch for the first public appearance
of the big mogul. He would have to show himself sometime and when he
did--how would he look and act? What would he have to say? They knew
already what Elisha Cook was saying. According to Denboro reports he
declared himself to be through with his grandson for good and all. “He
is a fool, let him go his fool way. I’m done with him.” This, according
to gossip, was the proclamation from Cook headquarters. And the Denboro
doctor was reported to have added that the old man’s sole comfort in
the situation was the thought of Foster Townsend’s fury. “I only wish I
was where I could see him squirm,” chuckled Elisha.
So all Harniss was agog, and rushed excitedly to its windows when, two
days after the elopement, the Townsend span was again seen trotting
majestically along the main road. Varunas, of course, was driving and
his employer sat alone upon the rear seat of the carriage. He looked
heavy-eyed and drawn and tired, that was the consensus of opinion,
but to the bows and hat lifting of those he passed his own bow was as
coolly dignified as ever. It was noon--mail time--and the group at the
post office watched, with bated breath, as he alighted and walked into
the building.
Tobias Eldridge told it all to his wife when he reached home.
“Everybody just stood around, or set on the settee, and looked at him
when he come in,” narrated Tobias. “We didn’t none of us hardly dast to
speak, or so much as say, ‘How are you, Cap’n Foster?’ Didn’t know how
he’d take it, you understand. But he was just same as ever, seemed so.
Just as grand and top lofty and off-hand to us bugs and worms under his
feet as if nothin’ had happened. When somebody--Nathan Doane, seems to
me ’twas--spunked up enough to say ‘Good day,’ he nodded his head and
says ‘Good day’ back. Course he must know that every man, woman and
child old enough to talk has been talkin’ about nothing but him and his
family for two days and nights. You’d think he’d realize it and act
sort of--well, fussed and ashamed, but not him, no sir! Darned if it
wasn’t kind of disappointin’! Yes, ’twas so.
“And,” went on Mr. Eldridge, “when he went up to the window after his
mail and Reliance Clark handed it out to him, we was all set to see
how he’d act to her. ’Twas in her house them two was married and we
didn’t know but he’d tell her what he thought of her right there and
then. And what happened? _Nothin’!_” in high disgust. “Nothin’ at all!
‘Good mornin’, Foster,’ says she, not lookin’ even so much as nervous.
‘Mornin’, Reliance,’ he says; grunted it just same as he’s grunted good
mornin’ to her for two year. And that’s all there was to it. Can you
beat that? _I_ don’t know how you’re goin’ to.”
It was an attitude that could not be beaten and reluctantly Harniss was
forced to that realization. At home, when the inevitable callers came,
eager to learn details, ready to offer sympathy and express indignation
at Esther’s wickedness, it was just the same. Foster Townsend flatly
refused to discuss the subject. The Reverend Mr. Colton ventured to
persist a trifle more than the rest.
“Of course, Captain Townsend,” he said, sadly, “we all know the burden
you are bearing. If you knew--I shall be glad to tell you if you wish
to hear--the expressions of sympathy for you which are poured into my
ears, they might perhaps comfort you a little. And the poor, misguided
girl! Ungrateful--yes. But--”
Townsend, who was standing by the chair in the library, a cigar in one
hand and a match in the other, swung about.
“Here, here!” he broke in, gruffly. “What is all this about sympathy?
Sympathy for what?”
The minister was taken aback. “Why--why,” he faltered, “I mean-- Why,
we all know what a shock to you this--this must be. Your niece--”
“Sshh!” The match was scratched and held to the end of the cigar.
Townsend blew a puff of smoke. “Colton,” he observed, in a tone so
polite as to be almost ominous, “you came here to talk about church
business, didn’t you? That was what I understood you to say you came
for.”
“Why--why, yes, I did. But, in my position as--as a friend of long
standing, as well as your clergyman, I ventured--”
“In a business talk I like to stick to business. And,” with a slight
emphasis, “the church _is_ your business. Well, what about it?”
He came to church the following Sunday and on other Sundays thereafter.
His attendance was far more regular than it had been while Esther
lived in the big house. It seemed almost as if he made it a point to
be seen in public and to show to that public a countenance serene,
unruffled, dignified--even defiant. He visited the post office every
day, sometimes twice a day. His trotting horses began once more to
show their paces about the Circle. Varunas Gifford was delighted, of
course. “The old man’s gettin’ sensible again,” declared Varunas. “Was
a time there when I snum it seemed as if he never cared two cents
whether Claribel or Hornet or any of the rest of ’em could trot fast
enough to get out of the way of an ox team. Never paid no attention to
’em, scurcely. Now he’s beginnin’ to show some signs of life! talkin’
about Sam Baker again, he is, and askin’ what kind of cattle Sam is
cal’latin’ to send around the track over to Ostable when it comes
Fair time. Looks to me as if I might be sailin’ around that track
myself and fetchin’ a few dollars into port for him, same as I used
to. Nabby, she’s growlin’ about it already, says I’m gettin’ too old
for horse-racin’. ‘Gosh!’ I told her, says I, ‘don’t you fret yourself
about that. When I get so old I can’t drive a trottin’ gig I’ll be just
about old enough to have somebody else drive me in a hearse. Say,’ I
says to her-- He, he!--‘make ’em hitch a couple of high steppers onto
that hearse, won’t you, Nabby. I wouldn’t want nobody to beat me to the
cemetery.’ _That_ stirred her up. He, he!”
Reliance had received one more letter from Esther. It, like the
first one, was written from Boston. She and Bob had been obliged to
wait another week before sailing for Europe. That week had gone and
they had sailed. Presumably they were in Paris now and Reliance was
anxiously awaiting a third letter which should tell of their arrival
and what had transpired since. Day after day she had been hoping that
Foster Townsend might come to see her and that, as a result of their
interview, she could write Esther that her uncle would, if not welcome,
at least receive and read, a letter from her. But her hope was dying.
Townsend did not call. She saw him almost daily through the little
delivery window of the post office, but, although they exchanged
greetings, his was always perfunctory and in his manner was no hint of
a desire for conversation.
But once only had a message come to her from the big house. This was
at the end of the week following the elopement, when Varunas, in the
Townsend two-seater, brought Esther’s trunk to the Clark cottage. Mr.
Gifford had much to say concerning his errand.
“It’s the cap’n’s doin’s,” he explained. “He told Nabby to pack up
Esther’s things and have me fetch ’em down to you. ‘What’ll I tell her
to do with ’em?’ says I. He just glowered at me and walked away. ‘She
can do what she wants to with ’em,’ he growled, over his shoulder. ‘I
don’t want to know what she does. Don’t you mention ’em to me again.’
So that’s what I know about it, and it ain’t much. Say,” he added,
“there was a whole lot more things of hers around. Not clothes, you
know, but--oh, well, photograph pictures and knickknacks and doodads,
all sorts of junk she’s picked up around, when he and she was off
cruisin’ and travelin’ and the like of that. He made Nabby pick up
every one of them things and stow ’em away out of sight. Seem’s if he
couldn’t bear to have anything that belonged to her ’round where he
was liable to lay eyes on it. There was only one item he left off the
bill of ladin’ and that was kind of queer, too--queer he should leave
that out, I mean. There was a big photograph of her on the settin’-room
mantel-piece. You’ve seen it; you know the one ’twas. Naturally Nabby
cal’lated that would be the first thing he’d be for gettin’ out of
sight. Well, ’tis out of sight, so far as that goes, but where he’s put
it we don’t know. ’Tain’t in this trunk and it ain’t with the stuff
Nabby’s hid up attic. What do you suppose he’s ever done with that
photograph, Reliance?”
Reliance sent the trunk to Esther at her Boston address, hoping it
would reach her before the date of sailing. Whether it did or not she
had not yet heard. She made it a point to see Mrs. Gifford occasionally
and from her learned what was taking place at the mansion.
“It’s about the same as it used to be,” declared Nabby. “Reminds me of
that time just after his wife passed away, I mean. He sits around in
the library all by himself, readin’ the paper and smokin’ his cigar.
Smokes too much, he does, and I tell him so. Sometimes when I go in
there, he won’t be readin’ at all; just settin’ in his big chair,
puffin’ away, and lookin’ at nothin’. It makes me feel bad to see him
so, but if I mention it he takes my head off. He is prouder than ever
and touchier than ever. Cap’n Ben Snow comes to see him and so does the
minister and some of the other folks, but, so far as I can make out, he
don’t ever go to see them. About the most pitiful sight is to see him,
early mornin’ afore breakfast, out mopin’ around the flower garden all
alone. ’Bella--his wife, I mean--she set a lot of store by that garden
and Esther set about as much. You’d almost think he’d keep away from
it, think ’twould be the last place he’d want to see, but he’s there
’most every mornin’. He’s a queer man, and always was, but I know I
never felt so sorry for anybody in all my days.... If I told that to
anybody but you, Reliance, they’d laugh. They’d think bein’ sorry for
Foster Townsend was about as silly as bein’ sorry for the Governor
of Massachusetts--or--or the President of the Old Colony Railroad or
somebody, wouldn’t they?
“You know how I hate horse trottin’,” she went on, “but I do declare
if I ain’t almost happy to see him takin’ an interest in it again.
Yes, and he’s gettin’ back in politics some, too. They help to take up
his mind, so I don’t complain, though I do wish some of them Selectmen
and Represent’ives and Poundkeepers, or whatever they be, knew enough
to wipe their boots when they come in on a decent, clean floor. Yes,
horses and politics and that everlastin’ lawsuit and lawyers do a
little to keep him busy. I don’t know how much the lawyers help,
though; it does look to me as if they worried him as much as they
helped lately. He used to love that lawsuit. I only hope nothin’s gone
wrong with _that_.”
The long expected letter from Paris came at last. It covered many
pages and was, on the whole, reassuring and comforting. The trunk had
been received in time. The voyage was a marvelous experience. Paris was
the most beautiful city in the whole world. They--Esther and Bob--had
lodgings in a funny little out of the way street, where no one save
themselves spoke English, and where Esther had to make her wants known
by signs “just like a deaf and dumb person, although Bob says there
is nothing dumb about our landlady. I say a few words in English and
she says a thousand in French, but it doesn’t get us anywhere. It
will though, Auntie, pretty soon. I shall learn to speak French if I
die for it. I can read it a little already; my music studies helped
me there. You will be glad to know that I am keeping on with those
studies. Not in the grand way I used to think I should, but a little
and inexpensively. Bob is having a glorious time with his painting. The
masters at the classes have said most encouraging things. We--”
And so on, page after page. Reliance gathered that the young couple
were very, very happy. There were no signs of doubt as to the wisdom of
their hasty marriage.
At the end Esther wrote:
“And in every letter, Aunt Reliance, be sure and write me a lot about
Uncle Foster. Do you think he has begun to feel any more reconciled?
Oh, I hope he has! Remember, I am waiting to hear from you before
writing him. The moment you say that I may I shall do it.”
Reliance sighed when she read this. So far no hint of softening or
change of feeling on Foster Townsend’s part had reached her ear. As
far as she could learn his resentment against his niece was quite as
bitter. Yes, and the bitterness extended to her--Reliance--also. He
never visited her, he was cold and formal when they met. He spoke to
her, but that was all she could truthfully say. She could only advise
Esther to wait a little longer before venturing upon a letter to him.
The fall drew to an end and winter came. The Townsend horses were
entered in the races at the Ostable County Fair and Cattle Show and won
a goodly share of prizes. Huge elation and much vainglorious boasting
on the part of Varunas Gifford, of course. Nabby said--quoting her
husband--that Captain Foster did not appear greatly excited over his
triumph.
“Wouldn’t crow over it at all, so Varunas says,” declared Nabby.
“And told Varunas to shut up when he crowed too long. Only signs of
real interest he showed was the way he bet. Varunas says he never
knew the cap’n to bet so many times or so much money. Kind of acted
foolish about it, or as if he didn’t care what he did, so long’s ’twas
somethin’. Yet--this is more of Varunas’s talk, of course--when them
bets was paid him, and when he got the prizes, or purses or whatever
you call ’em, he didn’t seem to care much about them either. Just
shoved the money in his pocket without countin’ it. Well, his not
carin’ about the money he gets that way don’t fret me. I don’t like
to have him gamble, though. It’s a bad sign, no matter how rich a man
is. Why, he might start drinkin’ next. Some of them politicians from
out of town that come to see him last night had been takin’ somethin’
stronger than cambric tea, I tell you that, Reliance Clark. I smelt
’em when I opened the door, and ’twan’t Florida water I smelt neither.
The Honorable Mooney was one. They tell me he’s goin’ to be elected
Congressman to Washin’ton this fall sure.”
He was, by the customary--at that period--huge Republican majority.
Townsend took an active part in the campaign. Through the winter he
continued active in local politics, although he did not attend the
February town meeting. In April he left Harniss for Washington. The
famous Townsend-Cook lawsuit was to have its hearing before the Supreme
Court. The final verdict would be reached at last.
The eager crowds at the post office snatched the newspapers from
Millard Clark’s hands day after day. Harniss resented the small amount
of space given by the Boston dailies to the town’s all-absorbing topic.
Often there was not a word about the great trial. Only in the _Item_
was its progress reported as it should be, for there, what the editor
lacked in authentic news he made up by quoting opinions and guesses
throughout the county.
And one day, near the end of April, a telegram came to Captain Benjamin
Snow from his Boston bankers. It was brief, but stunning.
“Just had word from Washington over the wire,” so read the telegram.
“Cook has won the suit.”