WHEN JIMMY MALONE CAME TO CONFESSION
Dannie never before had known such anger as possessed him when he
trudged homeward across Rainbow Bottom. His brain whirled in a tumult
of conflicting passions, and his heart pained worse than his swelling
face. In one instant the knowledge that Jimmy had struck him, possessed
him with a desire to turn back and do murder. In the next, a sense of
profound scorn for the cowardly lie which had driven him to the rage
that kills encompassed him, and then in a surge came compassion for
Jimmy, at the remberence of the excuse he had offered for saying that
thing. How childish! But how like Jimmy! What was the use in trying to
deal with him as if he were a man? A great spoiled, selfish baby was
all he ever would be.
The fallen leaves rustled about Dannie's feet. The blackbirds above him
in chattering debate discussed migration. A stiff breeze swept the
fields, topped the embankment, and rushed down circling about Dannie,
and setting his teeth chattering, for he was almost as wet as if he had
been completely immersed. As the chill struck in, from force of habit
he thought of Jimmy. If he was ever going to learn how to take care of
himself, a man past thirty-five should know. Would he come home and put
on dry clothing? But when had Jimmy taken care of himself? Dannie felt
that he should go back, bring him home, and make him dress quickly.
A sharp pain shot across Dannie's swollen face. His lips shut firmly.
No! Jimmy had struck him. And Jimmy was in the wrong. The fish was his,
and he had a right to it. No man living would have given it up to
Jimmy, after he had changed poles. And slipped away with a boy and
gotten those minnows, too! And wouldn't offer him even one. Much good
they had done him. Caught a catfish on a dead one! Wonder if he would
take the catfish to town and have its picture taken! Mighty fine fish,
too, that channel cat! If it hadn't been for the Black Bass, they would
have wondered and exclaimed over it, and carefully weighed it, and
commented on the gamy fight it made. Just the same he was glad, that he
landed the Bass. And he got it fairly. If Jimmy's old catfish mixed up
with his line, he could not help that. He baited, hooked, played, and
landed the Bass all right, and without any minnows either.
When he reached the top of the hill he realized that he was going to
look back. In spite of Jimmy's selfishness, in spite of the blow, in
spite of the ugly lie, Jimmy had been his lifelong partner, and his
only friend, and stiffen his neck as he would, Dannie felt his head
turning. He deliberately swung his fish pole into the bushes, and when
it caught, as he knew it would, he set down his load, and turned as if
to release it. Not a sight of Jimmy anywhere! Dannie started on.
"We are after you, Jimmy Malone!"
A thin, little, wiry thread of a cry, that seemed to come twisting as
if wrung from the chill air about him, whispered in his ear, and Dannie
jumped, dropped his load, and ran for the river. He couldn't see a sign
of Jimmy. He hurried over the shaky little bridge they had built. The
catfish lay gasping on the grass, the case and jointed rod lay on a
log, but Jimmy was gone.
Dannie gave the catfish a shove that sent it well into the river, and
ran for the shoals at the lower curve of Horseshoe Bend. The tracks of
Jimmy's crossing were plain, and after him hurried Dannie. He ran up
the hill, and as he reached the top he saw Jimmy climb on a wagon out
on the road. Dannie called, but the farmer touched up his horses and
trotted away without hearing him. "The fool! To ride!" thought Dannie.
"Noo he will chill to the bone!".
Dannie cut across the fields to the lane and gathered up his load. With
the knowledge that Jimmy had started for town came the thought of Mary.
What was he going to say to her? He would have to make a clean breast
of it, and he did not like the showing. In fact, he simply could not
make a clean breast of it. Tell her? He could not tell her. He would
lie to her once more, this one time for himself. He would tell her he
fell in the river to account for his wet clothing and bruised face, and
wait until Jimmy came home and see what he told her.
He went to the cabin and tapped at the door; there was no answer, so he
opened it and set the lunch basket inside. Then he hurried home, built
a fire, bathed, and put on dry clothing. He wondered where Mary was. He
was ravenously hungry now. He did all the evening work, and as she
still did not come, he concluded that she had gone to town, and that
Jimmy knew she was there. Of course, that was it! Jimmy could get dry
clothing of his brother-in-law. To be sure, Mary had gone to town. That
was why Jimmy went.
And he was right. Mary had gone to town. When sense slowly returned to
her she sat up in the bushes and stared about her. Then she arose and
looked toward the river. The men were gone. Mary guessed the situation
rightly. They were too much of river men to drown in a few feet of
water; they scarcely would kill each other. They had fought, and Dannie
had gone home, and Jimmy to the consolation of Casey's. WHERE SHOULD
SHE GO? Mary Malone's lips set in a firm line.
"It's the truth! It's the truth!" she panted over and over, and now
that there was no one to hear, she found that she could say it quite
plainly. As the sense of her outraged womanhood swept over her she grew
almost delirious. "I hope you killed him, Dannie Micnoun," she raved.
"I hope you killed him, for if you didn't, I will. Oh! Oh!"
She was almost suffocating with rage. The only thing clear to her was
that she never again would live an hour with Jimmy Malone. He might
have gone home. Probably he did go for dry clothing. She would go to
her sister. She hurried across the bottom, with wavering knees she
climbed the embankment, then skirting the fields, she half walked, half
ran to the village, and selecting back streets and alleys, tumbled,
half distracted, into the home of her sister.
"Holy Vargin!" screamed Katy Dolan. "Whativer do be ailin' you, Mary
Malone?"
"Jimmy! Jimmy!" sobbed the shivering Mary.
"I knew it! I knew it! I've ixpicted it for years!" cried Katy.
"They've had a fight----"
"Just what I looked for! I always told you they were too thick to last!"
"And Jimmy told Dannie he'd lied to me and married me himsilf----"
"He did! I saw him do it!" screamed Katy.
"And Dannie tried to kill him----"
"I hope to Hivin he got it done, for if any man iver naded killin'! A
carpse named Jimmy Malone would a looked good to me any time these
fiftane years. I always said----"
"And he took it back----"
"Just like the rid divil! I knew he'd do it! And of course that
mutton-head of a Dannie Micnoun belaved him, whativer he said."
"Of course he did!"
"I knew it! Didn't I say so first?"
"And I tried to scrame and me tongue stuck----"
"Sure! You poor lamb! My tongue always sticks! Just what I ixpicted!"
"And me head just went round and I keeled over in the bushes----"
"I've told Dolan a thousand times! I knew it! It's no news to me!"
"And whin I came to, they were gone, and I don't know where, and I
don't care! But I won't go back! I won't go back! I'll not live with
him another day. Oh, Katy! Think how you'd feel if some one had
siparated you and Dolan before you'd iver been togither!"
Katie Dolan gathered her sister into her arms. "You poor lamb," she
wailed. "I've known ivery word of this for fiftane years, and if I'd
had the laste idea 'twas so, I'd a busted Jimmy Malone to smithereens
before it iver happened!"
"I won't go back! I won't go back!" raved Mary.
"I guess you won't go back," cried Katy, patting every available spot
on Mary, or making dashes at her own eyes to stop the flow of tears. "I
guess you won't go back! You'll stay right here with me. I've always
wanted you! I always said I'd love to have you! I've told thim from the
start there was something wrong out there! I've ixpicted you ivry day
for years, and I niver was so surprised in all me life as whin you
came! Now, don't you shed another tear. The Lord knows this is enough,
for anybody. None at all would be too many for Jimmy Malone. You get
right into bid, and I'll make you a cup of rid-pipper tay to take the
chill out of you. And if Jimmy Malone comes around this house I'll lav
him out with the poker, and if Dannie Micnoun comes saft-saddering
after him I'll stritch him out too; yis, and if Dolan's got anything to
say, he can take his midicine like the rist. The min are all of a pace
anyhow! I've always said it! If I wouldn't like to get me fingers on
that haythen; never goin' to confission, spindin' ivrything on himself
you naded for dacent livin'! Lit him come! Just lit him come!"
Thus forestalled with knowledge, and overwhelmed with kindness, Mary
Malone cuddled up in bed and sobbed herself to sleep, and Katy Dolan
assured her, as long as she was conscious, that she always had known
it, and if Jimmy Malone came near, she had the poker ready.
Dannie did the evening work. When he milked he drank most of it, but
that only made him hungrier, so he ate the lunch he had brought back
from the river, as he sat before a roaring fire. His heart warmed with
his body. Irresponsible Jimmy always had aroused something of the
paternal instinct in Dannie. Some one had to be responsible, so Dannie
had been. Some way he felt responsible now. With another man like
himself, it would have been man to man, but he always had spoiled
Jimmy; now who was to blame that he was spoiled?
Dannie was very tired, his face throbbed and ached painfully, and it
was a sight to see. His bed never had looked so inviting, and never had
the chance to sleep been further away. With a sigh, he buttoned his
coat, twisted an old scarf around his neck, and started for the barn.
There was going to be a black frost. The cold seemed to pierce him. He
hitched to the single buggy, and drove to town. He went to Casey's, and
asked for Jimmy.
"He isn't here," said Casey.
"Has he been here?" asked Dannie.
Casey hesitated, and then blurted out, "He said you wasn't his keeper,
and if you came after him, to tell you to go to Hell."
Then Dannie was sure that Jimmy was in the back room, drying his
clothing. So he drove to Mrs. Dolan's, and asked if Mary were there for
the night. Mrs. Dolan said she was, and she was going to stay, and he
might tell Jimmy Malone that he need not come near them, unless he
wanted his head laid open. She shut the door forcibly.
Dannie waited until Casey closed at eleven, and to his astonishment
Jimmy was not among the men who came out. That meant that he had drank
lightly after all, slipped from the back door, and gone home. And yet,
would he do it, after what he had said about being afraid? If he had
not drank heavily, he would not go into the night alone, when he had
been afraid in the daytime. Dannie climbed from the buggy once more,
and patiently searched the alley and the street leading to the footpath
across farms. No Jimmy. Then Dannie drove home, stabled his horse, and
tried Jimmy's back door. It was unlocked. If Jimmy were there, he
probably would be lying across the bed in his clothing, and Dannie knew
that Mary was in town. He made a light, and cautiously entered the
sleeping room, intending to undress and cover Jimmy, but Jimmy was not
there.
Dannie's mouth fell open. He put out the light, and stood on the back
steps. The frost had settled in a silver sheen over the roofs of the
barns and the sheds, and a scum of ice had frozen over a tub of
drippings at the well. Dannie was bitterly cold. He went home, and
hunted out his winter overcoat, lighted his lantern, picked up a heavy
cudgel in the corner, and started to town on foot over the path that
lay across the fields. He followed it to Casey's back door. He went to
Mrs. Dolan's again, but everything was black and silent there. There
had been evening trains. He thought of Jimmy's frequent threat to go
away. He dismissed that thought grimly. There had been no talk of going
away lately, and he knew that Jimmy had little money. Dannie started
for home, and for a rod on either side he searched the path. As he came
to the back of the barns, he rated himself for not thinking of them
first. He searched both of them, and all around them, and then wholly
tired, and greatly disgusted, he went home and to bed. He decided that
Jimmy HAD gone to Mrs. Dolan's and that kindly woman had relented and
taken him in. Of course that was where he was.
Dannie was up early in the morning. He wanted to have the work done
before Mary and Jimmy came home. He fed the stock, milked, built a
fire, and began cleaning the stables. As he wheeled the first barrow of
manure to the heap, he noticed a rooster giving danger signals behind
the straw-stack. At the second load it was still there, and Dannie went
to see what alarmed it.
Jimmy lay behind the stack, where he had fallen face down, and as
Dannie tried to lift him he saw that he would have to cut him loose,
for he had frozen fast in the muck of the barnyard. He had pitched
forward among the rough cattle and horse tracks and fallen within a few
feet of the entrance to a deep hollow eaten out of the straw by the
cattle. Had he reached that shelter he would have been warm enough and
safe for the night.
Horrified, Dannie whipped out his knife, cut Jimmy's clothing loose and
carried him to his bed. He covered him, and hitching up drove at top
speed for a doctor. He sent the physician ahead and then rushed to Mrs.
Dolan's. She saw him drive up and came to the door.
"Send Mary home and ye come too," Dannie called before she had time to
speak. "Jimmy lay oot all last nicht, and I'm afraid he's dead."
Mrs. Dolan hurried in and repeated the message to Mary. She sat
speechless while her sister bustled about putting on her wraps.
"I ain't goin'," she said shortly. "If I got sight of him, I'd kill him
if he wasn't dead."
"Oh, yis you are goin'," said Katy Dolan. "If he's dead, you know, it
will save you being hanged for killing him. Get on these things of mine
and hurry. You got to go for decency sake; and kape a still tongue in
your head. Dannie Micnoun is waiting for us."
Together they went out and climbed into the carriage. Mary said
nothing, but Dannie was too miserable to notice.
"You didn't find him thin, last night?" asked Mrs. Dolan.
"Na!" shivered Dannie. "I was in town twice. I hunted almost all nicht.
At last I made sure you had taken him in and I went to bed. It was
three o'clock then. I must have passed often, wi'in a few yards of him."
"Where was he?" asked Katy.
"Behind the straw-stack," replied Dannie.
"Do you think he will die?"
"Dee!" cried Dannie. "Jimmy dee! Oh, my God! We mauna let him!"
Mrs. Dolan took a furtive peep at Mary, who, dry-eyed and white, was
staring straight ahead. She was trembling and very pale, but if Katy
Dolan knew anything she knew that her sister's face was unforgiving and
she did not in the least blame her.
Dannie reached home as soon as the horse could take them, and under the
doctor's directions all of them began work. Mary did what she was told,
but she did it deliberately, and if Dannie had taken time to notice her
he would have seen anything but his idea of a woman facing death for
any one she ever had loved. Mary's hurt went so deep, Mrs. Dolan had
trouble to keep it covered. Some of the neighbors said Mary was
cold-hearted, and some of them that she was stupefied with grief.
Without stopping for food or sleep, Dannie nursed Jimmy. He rubbed, he
bathed, he poulticed, he badgered the doctor and cursed his inability
to do some good. To every one except Dannie, Jimmy's case was hopeless
from the first. He developed double pneumonia in its worst form and he
was in no condition to endure it in the lightest. His labored breathing
could be heard all over the cabin, and he could speak only in gasps. On
the third day he seemed a little better, and when Dannie asked what he
could do for him, "Father Michael," Jimmy panted, and clung to Dannie's
hand.
Dannie sent a man and remained with Jimmy. He made no offer to go when
the priest came.
"This is probably in the nature of a last confession," said Father
Michael to Dannie, "I shall have to ask you to leave us alone."
Dannie felt the hand that clung to him relax, and the perspiration
broke on his temples. "Shall I go, Jimmy?" he asked.
Jimmy nodded. Dannie arose heavily and left the room. He sat down
outside the door and rested his head in his hands.
The priest stood beside Jimmy. "The doctor tells me it is difficult for
you to speak," he said, "I will help you all I can. I will ask
questions and you need only assent with your head or hand. Do you wish
the last sacrament administered, Jimmy Malone?"
The sweat rolled off Jimmy's brow. He assented.
"Do you wish to make final confession?"
A great groan shook Jimmy. The priest remembered a gay, laughing boy,
flinging back a shock of auburn hair, his feet twinkling in the lead of
the dance. Here was ruin to make the heart of compassion ache. The
Father bent and clasped the hand of Jimmy firmly. The question he asked
was between Jimmy Malone and his God. The answer almost strangled him.
"Can you confess that mortal sin, Jimmy?" asked the priest.
The drops on Jimmy's face merged in one bath of agony. His hands
clenched and his breath seemed to go no lower than his throat.
"Lied--Dannie," he rattled. "Sip-rate him--and Mary."
"Are you trying to confess that you betrayed a confidence of Dannie
Macnoun and married the girl who belonged to him, yourself?"
Jimmy assented.
His horrified eyes hung on the priest's face and saw it turn cold and
stern. Always the thing he had done had tormented him; but not until
the past summer had he begun to realize the depth of it, and it had
almost unseated his reason. But not until now had come fullest
appreciation, and Jimmy read it in the eyes filled with repulsion above
him.
"And with that sin on your soul, you ask the last sacrament and the
seal of forgiveness! You have not wronged God and the Holy Catholic
Church as you have this man, with whom you have lived for years, while
you possessed his rightful wife. Now he is here, in deathless devotion,
fighting to save you. You may confess to him. If he will forgive you,
God and the Church will ratify it, and set the seal on your brow. If
not, you die unshriven! I will call Dannie Macnoun."
One gurgling howl broke from the swollen lips of Jimmy.
As Dannie entered the room, the priest spoke a few words to him,
stepped out and closed the door. Dannie hurried to Jimmy's side.
"He said ye wanted to tell me something," said Dannie. "What is it? Do
you want me to do anything for you?"
Suddenly Jimmy struggled to a sitting posture. His popping eyes almost
burst from their sockets as he clutched Dannie with both hands. The
perspiration poured in little streams down his dreadful face.
"Mary," the next word was lost in a strangled gasp. Then came "yours"
and then a queer rattle. Something seemed to give way. "The Divils!" he
shrieked. "The Divils have got me!"
Snap! his heart failed, and Jimmy Malone went out to face his record,
unforgiven by man, and unshriven by priest.