The Secret of the Storm Country Part 80

CHAPTER XLIX

TESSIBEL AND ELSIE

Gloom lay over the Silent City. Bitter hatred burned in the simple heart of every squatter. Waldstricker's open enmity had expressed itself in a series of injuries, calculated to enrage them. The shanty folk resented his cruelty to Mother Moll. The destruction of her shack promised a similar fate to their homes. When the story of Waldstricker's attack upon Boy Skinner spread among them, fierce threats were muttered at the fis.h.i.+ng holes and by the firesides. The wintry winds of the Storm Country, shrieking over the desolate ma.s.ses of ice and snow, were not more fierce and cruel than the squatters' demand for vengeance. The daily bulletins of the little one's illness kept the interest alive and added to the growing excitement and indignation.

Day after day, the doctor had come to the Young home, each time shaking his head more gravely. To Deforrest, the helpless witness of the unfolding tragedy, the days and nights were but a continuing torture.

Andy Bishop stole about the house like a small white ghost, waiting upon Tessibel and Mother Moll. One morning, a few days before Christmas, the doctor told Deforrest Young he considered Boy beyond earthly help. And now it devolved upon the lawyer to tell Tessibel she must lose her baby.

He went softly to the sick room. Whiter than the pillow upon which his cheek rested, Boy lay relaxed, breathing rapidly. Tess stood at the foot of the bed, her hands clasped loosely in front of her. Anxious eyes turned to greet Young. At the bedside the man stopped a moment and looked down upon the little figure. Shocked by the imminent signs of approaching dissolution, he went over and placed an arm around the girl.

"He's awful sick," Tess whispered. "What'd the doctor say?"

"I'm afraid, Tess--I'm afraid," he answered, unable to frame the medical man's decision.

Dawning comprehension and dismay struggled in the young mother's eyes, for the agonized tones of the well-loved voice and the tender solicitude of the supporting arms had put into Young's halting words the dread import of his message.

"You mean--you mean--?" she questioned.

"Tess, darling; my pretty child," Young murmured helplessly.

The red head dropped upon his chest and for a moment Tess clung to him as though to find protection from the menacing horror. Then she freed herself, dropped on her knees by the bedside, and rested her head on Boy's little hand. During the hours of watching she had striven to steel herself against this possibility. But she couldn't understand. Boy, her cherished bit of living joy and suns.h.i.+ne! What would become of him?

Separation? Yes, but where was he going? She didn't know. She couldn't think. A sudden shudder, a kind of voiceless sob shook her.

Young stood quietly by the bedside, watching and waiting. His love for mother and son centered all his thoughts in them. He shared his darling's grief and desired above everything to console her; but the very depth of his sympathy prevented him. Hopeless himself, in this grim crisis, every human effort seemed futile.

Placing a tender hand on her shaking shoulder, he bent down.

"My poor little girl!" he breathed. "I wish I could help you some way."

"n.o.body ... can." The hopeless despair of her voice made vocal the utter desolation she felt.

A gentle movement of the little hand against her face commanded Tessibel's immediate attention. She smoothed the pillow the while she whispered softly little words of love to Boy. Then she looked around at Young.

"Please tell Andy to fix the kitchen fire," she said, even at this time mindful of her domestic duties.

"I'll see to it myself," and he went out softly and down the stairs.

He found Andy in the sitting room.

"The doctor--what'd the doctor say?" the dwarf demanded.

"Go to 'er," trembled Young. "Brace her up all you can."

The little man went slowly upstairs and entered the sick chamber.

Through the tears in his eyes, he saw the dying babe in the white bed and the young mother kneeling on the floor, the flaming red of the cl.u.s.tering curls an incongruous note of brilliant color.

Andy waddled across the room and knelt down beside Tessibel. Lifting his arm he let it fall across the girl's shoulders. His silent sympathy, always unselfish, never intruded. Tess stared at Andy a moment, and then buried her face in her hands upon the coverlet.

"He's going away," she got out through her fingers. "Andy, I can't let 'im go!"

"I've been prayin' for 'im, Tess," choked the dwarf.

The girl made no response, but to show her friend she'd heard, one of her hands sought and held his.

"If it air right for 'im to stay, dear," murmured Andy, "the good G.o.d'll help 'im.... Don't ye think so, Tess?"

"I don't know, Andy.... I'm afraid!... It's too awful!"

"Kid, ye know it air true. You've only to ask him," Andy insisted.

A hopeless shake of the bowed head accompanied the whispered answer.

"I can't, Andy! I can't!... I'm so afraid!"

"What you 'fraid of, brat, dear? Jesus air loving you same's He did in the shack. He got Daddy Skinner out of prison, an' he took care of me, didn't he, huh?"

Maddened by suffering, she drew herself impatiently, away from the dwarf.

"Don't, Andy! I don't want to hear! He let Waldstricker whip my baby."

Although the young mother could hear the muttered prayers of the dwarf, no answering faith came into her soul. Hot hatred of the man who'd struck her son surged through her. Never again would she think of him without the raging cry within her for revenge. Her anger barbed the shafts of his rancor and dulled her own understanding of Life and Love.

Resentment inhibited every constructive effort. The courage, even the desire to fight against death's coming, was wanting.

"I hate 'im worse than anything in the world," she muttered.

"Yes, darlin'," soothed the dwarf.

"I'd like to kill him. Oh, I must do something--" She tried to get to her feet, but Andy held her tightly.

"Stay here!" was all he said, and Tess ceased to resist.

At midnight Boy died. He went away very quietly, without a cry or struggle. At the very last, he turned upon his side, looked into his mother's face, his eyes unshadowed and joyous. He smiled a little, sighed with the pa.s.sing breath, "Mummy," and sank to sleep. So dazed was Tessibel that without protest she allowed Deforrest to pick her from her knees and carry her out of the room.

Mother Moll and Andy performed the necessary services to the mortal clay that'd been their darling. Loving fingers, tenderly touching the delicate body, made Boy ready for the grave. Through the stillness of the night, the sighing of the ceaseless wind of the Storm Country, soughing of death and desolation, called to their minds the weird superst.i.tions of squatter lore. The old witch mumbled of signs, portends and warnings, and uttered dire prophecies in which her wrath at Waldstricker found expression.

While Tess and her squatter friends were carrying Boy through the sullen cold to G.o.d's wind-swept half-acre, Ebenezer Waldstricker sat before the glowing hickory logs in his sumptuous library. Several letters in his morning mail required his presence in the city. On the table before him lay a list of things he intended to buy for little Elsie's Christmas.

Since the day he'd whipped Tessibel's son and forced his wife from his home he'd devoted himself to the little girl. In spite of his best efforts, the child's grief for her mother had driven him almost to his wits' end. He'd made up his mind to spare no expense to bring joy back to his darling.

Whenever his mind reverted to the scene at the lake he tried to justify his act in striking the little fellow, but the news of Boy's death had, for a moment, given him an uncomfortable turn. He hadn't intended anything like that. He wasn't to blame! Probably the little imp would have died anyway!

Helen had sent every day to ask after Elsie, and the thought of his wife's anxiety pleased the elder. Perhaps, after a while, the squatters, as well as the members of his own household, would learn his word was law; that he would not allow any of them to go against his will. Again and again the corner curl of his lips showed his satisfaction.

Hearing the jingle of sleigh bells at the door, he rose from his chair and slipped on his great coat and cap.