# Icebound/Act 1

Layout 2
ICEBOUND
ACT ONE
Scene: The parlor of the Jordan Homestead at Venzie, Maine.
It is late October, and through the two windows at the back one may see a bleak countryside, the grass brown and lifeless, and the bare limbs of the trees silhouetted against a gray sky. Here, in the room that for a hundred years has been the rallying point of the Jordan family, a group of relatives are gathered to await the death of the old woman who is the head of their clan. The room in which they wait is as dull and as drab as the lives of those who have lived within its walls. Here we have the cleanliness that is next to godliness, but no sign of either comfort or beauty, both of which are looked upon with suspicion as being signposts on the road to perdition.
In this group are the following characters: Henry Jordan, a heavy set man of fifty, worn by his business cares into a dull sort of hopeless resignation. Emma, his wife, a stout and rather formidable woman of forty, with a look of chronic displeasure; Nettie, her daughter by a former marriage, a vain and shallow little rustic beauty; Sadie, a thin, tight-lipped woman of forty, a widow and a gossip; Orin, her son, a pasty-faced boy ​of ten with large spectacles; Ella, a “Maiden lady” of thirty-six, restless and dissatisfied.
Ella and Sadie, true Jordans by birth, are a degree above Emma in social standing, at least they were until Henry’s marriage to Emma made her a somewhat resentful member of the family. In Emma’s dialogue and in her reactions, I have attempted a rather nice distinction between the two grades of rural middle-class folk; the younger characters here, as in most other communities, have advanced one step.
Rise: At rise there is a long silence; the occupants of the room are ill at ease. Emma is grim and frowning. Nettie sits with a simper of youthful vanity, looking stealthily at herself from time to time in a small mirror set in the top of her cheap vanity case. Ella and Sadie have been crying and dab at their eyes a bit ostentatiously. Henry makes a thoughtful note with a pencil, then returns his notebook to his pocket and warms his hands at the stove.
There is a low whistle of a cold autumn wind as some dead leaves are blown past the window. Orin, who has a cold in his head, sniffs viciously; the others, with the exception of his mother, look at him in remonstrance. An eight-day clock in sight, through the door to the hall, strikes four.
Four o’clock.
Five minutes of. That clock’s been fast for more ’n thirty years.
My watch says two minutes after.
Well, it ’s wrong!
You gave it to her yourself, did n’t you?
Good Land! What does it matter?
Oh! Does n’t it? Oh!
Maybe it does to you. She ain’t your blood relation.
Nettie loves her grandma, don’t you dear?
Some folks not so far off may get fooled before long about how much grandma and I was to each other.
You hush!
[Again there is a pause, and again it is broken by a loud sniff from Orin, as the women look at him in disgust. Sadie speaks up in his defense.
He ’s got kind of a cold in his head.
The question is, ain’t he got a handkerchief?
Here, Orin!
[She hands him her handkerchief.
The idea! No handkerchief when you ’ve come expectin’ some one to die!
Thad one, but I used it up.
[He blows his nose.
After four. Well, I expect they ’ll have to close the store without me.
I left everything just as soon as Jane sent me word!
Why should Jane be with her instead of you or me, her own daughters?
You girls always made her nervous, and I guess she ’s pretty low. (He looks at his watch again) I said I’d be back before closin’ time. I don’t know as I dare to trust those boys.
You can’t tell about things, when Sadie’s husband died we sat there most all night.
Yes, and you grudged it to him, I knew it then and it is n’t likely I’m going to forget it.
Will was a good man, but even you can’t say he was ever very dependable.
My first husband died sudden—(she turns to Nettie)—you can’t remember it, dear.
You did n’t remember it very long, it wa’n’t much more’n a year before you married Henry.
Well, he was as dead then as he’s ever got to be. (He turns and glances nervously out window) I don’t know but what I could just run down to the store for a minute, then hurry right back.
You ’re the oldest of her children, a body would think you ’d be ashamed.
Oh, I ’ll stay.
[There is a silence. Orin sniffs. Ella glares at him.
Of course he could sit somewheres else.
[Sadie puts her arm about Orin and looks spitefully at Ella. Doctor Curtis, an elderly country physician, comes down the stairs and enters the room, all turn to look at him.
No change at all, I ’m sendin’ Jane to the drug store.
I ’ll just run up and sit with mother.
[Sadie jumps up and starts for door.
It might be better if I went.
Why might it?
[They stand glaring at each other before either attempts to pass the Doctor, whose ample form almost blocks the doorway.
I ’ve been a wife and a mother.
Hannah ’s with her, you know. I told you I did n’t want anybody up there but Jane and Hannah.
But we ’re her own daughters.
You don’t have to tell me, I brought both of you into the world. The right nursing might pull her through, even now; nothing else can, and I ’ve got the two women I want. (He crosses to Henry at stove) Why don’t you put a little wood on the fire?
Why—I thought ’twas warm enough.
Because you was standin’ in front of it gettin’ all the heat.
[Henry fills the stove from wood basket.
Jane Crosby enters on stairs and crosses into the room. Jane is twenty-four, a plainly dressed girl of quiet manner, She has been “driven into herself” as one of our characters would describe it, by her lack of sympathy and affection and as a natural result she ts not especially articulate; she speaks, as a rule, m short sentences, and has cultivated an outward coldness that in the course of time has become almost aggressive.
I ’ll go now, Doctor; you ’d better go back to her. Hannah’s frightened.
Get it as quick as you can, Jane; I don’t know as it ’s any use, but we ’ve got to keep on tryin’.
Yes.
[She exits; Doctor warms his hands.
Jane ’s been up with her three nights. I don’t know when I ’ve seen a more dependable girl.
She ought to be.
If there ’s any gratitude in the world.
Oh, I guess there is; maybe there ’d be more if there was more reason for it. It ’s awful cold up there, but I guess I ’ll be gettin’ back.
[He crosses toward door.
Doctor!
[He looks at his watch.
Well?
It ’s quite a bit past four, I don’t suppose—I don’t suppose you can tell———
No, I can’t tell.
[He turns and exits up the stairs.
There ’s no fool like an old fool,
Did you hear him? “Did n’t know when he ’d seen a more dependable girl than her!”
Makes a lot of difference who ’s goin’ to depend on her. I ain’t, for one.
If I set out to tell how she ’s treated me lots of times, when I ’ve come over here to see grandma, nobody would believe a word of it.
Mother took her in out of charity.
And kept her out of spite.
I don’t know as you ought to say that, Ella.
It ’s my place she took, in my own mother’s house. I ’d been here now, but for her. I ain’t goin’ to forget that. No! Me, all these years payin’ board and slavin’ my life out, makin’ hats, like a nigger.
Oh! So that’s what they ’re like. I ’ve often wondered!
You ’ll keep that common little thing of your wife’s from insultin’ me, Henry Jordan, or I won’t stay here another minute.
Common!
Mother!
Hush up! All of yer!
It ’s Jane we ought to be talkin’ about.
Just as soon as you ’re the head of the family, Henry, you ’ve got to tell her she ain’t wanted here!
Well—I don’t know as I ’d want to do anything that was n't right. She ’s been here quite a spell.
Eight years!
And just a step-cousin, once removed.
I guess mother ’s made her earn her keep. I don’t know as ever there was much love lost between ’em.
As soon as your mother ’s dead, you'll send her packing.
We ’ll see. I don’t like countin’ on mother’s going; that way.
Grandmother lived to eighty-four.
All our folks was long lived; nothin’ lasts like it used to,—Poor mother!
Of course she ’ll divide equal, between us three?
Well, I don’t know!
Orin is her only grandchild; she won't forget that.
Nettie, there, is just the same as my own. I adopted her legal, when I married Emma.
Of course you did. Your mother ’s too—just a woman to make distinctions!
Yes, and the funny part of it is grandma may leave me a whole lot, for all any of you know.
Nonsense! She ’ll divide equally between us three; won’t she, Henry?
She ’ll do as she pleases, I guess we all know that.
She ’s a religious woman, she ’s got to be fair!
Well, I guess it would be fair enough if she was to remember the trouble I ’ve had with my business. I don’t know what she ’s worth, she’s as tight-mouthed as a bear trap, but I could use more’n a third of quite a little sum.
Well, you won’t get it. Not if I go to law.
It ’s disgusting. Talking about money at a time like this.
I like to see folks reasonable. I don’t know what you ’d want of a third of all mother ’s got, Ella.
You, all alone in the world!
Maybe I won’t be, when I get that money.
You don’t mean you ’d get married?
At your age!
I mean I never had anything in all my life; now I ’m going to. I ’m the youngest of all of you, except Ben, and he never was a real Jordan. I ’ve never had a ​chance; I ’ve been stuck here till I ’m most forty, worse than if I was dead, fifty times worse! Now I ’m going to buy things—everything I want—I don’t care what—I ’ll buy it, even if it ’s a man! Anything I want!
A man!
[Nettie looks at Ella in cruel amazement and all but Orin burst into a laugh—Ella turns up and hides her face against the window as Orin pulls at his mother’s skirt.
Mum! Mum! I thought you told me not to laugh, not once, while we was here!
You ’re right, nephew, and we’re wrong, all of us. I ’m sorry, Ella, we ’re all sorry.
Laugh if you want to—maybe it won’t be so long before I do some of it myself.
Equally between us three? Well, poor mother knows best of course.
[He sighs.
She would n’t leave him any, would she,—Ben?
Ben!
She ’s a woman of her word; no!
If he was here he ’d get around her; he always did!
Not again!
If she ever spoiled anybody it was him, and she ’s had to pay for it, Sometimes it looks like it was a sort of a judgment.
There has n’t been a Jordan, before Ben, who ’s disgraced the name in more ’n a hundred years; he stands indicted before the Grand Jury for some of his drunken devilment. If he had n’t run away, like the criminal he is, he ’d be in the State’s Prison now, down to Thomaston. Don’t talk Ben to me, after the way he broke mother’s heart, and hurt my credit!
I don’t remember him very well. Mother thought it better I should n’t come around last time he was here; but he looked real nice in his uniform.
It was his bein’ born so long after us that made him seem like an outsider; father and mother had n’t had any children for years and years! Of course I never want to sit in judgment on my own parents, but I never approved of it; it never seemed quite—what I call proper.
Mother, don’t you think I ’d better leave the room?
Not if half the stories I ’ve heard about you are true, I don’t.
Come, come, no rows! Is this a time or place for spite? We ’ve always been a united family, we ’ve ​always got to be,—leavin’ Ben out, of course. You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.
Mum! Say Mum! (He pulls at Sadie’s dress) Why should anybody want to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear?
Can’t you stop that boy askin’ such fool questions?
Well, as far as that goes, why should they? It never sounded reasonable to me.
Decent folks don’t reason about religion; they just accept it.
You could make a skin purse out of a sow’s ear, but I ’ll be darned if you could make a silk purse out of one. I ’ll bet God could n’t.
Are you going to let him talk about God like that, like he was a real person?
I don’t know as a body could expect any better; his father was a Baptist!
His father was a good man, and if he talked about God different from what you do, it was because he knew more about him. And as for my being here at all—(she rises with her arms about Orin)—I would n’t do it, not for anything less than my own mother’s deathbed.
This family don’t ever agree on nothin’ but just to differ.
As far as I see, the only time you ever get together is when one of you is dead.
Maybe that ’s the reason I got such a feelin’ against funerals.
[The outside door opens and Jane enters, a druggist’s bottle in her hand; she is followed by John Bradford, a man of about thirty-five. He is better dressed than any of the others and is a man of a more cosmopolitan type,—a New Englander, but a university man, the local judge and the leading lawyer of the town.
I met Judge Bradford on the way.
Court set late, I could n’t get here before. Jane tells me that she ’s very low.
Yes.
I can’t realize it; she has always been so strong, so dominant.
In the midst of life we are in death.
Say, Mum, that ’s in the Bible too!
Hush!
Well, ain’t it?
Will you hush?
It ’s our duty to hope so long as we can.
Yes, of course.
I ’ll take this right up.
[She exits up the stairs.
I ’ll wait.
She can’t see you; she ain’t really what a body could call in her right mind.
So Jane said.
[He crosses to stove and warms his hands.
It ’s a sad time for us, Judge!
She was always such a wonderful woman.
An awful time for us. Did you come up Main Street, Judge?
Yes.
Did you happen to notice if my store was open?
No.
Not that it matters———
Nothing matters now.
No—Mother was n’t ever the kind to neglect things; if the worst does come she ’ll find herself prepared. Won’t she? Won’t she, Judge?
Her affairs are, as usual, in perfect order.
In every way?
Her will is drawn and is on deposit in my office, if that is what you mean.
Well—that is what I mean—I ’m no hypocrite.
He ’s the oldest of the family. He ’s got a right to ask, has n’t he?
Yes.
If I could make her well by givin’ up everything I ’ve got in the world, or ever expect to git, I ’d do it!
All of us would.
If it ’s in my mind at all, as I stand here, that she ’s a rich woman, it ’s because my mind ’s so worried, the way business has been, that I ’m drove most frantic; it’ s because, well—because I ’m human; because I can’t help it.
You ’re a man! What do you think it ’s been for me!
His father did n’t leave much, you all know that, and it ’s been scrimp and save till I ’m all worn to skin and bone.
Just to the three of us, that would be fair.
Judge! My brother’s name ain’t in her will, is it? Tell me that? Ben’s name ain’t there!
I ’d rather not talk about it, Henry.
She ’d cut him off, she said, the last time he disgraced us, and she ’s a woman of her word.
And the very next day she sent for you because I was here when she telephoned; and you came to her that very afternoon because I saw you from my front window cross right up to this door.
Possibly. I frequently drop in to discuss business matters with your mother for a moment on my way home.
It was five minutes to four when you went in that day, and six minutes to five when you came out, by the clock on my mantel.
Your brother has been gone for almost two years; Your memory is very clear.
So ’s her window.
I know folks in this town that are scared to go past it.
I know others that ought to be.
Every time you folks meet there ’s trouble.
[Jane enters down the stairs and into the room.
Well, Jane?
No change. It ’s—it ’s pitiful, to see her like that.
[Sadie sobs and covers her face.
It ’s best we should try to bear this without any fuss, she ’d ’a’ wanted it that way.
She did n’t even want me to cry when poor Will died, but I did; and somehow I don’t know but it made things easier.
When father died she did n’t shed a tear; she ’s been a strong woman, always.
[The early fall twilight has come on and the stage is rather dim, the hall at R. is in deep shadow, at the end of Henry’s speech the outside door supposedly out at R. is open, then shut rather violently.
Someone ’s come in.
Nobody ’s got any right———
[She rises as some one is heard coming along the hall.
Who ’s that out there? Who is it?
Mum! Who is it!
[He clings to his mother afraid, as all turn to the door, and Ben Jordan steps into the room and faces them with a smile of reckless contempt. Ben is the black sheep of the Jordan family, years younger than any of the others, a wild, selfish, arrogant fellow, handsome but sulky and defiant. His clothes are cheap and dirty and he is rather pale and looks dissipated. He doesn’t speak but stands openly sneering at their look of astonishment.
I ’m glad you ’ve come, Ben.
You are?
Yes, your mother ’s awful sick.
She ’s alive?
Yes.
Well— (He looks contemptuously about)
Nobody missin’. The Jordans are gathered again, handkerchiefs and all.
You ’ll be arrested soon as folks know you ’ve come.
And I suppose you would n’t bail me out, would you, Henry?
No, I would n’t.
God! You ’re still the same, all of you. You stink of the Ark, the whole tribe. It takes more than a few Edisons to change the Jordans!
How ’d you get here? How ’d you know about mother?
She sent me word, to Bangor.
How ’d you get to know where he was?
I knew.
How ’d you come; you don’t look like you had much money?
She sent it. (He nods toward Jane) God knows, it was n’t much.
Did mother tell you to———?
Of course she did!
No, she did n’t.
You sent your own money?
Yes, as he said it was n’t much, but I did n’t have much.
Why did you do it?
I knew she was going to die; twice I asked her if she wanted to see you, and she said no———
And yet you sent for him?
Yes.
Why?
He was the one she really wanted. I thought she ’d die happier seeing him.
You took a lot on yourself, did n’t you?
Yes, she ’s been a lonely old woman. I hated to think of her there, in the churchyard, hungry for him.
I ’ll go to her.
It ’s too late; she would n’t know you.
I ’ll go.
The doctor will call us when he thinks we ought to come.
I ’m going now.
No, you ain’t.
Do you think I came here, standin’ a chance of bein’ sent to jail, to let you tell me what to do?
If she ’s dyin’ up there, it ’s more ’n half from what you ’ve made her suffer; you ’ll wait here till we go to her together.
Henry ’s right.
Of course he is.
Nobody but Ben would have the impudence to show his face here, after what he ’s done.
I ’m going just the same!
No, you ain’t.
[Their voices become loud.
Henry! Don’t let him go!
Stop him.
He ’s a disgrace to us. He always was.
You ’ll stay right where you are.
[He puts his hand heavily on Ben’s shoulder—Ben throws him off fiercely.
Damn you! Keep your hands off me!
[Henry staggers back and strikes against a table that falls to the floor with a crash. Nettie screams.
Stop it—stop! You must!
Are you crazy? Have you no sense of decency?
[Doctor Curtis comes quickly downstairs.
What ’s this noise? I forbid it. Your mother has heard you.
I ’m sorry.
I did n’t mean to make a row.
It ’s him. (He looks bitterly at Ben) He brings out all the worst in us. He brought trouble into the world with him when he came, and ever since.
[Hannah, a middle-aged servant, comes hastily halfway downstairs and calls out sharply.
Doctor! Come, Doctor!
[She exits up the stairs, as the Doctor crosses through the hall and follows her.
Is she dead, Mum? Does Hannah mean she’s dead!
[Sadie hides her head on his shoulder and weeps.
I ’ll go to her.
[She exits.
She ’ll go. There ain’t scarcely a drop of Jordan blood in her veins, and she’s the one that goes to mother.
Light the lamp, Nettie; it ’s gettin’ dark.
Yes, mother.
[She starts to light lamp.
I ’m ashamed of my part of it, makin’ a row, with her on her deathbed.
You had it right, I guess. I ’ve made trouble ever since I came into the world.
There!
[She lights lamp; footlights go up.
You should n’t have come here; you know that, Ben.
I ’ve always known that, any place I ’ve been, exceptin’ only those two years in the Army. That ’s the only time I ever was in right.
I would find it easier to pity you if you had any one to blame besides yourself.
Pity? Do you think I want your pity?
[There is a pause.
Jane is seen on stairs, they all turn to her nervously as she comes down and crosses into room. She stops at the door looking at them.
Mother—mother ’s—gone!
Yes.
[There is a moment’s silence broken by the low sobs of the women who for a moment forget their selfishness in the presence of death.
The Jordans won’t ever be the same; she was the last of the old stock, mother was—No, the Jordans won’t ever be the same.
[Doctor Curtis comes downstairs and into the room.
It ’s no use tryin’ to tell you what I feel. I ’ve known her since I was a boy. I did the best I could.
The best anybody could, Doctor, we know that.
I ’ve got a call I ’d better make—(He looks at watch)—should have been there hours ago, but I had n’t the heart to leave her. Who’s in charge here?
I am, of course.
I ’ve made arrangements with Hannah; she ’ll tell you.
I ’ll say good night now.
Good night, Doctor.
And thank you.
We did our best, Jane.
[He exits.
He ’s gettin’ old. When Orin had the stomach trouble a month ago, I sent for Doctor Morris. I felt sort of guilty doin’ it, but I thought it was my duty.
You will let me help you, Jane?
Hannah and I can attend to everything. Henry! (She turns to him) You might come over for a minute this evening and we can talk things over. I ’ll make the bed up in your old room, Ben, if you want to stay.
Now, Henry Jordan, if she ’s all through givin orders, maybe you ’ll begin.
Well, I should say so. Let ’s have an understandin’.
You tell her the truth, Henry, or else one of us will do it for you.
Maybe it might be best if I should wait until after the funeral.
You tell her now, or I will.
Tell me what?
We was thinkin’ now that mother ’s dead, that there was n’t much use in your stayin’ on here.
Yes?
[She looks at him intently
We don’t aim to be hard, and we don’t want it said we was mean about it; you can stay on here, if you want to, until after the funeral, maybe a little longer, and I don’t know but what between us, we’d be willing to help you till you found a place somewheres.
You can’t help me, any of you. Of course now she ’s dead, I ’ll go. I ’ll be glad to go.
Glad!
I hate you, the whole raft of you. I ’ll be glad to get away from you. She was the only one of you worth loving, and she did n’t want it.
If that’s how you feel, I say the sooner you went the better.
Not till after the funeral. I don’t want it said we was hard to her.
Jane isn’t going at all, Henry.
What ’s that?
Of course she ’s going.
No, she belongs here in this house.
Not after I say she don’t.
Even then, because it ’s hers.
Hers?
From the moment of your mother’s death, everything here belonged to Jane.
Not everything.
Yes, everything—your mother’s whole estate.
Ha! Ha! Ha!
[He sits at right laughing bitterly.
That can’t be, Judge, you must be wrong. It ’s a mistake.
No.
My mother did this?
Yes.
Why? You ’ve got to tell me why!
That is n’t a part of my duties.
She could n’t have done a thing like that without sayin’ why. She said something, did n’t she?
I don’t know that I care to repeat it.
You must repeat it!
Very well. The day that will was drawn she said to me, “The Jordans are all waiting for me to die, like carrion crows around a sick cow in a pasture, watchin’ till the last twitch of life is out of me before they pounce. I’m going to fool them,” she said, “I’m going to surprise them; they are all fools but Jane—Jane’s no fool.”
No—Ha! Ha! Ha! Jane ’s no fool!
And she went on—(He turns to Jane) You ’ll forgive me Jane; she said, “Jane is stubborn, and set, and wilful, but she ’s no fool. She ’ll do better by the Jordan money than any of them.”
We ’ll go to law, that ’s what we ’ll do!
That ’s it, we ’ll go to law.
We can break that will; you know we can!
It ’s possible.
Possible! You know, don’t yer! You ’re supposed to be a good lawyer.
Of course if I am a good lawyer you can’t break that will, because you see I drew it.
And we get nothing, not a dollar, after waitin’ all these years?
There are small bequests left to each of you.
How much?
One hundred dollars each.
One hundred dollars.
I said that they were small.
You said a mouthful!
Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
[She laughs wildly.
Stop your noise, Ella.
I———Ha! Ha! Ha!——— I told you I was going to have my laugh, did n’t I? Ha! Ha! Ha!
Mum! What ’s she laughin’ for?
You hush!
If anybody asked me, I ’d say it was a judgment on all of yer. You Jordans was always stuck up, always thought you was better ’n anybody else. I guess I ought to know, I married into yer!—You a ​rich family?—You the salt of the Earth—You Jordans! You paupers—Ha! Ha! Ha!
Ain’t she still dead, Mum! Ain’t grandma still dead?
Of course she is,
But I thought we was all goin’ to cry!
Cry then, you awful little brat.
[She slaps his face and he roars loudly; she takes him by the arm and yanks him out of the room, followed by Henry, Emma, Nettie. and Ella—through his roars, they all speak together as they go.
One hundred dollars! After all your blowin’.
It ’s you, and that child of your ’n; you turned her against me.
Well, I just won’t spend my hundred dollars for mournin’. I ’ll wear my old black dress!
And me makin’ hats all the rest of my life—just makin’ hats!
[The front door is heard to shut behind them. Jane, Ben and Judge are alone. Judge stands by stove. Jane is up by window, looking out at the deepening twilight. Ben sits at right.
Ha! Ha! Ha! “Crow buzzards” mother called us—the last of the Jordans—crow buzzards—and that ’s what we are.
You can’t stay here, Ben; you know that as well as I do. I signed the warrant for your arrest myself. It ’s been over a year since the Grand Jury indicted you for arson.
You mean you ’ll give me up?
You won’t do that, Judge; you ’re here as her friend.
No, but if it ’s known he ’s here, I could n’t save him, and it ’s bound to be known.
Were you careful coming?
Yes.
It ’s bound to be known.
He means they ’ll tell on me. (He nods his head toward door) My brother, or my sisters.
No, I don’t think they ’d do that.
Let ’em! What do I care. I ’m sick of hiding out, half starved! Let ’em do what they please. All I know is one thing,—when they put her into her grave her sons and daughters are goin’ to be standin’ there, like the Jordans always do.
Hannah will have your room ready by now. There are some clean shirts and things that was your father’s; I ’ll bring them to you.
Can I go up there, just a minute?
To your mother?
Yes.
If you want to.
I do.
Yes, you can go.
[Ben turns and exits up the stairs. Jane crosses and sits by stove, sinking wearily into the chair.
And she left him nothing, just that hundred dollars, and only that because I told her it was the safest way to do it, I thought he was her one weakness, but it seems she did n’t have any.
No.
She was a grim old woman, Jane.
I think I could have loved her, but she did n’t want it.
And yet she left you everything.
I don’t understand.
She left a sealed letter for you. It ’s in my strong box; you may learn from it that she cared more about you than you think.
No.
There was more kindness in her heart than most people gave her credit for.
For her own, for Uncle Ned, who never did for her, for Ned, for the Jordan name. I don’t understand, and I don’t think I care so very much; it ’s been a hard week, Judge.
[She rests her head against the back of the chair.
I know, and you ’re all worn out,
Yes.
It ’s a lot of money, Jane.
I suppose so.
And so you ’re a rich woman. I am curious to know how you feel?
Just tired.
[She shuts her eyes. For a moment he looks at her with a smile, then turns and quietly fills the stove with wood as Ben comes slowly downstairs and into the room.
If there was only something I could do for her.
Jane ’s asleep, Ben.
Did she look like that, unhappy, all the time?
Yes.
Crow buzzards! God damn the Jordans!
[Front door bell rings sharply, Ben is startled.
Steady there! It ’s just one of the neighbors, I guess. (Bell rings again as Hannah crosses downstairs and to hall) Hannah knows enough not to let any one in.
When I got back, time before this, from France, I tried to go straight, but it wasn’t any good, I just don’t belong———
[Hannah enters frightened.
It ’s Jim Jay!
And you did n’t think my own blood would sell me?
[Jim Jay, a large, kindly man of middle age, enters.
I ’m sorry, Ben, I ’ve come for you!
[Jane wakes, startled, and springs up.
What is it?
I got to take him, Jane.
Have you!
I ’m armed, Ben—better not be foolish!
He ’ll go with you, Mr. Jay. He won’t resist.
He must n’t. You got a bad name, Ben, and I ain’t a-goin’ to take any chances.
I thought I ’d get to go to her funeral, anyway, before they got me.
Well, you could, maybe, if you was to fix a bail bond. You ’d take bail for him, would n’t you, Judge?
It ’s a felony; I ’d have to have good security.
I ’m a rich woman, you said just now. Could I give bail for him?
Yes.
So the money ain’t enough. You want all us Jordans fawnin’ on you for favors. Well, all of ’em but me will; by mornin’ the buzzards will be flocking round you thick! You ’re going to hear a lot about how rouch folks love you, but you ain’t goin’ to hear it from me.
Why did you come here, Ben, when I wrote you she was dying?
Why did I come?
Was it because you loved her, because you wanted to ​ask her to forgive you, before she died—or was it because you wanted to get something for yourself?
How does a feller know why he does what he does?
I ’m just curious. You ’ve got so much contempt for the rest, I was just wondering? You were wild, Ben, and hard, but you were honest—what brought you here?
The money.
I thought so. Then when you saw her you were sorry, but even then the money was in your mind—well—it ’s mine now. And you ’ve got to take your choice,—you can do what I tell you, or you ’ll go with Mr, Jay.
Is that so? Well I guess there ain’t much doubt about what I ’ll do. Come on, Jim?
All right. (He takes a pair of handcuffs from his pocket) You ’ll have to slip these on, Ben.
No—wait—(He turns desperately to Jane) What is it you want?
I want you to do as I say.
I ’ll do it.
I thought so. (She turns to Judge) Can you fix the bond up here?
Yes. (He sits at table and takes pen, ink and paper from a drawer) I can hold court right here long enough for that.
This is my prisoner, Judge, and here ’s the warrant.
He puts warrant on table.
First he ’s got to swear, before you, to my conditions,
What conditions?
When will his trial be, Judge?
Not before the spring term, I should think—say early April.
You ’ll stay here till then, Ben; you won’t leave town! You ’ll work the farm,—there ’s plenty to be done.
I don’t know how to work a farm.
Ido. You ’ll just do what I tell you.
Be your slave? That ’s what you mean, ain’t it?
I ’ve been about that here for eight years.
And now it ’s your turn to get square on a Jordan!
You ’ll work for once, and work every day. The first day you don’t I ’ll surrender you to the judge, and he ’ll jail you. The rest of the Jordans will live as I ​tell them to live, or for the first time in any of their lives, they ’ll live on what they earn. Don’t forget, Ben, that right now I ’m the head of the family.
You heard the conditions? Shall I make out the bond?
Yes.
[He sits moodily at right, looking down at the floor. Jane looks at him for a moment, then turns up to window.
It ’s snowing!
Thought I smelled it. (He buttons his coat) Well, nothin’ to keep me, is there, Judge?
No. (He starts to write out the bond with a rusty pen) This pen is rusty!
I was sorry to hear about the old lady. It ’s too bad, but that ’s the way of things.
Yes.
Well—It ’s early for snow, not but what it ’s a good thing for the winter wheat.
[He exits.
CURTAIN