CHAPTER XVI
When the family gathered about the table the next morning in the rectory, the Dominie told his wife solemnly that he wished to talk with her after the children had gone to school. Breakfast over, he broached the subject of the women talking in prayer meeting, Mrs. Graves listening eagerly. As the pastor's wife she had done the best in her power; but her power had been weak, and the stronger ones in the congregation had ridden over her convictions and teachings.
There was Augusta Hall, the beautiful wife of one of the deacons who had demanded that she be allowed to voice her sentiments in public; and other women had followed her lead, although it had been absolutely against the tenets of the church.
This woman was in Mrs. Graves' mind, when the Dominie brought down his hand upon the table, saying he had decided to stop once and for all the nonsense in his church, which was keeping the best of his members away.
Mrs. Graves breathed Mrs. Hall's name meekly to her husband.
"She can leave the church," growled Graves. "In my mind it's almost sacrilegious for women to dare to go so far that some of the best of its members will leave a well-regulated church. Maria, you must talk to Mrs. Hall and bring her to reason."
"If you can't succeed," replied Mrs. Graves, "how do you expect me to? You're her pastor."
"I will go and talk to her first, then you follow close upon my heels, Maria, and between us both, we will get Bill Hopkins and Carey back among us. If they come the rest will."
Late in the afternoon Mrs. Graves put on her bonnet, and, with a sigh, tied the strings under her withered chin. In the very moment when the congregation had at last become reconciled to the privileges extended to its female members, another church war was to be fought. But the little woman dared not refuse her husband's command, so she climbed the long hill toward the south and timidly rang the bell marked "Hall."
Her husband would have been there and gone, for the afternoon was well toward its close.
As the servant ushered her in, Mrs. Graves heard loud voices coming from the drawing-room, and instantly recognized one of them as the clergyman's.
"It's all very well, Mrs. Hall," he was saying, "for the women to work if they can do it without showing too much authority, but, my dear lady, I have been studying into this matter and it is positively against the Scriptural injunction for women to speak in church."
"Where did you read that?" asked Mrs. Hall, handing the Dominie a Bible, which he did not take in his half-extended fingers.
"I know, and you know where it is without looking," said he sharply. "There is a command from Paul that all women should keep silent in the church in the presence of men."
"Paul was an old bachelor," irreverently answered Mrs. Hall. "What did he know about women and their needs?"
"He received the commandments from God," replied the pastor gravely.
"Not that one, and what's more, I am going to talk all I want to, and if there is a man who does not want to hear, let him go away until he either changes his mind or desires to take things as they are.... Why! the women have been speaking in our church for over a year."
At this juncture, Mrs. Graves walked in, pale and weary. She dropped weakly into a chair.
"Your husband has just informed me," snapped Mrs. Hall, her beautiful face flushing as she spoke, "that we are not to speak any more at the church meetings. Do you approve of that, Mrs. Graves? I'm sure—"
"Like all dutiful and obedient wives," came the sharp interruption from the minister, without giving his sorry-looking spouse a chance to speak, "my wife thinks as I do. Mrs. Hall, allow me to entreat you to follow the dictates of your conscience, and obey your husband always."
"My husband gives me my own way," answered Mrs. Hall with a toss of her head.
"There he is wrong, but I shall leave you to talk things over with my wife. On Sunday I shall make it the theme of my sermon and I hope before Wednesday, my dear Mrs. Hall, that you and some others will look upon the matter in a different light."
The Dominie wended his way toward the business quarter of the city and turned into the Gas Company's office. Inquiring for Mr. Hall, he was ushered into a private room marked "President," and heartily greeted one of the deacons of his church.
"Anything wrong?" asked Hall, noticing the expression upon his pastor's face.
"No, only I called about a new rule which we're going to pass Wednesday evening, and you can help us if you will."
The president looked up inquiringly.
"The women must no longer speak at the prayer meeting."
Mr. Hall half rose from his chair as these words fell from the clergyman's lips, but he sank mutely back.
"It has become necessary to enforce the laws of the church," explained Graves, "and I have taken up this matter with some of the members—also with your wife."
Mr. Hall dropped his eyes upon his left hand with the fingers of which he was bending back those of his right.
"And what did she say?"
"I think it will be necessary for you to talk with her, Hall; surely you have enough influence over her to make her see that it is absolutely necessary that women should cease their—"
"I thought, Dominie," broke in the deacon, "that we had long outgrown such notions. You had better let matters go on as they are."
The minister shook his head emphatically, and looked searchingly at his parishioner.
"Fact is, Mr. Hall, you know that it is not a personal thing with me, but for the good of the church. Hopkins has left and Carey only comes when he feels like it. Several others stay away without a place to worship, simply because the ladies will have their way. I have no trouble with my wife and no man would if he were to demand obedience as God says that he should. I shall preach upon it Sunday."
"Don't make it too strong," ventured Hall, thinking of his beautiful wife.
As far as he was concerned it made no difference whether women were silent or not, whether they wore hats to church or came in with bare heads. He was happy in his home life, and was not willing to bring about discord by arguments that meant nothing to him. When the church matter had come up before, he had acquiesced without a word, had watched the fight as it progressed, and when it ended had settled back to enjoy peace—a happy official of Ithaca's gas company.
He looked out under his brows at the clergyman, as he fingered the paper-cutter on his desk. He took it up mechanically and read the inscription on the handle: "From me to you."
His wife had given it to him, and Hall mentally wondered if the woman who could think of, and would dare to use, such a unique expression would be frightened by a word from him.
Without asking Augusta, the husband knew that his wife would be the first woman to rise to speak next Wednesday evening. This much he intimated to Graves. An expression of sarcasm flitted over the clergyman's countenance, but it quickly vanished—Graves was trying to add to his strong friends that day. He only remarked that he hoped it would be settled amicably. The president ventured another shot:
"Dominie, there's a complete turn in the affairs of Skinner; he says that he did not commit the murder—that he positively did not pick up the gun from the shore. Simply because he owned the gun is no proof that he used it. Young says—"
"Young had better attend to his campus business," interrupted Graves. "He will have all he can do. There's no doubt in my mind that Skinner is guilty. I should have thought that his conviction was proof of that."
"But he didn't have a chance to prove his innocence," replied Hall. "He has such a good reputation among his own people that Young is going to take up subscriptions for another trial."
Elias turned sharply upon the gas official.
"Few people who understand the matter will give money to save the life of a squatter. That's another thing I'm going to preach upon next Sunday. The very manner in which they live would prove what bad citizens they are."
"We can't hang a man," argued Hall, "because he doesn't live in accordance with our stilted notions. Professor Young says that the girl is a genius—that she has a beautiful voice. I promised that if he took up—a contribution for the family that I would send him a check."
Elias Graves rose hastily to his feet, forgetting to put out his hand as he went out. He now hated Tessibel Skinner with a deep religious hatred, and it would be war between him and her for the life of the imprisoned squatter.
President Hall, with a smile upon his face, closed the door of his private office after his pastor had departed.
"It's evident why Graves wants the women turned down," mused he; "he thinks that he will draw about him again such men as Hopkins and Carey and that they will help him in removing Skinner from his land. I won't help persecute the poor devil—Gad, but that daughter of his did turn things upside down. I wonder what Augusta will say to me when I go home?"
It was a keen, cold and blizzardly Sunday morning when the bells of the different churches rang out upon the air. Ithaca was astir and her citizens anxious to worship. For one-half hour the streets teemed with well-dressed people, then became as silent as if the town were uninhabited. Minister Graves took his place in the pulpit and scanned the pews which were filled to overflowing. Not only had his members come, one and all, but people from other congregations were standing at the back of the railing, eager to hear the mighty effort which would be given forth from the clergyman's eloquent tongue. Elias Graves took his text from Genesis—"And thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee."
The minister leaned far over his flock, as he finished this impressive text.
His eyes fell upon Deacon Hall's pew, then upon his own in which sat his wife with Babe near her. Frederick was between Teola and the little girl, and they were all earnestly watching their father—something was going to happen, but they did not know what. The deep voice broke out into a prayer, followed by a soulful anthem from the choir.
Minister Graves rose with dignity, and began his sermon.
"It is my intention," said he, "to divide my sermon this morning directly in two, because my subjects are so entirely different. Before the expiration of it, you will see the force of my argument and will, I hope, profit by it."
He continued by saying, a house divided against itself would surely fall, that even a stone structure built upon sand would slip into the sea.
"Brethren, the sea of which I speak is a sea of discontent and disobedience. From my reading text you will see that God commanded that woman should be obedient, that she should obey her husband to the letter—to the letter, brethren."
There was a decided rustle of silken petticoats in the church.
"It was the disobedience of our first mother," spoke the clergyman, "that threw Adam into ill-repute with his Creator, and also Adam's love for her that drove him from the Garden of Eden. Brethren, God is good to mankind, ever ready to listen to his appeals. If Adam had only believed in the greatness as well as the goodness of God, he would have spurned the woman who had dared to so flagrantly disobey, instead of following her from the garden.
"Adam had more than one rib," went on the minister, "and how readily and kindly would God have disposed of the first sinning Eve and under the pleasant sleep of the man, Adam, extracted another rib out of which he would have constructed another and yet more beautiful woman. Some of us are finding it impossible to keep order in our families, and until we do, we cannot expect to live to the glory of God."
A loud hacking cough came from Deacon Hall's pew and many heads were turned toward it. This disconcerted the clergyman for a moment, but he picked up the threads of his sermon and resumed:
"If every man in this little city would rely upon the goodness of God to supply him with another Eve, when the woman joined to him in holy matrimony disobeys His law, it would be a simple matter to re-establish order in his household. Just as happiness was given to Lot after the turning to salt of his wife."
The minister paused—the silence was so deathly that it appalled him. He allowed his eyes to fall upon the memorial window with a man's face upon it. The words underneath the figure passed before him dimly. Then he remembered that he was preaching a sermon. Was he not the chosen shepherd of the flock? Was he not the one man called by God to show these people the righteous paths in which to walk? Should his voice be silenced because others did not believe as he did? And was he not showing them the light through the Scriptures? With these thoughts in his mind and renewed energy in his voice he spoke again:
"I should be the last man in the world to raise a false alarm, neither do I desire to enter homes and bring discord there. But I read from a passage under my hand, 'If thy right hand offend thee cut it off.'
"From the words of the Scriptures I have proven to you that a household must be ruled by the husband and by him alone. And that it is the duty of every wife to obey her husband as long as she shall live.
"I shall ask the women of this congregation not to rise next Wednesday evening in the prayer meeting, either to pray or testify. The privilege has been withdrawn as one perniciously against the tenets of the church. For Paul says in first Timothy, 'I suffer not a woman to teach nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence;' also I give you Paul's further command, 'Let the deacons be the husband of one wife, ruling their children and their own houses well.'"
He ran over the last few words quickly for the louder rustle of silk could be heard. The minister changed his subject and gave them another text which said that the wicked people of the earth should be cut down. Was the minister going to sanction the killing of wives who refused to obey their husbands? Had he lost his mind? But his voice rang out upon the congregation upon a subject in which they had recently become so interested.
"There is on our city," said the clergyman, "a terrible blot. The wicked ones of Jerusalem could not equal them in wickedness.
"The plans of God in keeping peace among his people are to be carried out to-day, with as much vigor as they were three thousand years ago. I need not give you the details of a murder committed a short time ago within the limits of our city. The very fact that the murderer has the chance of another trial after his conviction demonstrates that something must be done, and quickly. If the secular law is not able to wipe out such a blot then the church must help. It is my idea, brethren, that the weeds of the earth must be cut down, and by weeds I mean bad men. If a petition is handed you to sign asking time for Orn Skinner, I ask you one and all not to place your names upon it."
The clergyman suddenly stopped, closing his Bible. "Papa would cut off Tessibel's father's head if he could, wouldn't he, Frederick," whispered Babe.
Frederick gave the child a reproving glance and the little girl sank back after explaining that if Skinner were hung "papa" would have the land which ought to be his.
But as his father was speaking again the student turned his serious face toward the pulpit.
"Brethren," finished the pastor impressively, "before I close I would adjure every one of you to take the reins of his household into his own hands," and then looking straight at Deacon Hall, he concluded:
"And if you have never had the reins, then I command you to take them this day and rule your homes as God would have you. 'Let us pray.'"
Augusta Hall made but one remark on her way home from church.
"Wednesday evening, I am going to show Dominie Graves that he can't rule every woman in Ithaca, and I want you to go with me, dearie."