The Broken Gate Part 29

That Sunday evening Aurora Lane sat alone in her dingy little home. The walls seemed to her close as those of any prison. She found about her nothing of comfort. For once the little white bedside, all her life her shrine, failed in its ministration. There rose in her heart a great vague hunger for gregarious worship--the sort which all these others had freely offered every week of all their lives--that same wish for gregarious worship on which are based all the churches, all the creeds, of all the world. As never in her life before Aurora felt now that she could no longer fight alone, in solitude--she needed something--she needed the sight of other faces, the touch of other hearts; needed the a.s.semblage, the crowd--needed, in short, the world _en ma.s.se_, as we all do. She had lived without a.s.sociation and without sympathy too long. Now her starved nature at last rebelled.

So, having prayed faithfully, Aurora Lane rose not wholly comforted; and therefore she resolved to break the habit of her life, as she had lived it more than twenty years in this little town. In all that time she had not been within the door of any church, but now she felt that she must go--must be at least in part like to all these others on this evening of the Sabbath day.

The main note of such a community as Spring Valley is that of a resigned acceptance of life. This means a drab middle course, of small heroics, which yet does not debar from a quiet sympathy and mutual understanding.

This in turn essentially implies some manner of religious belief, for the most part of the pa.s.sive, un-investigative sort. Without doubt the church of this or that denomination--and in any such community there will be many--is the club and the court alike to those who maintain its beliefs--aye, and it is their hope and stay as well.

Aurora chose the largest church, where there was most apt to be the largest congregation. Pa.s.sing there, she had heard the organ roll in its moving appeal. It seemed to her that she must hear music or she must starve, must die. The drain on her nature now had been so great that, much as every impulse drew her to yonder other edifice, the one with iron bars where lay her own son, a prisoner, she could not go there, could not see him again, until she herself had had restoration of some of the forces of her own life. She wanted music--she wanted light--she wanted the presence, close, near to her, of other human beings. Surely they must know--surely they too must some time have suffered, have grieved, have yearned.

The slow life of the little town, which the excitement of this extraordinary Sabbath had so largely diverted from its usual channels, now began to rea.s.semble and to trickle toward the conventional meeting grounds. Those who had been delinquent at the morning services were at least tonight devout.

There is a sort of life of affairs, a sort of business life, of any church in any community. Thus, there may be many meetings beside that of the Sabbath day, in each church in any community. There must fall the practice of the choir, weekly, usually of Wednesday, sometimes of Sat.u.r.day evenings as well, if the anthem prove especially difficult of mastery.

As to the choir proper, there must of course be the soprano--not always elocutionist, as was the soprano in this church of Spring Valley--but always well-clad, most frequently with long and glossy curls of chestnut and the most modish hat of any in the church. Most tenors are bank clerks or cashiers. It is the function of the tenor in any such choir to escort the soprano to her home. The contralto is for the most part married, beginning to show _embonpoint_. She is brunette, with wide and pleasant mouth; is able to make excellent currant jelly, of which she gives her neighbors generously. Her attire is apt to be not quite so well-appointed as that of the soprano, which indeed should not be expected of the mother of three, the arrangement of those white starched collars in a part of each Sunday's task. The ba.s.so may sometimes be a school teacher, yet some of the best have been owners of livery barns, no more; modest folk withal, and covetous of the back seat in the choir.

To this essential personnel of the church choir there may be added others, supplements or understudies for this or that musical part, young men with large cameo pins in their cravats, young women with spectacles.

All these who sing soprano or contralto, at least all who still are young, must be taken home after services--not only the regular services of the church, but those of the choir practice midway of the week or at the week's close. And thereto, one must count the weekly prayer meetings, mostly for the old, but for the young in part.

It is, therefore, easy to be seen that the vestibule of any Spring Valley church of a Wednesday evening, sometimes of a Thursday evening, quite often a Sat.u.r.day evening, and always of a Sunday evening, must hold a certain lay representation of the community. It is, or once was, one of the proper functions of the village church to act as social meeting ground. Practically all of the respectable marriages in Spring Valley actually were contracted, at least as to the preliminary stages, under the eaves of this or that church.

The vestibule was crowded this Sunday evening, as was customary, when Aurora Lane, quite alone, turned in from the sidewalk and ascended the eight broad wooden steps up to the church door. Pa.s.sing thence to the inner door, she felt the silence which came upon the boys and young men who loitered there, waiting for the entrance or the exit of those of the opposite s.e.x. She felt the stares which fell upon her--felt, rather than saw, the icy disapproval which greeted her even here, even among these.

But she pa.s.sed by, entered the house of worship, and sank into a seat very far back in the long, bare, ghastly, rectangular room.

Before or after the entry of Aurora Lane, there failed not in coming those who sit in judgment upon the lives of their fellows--the baker, the butcher, the school teacher, the hanger of paper, the maker of candlesticks as well. All these were here, parts of the life of this community. Miss Julia was not there, as Aurora Lane discovered. She wondered dully if it had not been her duty to go around to the library and ask for Miss Julia; but the longing for personal solitude had been as strong in her heart as the longing for silent human companionship, so she had come alone. In truth Miss Julia was recreant tonight. She was alone in her own room--alone with her diary--that is to say, face to face with the picture of the same man whom Aurora Lane had met that afternoon.

In the slowly filling pews there reigned now silence, broken only by the shuffling footfalls of the arrivals, that uneasy, solemn silence which holds those seated and waiting for the services at church. A school teacher who was born in the East somewhere leaned her head forward on the back of the seat before her, and with a certain ostentation prayed, or seemed to pray. Others would have done this very fetching thing as well, but lacked the courage, so sat coldly, stiffly, unhappily, bolt upright, awaiting the arrival of the minister.

The tenor came after a time, soon following the soprano, models alike of social graces and correct attire. They pa.s.sed modestly, seemingly unregardful of the glances bent upon them. The ba.s.s singer was more conscious of his ill-fitting clothes as he hurried up the aisle, his Adam's apple agitated, betokening his lack of ease. The soprano by this time was shaking out her curls, fussing among the music sheets at the top of the organ, pushing back the stool, twirling its top about--all the while still quite highly unmindful of the gazes of the audience. The contralto came last, her brow furrowed with the thought that perhaps she had not left the cold meat on the table where her husband, the doctor, would find it when he came back from the country.

Came also in due and proper time the minister of church, the pillar of it all, bearing in his hand, rolled in its leather case, the sermon which he had written last Thursday morning--and which perforce he had been obliged wholly to rewrite since Sat.u.r.day at noon! For, be sure, this sermon must take up the issues of the day--must stand for the weekly platform of the town's morality. The eyes of all now were bent upon the little roll of leather in the preacher's hand. They knew what must be there. In a way they moistened their lips. This was why the attendance was so large and prompt tonight.

But Aurora Lane, unskilled in any of these things, the prey to so many conflicting emotions at this hour, a novice in the house of G.o.d, sat silent, her hands folded, well enough aware she was not welcomed by those who saw her there, yet craving of them, dumbly, anguished, all their tolerance in her time of need.

Now the organ rolled after its fashion. There were voices not too highly skilled, perhaps, yet after all productive of a certain melody. The music softened the ice of Aurora Lane's heart. She felt that after all she was a human being, as these others all about her. Was not this anthem universal in its wording? Did it not say "Come unto Me"? Did it not say something about "All ye"?--something about "Whosoever"? And Aurora Lane, all her life debarred from this manner of human cla.s.sification, felt her heart tremble within her bosom as she heard these universal, all-embracing words. Those about her, righteous, virtuous, heard them not at all, because they had been sung so oft before.

The text of the evening matters little. Everyone there, excepting Aurora Lane, knew that the real text was the red-handed young criminal lying in the prison.

The preacher invoked the wrath of G.o.d upon him who had raised his hand against the life of one of the town's beloved. He read large lessons as to right living, educed all proper morals from these events, so startling, which had come upon this peaceful town. In short, he preached what manner of sermon he must have preached in this manner of church and this manner of town. At times his voice was low and tense, at times his tones grew thunderous. And every word he said he felt was true, or thought was true, or hoped to be the truth; because he himself had written it; and this was the Lord's day; and these were the services wherein the Lord is worshiped regularly.

But the music of the anthem remained in Aurora Lane's soul, so that she was practically unconscious of all this. Her mind was vague, dazed. She did not know her son had been tried and found guilty. The words clung in her heart; "All ye"; "Whosoever." And presently they sang yet another hymn, and in it again were the words, "Come unto Me!" There was great emotional uplift in all Spring Valley this day. The minister felt the emotion, here upon the souls of his audience. He prayed for what he termed an awakening.

But Aurora was not awakened. On the contrary, for a time her strained senses seemed dull, relaxed. Only she heard the music, only the Divine words still lingered in her consciousness. It seemed but a moment to her before she saw all the others rising noisily, opening hymn books, for the final hymn. She herself therefore rose and stood silently, her hands folded before her, her eyes fixed forward. They sang a dismissal hymn.

Perhaps there were some who really praised G.o.d, from Whom all blessings flow. The minister raised his hands in that benediction which sent them all away full of a sense of duty done, albeit a trifle guilty as to that moral awakening regarding which the minister righteously had upbraided them.

All this was but the usual and regular experience of the congregation.

To this woman, this outcast, the unconscious object of the wrath so lately uttered from the pulpit, it had been a great and gracious experience. Yes, she said to herself, she had been one of these others!

She was within sight and touch of other women. There were boys and girls, young human beings, close to her, all about her. And nothing had happened to her after all!

Her precious words, a.s.similated rather from the hymns than from the sermon, were uppermost in her consciousness as, absorbed, almost unseeing, she stepped out once more into the vestibule. "All ye ...

_All_ ye...."

Many pa.s.sed her; none addressed her; a few drew aside their gowns as she came near. All stared. A sort of commotion therefore existed in the back portion of the vestibule as she emerged. The eyes of many young men were upon her boldly, curiously, insultingly, perhaps--she did not know.

It is a part of the formula of village life in such a community as Spring Valley, for the young men thus lingering in the vestibule to accost the maidens of their choice as they emerge from the body proper of the church building. The youth steps forward--preceding any rival if he may--removes his hat, at least in part, and having gained the maiden's eye, speaks the unvarying phrase, "May I see you home tonight?"

Whereupon the young lady, smiling if favorably disposed to him, is expected to take his arm in sight of all; and they thus, arm in arm, descend the eight wooden steps to the sidewalk, and so walk away undisturbed. Thus there gradually ensues a general pairing off of all.

The swain or the maid left alone is not rated of the social elect. This is the selecting place of the s.e.xes, far more than the sacred parlor with its horsehair chairs and its alb.u.m midway on the table of the marble top.

But now, as the little a.s.semblage in the vestibule dissipated, there came an added commotion, not at the rear, but at the front of the vestibule. Someone was pushing on inside of the door--someone who apparently did not belong there.

It was the half-witted son of Ephraim Adamson, John, commonly called Johnnie, the idiot! Why he had come hither, why he was allowed to come, none might say, nor why he came unattended by any of his kin as was the usual custom. But none molested him. A bold youth said "h.e.l.lo, Johnnie,"

and Johnnie respectfully took off his hat to him with an amiable grin.

They would have mocked him had they dared, but in truth none knew what to do with him.

When Aurora Lane had pa.s.sed in part the gauntlet of the loitering youths, and was about to step down the stair into the street, she felt a heavy hand fall on her arm. Then a peal of laughter rose back of her--laughter on the threshold of the church itself. For what the half-wit did was what he had seen these others do. Sidling up to her, his hat off, he said, "May I see--may I see you home this--this evening?"

This was accounted the greatest jest, the most unfailingly mirthful thing in the recountal, ever known in the annals of Spring Valley.

Aurora Lane started back from him in sudden shocked loathing, swiftly resentful also of the mocking laughter that she heard from those who still stood within the sanctuary. Sanctuary? Was there such a place as sanctuary for her in all the world? Was there any place where she might be safe, where she might be unmolested?

"Go on away!" she said sharply, and would have hurried down the stair.

She looked this way and that. There was not a man to whom she might appeal as her champion--not one! She must trust herself.

"Go along!" said she. But actually she saw tears in the eyes of the half-witted giant now. "No, Johnnie; but I'll walk with you with these others as far as the corner of the square."

"All right," said he. "I'll do--I'll do that." A wide gap opened in the ranks of the slow procession on the sidewalk now as these two joined in.

Not too wide, however, for there were certain ones who must keep track of all details regarding this epochal event.

"Where is your father, Johnnie?" asked Aurora Lane, quietly and distinctly, so that all might hear.

"He--he--I don't--I don't know. I ain't--I ain't been home. I'm out!"

said Johnnie.

"You've not been home? What do you mean?"

"Wasn't there--wasn't there a funer'l for somebody today?" he asked mysteriously. "I can whip any man in Jackson County. My pa said so.

We've--we've done it--we'd done it then if he--if he hadn't pitched on to me. He done that."

A sudden terror caught Aurora Lane's soul as she realized that the addled mind of this half-wit was more than to a usual extent gone wrong.

She feared him with every fiber in her body. She stepped aside quickly as he made a loutish thrust at her arm, as though to pinch her.

"I'll pinch you!" said he. "You know why?"

"No, don't! Go away!" she exclaimed, and pushed out her hand.

"'Cause--'cause I like you!" said the half-wit. "That's why!"

Then for a time those who crowded up at the rear heard little, until he resumed.

"Oh, I know a lot more I could tell you some time. I ain't--I ain't been home at all. I'm just looking round. Ain't no one can stop me. There was some sort of--of funer'l, wasn't there, in town today? Me and my father, we can lick ary two men in Jackson County."