Book Four: Chapter XV

by Sherwood Anderson

　　Hugh and Clara were married in less than a week after their first walktogether. A chain of circumstances touching their two lives hurled theminto marriage, and the opportunity for the intimacy with a woman for whichHugh so longed came to him with a swiftness that made him fairly dizzy.

　　It was a Wednesday evening and cloudy. After dining in silence with hislandlady, Hugh started along Turner's Pike toward Bidwell, but when he hadgot almost into town, turned back. He had left the house intending to gothrough town to the Medina Road and to the woman who now occupied so largea place in his thoughts, but hadn't the courage. Every evening for almost aweek he had taken the walk, and every evening and at almost the same spothe turned back. He was disgusted and angry with himself and went to hisshop, walking in the middle of the road and kicking up clouds of dust.People passed along the path under the trees at the side of the road andturned to stare at him. A workingman with a fat wife, who puffed as shewalked at his side, turned to look and then began to scold. "I tell youwhat, old woman, I shouldn't have married and had kids," he grumbled. "Lookat me, then look at that fellow. He goes along there thinking big thoughtsthat will make him richer and richer. I have to work for two dollars a day,and pretty soon I'll be old and thrown on the scrap-heap. I might have beena rich inventor like him had I given myself a chance."

　　The workman went on his way, grumbling at his wife who paid no attentionto his words. Her breath was needed for the labor of walking, and as forthe matter of marriage, that had been attended to. She saw no reason forwasting words over the matter. Hugh went to the shop and stood leaningagainst the door frame. Two or three workmen were busy near the back doorand had lighted gas lamps that hung over the work benches. They did not seeHugh, and their voices ran through the empty building. One of them, an oldman with a bald head, entertained his fellows by giving an imitation ofSteve Hunter. He lighted a cigar and putting on his hat tipped it a littleto one side. Puffing out his chest he marched up and down talking of money."Here's a ten-dollar cigar," he said, handing a long stogie to one of theother workmen. "I buy them by the thousands to give away. I'm interested inuplifting the lives of workmen in my home town. That's what takes all myattention."

　　The other workmen laughed and the little man continued to prance upand down and talk, but Hugh did not hear him. He stared moodily at thepeople going along the road toward town. Darkness was coming but he couldstill see dim figures striding along. Over at the foundry back of thecorn-cutting machine plant the night shift was pouring off, and a suddenglare of light played across the heavy smoke cloud that lay over the town.The bells of the churches began to call people to the Wednesday eveningprayer-meetings. Some enterprising citizen had begun to build workmen'shouses in a field beyond Hugh's shop and these were occupied by Italianlaborers. A crowd of them came past. What would some day be a tenementdistrict was growing in a field beside a cabbage patch belonging to EzraFrench who had said God would not permit men to change the field of theirlabors.

　　An Italian passed under a lamp near the Wheeling station. He wore a brightred handkerchief about his neck and was clad in a brightly colored shirt.Like the other people of Bidwell, Hugh did not like to see foreignersabout. He did not understand them and when he saw them going about thestreets in groups, was a little afraid. It was a man's duty, he thought, tolook as much as possible like all his fellow men, to lose himself in thecrowds, and these fellows did not look like other men. They loved color,and as they talked they made rapid gestures with their hands. The Italianin the road was with a woman of his own race, and in the growing darknessput his arm about her shoulder. Hugh's heart began to beat rapidly and heforgot his American prejudices. He wished he were a workman and that Clarawere a workman's daughter. Then, he thought, he might find courage to go toher. His imagination, quickened by the flame of desire and running in newchannels, made it possible for him, at the moment to see himself in theyoung Italian's place, walking in the road with Clara. She was clad ina calico dress and her soft brown eyes looked at him full of love andunderstanding.

　　The three workingmen had completed the job for which they had come back towork after the evening meal, and now turned out the lights and came towardthe front of the shop. Hugh drew back from the door and concealed himselfby standing in the heavy shadows by the wall. So realistic were histhoughts of Clara that he did not want them intruded upon.

　　The workmen went out of the shop door and stood talking. The bald-headedman was telling a tale to which the others listened eagerly. "It's all overtown," he said. "From what I hear every one say it isn't the first timeshe's been in such a mess. Old Tom Butterworth claimed he sent her away toschool three years ago, but now they say that isn't the truth. What theysay is that she was in the family way to one of her father's farm hands andhad to get out of town." The man laughed. "Lord, if Clara Butterworth wasmy daughter she'd be in a nice fix, wouldn't she, eh?" he said, laughing."As it is, she's all right. She's gone now and got herself mixed up withthis swindler Buckley, but her father's money will make it all right. Ifshe's going to have a kid, no one'll know. Maybe she's already had the kid.They say she's a regular one for the men."

　　As the man talked Hugh came to the door and stood in the darknesslistening. For a time the words would not penetrate his consciousness, andthen he remembered what Clara had said. She had said something about AlfredBuckley and that there would be a story connecting her name with his. Shehad been hot and angry and had declared the story a lie. Hugh did not knowwhat the story was about, but it was evident there was a story abroad, ascandalous story concerning her and Alfred Buckley. A hot, impersonal angertook possession of him. "She's in trouble--here's my chance," he thought.His tall figure straightened and as he stepped through the shop door hishead struck sharply against the door frame, but he did not feel the blowthat at another time might have knocked him down. During his whole life hehad never struck any one with his fists, and had never felt a desire todo so, but now hunger to strike and even to kill took complete possessionof him. With a cry of rage his fist shot out and the old man who had donethe talking was knocked senseless into a clump of weeds that grew nearthe door. Hugh whirled and struck a second man who fell through the opendoorway into the shop. The third man ran away into the darkness alongTurner's Pike.

　　Hugh walked rapidly to town and through Main Street. He saw Tom Butterworthwalking in the street with Steve Hunter, but turned a corner to avoid ameeting. "My chance has come," he kept saying to himself as he hurriedalong Medina Road. "Clara's in some kind of trouble. My chance has come."

　　By the time he got to the door of the Butterworth house, Hugh's new-foundcourage had almost left him, but before it had quite gone he raised hishand and knocked on the door. By good fortune Clara came to open it. Hughtook off his hat and turned it awkwardly in his hands. "I came out here toask you to marry me," he said. "I want you to be my wife. Will you do it?"

　　Clara stepped out of the house and closed the door. A whirl of thoughts ranthrough her brain. For a moment she felt like laughing, and then what therewas in her of her father's shrewdness came to her rescue. "Why shouldn't Ido it?" she thought. "Here's my chance. This man is excited and upset now,but he is a man I can respect. It's the best marriage I'll ever have achance to make. I do not love him, but perhaps that will come. This may bethe way marriages are made."

　　Clara put out her hand and laid it on Hugh's arm. "Well," she said,hesitatingly, "you wait here a moment."

　　She went into the house and left Hugh standing in the darkness. He wasterribly afraid. It seemed to him that every secret desire of his life hadgot itself suddenly and bluntly expressed. He felt naked and ashamed. "Ifshe comes out and says she'll marry me, what will I do? What'll I do then?"he asked himself.

　　When she did come out Clara wore her hat and a long coat. "Come," she said,and led him around the house and through the barnyard to one of the barns.She went into a dark stall and led forth a horse and with Hugh's helppulled a buggy out of a shed into the barnyard. "If we're going to do itthere's no use putting it off," she said with a trembling voice. "We mightas well go to the county seat and do it at once."

　　The horse was hitched and Clara got into the buggy. Hugh climbed in and satbeside her. She had started to drive out of the barnyard when Jim Prieststepped suddenly out of the darkness and took hold of the horse's head.Clara held the buggy whip in her hand and raised it to hit the horse. Adesperate determination that nothing should interfere with her marriagewith Hugh had taken possession of her. "If necessary I'll ride the mandown," she thought. Jim came to stand beside the buggy. He looked pastClara at Hugh. "I thought maybe it was that Buckley," he said. He put ahand on the buggy dash and laid the other on Clara's arm. "You're a womannow, Clara, and I guess you know what you're doing. I guess you know I'myour friend," he said slowly. "You been in trouble, I know. I couldn't helphearing what your father said to you about Buckley, he talked so loud.Clara, I don't want to see you get into trouble."

　　The farm hand stepped away from the buggy and then came back and again puthis hand on Clara's arm. The silence that lay over the barnyard lasteduntil the woman felt she could speak without a break in her voice.

　　"I'm not going very far, Jim," she said, laughing nervously. "This is Mr.Hugh McVey and we're going over to the county seat to get married. We'll beback home before midnight. You put a candle in the window for us."

　　Hitting the horse a sharp blow, Clara drove quickly past the house and intothe road. She turned south into the hill country through which lay the roadto the county seat. As the horse trotted quickly along, the voice of JimPriest called to her out of the darkness of the barnyard, but she did notstop. The afternoon and evening had been cloudy and the night was dark. Shewas glad of that. As the horse went swiftly along she turned to look atHugh who sat up very stiffly on the buggy seat and stared straight ahead.The long horse-like face of the Missourian with its huge nose and deeplyfurrowed cheeks was ennobled by the soft darkness, and a tender feelingcrept over her. When he had asked her to become his wife, Clara had pouncedlike a wild animal abroad seeking prey and the thing in her that was likeher father, hard, shrewd and quick-witted, had led her to decide to see thething through at once. Now she became ashamed, and her tender mood took thehardness and shrewdness away. "This man and I have a thousand things weshould say to each other before we rush into marriage," she thought, andwas half inclined to turn the horse and drive back. She wondered if Hughhad also heard the stories connecting her name with that of Buckley, thestories she was sure were now running from lip to lip through the streetsof Bidwell, and what version of the tale had been carried to him. "Perhapshe came to propose marriage in order to protect me," she thought, anddecided that if he had come for that reason she was taking an unfairadvantage. "It is what Kate Chanceller would call 'doing the man a dirty,low-down trick,'" she told herself; but even as the thought came she leanedforward and touching the horse with the whip urged him even more swiftlyalong the road.

　　A mile south of the Butterworth farmhouse the road to the county seatcrossed the crest of a hill, the highest point in the county, and from theroad there was a magnificent view of the country lying to the south. Thesky had begun to clear, and as they reached the point known as LookoutHill, the moon broke through a tangle of clouds. Clara stopped the horseand turned to look down the hillside. Below lay the lights of her father'sfarmhouse--where he had come as a young man and to which long ago he hadbrought his bride. Far below the farmhouse a clustered mass of lightsoutlined the swiftly growing town. The determination that had carried Clarathus far wavered again and a lump came into her throat.

　　Hugh also turned to look but did not see the dark beauty of the countrywearing its night jewels of lights. The woman he wanted so passionatelyand of whom he was so afraid had her face turned from him, and he dared tolook at her. He saw the sharp curve of her breasts and in the dim lighther cheeks seemed to glow with beauty. An odd notion came to him. In theuncertain light her face seemed to move independent of her body. It drewnear him and then drew away. Once he thought the dimly seen white cheekwould touch his own. He waited breathless. A flame of desire ran throughhis body.

　　Hugh's mind flew back through the years to his boyhood and young manhood.In the river town when he was a boy the raftsmen and hangers-on of thetown's saloons, who had sometimes come to spend an afternoon on the riverbanks with his father John McVey, often spoke of women and marriage. Asthey lay on the burned grass in the warm sunlight they talked and the boywho lay half asleep nearby listened. The voices came to him as though outof the clouds or up out of the lazy waters of the great river and the talkof women awoke his boyhood lusts. One of the men, a tall young fellow witha mustache and with dark rings under his eyes, told in a lazy, drawlingvoice the tale of an adventure had with a woman one night when a raft onwhich he was employed had tied up near the city of St. Louis, and Hughlistened enviously. As he told the tale the young man a little awoke fromhis stupor, and when he laughed the other men lying about laughed with him."I got the best of her after all," he boasted. "After it was all over wewent into a little room at the back of a saloon. I watched my chance andwhen she went to sleep sitting in a chair I took eight dollars out of herstocking."

　　That night in the buggy beside Clara, Hugh thought of himself lying by theriver bank on the summer days. Dreams had come to him there, sometimesgigantic dreams; but there had also come ugly thoughts and desires. By hisfather's shack there was always the sharp rancid smell of decaying fish andswarms of flies filled the air. Out in the clean Ohio country, in the hillssouth of Bidwell, it seemed to him that the smell of decaying fish cameback, that it was in his clothes, that it had in some way worked its wayinto his nature. He put up his hand and swept it across his face, anunconscious return of the perpetual movement of brushing flies away fromhis face as he lay half asleep by the river.

　　Little lustful thoughts kept coming to Hugh and made him ashamed. He movedrestlessly in the buggy seat and a lump came into his throat. Again helooked at Clara. "I'm a poor white," he thought. "It isn't fitten I shouldmarry this woman."

　　From the high spot in the road Clara looked down at her father's house andbelow at the lights of the town, that had already spread so far over thecountryside, and up through the hills toward the farm where she had spenther girlhood and where, as Jim Priest had said, "the sap had begun to runup the tree." She began to love the man who was to be her husband, but likethe dreamers of the town, saw him as something a little inhuman, as a manalmost gigantic in his bigness. Many things Kate Chanceller had said as thetwo developing women walked and talked in the streets of Columbus came backto her mind. When they had started again along the road she continuallyworried the horse by tapping him with the whip. Like Kate, Clara wanted tobe fair and square. "A woman should be fair and square, even with a man,"Kate had said. "The man I'm going to have as a husband is simple andhonest," she thought. "If there are things down there in town that are notsquare and fair, he had nothing to do with them." Realizing a little Hugh'sdifficulty in expressing what he must feel, she wanted to help him, butwhen she turned and saw how he did not look at her but continually staredinto the darkness, pride kept her silent. "I'll have to wait until he'sready. Already I've taken things too much into my own hands. I'll putthrough this marriage, but when it comes to anything else he'll have tobegin," she told herself, and a lump came into her throat and tears to hereyes.