For Truedale to await, calmly, further developments was out of the
question. He did, however, force himself to act as sanely as possible.
He felt confident that Nella-Rose, safely hidden and probably enjoying
it in her own elfish way, would communicate with him in a few days at
the latest, now that things had, according to White, somewhat settled
into shape after the outlaw Lawson had taken himself off the scene.
To get to the station and telegraph would mean quite a feat for
Nella-Rose at any time, and winter was in all likelihood already
gripping the hills. To write and send a letter might be even more
difficult. So Truedale reasoned; so he feverishly waited, but he was not
idle. He rented a charming little suite of rooms, high up in a new
apartment house, and begged Lynda to set them in order at once. Somehow
he believed that in the years ahead, after she understood, Lynda would
be glad that he had asked this from her.
"But why the hurry, Con?" she naturally questioned; "if people are going
to be so spasmodic I'll have to get a partner. It may be all right,
looked at financially, but it's the ruination of art."
"But this is a special case, Lyn."
"They're all special cases."
"But this is a--welcome."
"For whom?"
"Well, for me! You see I've never had a real home, Lyn. It's one of the
luxuries I've always dreamed of."
"I had thought," Lynda's clear eyes clouded, "that your uncle's house
would be your home at last. It is big enough for us all--we need not run
against each other."
"Keep my room under the roof, Lyn." Truedale looked at her yearningly
and she--misunderstood! "I shall often come to that--to you and
Brace--but humour me in this fancy of mine."
So she humoured him--working early and late--putting more of her own
heart in it than he was ever to know, for she believed--poor girl--that
he would offer it to her some day and then--when he found out about the
money--how exactly like a fairy tale it all would be! And Lynda had had
so few fairy tales in her life.
And while she designed and Conning watched and suggested, they talked of
his long-neglected work.
"You'll have time soon, Con, to give it your best thought. Did you do
much while you were away?"
"Yes, Lyn, a great deal!" Truedale was sitting by the tiny hearth in his
diminutive living room. He and Lynda had demanded, and finally
succeeded in obtaining an open space for real logs; disdaining, much to
the owner's amazement, an asbestos mat or gas monstrosity. "I really put
blood in the thing."
"And when may I hear some of it? I'm wild to get back to our beaten
tracks."
Truedale raised his eyes, but he was looking beyond Lynda; he was seeing
Nella-Rose in the nest he was preparing for her.
"Soon, Lyn. Soon. And when you do--you, of all the world, will
understand, sympathize, and approve."
"Thank you, Con, thank you. Of course I will, but it is good to have you
know it! Let me see, what colour scheme shall we introduce in the living
room?"
"Couldn't we have a sort of blue-gray; a rather smoky tint with sunshine
in it?"
"Good heavens, Con! And it is a north room, too."
"Well, then, how about a misty, whitish--"
"Worse and worse. Con, in a north room there must be warmth and real
colour."
"There will be. But put what you choose, Lyn, it will surely be all
right."
"Suppose, then, we make it golden brown, or--dull, soft reds?"
Truedale recalled the shabby little shawl that Nella-Rose had worn
before she donned her winter disguise.
"Make it soft dull red, Lyn--but not _too_ dull."
Truedale no longer meant to lay his secret bare before departing for the
South. While he would not acknowledge it to his anxious heart, he
realized that he must base the future on the outcome of his journey.
Once he laid hands upon Nella-Rose, he would act promptly and hopefully,
but--he must be sure, now, before he made a misstep. There had been
mistakes enough, heaven knew; he must no longer play the fool.
And then when the little gilded cage was ready, Truedale conceived his
big and desperate idea. Two weeks had passed since Jim White's letter
and no telegram or note had come from Nella-Rose. Neither love nor
caution could wait longer. Truedale decided to go to Pine Cone. Not as a
returned traveller, certainly not--at first--to White, but to Lone Dome,
and there, passing himself off as a chance wayfarer, he would gather as
much truth as he could, estimate the value of it, and upon it take his
future course. In all probability, he thought--and he was almost gay now
that he was about to take matters into his own hands--he would ferret
out the real facts and be back with his quarry before another week. It
was merely a matter of getting the truth and being on the spot.
Nella-Rose's family might, for reasons of their own, have deceived Jim
White. Certainly if they did not know at the time of Nella-Rose's
whereabouts they would, like others, voice the suspicion of the hills;
but by now they would either have her with them or know positively where
she was. For all his determination to believe this, Truedale had his
moments of sickening doubt. The simple statement in White's letter,
burned, as time went on, into his very soul.
But, whatever came--whatever there was to know--he meant to go at once
to headquarters. He would remain, too, until Peter Greyson was sober
enough to state facts. He recalled clearly Jim's estimate of Greyson and
his dual nature depending so largely upon the effect of the mountain
whisky.
It was late November when Truedale set forth. No one made any objection
to his going now. Things were running smoothly and if he had to go at
all to straighten out any loose ends, he had better go at once.
To Lynda the journey seemed simple enough. Truedale had left, among
other belongings, his manuscript and books. Naturally he would not trust
them to another's careless handling.
At Washington, Truedale bought a rough tramping rig and continued his
journey with genuine enjoyment of the adventure. Now that he was nearing
the scene of his past experience he could better understand the delay.
Things moved so slowly among the hills and naturally Nella-Rose,
trusting and fond, was part of the sluggish life. How she would show her
small, white teeth when, smiling in his arms, she told him all about it!
It would not take long to make her forget the weary time of absence and
White's misconception.
Truedale proceeded by deliberate stages. He wanted to gather all he
possibly could as a foundation upon which to build. The first day after
he left the train at the station--and it had bumped at the end of the
rails just as it had on his previous trip--he walked to the Centre and
there encountered Merrivale.
"Well, stranger," the old man inquired, "whar yer goin', if it ain't
askin' too much?"
And Truedale expansively explained. He was tramping through the
mountains for pure enjoyment; had heard of the hospitality he might
expect and meant to test it.
Merrivale was pleased but cautious. He was full of questions himself,
but ran to cover every time his visitor ventured one. Truedale soon
learned his lesson and absorbed what was offered without openly claiming
more. He remained over night with Merrivale and stocked up the next
morning from the store.
He had heard much, but little to any purpose. He carried away with him a
pretty clear picture of Burke Lawson who, by Merrivale's high favour,
appeared heroic. The storm, the search, Lawson's escape and supposed
carrying off of Nella-Rose, were the chief topics of conversation.
Merrivale chuckled in delight over this.
The afternoon of the second day Truedale reached Lone Dome and came upon
Peter, sober and surprisingly respectable, sunning himself on the west
side of the house.
The first glance at the stately old figure, gone to decay like a tree
with dead rot, startled and amazed Truedale and he thanked heaven that
the master of Lone Dome was himself and therefore to be relied upon; no
one could possibly suspect Peter of cunning or deceit in his present
condition.
Greyson greeted the stranger cordially. He was in truth desperately
forlorn and near the outer edge of endurance. An hour more and he would
have defied the powers that had recently taken control of him, and made
for the still in the deep woods; but the coming of Truedale saved him
from that and diverted his tragic thoughts.
The fact was Marg and Jed had gone away to be married. Owing to the
death of the near-by minister in the late storm, they had to travel a
considerable distance in order to begin life according to Marg's strict
ideas of propriety. Before leaving she had impressed upon her father the
necessity of his keeping a clear head in her absence.
"We-all may be gone days, father," she had said, "and yo' certainly do
drop in owdacious places when you're drunk. Yo' might freeze or starve.
Agin, a lurking beast, hunting fo' food, might chaw yo' fo' yo' got yo'
senses."
Something of this Greyson explained to his guest while setting forth the
evening meal and apologizing for the lack of stimulant.
"Being her marriage trip I let Marg have her way and a mind free o'
worry 'bout me. But women don't understand, God bless 'em! What's a drop
in yo' own home? But fo' she started forth Marg spilled every jug onto
the wood pile. When I see the flames extry sparkling I know the reason!"
Greyson chuckled, walking to and fro from table to pantry, with steady,
almost dignified strides.
"That's all right," Truedale hastened to say, "I'm rather inclined to
agree with your daughter; and--" raising the concoction Peter had
evolved--"this tea--"
"Coffee, sir."
"Excuse me! This coffee goes right to the spot."
They ate and grew confidential. Edging close, but keeping under cover,
Truedale gained the confidence of the lonely, broken man and, late in
the evening, the hideous truth, as Truedale was compelled to believe,
was in his keeping.
For an hour Greyson had been nodding and dozing; then, apologetically,
rousing. Truedale once suggested bed, but for some unexplainable reason
Peter shrank from leaving his guest. Then, risking a great deal,
Truedale asked nonchalantly:
"Have you other children besides this daughter who is on her wedding
trip? It's rather hard--leaving you alone to shift for yourself."
Greyson was alert. Not only did he share the mountain dweller's wariness
of question, but he instantly conceived the idea that the stranger had
heard gossip and he was in arms to defend his own. His ancestors, who
long ago had shielded the recreant great-aunt, were no keener than Peter
now was to protect and preserve the honour of the little girl who, by
her recent acts--and Greyson had only Jed's words and the mountain talk
to go by--had aroused in him all that was fine enough to suffer. And
Greyson was suffering as only a man can who, in a rare period of
sobriety, views the wrecks of his own making.
Ordinarily, as White truly supposed, Peter lied only when he was drunk;
but the sheriff could not estimate the vagaries of blood and so, at
Truedale's question, the father of Nella-Rose, with the gesture
inherited from a time of prosperity, rallied his forces and lied! Lied
like a gentleman, he would have said. Broken and shabby as Greyson was,
he appeared, at that moment, so simple and direct, that his listener,
holding to the sheriff's estimate, was left with little doubt concerning
what he heard. He, watching the weak and agonized face, believed Greyson
was making the best of a sad business; but that he was weaving from
whole cloth the garment that must cover the past, Truedale in his own
misery never suspected. While he listened something died within him
never to live again.
"Yes, sir. I have another daughter--lil' Nella-Rose."
Truedale shaded his face with his hand, but kept his eyes on Greyson's
distorted face.
"Lil' Nella-Rose. I have to keep in mind her youth and enjoying ways or
I'd be right hard on Nella-Rose. Yo' may have heard, while travelling
about--o' Nella-Rose?" This was asked nervously--searchingly.
"I've--I've heard that name," Truedale ventured. "It's a name
that--somehow clings and, being a writer-man, everything interests me."
Then Greyson gave an account of the trap episode tallying so exactly
with White's version that it established a firm structure upon which to
lay all that was to follow.
"And there ain't nothing as can raise a woman's tenderness and loyalty
to a man," Greyson went on, "like getting into a hard fix, and sho'
Burke Lawson was in a right bad fix.
"I begin to see it all now. Nella-Rose went to Merrivale's and he told
her Burke had come back. Merrivale told me that. Naturally it upset her
and she followed him up to warn him. Think o' that lil' girl tracking
'long the hills, through all that storm, to--to save the man she had
played with and flouted but loved, without knowing it! Nella-Rose was
like that. She lit on things and took her fun--but in the big parts she
always did come out strong."
Truedale shifted his position.
"I reckon I'm wearying you with my troubles?" Greyson spoke
apologetically.
"No, no. Go on. This interests me very much."
"Well, sir, Burke Lawson and Jed Martin came on each other in the deep
woods the night of the big storm and Burke and Jed had words and a
scene. Jed owned up to that. It was life and death and I ain't blaming
any one and I have one thing to thank Burke for--he might have done
different and left a stain on a lady's name, sir! He told Jed how he had
seen Nella-Rose and how she had scorned him for being a coward, but how
she would take her words back if he dared come out and show his head.
And he 'lowed he was going to come out then and there, which he did, and
he and Nella-Rose was going off to Cataract Falls where the Lawsons
hailed from, on the mother's side."
"But--how do you know that your daughter kept her word? This Lawson may
have been obliged to make away with himself--alone." Truedale grew more
daring. He saw that Greyson, absorbed by his trouble, was less on guard.
But Greyson was keenly observant.
"He's heard the gossip," thought the old man, "it's ringing through the
hills. Well, a dog as can fetch a bone can carry one!" With that
conclusion reached, Peter made his master stroke.
"I've heard from her," he half whispered.
"Heard from her?" gasped Truedale, and even then Greyson seemed unaware
of the attitude of the stranger. "How--did you hear from her?"
"She wrote and sent the letter long of--of Bill Trim, a half-wit--but
trusty. Nella-Rose went with Lawson--she 'lowed she had to. He came on
her in the woods and held her to her word. She said as how she wanted
to--to come home, but Lawson set forth as how an hour might mean his
life--and put it up to lil' Nella-Rose! He--he swore as how he'd shoot
himself if she didn't go with him--and it was like Burke to do it. He
was always crazy mad for Nella-Rose, and there ain't anything he
wouldn't do when he got balked. She--she had ter go--or see Lawson kill
himself; so she went--but asked my pardon fo' causing the deep trouble.
Lawson married her at the first stopping place over the ridge. He ain't
worthy o' my lil' Nella-Rose--but us-all has got to make the best o'
it. Come spring--she'll be back, and then--I'll forgive her--my lil'
Nella-Rose!"
From the intensity of his emotions Greyson trembled and the weak tears
ran down his lined face. Taking advantage of the tense moment Truedale
asked desperately:
"Will you show me that letter, Mr. Greyson?"
So direct was the request, so apparently natural to the old man's
unguarded suffering, that it drove superficialities before it and merely
confirmed Greyson in his determination to save Nella-Rose's reputation
at any cost. Ignoring the unwarrantable curiosity, alert to the
necessity of quick defense, he said:
"I can't. I wish to Gawd I could and then I could stop any tongue what
dares to tech my lil' gal's name."
"Why can you not show me the letter?" Truedale was towering above the
old man. By some unknown power he had got control of the situation. "I
have a reason for--asking this, Mr. Greyson."
"Marg burned it! It was allus Marg or lil' Nella-Rose for Lawson, and
Nella-Rose got him! When Marg knew this fur certain, there was no length
to which she--didn't go! This is my home, sir; I'm old--Marg is a good
girl and the trouble is past now; her and Jed is making me comfortable,
but we-all don't mention Nella-Rose. It eases me, though, to tell the
truth for lil' Nella-Rose. I know how the tongues are wagging and I have
to sit still fo'--since Marg and Jed took up with each other--my future
lies 'long o' them. I'm an old man and mighty dependent; time was
when--" Greyson rose unsteadily and swayed toward the fireplace.
"Gawd a'mighty!" he flung out desperately, "how I want--whisky!"
Truedale saw the wildness in the old man's eyes--saw the trembling and
twitching of the outstretched hands, and feared what might be the result
of trouble and enforced sobriety. He pulled a large flask from his
pocket and offered it.
"Here!" he said, "take a swallow of this and pull yourself together."
Greyson, with a cry, seized the liquor and drained every drop before
Truedale could control him.
"God bless yo'!" whined Greyson, sinking back into his chair, "bless
and--and keep yo'!"
Truedale dared not leave the house though his soul recoiled from the
sight before him. He waited an hour, watching the effect of the
stimulant. Greyson grew mellow after a time--at peace with the world; he
smiled foolishly and became maudlinly familiar. Finally, Truedale
approached him again. He bent over him and shook him sharply.
"Did you tell me--the truth--about--Nella-Rose?" he whispered to the
sagging, blear-eyed creature.
"Yes, sir!" moaned Peter, "I sho' did!"
And Truedale did not reflect that when Greyson was-drunk--he lied!
Truedale never recalled clearly how he spent the hours between the time
he left Greyson's until he knocked on the door of White's cabin; but it
was broad daylight and bitingly cold when Jim flung the door open and
looked at the stranger with no idea, for a moment, that he had ever seen
him before. Then, putting his hand out wonderingly, he muttered:
"Gawd!" and drew Truedale in. Breakfast was spread on the table; the
dogs lay before the blazing fire.
"Eat!" commanded Jim, "and keep yer jaws shet except to put in food."
Conning attempted the feat but made a pitiful showing.
"Come to stay on?"
White's curiosity was betraying him and the sympathy in his eyes filled
Truedale with a mad desire to take this "God's man" into his confidence.
"No, Jim. I've come to pack and go back to--to my job!"
"Gosh! it can't be much of a job if you can tackle it--lookin' like what
you do!"
"I've been tramping for--for days, old man! Rather overdone the thing.
I'm not so bad as I look."
"Glad to hear it!" laconically.
"I'll put up with you to-night, Jim, if you'll take me in." Truedale
made an effort to smile.
"Provin' there ain't any hard feeling?"
"There never was, White. I--understood."
"Shake!"
They got through the day somehow. The crust was forming over Truedale's
suffering; he no longer had any desire to let even White break through
it. Once, during the afternoon, the sheriff spoke of Nella-Rose and
without flinching Truedale listened.
"That gal will have Burke eatin' out o' her hand in no time. Lawson is
all right at the kernel, all he needed was some one ter steady him. Once
I made sure he'd married the gal, I felt right easy in my mind."
"And you--did make sure, Jim? There was no doubt? I--I remember the
pretty little thing; it would have been damnable to--to hurt her."
"I scrooged the main fact out o' old Pete, her father. There was a
mighty lot o' talk in the hills, but I was glad ter get the facts and
shut the mouths o' them that take ter--ter hissin' like all-fired
scorpions! Nella-Rose had writ to her father, but Marg, the sister, tore
the letter up in stormin' rage 'cause Nella-Rose had got the man she had
sot her feelin's on. Do you happen to call ter mind what I once told you
'bout those two gals and a little white hen?"
Truedale nodded.
"Same old actin' up!" Jim went on. "But when Greyson let out what war in
the letter--knowin' Burke like what I do--I studied it out cl'ar enough.
Nella-Rose was sure up agin blood and thunder whatever way yo' put
it--so she ran her chances with Burke. There ain't much choosin' fo'
women in the hills and Burke is an owdacious fiery feller, an' he ain't
ever set his mind to no woman but Nella-Rose."
That night Truedale went to his old cabin. He built a fire on the
hearth, drew the couch before it, and then the battle was on--the
fierce, relentless struggle. In it--Nella-Rose escaped. Like a bit of
the mist that the sun burns, so she was purified--consumed by the fire
of Truedale's remorse and shame. Not for a moment did he let the girl
bear a shadow of blame--he was done with that forever!--but he held
himself before the judgment seat of his own soul and he passed sentence
upon himself in terms that stern morality has evolved for its own
protection. But from out the wreck and ruin Truedale wrenched one sacred
truth to which he knew he must hold--or sink utterly. He could not
expect any one in God's world to understand; it must always be hidden in
his own soul, but that marriage of his and Nella-Rose's in the gray dawn
after the storm had been holy and binding to him. From now on he must
look upon the little mountain girl as a dear, dead wife--one whose
childish sweetness was part of a time when he had learned to laugh and
play, and forget the hard years that had gone to his un-making, not his
upbuilding.