Driven from Home; Or, Carl Crawford's Experience

“Carl is very well off where he is,” resumed Mrs. Crawford. “He is filling a business position, humble, perhaps, but still one that gives him his living and keeps him out of mischief. Let well enough alone, doctor, and don’t interrupt his plans.”

“I—I may be foolish,” said the doctor, hesitating, “but I have not been feeling as well as usual lately, and if anything should happen to me while Carl was absent I should die very unhappy.”

Mrs. Crawford regarded her husband with uneasiness.

“Do you mean that you think you are in any danger?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I am not an old man, but, on the other hand, I am an invalid. My father died when he was only a year older than I am at present.”

Mrs. Crawford drew out her handkerchief, and proceeded to wipe her tearless eyes.

“You distress me beyond measure by your words, my dear husband. How can I think of your death without emotion? What should I do without you?”

“My dear, you must expect to survive me. You are younger than I, and much stronger.”

“Besides,” and Mrs. Crawford made an artful pause, “I hardly like to mention it, but Peter and I are poor, and by your death might be left to the cold mercies of the world.”

“Surely I would not fail to provide for you.”

Mrs. Crawford shook her head.

“I am sure of your kind intentions, my husband,” she said, “but they will not avail unless you provide for me in your will.”

“Yes, it’s only right that I should do so. As soon as I feel equal to the effort I will draw up a will.”

“I hope you will, for I should not care to be dependent on Carl, who does not like me. I hope you will not think me mercenary, but to Peter and myself this is of vital importance.”

“No, I don’t misjudge you. I ought to have thought of it before.”

“I don’t care so much about myself,” said Mrs. Crawford, in a tone of self-sacrifice, “but I should not like to have Peter thrown upon the world without means.”

“All that you say is wise and reasonable,” answered her husband, wearily. “I will attend to the matter to-morrow.”

The next day Mrs. Crawford came into her husband’s presence with a sheet of legal cap.

“My dear husband,” she said, in a soft, insinuating tone, “I wished to spare you trouble, and I have accordingly drawn up a will to submit to you, and receive your signature, if you approve it.”

Dr. Crawford looked surprised.

“Where did you learn to write a will?” he asked.

“I used in my days of poverty to copy documents for a lawyer,” she replied. “In this way I became something of a lawyer myself.”

“I see. Will you read what you have prepared?”

Mrs. Crawford read the document in her hand. It provided in the proper legal phraseology for an equal division of the testator’s estate between the widow and Carl.

“I didn’t know, of course, what provision you intended to make for me,” she said, meekly. “Perhaps you do not care to leave me half the estate.”

“Yes, that seems only fair. You do not mention Peter. I ought to do something for him.”

“Your kindness touches me, my dear husband, but I shall be able to provide for him out of my liberal bequest. I do not wish to rob your son, Carl. I admit that I do not like him, but that shall not hinder me from being just.”

Dr. Crawford was pleased with this unexpected concession from his wife. He felt that he should be more at ease if Carl’s future was assured.

“Very well, my dear,” he said, cheerfully. “I approve of the will as you have drawn it up, and I will affix my signature at once.” “Then, shall I send for two of the neighbors to witness it?”

“It will be well.”

Two near neighbors were sent for and witnessed Dr. Crawford’s signature to the will.

There was a strangely triumphant look in Mrs. Crawford’s eyes as she took the document after it had been duly executed.

“You will let me keep this, doctor?” she asked. “It will be important for your son as well as myself, that it should be in safe hands.”

“Yes; I shall be glad to have you do so. I rejoice that it is off my mind.”

“You won’t think me mercenary, my dear husband, or indifferent to your life?”

“No; why should I?”

“Then I am satisfied.”

Mrs. Crawford took the will, and carrying it upstairs, opened her trunk, removed the false bottom, and deposited under it the last will and testament of Dr. Paul Crawford.

“At last!” she said to herself. “I am secure, and have compassed what I have labored for so long.”

Dr. Crawford had not noticed that the will to which he affixed his signature was not the same that had been read to him. Mrs. Crawford had artfully substituted another paper of quite different tenor. By the will actually executed, the entire estate was left to Mrs. Crawford, who was left guardian of her son and Carl, and authorized to make such provision for each as she might deem suitable. This, of course, made Carl entirely dependent on a woman who hated him.

“Now, Dr. Paul Crawford,” said Mrs. Crawford to herself, with a cold smile, “you may die as soon as you please. Peter and I are provided for. Your father died when a year older than you are now, you tell me. It is hardly likely that you will live to a greater age than he.”

She called the next day on the family physician, and with apparent solicitude asked his opinion of Dr. Crawford’s health.

“He is all I have,” she said, pathetically, “all except my dear Peter. Tell me what you think of his chances of continued life.”

“Your husband,” replied the physician, “has one weak organ. It is his heart. He may live for fifteen or twenty years, but a sudden excitement might carry him off in a moment. The best thing you can do for him is to keep him tranquil and free from any sudden shock.”

Mrs. Crawford listened attentively.

“I will do my best,” she said, “since so much depends on it.”

When she returned home it was with a settled purpose in her heart.

CHAPTER XXXVII

PETER LETS OUT A SECRET

“Can you direct me to the house of Dr. Crawford?” asked a stranger.

The inquiry was addressed to Peter Cook in front of the hotel in Edgewood Center.

“Yes, sir; he is my stepfather!”

“Indeed! I did not know that my old friend was married again. You say you are his stepson?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He has an own son, about your age, I should judge.”

“That’s Carl! he is a little older than me.”

“Is he at home?”

“No,” answered Peter, pursing up his lips.

“Is he absent at boarding school?”

“No; he’s left home.”

“Indeed!” ejaculated the stranger, in surprise. “How is that?”

“He was awfully hard to get along with, and didn’t treat mother with any respect. He wanted to have his own way, and, of course, ma couldn’t stand that.”

“I see,” returned the stranger, and he eyed Peter curiously. “What did his father say to his leaving home?” he asked.

“Oh, he always does as ma wishes.”

“Was Carl willing to leave home?”

“Yes; he said he would rather go than obey ma.”

“I suppose he receives an allowance from his father?”

“No; he wanted one, but ma put her foot down and said he shouldn’t have one.”

“Your mother seems to be a woman of considerable firmness.”

“You bet, she’s firm. She don’t allow no boy to boss her.”

“Really, this boy is a curiosity,” said Reuben Ashcroft to himself. “He doesn’t excel in the amiable and attractive qualities. He has a sort of brutal frankness which can’t keep a secret.”

“How did you and Carl get along together?” he asked, aloud.

“We didn’t get along at all. He wanted to boss me, and ma and I wouldn’t have it.”

“So the upshot was that he had to leave the house and you remained?”

“Yes, that’s the way of it,” said Peter, laughing.

“And Carl was actually sent out to earn his own living without help of any kind from his father?”

“Yes.”

“What is he doing?” asked Ashcroft, in some excitement. “Good heavens! he may have suffered from hunger.”

“Are you a friend of his?” asked Peter, sharply.

“I am a friend of anyone who requires a friend.”

“Carl is getting along well enough. He is at work in some factory in Milford, and gets a living.”

“Hasn’t he been back since he first left home?”

“No.”

“How long ago is that?”

“Oh, ‘bout a year,” answered Peter, carelessly.

“How is Dr. Crawford? Is he in good health?”

“He ain’t very well. Ma told me the other day she didn’t think he would live long. She got him to make a will the other day.”

“Why, this seems to be a conspiracy!” thought Ashcroft. “I’d give something to see that will.”

“I suppose he will provide for you and your mother handsomely?”

“Yes; ma said she was to have control of the property. I guess Carl will have to stand round if he expects any favors.”

“It is evident this boy can’t keep a secret,” thought Ashcroft. “All the better for me. I hope I am in time to defeat this woman’s schemes.”

“There’s the house,” said Peter, pointing it out.

“Do you think Dr. Crawford is at home?”

“Oh, yes, he doesn’t go out much. Ma is away this afternoon. She’s at the sewing circle, I think.”

“Thank you for serving as my guide,” said Ashcroft. “There’s a little acknowledgment which I hope will be of service to you.”

He offered a half dollar to Peter, who accepted it joyfully and was profuse in his thanks.

“Now, if you will be kind enough to tell the doctor that an old friend wishes to see him, I shall be still further obliged.”

“Just follow me, then,” said Peter, and he led the way into the sitting-room.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

Dr. CRAWFORD IS TAKEN TO TASK

After the first greetings, Reuben Ashcroft noticed with pain the fragile look of his friend.

“Are you well?” he asked

“I am not very strong,” said Dr. Crawford, smiling faintly, “but Mrs. Crawford takes good care of me.”

“And Carl, too—he is no doubt a comfort to you?”

Dr. Crawford flushed painfully.

“Carl has been away from home for a year, he said, with an effort.

“That is strange your own son, too! Is there anything unpleasant? You may confide in me, as I am the cousin of Carl’s mother.’

“The fact is, Carl and Mrs. Crawford didn’t hit it off very well.”

“And you took sides against your own son, said Ashcroft, indignantly.

“I begin to think I was wrong, Reuben. You don’t know how I have missed the boy.

“Yet you sent him out into the world without a penny.”

“How do you know that?” asked Dr. Crawford quickly.

“I had a little conversation with your stepson as I came to the house. He spoke very frankly and unreservedly about family affairs; He says you do whatever his mother tells you.”

Dr. Crawford looked annoyed and blushed with shame.

“Did he say that?” he asked.

“Yes; he said his mother would not allow you to help Carl.”

“He—misunderstood.”

“Paul, I fear he understands the case only too well. I don’t want to pain you, but your wife is counting on your speedy death.”

“I told her I didn’t think I should live long.”

“And she got you to make a will?”

“Yes; did Peter tell you that?”

“He said his mother was to have control of the property, and Carl would get nothing if he didn’t act so as to please her.”

“There is some mistake here. By my will—made yesterday—Carl is to have an equal share, and nothing is said about his being dependent on anyone.”

“Who drew up the will?”

“Mrs. Crawford.”

“Did you read it?”

“Yes.”

Ashcroft looked puzzled.

“I should like to read the will myself,” he said, after a pause. “Where is it now?”

“Mrs. Crawford has charge of it.”

Reuben Ashcroft remained silent, but his mind was busy.

“That woman is a genius of craft,” he said to himself. “My poor friend is but a child in her hands. I did not know Paul would be so pitiably weak.”

“How do you happen to be here in Edgewood, Reuben?” asked the doctor.

“I had a little errand in the next town, and could not resist the temptation of visiting you.”

“You can stay a day or two, can you not?”

“I will, though I had not expected to do so.”

“Mrs. Crawford is away this afternoon. She will be back presently, and then I will introduce you.”

At five o’clock Mrs. Crawford returned, and her husband introduced her to his friend.

Ashcroft fixed his eyes upon her searchingly.

“Her face looks strangely familiar,” he said to himself. “Where can I have seen her?”

Mrs. Crawford, like all persons who have a secret to conceal, was distrustful of strangers. She took an instant dislike to Reuben Ashcroft, and her greeting was exceedingly cold.

“I have invited Mr. Ashcroft to make me a visit of two or three days, my dear,” said her husband. “He is a cousin to Carl’s mother.”

Mrs. Crawford made no response, but kept her eyes fixed upon the carpet. She could not have shown more plainly that the invitation was not approved by her.

“Madam does not want me here,” thought Ashcroft, as he fixed his gaze once more upon his friend’s wife. Again the face looked familiar, but he could not place it.

“Have I not seen you before, Mrs. Crawford?” he asked, abruptly.

“I don’t remember you,” she answered, slowly. “Probably I resemble some one you have met.”

“Perhaps so,” answered Ashcroft, but he could not get rid of the conviction that somewhere and some time in the past he had met Mrs. Crawford, and under circumstances that had fixed her countenance in his memory.

After supper Dr. Crawford said: “My dear, I have told our guest that I had, as a prudential measure, made my will. I wish you would get it, and let me read it to him.”

Mrs. Crawford looked startled and annoyed.

“Couldn’t you tell him the provisions of it?” she said.

“Yes, but I should like to show him the document.”

She turned and went upstairs. She was absent at least ten minutes. When she returned she was empty-handed.

“I am sorry to say,” she remarked, with a forced laugh, “that I have laid away the will so carefully that I can’t find it.”

Ashcroft fixed a searching look upon her, that evidently annoyed her.

“I may be able to find it to-morrow,” she resumed.

“I think you told me, Paul,” said Ashcroft, turning to Dr. Crawford, “that by the will your estate is divided equally between Carl and Mrs. Crawford.”

“Yes.”

“And nothing is said of any guardianship on the part of Mrs. Crawford?”

“No; I think it would be better, Ashcroft, that you should be Carl’s guardian. A man can study his interests and control him better.”

“I will accept the trust,” said Ashcroft, “though I hope it may be many years before the necessity arises.”

Mrs. Crawford bit her lips, and darted an angry glance at the two friends. She foresaw that her plans were threatened with failure.

The two men chatted throughout the evening, and Dr. Crawford had never of late seemed happier. It gave him new life and raised his spirits to chat over old times with his early friend.

CHAPTER XXXIX

A MAN OF ENERGY

The next morning Ashcroft said to his host: “Paul, let us take a walk to the village.”

Dr. Crawford put on his hat, and went out with his friend.

“Now, Paul,” said Ashcroft, when they were some rods distant from the house, “is there a lawyer in Edgewood?”

“Certainly, and a good one.”

“Did he indite your will?”

“No; Mrs. Crawford wrote it out. She was at one time copyist for a lawyer.”

“Take my advice and have another drawn up to-day without mentioning the matter to her. She admits having mislaid the one made yesterday.”

“It may be a good idea.”

“Certainly, it is a prudent precaution. Then you will be sure that all is safe. I have, myself, executed a duplicate will. One I keep, the other I have deposited with my lawyer.”

Ashcroft was a man of energy. He saw that Dr. Crawford, who was of a weak, vacillating temper, executed the will. He and another witnessed it, and the document was left with the lawyer.

“You think I had better not mention the matter to Mrs. Crawford?” he said.

“By no means—she might think it was a reflection upon her for carelessly mislaying the first.”

“True,” and the doctor, who was fond of peace, consented to his friend’s plan.

“By the way,” asked Ashcroft, “who was your wife what was her name, I mean—before her second marriage?”

“She was a Mrs. Cook.”

“Oh, I see,” said Ashcroft, and his face lighted up with surprise and intelligence.

“What do you see?” inquired Dr. Crawford. “I thought your wife’s face was familiar. I met her once when she was Mrs. Cook.”

“You knew her, then?”

“No, I never exchanged a word with her till I met her under this roof.

“How can I tell him that I first saw her when a visitor to the penitentiary among the female prisoners?” Ashcroft asked himself. “My poor friend would sink with mortification.”

They were sitting in friendly chat after their return from their walk, when Mrs. Crawford burst into the room in evident excitement.

“Husband,” she cried, “Peter has brought home a terrible report. He has heard from a person who has just come from Milford that Carl has been run over on the railroad and instantly killed!”

Dr. Crawford turned pale, his features worked convulsively, and he put his hand to his heart, as he sank back in his chair, his face as pale as the dead.

“Woman!” said Ashcroft, sternly, “I believe you have killed your husband!”

“Oh, don’t say that! How could I be so imprudent?” said Mrs. Crawford, clasping her hands, and counterfeiting distress.

Ashcroft set himself at once to save his friend from the result of the shock.

“Leave the room!” he said, sternly, to Mrs. Crawford.

“Why should I? I am his wife.”

“And have sought to be his murderer. You know that he has heart disease. Mrs.—Cook, I know more about you than you suppose.”

Mrs. Crawford’s color receded.

“I don’t understand you,” she said. She had scarcely reached the door, when there was a sound of footsteps outside and Carl dashed into the room, nearly upsetting his stepmother.

“You here?” she said, frigidly.

“What is the matter with my father?” asked Carl.

“Are you Carl?” said Ashcroft, quickly.

“Yes.”

“Your father has had a shock. I think I can soon bring him to.”

A few minutes later Dr. Crawford opened his eyes.

“Are you feeling better, Paul?” asked Ashcroft, anxiously.

“Didn’t I hear something about Carl—something terrible?”

“Carl is alive and well,” said he, soothingly.

“Are you sure of that?” asked Dr. Crawford, in excitement.

“Yes, I have the best evidence of it. Here is Carl himself.”

Carl came forward and was clasped in his father’s arms.

“Thank Heaven, you are alive,” he said.

“Why should I not be?” asked Carl, bewildered, turning to Ashcroft.

“Your stepmother had the—let me say imprudence, to tell your father that you had been killed on the railroad.”

“Where could she have heard such a report?”

“I am not sure that she heard it at all,” said Ashcroft, in a low voice. “She knew that your father had heart disease.”

CHAPTER XL

CONCLUSION

At this moment Mrs. Crawford re-entered the room.

“What brings you here?” she demanded, coolly, of Carl.

“I came here because this is my father’s house, madam.”

“You have behaved badly to me,” said Mrs. Crawford. “You have defied my authority, and brought sorrow and distress to your good father. I thought you would have the good sense to stay away.”

“Do you indorse this, father?” asked Carl, turning to Dr. Crawford.

“No!” answered his father, with unwonted energy. “My house will always be your home.”

“You seem to have changed your mind, Dr. Crawford,” sneered his wife.

“Where did you pick up the report of Carl’s being killed on the railroad?” asked the doctor, sternly.

“Peter heard it in the village,” said Mrs. Crawford, carelessly.

“Did it occur to you that the sudden news might injure your husband?” asked Ashcroft.

“I spoke too impulsively. I realize too late my imprudence,” said Mrs. Crawford, coolly. “Have you lost your place?” she asked, addressing Carl.

“No. I have just returned from Chicago.”

His stepmother looked surprised.

“We have had a quiet time since you left us,” she said. “If you value your father’s health and peace of mind, you will not remain here.”

“Is my presence also unwelcome?” asked Ashcroft.

“You have not treated me with respect,” replied Mrs. Crawford. “If you are a gentleman, you will understand that under the circumstances it will be wise for you to take your departure.”

“Leaving my old friend to your care?”

“Yes, that will be best.”

“Mr. Ashcroft, can I have a few minutes’ conversation with you?” asked Carl.

“Certainly.”

They left the room together, followed by an uneasy and suspicious glance from Mrs. Crawford.

Carl hurriedly communicated to his father’s friend what he had learned about his stepmother.

“Mr. Cook, Peter’s father, is just outside,” he said. “Shall I call him in?”

“I think we had better do so, but arrange that the interview shall take place without your father’s knowledge. He must not be excited. Call him in, and then summon your stepmother.”

“Mrs. Crawford,” said Carl, re-entering his father’s room, “Mr. Ashcroft would like to have a few words with you. Can you come out?”

She followed Carl uneasily.

“What is it you want with me, sir?” she asked, frigidly.

“Let me introduce an old acquaintance of yours.”

Mr. Cook, whom Mrs. Crawford had not at first observed, came forward. She drew back in dismay.

“It is some time since we met, Lucy,” said Cook, quietly.

“Do you come here to make trouble?” she muttered, hoarsely.

“I come to ask for the property you took during my absence in California,” he said. “I don’t care to have you return to me–”

“I obtained a divorce.”

“Precisely; I don’t care to annul it. I am thankful that you are no longer my wife.”

“I—I will see what I can do for you. Don’t go near my present husband. He is in poor health, and cannot bear a shock.”

“Mrs. Crawford,” said Ashcroft, gravely, “if you have any idea of remaining here, in this house, give it up. I shall see that your husband’s eyes are opened to your real character.”

“Sir, you heard this man say that he has no claim upon me.”

“That may be, but I cannot permit my friend to harbor a woman whose record is as bad as yours.”

“What do you mean?” she demanded, defiantly.

“I mean that you have served a term in prison for larceny.”

“It is false,” she said, with trembling lips.

“It is true. I visited the prison during your term of confinement, and saw you there.”

“I, too, can certify to it,” said Cook. “I learned it two years after my marriage. You will understand why I am glad of the divorce.”

Mrs. Crawford was silent for a moment. She realized that the battle was lost.

“Well,” she said, after a pause, “I am defeated. I thought my secret was safe, but I was mistaken. What do you propose to do with me?”

“I will tell you this evening,” said Ashcroft. “One thing I can say now—you must not expect to remain in this house.”

“I no longer care to do so.”

A conference was held during the afternoon, Dr Crawford being told as much as was essential. It was arranged that Mrs. Crawford should have an allowance of four hundred dollars for herself and Peter if she would leave the house quietly, and never again annoy her husband. Mr. Cook offered to take Peter, but the latter preferred to remain with his mother. A private arrangement was made by which Dr. Crawford made up to Mr. Cook one-half of the sum stolen from him by his wife, and through the influence of Ashcroft, employment was found for him. He is no longer a tramp, but a man held in respect, and moderately prosperous.

Carl is still in the employ of Mr. Jennings, and his father has removed to Milford, where he and his son can live together. Next September, on his twenty-first birthday, Carl will be admitted to a junior partnership in the business, his father furnishing the necessary capital. Carl’s stepmother is in Chicago, and her allowance is paid to her quarterly through a Chicago bank. She has considerable trouble with Peter, who has become less submissive as he grows older, and is unwilling to settle down to steady work. His prospects do not look very bright.