The Eighth Day by Thornton Wilder Page B

He knew that the telegram that was to dismiss him from the police force and to summon him to the capitol for trial was on its way. He knew that he was to be blamed for bringing disgrace and ridicule upon the State of Illinois. He foresaw that he and his family would retire to his wife’s father’s farm, where she would spend the next year weeping, and that his children would be unable to hold up their heads in whatever one-room school they would be attending. He had come to vent his rage and despair upon Mrs. Ashley. “If you hold back one thing that we ought to know, it’s going to go very hard for you. Who were those men that jumped into that car and got your husband away?”
    For half an hour Mrs. Ashley could do nothing but repeat quietly that she knew nothing about any plan to rescue her husband. There were few to believe her—perhaps eleven persons, including one hunted man, hiding that moment in some woods not far away. Captain Mayhew did not believe her; the police chief did not believe her; newspaper readers from New York to San Francisco did not believe her; and least of all was she believed by Colonel Stotz in Springfield. Her daughters crept down the stairs and watched their mother with awe. Roger stood beside her. Finally the investigation was interrupted. A deputy arrived from the Sheriff’s office with a telegram. The men left the house. Beata Ashley went upstairs to her room. She fell on her knees beside their bed and pressed her forehead against the coverlet. No words formed themselves in her mind. She did not weep. She was the doe that hears the huntsmen’s shots across the valley.
    To his sisters Roger said, “Just go about doing what you were doing.”
    â€œIs Papa safe?” asked Constance.
    â€œWell, I hope so.”
    â€œWhat’s Papa got to eat?”
    â€œHe’ll find something.”
    â€œWill he come back here when it gets dark?”
    â€œCome on, Connie,” said Sophia. “Let’s look for something real interesting in the attic.”
    Later in the morning Dr. Gillies dropped in, as though casually. He had been a friend of the family for many years, though the Ashleys had seldom needed him professionally. On the witness stand he had testified that Ashley had been his friend and patient (he had been consulted for a brief laryngitis), that he had held many long conversations of an intimate nature with the accused (they had discussed nothing more intimate than the prevalence of silicosis, tumbles, and tuberculosis among the miners), and that he was convinced that Ashley had harbored no ill-will whatever against the late Mr. Lansing.
    Mrs. Ashley received him in the dismantled living room. There were a table, a sofa, and two chairs. Looking at her, Dr. Gillies thought, as he had so often, of Milton’s words: “Fairest of her daughters, Eve.” He soon became aware of her hoarseness and shortness of breath. As he said to his wife later, her speech was like a “supplication between blows.” He placed a pillbox on the table.
    â€œDo what it says on the label. You must keep up your strength with all these growing girls in the house. Drop them in a little water. Just some iron.”
    â€œThank you.”
    The doctor paused with his eyes on the floor. He raised them abruptly and said, “A very remarkable thing, Mrs. Ashley.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDoes John know horses?”
    â€œI think he rode when he was a boy.”
    â€œHmmmm. He’ll be going south, I imagine. Does he know any Spanish?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œHe can’t get into Mexico. Not this year. I expect he knows that. They’re putting out a bulletin about him. They came to me about it asking what scars he had on his body. I said I didn’t know any. They’re putting down that he’s forty. Don’t look thirty-five, if he’s a day. Let’s hope his hair grows fast. He’ll make it, Mrs. Ashley.