Henley's wife had been gone two weeks and had not written a line either
to him or the Wrinkles, when, one morning just after breakfast, as old
Jason stood on the front porch, he espied, far down the road, the Warren
carriage, with Ned in the driver's seat. The back part of the vehicle
was not in sight, but Wrinkle had seen enough to convince him that his
ex-daughter-in-law was returning, and he promptly and gleefully
announced the fact to his wife and Henley in the dining-room. They all
went to the porch and waited for the now-hidden carriage to round the
bend. For a short distance Ned's battered silk top-hat and the tip of
his whip flitting along above the tasselled corn-stalks which intervened
between the house and the road were the only evidence of the vehicle's
approach, and then it turned sharply in at the wagon-gate.
"My Lord, the dang thing's empty!" Wrinkle cried. "I wonder if she fell
out comin' down the mountain, an' Ned never noticed it?"
A full and rather startling explanation was furnished by the negro, when
he had reined in at the steps. Ben Warren was dead and was to be buried
the next day. Mrs. Henley had been too much overcome by careful watching
at his bedside and grief to write, but she had sent the carriage over
for the Wrinkles, whom she wished to attend the funeral. She wanted them
to bring a good many things to wear, as they might have to stay some
time to keep her company in her loneliness.
When Ned had driven his horses around the house to be fed and watered
and rubbed down, and Mrs. Wrinkle, uttering a fusillade of meaningless
ejaculations and puffs of gratified horror, had disappeared in the house
to pack, old Jason made a wry face and squinted comically at Henley. "I
reckon Het wasn't too much overcome to keep 'er from shufflin' 'er cards
in her little poker game with you. You notice she didn't include you in
the invite. I reckon she still feels sore over that buggy-ride that went
crooked, an' has decided that you sha'n't take part in any festivities
that she has anything to do with. I like to stay with you, Alf, as well
as I would with any feller, but the change to that fine place won't be
bad. I'll have a good time, takin' it all in all. Ben has--or had,
rather--a fine mansion that is well stocked with grub, an' some nigger
women that can prepare stuff to a queen's taste. If Het don't take
charge of the pantry, there'll be enough to go around an' plenty over.
But we'll see, we'll see."
That afternoon, as Henley and Cahews sat in the front part of the store,
the carriage passed on its way over the mountain. Wrinkle and his demure
spouse, in their very best clothing, sat on the luxurious leather
cushions in the rear, and Wrinkle was smiling broadly and waving parting
signals at them. The carriage had passed on, and was about to turn into
the first street leading mountainward, when Wrinkle was seen to reach
forward and clutch the driver's arm. He gave some command, and the
horses were reined in and Wrinkle got out, and as he busied himself
rubbing something from the lapel of his broadcloth coat he walked with
rather uncertain gait to the store.
"Say, Alf," he began, as he ascended the steps to the porch, "if it's
agreeable to you, I'd like to have a dollar for pocket-change. Het's
pretty liberal, as a general thing, but Ned says she's powerful upset
over her loss, an' I'd sorter hate to tackle 'er the fust day we are
over thar, an' I know, in reason, I'll need a few nickels to drop here
an' thar."
"Get it for him, Jim," Henley ordered, and, while Cahews was at the
cash-drawer, Wrinkle went round the counter and took a plug of tobacco
from a box.
"I'd take along a few sticks o' peppermint, too," he said, as he
wistfully surveyed the candy-jars, "but I've got so I can't suck a stick
without toothache. Ain't a bit o' fun treatin' yore stomach if you have
to abuse yore gums while you are at it. Well, so long, boys," he said,
after he had carefully counted the coins Cahews had put into his hand
and was descending the steps. "Folks says that partin' is always harder
on the ones that are left behind, an' I reckon it's so in this case, for
it's dull enough here, an' I intend to have a good time. The funeral,
and paying due respect to the dead, will occupy me to-day and to-morrow,
an' after that I want to take a fish in Ben's brag pond. They say he's
got--or did have when he was alive--government trout two foot long, an'
oodlin's of 'em, hungry enough to bite anything you stick on yore hook."
If the news of the wealthy planter's death and the departure of the
Wrinkles under the high honor which had been conferred upon the
unpretentious pair furnished food for gossip at Chester, what may be
said of the later report which at first crawled from the bereaved
mansion, and then, taking on speed, ran hurtling like wildfire over the
country?
Ben Warren, sick unto death, and yet in full possession of his senses,
for valid reasons of his own had cut off many anxious more distant
relatives and bequeathed all his real estate and personal property to
his loving and faithful niece, "Hester Wrinkle Henley."
Henley himself was disposed to regard the report as a false one, a
canard set afloat by the irrepressible Wrinkle, who would joke as
readily about the dead as the living. But even the shrewd business man
himself was convinced one morning by the appearance of Wrinkle, who had
dismounted from a fine horse at the hitching-post and came in lashing
the legs of his baggy trousers with a riding-whip.
"I reckon you've heard what's happened, Alf," he began, in a tone in
which there was no guile. "It never rains but it pours cats and
pitchforks. I'm out o' breath. Forty-six men, women, an' babies met me
as I rid in all as eager to know the facts as if they had the'r names in
the pot, an' I had to go over the tale so many times that my hoss got so
he would nod or shake his head exactly right whenever a question was
axed. Them that hate Het would turn white at the gills an' groan, an'
the rest would say, 'Oh, my!' an' set in to do it on the spot."
"Yes, we heard the report," Henley made answer, "but we didn't know
whether to believe it or not. I reckon you got it plumb straight?"
"Straight as a shingle," Wrinkle said, sincerely. "Het not only told me,
but so did the lawyer, a big-bellied chap from Atlanta, in broadcloth
and headlight buttons in his shirt. Huh! I reckon you think you know Het
purty well, Alf; but you don't. I don't, an' my wife don't. I reckon her
Maker sometimes wonders what she'll do in a pinch. I 'lowed she was one
woman that 'u'd like to fall heir to a pile o' cash, but they say when
Ben sent for her to come to his bed whar the lawyer was ready with pen
and ink and paper, an' Ben told her he was goin' to put her in entire
charge of his effects, lock, stock, an' barrel--they say when she heard
that she begun to wail an' take on at such a rate that they couldn't git
her to talk business at all. They had to rub 'er down an' bathe 'er feet
in hot mustard-water, an' it was all they could do to keep 'er from
crossin' over, hand in hand, with Ben, an' leavin' the boodle to anybody
that 'u'd pick it up. The Lord only knows who would have got the swag in
that case, but comin' into a fortune don't kill often, an' Het will
manage somehow. She et a square meal this mornin' 'fore I started,
pokin' it up under her veil-like, in purty good chunks, an' give orders
to the niggers like a captain on a ship ridin' high waves. Thar always
was only one thing in this life that pestered that woman, an' that was
responsibility to the dead. I reckon she thinks the livin' can tote
the'r own loads. Be that as it may, she's goin' to see that Ben's
shebang an' all pertainin' to it is run jest to a gnat's heel like he
would run it if he was alive. But comin' down to brass tacks, she owes
her good luck to exactly what most folks thought was a weak p'int in
'er. They say Ben was so all-fired mad at the gal that kicked 'im to
death that he said all women was unfaithful, an' he picked Het out for
reward because she had showed she was one amongst a million. Then, too,
Het kept tellin' 'im he was good for another forty years, while the rest
of his kin was sayin' to his teeth that they was sorry he had to go an
hopin' that he had his papers in order. If I could get head or tail of
the mystery of life, I might be able to tell whether Het was actin' a
part or not. I think she simply done it so well that she believed it;
anyways, Ben liked it, an' spent his last hours an' every cent he had
tryin' to pacify her."
"And he was rich?" Cahews thrust in, tentatively.
"Well, you'd think so," smiled Wrinkle. "He not only had the finest
plantation an' house in this county, but he held bank stocks, railroad
bonds, warehouses, cotton-factory interests, an' what not."
"And does--does Hettie intend to--to come back _here_?" Henley asked, a
flush of odd embarrassment on his face.
"Well, that's another matter," Wrinkle began, and then he broke off
abruptly: "Say, Alf, I've got something private to talk to you about.
Jim, I wish you'd give that hoss a bucket of water. I think he's dry."
With a knowing laugh the clerk turned away, and Wrinkle caught Henley's
suspender and gave it a familiar tug. "I didn't want to discuss family
affairs before a third party," he explained. "The truth is, Alf, I've
always been interested in yore little ups an' downs with Het, an' right
now I'm curious to see how prosperity will affect her. Up to now, you
see, she was dependent on you for funds, an' sorter had to go slow on
some o' her fancies, but now the shoe is on t'other foot, an'--"
"That is not answering the question I asked," Henley broke in, quite out
of patience. "I asked you if she intended to--"
"I knowed what you axed me, an' I intend to answer at the proper time
an' place," Wrinkle went on, quite unruffled by the reproof. "I never
begin to unravel a sock at the top or the middle. The toe is whar the
work begun, and therefore the toe is the only natural an' sensible place
to--"
"You make me tired!" Henley retorted, impatiently. "You take all day to
tell a thing."
"Well, if it won't hurt yore pride I'll tell you what I think is her
little game." Wrinkle smiled unctuously and rubbed his hands together.
"She left here when that little tiff was on with you about a buggy-ride
or two that was hangin' fire because you couldn't spare the time, an' I
think her present object is to make you do some knucklin' down. You see,
Alf, she's a fine lady now, an' a big heiress, an' naturally is now a
woman to be treated with respect by you or me or anybody else. She's the
head o' that whole thing over there, an' you'll have to fall in line
with the rest of us. She's in deep mournin', an' considerably overcome,
but she hain't forgot them buggy-rides. She's brought 'em up a dozen
times, an' always with a sniff an' a sneer. She sent me over to git all
our leavin's in shape for shipment, an' she's goin' to send a wagon over
after 'em."
"So she intends to make that her future home?" ventured Henley, a frown
of perplexity on his face.
"Yes, she says it would be out of all reason for the head of sech a big
thing to live away over here, an' that you kin sell out yore little
shack an' move thar. She's installed me an' Jane in a big room
overlookin' the river, an' has one set aside for you that is every bit
as good. I reckon you'll be made to feel like a common chap that has
married into a royal family, but I wouldn't let that bother me if I was
you. You are in luck, Alf. When you took her she didn't have a red cent,
an' now just look at her. If Dick had knowed this thing was in the wind,
he'd have stayed at home an' put up with a lot that he used to kick
agin. She sent you one positive message, an' that was to be sure to come
over next Saturday an' spend Sunday. She said you mustn't make it later
'n that, because folks would be sure to talk, an' that she don't want to
be talked about, especially while she is in black."
"Well, I'll go over, then," Henley said, with sarcasm that was lost on
Wrinkle. "You may tell her that I have accepted her kind invitation."
And he turned to his desk and sat down and began to work.