West Wind Drift

by George Barr McCutcheon

The “state,” guided by the newly elected Chief Justice, extracted vows even more severe than those incorporated in the marriage service. And yet, despite the emphatic declarations of certain candidates,—principally male,—there remained in the minds of all,—including brides,—a lingering doubt. On the other hand, several ardent and undoubtedly honest gentlemen were unable to marry the objects of their affection for the simple reason that too many people were able to recall the lamentations of the ladies themselves, in the early days when it was customary to suffer because of the suspense and agony their poor husbands were enduring at home.

The case of Joe Hooker and Matilda Larson was particularly distressing, and ultimately led to the passage of a rather drastic law by the Council. Judge Malone was the father of this law. It provided for the automatic annulment of all previous marriages at the expiration of two years,—provided, however, the absent husband or wife didn't turn up to contest the matter. This law also granted absolute freedom to the absent husband or wife, who was thereby authorized to remarry without further notice,—or words to that effect. It was, declared Randolph Fitts, a perfectly just and equable law, and would no doubt ease the minds of quite a number of people in far-off lands,—if they ever heard of it.

Joe and Matilda had been married nearly two months when, in the thick of a connubial row, he demanded her passport. He even went so far as to threaten her with his if she didn't produce it at once. Matilda's temper was no milder than Joe's. She not only dug up her passport but a marriage certificate as well, while all he could show was a passport. It was a very unfortunate contretemps, in view of the fact that they shortly afterwards kissed and “made up.” It so happened that there were quite a number of witnesses to the flaunting of these damaging documents, and as Trigger Island was then in the first stages of a religious upheaval, it was impossible to overlook this definite instance of iniquity. Despite the recantations of the chagrined couple,—and, it must be added, the surreptitious disappearance of the incriminating papers,—the matter was brought before the tribunal of justice. Chief Justice Malone was equal to the emergency. Indeed, he had been expecting something of the sort, and was prepared. He ordered both of the interested parties to bring suit for divorce from their legal spouses, one for “failure to provide,” the other for “desertion,” and promptly granted decrees, service by publication having been obtained through the medium of the Trigger Island Pioneer, printed monthly by Peter Snipe, editor and publisher, limited to an edition of one, owing to the scarcity of paper, and posted conspicuously for all subscribers on the bulletin board in front of the “government building.” Additional spice was lent to the affair by the surprising reluctance of Joe and Matilda to re-enter the paradise from which they had been ejected. Apparently they had had enough of each other. Moreover, they had both “got religion” and insisted on repenting at leisure, separately and alone. But people took a very decided stand in the matter. They could repent in any manner they liked after Matilda's baby was born, but not before. And so they were married once more, and, strange to relate, lived happily and contentedly thereafter.

Now, while all this may strike the reader as footless and trivial, it really has a distinct place in the chronicles of Trigger Island. If, perforce, the writer has succeeded in treating the situation facetiously, it should not be assumed that the people of Trigger Island had any desire or inclination to be funny about it. On the contrary, they took it very seriously, and quite naturally so, if one stops to consider the narrow confines by which their very existence was bounded. There were no such things as “trifles” in the daily life of Trigger Island. The smallest incident took on the importance of an event, the slightest departure from the ordinary at once became significant. In other circumstances, these people would have been vastly amused by the quixotic settlement of the affairs of Joe and Matilda; they would have grinned over the extraordinary decree of Justice Malone, and they would have taken it all with an indulgent wink. As a matter of fact, they were stern-faced and intense. They had made laws of their own, they had established a code. The violation of either was not to be countenanced. It was of no consequence to them that Judge Malone's methods were without precedent, that they were not even a travesty in the true light of the law.

No one was more soberly in earnest than Michael Malone himself. The proceedings were carried out with the utmost dignity and formality. There were no smiles, no jocose comments.

Nothing will serve more clearly to illustrate the sense of isolation to which the people of Trigger Island had resigned themselves than the fact that they accepted the Judge's decision and the subsequent marriage as absolutely unassailable, either from a legal or an ethical point of view.

The town itself was flourishing. Traffic and commerce were carried on in the most systematic, organized manner. Everybody was busy. The utter impossibility for one man or set of men to profit at the expense of others naturally put a curb upon ambitions, but it did not subdue the spirit of enterprise.

There is a baby in the Governor's Mansion,—a lusty boy with blue eyes and an engaging smile. He is four months old, and his name is already a household word on Trigger Island. It is not Algernon, nor is it Adonis. It is John;—John Clinton Percival.

The Governor's Mansion is a pretentious structure. It has four rooms and a bath! A wide porch extends along the full front of the house, with a steeply pitched awning protecting it from the rain and sun. At one end of the porch is a very cosy arrangement of hand-wrought chairs and a commodious swinging seat. The other end, just off the parental bed-chamber, has been converted into an out-door sleeping-room for John C. Percival. The Governor's lady has no nursemaid. She does her own housework, her own washing and ironing, and she takes care of her own baby. (There is no such thing on Trigger Island as a servant. More than one woman who reads this tale will sigh and murmur something about Paradise.) Ruth still teaches in the little school. Though she is the first lady of the land, she supports herself, she earns her daily bread. It is the law irrevocable. There are no distinctions. Nor would she have it otherwise.

The “Mansion,” as it was universally called, stands alone at the upper end of the Green, facing the meeting-house. The nearest hut is at least two hundred yards away. Work on its construction was begun the day after the wedding. For weeks men had toiled eagerly, enthusiastically, voluntarily, and in the first gay days of spring it was completed. Since then, the same hands, the same thoughts, the same interests were constantly employed in improvements,—not only to the house itself but to the grounds about it. The Governor's “Mansion” became the plaything of the people. Percival's protests were received with amiable grins.