Time Will Darken It (37 page)

“A short time ago you mentioned to me the possibility of taking a young woman into the office—Miss Potter—with the understanding that she would read and prepare herself for the bar examination. It is perhaps a rather radical departure from what is customary, but even so, I have no objection. I believe, as I’m sure you know, that conditions change, that we must abide by the Law of Progress in so far as we can interpret it. I’m sure you have looked into Miss Potter’s
qualifications thoroughly and would not countenance such a step if she were lacking in the requisite mentality. And I appreciate also that, in view of your association with her family, you would want to offer her any assistance that lies in your power. But I hope you have also considered what it means to the firm. She will require desk space, it will put an added burden on Miss Ewing, who is already overworked. And if Miss Potter is to advance with any speed towards her goal, she will require a great deal of your time and guidance. So much of each, in fact, that it seems to me quite to upset the balancing of values, yours and mine, that we were just now speaking of. If you want to have her here, I am willing to withdraw any objections I might have to it, with the understanding that, for the time at least—I don’t mean that the question of division of profits cannot be reopened in the future, you understand—until we see how this new arrangement works out, I feel that it is better to let things ride along the way they have been going. I leave it entirely up to you, my boy. Whatever you decide will be satisfactory with me.”

Part Five
The Province of Jurisprudence

1

Of the literary arts, the one most practised in Draperville was history. It was informal, and there was no reason to write it down since nothing was ever forgotten. The child born too soon after the wedding ceremony might learn to walk and to ride a bicycle; he might go to school and graduate into long pants, marry, move to Seattle, and do well for himself in the lumber business; but whenever his or his mother’s name was mentioned, it was followed inexorably by some smiling reference to the date of his birth. No one knew what had become of the energetic secretary of the Chamber of Commerce who organized the Love-Thy-Neighbour-As-Thyself parade, but they knew why he left town shortly afterward, and history doesn’t have to be complete. It is merely a continuous methodical record of events. These events can be told in chronological order but that isn’t necessary any more than it is necessary for the historians to be concerned with cause and effect. Research in Draperville was carried on over the back fence, over the telephone, in kitchens and parlours and upstairs bedrooms, in the back seat of carriages, in wicker porch swings, in the bell tower of the Unitarian Church, where the Willing Workers met on Wednesdays and patiently, with their needles and thread, paid off the mortgage on the parsonage.

The final work of shaping and selection was done by the Friendship Club. The eight regular members of this club were the high practitioners of history. They met in rotation at one another’s houses for luncheon and bridge. The food that they served was competitive and unwise, since many of them were struggling to maintain their figures. After the canned lobster or crabmeat, the tunafish baked in shells, the chicken patties,
the lavish salads, the New York ice cream (all of which they would regret later), the club members settled down to bridge, with their hats on and their shoes pushed off under the card table, their voices rising higher and higher, their short-range view of human events becoming crueller and more malicious as they doubled and redoubled one another’s bids, made grand slams, and quarrelled over the scoring. No reputation was safe with them, and only by being present every time could they hope to preserve their own. The innocent were thrown to the wolves, the kind made fun of, the old stripped of the dignity that belonged to their years.
They say
was the phrase invariably used when a good name was about to be auctioned off at the block.
They say that before Dr. Seymour married her she was running around with … They say the old lady made him promise before she died that he’d never … They say she has cancer of the breast.…

If you come upon footprints and blood on the snow, all you have to do is turn and follow the pink trail back into the woods. You may have to walk miles, but eventually you will come to the clearing where hoofprints and footprints, moving in a circle, tell of the premeditated murder of a deer. You can follow a brook to the spring that is its source. But there is no tracing
They say
back to the person who said it originally.

They say Ed came home one afternoon when he was not expected and found her and Mr. Trimbull … They say old Mr. Green went to him and said either you marry Esther or … They say that Harvey had a brother who was in an institution in Fairfield and that he kept it from Irene until their second child was born.…

The flayed landscape of the western prairie does little to remind the people who live there of the covenant of works or the covenant of grace. The sky, visible right down to the horizon, has a diminishing effect upon everything in the foreground, and the distance is as featureless and remote as the possibility of punishment for slander. The roads run straight,
with death and old age intersecting at right angles, and the harvest is stored in cemeteries.

They say Tom went right over and made her pack up her things and leave. They haven’t any of them spoken to Lucile since.… They say he drinks like a fish.… They say it was all Mr. Tierney’s fault. He came home with a mild case of diphtheria and their little girl—such a pretty child—caught it from him
.

By December, the historians had gathered together all the relevant facts about Austin King’s young cousin from Mississippi, knew that she was madly in love with him, and were not surprised when he took her into his office. The historians called on Mrs. Beach with gifts of wine jelly and beef broth, and when they met Nora on the street with the children, they stopped her and asked questions that appeared to be friendly but that were set and ready to spring, like a steel trap. The historians were kind to Miss Ewing, and they remembered that Martha King (on whose side they were) was very careless about repaying social obligations and when asked to join the Women’s Club had declined on the grounds that she didn’t have time. This ancient border skirmish, nearly forgotten in the light of more recent improprieties, was resurrected detail by detail with appropriate comments (
If
I
have time, with three children, and Sam’s mother living with us …
) as fresh as if it had happened yesterday.

What is the chief end of Man?
the historians might well have asked over the bridge tables, but they didn’t. When they met as a group, they slipped all pity off under the table with their too-tight shoes, and became destroyers, enemies of society and of their neighbours, bent on finding out what went on behind the blinds that were drawn to the window-sill.

They say … they say …
from quarter to one till five o’clock, when the scores were tallied; the prize brought out, unwrapped, and admired; and Jess Burton, Bertha Rupp, Alma Hinkley, Ruth Troxell, Elsie Hubbard, Genevieve Wilkinson, Irma Seifert, and Leona McLain tucked their hand-painted
scorecards into their pocket-books to give to their children, slipped on their torturesome pumps, and went home full of news to tell their husbands at the supper table.

2

“What?” Nora asked, looking up from
Province of Jurisprudence Determined
.

“I said I hope my typewriter doesn’t disturb you,” Miss Ewing said.

“Oh, no,” Nora said. “I wasn’t even aware of it. Please, you mustn’t worry about me, or I’ll feel I oughtn’t to be here.”

“Some people find it very disturbing until they get accustomed to the sound,” Miss Ewing said. “Do you find jurisprudence interesting?”

“What?” Nora asked, looking up once more. “Oh yes. Very.”

“I noticed you’re wearing a sweater today. It’s a good idea if you’re going to sit so near the window. With an old building like this, there are always all kinds of draughts, and if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a draught down the back of my neck. The janitor said he’d do something about stuffing the cracks with paper, but of course he hasn’t. I’ll have to speak to him again about it.”