Thankful's Inheritance Part 43

"Hey? Good land! No flesh and blood! What do you want--bones?"

"Oh, I don't mean that. I wish I didn't have any--any relations of my own flesh and blood."

"Humph! I don't know's you'd be any better off. I ain't got n.o.body and I ain't what you might call cheerful. I know what's the matter with you, though. That Kenelm's been frettin' you again, I suppose."

He had guessed it. Kenelm that morning had suddenly announced that he was to have a day off. He was cal'latin' to borrow Mrs. Barnes' horse and buggy and go for a ride. His sister promptly declared that would be lovely; she was just wishing for a ride. Whereupon Kenelm had hemmed and hawed and, at last, admitted that his company for the drive was already provided.

"Oh!" sneered Hannah. "I see. You're goin' to take that precious inmate of yours along. And I've got to set here alone at home. Well, I should think you'd be ASHAMED."

"What for? Ain't nothin' in takin' a lady you're keepin' company with out drivin', is there? I don't see no shame in that."

"No, I presume likely YOU don't. You're way past shame, both of you. And when I think of all I've done for you. Slaved and cooked your meals--"

"Well, you're cookin' 'em yet, ain't you? I ain't asked you to stop."

"I will stop, though. I will."

"All right, then; heave ahead and stop. I cal'late my wife'll be willin'

to cook for me, if it's needful."

"Your wife! She ain't your wife yet. And she shan't be. This ridiculous engaged business of yours is--is--"

"Well, if you don't like the engagin', why don't you stop it?"

"Why don't YOU stop it, you mean. You would if you had the feelin's of a man."

"Humph! And let some everlastin' lawyer sue me out of my last cent for damages. All right, I'll stop it if you say so. There's plenty of room in the poorhouse, they tell me. How'd you like to give us this place and move to the poorhouse, Hannah?"

"But--but, O Kenelm, I can't think of your gettin' married! I can't think of it!"

"Don't think of it. I ain't thinkin' of it no more'n I can help. Why ain't you satisfied with things as they be? Everything's goin' on all right enough now, ain't it? You and me are livin' together same as we have for ever so long. You're here and I--well, I--"

He did not finish the sentence, but his sister read his thought. She knew perfectly well that her brother was finding a measure of enjoyment in the situation, so far as his dealings with her were concerned. He was more independent than he had been since she took him in charge. But she realized, too, her own impotence. She could not drive him too hard or he might be driven into marrying Imogene. And THAT Hannah was determined should be deferred as long as possible.

So she said no more concerning the "ride" and merely showed her feelings by moping in the corner and wiping her eyes with her handkerchief whenever he looked in her direction. After he had gone she spent the half-hour previous to Mr. Hammond's arrival in alternate fits of rage and despair.

"So Kenelm's been actin' unlikely, has he?" queried Caleb. "Well, if he was my brother he'd soon come to time quick, or be put to bed in a hospital. That's what would happen to HIM."

Miss Parker looked as if the hospital picture was more appealing than dreadful.

"I wish he was your brother," she said. "Or I wish I was independent and had a house of my own."

"Huh! Gosh! So do I wish I had one. I've been wishin' it all the mornin'. If I had a home of my own I'd have what I wanted to eat--yes, and wear. And I'd have 'em when I wanted 'em, too."

"Don't they give you good things to eat over at Mrs. Barnes'?"

"Oh, they're good enough maybe, if they're what you want. But boardin's boardin'; 'tain't like your own home."

"Caleb, it's a wonder to me you don't rent a little house and live in it. You've got money enough; least so everybody says."

"Humph! What everybody says is 'most generally lies. What would be the sense of my hirin' a house? I'd have to have a housekeeper and a good one costs like thunder. A feller's wife has to get along on what he gives her, but a housekeeper--"

He stopped short, seemingly struck by a new and amazing idea. Miss Parker rambled on about the old days when "dear papa" was alive; how happy she was then, and so on, with occasional recourse to the handkerchief. Suddenly Caleb slapped his knee.

"It's all right," he said. "It's fine--and it's commonsense, too.

Hannah, what's the matter with you and me gettin' married?"

Hannah stared at him.

"Married!" she repeated. "Me get married! Who to, for the land sakes?

Are you out of your head?"

"Not a mite. What's the matter with you marryin' me?"

"My soul! Is this a funny-paper joke, or are you--"

"'Tain't a joke; I mean it. Is there any reason why we shouldn't marry and settle down together, you and me? I don't see none. You could keep house for me then, and 'twouldn't cost--that is, you could look out for me, and I--well, I suppose likely I could look out for you, too. Why not?"

"Why, how you talk, Caleb Hammond!"

"No, I don't talk neither. I mean it. You was wishin' for a home of your own; so was I. Let's have one together."

"Well, I swan! Get married at our--at our age! I never did hear such talk! We'd be a nice young bride and groom, wouldn't we? I guess East Wellmouth folks would have somethin' to laugh at then."

"Let 'em laugh. Laughin' don't cost nothin', and, if it does, we won't have to pay for it. See here, Hannah, this ain't any foolish front-gate courtin', this ain't. It's just common-sense business. Let's do it. I will if you will."

Miss Parker shook her head. The prospect of being Mrs. Caleb Hammond was not too alluring. Caleb's reputation as a husband was not, while his wife lived, that of a "liberal provider." And yet this was Hannah's first proposal, and it had come years after she had given up hoping for one. So she prolonged the delicious moment as long as possible.

"I suppose you're thinkin' about that brother of yours," suggested Mr.

Hammond. "Well, he'll be all right. 'Cordin' to what I've heard, and seen myself, he's hangin' around that hired help girl at the High Cliff pretty reg'lar these days. Maybe he'll marry her and you'll be left without anybody. If he don't marry her he can come to live along of us--maybe. If he does he'll mind his p's and q's, I tell you that. He'll find out who's boss."

This speech had an effect. For the first time Hannah's determination wavered. Kenelm was, although Caleb did not know it, actually engaged to marry Imogene. His sister was even then writhing under the humiliation.

And here was an opportunity to get even, not only with Kenelm, but with the "inmate." If she, Hannah, were to marry and leave the pair instead of being herself left! Oh, the glory of it--the triumphant glory of it!

How she could crush her brother! How she could gloat over and sneer at Imogene! The things she might say--she, the wife of a rich man! Oh, wonderful!

"Well, come on, Hannah, come on," urged the impatient Caleb. "What do you say?"

But Miss Parker still shook her head. "It ain't any use, Caleb," she declared. "Even if--if I wanted to, how could I tell Kenelm? He'd raise an awful fuss. He'd tell everybody and they--"

"No, he wouldn't. I'd break his neck if he did. . . . And--eh--" as another idea came to him, "he needn't know till 'twas all over. We could get married right off now, and not tell a soul--Kenelm or anybody else--till it was done. Then they could talk or shut up, we wouldn't care. They couldn't change nothin'."

"Caleb Hammond, do you suppose I'd have the face to go to a minister in this town and have you tell him we'd come to get married? I'd be so ashamed--"

"Hold on! We don't have to go to a minister in this town. There's other towns with parsons in them, ain't they? We could drive over somewheres else."

"Everybody'd see us drivin' together."

"What of it? They see us drivin' to the Cattle Show together, didn't they?"