“I didn’t git to hatin’ Jim, Doctor, until after I took to usin’ them pills they gave Ma when she was on her deathbed. She died, leavin’ a bottle of ’em on the kitchen shelf—morphine, they call ’em. One night, when I just couldn’t stand it no longer, I thought of them an’ I got one an’ it helped a lot.”
She paused, apparently musing upon how much it had helped. Then she went on:
“’Twas along about then that I got to hatin’ Jim, lookin’ at him sleepin’ so hard, his face all red an’ his mouth open. ’Twasn’t that so much, though, Doctor, ’cause I always thought Jim was nice-lookin’ even though he was coarse complected. But he got to havin’ restless spells, wakin’ up along of cock-crowin’ time, ’bout when I’d got my pill an’ had kind of quit shakin’ over the shadows an’ things. Then I’d have to rouse up to ’em again an’ rub him to sleep once more. I got to wonderin’ if he’d die right off, without it’s hurtin’ him none, if I’d press down hard on them soft spots in his temples. Seem like havin’ to do it any more would be more’n I could bear—”
She stopped again as if re-living her torture; perhaps slipping once more like a white wraith from bedroom to kitchen shelf and back again, to stand looking down upon her husband’s sprawled figure, battling against the up-surge of desire to crush out the life beneath her hands and be forever free from her hideous task!
“... I didn’t kill Jim, though, Doctor, until them pills give out. I reckon mebby I wouldn’t never have done it if they hadn’t give out. But after that ... sometime after that I killed Jim. I pressed down—down....”
Maynard waited until he was sure she had finished; then he spoke in a commanding tone.
“Mrs. Howard!”
Startled, she stared at us as if seeing us for the first time. She grasped the cell door and shook it in a frenzy of anxiety.
“Doctor Maynard! You’re a-goin’ to let me out, ain’t you? You’re a-goin’ to let me go home an’ rub Jim’s head for him so’s he can sleep? Jim cain’t sleep unless I rub his head! I’ve told you so often, Doctor....”