The Foolish Virgin
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Thomas Dixon >> The Foolish Virgin
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She struggled bravely to keep her head and not
break down. It was beyond her strength. A sob
strangled her, and she buried her face in her hands.
Jim looked at her in helpless anguish for a moment,
started to gather her in his arms and looked around the
room in terror.
He leaned over her and whispered tensely:
"For God's sake, Kiddo--don't--don't do that! I
didn't mean to hurt you--honest, I didn't. Don't cry
any more and I'll take you right down to the black
hole, and let you sleep on the floor if you want to.
Gee! I'll give you the whole place, tools, junk and
all----"
She lifted her head.
"Will you, Jim?"
"Sure I will! We start this minute if you want to
go."
She glanced over his shoulder to see that no one
was looking, threw her arms around his neck and kissed
him again and again.
"It was the first time you ever said no, dear, and
it hurt. I'm happy again now. If you'll just let me
see you in the shop for five minutes I'll never ask you
again."
"All right--tomorrow when you get out of school.
I'll take you down. Holy Mike, that was a dandy kiss!
Let's quarrel again--start something else."
She rose laughing and brushed the last trace of
tears from her eyes.
"Let's eat dinner now--I'm hungry."
"By George, I'd forgot all about the feed!"
By eight o'clock the storm had abated; the rain
suddenly stopped, and the moon peeped through the
clouds.
He drove the big racer back at a steady, even
stride on her lowest notch of speed--half the time with
only his right hand on the wheel and his left gripping
hers.
As the lights of Manhattan flashed from the hills
beyond the Queensborough Bridge, he leaned close and
whispered:
"Happy?"
"Perfectly."
The car was waiting the next day at half-past
three.
"It's not far," he said, nodding carelessly. "You
needn't put on the coat. Be there in a jiffy."
Down Twenty-third Street to Avenue A, down the
avenue to Eighteenth Street, and then he suddenly swung
the machine through Eighteenth into Avenue B and
stopped below a low, red brick building on the corner.
He set his brakes with a crash, leaped out and
extended his hands.
"I didn't like to take you up these stairs at the
back of that saloon, little girl, but you would come.
Now don't blame me----"
She pressed his arm tenderly.
"Of course I won't blame you. I'm proud and happy
to share your life and help you. I'm surprised to see
everything so quiet down here. I thought all the East
Side was packed with crowded tenements."
"No," he answered, in a matter-of-fact way. "About
the only excitement we have in this quarter is an
occasional gas explosion in the plant over there, and
the noise of the second-hand material men unloading
iron. The tenements haven't been built here yet."
He led her quickly past the back door of the saloon
and up two narrow flights of stairs to the top of the
building, drew from his pocket the key to a heavy
padlock and slipped the crooked bolt from the double
staples. He unlocked the door with a second key and
pushed his way in.
"All righto," he cried.
The straight, narrow hall inside was dark. He
fumbled in his pocket and lit the gas.
"The workshop first, or my sleeping den?"
"The workshop first!" she whispered excitedly.
She had made the reality of this shop the supreme
test of Jim's word and character. She was in a fever
of expectant uncertainty as to its equipment and
practical use.
He unlocked the door leading to the front.
"That's my den--we'll come back here."
He passed quickly to the further end of the hall
and again used two keys to open the door, and held it
back for her to enter.
"I'm sorry it's so dirty--if you get your pretty
dress all ruined--it's not my fault, you know."
Mary surveyed the room with an exclamation of
delight.
"Oh, what a wonderful place! Why, Jim, you're a
magician!"
There could be no doubt about the practical use to
which the shop was being put. Its one small window
opened on a fire escape in the narrow court in the
rear. A skylight in the middle opened with a hinge on
the roof and flooded the space with perfect light. An
iron ladder swung from the skylight and was hooked up
against the ceiling by a hasp fastened to a staple
over a work-bench. On one side of the room was a tiny
blacksmith's forge, an anvil, hammers and a complete
set of tools for working in rough iron. A small
gasoline engine supplied the power which turned his
lathe and worked the drills, saw and plane. On the
other side of the room was arranged a fairly complete
chemical laboratory with several retorts, and an
oxyhydrogen blow-pipe capable of developing the
powerful heat used in the melting and brazing of
metals. Beneath the benches were piled automobile
supplies of every kind.
"You know how to use all these machines, Jim?" she
asked in wonder.
"Sure, and then some!" he answered with a wave of
his slender hand.
"You're a wizard----"
"Now the den?" he said briskly.
She followed him through the hall and into the
large front corner room overlooking Avenue B and
Eighteenth Street. The morning sun flooded the front
and the afternoon sun poured into the side windows.
The furniture was solid mahogany--a bed, bureau,
chiffonier, couch and three chairs. The windows were
fitted with wood-paneled shutters, shades and heavy
draperies. A thick, soft carpet of faded red covered
the floor.
"It's a nice room, Jim, but I'd like to dust it for
you," she said with a smile.
"Sure. I'm for giving you the right to dust it
every morning, Kiddo, beginning now. Let's find a
preacher tonight!"
She blushed and moved a step toward the door.
"Just a little while. You know it's been only ten
days since we met----"
"But we've lived some in that time, haven't we?"
"An eternity, I think," she said reverently.
"I want to marry right now, girlie!" he pleaded
desperately. "If that spider gets you in her den
again, I just feel like it's good night for me."
"Nonsense. You can't believe me such a silly
child. I'm a woman. I love you. Do you think the
foolish prejudice of a friend could destroy my love for
the man whom I have chosen for my mate?"
"No, but I want it fixed and then it's fixed--and
they can say what they please. Marry me tonight!
You've got the ring. You're going to in a little
while, anyhow. What's the use to wait and lose these
days out of our life? What's the sense of it? Don't
you know me by this time? Don't you trust me by this
time?"
She slipped her hand gently into his.
"I trust you utterly. And I feel that I've known
you since the day I was born----"
"Then why--why wait a minute?"
"You can't understand a girl's feelings, dear--only
a little while and it's all right."
He sat down on the couch in silence, rose and
walked to the window. She watched him struggling with
deep emotion.
He turned suddenly.
"Look here, Kiddo, I've got to leave on that trip
to the mountains of North Carolina. I've got to get
down there before Christmas. I must be back here by
the first of the year. Gee--I can't go without you!
You don't want to stay here without me, do you?"
A sudden pallor overspread her face. For the first
time she realized how their lives had become one in the
sweet intimacy of the past ten days.
"You must go now?" she gasped.
"Yes. I've made my arrangements. I've business
back here the first of the year that can't wait. Marry
me and go with me. We'll take our honeymoon down
there. By George, we'll go together in the car! Every
day by each other's side over hundreds and hundreds of
miles! Say, ain't you game? Come on! It's a
crime to send me away without you. How can you do it?"
"I can't--I'm afraid," she faltered.
"You'll marry me, then?"
"Yes!" she whispered. "What is the latest day you
can start?"
"Next Saturday, if we go in the car----"
"All right,"--she was looking straight into the
depths of his soul now--"next Saturday."
He clasped her in his arms and held her with
desperate tenderness.
CHAPTER IX
ELLA'S SECRET
The consummation of her life's dream was too near, too
sweet and wonderful for Jane's croakings to distress
Mary Adams beyond the moment. She had, of course,
wished her friend to be present at the wedding--yet the
curt refusal had only aroused anew her pity at stupid
prejudices. It was out of the question to ask her
father to leave his work in the Kentucky mountains and
come all the way to New York. She would surprise him
with the announcement. After all, she was the one
human being vitally concerned in this affair, and the
only one save the man whose life would be joined to
hers.
In five minutes after the painful scene with Jane
she had completely regained her composure, and her face
was radiant with happiness when she waved to Jim. He
was standing before the door in the car, waiting to
take her to the City Hall to get the marriage
license.
"Gee!" he cried, "you're the prettiest, sweetest
thing that ever walked this earth, with those cheeks
all flaming like a rose! Are you happy?"
"Gloriously."
She motioned him to keep his seat and sprang
lightly to his side.
"Aren't you happy, sir?" she added gayly.
"I am, yes--but to tell you the truth, I'm
beginning to get scared. You know what to do, don't
you, when we get before that preacher?"
"Of course, silly----"
"I never saw a wedding in my life."
She pressed his hand tenderly.
"Honestly, Jim?"
"I swear it. You'll have to tell me how to
behave."
"We'll rehearse it all tonight. I'll show you.
I've seen hundreds of people married. My father's a
preacher, you know."
"Yes, I know that," he went on solemnly; "that's
what gives me courage. I knew you'd understand
everything. I'm counting on you, Kiddo--if you fall
down, we're gone. I'll run like a turkey."
"It's easy," she laughed.
"And this license business--how do we go about
that? What'll they do to us?"
"Nothing, goose! We just march up to the clerk and
demand the license. He asks us a lot of questions----"
"Questions! What sort of questions?"
"The names of your father and mother--whether
you've been married before and where you live and how
old you are----"
"Ask you about your business?" he interrupted,
sharply.
"No. They think if you can pay the license fee you
can support your wife, I suppose."
"How much is it?"
"I don't know, here. It used to be two dollars in
Kentucky."
"That's cheap--must come higher in this burg. I
brought along a hundred."
"Nonsense."
"There's a lot of graft in this town. I'll be
ready. I've got to get 'em--don't care how high they
come."
"There'll be no graft in this, Jim," she protested
gayly.
"Well, it'll be the first time I ever got by
without it--believe me!"
The ease with which the license was obtained was
more than Jim could understand. All the way back from
the City Hall he expected to be held up at every
corner. He kept looking over his shoulder to see if
they were being followed.
Arrived in her room, they discussed their plans for
the day of days.
"I'll come round soon in the morning, and we'll
spend the whole day at the Beach," he suggested.
She lifted her hands in protest.
"No--no!"
"No?"
"Not on our wedding-day, Jim!"
"Why?"
"It's not good form. The groom should not see the
bride that day until they meet at the altar."
"Let's change it!"
"No, sir, the old way's the best. I'll spend the
day in saying good-by to the past. You'll call for me
at six o'clock. We'll go to Dr. Craddock's house and
be married in time for our wedding dinner."
The lover smiled, and his drooping eyelids fell
still lower as he watched her intently.
"I want that dinner here in this little place,
Kiddo----"
She blushed and protested.
"I thought we'd go to the Beach and spend the night
there."
"Here, girlie, here! I love this little place--
it's so like you. Get the old wild-cat who cleans up
for you to fix us a dinner here all by ourselves--
wouldn't she?"
"She'd do anything for me--yes."
"Then fix it here--I want to be just with you--
don't you understand?"
"Yes," she whispered. "But I'd rather spend that
first day of our new life in a strange place--and the
Beach we both love--hadn't you just as leave go there,
Jim?"
"No. The waiters will stare at us, and hear us
talk----"
"We can have our meals served in our room.
"This is better," he insisted. "I want to spend
one day here alone with you, before we go--just to feel
that you're all mine. You see, if I walk in here and
own the place, I'll know that better than any other
way. I've just set my heart on it, Kiddo--what's the
difference?"
She lifted her lips to his.
"All right, dear. It shall be as you wish.
Tomorrow I will be all yours--in life, in death, in
eternity. Your happiness will be the one thing for
which I shall plan and work."
Ella was very happy in the honor conferred
on her. She was given entire charge of the place,
and spent the day in feverish preparation for the
dinner. She insisted on borrowing a larger table from
the little fat woman next door, to hold the extra
dishes. She dressed herself in her best. Her raven
black hair was pressed smooth and shining down the
sides of her pale temples.
The work was completed by three o'clock in the
afternoon, and Mary lay in her window lazily watching
the crowds scurrying home. The offices closed early on
Saturday afternoons.
Ella was puttering about the room, adding little
touches here and there in a pretense of still being
busy. As a matter of fact, she was watching the girl
from her one eye with a wistful tenderness she had not
dared as yet to express in words. Twice Mary had
turned suddenly and seen her thus. Each time Ella had
started as if caught in some act of mischief and asked
an irrelevant question to relieve her embarrassment.
Mary could feel her single eye fixed on her now in
a deep, brooding look. It made her uncomfortable.
She turned slowly and spoke in gentle tones.
"You've been so sweet to me today, Ella--father and
mother and best friend. I'll never forget your
kindness. You'd better rest awhile now until we go to
Dr. Craddock's. I want you to be there, too----"
"To see the marriage--ja?" she asked softly.
"Yes."
"Oh, no, my dear, no--I stay here and wait for you
to come. I keep the lights burning bright. I welcome
the bride and groom to their little home--ja."
A quick glance of suspicion shot from Mary's blue
eyes. Could it be possible that this forlorn
scrubwoman would carry her hostility to her lover to
the same point of ungracious refusal to witness the
ceremony? It was nonsense, of course. Ella would feel
out of place in the minister's parlor, that was all.
She wouldn't insist.
"All right, Ella; you can receive us here with
ceremony. You'll be our maid, butler, my father, my
mother and my friends!"
There was a moment's silence and still no move on
Ella's part to go. The girl felt her single eye again
fixed on her in mysterious, wistful gaze. She would
send her away if it were possible without hurting her
feelings.
Mary lifted her eyes suddenly, and Ella stirred
awkwardly and smiled.
"I hope you are very happy, meine liebe--ja?"
"I couldn't be happier if I were in Heaven," was
the quick answer.
"I'm so glad----"
Again an awkward pause.
"I was once young and pretty like you, meine
liebe," she began dreamily, "--slim and straight and
jolly--always laughing."
Mary held her breath in eager expectancy. Ella was
going to lift the veil from the mystery of her life,
stirred by memories which the coming wedding had
evoked.
"And you had a thrilling romance--Ella? I always
felt it."
Again silence, and then in low tones the woman told
her story.
"Ja--a romance, too. I was so young and
foolish--just a baby myself--not sixteen. But I was
full of life and fun, and I had a way of doing what I
pleased.
"The man was older than me--Oh, a lot older--with
gray hairs on the side of his head. I was wild about
him. I never took to kids. They didn't seem to like
me----"
She paused as if hesitating to give her full
confidence, and quickly went on:
"My folks were German. They couldn't speak
English. I learned when I was five years old. They
didn't like my lover. We quarrel day and night. I say
they didn't like him because they could not speak his
language. They say he was bad. I fight for him, and
run away and marry him----"
Again she paused and drew a deep breath.
"Ah, I was one happy little fool that year! He
make good wages on the docks--a stevedore. They had a
strike, and he got to drinking. The baby came----"
She stopped suddenly.
"You had a little baby, Ella?" the girl asked in a
tender whisper.
"Ja--ja" she sobbed--"so sweet, so good--so
quiet--so beautiful she was. I was very happy--like a
little girl with a doll--only she laugh and cry and coo
and pull my hair! He stop the drink a little while
when she come, and he got work. And then he begin
worse and worse. It seem like he never loved me any
more after the baby. He curse me, he quarrel. He
begin to strike me sometimes. I laugh and cry at first
and make up and try again----"
Again she paused as if for courage to go on, and
choked into silence.
"Yes--and then?" the girl asked.
"And then he come home one night wild drunk. He
stumble and fall across the cradle and hurt my baby so
she never cry--just lie still and tremble--her eyes
wide open at first and then they droop and close and
she die!
"He laugh and curse and strike me, and I fight him
like a tiger. He was strong--he throw me down on the
floor and gouge my eye out with his big claw----"
"Oh, my God," Mary sobbed.
Ella sprang to her feet and bent over the girl with
trembling eagerness.
"You keep my secret, meine liebe?"
"Yes--yes----"
"I never tell a soul on earth what I tell you now--
I just eat my heart out and keep still all the years, I
can tell you--ja?"
"Yes, I'll keep it sacred--go on----"
"When I know he gouge my eye out, I go wild. I get
my hand on his throat and choke him still. I drag him
to the stairs and throw him head first all the way down
to the bottom. He fall in a heap and lie still. I run
down and drag him to the door. I kick his face and he
never move. He was dead. I kick him again--and again.
And then I laugh--I laugh--I laugh in his dead
face--I was so glad I kill him!"
She sank in a paroxysm of sobs on the floor, and
the girl touched her smooth black hair tenderly,
strangled with her own emotions.
Ella rose at last and brushed the tears from her
hollow cheeks.
"Now, you know, meine liebe! Why I tell you
this today, I don't know--maybe I must! I dream once
like you dream today----"
The girl slipped her arms around the drooping,
pathetic figure and stroked it tenderly.
"The sunshine is for some, maybe," Ella went on
pathetically; "for some the clouds and the storms. I
hope you are very, very happy today and all the
days----"
"I will be, Ella, I'm sure. I'll always love you
after this."
"Maybe I make you sad because I tell you----"
"No--no! I'm glad you told me. The knowledge of
your sorrow will make my life the sweeter. I shall be
more humble in my joy."
It never occurred to the girl for a moment that
this lonely, broken woman had torn her soul's deepest
secret open in a last pathetic effort to warn her of
the danger of her marriage. The wistful, helpless
look in her eye meant to Mary only the anguish of
memories. Each human heart persists in learning the
big lessons of life at first hand. We refuse to learn
any other way. The tragedies of others interest us as
fiction. We make the application to others--never to
ourselves.
Jim's familiar footstep echoed through the hall,
and Mary sprang to the door with a cry of joy.
CHAPTER X
THE WEDDING
Ella hurried into the kitchenette and busied herself
with dinner. Jim's unexpectedly early arrival broke
the spell of the tragedy to which Mary had listened
with breathless sympathy. Her own future she faced
without a shadow of doubt or fear.
Her reproaches to Jim were entirely perfunctory, on
the sin of his early call on their wedding-day.
"Naughty boy!" she cried with mock severity. "At
this unseemly hour!"
He glanced about the room nervously.
"Anybody in there?"
He nodded toward the kitchenette.
"Only Ella----"
"Send her away."
"What's the matter?"
"Quick, Kiddo--quick!"
Mary let Ella out from the little private hall
without her seeing Jim, and returned.
"For heaven's sake, man, what ails you?" she asked
excitedly.
"Say--I forgot that thing already. We got to go
over it again. What if I miss it?"
"The ceremony?"
"Yep----"
He mopped his brow and looked at his watch.
"By the time we get to that preacher's house, I
won't know my first name if you don't help me."
Mary laughed softly and kissed him.
"You can't miss it. All you've got to do is say,
`I will' when he asks you the question, put the ring on
my finger when he tells you, and repeat the words after
him--he and I will do the rest."
"Say my question over again."
"`Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to
live together after God's ordinance, in the holy estate
of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor,
and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking
all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both
shall live?'"
She looked at him and laughed.
"Why don't you answer?"
"Now?"
"Yes--that's the end of the question. Say, `I
will.'"
"Oh, I will all right! What scares me is that I'll
jump in on him and say `I will' before he gets halfway
through. Seems to me when he says, `Wilt thou have
this woman to be thy wedded wife?' I'll just have to
choke myself there to keep from saying, `You bet your
life I will, Parson!'"
"It won't hurt anything if you say, `I will'
several times," she assured him.
"It wouldn't queer the job?"
"Not in the least. I've often heard them say, `I
will' two or three times. Wait until you hear the
words, `so long as ye both shall live----'"
"`So long as ye both shall live,'" he repeated
solemnly.
"The other speech you say after the minister."
"He won't bite off more than I can chew at one
time, will he?"
"No, silly--just a few words----"
"Because if he does, I'll choke."
Jim drew his watch again, mopped his brow, and
gazed at Mary's serene face with wonder.
"Say, Kiddo, you're immense--you're as cool as a
cucumber!"
"Of course. Why not? It's my day of joy and
perfect peace--the day I've dreamed of since the dawn
of maidenhood. I'm marrying the man of my
choice--the one man God made for me of all men on
earth. I know this--I'm content."
"Let me hang around here till time--won't you?" he
asked helplessly.
"We must have Ella come back to fix the table."
"Sure. I just didn't want her to hear me tell you
that I had cold feet. I'm better now."
Ella moved about the room with soft tread, watching
Jim with sullen, concentrated gaze when he was not
looking.
The lovers sat on the couch beside the window,
holding each other's hands and watching in silence the
hurrying crowds pass below. Now that his panic was
over, Jim began to breathe more freely, and the time
swiftly passed.
As the shadows slowly fell, they rang the bell at
the parson's house beside the church, and his good wife
ushered them into the parlor. The little Craddocks
crowded in--six of them, two girls and four boys, their
ages ranging from five to nineteen.
Sweet memories crowded the girl's heart from her
happy childhood. She had never missed one of these
affairs at home. Her father was a very popular
minister and his home the Mecca of lovers for miles
around.
Craddock, like her father, was inclined to be
conservative in his forms. Marriage he held with
the old theologians to be a holy sacrament. He never
used the new-fangled marriage vows. He stuck to the
formula of the Book of Common Prayer.
When she stood before the preacher in this
beautiful familiar scene which she had witnessed so
many times at home, Mary's heart beat with a joy that
was positively silly. She tried to be serious, and the
dimple would come in her cheek in spite of every
effort.
As Craddock's musical voice began the opening
address, the memory of a foolish incident in her
father's life flashed through her mind, and she
wondered if Jim in his excitement had forgotten his
pocket-book and couldn't pay the preacher.
"Dearly beloved," he began, "we are gathered
together here in the sight of God----"
Mary tried to remember that she was in the sight of
God, but she was so foolishly happy she could only
remember that funny scene. A long-legged Kentucky
mountain bridegroom at the close of the ceremony had
turned to her father and drawled:
"Well, parson, I ain't got no money with me--but I
want to give ye five dollars. I've got a fine dawg.
He's worth ten. I'll send him to ye fur five--if it's
all right?"
The children had giggled and her father blushed.
"Oh, that's all right," he had answered. "Money's
no matter. Forget the five. I hope you'll be very
happy."
Two weeks later a crate containing the dog had come
by express. On the tag was scrawled:
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