* * * * *
The next morning, much to Anita's disappointment, we boarded a train
for Ithaca. I was in a state of high spirits; for returning to the
town of my birth--which many times during the war I had never expected
to see again--was a prospect both pleasant and exciting. I am one
of those, I guess, whom the Cornell students slurringly refer to as
"native sons." I have rarely had the desire to go to the big city
with its stale smells, its filthy streets and its unbearable noises;
preferring to remain peaceful and perhaps slightly bored in the country
areas. Anita, on the other hand, was moulded from different clay. But
she didn't reveal her restless spirit until after we had been married.
To this very day, I don't know whether it was Ithaca or my own poor
company that fired her with the wish to live in New York ... or whether
it was the desire to be near Leo Carpenter. The whole thing is as vague
now as it was then. At times I am sure that her mind never toyed with
thoughts of infidelity; and, whatever the world may think, I still
accept Anita's statement that she was never untrue to me while I was
away at war at its face value.
But I am forgetting myself and speaking of her as though she were
still alive and not lying so stiff in her coffin.
The train had scarcely pulled out of the station when Anita introduced
the subject I had this far managed to evade. I tried my utmost to be
indefinite, reminding her that I had not as yet interviewed the agent
for The Great Eastern and that I could not possibly decide one way or
the other until a thorough examination of the terms they offered was
made.
"Unless it is something extraordinary," I said, "I think it might be
wise to hold on to the place. The store has been newly equipped, you
know. Besides, the lease I hold is very favorable and still has quite a
long time to run. We don't need money badly enough to throw away a good
thing, do we? The Great Eastern wouldn't be interested in the place if
they didn't know it was a live investment."
"Oh, you'll like the offer they're making, all right," predicted Anita
confidently. "Young Murphy couldn't believe his ears when the man
approached him and named a tentative sum. How long do you think it will
take before we can move, Peter? I've already spoken to the Carpenter
Realty Company about putting the house on the market. They don't
believe we'll have much trouble getting rid of it."
I winced but said nothing. Fearful lest my face reveal disapproval of
these high-handed measures, I turned and looked out of the window at
the racing scenery. We were somewhere in Pennsylvania. The train was
whipping around sharp bends and the low mountains on either side of
us were studies in contrasting shades of green. Now and then we would
plunge into short tunnels and when we would emerge, the sunlight was
blinding. I had a headache.
"Well?" persisted Anita.
"Well what?" I asked without taking my eyes from the window. I have
never been much of an actor--my eyes give me away--and pretending not
to be aware of the subject being discussed would never get by if I
faced her.
"Are we going to live in New York or not? Really, Peter, you're not
paying much attention. Have I been talking to myself this last half
hour?"
"Eh? ... er, no, of course not, dear. Live in New York? Well ... if we
sell out, we'll talk about it. There's no great hurry, is there? After
all, I'm not even home yet!"
She said no more about it after that. A colored nurse came to occupy
the seat opposite us leading one little girl of about five or six and
carrying a baby in her arms. Both Anita and myself amused ourselves
by playing with the tot until I whispered to Anita: "She's so cute! I
wouldn't mind having one like her myself."
Anita dropped the little girl's hand as though it was red-hot and with
a wave sent her back to her nurse-girl.
"Wouldn't you?" I stammered.
She looked at me for a moment before replying. There was something cold
and piercing in her stare that I didn't like. I couldn't imagine what I
had said so wrong.
"No," she said flatly, "I wouldn't."
We had no sooner reached the front gate of our house when I stopped in
astonishment. The way the little place looked--run down, the garden
choked with weeds, the lawn grown up--was enough to bring tears of
disappointment to my eyes. The gate, usually so trim and bright, was
covered with rust and hanging crazily on a single broken hinge. I
looked toward Anita speechlessly.
"Oh, I know things look pretty bad," she admitted with a shrug in
answer to my wordless question. "But you must remember that I was all
alone here. And don't forget that you haven't been here in two years.
Things change."
"They certainly do," I remarked with ill-disguised meaning and she
flashed me a sharp look as we picked our way through the shabby yard to
the front door. Here, too, I found evidence that struck me as strange.
Before the door, rolled up but with the dates visible, were four copies
of _The Journal-News_. None of them had been opened.
Before I could comment upon them, Anita sighed, "Oh, dear. I've been
so busy these last few days that I haven't even had time to read the
paper! And you, complaining about the grounds!"
I let this pass and did not question her further although I was
totally innocent of what it was that occupied all of her time. Before
the war she had always been faced with the problem of how to while away
her leisure hours.
* * * * *
A few days spent in examining the books of my store and conferring
with the man from The Great Eastern definitely decided me that I would
be unwise to sell. Business was booming with prices right. The Ithaca
Drug Company was doing so well that I offered Tom Murphy the permanent
job of my assistant which he joyfully accepted. The store swarmed with
customers from the time we opened each morning until we reluctantly
closed the doors. I began to deliberate seriously the advisability of
inaugurating an all-night policy.
As yet I had not informed Anita of my decision to refuse Great
Eastern's offer. I knew that she would be very disappointed and I
wished to delay as long as possible the verdict which she would
undoubtedly consider foolish and quite inconsiderate of her feelings in
the matter.
After the passage of a week, however, I felt that I could not decently
withhold the news longer. I was not afraid of Anita in any sense of
the word, mind you, but I dreaded to see her unhappy. If only I had
suspected that the store was the match which would eventually cause
the terrible conflagration of our marriage, you may be sure that I
would have disposed of it at any cost! You see, before I married, my
life belonged exclusively to that store; afterwards it became entirely
Anita's.
Just as I was about to put on my hat and go home to tell her, Doc
Turnbull entered the place and we got to talking.
"You're doing a wise thing, boy. Those city fellers are a shrewd
bunch and no mistake. They'd skin the eye-teeth out of their own
grandmothers. Hold on to this joint if it's the last thing you do. At
the rate you're going now, Ray Cavender can't last much longer across
the street and this section will all be yours."
"Yes," I said, "but Doc, suppose they buy out Cavender and try to break
me by under-selling? You know I can't buck a rich company like that."
Doc spit. "It would take a hell of a lot of under-selling to make the
townspeople desert you in favor of them, son. The Great Eastern knows
that. If they can't work out a fair deal, they won't try to push their
way in. Don't worry."
We chatted a while longer until I happened to notice the clock above
the soda fountain. "Good heavens! I've got to run now, Doc. Say, why
don't you drop around to the house tonight? Weather looks nice and
clear so there won't be many mosquitoes. We'll sit down by the lake and
chew the fat."
Doc sighed profoundly. "You know, I miss that garden of yours, son.
Haven't set foot in it for over two years, would you believe it? But
I won't be able to make it tonight, I reckon. Too many patients are
yelling for pills."
I laughed. "Now don't try to tell me that you deserted your favorite
spot just because I was away! Didn't you drop in on Anita?"
Turnbull picked up his instrument case. "When? You know the only time
I can get around to paying social calls is on Friday or Saturday. Hell.
And you know your missus ain't shown hide nor hair around town during
weekends since you left for the other side." He grunted and mopped his
damp face with a pocket handkerchief. "I suppose because she bought one
of them week-end special commutation tickets on the railroad she just
felt she _had_ to use it up. Every Friday afternoon, regular as the
clock, she'd be on the train."
Together we left the store. I think the old man must have seen
something in my face because, as we separated, he asked: "What's eating
you, son? Anything the matter? You're not looking so chipper tonight."
"Oh, nothing, Doc, I guess," I hurriedly reassured him. "I suppose this
business about the store has got me going. Anita wants me to sell out."
Doc shook his head. "Now don't you listen to her, Pete. Mind what I
say. You've got a nice living here. Lots of fellers would like to be in
your shoes. Me, for one."
"'Night, Doc."
"'Night, Pete."
The information that Anita had spent every week-end away from home
during my absence, occupied my mind as I walked home that evening,
completely driving the business of the store from my thoughts. It was
not until I was seated at the dinner table that I remembered what I
would be forced to tell her. I was pondering the problem or what was
the easiest way to break the news when--as on previous nights--Anita
herself brought up the subject of the proposed transaction.
"Well, Peter? Did you get the papers?"
To forestall her, I had invented the story that they were drawing up
contracts for my approval or rejection. In the meantime, I was supposed
to be making a thorough investigation of the store's books, the value
of the stock on hand, and of business conditions in general.
I forced myself to be direct. "Anita," I said, looking her squarely in
the eyes, "I'm not going to sell out."
As I said this, she was pouring the iced tea. Pitcher in hand, she
leaned forward with a frown darkening her face. "You're what! You're
not going to sell?"
"No. I think I'll hold on to the place."
Her breast heaved as though she had suddenly become short of breath and
her lips tightened into that thin, white line I had come to dread. "But
I want you to sell," she said evenly. I could feel the wealth of fury
repressed in those six simple words.
"I'm sorry, Anita," I replied quietly, trying not to look ashamed of
myself. "I've already turned the offer down." Then her eyes began to
blaze and I half-rose from the table. "Now look here. There's no call
for you to take on. That store is all we've got and the best thing we
can do is to keep it."
I will never forget her lip curling into a sneer as she brought the tea
pitcher down onto the table with such force that a great crack appeared
in its heavy pottery from base to spout. "So that's how much you love
me, is it?" she cried. "You know I hate it here! Do you expect me to
slave for you in this dirty little hovel all my life? Well, I won't! I
won't, I tell you!"
I can't remember my exact words but I made the rather caustic remark
that the house had always been presentable until she commenced taking
weekly trips to New York in my absence. As soon as I uttered this, I
was sorry for it. The sneer faded from her lips, leaving her quite pale
and defeated looking. Both of us remained silent for what seemed to be
a long time.
At length, seeing that she made no retort in defense of herself, I
reseated myself and poured out the tea. Although I did not look up
at her, I could feel her heavy breath on my forehead. "I'm keeping
the store, Anita," I reiterated as though to put an end to the whole
dispute.
Anita silently left the room and I had to finish my dinner alone.
* * * * *
I imagine a good many husbands would have insisted on knowing more
about the regular (or irregular?) week-end excursions of their wives;
and perhaps if I had done so I would not have had to spend so many
years in prison; but I was so confident that the trips were merely in
the category of mischievous outings, spent mainly in theatres that I
did not press the subject. Anyway, I did not want to further irritate
Anita. The turning down of the offer had done quite enough harm.
For three days following the scene described, she would not speak to
me. The house became as gloomy and silent as a tomb. On the fourth day
she contracted a severe toothache. Her jaw was actually swollen and it
looked as if it might be terribly painful. Anita swathed her face in
napkins and at frequent intervals grudgingly employed the preparation
(chloroform, oil of cloves and creosote in equal parts) I had brought
her from the store. Although it was impossible for her to eat anything,
she flatly refused either to visit the dentist or to allow me to summon
one.
"You never asked me why I went to New York almost every week-end,"
she announced acidly out of the good side of her mouth, "so I never
mentioned my teeth. They've been giving me trouble for some time. But
of course you wouldn't be interested in that!"
Her bitter sarcasm made me feel guilty and in the wrong. I made
haste to assure her that such was not the case and that indeed I was
interested in her health. My obviously earnest sympathy seemed to
placate her somewhat.
"I've been going down there to visit a dentist," she went on, after a
sullen moment of silence. "The old fool we have in town here doesn't
know a tooth from a toe! If I'd let him, he'd yank them all! But this
man in the city is simply wonderful. I can't recall who it was that
recommended him to me, but he never hurts me with the drill."
This voluntary explanation of her trips tore the veil of mystery which
had surrounded them and made me feel a suspicious idiot. I must confess
that for a time I had been harboring frightful thoughts: dreams of
Anita in alien arms. Now, with her story convincingly illustrated by
a badly swollen jaw, I could only curse myself inwardly for having so
filthy a mind. I was totally unworthy, I silently told myself, to be
the recipient of such a fine woman's love.
All that night she tossed and turned in agony. Several times I was at
the point of dressing and going down to the store for a powder which
might induce her to sleep; but by the time I had made up my mind to do
this, she would fall into a light doze and I was afraid to awaken her.
In the morning, at her suggestion, I put her aboard the eastbound train
for New York. She promised that she would return the same evening in
time to get me some dinner. I knew that that would not leave her much
time in the city but I didn't like the idea of her travelling at night
or, worse yet, spending the night in some city hotel.
My day at the store was singularly eventful. Usually the hours would
pass filling prescriptions, interviewing pharmaceutical salesmen, or
chatting with the steady customers. But on that day the agent for The
Great Eastern reappeared upon the scene, hot and irritable and offering
fully a thousand dollars more than he had previously been authorized
to give. I took luncheon with him at the Ithaca Hotel and informed
him that I would consider his offer only upon the express agreement
that I would be given the management of the store. This, he assured me
in no uncertain terms, was a ridiculous demand. We parted, both of us
decidedly in bad temper. In my ears rang his farewell words: "Thatcher,
you are _the_ most pig-headed son of a bitch I've ever met!"
This anger of mine was very unfortunate as I later found out. It made
me three enemies: Mrs. Wainscott and the parents of that incorrigible
little brat, Jackie Mackintosh. The former, when she sidled nervously
up to the counter and whispered a confidential something in my ear,
I brusquely answered: "What? For heaven's sake, madam! Can't you ask
for anything in a normal tone of voice? What are you afraid of? If you
want a box of suppositories, ask for a box of suppositories!" Of course
Mrs. Wainscott grew red in the face and abruptly left the store with
the muffled guffaws of the loungers at the soda fountain burning in her
ears. I did not see her again until she testified against me at the
trial.
Not five minutes later, I administered a hearty spanking to
Jackie, whom I caught red-handed with both his pockets filled with
chocolate-covered cherries. He must have run home immediately to his
mother and complained of this treatment for later in the afternoon she
called upon me at the store, accompanied by her equally irate husband.
All of my patient explanations that Jackie's behaviour was not without
precedent made no impression and, at last, I flew into a rage and
ordered the trio from the store. As they departed, Mr. Mackintosh flung
back over his shoulder, "You'll pay for this, Thatcher. Mark my words!"
But, angry as I was, I was more incensed at my own bad conduct. Never
before had I insulted customers with such abandon. I had always been
careful, despite any emotional upheavals among my clientele, to
maintain an imperturbed exterior. Sadly, on the day in question, I
bridged this self-imposed gap with a vehemence born of my knowledge
that neither Mrs. Wainscott nor the Mackintosh clan were valued
patrons. Little did I suspect at the time that those petty squabbles
would help to dig the grave I was soon to inhabit for many, many years.
As a precaution, just before I started for home on that
never-to-be-forgotten night of August 20, 1919, I asked Tom Murphy to
make up an effective sleeping draught and bring it around to my house
on his way home. I realized that Anita might suffer further pain in
spite of, and with all due respect to, her city dentist. In any event,
I reasoned, it would do no harm to have something of the kind in the
house. Murphy agreed to deliver the stuff not later than nine o'clock.
* * * * *
When I sat down at the dinner table that night, Anita impatiently waved
aside my solicitous inquiries regarding her teeth and thrust a letter
into my hands:
"This came for you today. I can see it's from some woman. You'd better
read it."
From her tone of voice and the look in her eye, I gathered that Anita
was deriving some huge satisfaction from the letter. She was gloating
and nowhere, strangely, was I able to detect a sign of jealousy.
Ordinarily, I would say that these signs were the usual masochistic
antics of the wife who has caught her husband in some nefarious
practice; but in Anita I determined a note of triumph--like the
exclamation of a soldier who has just impaled the enemy on his bayonet.
I realized immediately from the handwriting and the postmark that the
letter was from Gilberte. I ripped open the envelope with a show of
innocence. It wasn't a very long letter but I could not have read it
then or at any other time. It was in French.
I will not ask you to believe me in this; the jury didn't. After nearly
two years in France, sojourning for the most part with people who spoke
no English, it doesn't sound plausible that I had not picked up enough
French to decipher Gilberte's simple message. Nevertheless, it is so. I
have never been good at learning languages and, except for a few choice
idioms of profanity garnered at the front, I am hopelessly incapable
of translating anything more than drugstore Latin.
After a glance at it, I passed the letter across the table for Anita's
inspection. "What does it say?" she asked coldly. "Or is it too
personal for your wife to know?"
"I don't know myself," I replied with a shrug.
"Really!"
"You can see for yourself. It's in French."