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Updated: May 19, 2025
William Vibard indignantly repudiated that possibility. A wave of purpose rose to the long, corrugated countenance, but sank, without finding expression in speech. Finally Gordon heard Rose calling her husband. That young man twitched in his chair, but he made no other move, no answer. Her voice rose again, sharp and urgent, and Gordon observed: "Your wife's a-calling."
"Why, William Vibard! what an awful thing to say. What little money I had put by was saved from years. What a thing to say about me and Uncle Gordon." "'Tain't no such thing you saved it; you held it out on him, dollars at a time. You didn't have no more right to it than I did." Gordon's gaze centered keenly upon his niece's hot face.
William Vibard moved with his accordion from the porch to beside the kitchen stove. He was in the throes of a new piece, McGinty, and Gordon Makimmon was correspondingly surprised when, as he was intent upon some papers, Rose's husband voluntarily relinquished his instrument, and sat in the room with him. "What's the matter," Gordon indifferently inquired; "is she busted?"
Across her narrow brow a fringe of hair fell which she was continually crimping with an iron heated in the kitchen stove, permeating the room with a lingering and villainous odor of burned hair. William Vibard was a man with a passion the accordion.
She is Hannah's daughter, and Hannah is dead." There was a sharp constriction of Calvin's heart. Hannah's daughter, and Hannah was dead! "As far as I know," the other continued in a strained metallic voice, "the child's got no father you could fix. Her mother wrote the name was Lucy Vibard, and she'd called her after me. But when I asked her she didn't seem to know anything about it.
"No, I ain't," William exploded. "Well ?" "You can't never tell what might happen," the young man observed enigmatically; "the bellowses wear out dreadful quick, the keys work loose like, and then they might stop making them. It's the best one on the market." "What scrabble's this? What did you do with the money?" "They're in the stable," William Vibard answered more obscurely than before.
All that had been so long obscured in his mind and heart slowly cleared to understanding Lucy Braley, Richmond's wife; Phebe; Hannah; and again Lucy, Lucy Vibard had this common hunger for life, for brightness; they were as helpless in its grasp as he had been to hold Hannah. Phebe's return, Martin Eckles were only incidents in a great inner need.
On the back of the vehicle that conveyed them to the parental Berrys was securely tied the square bundle that had "fixed good" William Vibard musically for life. Gordon Makimmon, absorbed in the difficult and elusive calculations of his indefinable project was unaware of the change wrought by their departure, of the shifting of the year, the familiar acts and living about him.
After a pretense at procuring work William Vibard had relapsed into an endless debauch of sound. His manner became increasingly abstracted; he ate, he lived, with the gestures of a man playing an accordion.
William Vibard remonstrated; "don't do like that ... delicate " He knelt, with an expression of concern, and, tenderly fingering the instrument, replaced it in the box. Gordon turned sharply and returned to the house. Rose was in her room. He could hear her moving rapidly about, pulling at the bureau drawers.
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