THE SINS OF THE PARENTS
A few days after Sandy's tempestuous courting, Tessibel Skinner and her
son left Ithaca to spend the remaining part of the summer in the North
Woods. In September Young joined them for a few days and then brought
them back to the hillside above Cayuga Lake.
Later in the fall, when the cold winds and driving rains of the lake
began to find out the cracks in the shanties, Tessibel asked, and the
lawyer consented, that old Mother Moll come from Brewer's to them. Tess
gave her one of Andy's rooms. The dwarf had entered a school on College
Hill and lived in the city most of the time, but was home now for the
Christmas vacation.
The day after his return dawned bright and cold--one of those beautiful
winter days occasionally seen in the Storm Country. Heavy snows had
already fallen and made certain a white Christmas. Andy was helping
Tessibel in order that she might have time to complete her Yuletide
preparations. She'd filled her son's heart with delightful anticipations
of the holiday, now but a few days distant, and he was eagerly looking
forward to the Santa Claus who came to visit good little boys and fill
their stockings with goodies.
At the north of the house Deforrest had made a little snow-hill for Boy.
Many a happy hour the little fellow spent upon it with his sled. Oftimes
his mother joined him in the sport, and the joyous laughter of the two
children of nature rose high and clear in the winter air.
The morning's work finished, Tessibel wrapped up Boy and sent him out to
play. She stood for some moments on the porch watching the sturdy little
figure arrange the sled at the top of the hill.
How she loved him, and how good he was! Never since the day of his birth
had he given her one sorrowful moment. She turned her eyes from Boy to
the lake, and allowed them to rest upon the shanty near the shore. A
disturbing thought pressed into her mind. They would not be long there
now.
Deforrest had told her that his lease of the house expired the first of
January, and Waldstricker had refused to renew it. If they moved away,
she'd be lonely for the sight of her old friends and all the dear,
familiar things that had met her eyes every day since she could
remember.
She hoped her new home might be in the Storm Country. She loved the lake
in its every mood. Dark and sullen, visitors had called it. But she'd
seen it on summer days, a band of burnished blue cementing the harmonies
of greens and browns into a picture of perfect beauty. She knew its
deep, brooding peace when the light was fading and the evening breeze
gently ruffled its surface. She'd skated over its shining bosom in the
blinding glare of the unclouded sun and in the soft radiance of the
shadow-filled moonlight. She knew the soft spots in the ice caused by
flowing springs in the lake-bottom and had drunk their pure, cold water.
Her lifelong intimacy had wooed from rockbound lake its inmost secrets.
Today the water lay a gleaming jewel, huge by contrast to the myriad
sparkles the sunbeams pricked out of the snow. She looked across to East
Hill at the frosty veil of a ravine waterfall and sighed.
At a shout from Boy, she went to the far edge of the porch to watch him
slide swiftly through the pear orchard toward the lane. Glancing along
the line of his flight, she saw Waldstricker on his horse directly in
Boy's path. Fear and horror held her dumb and motionless. Evidently the
rider hadn't seen the swift-coming sled--but the horse had.
He reared and attempted to turn. At that point the ditches were deep and
the rounded crown of the road covered with ice. The animal slipped and
fell. At the proper moment the horseman jumped off and pulled the bridle
rein over his mount's head.
Her muscles taut with fright, Tess jumped from the porch and ran down
the hill to the scene of the accident. When she arrived Waldstricker was
jerking his steed savagely.
"Get out of the way you little imp," he shouted, in the midst of his
struggles with the animal. "What do you mean by riding in a public road
scaring horses this way?"
"Mummy said Boy could ride down hill," answered the child, holding his
ground staunchly.
"I'll mummy you!" The man's exasperation was increased by the child's
resistance. "Get out of the way!"
"Boy, come straight here to me," Tess called, trying to pass the excited
animal.
The child picked up the rope fastened to his sled, gave it a jerk and
started toward his mother. Frightened by the flash of the sled in the
snow, the horse reared and plunged anew.
"Drop that sled and get out of here!" Ebenezer thundered. "How many
times must I tell you? Get out!"
Tess called again, but Boy flung up a red, angry face to the elder.
"Mummy said I could slide," he repeated stubbornly.
"I'll teach you to argue with me," snapped Waldstricker, and before Tess
could reach him, he'd raised his arm and given the child a sharp cut
with his riding whip. "Get out, I tell you!"
"Mover!" screamed Boy, jumping back and falling over the sled. "Oh,
Mover! Mover!"
Like an enraged tigress, Tess threw herself upon Waldstricker, and tore
at the upraised whip in his hand. The frantic horse, fairly beside
himself with fear and excitement, pulled them both down the hill through
the snow. By a strenuous effort Ebenezer threw off the girl's grip, and
when he finally conquered the steed he was below the top of the lane
near the Skinner hut.
Before Waldstricker could mount and ride back up the lane, Tess had
picked up the boy from the snow where he had fallen. Without waiting an
instant, she fled frantically toward the house.
"Andy! Andy!" she screamed.
Andy came downstairs as fast as his little legs could carry him.
"Waldstricker's killed Boy!" gasped Tess. "Andy, get something.... Tell
Mother Moll.... Some water!"
She laid the baby on the divan in the sitting room and stood over him
until old Moll came.
"He air got a spasm," croaked the old woman. "Poor little brat! Get some
hot water."
For hours the child passed from one convulsion into another. When
Deforrest came home, Tess was in a state of frantic despair.
"Waldstricker struck him," she explained. "He's going to die."
In response to his questions, the girl gave him the details, and hotter
and hotter grew the listener's anger. He attempted to quiet Tessibel's
fears while he got ready to go for the doctor, but she persisted in her
claim that Boy wouldn't recover.
* * * * *
On his way home, the elder tried to make peace with himself. He was
rather sorry he'd struck the boy; that he'd hurt the little imp, he
poofed at. Anyway, he had taught Tess Skinner to keep her brat out of
his way. His efforts to discipline her had resulted in an open breach
with his brother-in-law and caused discord between himself and his wife.
His disputes with Deforrest about the squatters had not turned out to
his satisfaction. His efforts to drive the old witch off his lake-land
by tearing down her shack had opened to her the house that he himself
owned. He had had to pay Sandy Letts the $5,000 reward for the capture
of Andy Bishop, and the whole city had laughed at the price paid for the
little man's short imprisonment. He'd tried every way he knew to put an
end to the situation. Helen ought to be able to do something with her
brother. She should have saved her husband from the gossip Forrie was
causing.
When he entered his home, Helen perceived that he'd acquired a new
grievance and discreetly remained silent while he was preparing himself
for dinner.
After a quiet meal, when they had seated themselves by the log fire in
the library, Mrs. Waldstricker took up a doll's dress she was finishing
for Elsie's Christmas. Her husband, stretched in an easy chair, glowered
sullenly into the grate flames. The meditations of husband and wife were
quite different. Helen wondered what was bothering Ebenezer now. She
wished they were more companionable; that things were pleasanter, more
as it used to be when they were abroad. Since their return, he'd sit for
hours in gloomy meditation. His fits of complete abstraction filled her
with dread.
She brought back in sequenced retrospection the happy years of
travel--how proud she'd always been of her handsome husband and of his
courtly deference to her. She had never ceased to be grateful that
Heaven had given her this man to love and cherish her. She couldn't tell
how or when the change had come, but somehow they weren't happy together
any more. He was so moody and quarrelsome lately. She missed her
brother, too. Why those two men should get by the ears over the
inhabitants of the Silent City she couldn't understand. But her thoughts
were soon concentrated upon the work at hand and contemplating the joy
she would have in Elsie's pleasure, she began to hum to herself.
Two or three times she peered at Ebenezer through her lashes. How
moodily quiet he was! She wished Elsie were awake--the little girl
always succeeded in dissipating the frown from her father's brows.
Suddenly, she held up the doll in all its newly-adjusted festive attire.
"There, now, dear, isn't the doll baby pretty?" she smiled.
Ebenezer didn't take his gaze from the burning logs.
"I'm not interested in dolls tonight." His tone was harsh and his manner
studiously rude. Then, as though he'd finally determined to say
something else, he looked around at her.
"I taught Tess Skinner a lesson today I don't believe she'll forget," he
burst forth savagely.
The doll dropped from Helen's hands, its head striking sharply against
the arm of her chair.
"What do you mean?" she gasped.
"You needn't get that expression on your face, my lady--"
"Oh, Ebenezer!" interjected Helen, drearily. "What makes you act so? One
would think you spent your whole time trying to get even with
somebody."
"I got even with my lady Skinner," smiled Waldstricker. "I gave her brat
a whipping." The words came slowly, and the man watched their effect.
Helen was not able to sense the full meaning of his statement at first.
Mechanically, she rescued the doll and laid it on the table. Beginning
to see the picture he'd suggested, she opened her mouth, closed it again
and at the next attempt spoke.
"Why, Ebenezer, Tessibel's baby is only a month or so older than Elsie!"
"Well, what of it! He's an impudent little whelp. Takes after his
mother, I suppose."
"But you don't really mean you whipped him!" Helen exclaimed, still
incredulous.
"That's just what I do. With my riding whip. What do you think of that?"
His words brought to Helen's recollection that other time he'd used his
riding whip. Then it had been upon Mother Moll, and the old woman had
screamed at him, "It air like ye to hit the awful young and the awful
old." She recalled, too, the other mysterious words the witch woman had
uttered. "Curls'll bring yer to yer knees--the little man air a settin'
on yer chest!" The prophecy addressed to herself, that he'd make her
life unhappy and that she'd leave him, she'd never before taken
seriously. But the question hammered at her consciousness. Could it be
that Moll had a second sight or something of the sort? Ebenezer's
trouble about the squatters centered about Andy Bishop and the Skinner
girl; the dwarf was certainly a little man and Tessibel had wonderful
red curls. Her husband had made her life unhappy and his mood tonight
was unusually ugly. She was touched with a superstitious half-conviction
that the old woman's words would be fulfilled.
"I asked you a question, Mrs. Waldstricker," the wrathful voice
interrupted her meditations. "Answer me, if you please."
Perhaps it was the recollection of Mother Moll's sibylline utterance;
perhaps merely that her husband's hostile attitude aroused a
corresponding feeling of animosity. At any rate, she sat erect in her
chair and fixed her eyes upon his scowling face. Never had he seen her
rounded chin so squarely set; never the red lips drawn into such
determined lines.
"I think you're a brute, that's what I think!" she responded
deliberately, as though stating a conclusion arrived at after due
consideration. "Yes, worse than a brute!" The answer was as unexpected
to the elder as though a lump of ice had suddenly boiled over. A quick
fury took possession of him.
"Think I'm a brute, do you?... What's the matter with you? Are you
getting soft on the squatters, too?"
Helen made a hasty gesture, indicative of denial.
"Well, you better not!" warned Ebenezer, angrily. "Your brother's
conduct is disgraceful enough. I'm sick and tired of having my own
townsfolk winking at each other every time his name's mentioned. Lawyer
Young and his squatter women! Sounds nice, doesn't it?"
To be loyal to herself and Deforrest, she could not help but disagree
with him.
"Now, Ebenezer, you oughtn't to say such a thing," she expostulated.
A flame of anger shot into the elder's steady stare.
"Don't you 'Now Ebenezer' me!" he snorted. "Young's making my lake
property a disorderly house. It's positively indecent! I won't stand it
any longer. I won't have those squatters there, and your brother can
make up his mind to that!"
Helen tried to interrupt but her husband waved her to silence.
"Mother Moll and Andy Bishop!" he mocked. "An old witch and a jail-bird!
Wouldn't it make a man tired?"
Helen leaned forward. An angry red spot burned on either cheek and her
eyes flashed. Her gentle temper didn't take fire easily, but even to her
endurance there were limits.
"You seem to forget, Mr. Waldstricker," she retorted sharply, "that your
men tore down the old woman's home and your money procured the perjury
that sent the dwarf to Auburn. It strikes me you'd better not throw
stones at Forrie."
Waldstricker jumped to his feet and rushed to his wife's side.
"What!" he roared. "You dare that to my face! Some more of Deforrest's
influence, I suppose. Nice family I married into, I must say."
Helen got up from her chair. The one thing that stirred her quickest was
an attack upon her brother.
"Ebenezer Waldstricker, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Forrie
minds his own business and you should mind yours." An hysterical sob
brought her to a pause, but she struggled on. "I don't know how I've
stood your temper so long. You must have lost your mind."
In view of the grievances he'd been nursing, his wife's sudden rebellion
seemed almost too unreasonable to be credited. She'd joined his enemies!
She was making common cause with her notorious brother and the
squatters! Very well, he'd use her the same as he would them.
"You think rather well of me, don't you Mrs. Waldstricker?" he rasped.
"Nice names you call me. Brute! Home destroyer! Procurer of perjury!
Liar! Crazy!" His voice grew louder as he hurled the epithets at her and
broke into a shriek upon the last one. "Get out of here before I teach
you the same lesson I taught Tess Skinner!" He lifted his arm above his
head; the great fist was clenched, and the cruel mouth was drawn at both
corners. "Get out of here before I hit you!"
Helen stood petrified. The blow had fallen. Mother Moll was right! She
retreated before his menacing gestures, but stopped near the door and
held up her hand in entreaty. She'd make one more effort.
"But, Ebenezer," she began, "where shall I go?"
Advancing toward her, he fairly shouted:
"I don't know and I don't care. Go down and help your brother take care
of his squatter baggage!"
He seemed fairly beside himself. Helen realized the hopelessness of
further resistance.
"Then I'll go and take my baby," she cried. "Perhaps when we're gone--"
Her words only added fuel to the flame of his wrath.
"You'll not touch my daughter," he interrupted. "She'll stay with me."
He rushed at her, pushed her rudely aside, and hurried up the stairs to
the nursery.
His wife followed as quickly as possible. At the nursery door Ebenezer
met her and blocked her way.
"You needn't wake her up," he hissed. "Go on! Get out of here! You're
worse than the Skinner woman!"
She could not go into the nursery. The angry man on the threshold
effectually prevented her. Mrs. Waldstricker turned down the hall and
went to her own room. She could hardly comprehend the untoward disaster
that had destroyed the whole fabric of her life at one stroke. The blood
was throbbing at her temples and pounding through her body. Her ears
rang; her face burned and she was trembling all over. Mechanically, she
fumbled for the matches on a nearby table, found one and struck it. She
attempted to light the lamp but dropped the chimney and it rolled away
under the bed.
Drearily, she tried to consider her course. Ebenezer had ordered her to
go. Then she must go. She'd always done as he directed. But where? Her
cheeks burned more fiercely as she recalled the brutal answer he'd given
that question. No, she wouldn't go to Forrie! It would only make
Ebenezer more angry and make more trouble for her brother. It didn't
make much difference where she went anyway. Life without her husband and
her baby wouldn't be life at all. She couldn't visualize her days
without Elsie, the little one they'd both longed for and prayed over.
Slowly, because each little act required a separate effort of volition,
she dressed herself. Prepared at last to depart, she took a long look
through the rooms. Past events went in giddy rapidity across her vision.
How she'd loved and still loved Ebenezer! They'd been so happy together.
She sighed and went through the hall to the nursery. Her movements had
evidently been heard. When she approached the door, her husband stepped
out and pulled the door to behind him. For a moment their eyes met. In
his she saw the dull smoldering coals of hate. She bowed her head and
silently went through the baleful glare he cast upon her down the stairs
and out of the mansion to which she had been brought a happy bride.