Текст книги "Jennie Gerhardt"

Автор книги: Теодор Драйзер

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

On the way home, through the wind-swept, dusty streets, he talked of life in general, Bass and Vesta being present. “Jennie takes things too seriously,” he said. “She’s inclined to be morbid. Life isn’t as bad as she makes out with her sensitive feelings. We all have our troubles, and we all have to stand them, some more, some less. We can’t assume that any one is so much better or worse off than any one else. We all have our share of troubles.”

“I can’t help it,” said Jennie. “I feel so sorry for some people.”

“Jennie always was a little gloomy,” put in Bass. He was thinking what a fine figure of a man Lester was, how beautifully they lived, how Jennie had come up in the world. He was thinking that there must be a lot more to her than he had originally thought. Life surely did turn out queer. At one time he thought Jennie was a hopeless failure and no good.

“You ought to try to steel yourself to take things as they come without going to pieces this way,” said Lester finally.

Bass thought so too.

Jennie stared thoughtfully out of the carriage window. There was the old house now, large and silent without Gerhardt. Just think, she would never see him any more. They finally turned into the drive and entered the library. Jeannette, nervous and sympathetic, served tea. Jennie went to look after various details. She wondered curiously where she would be when she died.

CHAPTER LII

The fact that Gerhardt was dead made no particular difference to Lester, except as it affected Jennie. He had liked the old German for his many sterling qualities, but beyond that he thought nothing of him one way or the other. He took Jennie to a watering-place for ten days to help her recover her spirits, and it was soon after this that he decided to tell her just how things stood with him; he would put the problem plainly before her. It would be easier now, for Jennie had been informed of the disastrous prospects of the real-estate deal. She was also aware of his continued interest in Mrs. Gerald. Lester did not hesitate to let Jennie know that he was on very friendly terms with her. Mrs. Gerald had, at first, formally requested him to bring Jennie to see her, but she never had called herself, and Jennie understood quite clearly that it was not to be. Now that her father was dead, she was beginning to wonder what was going to become of her; she was afraid that Lester might not marry her. Certainly he showed no signs of intending to do so.

By one of those curious coincidences of thought, Robert also had reached the conclusion that something should be done. He did not, for one moment, imagine that he could directly work upon Lester—he did not care to try—but he did think that some influence might be brought to bear on Jennie. She was probably amenable to reason. If Lester had not married her already, she must realise full well that he did not intend to do so. Suppose that some responsible third person were to approach her, and explain how things were, including, of course, the offer of an independent income? Might she not be willing to leave Lester, and end all this trouble? After all, Lester was his brother, and he ought not to lose his fortune. Robert had things very much in his own hands now, and could afford to be generous. He finally decided that Mr. O’Brien, of Knight, Keatley & O’Brien, would be the proper intermediary, for O’Brien was suave, good-natured, and well-meaning, even if he was a lawyer. He might explain to Jennie very delicately just how the family felt, and how much Lester stood to lose if he continued to maintain his connection with her. If Lester had married Jennie, O’Brien would find it out. A liberal provision would be made for her—say fifty or one hundred thousand, or even one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. He sent for Mr. O’Brien and gave him his instructions. As one of the executors of Archibald Kane’s estate, it was really the lawyer’s duty to look into the matter of Lester’s ultimate decision.

Mr. O’Brien journeyed to Chicago. On reaching the city, he called up Lester, and found out to his satisfaction that he was out of town for the day. He went out to the house in Hyde Park, and sent in his card to Jennie. She came downstairs in a few minutes quite unconscious of the import of his message; he greeted her most blandly.

“This is Mrs. Kane?” he asked, with an interlocutory jerk of his head.

“Yes,” replied Jennie.

“I am, as you see by my card, Mr. O’Brien, of Knight, Keatley & O’Brien,” he began. “We are the attorneys and executors of the late Mr. Kane, your—ah—Mr. Kane’s father. You’ll think it’s rather curious, my coming to you, but under your husband’s father’s will there were certain conditions stipulated which affect you and Mr. Kane very materially. These provisions are so important that I think you ought to know about them—that is if Mr. Kane hasn’t already told you. I—pardon me—but the peculiar nature of them makes me conclude that—possibly—he hasn’t.” He paused, a very question-mark of a man—every feature of his face an interrogation.

“I don’t quite understand,” said Jennie. “I don’t know anything about the will. If there’s anything that I ought to know, I suppose Mr. Kane will tell me. He hasn’t told me anything as yet.”

“Ah!” breathed Mr. O’Brien, highly gratified. “Just as I thought. Now, if you will allow me I’ll go into the matter briefly. Then you can judge for yourself whether you wish to hear the full particulars. Won’t you sit down?” They had both been standing. Jennie seated herself, and Mr. O’Brien pulled up a chair near to hers.

“Now to begin,” he said. “I need not say to you, of course, that there was considerable opposition on the part of Mr. Kane’s father, to this—ah—union between yourself and his son.”

“I know—” Jennie started to say, but checked herself. She was puzzled, disturbed, and a little apprehensive.

“Before Mr. Kane senior died,” he went on, “he indicated to your— ah—to Mr. Lester Kane, that he felt this way. In his will he made certain conditions governing the distribution of his property which made it rather hard for his son, your—ah—husband, to come into his rightful share. Ordinarily, he would have inherited one-fourth of the Kane Manufacturing Company, worth to-day in the neighbourhood of a million dollars, perhaps more; also one-fourth of the other properties, which now aggregate something like five hundred thousand dollars. I believe Mr. Kane senior was really very anxious that his son should inherit this property. But owing to the conditions which your—ah—which Mr. Kane’s father made, Mr. Lester Kane cannot possibly obtain his share, except by complying with a—with a—certain wish which his father had expressed.”

Mr. O’Brien paused, his eyes moving back and forth sidewise in their sockets. In spite of the natural prejudice of the situation, he was considerably impressed with Jennie’s pleasing appearance. He could see quite plainly why Lester might cling to her in the face of all opposition. He continued to study her furtively as he sat there waiting for her to speak.

“And what was that wish?” she finally asked, her nerves becoming just a little tense under the strain of the silence.

“I am glad you were kind enough to ask me that,” he went on. “The subject is a very difficult one for me to introduce—very difficult. I come as an emissary of the estate, I might say as one of the executors under the will of Mr. Kane’s father. I know how keenly your—ah—how keenly Mr. Kane feels about it. I know how keenly you will probably feel about it. But it is one of those very difficult things which cannot be helped—which must be got over somehow. And while I hesitate very much to say so, I must tell you that Mr. Kane senior stipulated in his will that unless, unless”—again his eyes were moving sidewise to and fro—“he saw fit to separate from—ah—you”—he paused to get breath—“he could not inherit this or any other sum—or, at least, only a very minor income of ten thousand a year; and that only on condition that he should marry you.” He paused again. “I should add,” he went on, “that under the will he was given three years in which to indicate his intentions. That time is now drawing to a close.”

He paused, half expecting some outburst of feeling from Jennie, but she only looked at him fixedly, her eyes clouded with surprise, distress, unhappiness. Now she understood. Lester was sacrificing his fortune for her. His recent commercial venture was an effort to rehabilitate himself, to put himself in an independent position. The recent periods of preoccupation, of subtle unrest, and of dissatisfaction over which she had grieved were now explained. He was unhappy, he was brooding over this prospective loss, and he had never told her. So his father had really disinherited him!

Mr. O’Brien sat before her, troubled himself. He was very sorry for her, now that he saw the expression of her face. Still the truth had to come out. She ought to know.

“I’m sorry,” he said, when he saw that she was not going to make any immediate reply, “that I have been the bearer of such unfortunate news. It is a very painful situation that I find myself in at this moment, I assure you. I bear you no ill will personally—of course you understand that. The family really bears you no ill will now—I hope you believe that. As I told your—ah— as I told Mr. Kane, at the time the will was read, I considered it most unfair, but, of course, as a mere executive under it and counsel for his father, I could do nothing. I really think it best that you should know how things stand, in order that you may help your—your husband”—he paused, significantly—“if possible, to some solution. It seems a pity to me, as it does to the various other members of his family, that he should lose all this money.”

Jennie had turned her head away and was staring at the floor. She faced him now steadily. “He mustn’t lose it,” she said; “it isn’t fair that he should.”

“I am most delighted to hear you say that, Mrs.—Mrs. Kane,” he went on, using for the first time her improbable title as Lester’s wife, without hesitation. “I may as well be very frank with you, and say that I feared you might take this information in quite another spirit. Of course you know to begin with that the Kane family is very clannish. Mrs. Kane, your—ah—your husband’s mother, was a very proud and rather distant woman, and his sisters and brothers are rather set in their notions as to what constitute proper family connections. They look upon his relationship to you as irregular, and—pardon me if I appear to be a little cruel—as not generally satisfactory. As you know, there had been so much talk in the last few years that Mr. Kane senior did not believe that the situation could ever be nicely adjusted, so far as the family was concerned. He felt that his son had not gone about it right in the first place. One of the conditions of his will was that if your husband—pardon me—if his son did not accept the proposition in regard to separating from you and taking up his rightful share of the estate, then to inherit anything at all—the mere ten thousand a year I mentioned before—he must—ah—he must pardon me, I seem a little brutal, but not intentionally so—marry you.”

Jennie winced. It was such a cruel thing to say this to her face. This whole attempt to live together illegally had proved disastrous at every step. There was only one solution to the unfortunate business—she could see that plainly. She must leave him, or he must leave her. There was no other alternative. Lester living on ten thousand dollars a year! It seemed silly.

Mr. O’Brien was watching her curiously. He was thinking that Lester both had and had not made a mistake. Why had he not married her in the first place? She was charming.

“There is just one other point which I wish to make in this connection, Mrs. Kane,” he went on softly and easily. “I see now that it will not make any difference to you, but I am commissioned and in a way constrained to make it. I hope you will take it in the manner in which it is given. I don’t know whether you are familiar with your husband’s commercial interests or not?”

“No,” said Jennie simply.

“Well, in order to simplify matters, and to make it easier for you, should you decide to assist your husband to a solution of this very difficult situation—frankly, in case you might possibly decide to leave on your own account, and maintain a separate establishment of your own—I am delighted to say that—ah—any sum, say—ah—”

Jennie rose and walked dazedly to one of the windows, clasping her hands as she went. Mr. O’Brien rose also.

“Well, be that as it may. In the event of your deciding to end the connection it has been suggested that any reasonable sum you might name, fifty, seventy-five, a hundred thousand dollars”—Mr. O’Brien was feeling very generous toward her—“would be gladly set aside for your benefit—put in trust, as it were, so that you would have it whenever you needed it. You would never want for anything.”

“Please don’t,” said Jennie, hurt beyond the power to express herself, unable mentally and physically to listen to another word. “Please don’t say any more. Please go away. Let me alone now, please. I can go away. I will. It will be arranged. But please don’t talk to me any more, will you?”

“I understand how you feel, Mrs. Kane,” went on Mr. O’Brien, coming to a keen realisation of her sufferings. “I know exactly, believe me. I have said all I intend to say. It has been very hard for me to do this—very hard. I regret the necessity. You have my card. Please note the name. I will come any time you suggest, or you can write me. I will not detain you any longer. I am sorry. I hope you will see fit to say nothing to your husband of my visit—it will be advisable that you should keep your own counsel in the matter. I value his friendship very highly, and I am sincerely sorry.”

Jennie only stared at the floor.

Mr. O’Brien went out into the hall to get his coat. Jennie touched the electric button to summon the maid, and Jeannette came. Jennie went back into the library, and Mr. O’Brien paced briskly down the front walk. When she was really alone she put her doubled hands to her chin, and stared at the floor, the queer design of the silken Turkish rug resolving itself into some curious picture. She saw herself in a small cottage somewhere, alone with Vesta; she saw Lester living in another world, and beside him Mrs. Gerald. She saw this house vacant, and then a long stretch of time, and then—

“Oh,” she sighed, choking back a desire to cry. With her hands she brushed away a hot tear from each eye. Then she got up.

“It must be,” she said to herself in thought. “It must be. It should have been so long ago.” And then—“Oh, thank God that papa is dead! Anyhow, he did not live to see this.”

CHAPTER LIII

The explanation which Lester had concluded to be inevitable, whether it led to separation or legalisation of their hitherto banal condition, followed quickly upon the appearance of Mr. O’Brien. On the day Mr. O’Brien called he had gone on a journey to Hegewisch, a small manufacturing town in Wisconsin, where he had been invited to witness the trial of a new motor intended to operate elevators—with a view to possible investment. When he came out to the house, interested to tell Jennie something about it even in spite of the fact that he was thinking of leaving her, he felt a sense of depression everywhere, for Jennie, in spite of the serious and sensible conclusion she had reached, was not one who could conceal her feelings easily. She was brooding sadly over her proposed action, realising that it was best to leave but finding it hard to summon the courage which would let her talk to him about it. She could not go without telling him what she thought. He ought to want to leave her. She was absolutely convinced that this one course of action—separation—was necessary and advisable. She could not think of him as daring to make a sacrifice of such proportions for her sake even if he wanted to. It was impossible. It was astonishing to her that he had let things go along as dangerously and silently as he had. When he came in Jennie did her best to greet him with her accustomed smile, but it was a pretty poor imitation.

“Everything all right?” she asked, using her customary phrase of inquiry.

“Quite,” he answered. “How are things with you?”

“Oh, just the same.” She walked with him to the library, and he poked at the open fire with a long-handled poker before turning around to survey the room generally. It was five o’clock of a January afternoon. Jennie had gone to one of the windows to lower the shade. As she came back he looked at her critically. “You’re not quite your usual self, are you?” he asked, sensing something out of the common in her attitude.

“Why, yes, I feel all right,” she replied, but there was a peculiar uneven motion to the movement of her lips—a rippling tremor which was unmistakable to him.

“I think I know better than that,” he said, still gazing at her steadily. “What’s the trouble? Anything happened?”

She turned away from him a moment to get her breath and collect her senses. Then she faced him again. “There is something,” she managed to say. “I have to tell you something.”

“I know you have,” he agreed, half smiling, but with a feeling that there was much of grave import back of this. “What is it?”

She was silent for a moment, biting her lips. She did not quite know how to begin. Finally she broke the spell with: “There was a man here yesterday—a Mr. O’Brien, of Cincinnati. Do you know him?”

“Yes, I know him. What did he want?”

“He came to talk to me about you and your father’s will.”

She paused, for his face clouded immediately. “Why the devil should he be talking to you about my father’s will!” he exclaimed. “What did he have to say?”

“Please don’t get angry, Lester,” said Jennie calmly, for she realised that she must remain absolute mistress of herself if anything were to be accomplished toward the resolution of her problem. “He wanted to tell me what a sacrifice you are making,” she went on. “He wished to show me that there was only a little time left before you would lose your inheritance. Don’t you want to act pretty soon? Don’t you want to leave me?”

“Damn him!” said Lester fiercely. “What the devil does he mean by putting his nose in my private affairs? Can’t they let me alone?” He shook himself angrily. “Damn them!” he exclaimed again. “This is some of Robert’s work. Why should Knight, Keatley & O’Brien be meddling in my affairs? This whole business is getting to be a nuisance!” He was in a boiling rage in a moment, as was shown by his darkening skin and sulphurous eyes.

Jennie trembled before his anger. She did not know what to say.

He came to himself sufficiently after a time to add:

“Well. Just what did he tell you?”

“He said that if you married me you would only get ten thousand a year. That if you didn’t and still lived with me you would get nothing at all. If you would leave me, or I would leave you, you would get all of a million and a half. Don’t you think you had better leave me now?”

She had not intended to propound this leading question so quickly, but it came out as a natural climax to the situation. She realised instantly that if he were really in love with her he would answer with an emphatic “no.” If he didn’t care, he would hesitate, he would delay, he would seek to put off the evil day of reckoning.

“I don’t see that,” he retorted irritably. “I don’t see that there’s any need for either interference or hasty action. What I object to is their coming here and mixing in my private affairs.”

Jennie was cut to the quick by his indifference, his wrath instead of affection. To her the main point at issue was her leaving him or his leaving her. To him this recent interference was obviously the chief matter for discussion and consideration. The meddling of others before he was ready to act was the terrible thing. She had hoped, in spite of what she had seen, that possibly, because of the long time they had lived together and the things which (in a way) they had endured together, he might have come to care for her deeply—that she had stirred some emotion in him which would never brook real separation, though some seeming separation might be necessary. He had not married her, of course, but then there had been so many things against them. Now, in this final hour, anyhow, he might have shown that he cared deeply, even if he had deemed it necessary to let her go. She felt for the time being as if, for all that she had lived with him so long, she did not understand him, and yet, in spite of this feeling, she knew also that she did. He cared, in his way. He could not care for any one enthusiastically and demonstratively. He could care enough to seize her and take her to himself as he had, but he could not care enough to keep her if something more important appeared. He was debating her fate now. She was in a quandary, hurt, bleeding, but for once in her life, determined. Whether he wanted to or not, she must not let him make this sacrifice. She must leave him—if he would not leave her. It was not important enough that she should stay. There might be but one answer. But might he not show affection?

“Don’t you think you had better act soon?” she continued, hoping that some word of feeling would come from him. “There is only a little time left, isn’t there?”

Jennie nervously pushed a book to and fro on the table, her fear that she would not be able to keep up appearances troubling her greatly. It was hard for her to know what to do or say. Lester was so terrible when he became angry. Still it ought not to be so hard for him to go, now that he had Mrs. Gerald, if he only wished to do so—and he ought to. His fortune was so much more important to him than anything she could be.

“Don’t worry about that,” he replied stubbornly, his wrath at his brother, and his family, and O’Brien still holding him. “There’s time enough. I don’t know what I want to do yet. I like the effrontery of these people! But I won’t talk any more about it; isn’t dinner nearly ready?” He was so injured in his pride that he scarcely took the trouble to be civil. He was forgetting all about her and what she was feeling. He hated his brother Robert for this affront. He would have enjoyed wringing the necks of Messrs. Knight, Keatley & O’Brien, singly and collectively.

The question could not be dropped for good and all, and it came up again at dinner, after Jennie had done her best to collect her thoughts and quiet her nerves. They could not talk very freely because of Vesta and Jeannette, but she managed to get in a word or two.

“I could take a little cottage somewhere,” she suggested softly, hoping to find him in a modified mood. “I would not want to stay here. I would not know what to do with a big house like this alone.”

“I wish you wouldn’t discuss this business any longer, Jennie,” he persisted. “I’m in no mood for it. I don’t know that I’m going to do anything of the sort. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He was so sour and obstinate, because of O’Brien, that she finally gave it up. Vesta was astonished to see her stepfather, usually so courteous, in so grim a mood.

Jennie felt a curious sense that she might hold him if she would, for he was doubting; but she knew also that she should not wish. It was not fair to him. It was not fair to herself, or kind, or decent.

“Oh yes, Lester, you must,” she pleaded, at a later time. “I won’t talk about it any more, but you must. I won’t let you do anything else.”

There were hours when it came up afterward—every day, in fact—in their boudoir, in the library, in the dining-room, at breakfast, but not always in words. Jennie was worried. She was looking the worry she felt. She was sure that he should be made to act. Since he was showing more kindly consideration for her, she was all the more certain that he should act soon. Just how to go about it she did not know, but she looked at him longingly, trying to help him make up his mind. She would be happy, she assured herself—she would be happy thinking that he was happy once she was away from him. He was a good man, most delightful in everything, perhaps, save his gift of love. He really did not love her—could not perhaps, after all that had happened, even though she loved him most earnestly. But his family had been most brutal in their opposition, and this had affected his attitude. She could understand that, too. She could see now how his big, strong brain might be working in a circle. He was too decent to be absolutely brutal about this thing and leave her, too really considerate to look sharply after his own interests as he should, or hers—but he ought to.

“You must decide, Lester,” she kept saying to him, from time to time. “You must let me go. What difference does it make? I will be all right. Maybe, when this thing is all over you might want to come back to me. If you do, I will be there.”

“I’m not ready to come to a decision,” was his invariable reply. “I don’t know that I want to leave you. This money is important, of course, but money isn’t everything. I can live on ten thousand a year if necessary. I’ve done it in the past.”

“Oh, but you’re so much more placed in the world now, Lester,” she argued. “You can’t do it. Look how much it costs to run this house alone. And a million and a half of dollars—why, I wouldn’t let you think of losing that. I’ll go myself first.”

“Where would you think of going if it came to that?” he asked curiously.

“Oh, I’d find some place. Do you remember that little town of Sandwood, this side of Kenosha? I have often thought it would be a pleasant place to live.”

“I don’t like to think of this,” he said finally in an outburst of frankness. “It doesn’t seem fair. The conditions have all been against this union of ours. I suppose I should have married you in the first place. I’m sorry now that I didn’t.”

Jennie choked in her throat, but said nothing.

“Anyhow, this won’t be the last of it, if I can help it,” he concluded. He was thinking that the storm might blow over; once he had the money, and then—but he hated compromises and subterfuges.

It came by degrees to be understood that, toward the end of February, she should look around at Sandwood and see what she could find. She was to have ample means, he told her, everything that she wanted. After a time he might come out and visit her occasionally. And he was determined in his heart that he would make some people pay for the trouble they had caused him. He decided to send for Mr. O’Brien shortly and talk things over. He wanted for his personal satisfaction to tell him what he thought of him.

At the same time, in the background of his mind, moved the shadowy figure of Mrs. Gerald—charming, sophisticated, well placed in every sense of the word. He did not want to give her the broad reality of full thought, but she was always there. He thought and thought. “Perhaps I’d better,” he half concluded. When February came he was ready to act.