Chapter XVIII: Somers Disgraces Himself

Dorothy’s prophecy was fulfilled. Wednesday dawned clear and hot, and we sweltered through a long forenoon, doing all those thousand last trifles which every wedding demands.

The news had run through all Pinelands; curious eyes followed our every movement, as we hurried through the streets, variously laden. I should have liked to hear the comment of some of the town’s strait-laced matrons; but sentiment generally seemed much in our favor. The romance of this marriage had caught the fancy of our villagers. Many an eye beamed upon Dorothy as she raced back and forth in Lewis’ flivver; many a man and woman stopped me, as I limped hurriedly by, to wish her good luck by proxy. I was glad that Doctor Gaskell’s quiet funeral had been held yesterday, so that sight of his hearse need not mar Dorothy’s joy.

A crowd gathered before the jail; it separated respectfully, as our few guests arrived, then closed again, craning curious necks. On my final trip I found Somers in the heart of the throng, hail-fellow-well-met with them all, passing rude jests back and forth. I fancied that I saw the glint of a black bottle circulating, but I could not be sure.

Then Dorothy came, a thin silk coat over her wedding finery, and we went in.

The ceremony went off excellently, I thought; the more impressive and solemn for its unusual setting. Sheriff Redden, in an ancient double-breasted frock coat of voluminous skirts, gave the bride away, with an old-fashioned gallantry, which was very pleasing; Lewis looked handsome and manly enough, albeit a bit pale and nervous; and the bride was charming.

When they were safely married, a shyly importunate messenger from the crowd without begged them to show themselves. So the big door was swung back, and bride and groom stood for a moment on the jail steps, and a very striking couple they made.

Hearty cheers greeted them. There was nothing which could be resented in the town’s spontaneous sympathy; these cheering folk without were honestly, whole-heartedly rejoicing in the happiness of our young people. They paid their tribute of sincere admiration to this daughter of Pinelands, who had had courage to stand up for her lover.

Dorothy turned back with moist eyes. “After all, they’re my home folks, and I love them all--to-day!”

I, too, had warmed toward the town of my adoption; and, for some reason, it only convinced me further of its sincerity when I saw in the crowd Satterfield, Bates, and Conover, and a dozen others, who less than forty-eight hours ago had surrounded this very jail with intent to hang the man they were cheering now. I chose to believe that this, and not the sullen menace of that night, was their normal mood.

Still in her wedding finery, Dorothy, aided by her two bridesmaids, fell to laying out the wedding breakfast on card tables; and an extraordinary fine breakfast it seemed to all of us, I think, and we did ample justice to it.

The crowd outside lessened, but did not entirely disperse. We heard a rumble of conversation, an occasional outbreak of laughter, and at last a vociferous cry:

“We--want--Somers!”

Renewed laughter. “Cut it out, fellers,” urged some one. “Don’t bust up th’ party!”

More yells: “We--want--Somers! Hey, Shorty! Come on out, Splinter! Oh, you bean pole!”

Thus variously adjured, Doctor Somers unfolded his lean length. “I guess I’d better go,” he said. Suddenly I observed that the bright eyes he turned upon us were suspiciously unsteady of focus. “I--I’m afraid it’s partly my fault their hanging round this way. I’ll persuade them to go away.”

He turned toward the door, his long stork legs moving stiffly, as if he preserved his equilibrium by an effort. I wondered whether Somers had been drinking, then abused myself for the disloyal thought. Just inside the door he paused and pinned his deputy-sheriff’s star to the left breast of his immaculate morning coat. The effect was unusual in the extreme, but he seemed wholly satisfied therewith.

Then he bowed profoundly, recovered himself with difficulty, and disappeared, leaving poor Dorothy to look after him in accusing wonder.

“Why Lewis, what makes him act so queer?” she demanded.

Renewed clamor without. “Yeay, Splinter! Hooray, Somers! Atta boy--let’s go!” The raucous voice of Ralph Satterfield predominated.

“Your friend Somers seems to be--ah--popular,” I remarked grimly to my nephew.

Lewis flushed. “Oh, he’s all right, unk,” he replied. “Let him alone; he knows what he’s doing.”

No doubt he did; and, remembering all that he had already accomplished, I could not blame him much. Yet---- “He’s awfully thick with Satterfield and that bunch,” I said. “And he’s been drinking this morning, or I miss my guess. Does he--is he taken this way often?”

“Nonsense, unk! Somers is no drunkard, if that’s what you’re getting at. He’s an odd sort; I told you that. He’s got some scheme on hand, that’s all.”

“Some scheme with that low-down bootlegger!” I replied. “With the very crowd that wanted to hang you the other night! Humph! I don’t admire his choice of friends.”

Our festivities went on; but some way the zest of them had departed. The Reverend Mr. Duncan felt called upon to make a little speech, extolling Dorothy’s heroic sacrifices for the man she loved, gushing about my conduct Monday night--though it was little enough I did to protect Lewis--and generally making himself oratorically obnoxious, and the rest of us uncomfortable. Then the bridesmaids must weep over Dorothy, as bridesmaids, I suppose, have wept over brides since the first wedding day in history; and Dorothy cried a little, too, because they cried; and Peter and I wrung Lewis’ hand and choked--and I, for one, was considerably relieved when the Reverend Mr. Duncan kissed the bride once more and departed, leaving us his blessing.

Then the bridesmaids went, too, and our handful of guests. Peter and I were alone with the happy couple. Dorothy cried again because she must leave her husband and go back to Fort House; and Peter stood amazingly erect and blew his nose sonorously; and Lewis looked lonely and tired and miserable; and I could have cried myself without making the slightest effort.

At last Dorothy concealed her finery under a coat and went out to the flivver, her little nose pink with weeping. And Peter and I followed, after locking the bridegroom into his cell once more. Poor Lewis. It must have been lonely enough there, locked in with only the drooping flowers of the wedding decorations to keep him company.

We drove silently back to Fort House, and Dorothy went upstairs to change, while Peter and I thankfully shed our formal clothes, and came downstairs in soft shirts and linen trousers.

Dorothy remained invisible; but we two sat on the porch, through a long, hot afternoon, waiting for a best man who failed to appear. Supper time came and passed. We ate in silence, except for Aunt Mary’s resigned monologue. Miss Christie wore another dress; pale pink this time, with a low, square neck, which displayed her round, dimpled throat. She looked very nice, I thought; it was really marvelous how she had changed and brightened in two days. She said almost nothing; but her big blue eyes kept turning toward the door.

That was an unpleasant meal. Dorothy kept her reddened eyes upon her plate; Peter was grumpy; the omelet was scorched, and Rosina was defiantly, ostentatiously conscious of our lack of appetite. She flounced in and out, and set down the dishes with a bang. Every movement said: “Well, cain’t have parties every meal. I done cooked one spread to-day!”

We finished, and Aunt Mary, still prophesying evil and acidly gratified by our evident disheartenment, had herself wheeled back to her own room. “I might as well go to bed and read there,” she announced. “It does seem, after being left alone all day, that I might find somebody to exchange a civil word with me. But there! I’m used to being ignored.”

Miss Christie put her to bed and presently came out to where we sat forlornly on the front porch. And still no Somers.

“Whatever can be the matter?” asked Dorothy anxiously. “Do you suppose he’s hurt?”

I thought the nurse’s color faded; her big eyes grew bigger. “Oh, I hope not!”

“Humph!” said I sourly. “Drunk, more likely.”

“Why, Uncle George _Uhlman_! That’s horrid! It’s not like you. Of course he’s not drunk.”

I sighed. “Well, Dorothy, I hope not. But--there he comes now!” I rose and pointed.

There he came, sure enough, up the street toward us, still in his braided morning coat, a wilted flower in his button hole, and that ridiculous police badge pinned on his narrow chest. His silk hat was cocked to one side of his head, and he held his head canted far to the other side, as if to balance it. His long legs wabbled grotesquely; he advanced in erratic jerks, tacking from tree to tree, and, as he came closer, we could hear him sing, not unmusically: “An’ ’twas from ole Satterfield’s bootleg party, I was takin’ th’ ole doc home!”

“Oh, dear!” said Dorothy helplessly. “What shall we do?”

Somers advanced to the foot of the steps and paused there, weaving back and forth on wide-set legs, like a pair of intoxicated dividers. “How do, f-folks?” He was gravely polite and tried to bow. Then he knocked off his silk hat, stumbled, and stepped fair upon its crown.

“Dear me, dear me!” he mumbled. “S-shockin’! Shockin’ spectacle, horrid sight! Young p’fesshun’l man, brightes’ prospec’s, ever’thing fine, an’ all gone t’ pot account of th’ demon drink!” He laughed wildly, then collected himself by a tremendous effort.

“I am very sorry, Mrs. Parker.” Dorothy started at the sound of her new name. “I apologize profoundly.” For a moment his enunciation was elaborately exact; he spoke with drunkenly deliberate care. “Not my fault entirely; due to un-for-tun-ate mis-cal-cul-a-tion ca-pa-ci-ty.”

Poor Dorothy rose, her face deadly white with disgust, and swept into the house. Somers looked after her ruefully.

“Sorry,” he repeated. “Here, Pete--unk--good f-fellows! H-help me in; get sobered. Got n-news.”

I hesitated, angry and ashamed; Peter rose obediently. But Miss Christie was before us both. She ran down the steps and caught the drunken man’s arm.

“I’ll steady you, doctor. That’s right! Now the other foot. Are you coming, you two, or will you sit up there and stare like two old prudes? I’m ashamed of you,” she declared, and her angry face once more shone with that vivid beauty, which emotion alone seemed able to bring to it. “Come!” She stamped her foot. “That’s right, doctor; just one more step now. Come! Not two days ago this man saved your nephew’s life, Mr. George Uhlman; he saved the life of your sister’s husband, young man! Oh, you make me sick! J-just because he’s--he’s overtaken like this!”

We hurried to her aid, I, at least, a trifle ashamed of myself. For Doctor Somers had been invaluable, whatever his personal habits might be. We helped him in and upstairs to his room, ordered about unmercifully by the erstwhile sleepy and indifferent Miss Christie.

“G-good girl!” mumbled Somers. “She un’stan’s, anyhow. Col’ towels, please--an’ basin. Goin’ be s-sick.”

And sick he was. Miss Christie attended him, quietly efficient, as if the handling of drunken men had been a large part of her training.

“More cold towels,” she ordered. “Mr. McGregor, run down and get Rosina to make some coffee, very strong. Quick, now!”

We hurried to obey her. Somers sat all huddled in a chair, his long legs limply outthrust. He groaned and pressed the wet towel close against his temples, fighting hard for self-possession. I saw the perspiration start out all over his lean, sallow face.

Presently he raised his head. His color was ghastly, greenish-white, but his eyes were clear and steady. I saw that he was completely sobered, and I marveled at the man’s self-control.

“Oh, my!” he groaned. “What rotten, rotten booze! And how I did hate it!”

“You conquered your dislike, apparently,” I said to him.

“Humph!” He stared at me whimsically, but there was a hurt look in his eyes. “Do you suppose I did this for the fun of it? Oh, well, I oughtn’t to blame you.”

“_I_ didn’t!” said the nurse serenely. “I knew why you did it.” Peter returned, bearing coffee; and the sick man gulped it down, black and scalding.

“You knew?” Somers looked at the girl gratefully. I think there were tears in his eyes. “I’m pretty sick yet,” he said. “Say, it does cut, to have you folks think that of me.”

He rose unsteadily, leaning on Miss Christie’s arm. “Good girl!” he repeated, with that sudden, flashing smile. “Well, I’m Ralph Satterfield’s very best friend now, and, oh, what a head it’s cost me! That man’s a tank; he’s copper-lined.” He passed a hand across his forehead with a whimsical smile. “But I’ve learned a lot. I can give a pretty good guess as to Satterfield’s whereabouts at the time Gaskell was shot!”