Because of the coldness of the day, and the sluggishness of the holiday season, few saw Melissa Upjohn and Geoffrey Dunham emerge from Judge Farrell’s offices. Melissa, walking, as usual, like a somnambulist, moved towards her shabby buggy and the decrepit horse she had hitched to it. Geoffrey said a few words to his coachman, who, still dumfounded, nodded in a dazed way. Then Geoffrey went quickly to the buggy and helped Melissa to climb into it. She did not resist him, and indeed, appeared unaware of him. He looked up at her, as she perched on the hard narrow seat, and said: “Move over, Melissa. I am driving now.”
She had taken up the reins in her bare red hands and now looked down at him dumbly. “I said,” he repeated, gently but firmly, “that I am driving now. Move over, please.” Mechanically, she obeyed him, and he sprang up into the vehicle. And then she shrank back from him as far as the torn and flapping curtains would allow. She said: “I am quite capable of driving home, thank you.” But Geoffrey took up the reins in his fur-lined gray gloves and slapped them on the back of the old horse. He turned the buggy around, and the creaking vehicle lurched and swayed down the rutted street past the blind little shops, the post-office, the court house, the red-brick school, all roofed with snow, with snow high upon their window-sills. They passed a few buggies and carriages, and the occupants, struck by this strange sight, reined in their horses to stare, too astonished to answer Geoffrey’s salute. The empty Dunham carriage followed, the coachman shaking his head and rubbing his chin.
Melissa did not speak, nor did Geoffrey at first speak to her. Under his expert guidance the horse came feebly to life and trotted anciently. Melissa, seeing that Geoffrey did not attempt anything formidable, and observing the amiable serenity of his strong and somewhat brutal profile, let her taut body relax. She huddled in her shawl. After a little while, as the buggy began the slow ascent to the Upjohn farm, she began to peep at her newly acquired husband out of the corner of her eye.
She felt her poverty, the poor brown stuff of her woolen frock, the ragged fringes of her shawl, the redness of her hands and the clumsiness of her boots. These contrasted strangely with the rich light gray of his pantaloons, the thick soft fur that lined his black broadcloth greatcoat, the gray beaver of his tallish hat. His gloves fascinated her. She let her eyes drop to his polished boots. She let them rise, as if against her will, to the large strength of his legs, the bigness of his strong arms, the massive lines of his well-set shoulders. Then they touched his square chin, the wide, somewhat thick mouth, the jutting arrogance of his nose with its Roman hump, and the straight black brows over his eyes. Now she did not try to look away. Geoffrey was quite conscious of her artless and simple scrutiny, the stare of a wondering child, and he had to draw in his lips to keep from smiling. He knew that for the first time Melissa was seeing him objectively, not obliquely, not with jealous bitterness and suspicion.
He kept his eye on the snow-filled road, and was careful not to look at her, as one is careful not to startle a child or a proud and timid animal. He hummed a little, as if to himself, a cheerful note. He saw that Melissa’s hands, half folded in the piteous shawl, were no longer trembling. Then he said: “Have you left word for your brother and sister that you were marrying me this morning?”
She shrank again. “No,” she murmured.
He raised one brow, as if in indulgence. “Well, I left word for Bella. She will be waiting for us. So we’ll stop at your home, and tell Andrew and Phoebe, and then—”
“Arabella?” asked Melissa, sharply. She sat up very straight. “I don’t intend to go up—up there, Mr. Dunhaml”
Geoffrey smiled humorously. “‘Geoffrey,’ if you please, my dear. Remember: I’m your husband.”
But Melissa was actually shaking. “I do not intend, I absolutely do not intend, to go to your housel” she cried.
Accustomed as he was to her incredible innocence, Geoffrey was freshly surprised at her words. He turned his head quickly and gave her a swift glance. He wanted to tell her not to be an appalling fool, but when he saw her panic- stricken face, her quivering lips, her look of utter terror, he shrugged, and urged on the horse.
The Upjohn house was in sight now. Melissa drew a deep and audible breath. “I mean,” she said, faintly, “that I cant go up there just yet, Mr.—, I mean, Geoffrey,” and she said his name with such reluctance that he wanted to smile again. “I can’t go there for a few days, until Phoebe is ready to leave with me. There—there are a number of things we must do, together. We’ll have to dismiss Sally and Hiram, and put the farm up for sale, and see Andrew off to Harvard, and sell what we must and prepare—prepare our clothes. There are two frocks for Phoebe, to be fitted—”
Geoffrey did not reply. He knew she was gazing at him with imploring fear. Her voice was stronger, and pleading now, when she continued: “This was all so sudden—Geoffrey, and Phoebe will have to be prepared. She—she will feel I am deserting her, or hurrying her too much. She is so delicate, you see.”
Delicate, be damned, thought Geoffrey, remembering Phoebe. A sharp iron nail floating in honey, that little baggage. My dear, he thought of Melissa, you are in for a number of shocks, and you won’t like what you’ll find out about your fragile little sister.
He said, soothingly: “Of course. I understand, my love.” His voice reassured her, though she winced at the affectionate last two words. “You see,” she went on more bravely, “everything sudden has always been such a shock for Phoebe. She has always been so protected by all of us. And she will have to accustom herself to the idea of going with me to your —your house. I’ll have to persuade her very hard.”
She glanced at him hopefully. But Geoffrey was guiding the horse up the road. “You do have an extra room for Phoebe, please?” she said. Then she brightened. “I don’t want to discommode you and Arabella, and so I am sure that Phoebe could share a little room with me. We shan’t bother anyone very much. We just want a small place in which we can work together—on my father’s manuscript, and on Phoebe’s poems.” The whole picture she was so innocently drawing struck Geoffrey as profoundly ludicrous, and he had to struggle to keep from laughing out loud at this absurd girl. He wanted to drop the reins and pull her into his arms and kiss away that frozen tautness from her lips, that dreaming mist from her eyes. He wanted to tell her not to be a poor damned little fool, that she was his wife now, and that, by God, he was going to teach her what it meant to be a wife. But he under stood what a wild, strange creature he had married, what a pure, fierce innocence, and he had known, before, what patience he must expend, what long and tedious care, before she could shake off the stone shell in which she was encased and crushed, and emerge as a woman. His wooing must come after marriage, for there had been no wooing before, and now, as he thought of it, he was excited and full of anticipation. There would be no forcing of Melissa, for any show of force would forever drive her from him.
“There will be plenty of room for Phoebe,” he said kindly. “She can have any room she wishes, and I assure you that we’ll do everything we can to make her happy.”
Melissa’s pale cheeks actually became pink. “Oh, thank youl” she murmured fervently. She paused, then looked at him again, as if she had never seen him before. “You are so kind,” she added, in a wondering tone. “I didn’t know—” And her color became hotter.
He wanted to kiss her with an almost overwhelming desire and tenderness. His hands tightened on the reins. The horse turned homeward, up the long lane. Then Melissa first became aware of the carriage following.
“I have to get home some way,” said Geoffrey, seeing her start.
“Oh, yes, of course,” she said. “But Andrew could have driven you.” Her hands fumbled with the fringe of the shawl. “Andrew,” she faltered, “will need quite a lot of money. He —he will pay you back, later, when he has been graduated and has a post. With interest,” she amended, appeasingly.
Once more, Geoffrey could hardly keep himself from laughing, and he was thankful that they had reached the snow-filled path to the house. He looked up at the latter, at its lean, bare grayness, at its dreary roofs and chimneys and frosted windows. He sprang out of the buggy, and helped Melissa to alight. She gave him her hand with a trusting unawareness, and he thought: Well, that’s the first step, and it went off splendidly.
Old Sally had heard the crunching of the wheels on the snow, and she flung open the door, a tirade on her lips. But when she saw Geoffrey, and the carriage drawing up behind the buggy, she stood in silence, her mouth falling open, and gaping. Geoffrey took Melissa’s arm and led her to the door. She did not resist, and again he felt profound relief. She was about to speak to Sally, but he broke in smoothly: “Sally, I know you will be happy to learn that Miss Melissa and I were married this morning.” He beamed down at the fat old woman, who blinked and gaped and fell back. He held out his hand to her, and slowly she dropped her pig’s eyes and looked at it. Something yellow and folded showed in the palm, and she gasped. She feebly took his hand, a transfer was made, and she gulped, mutely standing aside so that Melissa could hastily brush past her. “Thank ye, thank ye very kindly, sir,” stammered Sally, her eyes sticking out from her face. “Married, did you say, sir? This morning?”
“Yes, Sally.” He went past her and gave her his coat and hat and gloves, in the dank chill of the narrow hall. She took them mechanically, not removing her eyes from his face. She was still incredulous and stunned. Melissa had disappeared, but her firm swift tread could be heard upstairs, and her voice eagerly calling for her brother and sister.
Sally curtseyed, finally conscious of the amenities. She stuttered: “I—I can’t believe it, sir. You and Miss Melissa!” The idea was still grotesque to her, her eyes blinked rapidly and there was a frightened and subdued look on her broad lardy face.
“It had to be done quietly, Sally, because of the two recent sad bereavements in the family, and so we told no one,” said Geoffrey with frank heartiness, rubbing his hands together in the cold of the hall. “By the way, Sally, could we have a little fire in the parlor? I think we shall have a family gathering. Yes, I rather think we shall.” He glanced up the steep stairway. Two other pairs of footsteps had joined Melissa’s, and she was speaking excitedly: “You must come down at once! Mr. Dunham is downstairs, and we have something to tell you, dear Phoebe, dear Andrew.”
The poor artless lamb, thought Geoffrey, following Sally, who scuttled before him. The old woman was in a dither of stupefaction and excitement. She fumbled with the fire, until Geoffrey helped her. In a moment, a reluctant blaze started on the hearth. The room was so cold that Geoffrey’s breath rose in a cloud, and he shuddered. He saw the bleak white countryside beyond the windows, smelled the neglected dust in the parlor. The hearth was full of ashes, and the old rug was gritty.
Now Melissa rushed into the parlor, her brown skirts a-swirl, her face a-light and pressed forward like the face of a figurehead on a ship. In her wake came Phoebe and Andrew, more slowly, and very bewildered. Geoffrey smiled at their surprised faces. He advanced, took Phoebe’s dainty little hand and bent and kissed her dimpled cheek, which immediately turned pink. He held out his hand to Andrew, who stared at him suspiciously but was polite enough to say: “Good morning, Mr. Dunham. Won’t you sit down?” Andrew turned and glared at Melissa, standing there alone in the center of the room with her hands clasped tightly together and such a pathetic shining in her pale and brilliant eyes. What the hell has she been up to? thought Andrew, with sudden angry pride. Is this her scheme: getting Dunham here to listen to our troubles and probably asking him to lend us money? She is such an idiot!
Geoffrey turned to Sally, who waited, avidly listening, and he gave her a friendly gesture of dismissal. She retreated backwards, still watching him, and very reluctantly closed the door behind her. Geoffrey knew that she would remain in the hall, listening, and this annoyed him.
He said to Andrew: “Thank you. And won’t you sit down, too?” He turned to Melissa and courteously offered her a chair. This she refused with a fiercely impatient shake of her head, though she looked only at her brother and sister. “Phoebe!” she cried, “I’ve got—”
But Geoffrey was assisting Phoebe into a chair, was asking her forgiveness for disturbing her so early. Andrew stood upright on the hearth, huge and unrelenting and more and more suspicious. He scowled, and his rugged young face became marked with his slow and gathering anger. He said, without preamble: “Mr. Dunham, what’s Melissa been up to? She was out of her mind last night, and full of extravagances, and then this morning she flew off with the buggy as if she had gone crazy. What is it all about?”
He gave his sister a harsh and forbidding glance, and Geoffrey was immediately surprised at his resemblance to his dead mother. He had thought Andrew completely apart from this strange household, but he now saw that Amanda lived as strongly in her son as she did in her elder daughter. Geoffrey felt a deep warmth and kindliness for the young man. He went to him and laid his hand on Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew turned his large head slowly and regarded him in obdurate and proud silence.
“Don’t blame Melissa for anything, Andrew,” said Geoffrey. “She has news for all of you. And ideas, too. They are for you to reject or accept.”
Phoebe was upset and frightened. One knew that that odious Melissa would never give up! She was so full of awful schemes, all the time! Just look at her standing there, as if she had gone mad, with such a shining in her silly, stupid eyes! Phoebe, dressed in rusty black too large for her, shrank in her chair, but her little hands doubled with passionate resolution. The look she gave Melissa was implicit with defiant hatred.
“Oh, what has Melissa been doing?” she cried. “I knew it would be something terrible, the way she ran off this morning, with her shawl flying, and taking the buggy, and thinking nobody knew! She is so ridiculous, I just can’t bear her any longer, Mr. Dunham! And Mama just dead, and I an orphan, and all alone in this horrible house, and Melissa out of her mind, just as I knew would happen some day!”
“Hold your tongue, Phoebe,” said Andrew, roughly, and turning very pale. Phoebe immediately burst into loud sobs and buried her face in the wing of the chair. Melissa took a swift step towards her, and Andrew raised his voice commandingly, and exclaimed: “Melissa!”
Melissa stopped, in the very act of running. She stared at Andrew confusedly. That tone of his was new in this house, so dominant was it, and so strange.
“Sit down, Melissa,” said Andrew with hard authority. “I’m the man in this house now, and it’s time you left off the trousers. Sit down, I said!”
Incredulously, Melissa, in a daze, looked about for a chair. Geoffrey came forward and helped her into one. She sat down, stupefied, and could only look at her brother, her hands clenched in her brown lap. She swallowed convulsively, and faltered: “Andrew, I only wanted to say—”
“Quiet,” said Andrew, still in his hard tone of authority. He glanced at Phoebe, who, taken aback, had fallen into a soft whimpering. “Phoebe, stop acting like a malevolent little fool,” Andrew continued. “I know all about you. You’re vicious, and mean, like—like—” He stopped, and bit his lip. “Melissa has probably got some folly in her head, but at least it’s a good head, if fuddled, and I want to know what she’s done.”
Geoffrey had been watching and listening to Andrew with admiration. Again, he heard and saw Amanda in her son, and his new affection for his unsuspecting brother-in-law increased. Andrew turned to him, and the skin about his mouth was very white and hard. “And now, Mr. Dunham, perhaps you can tell me what all this is about?”
“I think I can, Andrew,” said Geoffrey, gently. “Melissa hasn’t done anything silly. I hope you will soon agree with that.”
“You don’t know Melissa,” said Andrew, quietly. “She doesn’t know she is alive. She means well, but—well, she hasn’t grown up yet. She has all sorts of fantastic notions, and so I must ask you in advance to overlook any of her foolishness.” He paused. “She’s probably asked you to lend us money, and while it is very kind of you, and I appreciate it, the answer is: No, thank you.” He flushed deeply, and his small blue eyes flashed with a formidable glitter.
“Andrew,” began Melissa. But he looked only at Geoffrey, who was smiling.
“Well, Mr. Dunham?” he said, peremptorily.
Geoffrey coughed. “I am afraid you are wronging your sister, Andrew. You see, she and I were married hardly more than two hours ago.”
Andrew said, softly: “You were—” He stopped. Phoebe’s gasp was loud in the room. Andrew put his hand to his forehead, rubbed it, then shook his head with a bemused air. He dropped his hand. “Will you say that again, Mr. Dunham?” His voice had become hoarse and muffled.
“Married!” shrilled Phoebe, starting from her chair. “I don’t believe itl It’s some scheme! Why should he marry Melissa?” she screamed, furiously. “Melissa!” She swung, half crouched, on her sister, and her pretty face became distorted with rage and spite. “You’ve done something to force him to marry you—!”
Andrew took one step towards her, caught her by the shoulder, spun her about, and soundly slapped her face. Then, while she still gaped, he flung her back into her chair. His breath came fiercely, and with pent haste. “You dirty little bitch!” he said, in a harsh voice. “Why, you little animal, you! How dare you talk to your sister like that, you, with your filthy mind!”
Phoebe began to shriek faintly, holding her hand against her bruised cheek. Melissa blank and white as a statue, could only sit mutely in her chair and stare at nothing. Geoffrey was alarmed at her expression, and would have gone to her if Andrew had not stopped him. The young man was breathing unevenly, and his face was drawn and stern.
“I think I ought to have an explanation, Mr. Dunham.”
“Of course, Andrew,” said Geoffrey. “You deserve one. I can only say that though this may be news to you, I asked your mother, right after your father died, for Melissa. I believe Melissa was told the next day. She—she has been considering it ever since, and yesterday she told me she would marry me. I am sorry if you did not know it before, but everything was confused, your mother was ill, and apparently you were not informed.”
“Oh, that horrible, scheming, sly Melissa!” moaned Phoebe. “How dared she do this to me? Telling me not to marry my Johnnie, and plotting all the time to marry the richest gentleman in the whole township!”
“Keep quiet!” shouted Andrew, turning on his sister, with knotted fists. “You envious little beast, you. This is the return you give her for her kindness to you, her plans for you, and you letting her slave all alone while Mother was ill, you lying in your bed like a warm slug! I know all about you, Phoebe. It almost kills you, doesn’t it, that she married Mr. Dunham, and can have a finer house than yours, and everything she wants?” He advanced towards her, his hand lifted again, and with a louder shriek Phoebe recoiled in her chair. Geoffrey caught the young man’s arm in a strong grip.
“No matter, Andrew,” he said. “The girl is young, and is naturally startled. She doesn’t mean anything.”
“Oh, yes she does!” said Andrew, in an ugly tone. “I know all about Phoebe. I know how she and my father exploited Melissa and made her life a hell. My mother and I had a talk, before I went back to Harvard, before she was ill. She told me a lot I already knew, and a lot I didn’t I had intended changing everything when I came home again.” He stopped, looked at Melissa, and his infuriated young face softened. “Melly,” he said. “Poor Melly. I talked to Mother that morning, just before the doctor came. She was conscious for a little while. You remember? She asked me to take care of you. And, by God!” he added, in a resolute voice, “that’s what I intend to do.”
He waited for her to look at him, to speak. But she sat as if stricken unconscious, staring before her, her face a stark white blur in the dimness of the room. Her lips were carved and folded like marble, her eyes empty and motionless.
“Please, Melly, listen to me,” said Andrew. He bent over his sister and laid his palm gently against her cold stiff cheek. “I ought to have told you before, but I was such a fool. You see, Melly, I never intended to go back to Harvard. Even if there had been money, I wouldn’t have gone. I want to farm, Melly. I intend to make this place pay. I always wanted to be a farmer. Nothing in the world will ever persuade me to go on with the law. I hate it. I only went because I was too stupid to resist. It was all wrong.”
Melissa stirred just a little, and her mouth opened slowly. In a voice of muted anguish she said: “Oh, Andrew!” It was an effort for her to speak, but she went on, after a dazed and painful moment: “Don’t say that, Andrew. Don’t. It isn’t true. You only want me not to be sorry, not to try—” She could not go on.
Andrew frowned in his pity. “For God’s sake, Melissa, try to understand. You must, for your own sake. Melly dear, I want the land. I’ve wanted it ever since I was a child. I wish I hadn’t been such a damned weak fool! But I thought—I thought my father knew what was best for me. He had me hypnotized, just as he had you hypnotized, Melly. But when he was dead, I thought to myself: I am free. And then I understood what it was I had always wanted, and what I now must have.”
Melissa lifted her hand and averted her head as if in agony. “Don’t, Andrew,” she murmured. “Don’t speak so of Papa. I—I believe now that you want to keep the farm. It’s a terrible disappointment for me, and I’m glad Papa isn’t here to know how you’ve turned against his wishes. And his money, Andrew—he worked so hard for it.”
“Oh, Mellyl” cried Andrew, in compassionate impatience. “It was never his money. It was Mama’s, her dowry, the money her father left her. Our father spent it foolishly; he added very little to it. He never wanted to have any responsibility, Melly.”
But Melissa stood up with a frantic gesture, and put her hands to her cheeks. “Andrew, you mustn’t talk like that! It isn’t true! I know it. You’ve been deceived, lied to. Believe me, I know. I—I’m sorry Mama is dead. She suffered. But she always opposed Papa; she never understood him, and she made his life a long misery of frustration. He hated it here, but she would remain, and he was smothered, and his heart broke.” She had spoken with rapid breathlessness, as against a rush of unbearable pain. “But I want you to be happy, Andrew. Papa would want it.”
Andrew glanced at Geoffrey with eloquent despair. He said with resolution: “We’d better settle all this now, Melly. Here’s Phoebe: she doesn’t want to write poems. She wants to marry Johnnie Barrett, and she’ll marry him no matter what you try to do, however you try to deceive yourself that she really wants something else. Phoebe,” he continued, threateningly, “speak up, and this time don’t lie to Melissa.”
Phoebe was utterly cowed now by her brother’s manner and expression. She pushed back against the chair as if to escape him. She whimpered: “I won’t lie, Andrew, please. You know what I want. I want Johnnie, and I’m going to marry him, just as soon as he wishes. Tomorrow, if he says so.” “Oh, no, Phoebe,” pleaded Melissa, lifting her bent head and extending her hands to her sister. “You are just frightened, darling. You mustn’t be afraid of Andrew.” She caught her brother’s arm. “See, Phoebe, he won’t hurt you. He is our Andrew. You can tell me the truth, dear, nothing will happen.”
Phoebe was silent. She looked up at her sister’s white face and desperate mouth, and her own became shut and spiteful. She licked her round pink lips. Now an ugly little triumph gleamed in her eyes, a secret and vivid delight.
“I’ll tell you the truth, Melissa! I don’t want to write poems. I hate them! I just let you dream to yourself, because you were so ridiculous. Nothing in the world will keep me from Johnnie, nothing. I haven’t any ‘gift,’ as you say, and I’m glad! I made up things, just to amuse myself, and sometimes I copied, and you and Papa never found out! You were so silly, both of you! And Papa used to make fun of you, too. You never knew it, but I did!” Now her expression changed, became strangely malignant. “And you were a liar and a sneak! You went off and married Mr. Dunham, pretending all the time you didn’t mind being poor, when you were just planning to be a rich lady and live in a mansion and laugh at all of us. I hate you, Melissa! I always hated you, and I never, never, never want to see you again or hear your awful voice.” She was rapidly becoming hysterical in her envy and furious resentment.
She stamped her foot before the dumb Melissa, and then, in a flurry of skirts, she ran wailing out of the room, almost knocking down Sally in the passage.
Be still, Geoffrey commanded himself. It is better this way, for the shocks to come all at once and be over with. But he could not bear to look at Melissa standing so petrified and so still in the middle of the room, and with such a look on her poor face. Apparently Andrew could not endure it either, for he went to his sister and put his arm about her shoulders.
“Melly, dear, this is what you meant, isn’t it, when you asked us last night for a day or two more? You intended to marry Mr. Dunham and get the money for us from him, didn’t you? Poor Melly, poor Melly. It wasn’t necessary, dear. But I’m glad, anyway. You’ll have your own happiness, and then you’ll forget all about this and live the life you deserve and ought to have. Just remember that you are his wife, that your first duty now is to him.”
Melissa did not answer or move. She stood in the utter immobility of grief and exhaustion. Andrew, his arm still over her shoulders, looked at Geoffrey. “I see it all now, sir, and I think that poor Melly, in her ignorance, has hurt you. But try to understand, please. You can make her happy. Be good to her.”
“Oh, yes, Andrew, I understand. You can trust me.”
Andrew impulsively stretched out his free hand to Geoffrey and the older man took it. They stood with their hands warmly pressed together, much moved, but smiling.
Then Andrew patted his sister’s shoulder and led her back to a chair. She sat down, obediently, like one under mesmerism. Andrew went to the door and caught Sally with her ear against the opened crack. She started away when he flung open the door, expecting to be berated. But Andrew merely said, mildly: “Sally, go upstairs and pack some of Miss Melissa’s things. She is leaving right away, with her husband.”