“A gold mine!”
“Acres and acres of wild ginseng, seven years of age and ready to harvest. Do you remember what your few pounds brought?”
“Why it’s worth thousands!”
“Exactly! For your peace of mind I might add that all I have done or got is paid for, except what I bought to-day, and I will write a check for that as soon as the bill is made out. My bank account never will feel it Truly, Ruth, I am not doing or going to do anything extravagant. I can’t afford to give you diamond necklaces, yachts, and trips to Europe; but you can have the contents of this box and a motor boat on the lake, a horse and carriage, and a trip—say to New York perfectly well. Please take it.”
“I wish you wouldn’t ask me. I would be happier not to.”
“Yes, but I do ask you,” persisted the Harvester. “You are not the only one to be considered. I have some rights also, and I’m not so self-effacing that I won’t insist upon them. From your standpoint I am almost a stranger. You have spent no time considering me in near relations; I realize that. You feel as if you were driven here for a refuge, and that is true. I said to Belshazzar one day that I must remember that you had no dream, and had spent no time loving me, and I do I know how this wedding seems to you, but it’s going to mean something different and better soon, please God. I can see your side; now suppose you take a look at mine. I did have a dream, it was my dream, and beyond the sum of any delight I ever conceived. On the strength of it I rebuilt my home and remodelled these premises. Then I saw you, and from that day I worked early and late. I lost you and I never stopped until I found you; and I would have courted and won you, but the fates intervened and here you are! So it’s my delight to court and win you now. If you knew the difference between having a dream that stirred the least fibre of your being and facing the world in a demand for realization of it, and then finding what you coveted in the palm of your hand, as it were, you would know what is in my heart, and why expression of some kind is necessary to me just now, and why I’ll explode if it is denied. It will lower the tension, if you will accept this as a matter of fact; as if you rather expected and liked it, if you can.”
The Harvester set his finger on the spring.
“Don’t!” she said. “I’ll never have the courage if you do. Give it to me in the case, and let me open it. Despite your unanswerable arguments, I am quite sure that is the only way in which I can take it.”
The Harvester gave her the box.
“My wedding gift!” she exclaimed, more to herself than to him. “Why should I be the buffet of all the unkind fates kept in store for a girl my whole life, and then suddenly be offered home, beautiful gifts, and wonderful loving kindness by a stranger?”
The Harvester ran his fingers through his crisp hair, pulled it into a peak, stepped to the seat and sitting on the railing, he lifted his elbows, tilted his head, and began a motley outpouring of half-spoken, half-whistled trills and imploring cries. There was enough similarity that the Girl instantly recognized the red bird. Out of breath the Harvester dropped to the seat beside her.
“And don’t you keep forgetting it!” he cried. “Now open that box and put on the trinket; because I want to take you to the cabin when the sun falls level on the drive.”
She opened the case, exposing a thread of gold that appeared too slender for the weight of an exquisite pendant, set with shimmering pearls.
“If you will look down there,” the Harvester pointed over the railing to the arrowhead lilies touched with the fading light, “you will see that they are similar.”
“They are!” cried the Girl. “How lovely! Which is more beautiful I do not know. And you won’t like it if I say I must not.”
She held the open case toward the Harvester.
“‘Possession is nine points in the law,’” he quoted. “You have taken it already and it is in your hands; now make the gift perfect for me by putting it on and saying nothing more.”
“My wedding gift!” repeated the Girl. Slowly she lifted the beautiful ornament and held it in the light. “I’m so glad you just force me to take it,” she said. “Any half-normal girl would be delighted. I do accept it. And what’s more, I am going to keep and wear it and my ring at suitable times all my life, in memory of what you have done to be kind to me on this awful day.”
“Thank you!” said the Harvester. “That is a flash of the proper spirit. Allow me to put it on you.”
“No!” said the Girl. “Not yet! After a while! I want to hold it in my hands, where I can see it!”
“Now there is one other thing,” said the Harvester.
“If I had known for any length of time that this day was coming and bringing you, as most men know when a girl is to be given into their care, I could have made it different. As it is, I’ve done the best I knew. All your after life I hope you will believe this: Just that if you missed anything to-day that would have made it easier for you or more pleasant, the reason was because of my ignorance of women and the conventions, and lack of time. I want you to know and to feel that in my heart those vows I took were real. This is undoubtedly all the marrying I will ever want to do. I am old-fashioned in my ways, and deeply imbued with the spirit of the woods, and that means unending evolution along the same lines.
“To me you are my revered and beloved wife, my mate now; and I am sure nothing will make me feel any different. This is the day of my marriage to the only woman I ever have thought of wedding, and to me it is joy unspeakable. With other men such a day ends differently from the close of this with me. Because I have done and will continue to do the level best I know for you, this oration is the prologue to asking you for one gift to me from you, a wedding gift. I don’t want it unless you can bestow it ungrudgingly, and truly want me to have it. If you can, I will have all from this day I hope for at the hands of fate. May I have the gift I ask of you, Ruth?”
She lifted startled eyes to his face.
“Tell me what it is?” she breathed.
“It may seem much to you,” said the Harvester; “to me it appears only a gracious act, from a wonderful woman, if you will give me freely, one real kiss. I’ve never had one, save from a Dream Girl, Ruth, and you will have to make yours pretty good if it is anything like hers. You are woman enough to know that most men crush their brides in their arms and take a thousand. I’ll put my hands behind me and never move a muscle, and I won’t ask for more, if you will crown my wedding day with only one touch of your lips. Will you kiss me just once, Ruth?”
The Girl lifted a piteous face down which big tears suddenly rolled.
“Oh Man, you shame me!” she cried. “What kind of a heart have I that it fails to respond to such a plea? Have I been overworked and starved so long there is no feeling in me? I don’t understand why I don’t take you in my arms and kiss you a hundred times, but you see I don’t. It doesn’t seem as if I ever could.”
“Never mind,” said the Harvester gently. “It was only a fancy of mine, bred from my dream and unreasonable, perhaps. I am sorry I mentioned it. The sun is on the stoop now; I want you to enter your home in its light. Come!”
He half lifted her from the bench. “I am going to help you up the drive as I used to assist mother,” he said, fighting to keep his voice natural. “Clasp your hands before you and draw your elbows to your sides. Now let me take one in each palm, and you will scoot up this drive as if you were on wheels.”
“But I don’t want to ‘scoot’,” she said unsteadily. “I must go slowly and not miss anything.”
“On the contrary, you don’t want to do any such thing—you should leave most of it for to-morrow.”
“I had forgotten there would be any to-morrow. It seems as if the day would end it and set me adrift again.”
“You are going to awake in the gold room with the sun shining on your face in the morning, and it’s going to keep on all your life. Now if you’ve got a smile in your anatomy, bring it to the surface, for just beyond this tree lies happiness for you.”
His voice was clear and steady now, his confidence something contagious. There was a lovely smile on her face as she looked at him, and stepped into the line of light crossing the driveway; and then she stopped and cried, “Oh lovely! Lovely! Lovely!” over and over. Then maybe the Harvester was not glad he had planned, worked unceasingly, and builded as well as he knew.
The cabin of large, peeled, golden oak logs, oiled to preserve them, nestled like a big mushroom on the side of the hill. Above and behind the building the trees arose in a green setting. The roof was stained to their shades. The wide veranda was enclosed in screening, over which wonderful vines climbed in places, and round it grew ferns and deep-wood plants. Inside hung big baskets of wild growth; there was a wide swinging seat, with a back rest, supported by heavy chains. There were chairs and a table of bent saplings and hickory withes. Two full stories the building arose, and the western sun warmed it almost to orange-yellow, while the graceful vines crept toward the roof.
The Girl looked at the rapidly rising hedge on each side of her, at the white floor of the drive, and long and long at the cabin.
“You did all this since February?” she asked.
“Even to transforming the landscape,” answered the Harvester.
“Oh I wish it was not coming night!” she cried. “I don’t want the dark to come, until you have told me the name of every tree and shrub of that wonderful hedge, and every plant and vine of the veranda; and oh I want to follow up the driveway and see that beautiful little creek—listen to it chuckle and laugh! Is it always glad like that? See the ferns and things that grow on the other side of it! Why there are big beds of them. And lilies of the valley by the acre! What is that yellow around the corner?”
“Never mind that now,” said the Harvester, guiding her up the steps, along the gravelled walk to the screen that he opened, and over a flood of gold light she crossed the veranda, and entered the door.
“Now here it appears bare,” said the Harvester, “because I didn’t know what should go on the walls or what rugs to get or about the windows. The table, chairs, and couch I made myself with some help from a carpenter. They are solid black walnut and will age finely.”
“They are beautiful,” said the Girl, softly touching the shining table top with her fingers. “Please put the necklace on me now, I have to use my eyes and hands for other things.”
She held out the box and the Harvester lifted the pendant and clasped the chain around her neck. She glanced at the lustrous pearls and then the fingers of one hand softly closed over them. She went through the long, wide living-room, examining the chairs and mantel, stopping to touch and exclaim over its array of half-finished candlesticks. At the door of his room she paused. “And this?” she questioned.
“Mine,” said the Harvester, turning the knob. “I’ll give you one peep to satisfy your curiosity, and show you the location of the bridge over which you came to me in my dream. All the remainder is yours. I reserve only this.”
“Will the ‘goblins git me’ if I come here?”
“Not goblins, but a man alive; so heed your warning. After you have seen it, keep away.”
The floor was cement, three of the walls heavy screening with mosquito wire inside, the roof slab shingled. On the inner wall was a bookcase, below it a desk, at one side a gun cabinet, at the other a bath in a small alcove beside a closet. The room contained two chairs like those of the veranda, and the bed was a low oak couch covered with a thick mattress of hemlock twigs, topped with sweet fern, on which the sun shone all day. On a chair at the foot were spread some white sheets, a blanket, and an oilcloth. The sun beat in, the wind drifted through, and one lying on the couch could see down the bright hill, and sweep the lake to the opposite bank without lifting the head. The Harvester drew the Girl to the bedside.
“Now straight in a line from here,” he said, “across the lake to that big, scraggy oak, every clear night the moon builds a bridge of molten gold, and once you walked it, my girl, and came straight to me, alone and unafraid; and you were gracious and lovely beyond anything a man ever dreamed of before. I’ll have that to think of to-night. Now come see the dining-room, kitchen, and hand-made sunshine.”
He led her into what had been the front room of the old cabin, now a large, long dining-room having on each side wide windows with deep seats. The fireplace backwall was against that of the living-room, but here the mantel was bare. All the wood-work, chairs, the dining table, cupboards, and carving table were golden oak. Only a few rugs and furnishings and a woman’s touch were required to make it an unusual and beautiful room. The kitchen was shining with a white hard-wood floor, white wood-work, and pale green walls. It was a light, airy, sanitary place, supplied with a pump, sink, hot and cold water faucets, refrigerator, and every modern convenience possible to the country.
Then the Harvester almost carried the Girl up the stairs and showed her three large sleeping rooms, empty and bare save for some packing cases.
“I didn’t know about these, so I didn’t do anything. When you find time to plan, tell me what you want, and I’ll make—or buy it. They are good-sized, cool rooms. They all have closets and pipes from the furnace, so they will be comfortable in winter. Now there is your place remaining. I’ll leave you while I stable Betsy and feed the stock.”
He guided her to the door opening from the living-room to the east.
“This is the sunshine spot,” he said. “It is bathed in morning light, and sheltered by afternoon shade. Singing Water is across the drive there to talk to you always. It comes pelting down so fast it never freezes, so it makes music all winter, and the birds are so numerous you’ll have to go to bed early for they’ll wake you by dawn. I noticed this room was going to be full of sunshine when I built it, and I craved only brightness for you, so I coaxed all of it to stay that I could. Every stroke is the work of my hands, and all of the furniture. I hope you will like it. This is the room of which I’ve been telling you, Ruth. Go in and take possession, and I’ll entreat God and all His ministering angels to send you sunshine and joy.”
He opened the door, guided her inside, closed it, and went swiftly to his work.
The Girl stood and looked around her with amazed eyes. The floor was pale yellow wood, polished until it shone like a table top. The casings, table, chairs, dressing table, chest of drawers, and bed were solid curly maple. The doors were big polished slabs of it, each containing enough material to veneer all the furniture in the room. The walls were of plaster, tinted yellow, and the windows with yellow shades were curtained in dainty white. She could hear the Harvester carrying the load from the wagon to the front porch, the clamour of the barn yard; and as she went to the north window to see the view, a shining peacock strutted down the walk and went to the Harvester’s hand for grain, while scores of snow-white doves circled over his head. She stepped on deep rugs of yellow goat skins, and, glancing at the windows on either side, she opened the door.
Outside it lay a porch with a railing, but no roof. On each post stood a box filled with yellow wood-flowers and trailing vines of pale green. A big tree rising through one corner of the floor supplied the cover. A gate opened to a walk leading to the driveway, and on either side lay a patch of sod, outlined by a deep hedge of bright gold. In it saffron, cone-flowers, black-eyed Susans, golden-rod, wild sunflowers, and jewel flower grew, and some of it, enough to form a yellow line, was already in bloom. Around the porch and down the walk were beds of yellow violets, pixie moss, and every tiny gold flower of the woods. The Girl leaned against the tree and looked around her and then staggered inside and dropped on the couch.
“What planning! What work!” she sobbed. “What taste! Why he’s a poet! What wonderful beauty! He’s an artist with earth for his canvas, and growing things for colours.”
She lay there staring at the walls, the beautiful wood-work and furniture, the dressing table with its array of toilet articles, a low chair before it, and the thick rug for her feet. Over and over she looked at everything,
and then closed her eyes and lay quietly, too weary and overwhelmed to think. By and by came tapping at the door, and she sprang up and crossing to the dressing table straightened her hair and composed her face.
“Ajax demands to see you,” cried a gay voice.
The Girl stepped outside.
“Don’t be frightened if he screams at you,” warned the Harvester as she passed him. “He detests a stranger, and he always cries and sulks.”
It was a question what was in the head of the bird as he saw the strange looking creature invading his domain, and he did scream, a wild, high, strident wail that delighted the Harvester inexpressibly, because it sent the Girl headlong into his arms.
“Oh, good gracious!” she cried. “Has such a beautiful bird got a noise in it like that? Why I’ve fed them in parks and I never heard one explode before.”
Then how the Harvester laughed.
“But you see you are in the woods now, and this is not a park bird. It will be the test of your power to see how soon you can coax him to your hand.”
“How do I work to win him?”
“I am afraid I can’t tell you that,” said the Harvester. “I had to invent a plan for myself. It required a long time and much petting, and my methods might not avail for you. It will interest you to study that out. But the member of the family it is positively essential that you win to a life and death allegiance is Belshazzar. If you can make him love you, he will protect you at every turn. He will go before you into the forest and all the crawling, creeping things will get out of his way. He will nose around the flowers you want to gather, and if he growls and the hair on the back of his neck rises, never forget that you must heed that warning. A few times I have not stopped for it, and I always have been sorry. So far as anything animate or uncertain footing is concerned, you are always perfectly safe if you obey him. About touching plants and flowers, you must confine yourself to those you are certain you know, until I can teach you. There are gorgeous and wonderfully attractive things here, but some of them are rank poison. You won’t handle plants you don’t know, until you learn, Ruth?”
The Best of Gene Stratton-Porter Page 80