Chapter XIII: Finding the Wrong

That night Nos. 2, 3 and 4 took turns caring for Sherry, who had grown weak so fast that she could scarcely lift her head from the pillow. They knew now something of her story, and the most exaggerated rumors were afloat concerning her antecedents and why she was there.

“I never believed she was like us, or like _me_, anyway,” Polly said. “She had an air about her different, and that old hen of a Groves was always naggin’ her. I hate her!”

It was Polly who stayed the longest with Sherry, and who said to Alex. in the morning, “I think she’s awful sick and needs some one with her all the time. I’d stay with her if I didn’t have to wait upon the table. Mrs. Groves is crosser than a bear because there are only three of us, and Mr. Saltus here.”

Alex. did not reply, but it was a troubled face he took to his guests. He could not feel merry with that sick girl upstairs, and many times during the morning he stole to her door to inquire how she was.

As the day wore on Sherry did not rally, but lay with closed eyes, noticing no one except Alex. At the sound of his voice she always looked up and smiled, saying once when he asked if she wished anything, “I want Katy.”

They sent for Katy, who, on her way to Maplehurst, stopped in New York and told Mrs. Pledger of Sherry’s illness.

“For gracious’ sake!” that good woman said. “Sherry sick! I shall go with you and take a trained nurse. It will cost something, of course, for they ask abominable prices, but for once I can afford it, and Sherry must not die for want of care. I have taken a great fancy to her.”

One of the best trained nurses in New York was found, and the three, Mrs. Pledger, Katy and the nurse, reached Maplehurst one afternoon, greatly to the disgust of Mrs. Groves, who did not yet believe Sherry’s illness serious. She was nervous and tired and wanted to be let alone instead of having so much coddling. The girls, Nos. 2, 3 and 4, could sit up with her nights by turns, and if necessary _she_ would for one night stay with her. She thought this a concession worthy of a martyr’s crown. She did not know Katy had been sent for, and great was her surprise and consternation when the ’bus from the station deposited three women at the door, one of whom, Mrs. Pledger, at once took possession of everything pertaining to Sherry, even overshadowing the nurse in her orders and putting Mrs. Groves quite in the background. The kitchen was invaded at all hours, first by the nurse, who came in the discharge of her duties, and next by Mrs. Pledger, who came because she must see what was going on and give her opinion. Katy stayed mostly with Sherry, who had smiled in token that she knew her and Mrs. Pledger, and had then fallen into a stupor from which it was hard to rouse her. Even Alex.’s voice failed. A slight movement of her head was all the response she gave when asked if she knew him. She was very ill, and a doctor from Bethlehem came every day, and most of the guests departed and a great hush fell upon the house where there had been so much hilarity. Alex.’s good times were slipping away, but he did not care. It had come to the point where Sherry was more to him than all the good times in the world, and if she died he would never know another, he said to himself, as he hovered near her door, or sat with Craig Saltus, who at his request remained at Maplehurst, and with whom he talked freely of Sherry and his feeling for her. He had been interested in her when he saw her at the opera. He had been interested in her ever since she came to Maplehurst.

He had stood between her and Mrs. Groves two or three times. He had waltzed with her on the piazza and felt a stir in his pulse such as no other girl had ever awakened, and when in her abasement at Mrs. Groves’ cruel blow she had stretched out her hands to him as if for help and he had taken them in his, the work was completed and he knew that he loved her. Several times a day he went to the door of her room to see if anything was wanting, and the rest of the time he sat upon the piazza or under the maple tree, sometimes with Craig Saltus and sometimes with only the dog lying at his feet in a most subdued state, never even noticing when a rabbit ran across the road to its home in the hillside. The dog had been to Sherry’s room during the first of her illness and looked at her with wondering eyes. Then, failing to get any notice from her, he had gone downstairs and out into the yard where Alex. was sitting, and lifting up his head gave vent to his feelings in a howl which made Alex.’s blood curdle as he grasped the dog’s throat and stopped him, talking to him as if he could understand that quiet was necessary if he would have his mistress live. He called Sherry his mistress, and the dog seemed to comprehend and never again gave vent to a sound which superstitious people, and some who are not superstitious, think a portent of evil. Every morning, however, he went to the door of Sherry’s room, gave a low “woof-woof” by way of greeting, and then trotted back, sometimes to his kennel, but oftener to Alex., who felt his sympathy and was glad of his companionship.

From the first Mrs. Pledger had taken to Alex. as a young man “with as little nonsense as was often found in a city prig.” Every day she reported Sherry’s progress, and was the first to take the good news to him that the crisis was passed and Sherry much better. Then, sitting down beside him she began to talk of her uncle Crosby and his wife who died so young.

“I don’t remember just how old she was,” she said. “Twenty-four or five. It must be recorded on the grave-stone and in the family Bible in the chest, which is nearer. I’ll go and see.”

Mrs. Pledger was never quite happy unless she knew the exact date of the age she was hunting up. Leaving Alex. she went to the attic, and taking the Bible from the chest turned to the record of deaths. As she did so two papers fell out. Ruth had seen them when she carried the Bible back, but feeling that they did not concern her, had not glanced at them. Mrs. Pledger was of a different temperament. She wanted to know what they were, especially the one so yellow and tender that it almost came to pieces in her hand. It proved to be a deed given by Eli Crosby to Amos Marsh more than fifty years before. The other paper, which was much fresher, was a sheet of foolscap folded like a letter, marked “Private” and directed to “Alexander Marsh.” But for the “Private” Mrs. Pledger would have opened it, but that deterred her, and she took both papers to Alex., who was in his usual seat under the maple. For a few minutes Mrs. Pledger stood, hoping Alex. would open the letter, but he didn’t, and she turned to go, then stopped and said:

“I forgot to tell you that she was twenty-five and six months.”

Alex. scarcely heard her or knew whom she meant. He was looking at the deed with a presentiment as if that yellow document were a message of evil to him. In the excitement of the good times he had been having at Maplehurst he had scarcely thought of the wrong he was to right, though he had fancied it had something to do with the farm. Of course he should right it if he ever found what it was, he said, and had dismissed it from his mind. Now, however, it came back to him with this time-worn deed, which he read twice, wondering why it remained in Mr. Crosby’s possession when by right it belonged to his Uncle Amos, who should have kept it with his papers.

“Possibly the letter will throw some light on it,” he thought, and opening it at last he read it, while the cold sweat came out on his forehead and hands, making him shiver, although the day was hot.

“Nephew Alexander,” it began, “I’m here in what was once my home, so-called, though never mine by right. I’m a wicked old man on the verge of the grave, and I cannot die till I have confessed a secret which I have borne for years because I had not courage to face the world which thinks me so good. I’m not good. I’m false to the core, and this is my story:

“Eli Crosby and I were fast friends. What one knew the other knew. If one wanted a favor the other granted it, and we helped each other over difficulties. He was a good man, free as water with his money, and when a friend asked his name to a note of four thousand dollars he gave it against my advice. Then, as some ugly rumors reached him, he came to me and said, ‘I’ll bet I’ll have to pay that note, and if so it will take my farm. I’ve nothing else. What shall I do?’

“I thought a moment, and said: ‘Deed it to me and give out that you have done so, but keep the deed yourself. The farm will be as much yours as it is mine, and when the trouble is over, if there is trouble, I will deed it back and no harm will be done.’

“I don’t think he was quick to grasp an idea, but I made him understand, and when he hesitated and asked if it wasn’t a fraud, I said: ‘If it is it is often practised, and may save your farm.’

“He went through the form, the deed was drawn but was never delivered to me, but kept in his family Bible, where it is now. As God is my witness, I meant fair and honest at first. His wife was dead. I never married. Both of us were alone, and at his request I came to live with him as at my own home and called it mine. Three months after the transaction he went West and was brought back dead,—killed on the railroad. Two months later I heard the note was paid, and then the devil entered into me. I liked the farm, and did not want to give it up, or tell of the fraudulent sale, as I would have to do. Eli’s only daughter had married and died, leaving a son, who had been sent through college and given a few thousand dollars, all Eli could spare. Where he was I didn’t know. Eli was not quite pleased with his daughter’s marriage, and after sending her boy to college, did not try to keep track of him. To make the story short, I did not tell that the place was not legally mine, and when people wondered what Eli had done with the price of the farm I knew no more than they did. There was a little from the sale of some of his effects, and a little in a bank. To this I added a thousand dollars, and sent it to the young man, Eli’s grandson, who, by inquiry, I found was studying for the ministry. Then I settled down to enjoy my farm, but never knew a moment’s real happiness. That deed haunted me and Eli haunted me, too, till I could endure it no longer. As I would not add another sin to my soul by selling the farm when I could not give a clear title, I abandoned it and went to Denver. I saved all I could and put it in banks, feeling that some time I should make restitution. Eli’s grandson was the Rev. Henry Sherman, who preached in Buford, Mass. I kept track of him after I found where he was. He is dead, but he has a widow and two daughters living. The farm is rightfully theirs, and the money too, the way I figure it. The ranch and Denver house are really mine. I bought them with means honestly my own.

“I might write all this to Harry’s widow, but I’d rather tell you, my own kin. I have been to New York and seen Joel Pledger, whose wife was Eli’s half sister. I’ve known her since she was a child. She was here once. I asked about you and your family. Joel knows everybody, whether dead beats or honest men. He spoke well of your reputation: ‘Fashionable, but not fast,’ he said.

“I am on my way home and have stopped at the old farmhouse, which is more haunted than ever. Rats and noises everywhere. Some things I left have been stolen, but, for a wonder, nobody has broken into the chest. It is heavy to handle. I found it under the rafters just where I pushed it when I left. The Bible is in it and the deed, and I made up my mind to write the whole thing out and put it in the Bible, with the deed. I am sure you will find it some day. It is hardly in nature that you will not open the chest, you or your mother or sister. Bowles, the man who has had things in charge, has looked after them pretty well and knows there are women’s clothes in it,—Mrs. Crosby’s clothes, which I have taken out and aired. I shall hang the key on a little nail at the back of the chest, where it has hung for years. Somebody will find it.

“Sometimes I think I’ll go back to New York and tell you everything or hunt up those Shermans and tell them. But I can’t, I can’t; so I write the story and pray God you may find it when I am gone. My lawyers have urged me to make a will, but don’t you see, I’d have to tell why the farm and the money in the bank was not mentioned. I’m a coward, but am trying to make restitution and right the wrong. The old place does not seem worth much in the present condition of the house, but, much or little, it is theirs. Forgive your old uncle, and find those girls.

“AMOS MARSH.”

This was the letter, and for a few minutes Alex. felt as if all power to move had left him. There was a blur before his eyes, and still the glare of sunlight hurt them, and he closed them to shut it out. Then he opened them and looked around him—at the handsome house, where he had had such good times and hoped to have more; at the stretches of pasture, where his cows were feeding; at the meadows and fields, where his men were gathering a late growth of hay, and at the wooded hills in their cool summer dress. “It is a goodly heritage, but not mine,” he said, with a groan, just as Amy came out and sat down beside him, asking why he looked so sad, and if they could not have out more of their friends now Sherry was better.

“Read that,” he said, giving her the letter.

She read it, growing white and rigid as she read, and saying in a whisper: “Oh, Alex., Maplehurst is not ours! It is theirs!” and she nodded towards the room where Sherry lay in a sleep which was giving back her strength, while Katy sat beside her.

“Yes, it is Sherry’s,” Alex. replied, thinking only of her, and feeling the pain grow less because it was Sherry and not a stranger who was to take Maplehurst from him.

“What will you do?” Amy asked, and Alex. replied, “Make reparation, of course.”

He had met the wrong and would right it as soon as Sherry was able to be told. It was well for Alex. that Craig Saltus was still there, for in him he found a tower of strength and a safe adviser. Craig had studied law a little and knew what was to be done and how to do it.

“It is hard on you,” he said to Alex., after he had heard the story, and Alex. replied: “Yes, but it would be harder if any one but Sherry were the usurper.”

Craig looked at him a moment, and then said: “I think I know what you mean. I have guessed it all along and am glad for both of you. Sherry is the finest specimen of sweet young girlhood I ever knew. Too impulsive, perhaps, and fond of adventure, as was proven by her coming here as she did. I may tell you now that I don’t know what I might have done but for my infirmity, which will keep me from ever marrying.”

Alex. began to protest, but Craig stopped him. “I know my value in one way, but hold myself too high ever to ask anyone to marry a cripple. If she said yes, it would be for my money. I wish you success.”

He walked away and sat down alone for a moment to think of the happiness which was probably in store for Alex. and could never be his.

Then he began to feel how much Sherry had been in his mind since he first met her in Buford,—a merry, sunny-faced girl, no more impressed with him because of his money than with the poorest men of her acquaintance. He had felt shocked to find her at Maplehurst as other than a guest, but her illness had followed so quickly that he had scarcely given anything else a thought, and now this affair of the deed was crowding it entirely from his mind. He had seen Alex.’s growing interest in Sherry, and had said to himself: “She is worthy of him, and I am glad for his sake that she is one of the heirs of Maplehurst.” Everything he could do to adjust matters Craig resolved to do, and at once set himself about it so quietly and thoroughly that Alex. left everything in his hands and devoted himself to Sherry, waiting anxiously for the day when it would be safe to tell her.