The trouble at Pinelands A detective story
at her going. “Don’t forget to take your tablet, Miss Christie!” Somers
called after them.
The nurse nodded and smiled over her shoulder, a becoming color in her
round cheeks.
“In-deed!” murmured Aunt Mary to herself, quite audibly, as the wheel
chair disappeared. “Every one needs medical attention except me, it
appears. Pity her sufferings wouldn’t keep her awake!”
After lunch we hurried back to the jail, of which we were now free
officially and regularly. And all that afternoon and evening I risked my
aged, rheumatic limbs upon a wabbly stepladder, arranging draperies,
hanging wreaths, tacking up ferns, until the lockup had become a bower
of beauty. Peter ran errands indefatigably, and Somers, whose lathy
length needed no ladder, worked at my side, performing prodigies of
reaching with those lank arms. Dorothy bossed us all unmercifully; and
poor Lewis was driven from one corner to another. His toes were trodden
on, he was abused roundly for getting in the way, and generally made to
feel as useless and unnecessary as any other bridegroom.
The last straw was added when Dorothy ordered us to heap his bunk with
roses and ferns. “Where’ll I sleep to-night?” he inquired mournfully.
“Why, we’ll make you up a nice bed on the floor, dearest, with both
mattresses and all the covers I brought from the house. It’ll be just as
comfortable; and we’ve got to hide that horrid old bunk.”
“Whose jail is this, anyhow?” asked Lewis of me, being very careful,
however, to keep his voice down. “You’re one of my stern jailors now,
unk. Tell me, hasn’t a poor prisoner any rights?”
“As a prisoner, yes, my boy; but as a bridegroom, no!” I said to him
firmly. “Bridegrooms are only permitted to live at all on condition that
they keep out of the way of their betters.”
At last it was done, and we went home, flushed and tired, leaving Lewis
to sleep on the floor.
“It’s going to be just lovely!” said Dorothy. “I’ll be awfully busy all
morning, seeing to the wedding breakfast; we’ll have to pack it all up
and bring it to the jail in baskets. Peter, I want you to go after Mr.
Duncan. No, you’d better do that, Uncle George; there will be some
explaining to do.”
I sighed resignedly. I could see myself explaining to the Reverend Percy
Duncan that Miss McGregor’s wedding was to be solemnized after all--in
the village lockup, and that he was invited to officiate.
“You, Peter,” our inexorable task-mistress went on, “will have to keep
Lewis’ flivver going; Rosina and I’ll be back and forth with baskets and
things. And, Doctor Somers, you go down first thing and stay with Lewis;
see that he doesn’t upset any of our decorations.”
“I’ll take care of him,” replied Somers. “Yes,” to Dorothy’s mute,
questioning gaze, “yes, I’ve got the ring and all that. Don’t you worry.
I’ve been best man before now.”
“I--I wish I could come, too!” said Miss Christie wistfully. Aunt Mary,
ostentatiously resigned, had retired for the night, and the nurse had
joined us in the living room, which was not her usual custom. Her blond
hair was coiled about a shapely head; she had discarded her unbecoming
white uniform and wore a simple dress of some soft, clinging blue
stuff--chiffon, I suppose. Her violet eyes were unwontedly bright; the
bovine calm of her face had melted, so that she seemed almost animated.
Dorothy nudged me. “Look!” she whispered. “I told you!”
I knew what she meant. And, indeed, to-night Miss Christie was very near
to being a beauty. “I wish I could go,” she repeated softly, her big
eyes on Doctor Somers.
“I wish you could,” he answered sincerely.
Dorothy rose abruptly, tugged at my arm and beckoned to Peter, and
dragged us both incontinently out of the room. “Go to bed, both of you!”
she ordered. “There’s a hard day ahead of you.”
CHAPTER XVIII
SOMERS DISGRACES HIMSELF
Dorothy’s prophecy was fulfilled. Wednesday dawned clear and hot, and we
sweltered through a long forenoon, doing all those thousand last trifles
which every wedding demands.
The news had run through all Pinelands; curious eyes followed our every
movement, as we hurried through the streets, variously laden. I should
have liked to hear the comment of some of the town’s strait-laced
matrons; but sentiment generally seemed much in our favor. The romance
of this marriage had caught the fancy of our villagers. Many an eye
beamed upon Dorothy as she raced back and forth in Lewis’ flivver; many
a man and woman stopped me, as I limped hurriedly by, to wish her good
luck by proxy. I was glad that Doctor Gaskell’s quiet funeral had been
held yesterday, so that sight of his hearse need not mar Dorothy’s joy.
A crowd gathered before the jail; it separated respectfully, as our few
guests arrived, then closed again, craning curious necks. On my final
trip I found Somers in the heart of the throng, hail-fellow-well-met
with them all, passing rude jests back and forth. I fancied that I saw
the glint of a black bottle circulating, but I could not be sure.
Then Dorothy came, a thin silk coat over her wedding finery, and we went
in.
The ceremony went off excellently, I thought; the more impressive and
solemn for its unusual setting. Sheriff Redden, in an ancient
double-breasted frock coat of voluminous skirts, gave the bride away,
with an old-fashioned gallantry, which was very pleasing; Lewis looked
handsome and manly enough, albeit a bit pale and nervous; and the bride
was charming.
When they were safely married, a shyly importunate messenger from the
crowd without begged them to show themselves. So the big door was swung
back, and bride and groom stood for a moment on the jail steps, and a
very striking couple they made.
Hearty cheers greeted them. There was nothing which could be resented in
the town’s spontaneous sympathy; these cheering folk without were
honestly, whole-heartedly rejoicing in the happiness of our young
people. They paid their tribute of sincere admiration to this daughter
of Pinelands, who had had courage to stand up for her lover.
Dorothy turned back with moist eyes. “After all, they’re my home folks,
and I love them all--to-day!”
I, too, had warmed toward the town of my adoption; and, for some reason,
it only convinced me further of its sincerity when I saw in the crowd
Satterfield, Bates, and Conover, and a dozen others, who less than
forty-eight hours ago had surrounded this very jail with intent to hang
the man they were cheering now. I chose to believe that this, and not
the sullen menace of that night, was their normal mood.
Still in her wedding finery, Dorothy, aided by her two bridesmaids, fell
to laying out the wedding breakfast on card tables; and an extraordinary
fine breakfast it seemed to all of us, I think, and we did ample justice
to it.
The crowd outside lessened, but did not entirely disperse. We heard a
rumble of conversation, an occasional outbreak of laughter, and at last
a vociferous cry:
“We--want--Somers!”
Renewed laughter. “Cut it out, fellers,” urged some one. “Don’t bust up
th’ party!”
More yells: “We--want--Somers! Hey, Shorty! Come on out, Splinter! Oh,
you bean pole!”
Thus variously adjured, Doctor Somers unfolded his lean length. “I guess
I’d better go,” he said. Suddenly I observed that the bright eyes he
turned upon us were suspiciously unsteady of focus. “I--I’m afraid it’s
partly my fault their hanging round this way. I’ll persuade them to go
away.”
He turned toward the door, his long stork legs moving stiffly, as if he
preserved his equilibrium by an effort. I wondered whether Somers had
been drinking, then abused myself for the disloyal thought. Just inside
the door he paused and pinned his deputy-sheriff’s star to the left
breast of his immaculate morning coat. The effect was unusual in the
extreme, but he seemed wholly satisfied therewith.
Then he bowed profoundly, recovered himself with difficulty, and
disappeared, leaving poor Dorothy to look after him in accusing wonder.
“Why Lewis, what makes him act so queer?” she demanded.
Renewed clamor without. “Yeay, Splinter! Hooray, Somers! Atta boy--let’s
go!” The raucous voice of Ralph Satterfield predominated.
“Your friend Somers seems to be--ah--popular,” I remarked grimly to my
nephew.
Lewis flushed. “Oh, he’s all right, unk,” he replied. “Let him alone; he
knows what he’s doing.”
No doubt he did; and, remembering all that he had already accomplished,
I could not blame him much. Yet---- “He’s awfully thick with Satterfield
and that bunch,” I said. “And he’s been drinking this morning, or I miss
my guess. Does he--is he taken this way often?”
“Nonsense, unk! Somers is no drunkard, if that’s what you’re getting at.
He’s an odd sort; I told you that. He’s got some scheme on hand, that’s
all.”
“Some scheme with that low-down bootlegger!” I replied. “With the very
crowd that wanted to hang you the other night! Humph! I don’t admire his
choice of friends.”
Our festivities went on; but some way the zest of them had departed. The
Reverend Mr. Duncan felt called upon to make a little speech, extolling
Dorothy’s heroic sacrifices for the man she loved, gushing about my
conduct Monday night--though it was little enough I did to protect
Lewis--and generally making himself oratorically obnoxious, and the rest
of us uncomfortable. Then the bridesmaids must weep over Dorothy, as
bridesmaids, I suppose, have wept over brides since the first wedding
day in history; and Dorothy cried a little, too, because they cried; and
Peter and I wrung Lewis’ hand and choked--and I, for one, was
considerably relieved when the Reverend Mr. Duncan kissed the bride once
more and departed, leaving us his blessing.
Then the bridesmaids went, too, and our handful of guests. Peter and I
were alone with the happy couple. Dorothy cried again because she must
leave her husband and go back to Fort House; and Peter stood amazingly
erect and blew his nose sonorously; and Lewis looked lonely and tired
and miserable; and I could have cried myself without making the
slightest effort.
At last Dorothy concealed her finery under a coat and went out to the
flivver, her little nose pink with weeping. And Peter and I followed,
after locking the bridegroom into his cell once more. Poor Lewis. It
must have been lonely enough there, locked in with only the drooping
flowers of the wedding decorations to keep him company.
We drove silently back to Fort House, and Dorothy went upstairs to
change, while Peter and I thankfully shed our formal clothes, and came
downstairs in soft shirts and linen trousers.
Dorothy remained invisible; but we two sat on the porch, through a long,
hot afternoon, waiting for a best man who failed to appear. Supper time
came and passed. We ate in silence, except for Aunt Mary’s resigned
monologue. Miss Christie wore another dress; pale pink this time, with a
low, square neck, which displayed her round, dimpled throat. She looked
very nice, I thought; it was really marvelous how she had changed and
brightened in two days. She said almost nothing; but her big blue eyes
kept turning toward the door.
That was an unpleasant meal. Dorothy kept her reddened eyes upon her
plate; Peter was grumpy; the omelet was scorched, and Rosina was
defiantly, ostentatiously conscious of our lack of appetite. She
flounced in and out, and set down the dishes with a bang. Every movement
said: “Well, cain’t have parties every meal. I done cooked one spread
to-day!”
We finished, and Aunt Mary, still prophesying evil and acidly gratified
by our evident disheartenment, had herself wheeled back to her own room.
“I might as well go to bed and read there,” she announced. “It does
seem, after being left alone all day, that I might find somebody to