In the early morning following that long night Julie came softly into
the bedroom and found Tim lying there asleep, all dressed as he had
flung himself upon the bed. He opened his eyes as she entered.
“I--I broke one of your little cups last night, honey,” he said
confusedly, “one of your best ones. I certainly am sorry.” He sat up in
bed, staring at her in all the bleak tragedy of the gray dawn.
“I broke your little best cup, an’ I reckon I’ve broke your heart,
too,” he said.
She put out her hands swiftly and drew his head passionately close
against her breast, bowing her face down to it.
“My love, my love!” she cried, stumbling and sobbing through the words.
“You _made_ all my heart--all my life--it was yours to break or do with
like you pleased.”
For a time they clung together in tears. But at last he raised his head
and, putting one of his hands on each of her arms, looked curiously
into her eyes. The storm of her emotion was passed, and she was calm
now. She seemed changed also from the small woman of the day before.
Her spirit had withdrawn from the surface, and was gazing forth from
deeper levels of life. The expression of her eyes was wiser, steadier;
she even appeared physically larger, a stronger woman, than she had
been before. What encounters of the spirit had she faced alone through
all the dark of the night?
In the long gaze that passed between them they were confronted by a
tremendous question. Each asked it silently of the other. Julie was the
first to answer.
“Yes,” she nodded. “It’s come to an end, my honey. We got to part
now--’fore I kill somebody else.”
“Julie, she was crazy!” he cried as before.
But she brushed his words aside. “All night I’ve seen the blood on her
waist,” she said. “It mocked me. The two were right together: the clean
waist I was so proud with myself for fixin’ for her, an’ the spots of
her blood. They were like mouths laughing at me with the awfulest
laughter--red words hollerin’ out across the world, ‘Look! Look! Look
at the way Julie Rose gives life to folks!’ Tim, last night I went down
deep--I was shoved down into the deepest places--I see it all different
now--I’ve _got_ to stand square with folks now.”
He nodded. “Yes, it’s come to that with both of us--Julie,” he burst
out, “I ain’t where I ought to be! When the soldiers went by in the
street, an’ that night when they showed the doughboys in France on the
screen, you didn’t notice, I reckon--”
“I did. I did!” she broke in. “I’ve known all along how it was with
you, but I wouldn’t let you speak. God forgive me! I kept you from it.
I was scared.”
“Well,” he went on. “That night when they showed our boys goin’ up to
the front, there was one little feller on the screen--a runty kind of
a little feller like me--an’ as he went by he turned so’s you saw his
full face. Julie, he looked straight at me; an’ something jumped in me
an’ sez, ‘That’s your brother. _Why ain’t you with him?_’”
“I know, I know,” she cried poignantly. “Your brother! My sister! We
thought when we found ourselves we was all, but now we’ve caught a
sight of the other folks.”
“So I got to go now,” he ended. “I’ll give myself up--”
“Oh, honey! What will they do to you?”
“I dunno. But I can stand up to it. I can stand it now. You’ve made a
man of me at last.”
“Oh, my God!” she cried. “I didn’t. I tempted you away. I don’t know
what I’ve done to you. Without me you wouldn’t be in all this trouble.”
He faced her steadily. “Without you I’d never have found myself, an’
that’s God’s truth,” he said solemnly. “I’m your man, honey. You made
me. I was afraid of every one, picked on by every one, an’ then you
came along an’ set me free!”
“Our love!” she cried. “It was that set us both free so’s we found
ourselves. But that ain’t all. Last night, Tim, I understood more. It
seemed like I was shoved right down into the heart of life. I had a
kind of a vision--maybe it was only a dream: I’d been asleep, I know.
I stayed awake ’til real late, just sitting there in the dark an’
knowin’ what I’d done to her. It seemed like I’d go crazy; I couldn’t
cry; I thought my mind was about to split. An’ then at last I did: I
cried, an’ cried, though it didn’t do her no good. I kep’ thinkin’,
‘This don’t do her no good. My tears can’t help her any now.’ But they
helped me. My head stopped feelin’ so tight after that. The awful
splashes on her waist quit hollerin’ out, ‘Look! Look!,’ an’ at last I
dropped off into a doze; an’ when I waked up things was different. It
seemed like I’d shifted in deeper than I ever was before.”
She brushed a dark strand of hair back from her brow, then she dropped
her hand to his and he held it fast, staring up into her face, whose
look of wider apprehension seemed reflected on his own as well.
“It was like I’d been stretched,” she went on slowly, feeling for
words, “stretched into knowing bigger things, an’ shoved deep down
where you ain’t yourself alone, but where all the rest of the folks is,
too, all kind of bound together--all brothers an’ sisters--an’ where
nobody lives to theirselves, or dies to theirselves. An’--an’ _now_ I
got to stand straight with the world.”
He nodded, “I know. I understand.” It was the old familiar phrase which
had linked them so close together. They were silent for a long moment,
drinking understanding and courage from one another’s eyes in the
communion of their spirits.
He spoke at last. “I’ll go ’round to the police this mornin’ an’ turn
myself in. Or maybe it would be better to go straight to Camp Lee.”
Her clasp upon his hand tightened, but she spoke steadily. “I’ll go
home to Hart’s Run.”
He started at that. “Oh, no, honey,” he protested, “you can’t do that.
You can’t go back there now. You know how it is--how they’ll treat you.
You can’t live there now.”
“I can live anywhere now,” she answered. “I’ve found myself now. All
my life I’ve been scared of folks. You know how it was. But not now:
I’m free of ’em all at last. I got to go back there. It’s my home. It’s
where I belong, where I can be square with the world. Oh,” she cried,
“what does it matter to me where _I_ live, when you--when you--Oh,
honey,” she broke down, “what will they do to you?”
“Never mind! Never mind! It’s all right now. I can stand it now,” he
consoled her. “But how will you live at Hart’s Run? Will they--will
folks buy from you now?”
She laughed a little at that. “Oh, they’ll buy, all right,” she
reassured him. “Maybe they’ll put me out of the church; but I trim hats
too well, an’ know too much about fixing clothes for ’em not to come to
the store.”
They began after that to consider their plans, bravely and calmly
making arrangements for a speedy departure. It was still very early,
and together they fell to work packing up all their small belongings.
There was not much to pack: only a few clothes, the rosebud cups, and
some extra housekeeping utensils that they had had to buy. These all
went easily into her suit-case and his trunk, which she was to take
with her. When the packing was finished he went out, arranged to have
the trunk sent for later, saw their landlord and settled for the rent,
explaining his sudden departure by saying he had to answer his draft
call.
When he returned, breakfast was ready. Julie had even made waffles for
their last meal together.
He sat down and forced himself to eat to please her, but she could
scarcely touch anything.
“You better try to eat a little bit,” he urged. “There now, have some
of this plateful of waffles. I can’t eat ’em all, honey.”
She looked at him a moment, her face quivering. “I--I got something in
my throat--seems like I can’t swaller past it,” she got out, snatching
at that wisp of whimsicality to cover the nakedness of their tragedy.
But on the whole the breakfast was a brave, almost a gay, meal. They
were both setting forth upon desperate paths of life and, knowing
this, they were keyed up and excited by the adventure of it, and in
themselves they knew as well a steady self-confidence that had never
been theirs before.
They had agreed that for Tim to go to Camp Lee and give himself up
there would be the best plan; but after all, they were too late. As
they finished breakfast, they were startled by a sudden loud bang upon
their door. Their hands flew together and clutched fast for one moment
across the table, then he rose and threw the door wide.
Two men in plain clothes burst in.
“Here, what’s your name?” the foremost demanded, a big swaggering man
with the face of a bully.
“Timothy Bixby,” Tim answered steadily.
“Oh, it is, is it?” the man cried, a trifle taken aback. “This is your
mornin’ for tellin’ the truth, ain’t it? Well, Mr. Timothy Bixby, I
arrest you in the name of the law. See this?” He turned back his coat
lapel, and displayed a sheriff’s badge. “We’re the dog catchers, an’
we’ve come for you--you damned yeller cur!”
“I was just fixin’ to go to Camp Lee an’ give up,” Tim said.
“Oh yes, you were,” the other jeered. “A hell of a lot you were!”
“But he was! It’s the truth, he was!” Julie broke in. “He was just
gettin’ ready to go right this mornin’.”
“Oh, yes, he was, I know mighty well he was!” the other repeated. “An’
I know all about _you_, too!”
“But it’s true. Honest it is! Honest!” Julie pleaded desperately,
turning helplessly to the other man, her eyes wide and sincere.
“Never mind, never mind!” Tim cut in under his breath to her. “It
don’t matter, so long as _you_ know.”
“Oh, well now, Sam, maybe he was,” the second man interposed
pacifically.
“Maybe nuthin’!” the sheriff cut him off. “He’s had a whole two months
to git from Hart’s Run to Camp Lee, an’ you know traffic ain’t blocked
as bad as all that. An’ if it hadn’t of been for his wife catchin’ a
sight of him, he’d be hidin’ here still in this damned love-nest.”
So Elizabeth had seen, after all! Their eyes turned swiftly to one
another at that.
“Now then, be in a hurry,” the sheriff commanded. “I ain’t got time to
waste over you. Here--where’s your hat?”
Julie went quickly and brought Tim’s hat, pressing it into his hands.
“My honey! My honey!” she breathed.
But the sheriff cut in between them. “Here, none er that,” he cried,
jerking Tim away.
“Take me! Take me, too!” Julie cried. “It was all my doing!”
But she was brushed aside.
“Git out of the way! We ain’t got nuthin’ to do with you,” the sheriff
said, pushing Tim toward the door. On the threshold, Tim paused and
twisted around to cry back, “It’s all right, Julie, it’s all right.”
Then his captor thrust him savagely forth.
The other man, glancing back at Julie, paused an instant, caught by the
anguish of her face. “Here, quick,” he whispered awkwardly, “ain’t you
got a token--a keepsake for him? Maybe I’ll git a chanst to slip it to
him.”
She looked wildly about the room. What should she send him? She started
to take up the pieces of the broken cup, but her heart cried out, “No,
no, not that!”
“Quick! Quick!” he urged her. “Your handkerchief?”
But her handkerchief was all sodden with the tears they had shed
together. She shook her head dumbly. Hurried and confused, her mind
was blank. Her gaze fell to the breakfast table. There was a pile of
waffles still fresh and warm. To her dazed thought at that moment they
were not food, they were symbols of her heart. With a hand that shook
she caught up one and held it out mutely to the man.
“No, no,” he whispered sharply, “think what you’re doing, woman. A
keepsake--a keepsake! Here--what about this?”
He picked up a picture postcard from the mantelpiece. It was a
photograph of herself and Tim taken together.
“Yes, yes,” she nodded gratefully.
“I’ll slip it to him if I git the chanst,” he promised again.
“What will they do to him?” Julie breathed.
He shook his head. “I don’t know--I don’t know how bad he’s in.”
“Will I know what happens?” she questioned.
“You--you ain’t his wife, are you?” he asked uncertainly.
“No,” she answered, her wide eyes looking at him unfalteringly.
“The government only notifies the wife or next of kin,” he mumbled, as
though repeating a formula.
“I’m goin’ back to Hart’s Run,” she told him simply. “If the law wants
me, too, I’ll be there. My name’s Julie Rose.”
“Here, Jack, where in the hell are you?” the sheriff bawled from
outside.
“Coming!” the lingerer cried, and went, slipping the postcard into his
pocket.
Julie stumbled to the window and peered out. Tim was walking between
the two men. As they came to the corner where he had always turned to
wave a farewell to her, he paused now and half turning raised his hand,
but the sheriff struck it angrily down and thrust him on around the
corner out of sight.
Julie stood a long time, her head pressed hard against the window
frame, her eyes fixed blankly on the street; but she knew that she must
face it sometime, and at last she jerked herself round, and, straining
back against the sill, let the empty desolation of the room rush over
her.