continued from A Jury of Her Peers
She cut a thread, and out of the corner of her eye looked up at Mrs.
Peters. The small, lean face of the sheriff's wife seemed to have
tightened up. Her eyes had that look of peering into something. But next
moment she moved, and said in her thin, indecisive way:
"Well, I must get those clothes wrapped. They may be through sooner than
we think. I wonder where I could find a piece of paper--and string."
"In that cupboard, maybe," suggested to Mrs. Hale, after a glance
One piece of the crazy sewing remained unripped. Mrs. Peter's back
turned, Martha Hale now scrutinized that piece, compared it with the
dainty, accurate sewing of the other blocks. The difference was
startling. Holding this block made her feel queer, as if the distracted
thoughts of the woman who had perhaps turned to it to try and quiet
herself were communicating themselves to her.
Mrs. Peters' voice roused her.
"Here's a bird-cage," she said. "Did she have a bird, Mrs. Hale?"
'Why, I don't know whether she did or not." She turned to look at the
cage Mrs. Peters was holding up. "I've not been here in so long." She
sighed. "There was a man round last year selling canaries cheap--but I
don't know as she took one. Maybe she did. She used to sing real pretty
Mrs. Peters looked around the kitchen.
"Seems kind of funny to think of a bird here." She half laughed--an
attempt to put up a barrier. "But she must have had one--or why would she
have a cage? I wonder what happened to it."
"I suppose maybe the cat got it," suggested Mrs. Hale, resuming her
"No; she didn't have a cat. She's got that feeling some people have about
cats--being afraid of them. When they brought her to our house yesterday,
my cat got in the room, and she was real upset and asked me to take it
"My sister Bessie was like that," laughed Mrs. Hale.
The sheriff's wife did not reply. The silence made Mrs. Hale turn round.
Mrs. Peters was examining the bird-cage.
"Look at this door," she said slowly. "It's broke. One hinge has been
Mrs. Hale came nearer.
"Looks as if someone must have been--rough with it."
Again their eyes met--startled, questioning, apprehensive. For a moment
neither spoke nor stirred. Then Mrs. Hale, turning away, said
"If they're going to find any evidence, I wish they'd be about it. I
don't like this place."
"But I'm awful glad you came with me, Mrs. Hale." Mrs. Peters put the
bird-cage on the table and sat down. "It would be lonesome for
me--sitting here alone."
"Yes, it would, wouldn't it?" agreed Mrs. Hale, a certain determined
naturalness in her voice. She had picked up the sewing, but now it
dropped in her lap, and she murmured in a different voice: "But I tell
you what I do wish, Mrs. Peters. I wish I had come over sometimes
when she was here. I wish--I had."
"But of course you were awful busy, Mrs. Hale. Your house--and your
"I could've come," retorted Mrs. Hale shortly. "I stayed away because it
weren't cheerful--and that's why I ought to have come. I"--she looked
around--"I've never liked this place. Maybe because it's down in a hollow
and you don't see the road. I don't know what it is, but it's a lonesome
place, and always was. I wish I had come over to see Minnie Foster
sometimes. I can see now--" She did not put it into words.
"Well, you mustn't reproach yourself," counseled Mrs. Peters. "Somehow,
we just don't see how it is with other folks till--something comes
"Not having children makes less work," mused Mrs. Hale, after a silence,
"but it makes a quiet house--and Wright out to work all day--and no
company when he did come in. Did you know John Wright, Mrs. Peters?"
"Not to know him. I've seen him in town. They say he was a good man."
"Yes--good," conceded John Wright's neighbor grimly. "He didn't drink,
and kept his word as well as most, I guess, and paid his debts. But he
was a hard man, Mrs. Peters. Just to pass the time of day with him--."
She stopped, shivered a little. "Like a raw wind that gets to the bone."
Her eye fell upon the cage on the table before her, and she added, almost
bitterly: "I should think she would've wanted a bird!"
Suddenly she leaned forward, looking intently at the cage. "But what do
you s'pose went wrong with it?"
"I don't know," returned Mrs. Peters; "unless it got sick and died."
But after she said it she reached over and swung the broken door. Both
women watched it as if somehow held by it.
"You didn't know--her?" Mrs. Hale asked, a gentler note in her voice.
"Not till they brought her yesterday," said the sheriff's wife.
"She--come to think of it, she was kind of like a bird herself. Real
sweet and pretty, but kind of timid and--fluttery.
That held her for a long time. Finally, as if struck with a happy thought
and relieved to get back to everyday things, she exclaimed:
"Tell you what, Mrs. Peters, why don't you take the quilt in with you? It
might take up her mind."
"Why, I think that's a real nice idea, Mrs. Hale," agreed the sheriff's
wife, as if she too were glad to come into the atmosphere of a simple
kindness. "There couldn't possibly be any objection to that, could there?
Now, just what will I take? I wonder if her patches are in here--and her
They turned to the sewing basket.
"Here's some red," said Mrs. Hale, bringing out a roll of cloth.
Underneath that was a box. "Here, maybe her scissors are in here--and her
things." She held it up. "What a pretty box! I'll warrant that was
something she had a long time ago--when she was a girl."
She held it in her hand a moment; then, with a little sigh, opened it.
Instantly her hand went to her nose.
Mrs. Peters drew nearer--then turned away.
"There's something wrapped up in this piece of silk," faltered Mrs.
"This isn't her scissors," said Mrs. Peters, in a shrinking voice.
Her hand not steady, Mrs. Hale raised the piece of silk. "Oh, Mrs.
Peters!" she cried. "It's--"
Mrs. Peters bent closer.
"It's the bird," she whispered.
"But, Mrs. Peters!" cried Mrs. Hale. "Look at it! Its
neck--look at its neck! It's all--other side to."
She held the box away from her.
The sheriff's wife again bent closer.
"Somebody wrung its neck," said she, in a voice that was slow and
And then again the eyes of the two women met--this time clung together in
a look of dawning comprehension, of growing horror. Mrs. Peters looked
from the dead bird to the broken door of the cage. Again their eyes met.
And just then there was a sound at the outside door. Mrs. Hale slipped
the box under the quilt pieces in the basket, and sank into the chair
before it. Mrs. Peters stood holding to the table. The county attorney
and the sheriff came in from outside.
"Well, ladies," said the county attorney, as one turning from serious
things to little pleasantries, "have you decided whether she was going to
quilt it or knot it?"
"We think," began the sheriff's wife in a flurried voice, "that she was
going to--knot it."
He was too preoccupied to notice the change that came in her voice on
"Well, that's very interesting, I'm sure," he said tolerantly. He caught
sight of the bird-cage.
"Has the bird flown?"
"We think the cat got it," said Mrs. Hale in a voice curiously even.
He was walking up and down, as if thinking something out.
"Is there a cat?" he asked absently.
Mrs. Hale shot a look up at the sheriff's wife.
"Well, not now," said Mrs. Peters. "They're superstitious, you
know; they Ieave."
She sank into her chair.
The county attorney did not heed her. "No sign at all of anyone having
come in from the outside," he said to Peters, in the manner of continuing
an interrupted conversation. "Their own rope. Now let's go upstairs again
and go over it, piece by piece. It would have to have been someone who
knew just the--"
The stair door closed behind them and their voices were lost.
The two women sat motionless, not looking at each other, but as if
peering into something and at the same time holding back. When they spoke
now it was as if they were afraid of what they were saying, but as if
they could not help saying it.
"She liked the bird," said Martha Hale, low and slowly. "She was going to
bury it in that pretty box."
When I was a girl," said Mrs. Peters, under her breath, "my kitten--there
was a boy took a hatchet, and before my eyes--before I could get there--"
She covered her face an instant. "If they hadn't held me back I would
have"--she caught herself, looked upstairs where footsteps were heard,
and finished weakly--"hurt him."
Then they sat without speaking or moving.
"I wonder how it would seem," Mrs. Hale at last began, as if feeling her
way over strange ground--"never to have had any children around?" Her
eyes made a slow sweep of the kitchen, as if seeing what that kitchen had
meant through all the years "No, Wright wouldn't like the bird," she said
after that--"a thing that sang. She used to sing. He killed that too."
Mrs. Peters moved uneasily.
"Of course we don't know who killed the bird."
"I knew John Wright," was Mrs. Hale's answer.
"It was an awful thing was done in this house that night, Mrs. Hale,"
said the sheriff's wife. "Killing a man while he slept--slipping a thing
round his neck that choked the life out of him."
Mrs. Hale's hand went out to the bird cage.
"We don't know who killed him," whispered Mrs. Peters wildly. "We
Mrs. Hale had not moved. "If there had been years and years of--nothing,
then a bird to sing to you, it would be awful--still--after the bird was
It was as if something within her not herself had spoken, and it found in
Mrs. Peters something she did not know as herself.
"I know what stillness is," she said, in a queer, monotonous voice. "When
we homesteaded in Dakota, and my first baby died--after he was two years
old--and me with no other then--"
Mrs. Hale stirred.
"How soon do you suppose they'll be through looking for the evidence?"
"I know what stillness is," repeated Mrs. Peters, in just that same way.
Then she too pulled back. "The law has got to punish crime, Mrs. Hale,"
she said in her tight little way.
"I wish you'd seen Minnie Foster," was the answer, "when she wore a white
dress with blue ribbons, and stood up there in the choir and sang."
The picture of that girl, the fact that she had lived neighbor to that
girl for twenty years, and had let her die for lack of life, was suddenly
more than she could bear.
"Oh, I wish I'd come over here once in a while!" she cried. "That
was a crime! Who's going to punish that?"
"We mustn't take on," said Mrs. Peters, with a frightened look toward the
"I might 'a' known she needed help! I tell you, it's queer,
Mrs. Peters. We live close together, and we live far apart. We all go
through the same things--it's all just a different kind of the same
thing! If it weren't--why do you and I understand? Why do we
know--what we know this minute?"
She dashed her hand across her eyes. Then, seeing the jar of fruit on the
table she reached for it and choked out:
"If I was you I wouldn't tell her her fruit was gone! Tell her it
ain't. Tell her it's all right--all of it. Here--take this in to
prove it to her! She--she may never know whether it was broke or not."
She turned away.
Mrs. Peters reached out for the bottle of fruit as if she were glad to
take it--as if touching a familiar thing, having something to do, could
keep her from something else. She got up, looked about for something to
wrap the fruit in, took a petticoat from the pile of clothes she had
brought from the front room, and nervously started winding that round the
"My!" she began, in a high, false voice, "it's a good thing the men
couldn't hear us! Getting all stirred up over a little thing like a--dead
canary." She hurried over that. "As if that could have anything to do
with--with--My, wouldn't they laugh?"
Footsteps were heard on the stairs.
"Maybe they would," muttered Mrs. Hale--"maybe they wouldn't."
"No, Peters," said the county attorney incisively; "it's all perfectly
clear, except the reason for doing it. But you know juries when it comes
to women. If there was some definite thing--something to show. Something
to make a story about. A thing that would connect up with this clumsy way
of doing it."
In a covert way Mrs. Hale looked at Mrs. Peters. Mrs. Peters was looking
at her. Quickly they looked away from each other. The outer door opened
and Mr. Hale came in.
"I've got the team round now," he said. "Pretty cold out there."
"I'm going to stay here awhile by myself," the county attorney suddenly
announced. "You can send Frank out for me, can't you?" he asked the
sheriff. "I want to go over everything. I'm not satisfied we can't do
Again, for one brief moment, the two women's eyes found one another.
The sheriff came up to the table.
"Did you want to see what Mrs. Peters was going to take in?"
The county attorney picked up the apron. He laughed.
"Oh, I guess they're not very dangerous things the ladies have picked
Mrs. Hale's hand was on the sewing basket in which the box was concealed.
She felt that she ought to take her hand off the basket. She did not seem
able to. He picked up one of the quilt blocks which she had piled on to
cover the box. Her eyes felt like fire. She had a feeling that if he took
up the basket she would snatch it from him.
But he did not take it up. With another little laugh, he turned away,
"No; Mrs. Peters doesn't need supervising. For that matter, a sheriff's
wife is married to the law. Ever think of it that way, Mrs. Peters?"
Mrs. Peters was standing beside the table. Mrs. Hale shot a look up at
her; but she could not see her face. Mrs. Peters had turned away. When
she spoke, her voice was muffled.
"Not--just that way," she said.
"Married to the law!" chuckled Mrs. Peters' husband. He moved toward the
door into the front room, and said to the county attorney:
"I just want you to come in here a minute, George. We ought to take a
look at these windows."
"Oh--windows," said the county attorney scoffingly.
"We'll be right out, Mr. Hale," said the sheriff to the farmer, who was
still waiting by the door.
Hale went to look after the horses. The sheriff followed the county
attorney into the other room. Again--for one final moment--the two women
were alone in that kitchen.
Martha Hale sprang up, her hands tight together, looking at that other
woman, with whom it rested. At first she could not see her eyes, for the
sheriff's wife had not turned back since she turned away at that
suggestion of being married to the law. But now Mrs. Hale made her turn
back. Her eyes made her turn back. Slowly, unwillingly, Mrs. Peters
turned her head until her eyes met the eyes of the other woman. There was
a moment when they held each other in a steady, burning look in which
there was no evasion or flinching. Then Martha Hale's eyes pointed the
way to the basket in which was hidden the thing that would make certain
the conviction of the other woman--that woman who was not there and yet
who had been there with them all through that hour.
For a moment Mrs. Peters did not move. And then she did it. With a rush
forward, she threw back the quilt pieces, got the box, tried to put it in
her handbag. It was too big. Desperately she opened it, started to take
the bird out. But there she broke--she could not touch the bird. She
stood there helpless, foolish.
There was the sound of a knob turning in the inner door. Martha Hale
snatched the box from the sheriff's wife, and got it in the pocket of her
big coat just as the sheriff and the county attorney came back into the
"Well, Henry," said the county attorney facetiously, "at least we found
out that she was not going to quilt it. She was going to--what is it you
call it, ladies?"
Mrs. Hale's hand was against the pocket of her coat.
"We call it--knot it, Mr. Henderson."