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The Lady Doc, a novel by Caroline Lockhart |
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Chapter 12. Their First Clash |
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_ CHAPTER XII. THEIR FIRST CLASH The Symes Irrigation Company was now well under way. The application for segregation of 200,000 acres of irrigable land had been granted. The surveyors had finished and the line of stakes stretching away across the hills was a mecca for Sunday sight-seers. The contracts for the moving of dirt from the intake to the first station had been let and when the first furrow was turned and the first scoop of dirt removed from the excavation, Crowheart all but carried Andy P. Symes on its shoulders. "Nothing succeeds like success," he was wont to tell himself frequently but without bitterness or resentment for previous lack of appreciation. He could let bygones be bygones, for it was easy enough to be generous in the hour of his triumph. "He had it in him," one-time sceptics admitted. "Blood will tell," declared his supporters emphatically and there was now no dissenting voice to the oft-repeated aphorism. Symes moved among his satellites with that benign unbending which is a recognized attribute of the truly great. The large and opulent air which formerly he had assumed when most in need of credit was now habitual, but his patronage was regarded as a favor; indeed the Crowheart Mercantile Company considered it the longest step in its career when the commissary of the Symes Irrigation Company owed it nearly $7000. Conditions changed rapidly in Crowheart once work actually began. The call for laborers brought a new and strange class of people to its streets--swarthy, chattering persons with long backs, and short legs, of frugal habits, yet, after all, leaving much silver in the town on the Saturday night which followed payday. Symes's domestic life was moving as smoothly and as satisfactorily as his business affairs. A lifetime seemed to lie between that memorable journey on the "Main Line" with Augusta in her brown basque and dreadful hat, and the present. She was improving wonderfully. He had to admit that. "No, sir," he told himself occasionally, "Augusta isn't half bad." Her unconcealed adoration and devotion to himself had awakened affection in return, at least her gaucheries no longer exasperated him and they were daily growing less. Dr. Harpe had been right when she had told him that Augusta was as imitative as a parrot, and he often smiled to himself at her affectations, directly traceable to her diligent perusal of The Ladies' Own and the column devoted to the queries of troubled social aspirants. While it amused him he approved, for an imitation lady was better than the frankly impossible girl he had married. Something of this was in his mind while engaged one day in the absorbing occupation of buttoning Mrs. Symes's blouse up the back. He raised his head at the sound of a step on the narrow porch. "Who's that?" "Dr. Harpe." "What--again?" There was a suspicion of irritation in his voice, for now that he came to think of it, he and Augusta had not dined alone a single evening that week. "What of it? Do you mind, Phidias?" "Oh, no; only isn't she crowding the mourners a little? Isn't she rather regular?" "I asked her," Mrs. Symes replied uneasily. "It's all right; I'm not complaining--only why don't you ask some one else occasionally?" "I don't want them," she answered bluntly. "The best of reasons, my dear," and Symes turned away to complete his own toilet while Augusta hastened out of the room to greet the Doctor. Symes wondered if the installation of a meal ticket system at the Terriberry House had anything to do with the frequency with which he found Dr. Harpe at his table, and was immediately ashamed of himself for the thought. It recalled, however, an incident which had amused him, though it had since slipped his mind. He had found a pie in his writing desk and had asked Grandma Kunkel, who still formed a part of his unique menage, for an explanation. "I'm hidin' it," she had answered shortly. "From whom?" "Dr. Harpe. I have to do it if I want anything for the next meal. She helps herself. She's got an awful appetite." He had laughed at the time at her injured tone and angry eyes and he smiled now at the recollection. It was obvious that she did not like Dr. Harpe, and he was not sure, he could not exactly say, that he liked her himself, or rather, he did not entirely like this sudden and violent intimacy between her and Augusta, which brought her so constantly to the house. Some time he meant to ask Grandmother Kunkel why she so resented Dr. Harpe's presence. Dr. Harpe was seated in a porch chair, with one leg thrown over the arm, swinging her dangling foot, when Mrs. Symes appeared. She turned her head and eyed her critically, as she stood in the doorway. "Gus, you're gettin' to be a looker." Mrs. Symes smiled with pleasure at the compliment. "You are for a fact; that's a nifty way you have of doin' your hair and you walk as if you had some gumption. Come here, Gus." Dr. Harpe pushed her unpinned Stetson to the back of her head with a careless gesture; it was a man's gesture and her strong hand beneath the stiff cuff of her tailored shirtwaist strengthened the impression of masculinity. She arose and motioned Mrs. Symes to take the chair she had vacated while she seated herself upon the arm. "Where have you been all day?" There was reproach in Mrs. Symes's dark eyes as she raised them to the woman's face. "Have you missed me?" A faint smile curved Dr. Harpe's lips. "Missed you! I've been so nervous and restless all day that I couldn't sit still." "Why didn't you come over to the hotel?" Dr. Harpe was watching her troubled face intently. "I wanted to--I wanted to go so much that I determined not to give in to the feeling. Really it frightened me." Dr. Harpe's eyes looked a muddy green, like the sea when it washes among the piling. "Perhaps I was wishing for you--willing you to come." "Were you? I felt as though something was making me go, making me almost against my will, and each time I started toward the door I simply had to force myself to go back. I can't explain exactly, but it was so strange." "Very strange, Gus." Her eyes now held a curious gleam. "But the next time you want to come--come, do you hear? I shall be wishing for you." "But why did you stay away all day?" "I wanted to see if you would miss me--how much." "I was miserably lonesome. Don't do it again--please!" "You have your Phidias." There was a sneer in her voice. "Oh, yes," Mrs. Symes responded simply, "but he has been gone all day." "All day! Dreadful--how very sad!" She laughed disagreeably. "And are you still so desperately in love with Phidias?" "Of course. Why not? He's very good to me. Did you imagine I was not?" "Oh, no," the other returned carelessly. "Then why did you ask?" "No reason at all except that--I like you pretty well myself. Clothes have been the making of you, Gus. You're an attractive woman now." Mrs. Symes flushed with pleasure at the unusual compliment from Doctor Harpe. "Am I? Really?" "You are. I like women anyhow; men bore me mostly. I had a desperate 'crush' at boarding-school, but she quit me cold when she married. I've taken a great shine to you, Gus; and there's one thing you mustn't forget." "What's that?" Mrs. Symes asked, smiling. "I'm jealous--of your Phidias." "How absurd!" Mrs. Symes laughed aloud. "I mean it." Dr. Harpe spoke lightly and there was a smile upon her straight lips, but earnestness, a kind of warning, was in her eyes. A clatter of tinware at the kitchen window attracted Symes's attention as he came from the bedroom. "What's the matter, grandmother?" he asked in the teasing tone he sometimes used in speaking to her. "Not the cooking sherry, I hope." She did not smile at his badinage. "There's enough drinkin' in this house without my help," she returned sharply. "What do you mean?" Symes's eyes opened. "Are you serious?" The question he saw was superfluous. "It's nothin' I'd joke about." "You amaze me. Do you mean Augusta--drinks?" "Too much." "By herself?" "No; always with Dr. Harpe. Dr. Harpe drinks like a man--that size." She held up significant fingers. Symes frowned. "I know that Dr. Harpe's sentiments are not--er--strictly temperance, but Augusta--this is news to me, and I don't like it." He thrust his hands deep in his trousers pockets and leaned his shoulder against the door jamb. "When did this commence?" "With the comin' of that woman to this house." "It's curious--I've never noticed it." "They've taken care of that. She's a--nuisance." "You don't like Dr. Harpe?" Watching her face, Symes saw the change which flashed over it with his question. "Like her! Like Dr. Harpe?" She took a step toward him, and the intensity in her voice startled him. Her little gray eyes seemed to dart sparks as she answered--"I come nearer hatin' her than I ever have any human bein'!" "But why?" he persisted. Perhaps in her answer he would find an answer to the question he had but recently asked himself. There was confusion in the old woman's eyes as they fell before his. "Because," she answered finally, with a tightening of her lips. "There's no definite reason? Nothing except your prejudice and this matter you've mentioned?" A red spot burned on either withered cheek. She hesitated. "No; I guess not," she said, and turned away. "If I thought for a moment that her influence over Augusta was not good I'd put an end to this intimacy at once; but I suppose it's natural that she should desire some woman friend and it seems only reasonable to believe that a professional woman would be a better companion than that illiterate Parrott creature or the tittering Starrs." Symes shifted his broad shoulders to the opposite side of the door and his tone was the essence of complacency as he went on-- "Yes, if I had the shadow of a reason for forbidding this silly schoolgirl friendship I'd stop it quick." The old woman's lips twisted in a faintly cynical smile. "And could you?" Symes laughed. Nothing could have been more preposterous than the suggestion that his control over Augusta was not absolute. "Why, certainly. I mean to speak to Augusta at once in regard to this matter of drinking. I've never approved of it for women. There are two things that cannot be denied--Augusta is obedient and she's truthful." His good-nature restored by the contemplation of these facts, he turned away determined to demonstrate his control of the situation for his own and the old woman's benefit at the earliest opportunity. In fact, the present was as good as any. He walked to the door opening upon the porch, where Dr. Harpe still sat on the arm of the chair, her hand resting upon Augusta's shoulder. "One moment, Augusta, if you please." She arose at once with a slightly inquiring look and followed him inside. "I have reason to believe, or rather to know, that you have fallen into the way of doing something of which I do not at all approve," he began. "I mean drinking, Augusta. It's nothing serious, I am aware of that, it's only that I do not like it, so oblige me by not doing that sort of thing again." His tone was kindly but final. He expected to see contrition in Augusta's face, her usual penitence for mistakes; instead of which there was a sullen resentment in the glance she flashed at him from her dark eyes. "It's true, isn't it? You do not mean to deny it?" "No." "You intend to respect my wishes, of course?" "Of course." She turned from him abruptly and went back to the porch. The action was unlike her. He was still thinking of it when he put on his hat and went down town to attend to an errand before dinner. As the gate swung behind him Dr. Harpe said unpleasantly-- "You were raked over the coals, eh, Gus?" Mrs. Symes flushed in discomfiture. "Oh, no--not exactly." "Oh, yes, you were. Don't deny it; you're as transparent as a window-pane. What was it?" "He has found out--some one has told him that we--that I have been drinking occasionally." "That old woman." Dr. Harpe jerked her head contemptuously toward the kitchen. "Probably it was grandma--she doesn't like it, I'm sure, for I never was allowed to do anything of the sort; in fact, I never thought of it or cared to." "You are a free human being, aren't you? You can do what you like?" "I've always preferred to do what Phidias liked since we've been married." "Phidias! Phidias! You make me tired! You talk like a peon!" Her hand rested heavily upon Mrs. Symes's shoulder. "Assert yourself--don't be a fool! Let's have a drink." Mrs. Symes winced under her tightening grip. "Oh, no, no," she replied hastily. "Phidias would be furious. I--I wouldn't dare." "Look here." She took Mrs. Symes's chin in her hand and raised her face, looking deep into her eyes. "Won't you do it for me? because I ask you?" "I can't." There was an appeal in her eyes as she lifted them to the determined face above her. "You can. You will. Do you want me to stay away again?" "No, no, no!" "Then do what I ask you--just this once, and I'll not ask it again." She saw the weakening in the other woman's face. "Come on," she urged. Mrs. Symes rose mechanically with a doubting, dazed expression and Dr. Harpe followed her inside. Throughout the constraint of the dinner Dr. Harpe sat with a lurking smile upon her face. The domestic storm she had raised had been prompted solely by one of those impulses of deviltry which she seemed sometimes unable to restrain. It was not the part of wisdom to antagonize Symes, but her desire to convince him, and Augusta, and herself, that hers was the stronger will when it came to a test, was greater than her discretion. This was an occasion when she could not resist the temptation to show her power, and Symes with his eyes shining ominously found her illy-concealed smirk of amusement and triumph far harder to bear than Augusta's tittering, half-hysterical defiance. When she had gone and Symes had closed the door of their sleeping apartment behind him he turned to Augusta. "Well, what explanation have you to make?" The cold interrogation brought her to herself like a dash of water. "Oh, Phidias!" she whimpered, and sank down upon the edge of the bed, rolling her handkerchief into a ball between her palms, like an abashed and frightened child. Her uncertain dignity, her veneer of breeding dropped from her like a cloak and she was again the blacksmith's sister, self-conscious, awed and tongue-tied in the imposing presence of Andy P. Symes. Her prominent knees visible beneath her thin skirt, her flat feet sprawling at an awkward angle, unconsciously added to Symes's anger. She looked, he thought, like a terrified servant that has broken the cut-glass berry bowl. Yet subconsciously he was aware that he was wounded deeper than his vanity by her disregard of his wishes. "I insist upon an answer." "I--I haven't any answer except--that--that I'm sorry." "Did you drink at Dr. Harpe's suggestion?" he demanded in growing wrath. She wadded the handkerchief between her palms and swallowed hard before she shook her head. "No." "She should never come here again if I thought you were not telling me the truth." Agitation leaped into her eyes beneath their lowered lids and she blurted in a kind of desperation-- "But I am--it was my fault--I suggested it--she had nothing to do with it!" "Am I to understand that you have no intention of respecting my wishes in this matter?" She arose suddenly and began weeping upon his shoulder. The action and her tears softened him a little. "Am I, Augusta?" "No; I'll never do it again--honest truly." "That's enough, then--we'll say no more about it. This is a small matter comparatively, but it is our first clash and we must understand each other. Where questions arise which concern your welfare and mine you must abide by my judgment, and this is one of them. I am old-fashioned in my ideas concerning women, or, rather, concerning the woman that is my wife, and I do not like the notion of your drinking alone or with another woman; with anyone else, in fact, except when you are with me--and then moderately. Personally, I like a womanly woman; Dr. Harpe is--amusing--but I should not care to see you imitate her. One does not fancy eccentricity in one's wife. There, there," he kissed her magnanimously, "now we'll forget this ever happened." _ |
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