SOMERS DISGRACES HIMSELF
Dorothy’s prophecy was fulfilled. Wednesday dawned clear and hot, and we
sweltered through a long forenoon, doing all those thousand last trifles
which every wedding demands.
The news had run through all Pinelands; curious eyes followed our every
movement, as we hurried through the streets, variously laden. I should
have liked to hear the comment of some of the town’s strait-laced
matrons; but sentiment generally seemed much in our favor. The romance
of this marriage had caught the fancy of our villagers. Many an eye
beamed upon Dorothy as she raced back and forth in Lewis’ flivver; many
a man and woman stopped me, as I limped hurriedly by, to wish her good
luck by proxy. I was glad that Doctor Gaskell’s quiet funeral had been
held yesterday, so that sight of his hearse need not mar Dorothy’s joy.
A crowd gathered before the jail; it separated respectfully, as our few
guests arrived, then closed again, craning curious necks. On my final
trip I found Somers in the heart of the throng, hail-fellow-well-met
with them all, passing rude jests back and forth. I fancied that I saw
the glint of a black bottle circulating, but I could not be sure.
Then Dorothy came, a thin silk coat over her wedding finery, and we went
in.
The ceremony went off excellently, I thought; the more impressive and
solemn for its unusual setting. Sheriff Redden, in an ancient
double-breasted frock coat of voluminous skirts, gave the bride away,
with an old-fashioned gallantry, which was very pleasing; Lewis looked
handsome and manly enough, albeit a bit pale and nervous; and the bride
was charming.
When they were safely married, a shyly importunate messenger from the
crowd without begged them to show themselves. So the big door was swung
back, and bride and groom stood for a moment on the jail steps, and a
very striking couple they made.
Hearty cheers greeted them. There was nothing which could be resented in
the town’s spontaneous sympathy; these cheering folk without were
honestly, whole-heartedly rejoicing in the happiness of our young
people. They paid their tribute of sincere admiration to this daughter
of Pinelands, who had had courage to stand up for her lover.
Dorothy turned back with moist eyes. “After all, they’re my home folks,
and I love them all--to-day!”
I, too, had warmed toward the town of my adoption; and, for some reason,
it only convinced me further of its sincerity when I saw in the crowd
Satterfield, Bates, and Conover, and a dozen others, who less than
forty-eight hours ago had surrounded this very jail with intent to hang
the man they were cheering now. I chose to believe that this, and not
the sullen menace of that night, was their normal mood.
Still in her wedding finery, Dorothy, aided by her two bridesmaids, fell
to laying out the wedding breakfast on card tables; and an extraordinary
fine breakfast it seemed to all of us, I think, and we did ample justice
to it.
The crowd outside lessened, but did not entirely disperse. We heard a
rumble of conversation, an occasional outbreak of laughter, and at last
a vociferous cry:
“We--want--Somers!”
Renewed laughter. “Cut it out, fellers,” urged some one. “Don’t bust up
th’ party!”
More yells: “We--want--Somers! Hey, Shorty! Come on out, Splinter! Oh,
you bean pole!”
Thus variously adjured, Doctor Somers unfolded his lean length. “I guess
I’d better go,” he said. Suddenly I observed that the bright eyes he
turned upon us were suspiciously unsteady of focus. “I--I’m afraid it’s
partly my fault their hanging round this way. I’ll persuade them to go
away.”
He turned toward the door, his long stork legs moving stiffly, as if he
preserved his equilibrium by an effort. I wondered whether Somers had
been drinking, then abused myself for the disloyal thought. Just inside
the door he paused and pinned his deputy-sheriff’s star to the left
breast of his immaculate morning coat. The effect was unusual in the
extreme, but he seemed wholly satisfied therewith.
Then he bowed profoundly, recovered himself with difficulty, and
disappeared, leaving poor Dorothy to look after him in accusing wonder.
“Why Lewis, what makes him act so queer?” she demanded.
Renewed clamor without. “Yeay, Splinter! Hooray, Somers! Atta boy--let’s
go!” The raucous voice of Ralph Satterfield predominated.
“Your friend Somers seems to be--ah--popular,” I remarked grimly to my
nephew.
Lewis flushed. “Oh, he’s all right, unk,” he replied. “Let him alone; he
knows what he’s doing.”
No doubt he did; and, remembering all that he had already accomplished,
I could not blame him much. Yet---- “He’s awfully thick with Satterfield
and that bunch,” I said. “And he’s been drinking this morning, or I miss
my guess. Does he--is he taken this way often?”
“Nonsense, unk! Somers is no drunkard, if that’s what you’re getting at.
He’s an odd sort; I told you that. He’s got some scheme on hand, that’s
all.”
“Some scheme with that low-down bootlegger!” I replied. “With the very
crowd that wanted to hang you the other night! Humph! I don’t admire his
choice of friends.”
Our festivities went on; but some way the zest of them had departed. The
Reverend Mr. Duncan felt called upon to make a little speech, extolling
Dorothy’s heroic sacrifices for the man she loved, gushing about my
conduct Monday night--though it was little enough I did to protect
Lewis--and generally making himself oratorically obnoxious, and the rest
of us uncomfortable. Then the bridesmaids must weep over Dorothy, as
bridesmaids, I suppose, have wept over brides since the first wedding
day in history; and Dorothy cried a little, too, because they cried; and
Peter and I wrung Lewis’ hand and choked--and I, for one, was
considerably relieved when the Reverend Mr. Duncan kissed the bride once
more and departed, leaving us his blessing.
Then the bridesmaids went, too, and our handful of guests. Peter and I
were alone with the happy couple. Dorothy cried again because she must
leave her husband and go back to Fort House; and Peter stood amazingly
erect and blew his nose sonorously; and Lewis looked lonely and tired
and miserable; and I could have cried myself without making the
slightest effort.
At last Dorothy concealed her finery under a coat and went out to the
flivver, her little nose pink with weeping. And Peter and I followed,
after locking the bridegroom into his cell once more. Poor Lewis. It
must have been lonely enough there, locked in with only the drooping
flowers of the wedding decorations to keep him company.
We drove silently back to Fort House, and Dorothy went upstairs to
change, while Peter and I thankfully shed our formal clothes, and came
downstairs in soft shirts and linen trousers.
Dorothy remained invisible; but we two sat on the porch, through a long,
hot afternoon, waiting for a best man who failed to appear. Supper time
came and passed. We ate in silence, except for Aunt Mary’s resigned
monologue. Miss Christie wore another dress; pale pink this time, with a
low, square neck, which displayed her round, dimpled throat. She looked
very nice, I thought; it was really marvelous how she had changed and
brightened in two days. She said almost nothing; but her big blue eyes
kept turning toward the door.
That was an unpleasant meal. Dorothy kept her reddened eyes upon her
plate; Peter was grumpy; the omelet was scorched, and Rosina was
defiantly, ostentatiously conscious of our lack of appetite. She
flounced in and out, and set down the dishes with a bang. Every movement
said: “Well, cain’t have parties every meal. I done cooked one spread
to-day!”
We finished, and Aunt Mary, still prophesying evil and acidly gratified
by our evident disheartenment, had herself wheeled back to her own room.
“I might as well go to bed and read there,” she announced. “It does
seem, after being left alone all day, that I might find somebody to
exchange a civil word with me. But there! I’m used to being ignored.”
Miss Christie put her to bed and presently came out to where we sat
forlornly on the front porch. And still no Somers.
“Whatever can be the matter?” asked Dorothy anxiously. “Do you suppose
he’s hurt?”
I thought the nurse’s color faded; her big eyes grew bigger. “Oh, I hope
not!”
“Humph!” said I sourly. “Drunk, more likely.”
“Why, Uncle George _Uhlman_! That’s horrid! It’s not like you. Of course
he’s not drunk.”
I sighed. “Well, Dorothy, I hope not. But--there he comes now!” I rose
and pointed.
There he came, sure enough, up the street toward us, still in his
braided morning coat, a wilted flower in his button hole, and that
ridiculous police badge pinned on his narrow chest. His silk hat was
cocked to one side of his head, and he held his head canted far to the
other side, as if to balance it. His long legs wabbled grotesquely; he
advanced in erratic jerks, tacking from tree to tree, and, as he came
closer, we could hear him sing, not unmusically: “An’ ’twas from ole
Satterfield’s bootleg party, I was takin’ th’ ole doc home!”
“Oh, dear!” said Dorothy helplessly. “What shall we do?”
Somers advanced to the foot of the steps and paused there, weaving back
and forth on wide-set legs, like a pair of intoxicated dividers. “How
do, f-folks?” He was gravely polite and tried to bow. Then he knocked
off his silk hat, stumbled, and stepped fair upon its crown.
“Dear me, dear me!” he mumbled. “S-shockin’! Shockin’ spectacle, horrid
sight! Young p’fesshun’l man, brightes’ prospec’s, ever’thing fine, an’
all gone t’ pot account of th’ demon drink!” He laughed wildly, then
collected himself by a tremendous effort.
“I am very sorry, Mrs. Parker.” Dorothy started at the sound of her new
name. “I apologize profoundly.” For a moment his enunciation was
elaborately exact; he spoke with drunkenly deliberate care. “Not my
fault entirely; due to un-for-tun-ate mis-cal-cul-a-tion ca-pa-ci-ty.”
Poor Dorothy rose, her face deadly white with disgust, and swept into
the house. Somers looked after her ruefully.
“Sorry,” he repeated. “Here, Pete--unk--good f-fellows! H-help me in;
get sobered. Got n-news.”
I hesitated, angry and ashamed; Peter rose obediently. But Miss Christie
was before us both. She ran down the steps and caught the drunken man’s
arm.
“I’ll steady you, doctor. That’s right! Now the other foot. Are you
coming, you two, or will you sit up there and stare like two old prudes?
I’m ashamed of you,” she declared, and her angry face once more shone
with that vivid beauty, which emotion alone seemed able to bring to it.
“Come!” She stamped her foot. “That’s right, doctor; just one more step
now. Come! Not two days ago this man saved your nephew’s life, Mr.
George Uhlman; he saved the life of your sister’s husband, young man!
Oh, you make me sick! J-just because he’s--he’s overtaken like this!”
We hurried to her aid, I, at least, a trifle ashamed of myself. For
Doctor Somers had been invaluable, whatever his personal habits might
be. We helped him in and upstairs to his room, ordered about
unmercifully by the erstwhile sleepy and indifferent Miss Christie.
“G-good girl!” mumbled Somers. “She un’stan’s, anyhow. Col’ towels,
please--an’ basin. Goin’ be s-sick.”
And sick he was. Miss Christie attended him, quietly efficient, as if
the handling of drunken men had been a large part of her training.
“More cold towels,” she ordered. “Mr. McGregor, run down and get Rosina
to make some coffee, very strong. Quick, now!”
We hurried to obey her. Somers sat all huddled in a chair, his long legs
limply outthrust. He groaned and pressed the wet towel close against his
temples, fighting hard for self-possession. I saw the perspiration start
out all over his lean, sallow face.
Presently he raised his head. His color was ghastly, greenish-white, but
his eyes were clear and steady. I saw that he was completely sobered,
and I marveled at the man’s self-control.
“Oh, my!” he groaned. “What rotten, rotten booze! And how I did hate
it!”
“You conquered your dislike, apparently,” I said to him.
“Humph!” He stared at me whimsically, but there was a hurt look in his
eyes. “Do you suppose I did this for the fun of it? Oh, well, I oughtn’t
to blame you.”
“_I_ didn’t!” said the nurse serenely. “I knew why you did it.” Peter
returned, bearing coffee; and the sick man gulped it down, black and
scalding.
“You knew?” Somers looked at the girl gratefully. I think there were
tears in his eyes. “I’m pretty sick yet,” he said. “Say, it does cut, to
have you folks think that of me.”
He rose unsteadily, leaning on Miss Christie’s arm. “Good girl!” he
repeated, with that sudden, flashing smile. “Well, I’m Ralph
Satterfield’s very best friend now, and, oh, what a head it’s cost me!
That man’s a tank; he’s copper-lined.” He passed a hand across his
forehead with a whimsical smile. “But I’ve learned a lot. I can give a
pretty good guess as to Satterfield’s whereabouts at the time Gaskell
was shot!”