The Story of a Country Town

by E. W. Howe

Within a year Clinton Bragg had greatly improved. He no longer patronized his bottle, and he dressed better than before, and his temper was visibly better. Although I knew this, I did not particularly remark it or his visits to the Shepherds’, for he had been a frequent visitor there from the time he came to the country, which I had always regarded simply as an annoyance to Jo; therefore my surprise may be imagined when I received a note from Barker one morning, at the hands of Big Adam, stating that Bragg and Mateel were to be married that evening. I had not seen Jo since learning of the divorce, and at once resolved to go to the mill. Knowing Bragg’s malicious nature, I was certain that he would drive by the ford on his return to Twin Mounds with Mateel, and I hoped that in some way I should be able to prevent Jo’s seeing them. I cannot remember now whether I thought a sight of them would cause him a burst of grief or anger, but I was sure I could be of use to him in some way, and at once determined to leave for Fairview and spend the night at the mill.

The pity and friendliness I had formerly entertained for Mateel vanished with the messenger who brought me the letter announcing her contemplated marriage to Clinton Bragg, though my first feeling was of horror and indignation at a step which seemed so indelicate and cruel. I think that during that day I hated her more than I had ever hated Bragg, for I could make nothing out of it further than that she desired the ruin and disgrace of Jo. I even brought to mind incidents familiar to me to prove that she was malicious, cunning, and deceitful, and upbraided myself that I had not warned Jo of it long ago.

I intended to drive over early in the afternoon, but customers came in to detain me, and it was late before I left the office to get ready. I had walked about like a man in an uncomfortable dream all day and could do nothing, for the more closely I applied myself to whatever I was about, the less I accomplished. Tiresome men I did not care to see, but whom I could not very well avoid, came in one after another, and I became so nervous at their appearance as to be almost helpless. When at last I started for the house, a thousand voices seemed to be urging me to hurry, and I ran like a madman to complete my simple preparations for the trip. Once on the road, I lashed the horses into a run, but in spite of this I seemed to make only slow progress, like a man in a troubled dream pursued by devils. It became so dark when I was half way that in the creek valleys I was compelled to get out and lead the horses, and when I was yet a long way from Fairview, the dull tolling of the great bell in the steeple of the church startled me.

It was a wild night in April, with a storm threatening, and the hawks and owls flew almost in my face in their hurry to find shelter. A single black cloud, which was gathering in the south when I started, had overspread the heavens, resulting in almost inky darkness, and gusts of wind came dashing upon me with such sudden fury, following a dead calm, that the horses tried to take the bits in their teeth and run away from it.

The bell continued to toll at intervals, not distinctly, but only as you remember noises after a stormy night, and once I thought I heard a great number of strokes in quick succession, as though an alarm were being sounded. By this time I was travelling on a high divide where I knew the road to be safe, and urging the horses again into quicker speed, they ran as if they, too, had heard the alarm from the bell. If I was frightened at the fearful speed I was travelling, I thought of the howling winds behind me, which seemed to be always overtaking and passing me to make mischief beyond; as I passed the occasional houses I saw the people, attracted by the noise of my wheels, run to the windows, and, flattening their faces against the panes, peer out into the night. I wondered why they did not come out and follow me, and, half convinced that they would, I determined to beat them to the mill and lashed the horses into greater speed.

When at last I arrived at the mill everything seemed so quiet and safe that I was ashamed of my alarm, and after hitching the horses at the gate I walked up to the house, trying to recover my composure. The house dog, which I had known all his life, dashed at me in the greatest fury when I came up to the door, and his old companion, the house cat, screamed out on seeing me, and dashed away as if pursued. Everything was wrong, and there were wild cries and alarms in the wind, which was now blowing furiously.

A light burned in the front room, and a fire in the grate, but going in I found the room empty. Even the fire dashed at me with puffs of smoke, and the lamp burned low without cause. I found the room in the greatest confusion, and Jo’s bed, which had been brought down from the upper part of the house, was in disorder, as though it had been lately used. I went into all the other rooms, calling the name of Jo, but I found them dark and silent. I walked out into the yard and called him, but the dog dashed at me again as though I were a robber, and would not recognize my voice. The water pouring over the dam, which had lulled me to sleep a hundred times, roared to-night, and I will swear that the wind was sobbing at every door and window when I returned to the house. Ill at ease I went to the door and called again, but the wind took up the sound of my voice and hurried off with it into the darkness of the woods.

Hoping that Jo would soon return I sat down by the open fire, but I saw such faces in it that they made me shudder, and I tried to listen for his approaching footsteps, but the wind had turned into a fierce cry of agony or vengeance, I could not tell which, and I could hear nothing else. Impatiently taking up a book I thought to read, but the first lines were of murder and of blood, and I threw it down, cursing the dog, the book, and the storm. Occasionally the rain came dashing down on the roof, preceded by great drops which seemed to me like tears shed by a pitying heaven, and then the rain ceased again, as if the elements were not yet ready for a bad night.

While trying to decide whether to go out and hunt for Jo, or wait quietly for his return, the door suddenly burst open, and my uncle came in, carrying Mateel in his arms, as easily as though she were a child. Going straight to the bed, without looking to the right or to the left, and apparently without seeing me, he gently laid her down, and, falling on his knees, passionately kissed the pale face. As he kneeled over her, he sobbed and cried aloud, as he had done on the night she went away, but, recollecting himself, he roughly wiped away his tears, and tenderly contemplated the insensible woman before him, for she seemed to be in a faint. I thought that could the devils he told about as haunting the cave fully realize his abject wretchedness, they would have been awed into respectful silence, and allowed the tender symphony to find its way to his bleeding heart.

He was in such excitement that I was almost afraid to speak to him, for his eyes were wild and fierce, his hair dishevelled like a madman’s, and his clothing in such disorder that I thought he had been long out in the storm. As he turned and saw me, he cried out fiercely:—