Stories of Erskine Caldwell Read online

  It was not until almost ten minutes had passed that Dessie realized what Waldo was doing behind the barn.

  Just as she was opening the door to run out there and observe him from the corner of the barn, Waldo walked into view. He came toward the house, carrying the spade but not the coffee can, Dessie’s heart sank. He had buried the can, and the money with it, and she had failed to get out there in time to see where the wealth had been hidden. She walked back into the kitchen and placed breakfast on the table.

  Waldo came in a few minutes later, washed his hands at the pump, and sat down at his place. He began eating as though nothing out of the ordinary had taken place out behind the barn. Neither she nor Waldo had anything to say to each other during the whole twenty minutes they were at the table. When he finished eating, he got up and put on his hat.

  “Have some affairs to attend to in the village,” he said shortly. “Will be away for the forenoon, the whole of it.”

  Dessie nodded. She had to grip her hands tightly in order to hide her impatience. She waited until Waldo had got out of sight, and then she grabbed Justine by the arm and pulled her through the door. Pushing Justine ahead, Dessie ran as fast as she could to the toolshed, where she quickly snatched up two spades, and then hurried toward the back of the barn.

  She set Justine to digging right away, while she looked the ground over carefully, hoping to find evidence of a freshly covered hole. She searched for nearly half an hour without finding a single trace of the hole she was positive Waldo had dug, and after that she went to work, digging methodically.

  After several hours, Justine slumped to the ground, completely exhausted. Dessie was tired, too, and the blisters on her hands made digging so painful that she could hardly bear to hold the spade. But she forced herself to keep on, allowing Justine to rest a few minutes.

  “Get up and dig, Justine,” she called breathlessly, not being able to bear seeing her idle any longer.

  Justine crawled to her feet and tried to push the blade of her spade into the stony earth. She wanted to beg Dessie to let her rest some more, but when she glanced up and saw Dessie’s closely clamped lips, she knew it would be useless to ask.

  Dessie stopped for a moment to ease her back. When her eyes were raised from the ground, she saw Fred Paxton leaning over the stone wall beside the road a hundred feet away.

  “Going fishing, Dessie?” he called. “See you’re digging fishing worms.”

  Dessie thrust her hand against the small of her aching back and straightened up a little more.

  “Thought I might,” she said slowly. “It’s been a long time since I went.”

  “Now that you and Waldo have all that money to falute on,” Fred said, “I guess you and him can afford to spend all your time doing nothing but fish, if you have a mind to.”

  “Maybe,” she said, tightening her lips.

  The mere mention of the money inflamed her thoughts until she could not see clearly. She bent over the spade, thrusting the blade into the rough, stony ground with all her might. She kept doggedly at it until she was certain Fred had walked out of sight over the hill.

  Later she sent Justine to the kitchen for some bread and potatoes left over from breakfast, and when Justine returned, Dessie sat down in the shade of the barn and ate hurriedly.

  “While I was in the house, Mr. Murdock phoned and said he wouldn’t be back in the forenoon,” Justine said. “He told me to tell you he would be away in the afternoon, too, the whole of it.” Dessie leaped to her feet.

  “Why didn’t you tell me right away when you came back a minute ago?” she said angrily.

  Justine glanced at the stony ground.

  “We’re not going to dig out here the whole afternoon, too, are we, Mrs. Murdock?” she inquired pleadingly. “My hands are raw with blisters, and —”

  “Never mind that,” Dessie said firmly. “We are going to dig this afternoon, the whole of it.”

  “But Mrs. Murdock —”

  “Shut up, Justine, and do as you are told!”

  When Dessie fell on the bed at dusk that evening, she had never before in all her life felt so thoroughly miserable. Not only had she spent the entire day digging in the stony ground behind the barn, but, moreover, she had not been able to find the coffee can. Her back felt as if she would never be able to use it again.

  Once upon the bed, she moved her body carefully, easing herself into a prone position. Justine had gone out earlier in the evening with Carl Friend, and Waldo still had not returned. Dessie felt so tired and lonely that she wanted to cry. Just as she felt tears coming into her eyes, the phone began to ring. She lay motionless, listening to it ring for several minutes, hoping all the while that it would stop so she could begin crying.

  The phone did not stop, and it sounded as if it never would as long as she lived. She got to her feet, pressing her hands over her ears in order to keep out the sound, and stumbled painfully to the hall. There she sat down in the chair beside the stand and lifted the receiver.

  “Hello,” she said unsteadily.

  “Is this Waldo Murdock’s wife?” a voice boomed.

  “Yes,” she answered, wondering who it could be.

  “Then you’d better bestir yourself and fetch Waldo home where he belongs before it’s too late. This is Charles Mason. Waldo is over here at my place, in the east part of town, annoying my household, and if he was a Democrat, I’d shoot him myself, instead of turning the job over to his wife. I’ve never in my life seen a man behave like he’s doing. I guess it’s public knowledge by now, otherwise I wouldn’t be repeating it that sudden wealth has gone to his head, but that’s still no excuse for the way he’s doing.”

  “What’s Waldo doing?” Dessie asked, shouting impulsively into the phone.

  “He’s befuddling Miss Wilson, the schoolteacher who boards at my house, into going away with him. He says he’s going to set sail for Australia or somewhere.”

  “But he can’t do that!” Dessie protested.

  “That’s what any average, normal, level-minded human being would think, too, but I don’t know what’s going to stop Waldo if you don’t come and get him right away, because he’s already befuddled Miss Wilson into going to Boston with him tonight, and starting out again from there the first thing in the morning. He’s got Miss Wilson believing everything he says, the lies along with the common truth. Looks like she would be on her guard, knowing she’s associating with a newly-rich, but she’s too far gone to listen to reason. Waldo pulls out his wealth every few minutes and waves it in front of her, and the sight of that big roll of greenbacks acts on her just like chloroform would on an average being. I’ve done my best to —”

  Dessie gripped the phone.

  “Did you say Waldo has a big roll of money?” she shouted. “Greenbacks tied with a string around the middle?”

  “He surely has, Mrs. Murdock. It’s the biggest roll of money I’ve seen on a man since the Democrats took over.”

  Dessie, who had risen from the chair until she was almost erect, sat down, hard.

  “Let him be!” she said coldly. “I don’t want part or parcel of him. He had me digging in stony ground all day looking for that money in a coffee can, and it wasn’t there at all. Let the schoolteacher take him. I’ve had my share, and more, of suffering, and now I’d be comforted to see somebody else have a goodly portion of it. Sudden wealth will show up a man’s true nature every time, and I’m glad I found out the true size and shape of Waldo Murdock’s nature before I wasted another single day of my life on him.”

  “You mean you’re not going to try to stop Waldo from going away to the other end of the world with Miss Wilson?”

  “No!” Dessie said emphatically. “Waldo Murdock has a free hand from now on!”

  She hung up the receiver. A moment later she slumped brokenly in the chair. She called Justine several times before remembering that Justine had gone out with Carl Friend.

  After that she hurried into her clothes and went back to the pho
ne. She rang up Thornton Blanchard, her lawyer, and told him to come right away. He lived only a few miles distant, and he promised to be there within fifteen minutes.

  While waiting for Thornton Blanchard, Dessie paced up and down the hallway, her face grim and determined. Her mind was made up, and she knew the sooner she acted the better she would feel.

  After a few more minutes, he drove up to the house and stopped his car in the dooryard. Dessie went to the step, holding the door open for him. Thornton Blanchard hurried inside and went directly to the table in the center of the living room.

  “Is there something wrong, Mrs. Murdock?” he asked anxiously.

  “There is now, but it won’t be much longer,” she said, sitting down at the table, “not after I set things right I should have attended to twenty years ago.”

  Blanchard sat down and opened his briefcase, slipping out a pad of ruled yellow writing paper and a pencil. He watched Dessie’s face, waiting for her to begin.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mrs. Murdock,” he told her, adjusting the pad on the table.

  “I want a divorce,” she said quickly, “and I want it in a hurry. How soon can I get it, or do I have to go find myself a better lawyer?”

  Blanchard sat up.

  “Joking aside, Mrs. Murdock, right after you and your husband inherited all that wealth, you want a divorce?” he asked unbelievingly.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “But why?”

  “Never mind my reasons,” she answered. “When I go to the store and ask for a pound of sugar, I don’t have to tell the clerk my reasons for wanting it, do I?”

  “No, but —”

  “Then go ahead and get me my divorce.”

  Blanchard fingered the writing pad nervously. After several moments he shook himself, and glanced across the table at Dessie.

  “Have you any grounds, Mrs. Murdock?” he inquired cautiously.

  “Of course, I’ve got grounds. I’ve got all the grounds needed and a plentiful supply to spare.”

  “What are to be the grounds on which the suit is to be based, Mrs. Murdock?” he asked, bending over the pad and gripping the pencil tightly.

  “Cussedness,” she said, leaning back.

  Blanchard looked up.

  “That’s what I said,” she nodded. “Cussedness!”

  “The judge that hears this suit might not —”

  “I don’t care what the judge thinks,” she retorted. “It’s my divorce, and I’ll have grounds of my own choosing whether the judge likes them or not.”

  Blanchard tapped the pencil on the table several times, his mind deep in thought.

  “As your attorney, Mrs. Murdock,” he said finally, “would you mind telling me in confidence on just what grounds you do base your contention?”

  “Waldo Murdock tricked me,” she said angrily, relieved to have an opportunity to talk about her troubles. “He went and made as if to bury the inheritance in a coffee can behind the barn, but didn’t, and then went off and stayed from home all day while I broke my back, and Justine’s, too, digging in stony ground for it.”

  Blanchard drew the palm of his right hand slowly over his face. He leaned back after that and gazed professionally at the ceiling. He was doing his best to keep from saying, on the spur of the moment, anything of a rash nature.

  “And I want alimony, too,” Dessie spoke up. “I want all of it.”

  Blanchard sat up.

  “What do you mean by all of it?”

  “All the inheritance, of course,” she replied.

  Blanchard was silent for some time. He looked at the pad, studying the texture of the paper minutely. After a while he looked up at Dessie, fortifying himself with several deep breaths.

  “It’s going to be difficult, if not impossible,” he said gravely. “Downright difficult, Mrs. Murdock.”

  “That’s your job,” Dessie told him. “I’ve worked hard for my living, too.”

  Blanchard expelled the breath from his lungs and took a fresh start.

  “For one thing, Mrs. Murdock, we have no community property law in this state.” He leaned back, rolling the pencil between the palms of his hands. “Naturally, that rules out automatically any possibility of a legal division of Waldo’s wealth, whatever it may amount to. But let me put it another way. I’ll review briefly the background of the whole matter. A wife is subject, more or less, to the will of the husband, all things being equal, of course. However, the marriage contract also subjects the husband to the will of the wife, placing the shoe on the other foot, so to speak. Now we arrive at the conclusion that the two members of the partnership are each and individually subject to the will of the other. But, and let me speak frankly, in our present society, it is the wife’s own responsibility to devise, instate, and employ methods, means, and opportunities for enticement that will cause her spouse to desire of his own free will and accord to bestow, shall we say, a single largess, or, as the case often is, continuing largesses, upon her while united in wedlock. Now, as you no doubt realize, Mrs. Murdock, the average wife, to put it bluntly, by showering her favors upon her spouse obtains, in most instances, a bountiful portion of his goods, chattels, and wealth, in some cases benefits that, judged by worldly standards, are far out of proportion to the value —”

  “No!” Dessie said emphatically. Blanchard cleared his throat and bit his underlip.

  “It might be best, in the long run, to let the presiding judge set the sum you might obtain from your present husband,” he said wearily. “I’m afraid I won’t be of much help in that connection. However, I can proceed with filing the divorce papers, and the matter of alimony can be taken up in due course.”

  “When can I see the judge about getting the money?” Dessie asked. “Tomorrow morning?”

  “I’m afraid not,” he said, shaking his head. “Your suit couldn’t possibly come up for trial until the next term of court, come autumn.”

  “Come autumn!” Dessie cried.

  Blanchard nodded.

  “You mean wait all that time!” she cried excitedly. “Why, Waldo Murdock will have every penny of the wealth spent long before then. There wouldn’t be anything left for me to sue for!”

  “Well,” Blanchard said, shaking his head, “I don’t know what can be done, then. The terms of court are set by statute.”

  The side door burst open, and they both turned around to find Waldo standing in the doorway blinking his eyes in the bright light. After adjusting his vision, he walked into the room and went to the vacant chair between Dessie and Blanchard.

  “How be you, Thornton?” Waldo said, reaching out and grasping Blanchard’s hand. He shook it hard.

  “Fair,” Blanchard said uneasily. He glanced at Dessie. She was staring at Waldo. “Fair,” he said again.

  Waldo seated himself.

  “Thought for a while today I needed to see you about a matter, but I changed my mind. There’s no need, now.”

  “Well, I’m glad you handled the matter without needing any help,” Blanchard said, stumbling over the words.

  “Decided not to bother handling it,” Waldo said, “so I just dropped it.”

  “That’s fine,” Blanchard said, wondering.

  Waldo made himself comfortable.

  “Was trying to figure out a way to have a good time and keep the money, too. Figured it couldn’t be done. So I decided to get shet of it.”

  Dessie was about to leap from her chair when Waldo reached into his pants pocket and tossed the big roll of greenbacks across the table to her. The tightly bound roll of money tumbled into her lap.

  For a moment Dessie looked as if she did not know what in the world had happened. Then slowly her eyes began to bulge and she looked down into her lap. She stared at the money dazedly.

  “Waldo —” she said, her speech choked.

  Tears began to flow down her cheeks, and Waldo squirmed uneasily in his chair. He dropped his head, glancing up at her from beneath his ey
ebrows every now and then.

  “Waldo —” she began again. She could not continue.

  Waldo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand,

  “Figured a man with no more sense than I’ve got ought not be allowed to possess that much wealth,” he said, still looking down. “So I decided there was only one thing to do and that was to get shet of it.” He glanced from Dessie to Blanchard. “It makes me feel better to be shet of it, the whole three hundred and fifty dollars of it.”

  Her chair falling over backward as she jumped to her feet, Dessie ran to Waldo. She dropped on her knees beside him and threw her arms around him.

  “Waldo — that schoolteacher —”

  “The mind was weaker than the eye,” he said, glancing up at Blanchard. “The mind was weaker than the eye until she said she wanted me to give her the money to carry.”

  He looked down admiringly at Dessie.

  “Waldo,” she said haltingly. “I needed that exercise out behind the barn.” She looked up into his face. “It did me a lot of good.”

  Blanchard pushed back his chair as quietly as possible, gathering up his pad and pencil as he backed away from the table. He had almost reached the door when he was startled to hear somebody singing in the kitchen. He stopped and listened, and by that time Dessie had heard it, too. She raised her head and listened intently. It was Justine singing at the top of her voice. She had never sung like that before, not even during the day.

  Dessie got up and went to the kitchen door. She threw it open and stood back. “Come in here, Justine,” she called into the next room.

  Justine walked slowly past her and went as far as the table. She stood trembling, fearing she was going to be scolded for singing in such a loud voice at that time of night.

  Dessie followed her to the table.

  “What did you tell me this morning about not having cause to hurry marriage with Carl Friend, Justine?” she asked her.

  Justine gripped her fingers tightly.

  “That’s what I said this morning, Mrs. Murdock,” she replied after hesitating to answer for several moments. She glanced quickly around the room at Waldo and Blanchard. “But —”