Read Ebook: Possessed by Moffett Cleveland

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Ebook has 1209 lines and 57714 words, and 25 pages

"'Tired, dear?' I said, trying to smile a welcome.

"'Dead beat,' he sighed and stared moodily into the fire.

"I went to him and rested my hand lightly on his head and smoothed back his hair as he liked me to do. He jerked away.

"'Wish you'd let me alone,' he muttered fretfully.

"I drew back, knowing what this irritability meant, and we sat in silence gazing into the glowing ashes. His fingers beat a nervous tattoo against the chair and presently, with some mumbled words, he rose and moved towards the door. Now I knew the fight was on, the fight with the Demon, drink, that was drawing him away from me. I followed him into the hall.

"'Don't go,' I pleaded, but he pushed my hand from the door-knob.

"'I'll be back soon,' he said, reaching for his hat.

"'Wait!' I whispered. Deep within I breathed a prayer: 'Brave heart, have courage; nimble wit, be alert; warm, white body hold him fast.'

"'Come back ... before the fire ... I want to talk to you,' I leaned against him caressingly, but I could feel no response as I nestled closer.

"'Don't you care for me any more?' I questioned tenderly.

"He was still unyielding, his brain was busy with the thought of the brown liquor that his whole system craved. Purposely I drew back my flowing sleeve and placed my warm flesh against his face. He turned to his old seat before the fire.

"'All right, I'll stay for ten minutes ... if what you say is important.'

"When he was once more comfortable, I brought a cushion to his chair and snuggled down at his feet, with my head resting against him. I drew his half reluctant hand around my throat, then I exerted every part of my brain force ... to hold him. Ceaselessly I talked of our old days together--camping trips to the Northern woods of Canada, wonderful weeks of idling down the river in our launch, days of ideal happiness, spent together. I appealed to his love for me, his old love, and the memory of our early married life. He was unresponsive, and I could feel the restlessness of his fingers in my hair.

"Presently he pushed me aside, not ungently this time but, nevertheless, firmly. Once more the struggle began, and now I must rely on the old physical lure to hold him.... Well, I won. I kept him with me but was it worth such a sacrifice? As I think ... I burn with shame."

There are many entries in my diary like this, for my life with Julian was full of scenes when I tried so hard ... so hard ... all in vain!

Here is another picture:

"Last night Julian came home in a hilarious mood. His habitual sullen look had gone and he almost seemed the man who had won me--before I knew him as he really is.

"'Come along, Penny,' he laughed as he caught me in his arms. 'We're going to celebrate. Dress up in that lacy black thing--you are seduction itself in it.'

"His praise made me happy and, responding to his mood, I changed my clothes quickly, and we set forth joyfully in anticipation of a pleasant evening.

"Everything went well through the dinner, although I hesitated when Julian ordered wine; but I was afraid to oppose him or to speak a single jarring word.

"'Drink up, Penny, and have some more. My God, but you are glorious tonight!' he whispered as he leaned across the table.

"I smiled and emptied my glass, and soon I became as reckless and jovial as he. We went from one cabaret to another, laughing at everything. All the world was gay. There was no sorrow anywhere--only one grand celebration. Julian was never so fascinating. I was proud of his good looks, of his wit, of his strength as he lifted me from the taxicab and almost carried me into the house.

"'My darling!' I breathed as my lips brushed his cheek, 'I love you!'

"'You see, Penny, how wonderful everything is when you are reasonable. If you will only drink with me once in a while, I'll never, never leave you.'

"He placed me gently in a chair. Soon the room began to whirl around ... and I knew no more....

"This morning my head ached and a thousand needles were piercing my eyes. I rang for the maid and asked for my husband.

"'He brought you home last night, but he went out again later and he hasn't come back,' she said and her eyes did not meet mine.

"'Was I--was I?' I stammered, shame possessing me.

"'Yes, Mrs. Wells, you were....'

"God! What have I gained? I have degraded myself without doing Julian any good. I have sunk to his level and have not even been able to keep him at my side. I hate him! I hate myself even more!"

I find a pitiful entry that I made only a few months before Julian was killed. In a fit of anger he had left me, accusing me of being a drag on his life, saying that I was to blame for all his follies. He was going to be rid of me now. So he took all the money in the house and went off--I should never see him again. At last I had what I had longed for, my freedom, he had given it to me, flung it in my face. And then--

This is what I wrote six weeks later:

"Well, I'm a failure all right. Never again may I think well of myself or feel that I am entitled to the joys of life. For I'm just a plain moral coward. I couldn't even keep what was forced on me--my liberty.

"Last Wednesday he came back, such a miserable wreck of a man, so utterly broken in every way that it would have moved a heart of stone. Inside of me is a sorrow too deep for expression, but somehow a peace also. Now I am sure that my bondage will never cease. But I couldn't refuse to take Julian back when I saw what a state he was in. His spiritual abasement was such an awful thing that I could not shame him by even letting him know that I understood it."

I walked for hours beside the ocean, watching the waves, the sky, the soaring gulls,--trying to tire myself out, searching into my heart for the truth about my life--about my illness. I cannot find the truth. I have done what Dr. Owen told me to do as well as I can and--I do not see that any good has come of it. I have stirred up ghosts of the past--leering ghosts, and I hate them. I am sick of ignoble memories. I want to close forever the door on those unhappy years. I want to be well, to live a sane life, to have a little pleasure; but....

How that prophecy of Seraphine haunts me! All of it has come true except the very last. Horror! Terror! These two are ever before me. These two already encompass me. These two will presently overwhelm me unless--unless--I don't know what.

Seraphine is in New York, I have meant to go to see her, but--I am afraid, I am afraid of what she will tell me!

I must set down here--to ease my tortured brain--some of the things that have happened to me since I last wrote in this book, my confessional.

Such a ball! They called it a Pagan Revel and it was! Egyptian costumes and a Russian orchestra. Some of the Egyptian slave maidens were dressed mostly in brown paint. Kendall says he helped dress them at the Liberal Club. Good heavens! Kendall's pose of lily white virtue amuses me. He went as a cave man with a leopard skin over his shoulders, and I danced with him two or three times. His talk reminds me of Julian. How well I know the methods of these sentimental pirates! What infinite patience and adroitness they use in leading the talk towards dangerous ground! How seriously they begin! With what sincerity and ingenuous frankness they proceed, and all the time they know exactly what they are doing, exactly what effects they are producing in a woman.

The statement is that physical desire is universal among men, but not among women. One-third of all women, Kendall puts them in Class C, have no such desire; therefore, they deserve no particular credit for remaining virtuous. Another third of all women are in Class B, the normal class, where this desire is or is not present, according to circumstances. The last third of all women make up Class A, and these women, being as strongly tempted as men , are condemned to the same struggles that men experience, and, if they happen to be beautiful, and without deep spirituality, they are fated to have emotional experiences that may make them great heroines or artists, great adventuresses or outcasts.

A BOWL OF GOLD FISH

DEAR DR. OWEN:

Did you think I had vanished from the earth? I know I ought to have reported to you a week ago, but--I fear Penelope Wells is an unreliable person. Forgive me! I am in great distress.

I will say, first, that Atlantic City did me a lot of good. I came back to town happier than I have been for months, in fact I was so encouraged that I decided to amuse myself a little, as you advised. Last night I went to a rather gay ball with some friends, and I was beginning to think myself almost normal, when suddenly--alas!

In order that you may understand this, doctor, I must explain that Captain Herrick took me home from the ball. It was two o'clock in the morning when we left the place and it had blown up cold during the rain, so that the streets were a glare of ice and our taxi was skidding horribly. When we got to Twelfth Street and Fifth Avenue there came a frightful explosion; a gas main had taken fire and flames were shooting twenty feet into the air. I was terrified, for it made me think of Paris--the air raids, the night sirens, the long-distance cannon. Captain Herrick saw that I was quite hysterical and said that I mustn't think of going up to Eightieth Street. I must spend the night at his studio in Washington Square, only a few doors away, and he would go to a hotel. I agreed to this, for I was nearly frozen.

When we entered the studio I was surprised to find what a beautiful place it was. It seems that Captain Herrick has rented it from a distinguished artist. There is a great high ceiling and a wonderful fireplace where logs were blazing. I was standing before this fireplace trying to warm myself, when there came a crash overhead, it was only a gas fixture that had fallen, but it seemed to me the whole building was coming down. I almost fainted in terror and Chris caught me in his arms, trying to comfort me. Then, before I realized what he was doing, he had drawn me close to him and kissed me.

This made me very angry. I felt that he had no right to take advantage of my fright in this way and I told him I would not stay in his studio a minute longer. And I did not. I almost ran down the stairs, then out into the street. It was foolish to get so agitated, but I could not help it. I went over to the Brevoort and spent the night there. You will understand in a minute why I am telling you all this, it has to do with the vision that I saw in the bowl of gold fish.

In this vision I saw myself enter Captain Herrick's studio just as I really did--in my white satin dress. Christopher was with me in his uniform. Then I saw myself lying on a divan and--Chris was bending over me, kissing me passionately. He kissed me many times, it seemed as if he would never stop kissing me--in the vision. All this was as clear as a motion picture. The extraordinary part of it is, that I neither resisted him nor responded in any way, I just seemed to be lying there--with my eyes closed--as if I were asleep.

Yours in anguish of soul,

PENELOPE WELLS.

P. S.--Please telephone me as soon as you get this and make an appointment to see me.

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