Elder Conklin and Other Stories Part 12

"I ain't much hurt," he said, "but I guess the Sheriff's got it bad."

The men moved on, drawing me with them, through the gate to where the Sheriff lay. Martin turned him over on his back. They opened his shirt, and there on the broad chest were two little blue marks, each in the centre of a small mound of pink flesh.

4TH APRIL, 1891.

A MODERN IDYLL.

"I call it real good of you, Mr. Letgood, to come and see me. Won't you be seated?"

"Thank you. It's very warm to-day; and as I didn't feel like reading or writing, I thought I'd come round."

"You're just too kind for anythin'! To come an' pay me a visit when you must be tired out with yesterday's preachin'. An' what a sermon you gave us in the mornin'--it was too sweet. I had to wink my eyes pretty hard, an' pull the tears down the back way, or I should have cried right out--and Mrs. Jones watchin' me all the time under that dreadful bonnet."

Mrs. Hooper had begun with a shade of nervousness in the hurried words; but the emotion disappeared as she took up a comfortable pose in the corner of the small sofa.

The Rev. John Letgood, having seated himself in an armchair, looked at her intently before replying. She was well worth looking at, this Mrs.

Hooper, as she leaned back on the cushions in her cool white dress, which was so thin and soft and well-fitting that her form could be seen through it almost as clearly as through water. She appeared to be about eighteen years old, and in reality was not yet twenty. At first sight one would have said of her, "a pretty girl;" but an observant eye on the second glance would have noticed those contradictions in face and in form which bear witness to a certain complexity of nature. Her features were small, regular, and firmly cut; the long, brown eyes looked out confidently under straight, well-defined brows; but the forehead was low, and the sinuous lips a vivid red. So, too, the slender figure and narrow hips formed a contrast with the throat, which pouted in soft, white fulness.

"I am glad you liked the sermon," said the minister, breaking the silence, "for it is not probable that you will hear many more from me."

There was just a shade of sadness in the lower tone with which he ended the phrase. He let the sad note drift in unconsciously--by dint of practice he had become an artist in the management of his voice.

"You don't say!" exclaimed Mrs. Hooper, sitting up straight in her excitement. "You ain't goin' to leave us, I hope?"

"Why do you pretend, Belle, to misunderstand me? You know I said three months ago that if you didn't care for me I should have to leave this place. And yesterday I told you that you must make up your mind at once, as I was daily expecting a call to Chicago. Now I have come for your answer, and you treat me as if I were a stranger, and you knew nothing of what I feel for you."

"Oh!" she sighed, languorously nestling back into the corner. "Is that all? I thought for a moment the 'call' had come."

"No, it has not yet; but I am resolved to get an answer from you to-day, or I shall go away, call or no call."

"What would Nettie Williams say if she heard you?" laughed Mrs. Hooper, with mischievous delight in her eyes.

"Now, Belle," he said in tender remonstrance, leaning forward and taking the small cool hand in his, "what is my answer to be? Do you love me? Or am I to leave Kansas City, and try somewhere else to get again into the spirit of my work? G.o.d forgive me, but I want you to tell me to stay.

Will you?"

"Of course I will," she returned, while slowly withdrawing her hand.

"There ain't any one wants you to go, and why should you?"

"Why? Because my pa.s.sion for you prevents me from doing my work. You tease and torture me with doubt, and when I should be thinking of my duties I am wondering whether or not you care for me. Do you love me? I must have a plain answer."

"Love you?" she repeated pensively. "I hardly know, but--"

"But what?" he asked impatiently.

"But--I must just see after the pies; this 'help' of ours is Irish, an'

doesn't know enough to turn them in the oven. And Mr. Hooper don't like burnt pies."

She spoke with coquettish gravity, and got up to go out of the room. But when Mr. Letgood also rose, she stopped and smiled--waiting perhaps for him to take his leave. As he did not speak she shook out her frock and then pulled down her bodice at the waist and drew herself up, thus throwing into relief the willowy outlines of her girlish form. The provocative grace, unconscious or intentional, of the att.i.tude was not lost on her admirer. For an instant he stood irresolute, but when she stepped forward to pa.s.s him, he seemed to lose his self-control, and, putting his arms round her, tried to kiss her. With serpent speed and litheness she bowed her head against his chest, and slipped out of the embrace. On reaching the door she paused to say, over her shoulder: "If you'll wait, I'll be back right soon;" then, as if a new thought had occurred to her, she added turning to him: "The Deacon told me he was coming home early to-day, and he'd be real sorry to miss you."

As she disappeared, he took up his hat, and left the house.

It was about four o'clock on a day in mid-June. The sun was pouring down rays of liquid flame; the road, covered inches deep in fine white dust, and the wooden side-walks glowed with the heat, but up and down the steep hills went the minister unconscious of physical discomfort.

"Does she care for me, or not? Why can't she tell me plainly? The teasing creature! Did she give me the hint to go because she was afraid her husband would come in? Or did she want to get rid of me in order not to answer?... She wasn't angry with me for putting my arms round her, and yet she wouldn't let me kiss her. Why not? She doesn't love him.

She married him because she was poor, and he was rich and a deacon. She can't love him. He must be fifty-five if he's a day. Perhaps she doesn't love me either--the little flirt! But how seductive she is, and what a body, so round and firm and supple--not thin at all. I have the feel of it on my hands now--I can't stand this."

Shaking himself vigorously, he abandoned his meditation, which, like many similar ones provoked by Mrs. Hooper, had begun in vexation and ended in pa.s.sionate desire. Becoming aware of the heat and dust, he stood still, took off his hat, and wiped his forehead.

The Rev. John Letgood was an ideal of manhood to many women. He was largely built, but not ungainly--the coa.r.s.eness of the hands being the chief indication of his peasant ancestry. His head was rather round, and strongly set on broad shoulders; the nose was straight and well formed; the dark eyes, however, were somewhat small, and the lower part of the face too ma.s.sive, though both chin and jaw were clearly marked. A long, thick, brown moustache partly concealed the mouth; the lower lip could just be seen, a little heavy, and sensual; the upper one was certainly flexile and suasive. A good-looking man of thirty, who must have been handsome when he was twenty, though even then, probably, too much drawn by the pleasures of the senses to have had that distinction of person which seems to be reserved for those who give themselves to thought or high emotions. On entering his comfortable house, he was met by his negro "help," who handed him his "mail":

"I done brot these, Ma.s.sa; they's all."

"Thanks, Pete," he replied abstractedly, going into his cool study. He flung himself into an armchair before the writing-table, and began to read the letters. Two were tossed aside carelessly, but on opening the third he sat up with a quick exclamation. Here at last was the "call"

he had been expecting, a "call" from the deacons of the Second Baptist Church in Chicago, asking him to come and minister to their spiritual wants, and offering him ten thousand dollars a year for his services.

For a moment exultation overcame every other feeling in the man. A light flashed in his eyes as he exclaimed aloud: "It was that sermon did it!

What a good thing it was that I knew their senior deacon was in the church on purpose to hear me! How well I brought in the apostrophe on the cultivation of character that won me the prize at college! Ah, I have never done anything finer than that, never! and perhaps never shall now. I had been reading Channing then for months, was steeped in him; but Channing has nothing as good as that in all his works. It has more weight and dignity--dignity is the word--than anything he wrote. And to think of its bringing me this! Ten thousand dollars a year and the second church in Chicago, while here they think me well paid with five.

Chicago! I must accept it at once. Who knows, perhaps I shall get to New York yet, and move as many thousands as here I move hundreds. No! not I.

I do not move them. I am weak and sinful. It is the Holy Spirit, and the power of His grace. O Lord, I am thankful to Thee who hast been good to me unworthy!" A pang of fear shot through him: "Perhaps He sends this to win me away from Belle." His fancy called her up before him as she had lain on the sofa. Again he saw the bright malicious glances and the red lips, the full white throat, and the slim roundness of her figure. He bowed his head upon his hands and groaned. "O Lord, help me! I know not what to do. Help me, O Lord!"

As if prompted by a sudden inspiration, he started to his feet. "Now she must answer! Now what will she say? Here is the call. Ten thousand dollars a year! What will she say to that?"

He spoke aloud in his excitement, all that was masculine in him glowing with the sense of hard-won mastery over the tantalizing evasiveness of the woman.

On leaving his house he folded up the letter, thrust it into the breast-pocket of his frock-coat, and strode rapidly up the hill towards Mrs. Hooper's. At first he did not even think of her last words, but when he had gone up and down the first hill and was beginning to climb the second they suddenly came back to him. He did not want to meet her husband--least of all now. He paused. What should he do? Should he wait till to-morrow? No, that was out of the question; he couldn't wait. He must know what answer to send to the call. If Deacon Hooper happened to be at home he would talk to him about the door of the vestry, which would not shut properly. If the Deacon was not there, he would see her and force a confession from her....

While the shuttle of his thought flew thus to and fro, he did not at all realize that he was taking for granted what he had refused to believe half an hour before. He felt certain now that Deacon Hooper would not be in, and that Mrs. Hooper had got rid of him on purpose to avoid his importunate love-making. When he reached the house and rang the bell his first question was:

"Is the Deacon at home?"

"No, sah."

"Is Mrs. Hooper in?"

"Yes, sah."

"Please tell her I should like to see her for a moment. I will not keep her long. Say it's very important."

"Yes, Ma.s.sa, I bring her shuah," said the negress with a good-natured grin, opening the door of the drawing-room.

In a minute or two Mrs. Hooper came into the room looking as cool and fresh as if "pies" were baked in ice.

"Good day, _again_, Mr. Letgood. Won't you take a chair?"