Tess of the Storm Country Part 22

"And if you have never had the reins, then I command you to take them this day and rule your homes as G.o.d 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."

CHAPTER XVII

Orn Skinner was to be taken to prison the Monday after the famous sermon preached by Dominie Graves. Professor Young had gained permission for Tessibel to spend fifteen minutes with Skinner before his departure.

There was something about the fishermaid that touched his heart. Her ignorance, her devotion to her father, and the loveliness of the anxious young face haunted the professor during his working hours, and at night, when he could not sleep, he created plans for her future and her father's release. He persuaded himself continually that Tessibel was not the motive for clearing the fisherman of the murder charge, it was the love of justice--justice to the squatter and his lovely child. Often the lawyer had set his jaw when he thought of Minister Graves and the evident malice shown by the parson against the fisherman.

That Monday afternoon he met Tessibel as she came into the jail-yard, much the same Tessibel he had seen in the court-room.

Professor Young took the girl's hand in his and led her into the small waiting room of the stone prison. He desired to be alone with her for a few minutes that he might satisfy himself as to her history, which since her dramatic entrance into the court-room had been so distorted.

"You have no mother, I understand, my dear," he began.

"Nope," and Tessibel s.h.i.+fted one boot along the seam in the red carpet.

"Do you remember her?"

"Nope; don't remember none but Daddy."

"Have you ever been to school?"

Tessibel shook her head, displaying her teeth in smile which quickly faded.

"Squatter's brats don't never go to school," she muttered.

She edged away from the professor, raising her eyes pleadingly to his.

The man read the desire the girl dared not put into words, but without heeding her glance he proceeded to question her.

"Would you like to go to school?"

"Nope, all I want air Daddy home in the shanty. That air enough for me."

She suddenly turned her face away toward the door that led to the upper cells.

"But if I a.s.sure you," urged Professor Young, "that your father will positively get another trial, which is all that can be done at present, would you then like to study?"

A definite shake of her head and another quick glance was Tessibel's answer.

"I wants to read the Bible," she said, presently turning toward the professor; "it air a dum hard book to read, I hear."

Professor Young tugged at the corners of his mustache to keep down a smile.

"It would be easy for you to read any book if you went to school," he told her. "How old are you?"

"Comin' sixteen."

"And cannot read--it's a pity! And wouldn't you like to learn to sing?"

Young was desirous of touching a responsive strain in the girl.

"Dum sight rather see Daddy--that's what I came here for! Ain't ye going to let me see him?"

Professor Young rose with a sigh. Like the rest of her race, she did not know grat.i.tude. He had worked diligently, preparing an appeal for a new trial which would bring acquittal to her humpbacked father, and he was interested in her own welfare, but her thankless words checked his inquiry. The professor did not realize what love meant to Tessibel, for every desire within her paled into insignificance beside her pa.s.sionate devotion to Daddy Skinner.

Tess followed him silently up the long winding stairs, her heart thumping in antic.i.p.ation. The deputy's search of her clothing brought a flush to her face, but without a word she allowed him to draw off the great boots and quietly watched him as he turned them upside down, receiving them back gravely. Her longing to see Daddy Skinner, to be in his arms, to hug the grizzled head, overshadowed even this indignity. So long had it been since Tess had nestled in the s.h.a.ggy chin hair, that her heart was sore and wildly impatient. Faith in Frederick's G.o.d had been forgotten--no other thought occupied her mind save that they were going to take away her beloved--the only one left to her. She deigned not a glance at Professor Young after the deputy had gone, and measured the oilcloth-covered floor restlessly with the stamp, stamp, stamp of the big boots.

Professor Young's presence was no more to her than the small insects which scurried from the edge of the floor covering into the light and then back into their hiding places, afraid of the human giants which loomed up before them. What did she care for reading, writing and such things. She wanted to be with Daddy Skinner--wanted him home in the shanty, as of old.

She kept her eyes riveted upon the open door. Suddenly she leaned forward, for the ominous clanging of irons came to her ears. She thought of the night she had been found scaling the ivy to Daddy's cell--how long she had waited in the darkness for only a little word about him.

They had given her none, and her vivid imagination brought back the anguish of that lonely walk through the storm to the hut.

Approaching footsteps made her alert, and in the paling of the sweet face Professor Young divined the tumult going on in the tender, uneducated heart.

"Child," exclaimed he, "don't make your father's going away harder for him!"

"Shut up," muttered Tess, just as the huge shackled prisoner appeared at the door.

Every muscle in the strong young body stiffened. Tess had not seen her father since the trial. Intensity narrowed the eyes, the drooping white lids covering the lights in the brown iris, the small hands clutched convulsively. Daddy Skinner--her Daddy--was standing before her, his blue-gray eyes piercing her very soul from under the long s.h.a.ggy brows.

She bounded toward him, and two creatures of primeval pa.s.sion met in one long embrace. It was the pa.s.sion of an aboriginal father for his child, of a primitive girl watching her loved one separate from her through the portals of death. Tess had lifted herself deftly to the bible-back, and lowered her head to the grizzled face, the man's large mouth covering the twitching lips of the girl. The shrouding red hair hid the squatter faces from the professor, and he turned his eyes away. He could not look upon them without distressing emotion. The strange maid was an enigma to him and he found himself wis.h.i.+ng that he might guide her future. When Young glanced again, the fisherman had seated himself and had slipped Tessibel from his shoulders, gathering her closely into his great embrace--for she was the brawn of his brawn and the bone of his bone.

Under the squatter's huge red arm, the fisher-girl had wedged her head tightly, the low brows were taut with pain, the bronze eyes defiantly closed. Tess was as firmly fixed in her position as the iron chains that encased her "Daddy's" ankles. She had come to stay with Daddy Skinner, to go with him where he went, in spite of the great man from the hill, in spite of the majesty of the law--even in spite of Daddy himself.

The deputy warden with open watch stood over the prisoner with observing eye. The fifteen minutes allowed the girl were gone, and he slowly touched the humpback on the shoulder.

"Time's up, Skinner," said he. "Sorry, but it's the law, you know."

Skinner tried to draw the curly head from under his arm but the muscles in the girl's body only tightened, the white lips grew more rigid.

"It air time fer me to go, Tess," murmured the squatter in her ear.

"I air--I--I air a goin' with ye."

The words were scarcely more than the flutter of a breath. The deputy warden stepped forward a little, then back to his place by the door; the professor rose but sank again to his chair; the bible-back of the fisherman pulsated as if a separate heart was beating in each great hump. Tess was as immovable as if nature had aided her to grow into her position. Skinner again tried to loosen the bare red arms.

"Ye can't go to prison with me, Tess," he said coaxingly; "set up like a good brat ... Daddy'll kiss ye good-bye."

"I air goin'," she insisted. "It air like a dead man's yard without ye in the shanty.... I can wash dishes. I can do a hull lot if ye'll take me with ye, Daddy Skinner."

Not one whit less rigid was the slender body, the closed lids only pressed tighter together.

The deputy grunted impatiently.