THE GOOD OF EVIL.
When Justine wrote her next letter to Jud she purposely neglected to
describe the encounter with 'Gene. For the first time she wilfully
deceived him. In her letter she spoke lightly of the wind's work and
casually mentioned the unimportant fact that one of the neighbors had
generously helped her to make the repairs. She felt that Jud's hatred
for Crawley would have inspired something rash in him. She was
confident that he would throw aside his work, his
chances,--everything,--and rush to her protection. And so she found
consolation in deception.
It was her duty--to God and to herself--to keep these men apart, to
prevent the addition of fuel to the flame which smoldered silently,
stealthily. There was no doubt in her mind that 'Gene was truly
penitent. She could not trust him, for she despised him too deeply,
but she felt for him a new spirit of fairness. He had served her and
he had served like the whipped, beaten dog who loves the hand of a
cruel master. For days after the episode at the cowshed she did not
see him, and she was glad.
Every morning, however, she looked forth, fearful that she might see
him at work or behold some result of his labor in the night. One
morning she found a brace of rabbits and a wild turkey at her door.
Mrs. Crane saw them, too, and she was so full of joy that the girl
could not find heart to cast 'Gene Crawley's offering away. And she
herself was hungry. While Mrs. Crane fried the rabbits, the girl sat
back of the stove, out of patience with herself, yet scarcely able to
resist the fragrant aroma that arose from the crackling skillet. Pride
and hunger were struggling and hunger won.
Jud came and went once more. She wore her best frocks and was
cheeriness itself when he was with her. He brought her a few trifles,
and she loved him as much as if he had given her jewels, and indeed
what pleased her most was the change in his looks. He wore his
tailor-made suit. She did not know that he was still in debt to his
tailor, and he did not tell her.
On the day of Jud's departure she met 'Gene in the village. Her
husband had made her happy with the renewed promise that she could come
to him in the spring. Justine's heart was singing, her lips were
burning with the warmth of his love. Bundled in shawls and blankets,
she drove slowly from the village through the first vicious attacks of
a blizzard. Her thoughts were of the handsome, well-dressed youth in
the warm railway coach. She forgot the cold, blustery weather and saw
only the bright garden of paradise which his love had created. Her
heart sang with the memory of the past two days and nights spent with
him.
Just as her old gray horse fumbled his way into the open lane at the
edge of town, she saw a man plodding against the wind, not far ahead
along the roadside. It was 'Gene and he was starting out upon a long
walk to Martin Grimes's place. With a blow or two of the "gad," she
urged the horse past him. The single glance she gave him showed his
face red with the cold and his head bent against the wind. As she
passed he looked up and spoke. "Howdy, Justine."
"Good evening, 'Gene," she replied, but she could hardly hear her own
voice.
"It's a nasty drive you got ahead of you," he called.
"O, I'll soon be home," she responded, and he was left behind.
For half a mile there rang in her ears the accusing words: "It's a
nasty drive you got ahead of you." What of the walk ahead of him? Now
that she had grown calm she wondered how she could have passed him
without asking him to ride home. He had been kind to her, after all;
he had redeemed himself to some extent in the past few weeks and--he
had not asked her for the ride as she had feared he would. She
recalled his cheery greeting and his half-frozen face and then his
anxiety concerning the discomfort ahead of her. By no sign did he show
a desire to annoy her with his company. She looked back over the road.
In the twilight, far behind, she saw him trudging along, a lonely
figure against the sky.
"It's a shame to make him walk all the way home. He'll freeze, and I
can just as well take him in as not," she said to herself, and pulled
the horse to a standstill, resolved to wait for him. Then came the
fear that some one might see him riding home with her. The country
would wonder and would gossip. Unsophisticated country girl as she
was, she knew and abhorred gossip. Once a good girl's name is coupled
with that of a man in the country, the whole community shuns her; she
is lost. In the country they never forget and they never investigate.
Turning her face resolutely she whipped up, leaving him far behind.
While she was stabling her horse, by the light of a lantern, she found
herself, amidst warm thoughts of Jud, reproaching herself for the
unkindness to this man who hated her husband and who had sworn to be
her undoing. She might have given him the ride, she argued against
herself; it was so little to give and he was so cold. The blizzard was
blowing in force by this time, and her conscience smote her fiercely as
she thought of him forging along against its blasting chill. In the
village Jud had purchased several suits of warm underclothes for her
and she had placed the package in the seat beside her. Groceries and
other necessaries were beneath the seat. To her dismay and grief, she
found that the package had been in some manner jolted from the seat and
was doubtless lost on the road, miles back.
The next morning saw the storm still raging. The night just past had
been one of the most cruel the country had ever known. Her first
thought was of her stock, then of 'Gene Crawley. Had he reached home
safely or had he been frozen out there on the open road? A chill of
fear and remorse seized her and she turned sick at heart. Jud would
not have allowed the man to face such a storm, and if he were frozen no
one would condemn her cruelty more bitterly than tender-hearted Jud.
She ran to the rear door of her house, from which Grimes's home on the
hill could be seen, a mile away. The gust of wind drove the door open
as she turned the knob. Something rolled against her feet. The lost
bundle lay before her, left there in the night by--it could have been
no other than 'Gene Crawley. It was a sob of honest thankfulness to
the poor wretch she had spurned in the highway that came from her lips
as she lifted the package and closed the door. For many minutes she
stood by the window, clasping the bundle in her arms, looking out into
the bleak morning. A feeling of relief surged up in the multitude of
thoughts, and tears stood in her eyes. Not only had he braved the
blizzard safely, hardily, but he had traveled a mile or more farther
through the freezing night to deliver at her door the package she had
lost from the seat that might have been shared with him.
"Did ye hear 'bout 'Gene Crawley?" asked Mrs. Crane, later, when
Justine came in from the barn. The old woman was preparing the frugal
breakfast and Justine was seated beside the stove, her half-frozen feet
near the oven. A sickening terror forced a groan from her lips, for
something told her that the news was the worst. His body had been
found!
"What--what is it?" she whispered.
"He whupped the daylights out'n Jake Smalley an' Laz Dunbar down to the
tollgate day 'fore yest'day. Mrs. Brown wuz here las' night jest 'fore
you got home, an' she says her man says 'twuz the wust fight that ever
wuz fit in the county."
Justine was leaning back in her chair, her heart throbbing with relief.
"Was--was he hurt?" she asked, indefinitely.
"Who? 'Gene? Not a speck! But that big Smalley wuz unsensibul when
'Gene got off'n him. Doc Pollister says he won't be able to see out'n
them eyes o' his'n fer over a week. Laz lit out an' run like a
whitehead after 'Gene hit him onct. I'm glad he didn't git hurt much,
'cause he's goin' to be babtised down at the crick tomorrer, an' he'd
'a' tuck cold, shore. I tell you, that 'Gene Crawley's a nasty feller.
Constable O'Brien's afeered to serve the warrant on him."
"What was it all about, Aunt Sue?"
"O, nothin' much," answered Mrs. Crane, evasively, suddenly busying
herself about the stove. "I never did see sitch a fire! It jest won't
act right. Where'd this wood come from, Jestine?"
"From the jack-oak grove," said Justine. For a while she was silent, a
new impression forming itself in her brain. Stronger and stronger it
grew until it became almost a conviction. "Tell me what the fight was
about," she went on, breaking in upon Mrs. Crane's chatter.
"O, I'd ruther--er--I don't know fer shore what it wuz about.
Somethin' Jake said to 'Gene, I reckon. 'Gene fights 'thout any real
cause, y' know." The old woman was clearly embarrassed and eager to
evade the explanation.
"You do know and you must tell me," exclaimed Justine, now fully
convinced.
"'Twon't do you no special good, Jestine, an' I wouldn't mind about it,
'f I wuz you."
"Tell me: was it--did it have anything to do with me?"
"Didn't amount to nothin'--not a thing," expostulated the other. "You
know how these fool fellers will talk."
"Did 'Gene Crawley say anything mean about me?" she insisted.
"No. 'Twuz jest the other way--er--I mean----"
"Heavens! What did they say? Tell me! What could they say?"
"I hadn't orter tell you, but I guess it's best you know. Seems like
Jake an' Laz met 'Gene down to the tollgate an' wuz a wonderin' how you
wuz gittin' along this cold spell. Jake, who's a low down feller ef
they ever wuz one, give 'Gene the wink an' says--now, this is how Mrs.
Brown tells it--he says: 'Jud don't git home much, does he?' 'Gene
said he didn't know an' he didn't give a damn--'scuse me, but them's
the words. 'Nen Laz says: 'Now's yer time to cut in, 'Gene. Do what
you said you would. You cain't have a better chanst.' 'Nen Jake
laughed an' said: 'She's all alone up yander an' I reckon she's purty
dern lonesome. Now's yer oppertunity, 'Gene,----' Jest then, Mrs.
Brown says her man says, the fight begin. 'Fore Jake could finish up
sayin' what he started out to say, 'Gene lit into him right an' left.
Down went Jake an' Laz follered him. Jake wuz up fust, an' while he
wuz tryin' to keep 'Gene off, Laz broke fer the door an' got away. But
the way 'Gene did whup that Smalley feller wuz a caution. Mr. Brown
says you could 'a' heerd him beller clean down to the mill."
"Is that all?" asked Justine, breathlessly.
"Wuzn't that almost enough? O, yes; 'Gene tole Jake an' everybody else
there 'at ef ever a word wuz said about you ag'in, in any shape er form
that wuzn't jest right, he'd lick the tarnation soul out'n the hull
capoodle, men an' women. He said he meant women when he said women,
an' ef he ever heerd of one of them talkin' about you er repeatin' what
he said there at the tollgate on your weddin' night, he'd jest lay her
over his knee an'----"
"Were there many people at the tollgate when the fight took place?"
interrupted Justine. She was glowing with excitement.
"The place wuz full, an' Mr. Brown says he never did see sitch a
scatterment as they wuz when 'Gene sailed into Jake. Jim Hardesty
tried to git under the stove, an' Uncle Sammy Godfrey, old as he is,
jumped clean over the counter an' upsot a half barrel of sugar.
Ever'body run, an' nobody tried to help Jake, 'cept Doc Ramsey's
mother, an' that's 'cause he goes with Liz Ramsey. They do tell that
that's sure to be a match," and then the voluble Mrs. Crane branched
off into other lanes of gossip.
The next Sunday a whole township saw Eugene Crawley walk into the
little Presbyterian church on the hill and nervously take a seat near
the stove. Mr. Marks, the minister, was reading the first hymn when
'Gene plunged into this strange place, and so great was the sensation
that the reader, having stared blankly with the remainder of the
witnesses, resumed reading on the opposite page and no one was the
wiser. At first there was a certain fear in the hearts of all that he
had come for no other purpose than to report the death of some loved
one. No one dreamed that he had come to attend divine worship.
'Gene, himself, was astonished by his own temerity. It had taken all
his courage to do it, and he was an humble man as he sat stiffly by the
stove and looked at the upper left-hand corner of the organ. If the
minister had uttered his name suddenly, 'Gene would have swooned. It
was the first time he had been inside the church since a certain
Christmas eve, twenty years before. When Deacon Asbury asked him,
after service, if he intended to come regularly, now that he had begun,
'Gene's reserve vanished, and, transfixing the old gentleman with a
glare, he roared:
"What is it to you, you old skinflint? You don't own the shebang, do
you? I'll come ef I want to an' you needn't meddle about it either."
In consequence, the whole community said that his conversion was out of
the question, and that all the pulpits in Indiana could not pull him
out of the rut into which he had fallen. 'Gene, in truth, felt that he
was not wanted in the church, and he went home with the conviction that
the deacon's inquiry was inspired by the hope that such a sinner as he
might not continue to blight the sanctuary with his presence.
A day or so later the word was carried to the tollgate by Charlie
Spangler that Justine Sherrod was "sick-a-bed" and it "looked as though
she was liable to have lung fever." Dr. Pollister called at her house
and found her really ill. He took her in hand at once, and instructed
Mrs. Crane to see that she remained in bed until he said she could get
up.
"But who is to take care of the stock?" wailed the sick girl.
"Mrs. Crane and I will see to the stock, so don't you worry, Justine.
You've got to stay in bed or Jud'll be coming to a funeral purty soon,"
observed the doctor, with the best of intentions, but with little tact.
She gasped at the thought that she might die and leave Jud; her illness
had been but a trifling matter to her until the grim old physician so
plainly told her the truth. She realized that she was in danger and
that she wanted Jud to sit by the bedside.
"Is it so serious, doctor?" she asked, anxiously.
"Not if you stay in bed. Only a bad cold and some fever, but it has to
be looked after. You've got good lungs or you'd be a good deal wuss."
Then he went out and told Mrs. Crane to look after her, and said that
he'd ask some one to drop around every day to care for the horses, cows
and hogs, and to chop some wood occasionally.
As he drove toward the village in his rattling old buggy, he met 'Gene
Crawley in the road.
"Whoa!" he said to the horse; and that evening 'Gene Crawley was living
up to a promise to "look out fer Justine's stock and to git up some
wood whenever she needed it."
When Mrs. Crane told Justine that he was to come three times a day
while she was sick, to "look after things," the tired, feverish girl
shook her head and sighed, but offered no protest against the unwelcome
fate.