Beyond paradise

Chapter I

There was nothing unusual about the marriage of Marcia Stover and Doctor Donald Blake, except, perhaps, that it was preceded by a courtship of ten years’ duration, prolonged by Marcia’s coquetry.

During the early stages of their acquaintance, she did not even bother to treat Blake with common civility. But he met her rebuffs with a sort of disarming timidity, despite the fact that her attitude frequently reduced him to a point where he was willing to surrender to discour¬ agement. But these fits of despondency were of short duration, and with their passing he would renew his determination to win her with patient, unremitting efforts to prove his devotion. As the years passed, the gangling, raw-boned young doctor, who had startled his Waverly colleagues by performing a remarkable surgical operation within a week after his graduation, grew up to all of Marcia’s girlish ideals,—far beyond anything she had thought possible.

In the meantime, his conspicuous progress and unusual ability had attracted the attention of mothers of marriage¬ able daughters, and Marcia was given plenty of reason to worry lest Blake’s interest might be diverted from her. Long before he finally brought the matter to a climax by urging that it was time they married if they were ever going to be, she had spent many anxious days and restless nights because of his apparent willingness to let matters between them drag on indefinitely. She was not so in¬ clined to forestall his wishes this time as she had been on the occasion when he had first asked her to be his wife the year after they had met. So, without any show of coquettish hesitancy, Marcia proposed that they motor directly to Webster, where her uncle would marry them.

So it happened that they were married a few hours later. The ceremony performed, Blake took the girl in his arms, holding her close for an instant and looking deep into her blue eyes, as if endeavoring to realize the fact that she was at last his wife. Then he kissed her, whispering, “This is the greatest thing I ever did in my life.”

“I’ll never give you a reason to think otherwise,” she assured him. “Oh, the world—this world—is wonderful to live in!”

And although they were quite unconscious of any trite¬ ness of expression, their words did not differ much from many, many others her uncle had heard uttered by as many lovers on the completion of the innumerable wedding ceremonies he had been called upon to perform during his long ministerial career.

The Stover’s family automobile was waiting for the couple when they emerged from the parsonage, Marcia’s father having driven up from Williston when she tele¬ phoned that they were going to Webster to be married by her Uncle Adam. A small boy, mowing the parsonage lawn, flung a handful of rice after them as they climbed into the car, for which pleasantry Blake tossed him a dollar. The lad looked wistfully after the machine fast disappearing down the dusty road, delighted by the gro¬ tesque floppings of a collection of old shoes he had sus¬ pended from one of the rear springs. “Gee,” he muttered to himself, “that guy must be happy, thro win’ me a buck just like nothin’.”

During his ten years of courtship Blake had not allowed his love affair to interfere seriously with his work. In addition to an unremitting devotion to his profession, he had practiced the strictest economy, and had, as a conse¬ quence, accumulated an enviable amount of money and real estate. His marriage to Marcia, therefore, was re¬ garded by many Waverly folk as the union of beauty and the treasure chest.

The presumption that Marcia was a spendthrift was justified, if people who spend all they earn to live de¬ cently may be fairly called that. In extenuation of the charge, it is only honest to admit that her case was a rather unusual one. She was one of those persons who are practically compelled to live exceptionally well. Her extraordinary beauty, which had brought her equally extraordinary popularity, opened the doors of homes to her not frequented by people in plebian attire, and she was not the sort of person likely to disappoint or em¬ barrass anyone. So, despite the fact that she spent her entire salary on becoming and more or less costly clothes, it would be unfair to condemn her as extravagant or wasteful.

Although always conspicuously attractive in appear¬ ance, Marcia spent considerably less money for clothes than most of her friends, many of whom appeared com¬ monplace or even dowdy in comparison. Wise applica¬ tion of the limited funds at her disposal made it possible for her to maintain an air of prosperity bordering on opulence; her training in careful expenditure was the result of dire necessity. While she was still studying at a school for girls in St. Louis, her father grew more and more negligent in the payment of her allowance, until at last she was forced to leave school and extract the means of a livelihood from her own resources.

For a girl not yet seventeen, who had never known the necessity of working outside her own home, this was no easy matter. She was fortunate, however, in having taken a summer course after graduation from high school, thus obtaining a certificate to teach school. This naturally was the first solution of her problem that occurred to her when she was confronted with the necessity of becoming a wage earner. Through friendship, and a relationship somewhat more cordial than friendship, with Lyman Curtis, a man influential with the superintendent of schools in Waverly, she succeeded in being appointed to a vacancy caused by death. At first the school board was opposed to engaging her on the score of her youth, but it did not take long for her precocity to win their confidence, and they asked for a renewal of her contract even before its expiration.

It happened that Blake came to Waverly about a week before the end of the school term, and he became ac¬ quainted with Marcia among other boarders at the place where he took his meals. He fell promptly and deeply in love with her, but her unusual beauty and vivacity made him feel that it would be presumption for him to openly consider himself an eligible suitor. She somewhat relieved the awkward feeling her presence inspired in him when she made interested inquiries regarding a surgical operation he had performed on the principal of the school where she taught.

From then on, he looked forward eagerly to the hours when he and his fellow-boarders gathered for meals; he could sit across the table from Marcia and revel in his admiration of her charms. Even though he was just starting out in the practice of medicine, and correspond¬ ingly anxious to increase his small but growing practice, he did not allow professional duties to interfere with meal-time. He was certain then to see Marcia, if at no other time. But one evening he missed her, and, finding a stranger in her place at the table, grew sick at heart. She had migrated for the summer. For several days he grieved, but eventually consoled himself with looking for¬ ward to her return.

When he learned that Marcia had gone to Williston to spend the summer with her father, the neighboring countyseat became to him a sort of shrine. Williston, looked upon with disdain by the populace of Waverly, seemed a wonderful town to him—it must be, to be the home of such a wonderful girl. On occasions when he accom¬ panied patients to Omaha for consultation with specialists, he would detour through Williston, hoping that he might be fortunate enough to get a glimpse of her as he passed through; for he lacked the courage to call on her in the face of her apparent lack of interest in him.

Late that summer she returned again to Waverly, and Blake became once more a happy, hopeful man, hurrying to his meals, where she could not well avoid chatting with him. Occasionally, through his best efforts at scheming, he managed an apparently casual stroll with her to the schoolhouse, two blocks away. It was on one of these walks that he determined he would not permit her to re¬ turn to Williston to spend another vacation except accom¬ panied by him as her husband. The bare thought of not seeing her at all for months at a time was enough to drive him mad. And yet, despite his determination, this coming and going of Marcia was to continue for ten years, though her heart grew more and more constant, ii just as her inclination to spend more money grew with her increased salary. Her constancy and his mellowing years served to cement Blake’s determination to win her, until his persistency degenerated almost into a business matter.

Even so soon after her marriage, while the machine was speeding toward Williston, a change seemed to come over Marcia. No one would have suspected her of frivolity; she was the very model of a sedate wife. All her thoughts and solicitude were for their future mutual home. These considerations completely displaced her former somewhat self-centered habit of mind, and her enthusiasm re-acted upon Blake, though his ten years of waiting had converted him into one of those confirmed bachelors, who, when they marry, usually experience difficulty in lifting themselves out of their accustomed rut.

During the early stages of their acquaintance, and after she had unwisely allowed their courtship to drag on in¬ definitely, her dreams of future luxury were matched by his visions of power and freedom from home cares. Now that the die was definitely cast, he could talk about do¬ mestic and professional affairs with equal avidity. To¬ gether they discussed the home he had begun building only a fortnight before their marriage, and in their dis¬ cussion they dwelt on rugs, rockers, tables, beds, dishes and a thousand and one other things that would furnish it. They pictured the size and the plan of their garden, in which they would labor together. Marcia told him she wanted a screened-in porch, with ferns and swings and comfortable chairs under electric fans, where Blake could lounge and rest and read after office hours. She would delight in sitting near him, engaged in some household task.

They encountered difficulty in deciding whether or not they would have a single or double garage. Blake did not need more than one car in his work, but Marcia had always wanted a motor car of her own, and the erection of a double garage was the first step in her plans to get it.

Then, too, there was some debate over whether it was advisable to have the nursery facing the north or east.

Blake was a practical man and spoke always without ambiguity. He consulted the blue-print plans of the house. “The bright morning sun has a deleterious effect on a baby’s eyes,” he told her with professional wisdom. “It wouldn’t do to have the nursery face the east.”

“I believe you’re right, Don,” she agreed, blushingly, and pretended to interest herself in something which really held no interest for her. “I am so ignorant about those things,” she added, “I’ll leave them to your judg¬ ment.”

“Well, the plans call for it on the north.”

But later, when Blake was converted to a theory that babies should have an abundance of sunlight, the nursery was changed to a room on the east.

Blake and Marcia had agreed that their honeymoon should be brief—brief, that is, as far as their stay away from Waverly was concerned, but with their whole life together prolonged into a perpetual honeymoon. So, after spending a week hiking and motoring in the Black Hills, the two returned to Waverly. The people seemed more cordial than before; the songs of the birds sweeter; the hills and trees greener; the little town of ten thousand population appeared to them a gay and bustling metropolis. And their happiness centered about their little home, which was now in an advanced stage of construction,—a six-room bungalow that seemed to them more spacious than any other house in the town.

Blake excused himself as soon as he had Marcia com¬ fortably located in a suite of rooms they had engaged at the Dumont hotel, where they would live until their home was completed. He pretended that there was some busi¬ ness at the office urgently awaiting his attention, but in reality he wanted to stroll down the street to receive the good wishes and congratulations of his friends. Realiz¬ ing that he was just as likely to find himself swapping jokes with Bon Moran, the ash hauler, as he was to stop and talk with Thomas Folsom, the banker, he did not want the precious and dignified Marcia with him, to be embarrassed.

He was surprised to discover what a serious regard his married friends had for the state. Instead of jovial slaps on the shoulder and shafts of witticism, he received from them expressions of hope for his success and happi¬ ness—as if they felt he needed their sympathy. Their seriousness was perplexing, but after a while he was able to figure the thing out for himself. It was because he had stepped from relative unimportance and irresponsibility to a position of prominence. The thought made him ex¬ tremely proud.

He went back to the hotel. There he met a salesman whom he had patronized ever since establishing himself in Waverly. He shook hands with the man and talked to him with unusual expansiveness. The salesman, quick to sense the situation, scented a good day’s business, and found his judgment was substantiated in an easy sale to the doctor of as many instruments as he had purchased in the whole previous ten years.

Before leaving the hotel, Blake had told Marcia the exact hour he expected to dine, and precisely on the minute she descended in the wheezing, droning old eleva¬ tor. The salesman welcomed the interruption, thinking that possibly the doctor had gone suddenly mad, it was so unusual for him to buy what he was not immediately in need of. But Blake knew what he was doing. For a long time he had felt the need for replacing his old equip¬ ment, but market conditions had been such that it was impossible for him to get just what he wanted. Granting that his sense of economy bordered on the niggardly, the value of a dollar never influenced him when he was buying surgical supplies. To him the life of a patient was worth more than all the money in the world, and it was possibly this habit of mind regarding the safety of his patients, even at the expense of comforts for himself that might prolong his usefulness, that had made him such a phenomenal success in his profession.

*******

For Marcia there was no short cut to happiness and con¬ tentment. These were only possible to her with body and mind profusely occupied, and during the days when the decorators were putting the finishing touches to her new home, and she was making daily pilgrimages to it, she found much to do that no one else could have done for her satisfactorily. By nature she was facile; by applica¬ tion she had learned; by training she had acquired pre¬ cision; and it was this very perfection and exactness that had proved more or less of a hindrance to her in the past. To note a lack of tactful aggressiveness in others was aggravating to her, and her impatience with the in¬ eptness of the average laborer, made it easier for her to do a great many things herself than exhaust her energy in trying to teach others to do them.

‘Til be glad,” she said to her husband one evening, gratified over the result of a day of hard work, “when we’re settled and I can do all of my work myself.”

“You’ll have a maid, of course,” Blake protested. He considered her willingness to work an indication that she might readily resign herself to a life of drudgery. He knew of many instances where hard work and frequent child-bearing was the cause of beautiful women looking the part of household drudges, and although he did not subscribe to a life of luxurious idleness for anyone, he was not willing that Marcia should become a domestic slave in her desire to please him.

“I don’t want a maid,” she demurred. “I didn’t learn to keep house for nothing.”

“The room off the kitchen is especially designed for a maid’s room,” he reminded her. “To what use are you going to put it if you don’t keep a servant ?”

“Oh,” she laughed, “we’ll find some use for it after a while.”

He knew what she had in mind. “Maybe we’ll have to build an addition, by then.”

“Maybe.”

“I planned the house with that in mind.”

“But, of course,” she went on, “there’s no hurry about a family.”

“No, you’re right,” he agreed.

Even with their marriage thus long an established fact, Blake found it difficult at times to free himself from the feeling akin almost to awe that Marcia still inspired in him. Despite the fact that he was considered quite a dominating personality by his colleagues, attacking them relentlessly whenever they blundered, although his own mistakes were made to appear in the light of experimental contributions, he was as meek as a lamb in the presence of his wife. This state of affairs was a source of grave worry to him for some time, and he wondered whether he would ever conquer what he considered a weakness. Had other women inspired in him the same feeling of timidity, it would have been less perplexing; but as a whole, women had little or no place in his life. He had never considered them as a sex very seriously, except as mothers and home-makers. He did not believe that, after marriage, they should disturb the mental tranquillity of the men who were endeavoring to make a livelihood for them.

But Marcia, like a good wife, never let slip an oppor¬ tunity to use her influence in building up her husband’s prestige. He soon felt the effect of her efforts in his enlarged practice. People who had never engaged him before were now consulting him regularly, and Marcia was his constant inspiration in his increasing activity.

“Marcia, you are wonderful,” he said, in speaking to her about it one day. “You have accomplished something I’ve been trying to do ever since I came here. Mrs. Thomas Folsom came to see me today about a minor ear trouble that might have cleared up without medical at¬ tention. I know she came to me on your account; she wants to get acquainted with you. She asked me to speak to you about going to the Country Club with them Thurs¬ day evening for a sort of picnic. I accepted the invita¬ tion for you; I thought you would like to go. You don’t mind ?”

Marcia frowned. “But I hardly know her.”

“What’s the difference! All the people you know were strangers to you at one time.”

“I wouldn’t mind going if I knew them better,” she temporized.

“I’ve been on friendly terms with the family for years,” Blake went on, “but they’ve always before called in Creedon; this is my chance to cut in on him. It would help you, too. Mrs. Folsom is mighty popular, and, bei6 lieve me, she has the money. I think we should feel flattered that she so evidently wants to be friendly with us.”

Marcia was loathe to be rushed into a friendship she might regret, but she smiled prettily while she took time to think, in the meantime studying Blake hard. Surely there could be no ulterior motive in the brain behind those bland eyes; but why should a perfectly strange woman, through the medium of her husband, invite her to the Country Club ? It was very perplexing. She knew Mrs. Folsom to be a beautiful woman and the mother of three lovely children. A beautiful woman! Other thoughts came to her mind as she recalled having seen Mrs. Folsom drive past in her electric car the day Marcia and her husband had returned from their honeymoon, and she had smiled prettily on Blake then. Marcia hardly knew what to feel about this woman.

“Thursday,” she murmured abstractedly.

“Yes,” Blake replied. “I couldn’t think of any en¬ gagement we had for that evening.”

She thought for a moment. “I have none,” she re¬ turned.

He did not like the way she said it, and his gaze fol¬ lowed her as she went into an adjoining room, pretending there was something that required her attention before they went down for supper.

“So I have accomplished what he could not accomplish,” she thought, puzzled. She turned this over and over in her mind. He considered her wonderful on that account. Was it only because of that? This feeling of baffl'ed un¬ certainty was so new to her that she wished she could run to someone for consolation. She had heard stories of designing women who consulted doctors regularly for ailments that did not actually require medical attention. But she caught herself up, realizing how foolishly jealous she was allowing herself to become in pursuing this line of thought.

“You should try and accommodate yourself to my plans,” Blake advised her on her return, suddenly finding himself possessed of a courage he had heretofore lacked in her presence. “I’d gladly do that much for you.”

1 7

“Why, of course, Don,” she said sweetly, stepping out into the corridor. “I am really glad we’re going out with the Folsoms.”

He pulled her back into the room and kissed her. “You’re a darling,” he said.

She struggled with a sudden, powerful revulsion of feeling, and was unable to answer, receiving his caress and kiss with an air of apparent detachment. They en¬ tered the elevator and went down together.

Although there were other hotels in Waverly, all newer but none larger than the Dumont, the old hostelry still drew the bulk of the business, and the lobby was filled and the dining room crowded when they entered. A man, his face heavily overcast, was seated at a table in a re¬ mote corner; he raised his head suddenly as Marcia and Blake entered, as if he had sensed something in the air. It was Lyman Curtis. Passing his hands impatiently over his eyes as if to clear his vision, his lips curved in a sickly smile of recognition. He indicated by a gesture that there was room for them at his table, then drew himself together and clumsily arose, swaying on his feet as he waited for them to approach.

“Drinking!” said Marcia under her breath. “He’s posi¬ tively drunk.”

This was humiliating. Still, it was a relief to her that Blake did not know she had believed Curtis when he promised, shortly before her marriage, never to drink in¬ toxicating liquors again. Being aware that intoxicated men usually babble a lot of nonsense, she tried to avoid taking a seat at his table, but was forced to do so on finding all the other tables fully occupied.

“Was just hoping someone would come along I knew,” Curtis greeted them. “This is sort of an off-in-a-corner place here; private little nook, as it were. I want to talk to you. Both of you. Have lots to say. S’pose you haven’t heard that I’m going to leave you ?”

“No,” said Blake, “I had not.”

“Well, I am. Going to live where there are more people.”

“Is that so!”

“Yes, sir.”

i8

‘‘Getting too exclusive for ordinary society ?” Marcia suggested, her manner rather strained.

“Maybe so, Marcia—I mean, Mrs. Blake—Mrs. Blake! Sounds funny to call you that, doesn’t it? Yes, I am going to live in Washington—Just came from there —The Williston land office has been ordered closed— Mighty glad it came about—If it hadn’t, you’d probably have seen me buried there some day.”

“Williston has a nice cemetery,” Marcia facetiously re¬ minded him.

Curtis continued, not to be interrupted.

“Came down to see a few of my friends before leaving next week; you know, when it comes to saying adieu to people you’ve known all your life, it isn’t the easiest thing in the world. However, I suppose there are worse things than that.” He turned directly to Marcia, claiming her undivided attention. “You know there are, don’t you? Remember ?”

“How will they ever get along without you in Willis¬ ton?” she teased, ignoring his impertinence. “You are practically a necessity down there.”

“Never really thought of that very seriously,” he re¬ torted, musingly. “They’ll have to sort of flounder along until they accustom themselves to the changed conditions.”

“That will be a difficult thing to do.”

“You know, don’t you?”

Marcia raised her brows. “Oh, yes.”

“However great my loss to the town may be, it will not effect it as your departure did. You are the one who is missed; your leaving put the town under chloroform.”

He was talking loud enough to be heard by the people at nearby tables, and Marcia was painfully embarrassed. She was convincing herself that he was not too thoroughly intoxicated to know what he was either doing or saying, and realized it was best not to torment him or he might embarrass her further. So she retorted lightly, “It’s a considerable shock to a community losing two of its best people so near together.”

“You’re great on valuation,” he retorted, patting her arm familiarly. “You’re all right, girlie.”

His actions were disconcerting in the extreme. Marcia turned to look at Blake, but he had nothing to say. Those eyes that she had studied so intently when he had spoken to her about Mrs. Folsom were more troubled than she liked to see them.

As if aroused by her apprehensive gaze, Blake rallied himself to her support, saying, “I’m glad to hear that you are bettering yourself, Lyman. Your ability entitles you to something more profitable than anything you’ve had in Williston. Washington will afford you opportunities you could never hope for out here.”

The other laughed boisterously; he was at that stage of pompous intoxication where he could regard Blake as insignificant. “In other words,” he retorted, “you’re glad to see me go.”

His words and attitude were becoming extremely dis¬ tasteful to the physician. “Don’t make a fool of your¬ self!” he advised. “You’ve got everybody in the room listening to you. And your talk doesn’t sound very well!”

Curtis turned to scan the guests. “I should worry,” he said. “Nobody knows me.” Then, leaning close to Marcia, he continued in a lowered tone. “Marriage doesn’t always signify choice, does it?”

Marcia made no reply. It was useless to argue or rea¬ son with him.

“Silence speaks louder than words,” he taunted, when she had nothing to say. “Well, it’s too bad.”

Blake felt a strong desire to get up and thrash the in¬ solent fellow. He was powerful enough to do it with¬ out drawing an extra breath, but out of consideration for his wife, he was not inclined to create a scene, so he re¬ strained himself, in silence. Marcia, more accustomed to Curtis’ drunken maunderings, could find humor in what she considered his rather amusing behavior. Still, she was not anxious to see her husband suffer humiliation at the hand of her former admirer.

“I want you to stop talking that way!” she admon¬ ished. “I am happier now than I’ve ever been,” she added from the depths of her heart. “You know, a good many people tremble when they say ‘I do,’ wondering if they love enough to truly say it. Well, I didn’t tremble.”

Curtis was eating lump sugar and drinking great quantities of water, and the combination seemed to have a sobering effect on him. He tried to interpret Marcia’s remarks as humorous, but nevertheless could not refrain from drawling a stinging retort. “Well, money does carry a lot of joy with it.”

“Yes,” agreed Marcia, pretending to consider the mat¬ ter seriously, “it’s a nice thing to have lying around.”

Blake smiled complacently as he recalled how utterly chagrined Curtis had been by the failure of his courtship; still, the knowledge that he had not fully recovered from his disappointment was a trifle disconcerting, for a poor loser is liable to be troublesome. He studied Marcia a little guiltily, wondering if she was still the rather flighty girl he had known, still so unstable that he would be forced to warn this fellow to keep away from his wife.

The sugar and water had nearly sobered Curtis, and he was becoming rapidly less groggy and more in command of himself. As the two men were seated at the table, one on either side of her, Marcia compared them as she had never had an opportunity to do before. They were as unlike in both physical and mental traits as it was possible for two men to be. Blake was a large, rather awkward man, who seldom indulged in and had very little to say about matters frivolous. A tireless worker, he preferred his exacting rounds of calls and difficult hours in the operating room even to the sports he loved so well.

His deep blue eyes were bright with intelligence. His well-shaped head, set close to the shoulders of a large, almost cumbersome frame, was profusely covered with light, wavy hair, that seemed always ready for the barber. He was queer, terse, original; but that was the way Marcia liked him. If he had been other than that he might have failed to attract her so infinitely. She ad¬ mired him for what he was, not for what he might be¬ come in the future, although she had visions of him at¬ taining great things. He seldom smiled, much less laugh¬ ed, and when he did, there was no doubt that he was de¬ lightfully entertained. It was because he had smiled a few moments ago that Marcia knew he had no aversion for Lyman Curtis other than the inevitable one a man must feel for his wife’s former sweetheart. That meant much to her.