Donald Henderson Clarke - Lady Ann

“You come down out of that, George.”

George’s figure lost its elasticity. The fire went out of his pose. He called back in a thin, meek tone:

“All right, Doctor.”

Accompanied by grumbling firemen, George descended to earth, where he was greeted by his wife, Miriam, a tall, square-shouldered, gaunt woman, with wispy light brown hair, gray eyes, and sharp features. She greeted him by slapping his face.

At the same time she slapped George, Clarence Smith, the constable, took him firmly by the arm. Clarence said:

“You’ve been disturbin’ the peace, George. Much as I hate to do it, I’ve got to lock you up.”

Miriam turned from her husband to Clarence, who was a tall, burly man with thick black hair, brown eyes, weather-beaten cheeks, a black mustache, a black soft hat, and blue suit. She clutched Clarence and shook him. She said shrilly:

“And you, Clarence Smith. You better leave my husband alone if you know what’s good for yourself. He’s sick. That’s what’s the matter.”

She shook him again, and laughter arose. Clarence half-grinned and half-scowled, his good-natured face becoming even more red than nature normally provided. He said:

“I never arrested a lady, but I would if it was my duty.”

“You just try and arrest me then,” she snapped. “Anyway, I’m no lady. I’m a woman, a wife and a mother. That’s what I am.”

Dr. Benham, sucking one of his long, yellow cigars, poked his head into the group, onlookers making room for him. He said:

“Hello, Clarence.”

Clarence glanced around and said:

“Howdy, Doc.”

“I’d let George go along home if I were you,” Dr. Benham suggested. “You see, there is something in what Miriam says about his being a sick man. If he wasn’t sick he wouldn’t have been cutting up didoes on the roof. You can take my word for that.”

“Oh, in that case, Doc,” Clarence exclaimed, stepping back. “I was just going to look after him, anyway.”

“Now you come home,” Miriam said to George, taking his arm. “You’ve caused trouble enough for one day.”

Dr. Benham and Clarence returned to where Alonzo was holding the reins on old Sam and talking with Ann who was holding the reins on Nellie. Clarence, who was childless, was an uncle by courtesy to half the children in town. He said:

“Hello, Annie. Hello, Alonzo. Where’s Elihu?”

Alonzo said:

“Mr. Steele went into the church for something.”

“The gas was leaking, Uncle Clarence,” Ann explained, “and they called papa to see about it.”

“How has your father been feeling, Ann?” Dr. Benham asked. “He looks a mite thin. Mebbe he needs a little tonic.”

“Papa has been different since mother died,” Ann said.

A muffled sound came from the direction of the church, followed by stifled shouts. The doctor, Clarence, Alonzo and Ann looked toward the church. A man issued from the side door, stopped, glanced around, saw the doctor, and hurried toward him.

“Peter looks excited,” Dr. Benham said, stepping forward to meet the short, stout figure—black hair combed in long greasy strands over a bald spot, brown eyes, the left one looking straight ahead and the right one looking to the right, bulbous, large-pored, red nose, luxuriant black mustache, blue denim overalls over bowed legs, and heavy boots, caked with dust. Peter carried with him an aroma of sweat, onions and cheap tobacco. He said to the doctor in a wheezing breath:

“Hurry up, Doctor. Come on.”

The doctor took his shoulder, and said:

“Quiet, Peter. Something happened to Elihu Steele?”

Peter glanced at Ann and replied in a hoarse rumble:

“Dead, I guess, Doctor. He was looking for a gas leak, and he lighted a match.”

“Wait a minute, Peter,” Dr. Benham said. “Stop those men from saying anything yet.”

He nodded toward two men who hurried from the basement of the church. Peter went to intercept them and Dr. Benham turned back to the two buggies. He said casually:

“There has been a little accident.”

“What happened, Doctor?” Ann asked.

They both spoke simultaneously. She said:

“Is papa . . . ?”

He said:

“Your father has been hurt, Peter says.”

Ann sat still, cheeks drained of blood, lips quivering. The doctor said to Alonzo:

“You hitch Sam, Alonzo, and drive Ann home. We’ll be along in a few minutes.”

Ann said:

“I don’t want to go home, Doctor. I want to stay here. Is he hurt bad?”

Dr. Benham’s was a powerful personality. His patients regarded him with a love that was almost worship. They said of him:

“I begin to feel better the minute Doctor Benham comes in the door.”

His position for years as the sole judge of life and death in Eastham had made him a monarch with unlimited powers. He supervised births, promoted marriages, advised investments, settled family quarrels, lent money at no interest, and battled death with patience, skill, cunning, hate, love, devilish ingenuity, and infinite patience. They used to say of Dr. Benham:

“He ain’t much interested in pin pricks, or a little fever, but you get something serious, and he takes off his coat and goes to work.”

Dr. Benham was accustomed to being obeyed, and residents of Eastham were in the habit of obeying him. Ann made one more protest, and then drove off with Alonzo.

Ann sat gazing straight in front of her, a silent and pathetic figure. Alonzo glanced at her and opened his lips, but said no word. He merely chirruped to Nellie, who moved her iron-shod feet steadily through the dust, bearing them rattling past rows of trees painted with savage beauty by the magic brush of autumn, trees in vivid reds and yellows, oranges and burnt siennas, crimson, scarlet and gold, blazing in the last rays of the setting sun.

Alonzo helped Ann out at her home, and went up the walk and around to the side door with her. She tried the door, which was locked. She looked up at Alonzo and said:

“Vina always locks all the doors. She keeps her money in her stockings or under the mattress in her room.”

Vina opened the door. Her homely, kindly, angular face was flushed from kitchen heat. Her light hair was in confusion, as usual. Her white cotton shirt-waist was open at the throat, revealing reddened skin over bones. Her gingham apron was damp and stained. Her once black boots had been cut at the sides to make room for corns and bunions. She glanced at Alonzo, stood aside awkwardly, and said:

“Is Mr. Steele with you, Annie?”

“There was an accident at the First Church,” Alonzo said.

Vina’s mouth opened, and she clapped two work-stained hands to her face, staring from horrified eyes at Alonzo. She groaned, and dropped to her knees, putting her arms around Ann.

“Was he hurt bad?” she whispered, petting Ann’s back.

“We don’t know,” Alonzo said, shutting the door, with himself inside. “Doctor Benham is with him and should be here soon. I thought I’d stay. I might be of some help.”

Vina kissed Ann’s cheek and arose to her feet. Vina said:

“My cake’ll be burnt.”

She hurried back toward the kitchen, putting her apron to her eyes. Alonzo helped Ann remove her cloak. Then he took her hands and petted them, looking down at her. She made a very sweet, very brave, and very sad little figure. He was sure her father was dead, and he was sure she knew her father was dead. It was a numbing fact, he knew. It was like the bite of one of the flesh-eating animals. The shock was so great you couldn’t really feel it or estimate it.

He petted her hands again and looked down at her head, her hair tied in back in two pigtails with a yellow ribband. She said:

“I wish they would come.”

“They’ll be here as soon as possible,” he assured her. “They won’t want to keep you waiting.”