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Olsen seconded her husband's denial, and there was nothing left Thekla but to see them to the door. No sooner did she return than Lieders spoke. "Aint you going to take off them ropes?" said he. "Not till you promise you won't do it." Silence. Thekla, brushing a few tears from her eyes, scrutinized the ropes again, before she walked heavily out of the room. She turned the key in the door.
"Yes, yes, of course. I'll call Carl. Carl! dost thou hear? come! But did you dare to leave him Mrs. Lieders?" Part of the time she spoke in English, part of the time in her own tongue, gliding from one to another, and neither party observing the transition. Mrs.
But there were no tears, no protestations, only a long look at him and a contraction of the eyebrows as if Thekla were trying to think of something that eluded her. She placed the coffee on the tray beside the other breakfast. For a while the room was very still. Lieders could not see the look of resolve that finally smoothed the perplexed lines out of his wife's kind, simple old face. She rose.
The Lossing "art furniture" did not slander the name. No sculptor ever wrought his soul into marble with a more unflinching conscience or a purer joy in his work than this wood-carver dreaming over sideboards and bedsteads. Unluckily, Lieders had the wrong side of the gift as well as the right; was full of whims and crotchets, and as unpractical as the Christian martyrs.
"Let her tie me!" says Lieders, "I keep my word. To-morrow I be out of this. He won't git a man like me, pretty soon!" Thekla went about her daily tasks, with her every-day air; but, now and again, that same pucker of thought returned to her forehead; and, more than once, Lieders saw her stand over some dish, poising her spoon in air, too abstracted to notice his cynical observation.
So he would compromise by giving the domineering old fellow a "good, stiff rowing." Once, he coupled this with a threat, if they could not get along decently they would better part! Lieders had answered not a word; he had given Lossing a queer glance and turned on his heel. He went home and bought some poison on the way.
"Kurt," she said, "I don't guess you remember this is our wedding-day; it was this day, eighteen year we was married." "So!" said Lieders, "well, I was a bad bargain to you, Thekla; after you nursed your father that was a cripple for twenty years, I thought it would be easy with me; but I was a bad bargain."
He wiped dishes as he did everything, neatly, slowly, with a careful deliberation. Not until the dishes were put away and the couple were seated, did Thekla speak. "Kurt," she said, "I got to talk to you." An inarticulate groan and a glance at the door from Lieders. "I just got to, papa.
"And he's dead?" asked the other in an awed tone. Mrs. Lieders gulped down her tears. "Oh, not so bad as that, I cut him down, he was up in the garret and I sus suspected him and I run up and oh, he was there, a choking, and he was so mad! He swore at me and he kicked me when I I says: 'Kurt, what are you doing of?
And when Lieders in a blind stab of temper had growled a prophecy that Lossing would regret it, Lossing had stabbed in turn: "Maybe, but it will be a cold day when I ask you to come back." And he had gone off without so much as a word of regret.
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