"FOR BUSINESS PURPOSES."
Then, unheeding his proffered aid, Erma descends from the carriage, and
going into the house, he following her, she turns, and says haughtily:
"I wish to see your mother as soon as she comes from the theatre; but,
before that, I must see _him_," and mutters, "If it is not too much of a
service to me, in my extremity, go back to the meeting and tell my
father to come to me at once. It may be the last favor I shall _ever
ask_ of you," and strides to her room.
So, he leaves her to go on her errand; but chancing to pass a barroom,
he goes in, a thing which is unusual for him, and, calling for a glass
of brandy, gulps it down, his hands trembling a little.
Thinking the matter over as he drinks, he concludes his mother should be
told first, and going to the Salt Lake Theatre, purchases a ticket.
It is fortunately an _entr'acte_, and he very shortly finds Mrs.
Livingston's seat. Walking down the aisle to her, he whispers, "Bring
Louise and Ferdie at once. Something terrible has happened!"
Looking at the white face of her offspring, the widow suddenly gasps,
"Good Heavens! Erma has eloped with that awful Captain Lawrence, the
Vigilante," and grabs helplessly for her wraps.
"No," he says grimly, as he supports her to the door, Ferdie and Louise
following them; "but it is almost as bad."
"Tell me," whispers his mother, and seeing that he does not answer, goes
on hysterically: "Tell me or I shall faint right here." But he finally
gets her to the sidewalk, where the breezy air cools her nervous system,
and putting her into the carriage he has brought with him, where, if she
so elects, she can faint comfortably, he tells her in a few words what
has happened.
Then, unheeding her exclamations of surprise and horror, as likewise
those of Louise and Ferdie, he whispers, "Go back to the hotel. I am
going to find this Mormon and bring him there," and leaving the carriage
to drive back to the Townsend House, starts on foot for the meeting in
the Twenty-fifth Ward.
But Salt Lake City blocks are long, and Mr. Livingston's episode at the
theatre has taken some time. When he reaches the meeting-house, its
windows are dark, the festival has ended, and there is nothing left him
but to return to the hotel.
On his way back, however, his mind being on other things than his
footsteps, he wanders into one of the streams that flow in this peculiar
city where gutters would be in ordinary towns, and it being knee-deep,
comes out of it in a very bad humor. This is not decreased by the dust
which settles upon his immaculate inexpressibles, and gives him a very
sorry appearance.
As he enters the hotel, Louise comes to meet him with a frightened face,
and whispers, "Mamma is talking to her in her parlor," then suddenly
cries out, "Goodness! Have you been fighting with her father?"
At which he snaps at her, "Go to bed, you little idiot," and pushing
past her, enters his mother's sitting-room in by no means the frame of
mind to properly meet, even for his own interest, the situation before
him.
The room is but slightly illuminated,--the Townsend House gas,
manufactured on the premises, being only strong in odor.
By it he can see Miss Travenion standing near the centre of the
apartment, so white she would seem a statue, were it not for the
dazzling brilliancy of her eyes, that appear to have burnt up the tears
that were in them, and a slight nervous twitching of the hands, such as
comes to us when hope is no more.
Mrs. Livingston, seated on a sofa, is speaking in a tremulous sort of
way, for the girl's manner just at this time frightens her.
She is saying, "You had best leave this awful place to-morrow morning,
and come with us to California. I have ordered your maid to pack your
trunks. My maid is doing the same." Then she turns to her son,
remarking, "You think it will be best, also, Oliver?"
But Erma prevents his reply. She cries, taking a step towards him, "My
father!" and seeing no one behind him, gasps, "What have you done to
him, or what has he done to you?" for Mr. Livingston's pale face and
disfigured trousers suggest ideas of combat that would make her laugh at
other and happier times.
To this he replies curtly, "Nothing; I could not find him."
"Why not?"
"Their blasphemous meeting-house was closed." Then he says in a nasty,
sneering tone, for the young lady's manner has added to his anger, "Your
father and his Mormon brats had gone away."
"His Mormon brats?" This comes from both Mrs. Livingston and Erma,
though one gives it with a shriek and the other with a shudder.
"Yes, your five little brothers and sisters," he sneers at Erma. "Didn't
you see them? They got the Sunday-school prizes, I think. They look like
your father, and one of the girls has your eyes," and would go on with
some more such scoffing pleasantries, did not his mother spring to him
and whisper, "Idiot!" for the girl has sunk down sobbing upon a chair
and is wringing her hands at this last cruel revelation.
Not liking his mother's word, Oliver grows more angry, and says sternly,
"Remember, I am the head of the family, and shall take this matter into
my own hands." To this, Mrs. Livingston, who since his father's death
has grown to look upon him as the director of the family, saying
nothing, he continues: "Erma, I have been thinking this matter over as I
returned. Your father's crimes have placed him outside the laws of this
land. Under these circumstances, I feel it incumbent on me to take
charge of your life." This peculiar assumption of power he makes very
placidly, turning to the young lady, who answers him not, his last
revelation still overcoming her.
Noting this, Mr. Complaisant thinks: "My manner has subdued her. Crushed
by this blow, Miss Haughty, who has defied and jeered me for the last
few days, is now submissive to my authority," and the pangs of jealousy
and rage that had been administered by Harry Lawrence come into his
small mind to make him take a smaller revenge.
He says, "I think it is best, mother, that we postpone our visit to
California, and immediately return to the East, until I can make proper
arrangements for Erma. It will take her a long time to live this scandal
down."
"Ah, you are very kind to the friendless daughter of a Mormon,"
interjects the girl, sarcastically; but he being full of himself, does
not heed her, and continues: "A proper retirement from society is due to
it."
"Retirement!" she exclaims, "to expiate my father's crimes!" then says
sadly: "You seem to think that I am sullied by his sin;" next sneers,
"Perhaps you imagine a reform school or a convent would be the proper
place for me, Mr. Livingston."
"Not exactly that."
"No, but something like it," cries Erma, and rising, she towers above
him, and goes on in mighty scorn: "And you dare arrogate authority over
me? You are neither my guardian nor my trustee;" next jeers at him, for
her torture makes her cruel: "If every girl in New York society expiated
their father's social crimes, how many would escape? Little Louise, for
instance--eh?"
This awful shot brings tears to Mrs. Livingston's eyes, for her dead
spouse had been of such a peculiar social nature that he had been known
by his intimates as "Mormon Livingston."
"Hush! Your father's sins are open ones," says Oliver.
But she turns on him, crying: "It is not your place to criticise him. If
atonement is in order, atone for yourself, Mr. Immaculate!" and this is
another facer for Oliver, who has had his weak moments in which he has
listened to sirens' voices, as many men in New York society have.
Then, a second after, the girl says, slowly: "You go on with your trip,
Mrs. Livingston, as if nothing had happened."
"But you?" asks the widow, who, knowing that Miss Travenion's remarks
have been made in frenzy, forgives her and pities her.
"I go to my father."
"To do what?"
"To DRAG HIM FROM HIS INIQUITY! Good-night, and--_good-bye_," and saying
this, the young lady sweeps from the room, brushing past Louise, who is
standing outside the door in childish astonishment and dismay.
But Mrs. Livingston is whispering to Ollie. "Idiot! You have driven her
and her million away from us. Think of Louise and me."
To this he answers surlily, "I don't believe it wise to wed a girl
society will look down upon."
"Fool!" cries his mother. "How long do you think it will take in New
York society for a girl with sixty thousand dollars a year to live
anything down?" and leaving him to digest this truthful platitude, she
pursues Miss Travenion, overtaking her at the entrance of that young
lady's room.
Here, diplomat as she is, she makes a mistake. Louise has also followed,
and Erma impulsively seizes the girl, whom she loves very well, and
kisses her tenderly and whispers, "Good-bye!"
Coming upon this, Mrs. Livingston, anxious for uninterrupted interview,
thoughtlessly says: "Louise, go to bed at once! We leave on the early
train to-morrow morning!"
At this, Erma, whom humiliation makes sensitive, draws back and mutters,
"Do you fear my touch will contaminate her?"
"Not at all," says Mrs. Livingston. "You mistake me, dear Erma. I want
to beg you to come with us to California. You mustn't think of what
Ollie in his agitation said to you."
"I don't," answers Erma. "Thank God that wounded my pride, but not my
heart!" For in all this cruel humiliation she has been conscious of one
joy--that any chance of union with Oliver Livingston is now forever
ended.
"You must reconsider your rash determination," entreats the widow.
"Impossible!"
"In your present excited state you had better not see your father."
"Now it is necessary that I see my father--more so than ever."
"You cannot live with him with those awful women."
"Oh, don't fear for me," says the girl. "There are others who will
protect me here, if he will not."
"Who?" gasps the widow.
"_The man I love!_" And opening her door, Erma Travenion flies in and
locks it; then starts aghast! and cries in a hoarse and rasping voice,
"Tranyon!--Bishop Tranyon! the _wretch Tranyon_! who has ruined him! My
God! what will Harry Lawrence think of Tranyon the Mormon's daughter?"
And sinking down upon the bed, she writhes and moans, for at this
thought, which has been mercifully kept from her till the last, nothing
seems left her in this world.
During this time, Ferdie has been abstractedly sitting in a neighboring
barroom, every once in a while walking up to the barkeeper and
whispering "Brandy!" then muttering to himself over it, "Miss Mormon is
having a high old time with auntie and Ollie." The rest of his time he
whistles meditatively. Just about midnight, he thinks: "She is through
with Mrs. Livingston. I wonder if I could not do anything to help her?"
So, there comes a knock upon Miss Travenion's door, and she opening it
herself, for she has not undressed, finds Mr. Chauncey, who looks
sheepishly at her and says in confused tones: "Oliver has told me your
determination. We are going to San Francisco to-morrow morning. You
remain here to see your father."
"Yes, Ferdie," answers the young lady.
"Any way, you are better off away from that prig till he gets over the
shock," replies the boy. Then he laughs a little, and says suggestively,
"You can have him back whenever you want, I imagine," nodding towards
Mr. Livingston's apartment.
"I don't want him back."
"No, I presume not," returns Mr. Chauncey, trying to smooth matters,
"not since you have seen our hero, Captain Lawrence." So he unwittingly
gives the girl another stab, but tries to correct it by muttering:
"By Jove, I had forgotten! Your dad is the man who is busting him. Harry
isn't stuck after Tranyon, is he?" To this getting no reply, he goes on
hastily: "If you want me, I will stay here and look after you. I don't
care to go to California."
"Oh," says Erma, "don't fear for me. My father has taken care of me till
now. You don't suppose he would injure a hair of my head?" then sobs,
"And he was so good to me. I expected such joy at meeting him."
Here Ferdie desperately turns the subject, for girls' tears always
embarrass him.
He says, "Can't I do anything for you? Tell me--just anything."
"Yes," says the young lady, shortly. Then she considers a moment and
asks:
"You know where this Bishop Kruger lives?"
"No, but I can easily find out."
"Very well. Will you take a note to him for me?"
"With pleasure!" he cries, as if glad she has given him a chance to do
her service. So, sitting down, she writes a few lines hurriedly, and
gives the epistle to Mr. Chauncey.
Half an hour afterward he returns, and knocks on her door. She is
engaged with her maid, who has become frightened at being left behind
the Livingston party, and says she wishes to return to New York.
Answering his summons, Erma asks anxiously, "Did you deliver it?"
"Yes; he was in his shirt sleeves, but he read it, and said he would be
down in the morning. He seemed to chuckle over it. I don't think I would
trust your father's friend any too much," suggests the boy.
"Thank you," cries the girl, "for your advice and your kindness," and
being desperately grateful for this one act of consideration shown to
her this night, she says to him suddenly: "Good-bye. God bless you,
Ferdie!" and gives him an impetuous kiss--the sweetest he has ever had
in his life, though with it she leaves a tear upon his cheek.
Then she comes in and says with business-like directness to her
faltering abigail, "You wish to leave me, Marie, here alone?"
"Yes, I am afraid. Mademoiselle will pardon me."
"Certainly. Here are your wages! Here is money for your ticket to New
York. Now go."
"Mademoiselle will pardon me?"
"Yes, leave me," and Marie departing, Erma Travenion feels that she is
indeed alone in a strange country, for she hears the noise of the
Livingstons' trunks as they are packing them and getting ready to depart
in a hurry that does not seem altogether flattering to her.
Early the next morning, the widow, Louise, Mr. Livingston, and Ferdie
depart for Ogden, though the California train does not start from that
town until the evening; they are so desperately anxious to shake the
dust of Salt Lake City from their feet.
At the depot, Ferdie notices Bishop Kruger, who gazes at the party as
they board the train, and approaching Mr. Chauncey, remarks, "I'll see
Miss Ermie up at the hotel. She ain't going with ye, _sure_?" peering
about with curious eyes, as if to be certain of this fact. Then the
train runs out, bearing the Livingstons toward the Pacific Coast, and
Bishop Kruger, about eight o'clock on this day, finds Miss Travenion
waiting for him at the Townsend House.
The girl comes down into the parlor very simply dressed, but perhaps
more beautiful than ever, to his pastoral eyes, for he remarks to
himself, "Be Gosh! She looks homelike and domestic."
"My father!" she says shortly. Then gazing round, she goes on
impetuously: "He is not here--he feared to see me--he is ashamed!"
"What! that he's a Mormon?" yells Kruger, savagely. "A true man glories
in that; so does your daddy. Perhaps some day you'll jine him."
"Hush!" says Erma. "Don't speak of it," and she shudders. Then she asks,
"Where's my father now?"
"In town! But I ain't told him you was here yit. I thought he might
be----"
"Ashamed!" cries the girl, but suddenly pauses. Kruger's looks alarm
her.
"If I thought as how R. H. Travenion was ashamed of the holy Church of
our Latter-Day Saints, I'd cut him off root and branch in this world and
the next," he says, the wild gleam of fanaticism coming into his deep
eyes. "I swear it, by the Book of Mormon!" Erma knows this man means his
words, for Lot Kruger is a fanatic, and believes in his creed and in
Joseph Smith, as truly as the Dervish believes in Allah and Mahomet.
"Your daddy is in town," he goes on more calmly, "but I feared he might
be flustered if he knew you had come upon him, as it were, in the
night, and so I kept my mouth shut."
"Will you bring him to me now?"
"Yes, in an hour!"
So, Mr. Kruger departs on his errand, but shortly re-appears, and says,
"We have missed him agin. Your daddy's left for Tintic on the stage this
morning at eight o'clock."
"Very well," answers Miss Travenion shortly. "I'll go to Tintic also."
This suggestion pleases Bishop Kruger so much that he cries, "Right you
are! Ye're true grit, Sissy! You'd better go down by private conveyance.
It'll be much more pleasant for ladies."
"Oh, I am alone now; my maid has left me," answers Miss Travenion; and
this remark delights her auditor more than he would like her to guess.
He goes on happily, "It's only seventy-five or eighty or perhaps ninety
miles from here. You can drive down in a day with a good, tough
bronco-team, but still you had better take it slowly and stop over night
at Milo Johnson's."
"Alone in a Mormon house?" shudders the girl.
"Oh, you'll be as safe thar as if you were in your bed on Fifth Avenue.
You can travel all over here, provided you do not hurt our feelings, as
safe as if you was in Connecticut--more so--we don't have no burglars
around here!" says Lot, reassuringly.
Making inquiries at the hotel office, Miss Travenion finds that the
Mormon bishop's advice has been good. Then, being provided at the hotel
with a private team, she comes down at ten o'clock in the day, to depart
for Tintic, and is surprised to see the attentive Kruger ready to assist
her into the light wagon, which has a top to keep off dust and sun.
"You didn't expect any one to see you off!" he remarks. "But most every
one here would do a heap for Bishop Tranyon's darter." Then he chuckles:
"Ye're kind o' one o' us now!" and drives the iron into Erma's soul.
"Thank you. I suppose you mean it for a compliment," she says,
attempting lightness, though her lip twitches. "But I am a little
different still, to a Mormon girl!" and gets into the carriage before he
can aid her.
"So you are! Ye're a prize-book picture," he mutters, looking at her
till his eyes blink from some subtle passion, for Miss Travenion is
dressed in a cool, gray linen travelling costume, that fits her charming
figure with a "riding habit" fit, till it reaches white cuffs and snowy
collar, and a little foot, that in its French kid boot looks as if it
had come out of a fashion plate. Thus attired, she makes a very breezy,
attractive picture; though there is no one to enjoy it, save Kruger, for
the heat, even on this October day, has driven loungers from the
sidewalk.
Then turning from her, as she drives down the State road, this Mormon
fanatic remarks: "Gee hoss! Don't this give the Church a pull upon the
daddy, and Lot Kruger a hold upon the darter!" and so goes to a little
building on South Temple Street devoted to the business affairs of the
Latter-Day Saints.
Miss Travenion, raising a little sunshade over a face made beautiful by
conflicting emotions, journeys down the State road, which leads towards
the south--past the Utah Southern Railway, that is now being graded, and
after a dusty seven hours' ride comes to the Point-of-the-Mountain. Here
she is very hospitably entertained, and well treated, by one of the many
wives of Milo Johnson, who lives at this place.
Then the next morning, so as to travel in the cool portion of the day,
leaving almost at daylight, after a hot breakfast, and taking her lunch
with her, she crosses the ford of the Jordan--the river that runs from
the fresh lake of Utah to its salt inland sea. So coming to its western
shore, she journeys along the banks of beautiful Utah Lake--placid as a
mirror--leaving Ophir and Camp Floyd and Tooele far to her west.
To the east, across the limpid waters, she notes, buried in their
orchards, the Mormon towns of Provo, Springfield, Payson, and Spanish
Fork. Behind them the great Wahsatch range, and, further to the south,
the great mountain that they call "Nebo," which rises snow-capped,
dominating the scene.
About midway down the west side of the lake, she and the driver of the
carriage eat their lunch. Then proceeding onward till almost at the
upper end of this quiet water, she leaves its banks, and, after two or
three miles of sage brush, enters a little canyon, with a brawling stream
running down it. Very shortly to her comes the odor of garlic and
arsenic from the smelting works at Homansville, whose great furnaces she
soon sees, giving out clouds of smoke.
Passing these, three miles further up the valley she comes to Eureka.
Here, making inquiry at the store of Baxter & Butterfield, she is
directed to the Zion's Co-operative Mining Institution, whose works
stand a mile or more beyond, towards Silver City.
So, in another half an hour Miss Travenion, turning from the main road
and driving up a little spur of the mountain, past one or two dug-outs
and miner's cabins, gets out of the wagon at the door of a house built
of rough lumber, and says nervously to a man in high, muddy boots and
blue shirt, greasy with candle drippings: "Is Bishop Tranyon in?"
"Yes, he is in the back room," and, pointing to the door, the miner goes
off to his work.
She enters, and seated upon a wooden chair, looking over some accounts
at a deal table, is the man they call Bishop Tranyon, and she says to
him:--"FATHER!"
At her word, Ralph Travenion, once New York exquisite, now Mormon
bishop, staggers up, trembles, and, gazing on her, cries: "Erma! my God!
YOU here?"
Then, forcing back some awful emotion, his voice grows tender as he
says: "Why, this is a surprise, darling! You have travelled all the way
from New York to see your father. God bless you, child of my heart!" and
there are tears in his deep eyes, and he would approach her and put his
arms about her, giving her a father's kiss.
But she starts from him, shudders, and gasps: "Don't dare to kiss me!"
"Why not?"
"_Because I know what you are._"
"My God! You know--" and the strong man turns from her, and hides his
face in his quivering hands.
Then she goes on, faltering a little over the words, but still goes on:
"Why have you disgraced our name? Why have you become a Mormon--a
POLYGAMIST?"
Here he astonishes her by whispering, with white lips, these curious
words: "I did it that I might settle upon you a million! For your sake I
became Mormon--for your sake I became polygamist. I DID IT FOR BUSINESS
PURPOSES!"