Part 30 (2/2)
”We're--not married. You'll know it sooner or later. I--I don't know where he is. He was here three days ago and was coming back that night. But he didn't. Maybe he's gone--he'd threatened it.”
”He? You mean--”
She pressed her lips tight.
”I'm not going to tell--yet. You've got to do something for me first.
I'm in trouble--” she was speaking rapidly now, the words flooding over her lips between gasps, her eyes set, her hands knitting. ”My baby's dead. You know that, don't you?” she asked suddenly, in apparent forgetfulness of any previous conversation. ”My baby's dead. It died yesterday morning--all day long I held it in my arms and cried. Then I slept, didn't I?”
”You were unconscious.”
”Maybe I'm going to die.” There was childishness in the voice. ”Like my baby. I baptized her before she went. Maybe I'm going to die too.”
”I hope not, Agnes.”
”You'd like to see me die!” The frail bonds of an illness-ridden brain were straining at their leash. ”I can see it in your eyes. You'd like to see me die!”
”Why?” he could think of nothing else.
”Because--” and then she stopped. ”No--you're trying to get me to tell--but I won't; I'll tell when you come back--I'll tell what I said and did when you bring me the note from the priest. You want me to tell, don't you? Don't you? That's what you came here for. You found out I was here. I--did he tell?” she asked sharply.
Barry shook his head.
”I don't know who you mean, Agnes.”
”No? I think you're--”
”I was on my way over the range. I got lost in the storm and stumbled in here.” He looked out. ”It's let up some now. Maybe I could find my way back to town--you must have a doctor.”
”I don't want a doctor! I want to go--with my baby. And I don't want him to know--understand that--” with a struggle she raised to one elbow, eyes suddenly blazing with the flashes of her disordered brain, features strained and excited. ”I don't want him to know! He ran away and left me for three days. The fire went out--my baby--” hysterical laughter broke from her dry lips--”My baby died, and still he didn't come. He--”
”Agnes!” Houston grasped her hands. ”Try to control yourself! Maybe he couldn't get back. The storm--”
”Yes, the storm! It's always the storm! We would have been married--but there was the storm. He couldn't marry me months ago--when I found out--and when I came back out here! He couldn't marry me then. 'Wait'; that's what he always said--'wait--' and I waited. Now--” then the voice trailed off--”it's been three days. He promised to be back. But--”
Houston sought to end the repet.i.tion.
”Perhaps I could find him and bring him here.”
But it was useless. The woman drifted back to her rambling statements.
Laughter and tears followed one another in quick succession; the breaking of restraint had come at last. At last she turned, and staring with glazed eyes into those of Houston, burst forth.
”You hate me, don't you?”
”I--”
”Don't deny it!” Querulous imperiousness was in the voice. ”You hate me--you'll go back to Boston and tell my mother about this. I know--you've got the upper hand now. You'll tell her why I came out here--you'll tell her about the baby, won't you? Yes, you'll--”
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