The Mystery of the Sycamore
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“Can’t you persuade him?”
“I’ve tried my best. Mother has tried, too. But, you see, it’s a matter of principle, and when principle is involved, we are all in the same boat. Mother and I would scorn any wrongdoing quite as much as father does.”
“And you’ll give up your life happiness for a principle?”
“Of course. Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t every decent person? I couldn’t live at all, if I were knowingly doing wrong.”
“But your – ” Keefe stopped abruptly.
“I know what you were going to say,” Maida spoke sadly; “you were going to say my father did wrong. I don’t believe he did.”
“Don’t you know?”
“I know in my own heart. I know he is incapable of the crime he was charged with. I’m sure he is shielding some one else, or else some one did it of whom he has no knowledge. But my father commit a crime? Never!”
“Do you care to tell me the details?”
“I don’t know why I shouldn’t. It was long ago, you know, and dad was accused of forgery. It was proved on him – or the jury thought it was – and he was convicted – ”
“And sentenced?”
“Yes; to a long prison term. But Governor Appleby pardoned him with that mean old proviso, that he never should step into Massachusetts!”
“Was your mother then the heir to the Massachusetts property?”
“No; but Mr. Appleby knew she would be. So, when she did inherit, and had to live in Massachusetts to hold the estate, Mr. Appleby thought he had dad where he wanted him.”
“Were they foes?”
“Politically, yes. Because dad did all he could to keep Mr. Appleby from being governor.”
“But didn’t succeed?”
“No; but almost. So, then, Mr. Appleby did this pardon trick to get even with father, and I think it turned out more serious than he anticipated. For mother took up the feud, and she got lawyers and all that and arranged to have the house built on the line between the states!”
“Was the estate she inherited on both sides of the line?”
“Oh, no; but it was near the southern border of Massachusetts, and she bought enough adjoining land to make the arrangement possible.”
“Then the house isn’t on the ground she inherited?”
“Not quite, but the lawyers decided it so that she really complies with the terms of the will, so it’s all right.”
“Was your mother the only heir?”
“So far as we can find out. I believe there was another branch of the family, but we haven’t been able to trace it, so as the years go by, we feel more and more confident there’s no other heir. Of course, should one turn up, his claim would be recognized.”
Further talk quickly convinced Keefe that there was no hope of persuading Maida Wheeler to influence or advise her father in any direction other than his idea of right. No amount of urging or arguing would make Wheeler see his duty other than he now saw it, or make Maida endeavor to change his views. With a sigh over his failure, Keefe deftly turned the talk in other channels, and then they strolled back to the house.
As was to be expected, Genevieve had made no progress with her part of the plan. Her talk with Mr. Wheeler had availed nothing. He was courteous and kind; he was amused at her gay, merry little ways; he politely answered her questions, both serious and flippant, but absolutely nothing came of it all.
Samuel Appleby had a short but straightforward conversation with Mrs. Wheeler.
“Now, Sara,” he said, “remember I’m your old friend as well as your relative.”
“I don’t call you a relative,” she returned, calmly.
“A family connection, then; I don’t care what you call it. And I’m going to speak right out, for I know better than to try sophistries. If you can get Dan to play my game regarding my son’s campaign, I’ll see that Dan gets full pardon, and at once. Then Maida can marry young Allen and you can all go to Boston to live.”
“Sam Appleby, I’d rather never see Boston again, never have Dan see it, than to have him agree to endorse principles that he does not believe! And Dan feels the same way about it.”
“But don’t you consider your daughter? Will you condemn Maida to a broken-hearted life – ?”
“Maida must decide for herself. I think Jeffrey Allen will yet persuade her to leave her father. She is devoted to Dan, but she is deeply in love with Jeff and it’s only natural she should go with him. Any other girl would do so without a second thought. Maida is unusual, but I doubt if she can hold out much longer against her lover’s pleading.”
“I think she will. Maida has your own unbreakable will.”
“So be it, then. The child must choose for herself. But it doesn’t alter the stand Dan and I have taken.”
“Nothing can alter that?”
“Nothing, Samuel Appleby.”
“That remains to be seen. Have I your permission to talk to Maida, alone?”
“Certainly. Why not? If you can persuade her to marry Jeff, I’ll be only too glad. If you find her determined to stand by her father, then the case remains as it is at present.”
And so, as Maida returned from her walk with Keefe, she was asked to go for another stroll with Samuel Appleby.
She assented, though with no show of pleasure at the prospect.
But as they started off, she said: “I’m glad to have a talk with you, Mr. Appleby. I want to appeal to your better nature.”
“Good! That’s just what I want – to appeal to yours. Suppose you word your appeal first.”
“Mine is simple to understand. It is only that having had your way and having spoiled my father’s life for fifteen years, I ask you, in the name of humanity and justice, to arrange matters so that his latter years of life shall be free from the curse you put upon him.”
“I didn’t put it upon him – he brought it on himself.”
“He never committed that crime – and you know it!”
“What do you mean by that?” Appleby gave her a startled glance.
Had Maida seen this glance, she might have been enlightened. But her eyes were cast down, and she went on: “I don’t know it surely, but I am positive in my own heart father never did it. However, that’s past history. All I ask now is his full pardon – which, I know, you can bring about if you want to.”
“And I will, willingly and gladly, if your father will grant my request.”
“To put your son in as governor with the same political views that prevented my father from voting for you! You know he can’t do that!”
“And yet you expect me to favor him!”
“But don’t you see the difference? Your pardon will mean everything to father – ”
“And to you!”
“Yes, but that’s a secondary consideration. I’d ask this for father just the same, if it meant disaster for me!”
“I believe you would!” and Appleby gazed admiringly at the sweet, forceful face, and the earnest eyes.
“Of course I should! As I say, it means life’s happiness to him.”
“And his consent means just as much to me.”
“No, it doesn’t. That’s just it. Even though father doesn’t definitely help you in your son’s election, he will do nothing to hinder. And that’s much the same.”
“It’s far from being the same. His positive and definite help is a very different matter from his negative lack of interference. It’s the help I want. And I do want it! Do you suppose I’d come here and urge it – beg for it – if I didn’t think it absolutely necessary?”
“No; I suppose not. But I know he never will grant it, so you may as well give up hope.”
“You know that, do you, Maida?” Appleby’s voice was almost wistful.
“I most certainly do,” and the girl nodded her head positively.
“Then listen to me. I have one argument yet unused. I’m going to use it now. And with you.”
Maida looked up in alarm. Appleby’s face was stern, his tone betokened a final, even desperate decision.
“Oh, not with me,” she cried; “I – I’m only a girl – I don’t know about these things – let’s go where father is.”
“No; you are the one. In your hands must rest your father’s fate – your father’s future. Sit here, beneath the old sycamore – you know about the tree?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Never mind that now; I’ve only a few moments, but that’s time enough. You know, Maida, how your mother holds this estate?”
“Yes – she must live in Massachusetts. Well, we do. The lawyers said – ”
“That isn’t the point; this is it. There is another heir.”
“We’ve always thought it possible.” Maida spoke coolly, though a dull fear clutched her heart.
“It’s more than a possibility, it’s a fact. I know it – and I know the heir.”
“Who is it?”
“Never mind for the moment. Suffice it to say that he doesn’t know it himself – that no one knows it but me. Now, you and I know. No one else does. Do you understand?”
His keen gaze at her made her understand.
“I – ” she faltered.
“You do understand,” he asserted. “You sense my proposition before I make it. And you have it right – you’re a smart girl, Maida. Yes, I suggest that you and I keep our secret, and that in return for my silence you persuade your father to meet my wishes. Then, he shall be fully pardoned, and all will be well.”
“You criminal! You dishonest and dishonorable man!” she cried, her eyes blazing, her cheeks reddening with her righteous indignation.
“There, there, my girl, have a care. You haven’t thought it all out yet. Doubtless you’re going to say that neither your father nor mother want to remain here, if my statement is true.”
“Of course I say that! They won’t want to stay a minute! Who is the heir? Tell me!”
“And have you thought what it will mean to them to leave this place? Have you realized that your father has no business interests nor can he find any at his age? Do you remember that your mother has no funds outside the estate she inherited? Do you want to plunge them into penury, into pauperism, in their declining years?”
“Yes – if honesty requires it – ” but the sweet voice trembled at the thought.
“Honesty is a good thing – a fine policy – but you are a devoted daughter, and I remind you that to tell this thing I have told you, means disaster – ruin for you and your parents. Young Allen can’t support them – they are unaccustomed to deprivation – and,” he lowered his voice, “this heir I speak of has no knowledge of the truth. He misses nothing, since he hopes for nothing.”
Maida looked at him helplessly.
“I must think,” she said, brokenly. “Oh, you are cruel, to put this responsibility on me.”
“You know why I do it. I am not disinterested.”
CHAPTER IV
THE BIG SYCAMORE TREE
At the south door the Appleby car stood waiting.
Genevieve was saying good-bye to Maida, with the affection of an old friend.
“We’re coming back, you know,” she reminded, “in two or three days, and please say you’ll be glad to see me!”
“Of course,” Maida assented, but her lip trembled and her eyes showed signs of ready tears.
“Cheer up,” Genevieve babbled on. “I’m your friend – whatever comes with time!”
“So am I,” put in Curtis Keefe. “Good-bye for a few days, Miss Wheeler.”
How Maida did it, she scarcely knew herself, but she forced a smile, and even when Samuel Appleby gave her a warning glance at parting she bravely responded to his farewell words, and even gaily waved her hand as the car rolled down the drive.
Once out of earshot, Appleby broke out:
“I played my trump card! No, you needn’t ask me what I was, for I don’t propose to tell you. But it will take the trick, I’m sure. Why, it’s got to!”
“It must be something pretty forcible, then,” said Keefe, “for it looked to me about as likely as snow in summertime, that any of those rigid Puritans would ever give in an inch to your persuasions.”
“Or mine,” added Genevieve. “Never before have I failed so utterly to make any headway when I set out to be really persuasive.”
“You did your best, Miss Lane,” and Appleby looked at her with the air of one appraising the efficiency of a salesman. “I confess I didn’t think Wheeler would be quite such a hardshell – after all these years.”
“He’s just like concrete,” Keefe observed. “They all are. I didn’t know there were such conscientious people left in this wicked old world!”
“They’re not really in the world,” Appleby declared. “They’ve merely vegetated in that house of theirs, never going anywhere – ”
“Oh, come now, Mr. Appleby,” and Genevieve shook her head, “Boston isn’t the only burg on the planet! They often go to New York, and that’s going some!”
“Not really often – I asked Wheeler. He hasn’t been for five or six years, and though Maida goes occasionally, to visit friends, she soon runs back home to her father.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Keefe said, “they’re by no means mossbacks or hayseeds. They’re right there with the goods, when it comes to modern literature or up-to-date news – ”
“Oh, yes, they’re a highbrow bunch,” Appleby spoke impatiently; “but a recluse like that is no sort of a man! The truth is, I’m at the end of my patience! I’ve got to put this thing over with less palaver and circumlocution. I thought I’d give him a chance – just put the thing up to him squarely once – and, as he doesn’t see fit to meet me half-way, he’s got to be the loser, that’s all.”
“He seems to be the loser, as it is.” This from Keefe.
“But nothing to what’s coming to him! Why, the idea of my sparing him at all is ridiculous! If he doesn’t come down, he’s got to be wiped out! That’s what it amounts to!”
“Wiped out – how?”
“Figuratively and literally! Mentally, morally and physically! That’s how! I’ve stood all I can – I’ve waited long enough – too long – and now I’m going to play the game my own way! As I said, I played a trump card – I raised one pretty definite ruction just before we left. Now, that may do the business – and, it may not! If not, then desperate measures are necessary – and will be used!”
“Good gracious, Mr. Appleby!” Genevieve piped up from her fur collar which nearly muffled her little face. “You sound positively murderous!”
“Murder! Pooh, I’d kill Dan Wheeler in a minute, if that would help Sam! But I don’t want Wheeler dead – I want him alive – I want his help – his influence – yet, when he sits there looking like a stone wall, and about as easy to overthrow, I declare I could kill him! But I don’t intend to. It’s far more likely he’d kill me!”
“Why?” exclaimed Keefe. “Why should he? And – but you’re joking.”
“Not at all. Wheeler isn’t of the murderer type, or I’d be taking my life in my hands to go into his house! He hates me with all the strength of a hard, bigoted, but strictly just nature. He thinks I was unjust in the matter of his pardon, he thinks I was contemptible, and false to our old-time friendship; and he would be honestly and truly glad if I were dead. But – thank heaven – he’s no murderer!”
“Of course not!” cried Genevieve. “How you do talk! As if murder were an everyday performance! Why, people in our class don’t kill each other!”
The placid assumption of equality of class with her employer was so consistently Miss Lane’s usual attitude, that it caused no mental comment from either of her hearers. Her services were so valuable that any such little idiosyncrasy was tolerated.
“Of course we don’t – often,” agreed Appleby, “but I’d wager a good bit that if Dan Wheeler could bump me off without his conscience knowing it – off I’d go!”
“I don’t know about that,” said Genevieve, musingly – “but I do believe that girl would do it!”
“What?” cried Keefe. “Maida!”
“Yes; she’s a lamb for looks, but she’s got a lion’s heart – if anybody ever had one! Talk about a tigress protecting her cubs; it would be a milk-and-water performance beside Maida Wheeler shielding her father – or fighting for him – yes, or killing somebody for him!”
“Rubbish!” laughed Appleby. “Maida might be willing enough, in that lion heart of hers – but little girls don’t go around killing people.”
“I know it, and I don’t expect her to. But I only say she’s capable of it.”
“Goethe says – (Keefe spoke in his superior way) – ‘We are all capable of crime, even the best of us.’”
“I remember that phrase,” mused Appleby. “Is it Goethe’s? Well, I don’t say it’s literally true, for lots of people are too much of a jellyfish makeup to have such a capability. But I do believe there are lots of strong, forcible people, who are absolutely capable of crime – if the opportunity offers.”
“That’s it,” and Genevieve nodded her head wisely. “Opportunity is what counts. I’ve read detective stories, and they prove it. Be careful, Mr. Appleby, how you trust yourself alone with Mr. Wheeler.”
“That will do,” he reprimanded. “I can take care of myself, Miss Lane.”
Genevieve always knew when she had gone too far, and, instead of sulking, she tactfully changed the subject and entertained the others with her amusing chatter, at which she was a success.
At that very moment, Maida Wheeler, alone in her room, was sobbing wildly, yet using every precaution that she shouldn’t be heard.
Thrown across her bed, her face buried in the pillows, she fairly shook with the intensity of her grief.
But, as often happens, after she had brought her crying spell to a finish – and exhausted Nature insists on a finish – she rose and bathed her flushed face and sat down to think it out calmly.
Yet the more she thought the less calm she grew.
For the first time in her life she was face to face with a great question which she could not refer to her parents. Always she had confided in them, and matters that seemed great to her, even though trifling in themselves, were invariably settled and straightened out by her wise and loving father or mother.
But now, Samuel Appleby had told her a secret – a dreadful secret – that she must not only weigh and decide about, but must – at least, until she decided – keep from her parents.
“For,” Maida thought, “if I tell them, they’ll at once insist on knowing who the rightful heir is, they’ll give over the place to him – and what will become of us?”
Her conscience was as active as ever it was, her sense of right and wrong was in no way warped or blunted, but instinct told her that she must keep this matter entirely to herself until she had come to her own conclusion. Moreover, she realized, the conclusion must be her own – the decision must be arrived at by herself, and unaided.
Finally, accepting all this, she resolved to put the whole thing out of her mind for the moment. Her parents were so intimately acquainted with her every mood or shade of demeanor, they would see at once that something was troubling her mind, unless she used the utmost care to prevent it. Care, too, not to overdo her precaution. It would be quite as evident that she was concealing something, if she were unusually gay or carefree of manner.
So the poor child went downstairs, determined to forget utterly the news she had heard, until such time as she could be again by herself.
And she succeeded. Though haunted by a vague sense of being deceitful, she behaved so entirely as usual, that neither of her parents suspected her of pretense.
Moreover, the subject of Samuel Appleby’s visit was such a fruitful source of conversation that there was less chance of minor considerations.
“Never will I consent,” her father was reiterating, as Maida entered the room. “Why, Sara, I’d rather have the conditional pardon rescinded, rather pay full penalty of my conviction, than stand for the things young Sam’s campaign must stand for!”
A clenched fist came down on the table by way of emphasis.
“Now, dad,” said Maida, gaily, “don’t thump around like that! You look as if you’d like to thump Mr. Appleby!”
“And I should! I wish I could bang into his head just how I feel about it – ”
“Oh, he knows!” and Mrs. Wheeler smiled. “He knows perfectly how you feel.”
“But, truly, mother, don’t you think dad could – well, not do anything wrong – but just give in to Mr. Appleby – for – for my sake?”
“Maida – dear – that is our only stumbling-block. Your father and I would not budge one step, for ourselves – but for you, and for Jeffrey – oh, my dear little girl, that’s what makes it so hard.”
“For us, then – father, can’t you – for our sake – ”
Maida broke down. It wasn’t for her sake she was pleading – nor for the sake of her lover. It was for the sake of her parents – that they might remain in comfort – and yet, comfort at the expense of honesty? Oh, the problem was too great – she hadn’t worked it out yet.
“I can’t think,” her father’s grave voice broke in on her tumultuous thoughts. “I can’t believe, Maida, that you would want my freedom at the cost of my seared conscience.”
“No, oh, no, father, I don’t – you know I don’t. But what is this dreadful thing you’d have to countenance if you linked up on the Appleby side? Are they pirates – or rascals?”
“Not from their own point of view,” and Dan Wheeler smiled. “They think we are! You can’t understand politics, child, but you must know that a man who is heart and soul in sympathy with the principles of his party can’t conscientiously cross over and work for the other side.”
“Yes, I know that, and I know that tells the whole story. But, father, think what there is at stake. Your freedom – and – ours!”
“I know that, Maida dear, and you can never know how my very soul is torn as I try to persuade myself that for those reasons it would be right for me to consent. Yet – ”
He passed his hand wearily across his brow, and then folding his arms on the table he let his head sink down upon them.
Maida flew to his side. “Father, dearest,” she crooned over him, as she caressed his bowed head, “don’t think of it for a minute! You know I’d give up anything – I’d give up Jeff – if it means one speck of good for you.”
“I know it, dear child, but – run away, now, Maida, leave me to myself.”
Understanding, both Maida and her mother quietly left the room.
“I’m sorry, girlie dear, that you have to be involved in these scenes,” Mrs. Wheeler said fondly, as the two went to the sitting-room.
“Don’t talk that way, mother. I’m part of the family, and I’m old enough to have a share and a voice in all these matters. But just think what it would mean, if father had his pardon! Look at this room, and think, he has never been in it! Never has seen the pictures – the view from the window, the general coziness of it all.”
“I know, dear, but that’s an old story. Your father is accustomed to living only in his own rooms – ”
“And not to be able to go to the other end of the dining-room or living-room, if he chooses! It’s outrageous!”
“Yes, Maida, I quite agree – but no more outrageous than it was last week – or last year.”
“Yes, it is! It grows more outrageous every minute! Mother, what did that old will say? That you must live in Massachusetts?”
“Yes – you know that, dear.”
“Of course I do. And if you lived elsewhere, what then?”
“I forfeit the inheritance.”
“And what would become of it?”
“In default of any other heirs, it would go to the State of Massachusetts.”
“And there are no other heirs?”
“What ails you, Maida? You know all this. No, there are no other heirs.”
“You’re sure?”
“As sure as we can be. Your father had every possible search made. There were advertisements kept in the papers for years, and able lawyers did all they could to find heirs if there were any. And, finding none, we were advised that there were none, and we could rest in undisturbed possession.”
“Suppose one should appear, what then?”
“Then, little girl, we’d give him the keys of the house, and walk out.”
“Where would we walk to?”
“I’ve no idea. In fact, I can’t imagine where we could walk to. But that, thank heaven, is not one of our troubles. Your father would indeed be desperately fixed if it were! You know, Maida, from a fine capable business man, he became a wreck, because of that unjust trial.”
“Father never committed the forgery?”
“Of course not, dear.”
“Who did?”
“We don’t know. It was cleverly done, and the crime was purposely fastened on your father, because he was about to be made the rival candidate of Mr. Appleby, for governor.”
“I know. And Mr. Appleby was at the bottom of it!”
“Your father doesn’t admit that – ”
“He must have been.”
“Hush, Maida. These matters are not for you to judge. You know your father has done all he honestly could to be fully pardoned, or to discover the real criminal, and as he hasn’t succeeded, you must rest content with the knowledge that there was no stone left unturned.”