The Reformation of James Reddy Page #9

"The Reformation of James Reddy" is a short story by Bret Harte that explores themes of redemption and transformation in a Western setting. The narrative follows the character of James Reddy, a man with a dubious reputation who undergoes a significant change in his behavior and perspective. Through a series of events and encounters with other characters, Reddy grapples with his past mistakes and seeks to redefine himself. Harte's storytelling combines humor and social commentary, highlighting the complexities of human nature and the possibility of change against a backdrop of frontier life.

• Short story

								

fields she had passed,--a waiter in the farm kitchen, and but for luck
he might be taking her orders now in this very hotel. It was not her
fault if he was not in the gutter.

She raised her thin hand with a tired gesture as if to ward off the
onset of his words. "The same old Jim," she repeated; "and yet I thought
you had forgotten all that now, and become calmer and more sensible
since you had taken flesh and grown so matter of fact. You ought to have
known then, as you know now, that I never could have been anything to
you as long as I was tied to Dick. And you know you forced your presents
on me, Jim. I took them from YOU because I would take nothing from Dick,
for I hated him. And I never knew positively that you were in straits
then; you know you always talked big, Jim, and were always going to make
your fortune with the next thing you had in hand!"

It was true, and he remembered it. He had not intended this kind of
recrimination, but he was exasperated with her wearied acceptance of his
reproaches and by a sudden conviction that his long-cherished grievance
against her now that he had voiced it was inadequate, mean, and
trifling. Yet he could not help saying:--

"Then you had presents from Sylvester, too. I presume you did not hate
him, either?"

"He would have married me the day after I got my divorce."

"And so would I," burst out Reddy.

She looked at him fixedly. "You would?" she said with a peculiar
emphasis. "And now"--

He colored. It had been part of his revengeful purpose on seeing her to
tell her of his engagement to Kelly. He now found himself tongue-tied,
irresolute, and ashamed. Yet he felt she was reading his innermost
thoughts.

She, however, only lowered her eyes, and with the same tired expression
said: "No matter now. Let us talk of something nearer. That was two
months ago. And so you have charge of this hotel! I like it so much. I
mean the place itself. I fancy I could live here forever. It is so far
away and restful. I am so sick of towns and cities, and people. And this
little grove is so secluded. If one had merely a little cottage here,
one might be so happy."

What did she mean?--what did she expect?--what did she think of doing?
She must be got rid of before Kelly's arrival, and yet he found himself
wavering under her potent and yet scarcely exerted influence. The
desperation of weakness is apt to be more brutal than the determination
of strength. He remembered why he had come upstairs, and blurted out:
"But you can't stay here. The rules are very stringent in regard to--to
strangers like yourself. It will be known who you really are and what
people say of you. Even your divorce will tell against you. It's all
wrong, I know--but what can I do? I didn't make the rules. I am only a
servant of the landlord, and must carry them out."

She leaned back against the sofa and laughed silently. But she presently
recovered herself, although with the same expression of fatigue. "Don't
be alarmed, my poor Jim! If you mean your friend, Mr. Woodridge, I
know him. It was he, himself, who suggested my coming here. And
don't misunderstand him--nor me either. He's only a good friend of
Sylvester's; they had some speculation together. He's coming here to see
me after Louis arrives. He's waiting in San Francisco for his wife and
daughter, who come on the same steamer. So you see you won't get into
trouble on my account. Don't look so scared, my dear boy."

"Does he know that you knew me?" said Reddy, with a white face.

"Perhaps. But then that was three months ago," returned the lady,
smiling, "and you know how you have reformed since, and grown ever so
much more steady and respectable."

"Did he talk to you of me?" continued Reddy, still aghast.

"A little--complimentary of course. Don't look so frightened. I didn't
give you away."

Her laugh suddenly ceased, and her face changed into a more nervous
activity as she rose and went toward the window. She had heard the sound
of wheels outside--the coach had just arrived.

"There's Mr. Woodridge now," she said in a more animated voice. "The
steamer must be in. But I don't see Louis; do you?"

She turned to where Reddy was standing, but he was gone.

The momentary animation of her face changed. She lifted her shoulders
with a half gesture of scorn, but in the midst of it suddenly threw
herself on the sofa, and buried her face in her hands.

A few moments elapsed with the bustle of arrival in the hall and
passages. Then there was a hesitating step at her door. She quickly
passed her handkerchief over her wet eyes and resumed her former look
of weary acceptation. The door opened. But it was Mr. Woodridge who
entered. The rough shirt-sleeved ranchman had developed, during the last
four months, into an equally blunt but soberly dressed proprietor. His
keen energetic face, however, wore an expression of embarrassment and
anxiety, with an added suggestion of a half humorous appreciation of it.

"I wouldn't have disturbed you, Mrs. Merrydew," he said, with a gentle
bluntness, "if I hadn't wanted to ask your advice before I saw Reddy.
I'm keeping out of his way until I could see you. I left Nelly and her
mother in 'Frisco. There's been some queer goings-on on the steamer
coming home; Kelly has sprang a new game on her mother, and--and suthin'
that looks as if there might be a new deal. However," here a sense that
he was, perhaps, treating his statement too seriously, stopped him, and
he smiled reassuringly, "that is as may be."

"I don't know," he went on, "as I ever told you anything about my Kelly
and Reddy,--partik'lerly about Kelly. She's a good girl, a square girl,
but she's got some all-fired romantic ideas in her head. Mebbee it kem
from her reading, mebbee it kem from her not knowing other girls, or
seeing too much of a queer sort of men; but she got an interest in the
bad ones, and thought it was her mission to reform them,--reform them
by pure kindness, attentive little sisterly ways, and moral example. She
first tried her hand on Reddy. When he first kem to us he was--well, he
was a blazin' ruin! She took him in hand, yanked him outer himself, put
his foot on the bedrock, and made him what you see him now. Well--what
happened; why, he got reg'larly soft on her; wanted to MARRY HER, and
I agreed conditionally, of course, to keep him up to the mark. Did you
speak?"

"No," said the lady, with her bright eyes fixed upon him.

"Well, that was all well and good, and I'd liked to have carried out my
part of the contract, and was willing, and am still. But you see, Kelly,
after she'd landed Reddy on firm ground, got a little tired, I reckon,
gal-like, of the thing she'd worked so easily, and when she went East
she looked around for some other wreck to try her hand on, and she found
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