BEGINNING OF THE END
I waited to hear from my wife in Chicago but at the end of two weeks I
had not heard from her, although I had written three letters, and a week
later I journeyed to Colone and took a train for Chicago. When I called
at the house the next day her mother admitted me, but did not offer to
shake hands. She informed me Orlean was out, but that it was the first
time she had been out, as she had been very sick since coming home. When
I asked her why Orlean had not written, she said:
"I understand you have mistreated my child."
"Mistreated Orlean!" I exclaimed. Then, looking into her eyes, I asked
slowly, "Did Orlean tell you that?"
"No," she answered, looking away, "but my husband did."
Gradually, I learned from her, that the Reverend had circulated a report
that Orlean was at death's door when he came to her bedside; if he had
not arrived when he did, she would have died, and when she was well
enough to travel, he brought her home.
It was at last clear to me, as I sat with bowed head and feeling
bewildered and unable to speak. I recalled the words of Miss Ankin
eighteen months before, "the biggest rascal in the Methodist church." I
remembered the time I had called and saw him driving his wife, who was
now sitting before me, and the rest of it. I saw all that he had done.
He had abused this woman for thirty years, and here and now, out of
spite and personal malice, because I had criticized the action of
certain members of the race, and eulogized the work of Booker T.
Washington, whom the elder, along with many of the older members of the
ministry, hated and would not allow his name mentioned in his home, I
was to lose my wife, to pay the penalty.
He had disliked me from the beginning, but there had been no way he
could get even. He was "getting even," spiting me, securing my wife by
coercion, and now spreading a report that I was mistreating her, in
order to justify his action.
"Mrs. McCraline," I said, speaking in a firm tone, "Do you believe
this?"
Evading the direct question, she answered:
"You should never have placed yourself or Orlean in such a position."
And then I understood. When Orlean had written her mother of the coming
of the child, Mrs. McCraline had not written or told the Reverend about
it.
I now understood, further, that she never told him anything, and never
gave him any information if she could avoid it. What my wife had told me
was proving itself, that is, that they got along with her father by
avoiding any friction. He could not be reasoned with, but I could not
believe any man would be mean enough to deliberately break up a home,
and that the home of his daughter, for so petty a reason. It became
clear to me that he ruled by making himself so disagreeable, that
everyone near gave in to him, to have peace.
He had only that morning gone to his work. On hearing me, Ethel came
downstairs and called up Claves. A few minutes later her mother called
me, saying Claves wanted to talk to me. When I took the receiver and
called "hello," he answered like a crazy man. I said:
"What is the matter? I do not understand what you are talking about."
"What are you doing in my house, after what you said about me?" he
shouted excitedly.
"Said about you?" I asked.
"Yes," he replied, "I hear you treated my wife like a dog, after I sent
her out there to attend to your wife, called me all kinds of bad names,
and said I was only a fifteen-cent jockey."
"Treated your wife ugly, and called you a jockey," here I came to and
said to myself that here was some more of the elder's work, but I
answered Claves: "I haven't the faintest idea of what you are talking
about. I treated your wife with the utmost courtesy while she was in
Dakota, I never mentioned your name in any such terms as you refer to,
and I am wholly at a loss to understand the condition of affairs I find
here. I am confused over it all."
"Well," he answered, "suppose you come down to where I work and we will
talk it over."
"I'll do that," I answered, and went down town where he worked on Wabash
avenue.
One thing I had noticed about him was, that while he was ignorant, he
was at least an honest, hard-working fellow, but was kept in fear by his
wife and the elder. I saw after talking to him, that he, like Mrs.
McCraline, did not believe a word of what the Reverend had told about
my mistreating his daughter, and that he submitted to the elder, as the
rest of the family did, for the sake of peace. But they were all trained
and avoided saying anything about the elder.
During the conversation with Claves he told me he kept up the house,
paid all the grocery bills, and half the payments. He had been advanced
to a salary of eighteen dollars a week and seemed to be well liked by
the management.
I went to a hotel run by colored people, and at about seven-thirty that
evening, called up the house to see if Orlean had returned. She came to
the phone but before we had said much, were accidentally cut off.
Hearing her voice excited me, and I wanted to see her, so hung up the
receiver and hurried to the house, some ten or twelve blocks away. When
I rang the bell, Claves came to the door. Before he could let me enter,
Ethel came running down the stairs, screaming as loudly as she could:
"Don't let him in! Don't let him in! You know what papa said! Don't you
let him in," and continued screaming as loud as possible.
I heard my wife crying in the back room. Claves had his hat on and came
outside, saying:
"For God's sake, Ethel, hush up! You'll have all the neighborhood out."
She continued to scream, and to stop her, he closed the door. We went
together on State street and I took a few Scotch highballs and cocktails
to try to forget it.
The next day being Sunday, Claves said he would try to get Ethel off to
church and then I could slip in and see Orlean, but she refused to go
and when I called up, about the time I thought she would be gone, she
was on guard. My wife was at the phone and told me to come over and she
would try to slip out, but when I called, Ethel had made her go to bed.
It seemed that she ran the house and all in it, when the elder was away.
Mrs. McCraline came outside, took me by the arm and led me over to
Groveland park, near the lake. Here she unfolded a plan whereby I should
find a room nearby, and she would slip Orlean over to it, but this
proved as unsuccessful as the other attempt, to steal a march on Ethel.
She held the fort and I did not get to see my wife but one hour during
the four days I was in Chicago. That was on Tuesday following, after
Claves had tried every trick and failed to get Ethel away. This time he
succeeded by telling her I had left town, but when I had been in the
house an hour, Ethel came and started screaming. I had to get out before
she would stop.
The next day I called up and suggested to Orlean that I bring a doctor
and leave her in his charge for I must return to Dakota. She consented
and I went to a young negro doctor on State street and took him to the
house, but when we arrived, Ethel would not admit us. The doctor and I
had roomed together before I left Chicago, while he was attending the
Northwestern Medical School, and we had always been good friends. He had
been enthusiastic over my success in the west and it made me feel
dreadfully embarrassed when we were refused admittance. When I called up
the house later Ethel came to the phone, and said:
"How dare you bring a 'nigger doctor' to our house? Why, papa has never
had a negro doctor in his house. Dr. Bryant is our doctor."
Dr. Bryant, a white doctor, is said to have the biggest practice among
colored people, of any physician. That recalled to my mind some of the
elder's declarations of a short time before. He had said on more than
one occasion:
"I am sacrificing my life for this race," and would appear much
affected.
After I returned home, my wife began writing nice letters, and so did
Claves, who had done all a hen-pecked husband could do to help my wife
and me. He wrote letters from the heart, declaring his intention to be
more than a friend. He would be a brother. I received a letter from him,
which read:
Chicago, Ill., May 30, 19--.
DEAR FRIEND DEVEREAUX:
Your kind and welcome letter was received a few days ago and the
reason you did not receive my last letter sooner was because I left
it for Ethel to mail, and she didn't do so. I am glad to hear you
are getting your flax in good shape, and the prospects are fair for
a good crop, and now I will tell you about Orlean. She seems
happier of late than she has been at any time since she came home.
Now, I don't know how you will feel, but I know it relieves my
conscience, when I say that your wife loves you, and talks of
you--to me--all the time.
Those papers, and pamphlets you sent telling all about the display
Nicholson brothers had on at the Omaha land show. She had opened it
and when I came home she told me she could not wait because she was
so anxious to hear about the Little Crow. She told me that
Nicholson brothers were your best friends. I imagine they must be
smart fellows for every paper in the batch you sent me had
something about them in it. She took the money you sent her and
bought some shoes and had some pictures made, so as to send you
one. Mrs. Warner was over the next day, and said; "Where did you
get the shoes?" and she answered, "My husband sent them to me."
Now, I hope you will not worry because she told me as soon as she
was well enough she was going back to Dakota, and as for me, I
intend to be more than a friend to you. I'm going to be a brother.
From your dear friend,
E.M. CLAVES.
My wife had written at the same time and used many "we" and "ours" in
her letter, and I felt the trouble would soon be over and she would be
at home.
That was the last letter I received from Claves, and when I heard from
my wife again, it was altogether different. Instead of an endearing
epistle, it was one of accusation, downright abusive. I made no
complaint, nor did I write to Claves to inquire why he had ceased
writing. I had always judged people by their convictions and in this I
knew the cause.