THE RUMORS
Hallie's facts dashed so coldly and so suddenly upon the warm fancies
which had been taking possession of my mind, that for the moment I
could only stupidly gaze at her. Then, without any reason that I could
account for, I burst into tears.
I cried all the while father carried me upstairs. I cried convulsively
while Abby was getting me to bed, and, wound up in the sheets with my
face hidden in the pillow, I cried inconsolably for a long time. That
aching sensation in my throat would not wash away with tears. Vaguely
I heard the doctor explaining to father how my present condition was
due "to severe nervous strain, and the subconscious effort of the
constitution to combat it." I knew it was nothing of the sort, but
just the plain fact that Johnny Montgomery, seen once dancing at a
ball, and ever after to me the model of all romantic heroes, was a
murderer. It was dreadful to think that it was through me he had been
taken, because I had remembered so well his beautiful black eyebrows,
and the little white scar near his mouth; but nothing that had followed
had been so terrible as that first sight of him, when he rushed out of
the door, with all the horror of what had just happened, in his face;
or so cruel as the thought that he could have done such a thing. But
why did his look, both then and later, come back to me accusing and
reproachful? How could I help what I had done? I had had to tell the
truth, and surely he must know that nothing but good ever comes of
that, no matter how hard it seems. I agonized through the early
evening hours, and fell asleep not with a sense of being drifted
deliciously away, but of sinking down under deep exhaustion.
When I awakened the next morning I was astonished to find myself
feeling quite differently--a little tired and languid--but the aching
misery, the black hopelessness, that had fallen on me the night before
had quite evaporated, left perhaps in that bottomless pit of sleep into
which I had sunk.
It seemed now, in the broad daylight, as if I had made too much of
everything that had happened; as if Hallie must be mistaken. It could
not have been Johnny Montgomery who had shot a man, or, if he had, it
must have been an accident. And, even suppose he had meant to kill
him, what possible difference could it make to me?
Here Abby knocked at the door, and, showing a rather forbidding face
around it, said that Hallie was down-stairs; but that if I was going to
have any more conniption fits I would better stay where I was. She
left a glass of milk and a clean tucker and sleeves on my chair. I
swallowed the milk, and hurried into my clothes, but I descended rather
slowly to the hall. I had always confided in Hallie, and I knew she
would probably expect to hear all about it from the moment I had seen
him. I hated to think of the questions I would have to answer; yet I
would have to face them sometime, and it was better to get it over at
once.
When I reached the sitting-room door I was decidedly dashed at sight of
Estrella Mendez's red pelisse behind Hallie's blue hat ribbons. Two of
them were a little too much for me, and I was all ready for flight when
Hallie pounced upon me. She is such an imposing person, wears so many
tucks and ruffles in her clothes, such bows on her hats, and can spread
her skirts about and rustle so, that I always feel like the merest
child beside her.
"You poor little Ellie," she began, "how pale you look still! I am
afraid I frightened you to death yesterday."
I murmured something about being much upset.
"Yes, your father said you were not at all well. He gave me such a
scolding for pouncing out on you like that!" She laughed her deep
throaty chuckle. "But I supposed of course you had heard, it happened
so close to you. Didn't you even hear the shot?"
I must have gaped at her. Could it be she didn't know that I had seen
it? Didn't know what I had been through? I recalled confusedly the
warning of the Chief of Police and father not to say anything of what I
had seen. This was what they meant; this was the meaning of the
carriage, the alley and the back door of the prison; all my part in the
business had been kept secret. I wondered what in the world Hallie
could have thought of my behavior last night, but I was greatly
relieved to think of the fusillade of questions I had escaped. I
managed to get out something about father's having heard a shot.
"Of course I know that," Hallie said, pulling me down on the sofa
beside her. She was too full of her subject to notice how oddly I must
have looked. "It's all in the paper, how they found him--Mr. Rood, I
mean."
"It's here," Estrella said, sitting down on the other side of me, and
unfolding the crumpled sheet she had been carrying rolled up in her
hand. She and Hallie held it stretched out in front of me.
The sight of Johnny Montgomery's name staring at me from the page made
my heart beat a little. But when I began reading down the column I
couldn't seem to make sense of it. The only thing that stood out in
the jumble was a name nearly at the bottom of the sheet, Carlotta
Valencia. It gave me a queer little stir of feeling, merely seeing
that name under his. Keeping my finger on it, "Who is that?" I asked.
"Oh, don't you know?" Hallie demanded, looking surprised, but delighted
at the chance of giving more information. "That is the Spanish Woman."
Estrella crossed her arms on her waist, and drew herself up, exactly as
her mother does when she thinks some one is beneath her. "You see,"
Hallie went on, explaining a little more to me, "she was--well, a sort
of friend of Mr. Rood's, and the paper says she feels dreadfully about
him!" Estrella sniffed.
"But," I cried, "you said last night that the shooting had been over
her."
"Yes, I know!" Hallie leaned forward impressively and seized a hand of
each of us. "It's perfectly true--at least it's what my father said
when the news came. He said, 'That confounded Valencia woman is at the
bottom of this, depend upon it.' But your father was very angry that I
had spoken of it, so of course I'm telling you this in strictest
confidence. The paper," Hallie went on, we both listening with open
eyes, "doesn't say the Spanish Woman had anything to do with the
shooting. So you see, no one does know exactly what it's about. It's
really the most mysterious thing! They found Mr. Rood lying there
quite dead," she continued breathlessly, "and they went to Johnny
Montgomery's house, but he wasn't there. Then some one told Mr.
Dingley they had seen a man run down Washington Street, so they
followed that trail, and finally they got him in a house down on the
water front, in a bad part of the city. My father said it would have
made things better for him if he had given himself up quietly; but he
barricaded the house, and almost escaped out of a back window. They
had a dreadful fight before they got him even then. He is so strong,
father says, that he just threw the men right and left as if he had
been a madman."
Hallie is wonderful when she is telling news. She never says unkind
things about anybody, and she is always so excited over what has
happened that she makes it sound like a romance. But now I was too
anxious to enjoy it. I felt I had to ask one question more, though
every word that came out of my mouth was a possible slip or lie. "But,
if they found Mr. Rood in the street with nobody near him, what makes
them think it was Mr. Montgomery who shot him?"
"That is the very queerest part of it," Hallie declared, nodding until
her green feathers nodded again, "but he was suspected immediately.
What they say is--" she lowered her voice impressively--"that some one
saw him do it."
I fairly cowered in my chair. "But he can't have meant to kill him," I
urged. "Why, his family was one of the best in the city. Just think,
Hallie, your mother knew his mother well, and he used to play with
Estrella's brothers."
Estrella flushed. "He hasn't been in our house since he was a little
boy," she said angrily. "I wouldn't think of bowing to him on the
street. He hasn't been received in good society for a long time."
Hallie sagely shook her head. "Yes, but I guess it's because he didn't
care to go, and lots of very nice girls have always been in love with
Johnny Montgomery. Lily West kept his picture in a satin case hidden
among her party clothes for ever so long. And do you know, when Laura
Burnet heard about Johnny's arrest last night, she fainted flat on the
floor."
Hallie's bolt upright impressiveness seemed to demand some comment, but
I could not manage a sound; for at her words there rushed back to me,
with humiliating clearness, my own hysterics of the night before. Was
it possible that Hallie thought I was in love with him, too? My cheeks
burned and burned.
"Were you ever introduced to him, Ellie?" Estrella asked, looking at me
curiously.
"No, she has never met him," Hallie promptly took the response out of
my mouth; "but she saw him once--don't you remember, Ellie, at my
sister Adelaide's coming-out ball?"
I said, yes, I remembered it.
"He danced most of that evening with Laura Burnet," Hallie pursued,
"and she was perfectly wild about him. My brother Tom saw him kiss her
in the conservatory," Hallie chuckled at that memory, "and for a while
it was said that they were engaged, though she was three years older
than he was. But he was terribly in debt then, and of course she had
lots of money." Hallie sighed, and added, "Isn't it awful he should
have ended in this way? Adelaide always said there was no one who
could put your shawl around you so beautifully as he."
It seemed terrible to me that they could sit there talking of how badly
he had been thought of by society, and how beautifully he had put
women's shawls around them, when he was in prison waiting to be tried
for his life. I was glad when the girls went and I could think about
it by myself.
I felt sick and bruised. All suggestions that Hallie had innocently
let fall put such an ugly face upon his actions. I didn't want to
believe that hateful gossip. His smile had been so charming and kind.
There was something about him that made him seem of so much greater
importance than any one else I had known; that made every little look
and motion of his memorable and eloquent. And when he had looked
straight into my eyes I had felt the warm flowing of the blood in my
veins. Had it been these strange qualities of his that had made nice
girls fall in love with him? I peeped into my mirror to see if my face
looked as queer as my feelings felt. I whispered the words again, "To
fall in love." What could that be like? To make Laura Burnet faint
away at just the news of his arrest--what a great and terrible feeling
it must be! When I thought of him as a person who could inspire such
emotions he gathered a halo of mystery and power; but when I remembered
Hallie's saying how he had been engaged to Laura for the sake of her
money, he seemed to me the merest wretch. I told myself there was no
need of my worrying about it, as he was in prison and my part was done.
It couldn't possibly interest me any further. All the same I couldn't
get it out of my head.
Father came home to luncheon that day, bringing Senora Mendez with him.
He looked worried and tired, but I had never seen her so sweet, and so
very gay.
She said I had been in the house too much, looked pale, and that she
was going to take me shopping. As we got up from the table she
lingered a moment, saying something to father about taking some one's
mind off something. And father said, yes until we can tell which way
it will go. So I supposed they were talking business.
Senora Mendez is such a great grand sort of lady that usually one is a
little in awe of her; but to-day she made me feel very much at home, as
we drove down the street in her big open carriage. She never once
mentioned the shooting, and I didn't have courage to speak of it
myself. But we heard of it all around us. In the first shop we went
into a woman just behind me said in a loud voice, "Do the rebels think
they can shoot us all down as Wilkes Booth shot the president?" And
then, again, at another shop where we were looking at lace, the clerk
said, "This is a terrible thing for the city, Madam, the loss of such a
valuable citizen." But Senora Mendez seemed not to hear him, and went
on explaining to me the difference between honiton and thread, and
showing me how beautiful embroidered net looked over pale blue silk,
until I felt quite cheerful just through listening to her and looking
at the pretty things. She wound up by buying me a lovely pair of
thread lace sleeves, and swept me out in the wake of her train feeling
almost happy again.
Just as we had got into the carriage two gentlemen with silk hats, very
elegant indeed, came up and talked over the carriage door with her.
The one with yellow gloves said, "This is a bad business. It's a good
thing poor old lady Montgomery never lived to see this day." And the
other said, "I wonder what the effect on the city will be?"
Senora Mendez said she hoped the effect would be a law requiring our
young men to settle disputes with their fists instead of firearms, and
that it was a shame nice boys would brawl in gambling-houses. She
smiled and looked most easy and pleasant over it, and all the way up
the street she chatted right along as if nothing serious had ever
happened. But when we stopped at the house, just as I was leaving the
carriage, she quickly took my face between her hands and kissed me hard
on the forehead. "You poor little motherless duck," she said, and left
me with the impression there had been tears in her eyes.
I wondered why she should feel so suddenly sorry for me; nevertheless I
felt cheered and consoled--hadn't she spoken kindly of Johnny
Montgomery as a nice boy? But it was the last good word I was to hear
of him for a week. I needed the memory of that cheer and consolation
through the next hard days.
For now that I was recovered from the shock of the first day I began to
realize that the shooting of Martin Rood was not at all an ordinary
shooting. It had stirred up great excitement. Only one month had
passed since the president's assassination; the feeling against the
Southerners was still very bitter, and not only were all the
Montgomerys dyed-in-the-wool Alabamians, but some of the relatives had
fought on the Southern side. Rumors flew about the city of a mob
attacking the prison. There was a guard of soldiers around it the
first night, and when they took him from there to the jail on Broadway,
it was in the middle of an armed escort. All sorts of stories as to
what had caused the shooting were abroad, but the one thing the reports
agreed upon was the fact that the quarrel had been of long standing.
This was very exciting to hear about, yet I didn't enjoy talking of it
as the other girls did.
Only when I was alone, with hot cheeks and anxious eyes, I read through
the long accounts that filled the papers, hoping to find some word in
his favor. It seemed to me that the whole city was against Johnny
Montgomery. The _Bulletin_ had stories of another shooting down South,
though it appeared that that time he had been the one who was shot at;
and of how he had lost his money in land speculations of a doubtful
character. The _Alta California_ called him a rebel, and said that his
career had been "a demoralizing influence to the youth of the city."
Though, on the other hand, it called Mr. Rood our esteemed and lamented
citizen, which was puzzling to me, for he was only a gambling-house
keeper whom none of the best men in town was friendly with. But the
papers spoke very warmly of him; called Mrs. Rood, Senior, his
sorrowing mother, and then they mentioned the Spanish Woman. They said
she had been in love with Rood, and that he had expected to marry her.
That recalled a memory of what father had told me when I first asked
him about the Spanish Woman--that she had money, and influence in high
places--and I wondered what that influence could do to Johnny
Montgomery's case. Altogether I was much disturbed. I hated to ask
questions of father, he had been so distressed over my part in the
affair; and besides he had been very busy that week, so many men
interviewing him when he was at home--Mr. Dingley, and others who were
not elegant, but very businesslike--that I hardly saw him except at
meals. Once or twice I had caught him, when he thought I wasn't
looking, watching me with an anxious and harassed expression; but most
of the time he was preoccupied.
On the morning of the fourth day after the shooting, as I sat at
breakfast, I took up the paper and read that the trial of the People
Versus John Montgomery was set for the last week of May. I glanced
down the column and a sentence caught my eye. "It is said the
prosecution is in possession of sensational evidence which will
materially affect the aspect of the case." I sat for some minutes with
the paper in my hand, listening to it rustle, gathering my courage.
"Father," I finally said, "do you think that Mr. Montgomery is really
wicked?"
He looked over at me with that smile of his which is most serious. "My
dear child, I am not Almighty God."
"But you know what I mean," I protested. "The papers have been saying
such nice things about Mr. Rood, but you yourself once said he was an
'insidious and pernicious influence in the community'; and the papers
are printing such dreadful things about Johnny Montgomery! They are
telling all sorts of stories about him--that he has been in shooting
scrapes and dishonorable business deals, and--and horrible things," I
ended rather uncertainly.
"Oh, no doubt he hasn't been such a bad fellow," father said, passing
his cup for coffee. "As far as his land operations are concerned, I
know for a fact that the 'dishonorable dealing' the _Bulletin_ talks
about was all on the side of the men who got his money. But you see he
would go into the deal in spite of the advice of the executor of the
estate, antagonized all his father's friends--plucked the Roman
senators by the beards, as it were;--so of course they were ready to
believe the worst of him. Then he went badly into debt, and
accumulated too many creditors to be popular. But Rood, you see,
always had money, always kept his escapades quiet, and was very liberal
to the city. He has given a deal to different public institutions.
They can't do otherwise than praise him."
He took up his letters and began to open them with a paper-knife.
"But," I said, "they say Mr. Montgomery has been engaged to a girl for
her money."
Father threw back his head and laughed--I can never tell when I am
going to amuse him.
"Engaged to a girl for her money? That's the worst thing on his list,
I suppose, eh, Ellie?" Before he finished the sentence he was almost
grave again. "I know where you got that information." He shook the
paper-knife at me. "Women's gossip is an invention of the devil!
Don't listen to it! The poor fellow has enough real counts to be
accused on, God knows!"
He said the last words with such an emphasis as did away with all the
comfort his explanation had brought me. I did not dare to press him
further; I was afraid I might hear worse.
He sat a moment frowning down at the tablecloth; then, "How would you
like to go down to the ranch for a week or so?" he inquired.
"Alone?" I asked.
"Well, I will go down with you, and stay as long as I can. Abby, of
course, will be there all the while. The colts are to be broken in
next week--that will be worth seeing; and no doubt the flowers will be
beautiful."
I said I would like to--though indeed I did not at all care. I was not
thinking of flowers. After father had left the house I went up-stairs
to my room; and, first locking the door and drawing the curtains close
because I did not want even my climbing white rose to see me, I took
out my new bracelet, and clasped it--one gold band around each wrist
with its chain swinging between--and closed my eyes and, holding my
wrists out, drew them apart until the chain jerked and stopped them--to
see just how it felt!