All the King's Men - Robert Penn Warren [137]
“No,” she whispered, cringing back against the wall, with a hand now on the doorknob as though she might flee, staring at the money. The she stared at me, thrusting her head out suddenly, saying, “I know–I know you–you’re trying to trick me–you’re from the insurance company!”
“Wrong number,” I said. “But I know about Mortimer’s insurance policy. Suicide clause. That’s why you–”
“He–” she hissed, and her gaunt face gathered itself into a contortion which might have been grief, or rage, or despair, you couldn’t tell for sure–“he borrowed on his insurance–nearly all–and didn’t tell me–he–”
“So you lied for almost nothing,” I said. “You collected the insurance, all right, but there wasn’t much left to collect.”
“No,” she said, “there wasn’t. He left me–that way–he didn’t tell me–he left me with nothing–and this–this–” She looked about the room, the broken furniture, the foulness, and seemed to shudder and shrink from it as tough she had just entered and perceived it. “This–” she said, “this.”
“Three hundred would help,” I said, and nodded toward the two bills on the velvet.
“This–this–” she said, “he left me–he was a coward–oh, it was easy for him–easy–all he had to do was–”
“Was to jump,” I finished.
That quieted her. She looked at me heavily for a long moment, then said, “He didn’t jump.”
“My dear Miss Littlepaugh,” I said in the tone usually described as “not unkindly,” “Why don’t you admit it? Your brother has been dead a long time and it will do him no harm. The insurance company has forgotten about the business. Nobody would blame you for lying–you had to live. And–”
“It wasn’t the money,” she said. “It was the disgrace. I wanted him buried from the church. I wanted–” She stopped suddenly.
“Ah,” I said, and glanced at the holy pictures around the wall.
“I was a believer then,” she said, paused, corrected herself, “I believe now in God, but it is different.”
“Yes, yes,” I said soothingly, and looked at the one trumpet left on the table. “And, of course, it is stupid to think of it as a disgrace. When your brother did it–”
“It was an accident,” she said.
“Now, Miss Littlepaugh, you just admitted the fact a second ago.”
“It was an accident,” she repeated, drawing back into herself.
“No,” I said, “he did it, but it was not his fault. He was driven to it.” I watched her face. “He had given years to that company, then they threw him out. To make room for a man who had done a wicked thing. Who drove your brother to his death. Isn’t that true?” I got up, and took a step toward her. “Isn’t that true?”
She looked at me steadily, then broke. “He did! He drove him to it, he killed him, he was hired because it was a bribe–my brother knew that–he told them he knew it–but they threw him out–they said he couldn’t prove it, and threw him out–”
“Could he prove it?” I said.
“Oh, he knew, all right. He knew all about that coal business–he knew long before but he didn’t know what they were going to do to him–they treated him fine then and knew all the time they would throw him out–but he went to the Governor and said–”
“What,” I demanded, “what did you say?” And stepped toward her.
“To the Governor, he–”
“Who?”
“To Governor Stanton, and the Governor wouldn’t listen, he just–”
I grasped the old woman’s arm and held it tight. “Listen,” I said, “you are telling me that your brother went to Governor Stanton and told him?”
“Yes, and Governor Stanton wouldn’t listen. He told him he couldn’t prove anything, he wouldn’t investigate, and that–”
“Are you lying?” I demanded, and shook the matchwood arm.
“It’s true, true to God!” she exclaimed quivering in my grasp. “And that killed my brother. The Governor killed him. He went to the hotel and wrote the letter to me and told me, and that night–”
“The letter,” I said, “what happened to the letter?”
“–that night–just before day–but waiting all night in that room–and just before day–”
“The letter,” I demanded, “what happened to the letter?”
I shook her again, as she repeated, whispering, “Just before day–” But she came up out of the depth of the thought she was in, looked at me, and answered,