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.
When he had them once more in hand, Taylor turned his head slightly.
"All right back there?" he called, without looking at her.
She managed a "Yes."
She had only just recovered her self-control as they drove into
Winnipeg. As they drew up in front of the principal hotel, Taylor turned
the reins once more over to Reggie, and, vaulting lightly from his seat,
held out his hand and helped her to alight.
"You'd better go into the ladies' parlor for a minute or two. I'm
feeling generous and am going to blow Reg to a parting drink. I'll come
after you in a minute and take you to the Y. W. C. A."
"Very well."
"Here," he called, as she turned toward the door marked Ladies'
Entrance, "aren't you going to say good-by to Reg?"
For a moment she almost lost her hardly regained self-control. To say
good-by to Reg was the final wrench. She had known him in those
immeasurably far-off days at home. It was saying good-by to England. She
held out her hand without speaking.
"Good-by, Miss Marsh," he said warmly, "and good luck."
A quarter of an hour later Taylor came to her in the stuffy little
parlor of which she was the solitary tenant. In silence they made their
way to the building occupied by the Y. W. C. A.
"You have money?" he asked as they reached the door.
"Plenty, thanks."
"Do you want me to come in with you?"
"It isn't necessary."
"What time shall I come for you to-morrow?"
"At whatever time you choose."
"Shall we say ten, then? Or eleven might be better. I've got to get the
license, you know, and look up the parson."
"Very good; at eleven."
"Good night, Nora."
"Good night, Frank."
Nora's first impulse on being shown to a room was to go at once to bed.
Mind and body both cried out for rest. But she remembered that she had
eaten nothing since noon. She would need all her strength for the
morrow. She supposed they would start at once for Taylor's farm after
they were married.
Good God, since the world began had any woman ever trapped herself so
completely as she had done! But she must not think of that.
She had not the most remote idea where the farm was. All she remembered
to have heard was that it was west of Winnipeg, miles farther than her
brother's. One couldn't drive to it, it was necessary to take the train.
But whether it was a day's journey or a week's journey, she had never
been interested enough to ask. After all, what could it possibly matter
where it was; the farther away from everybody and everything she had
ever known, the better.
The sound of a gong in the hall below recalled her thoughts to the
matter of supper. She went down to a bare little dining-room, only
partly filled, and accepted silently the various dishes set before her
all at one time. She had never seen a dinner--or supper, they probably
called it--served in such a haphazard fashion.
Even at Gertie's--she smiled wanly at the thought that since the
morning she no longer thought of it as her brother's, but as
Gertie's--while such a thing as a dinner served in courses had probably
never been heard of by anyone but Reggie, her brother and herself, the
few simple, well-cooked dishes bore some relation to each other, and the
supply was always ample. Gertie was justly proud of her reputation as a
good provider.
But here there was a sort of mockery of abundance. Dabs of vegetables,
sauces, preserves, meats, both hot and cold, in cheap little china
dishes fairly elbowed each other for room. It would have dulled a keener
appetite than poor Nora's.
Having managed to swallow a cup of weak tea and a piece of heavy bread,
she went once more to her room and sat down by the window which looked
out on what she took to be one of the principal streets of the town.
Tired as she still was, she felt not the slightest inclination for
sleep. The thought of lying there, wakeful, in the dark, filled her with
terror. For the first time in her life, Nora was frightened. She pressed
her face against the window to watch the infrequent passers-by. Surely
none of them could be as unhappy as she. Like a hideous refrain, over
and over in her head rang the words:
"Trapped, trapped, trapped, by your own mad temper, trapped!"
At length, unable to bear it any longer, the now empty street offering
no distraction, she undressed and went to bed, hoping for relief in
sleep. But sleep would not be wooed. She tossed from side to side,
always hearing those maddening words:
"Trapped, trapped, trapped, by your own mad temper, trapped!"
All sorts of impractical schemes tormented her feverish brain. She would
appeal to the manager of the place. She was a woman. She would
understand. She would do any work, anything, for her bare keep. Take
care of the rooms, wait on table, anything. Then the thought came to her
of how Gertie would gloat to hear--and she would be sure to do so,
things always got out--that she was now doing _her_ old work. No, she
could not bear that.
Perhaps, if she started out very early, she could get a position in some
shop. There must be plenty of shops in a place the size of Winnipeg. But
what would she say when asked what experience she had had? No; that,
too, seemed hopeless.
As a last resort, she thought of throwing herself on Taylor's mercy. She
would explain to him that she had been mad with anger; that she hadn't
in the least realized what she was doing; that her only thought had been
to defy Gertie in the hour of her triumph. Surely no man since the days
of the cave-men would prize an unwilling wife. She would humbly confess
that she had used him and beg his pardon, if necessary, on her knees.
But what if he refused to release her from her promise? And what if he
did release her? What then? There still remained the unsolvable problem
of what she was to do. Her brother had told her that positions in
Winnipeg during the winter months were impossible to get. Gertie had
taunted her with the same fact. She had less than six dollars in the
world. After she had paid her bill she would have little more than four.
It was hopeless.
"Trapped, trapped, trapped, by your own mad temper, trapped!"
And then more plans; each one kindling fresh hope in her heart only to
have it extinguished, like a torch thrown into a pool, when they proved,
on analysis, each to be more impracticable than its predecessor. And
then, the refrain. And then, more plans.
It was a haggard and weary-looking bride that presented herself to the
expectant bridegroom the next morning. The great circles under her eyes
told the story of a sleepless night. But nothing in Taylor's manner
betrayed that he noticed that she was looking otherwise than as usual.
While she was dressing, Nora had come to a final decision. Quite calmly
and unemotionally she would explain the situation to him. She would
point out the impossibility, the absurdity even, of keeping an agreement
entered into, by one of the parties at least, in hot blood, and
thoroughly repented of, on later and saner reflection. In the remote
event of this unanswerable argument failing to move him, she would
appeal to his honor as a man not to hold her, a woman, to so unfair a
bargain. She had even prepared the well-balanced sentences with which
she would begin.
But as she stood with her cold hand in his warm one, he forestalled her
by exhibiting, not without a certain boyish pride, the marriage license
and the plain gold band which was to bind her. If these familiar and
rather commonplace objects had been endowed with some evil magic, they
could not have deprived her of the power of speech more effectively.
Without a protest, she permitted herself to be led to the waiting
carriage, provided in honor of the occasion. It seemed but a moment
later that she found herself being warmly embraced by a motherly
looking woman, who, it transpired, was the wife of the clergyman who had
just performed the ceremony.
From the parsonage they drove directly to the station.