Mrs. Gibson, the wife of the comparatively new elder of the Sabbath
Valley church was a semi-invalid. That is she wasn't able to do her own
work and kept “help.” The help was a lady of ample proportions whose
husband had died and whose fortunes were depleted. She consented to
assist Mrs. Gibson provided she were considered one of the family, and
she presented a continual front of offense so that the favored family
must walk most circumspectly if they would not have her retire to her
room with hurt feelings and leave them to shift for themselves.
On the morning of the trial she settled herself at her side of the
breakfast table, after a number of excursions to the kitchen for things
she had forgotten, the cream, the coffee, and the brown bread, of which
Mr. Gibson was very fond. She was prepared to enjoy her own breakfast.
Mr. Gibson generally managed to bolt his while these excursions of
memory were being carried on and escape the morning news, but Mrs.
Gibson, well knowing which side her bread was buttered, and not knowing
where she could get another housekeeper, usually managed to sit it out.
“Well, this is a great day for Sabbath Valley,” said Mrs. Frost
mournfully, spreading an ample slice of bread deep with butter, and
balancing it on the uplifted fingers of one hand while she stirred
the remainder of the cream into her coffee with one of the best silver
spoons. She was wide and bulgy and her chair always seemed inadequate
when she settled thus for nourishment.
“A great day,” she repeated sadly, taking an audible sip of her coffee.
“A great day?” repeated little Mrs. Gibson with a puzzled air, quickly
recalling her abstracted thoughts.
“Yes. Nobody ever thought anybody in Sabbath Valley would ever be tried
for murder!”
“Oh!” said Mrs. Gibson sharply, drawing back her chair as if she were in
a hurry and rolling up her napkin quickly.
“Yes, poor Mark Carter! I remember his sweet little face and his long
yellow curls and his baby smile as if it were yesterday!” narrowing her
eyes and harrowing her voice, “I wonder if his poor mother knows yet.”
“I should hope not!” said Mrs. Gibson rising precipitately and wandering
over to the window where hung a gilded canary cage. “Mrs. Frost, did you
remember to give the canary some seed and fresh water?”
“Yes, I b'lieve so,” responded the fat lady, “But you can't keep her
from knowing it always. Whatt'll you do when he's _hung?_ Don't you
think it would be easier for; her to get used to it little by little?”
“Mrs. Frost, if you were a dog would you rather have your tail cut off
all at once, or little by little?” said Mrs. Gibson mischievously.
“I shouldn't like to have it cut off at all I'm quite sure,” said Mrs.
Frost frostily.
“Well, perhaps Mrs. Carter might feel that way too,” said the lady
bending over a rose geranium and pinching a leaf to smell.
“I don't understand you,” said Mrs. Frost from her coffee cup, “Oh, you
mean that perhaps Mark may not be convicted? Why, my dear lady, there
isn't a chance at all, not a chance in the world for Mark, and while I'm
real sorry I can't say I'd approve. Think of how he's carried on, going
with that little huzzy of a Cherry. Mrs. Harricutt says she saw him have
her out riding in his automobile one day--!”
“Oh,--_Mrs. Harricutt!”_ said Mrs. Gibson impatiently, “Mrs. Frost,
let's find something pleasanter to talk about. It's a wonderful morning.
The air's like wine. I wonder If I couldn't take a little walk. I mean
to ask the doctor.”
“My dear woman,” said Frost patronizingly, “You can't get away from the
unpleasant things in this world by just not talking about them!”
“It seems not,” said the Gibson lady patiently, and wandered out on the
porch.
Down the street Marilyn lingered by her mother's chair:
“Are you--going to Economy to-day, mother?”
“Yes, dear, your father and I are both going. Did you--think you
ought--wanted to--go dear?”
“Oh, I should _hate it!”_ cried Lynn flinging out her hands with a
terrible little gesture of despair, “But I wanted to go just to stand by
Mark. I shall be there anyway, wherever I am, I shall see everything and
feel everything in my heart I know. But in the night it came to me that
some one ought to stay with Mrs. Carter!”
“Yes, dear! I had hoped you would think of that. I didn't want to
mention it because I wanted you to follow your own heart's leading, but
I think she needs you. If you could keep her from finding out until it
was over--”
“But suppose--!”
“Yes, dear, it is possible. I've thought of that, and if it comes there
will be a way I'm sure, but until it does--_then_ suppose--”
“Yes, mother, I'll go and make her have one happy day first anyway. If
any of those old vultures come around I'll play the piano or scream all
the while they are there and keep them from telling her a thing!”
“I think, dear, the vultures will all be in Economy to-day.”
“All except Mrs. Frost, mother dear. She can't get away. But she can
always run across the street to borrow a cup of soda.”
So Lynn knelt for a moment in her quiet room, then came down, kissed her
mother and father with a face of brave serenity, and went down the maple
shaded street with her silk work bag in her hand. And none too soon. As
she tapped at the door of the Carter house she saw Mrs. Frost ambling
purposefully out of the Gibson gate with a tea cup in her hand.
“Oh, hurry upstairs and stay there a minute till I get rid of Mrs.
Frost,” Lynn whispered smiling as her hostess let her in. “I've come to
spend the day with you, and she'll stay till she's told you all the news
and there won't be any left for me.”
Mrs. Carter, greatly delighted with Lynn's company, hurried obediently
up the stairs and Lynn met the interloper, supplied her with the cup of
salt she had come for this time, said Mrs. Carter was upstairs making
the beds and she wouldn't bother her to come down,--_beds,_ mind you,
as if Mark was at home of course--and Mrs. Frost went back across the
street puzzled and baffled and resolved to come back later for an egg
after that forward young daughter of the minister was gone.
Lynn locked the front door and ran up stairs. She tolled her hostess up
to the attic to show her some ancient gowns and poke bonnets that she
hadn't seen since she was a little girl in which she and Mark used to
dress up and play history stories.
Half the morning she kept her up there looking at garments long folded
away, whose wearers had slept in the church yard many years; trinkets of
other days, quaint old pictures, photographs and daguerreotypes, and a
beautiful curl of Mark's--:
“Marilyn, I'm going to give that to you,” the mother said as she saw the
shining thing lying in the girl's hand, “There's no one living to care
for it after I'm gone, and you will keep it I know till you're sure
there's no one would want it I--mean--!”
“I understand what you mean,” said Marilyn, “I will keep it and
love it--for you--and for him. And if there is ever anybody else
that--deserves it--why I'll give it to them--!” Then they both laughed
to hide the tears behind the unspoken thoughts, and the mother added a
little stubbed shoe and a sheer muslin cap, all delicate embroidery and
hemstitching:
“They go together,” she said simply, and Lynn wrapped them all carefully
in a bit of tissue paper and laid them in her silk bag. As she turned
away she held it close to her heart while the mother closed the
shutters. She shuddered to think of the place where Mark was sitting
now, being tried for his life. Her heart flew over the road, entered the
court and stood close by his side, with her hand on his shoulder, and
then slipped it in his. She wondered if he knew that she was praying,
praying, praying for him and standing by him, taking the burden of what
would have been his mother's grief if she had known, as well as the
heavy burden of her own sorrow.
The air of the court room was heavy for the place was crowded. Almost
everybody from Sabbath Valley that could come was there, for a great
many people loved Mark Carter, and this seemed a time when somehow they
must stand by him. People came that liked him and some that did not like
him, but more that liked him and kept hoping against hope that he would
not be indicted.
The hum of voices suddenly ceased as the prisoner was led in and a
breath of awe passed over the place. For until that minute no one was
quite sure that Mark Carter would appear. It had been rumored again and
again that he had run away. Yet here he was, walking tall and straight,
his fine head held high as had been his wont. “For all the world like he
walked when he was usher at Mary Anne's wedding, whispered Mrs. Hulse,
from Unity.”
The minister and his wife kept their eyes down after the first glimpse
of the white face. It seemed a desecration to look at a face that had
suffered as that one had. Yet the expression upon it now was more as if
it had been set for a certain purpose for this day, and did not mean to
change whatever came. A hopeless, sad, persist look, yet strong withal
and with a hint of something fine and high behind it.
He did not look around as he sat down, merely nodded to a few close
to him whom he recognized. A number, pressed close as he passed, and
touched him, as if they would impress upon him their loyalty, and it was
noticeable that these were mostly of a humble class, working men, boys,
and a few old women, people to whom he had been kind.
Mrs. Severn wrote a little note and sent it up to him, with the message,
“Lynn is with your mother.” Just that. No name signed. But his eyes
sought hers at once and seemed to light, and soon, without any apparent
movement on his part a card came back to her bearing the words: “I thank
you,” But he did not look that way again all day it seemed. His bearing
was quiet, sad, aloof, one might almost have said disinterested.
Mark's lawyer was one whom he had picked out of the gutter and literally
forced to stop drinking and get back on his job. He was a man of fine
mind and deep gratitude, and was having a frantic time with his client,
for Mark simply wouldn't talk:
“I wasn't there, I was on Stark mountain, I am, not guilty,” he
persisted, “and that is all I have to say.”
“But my dear friend, don't you realize that mere statements unadorned
and uncorroborated won't get you anywhere in court?”
“All right, don't try to defend me then. Let the thing go as it will.
That is all I have to say.” And from this decision no one had been able
to shake him. His lawyer was nearly crazy. He had raked the county for
witnesses. He had dug into the annals of that night in every possible
direction. He had unearthed things that it seemed no living being would
have thought of, and yet he had not found the one thing of which he was
in search, positive evidence that Mark Carter had been elsewhere and
otherwise employed at the time of the shooting.
“Don't bother so much about it Tony,” said Mark once when they were
talking it over, or the lawyer was talking it over and Mark was
listening. “It doesn't matter. Nothing matters any more!” and his voice
was weary as if all hope had vanished from him.
Anthony Drew looked at him in despair:
“Sometimes I almost think you _want_ to die,” he said. “Do you think
I shall let you go when you pulled me back from worse than death? No,
Mark, old man, we're going to pull you through somehow, though I don't
know how. If I were a praying man I'd say that this was the time to
pray. Mark, what's become of that kid you used to think so much of, that
was always tagging after you? Billy,--was that his name?”
A wan smile flitted across Mark's face, and a stiff little drawing of
the old twinkle about eyes and lips:
“I think he'll turn up some time.”
The lawyer eyed him keenly:
“Mark, I believe you've got something up your sleeve. I believe that kid
knows something and you won't let him tell. Where is he?”
“I don't know, Tony” and Mark looked at him straight with clear eyes,
and the lawyer knew he was telling the truth.
Just at the last day Anthony Drew found out about the session meeting.
But from Mark he got no further statement than the first one. Mark would
not talk. An ordinary lawyer, one that had not been saved himself, would
have given up the defense as hopeless. Anthony simply wouldn't let Mark
go undefended. If there were no evidence he would make some somehow, and
so he worked hoping against hope up to the very last minute. He stood
now, tall, anxious, a fine face, though showing the marks of wreck
behind him, dark hair silvered at the edges, fine deep lines about his
eyes and brows, looking over the assembled throng with nervous hurrying
eyes. At last he seemed to find what he wanted and came quickly down to
where the minister sat in an obscure corner, whispering a few words with
him. They went out together for a few minutes and when they came back
the minister was grave and thoughtful. He himself had scoured the
country round about quietly for Billy, and he was deeply puzzled. He had
promised to tell what he knew.
The business of the day went forward in the usual way with all the red
tape, the cool formalities, as if some trifling matter were at stake,
and those who loved Mark sat with aching hearts and waited. The Severns
in their corner sat for the most part with bended heads and praying
hearts. The witnesses for the prosecution were most of them companions
of the dead man, those who had drank and caroused with him, frequenters
of the Blue Duck, and they were herded together, an evil looking crowd,
but with erect heads and defiant attitude, the air of having donned
unaccustomed garments of righteousness for the occasion, and making a
great deal of it because for once every one must see that they were in
the right. They were fairly loud mouthed in their boasting about it.
There was the little old wizened up fellow that had been sitting with
the drinks outside the booth the night Billy telephoned. There were the
serving men who had waited on Mark and Cherry. There was the proprietor
of the Blue Duck himself, who testified that Mark had often been there
with Cherry, though always early in the evening. Once he had caught him
outside the window looking in at the dancers as late as two o'clock at
night, the same window from which the shot was fired that brought Dolph
to his death. They testified that Mark had been seen with Cherry much of
late driving in his car, and that she had often been in deep converse as
if having a hot argument about something.
The feeling was tense in the court room. Tears were in many eyes,
hopeless tears in the eyes of those who had loved the boy for years.
But the grilling order marched on, and witness after witness came,
adding another and another little touch to the gradually rising
structure that would shut Mark Carter away from the world that loved him
and that he loved forever.
Cherry was called, a flaunting bit of a child with bobbed golden hair
and the air of a bold young seraph, her white face bravely painted, her
cherry lips cherrier even than the cherry for which she had been named.
She wore a silk coat reaching to the bottom of her frock, which was
shorter than the shortest, and daring little high-heeled many strapped
shoes with a myriad of bright buckles. Her hat was an insolent affair of
cherry red. She made a blinding bit of color in the dreary court room.
She appeared half frightened, half defiant. Her sharp little face seemed
to have lost its round curves and childlike sweetness. She testified
that she had been with Mark on the night of the shooting, but that he
had taken her home early and she had seen no more of him that night. She
admitted that she had returned later to the Blue Duck Tavern with Dolph
and had danced late and eaten supper with him afterwards, and that it
was while they were eating that the shot was fired and Dolph fell over
on the table. No, she didn't see any face at the window. She had
covered her face with her hands and screamed. She guessed she fainted.
Questioned further she admitted that she had had an argument with Mark
earlier in the evening, but she “didn't remember what it was about.”
They often argued. Yes, Dolph was jealous of Mark and tried to stop her
going with him. Yes, Mark had tried to stop her going with Dolph too,
but he never acted jealous--On and on through the sorry little details
of Cherry's career. The court room vultures receiving it avidly, the
more refined part of the company with distaste and disgust. Mark sat
with stern white face looking straight at Cherry all the time she was
on the stand as if he dared her to say other than the truth. When she
happened to look that way she gave a giggling little shudder and half
turned her shoulder away, avoiding his eyes. But when she was done she
had said nothing against Mark, and nothing to clear him either.
The sharp unscrupulous lawyer who acted for the prosecution had secured
some fellows “of the baser sort” who testified that they had seen Mark
Carter buying a gun, that they had seen him creep softly to the window,
peer into the room, and take aim. They had been on their way home, had
seen Mark steal along in a very suspicious manner and had followed him
to find out what it meant. There were three of them; fellows whom Mark
had refused to play against on a County team because they were what is
called “dirty” players. There had been hot words between Mark and them
once when one of them had kicked a man in the face with spiked shoes who
was just about to make a goal. Mark had succeeded in winning the umpire
to his point of view and the others had lost their game and incidentally
some money, and they had a grudge against him. Moreover there was money
in this testimony for The Blue Duck Tavern could not afford to have its
habitues in the public eye, and preferred to place the blame on a man
who belonged more to the conservative crowd. The Blue Duck had never
quite approved of Mark, because though he came and went he never drank,
and he sometimes prevented others from doing so. This was unprofitable
to them. So matters stood when the noon-hour came and court adjourned
for lunch.