The Best of Gene Stratton-Porter

by Gene Stratton-Porter

  “How pretty!” exclaimed the Girl.

  Covering acres of wood floor, among the big trees, stretched the lacy green carpet. On slender, upright stalks waved three large leaves, each made up of five stemmed, ovate little leaves, round at the base, sharply pointed at the tip. A cluster of from ten to twenty small green berries, that would turn red later, arose above. The Harvester lifted a plant to show the Girl that the Chinese name, Jin-chen, meaning man-like, originated because the divided root resembled legs. Away through the woods stretched the big bed, the growth waving lightly in the wind, the peculiar odour filling the air.

  “I am going to wait to gather the crop until the seeds are ripe,” said the Harvester, “then bury some as I dig a root. My father said that was the way of the Indians. It’s a mighty good plan. The seeds are delicate, and difficult to gather and preserve properly. Instead of collecting and selling all of them to start rivals in the business, I shall replant my beds. I must find a half dozen assistants to harvest this crop in that way, and it will be difficult, because it will come when my neighbours are busy with corn.”

  “Maybe I can help you.”

  “Not with ginseng digging,” laughed the Harvester. “That is not woman’s work. You may sit in an especially attractive place and boss the job.”

  “Oh dear!” cried the Girl. “Oh dear! I want to get out and walk.”

  Gradually they had climbed the summit of the hill, descended on the other side, and followed the road through the woods until they reached the brier patches, fruit trees; and the garden of vegetables, with big beds of sage, rue, wormwood, hoarhound, and boneset. From there to the lake sloped the sunny fields of mullein and catnip, and the earth was molten gold with dandelion creeping everywhere.

  “Too hot to-day,” cautioned the Harvester. “Too rough walking. Wait until fall, and I have a treat there for you. Another flower I want you to love because I do.”

  “I will,” said the Girl promptly. “I feel it in my heart.”

  “Well I am glad you feel something besides the ache of fever,” said the Harvester. Then noticing her tired face he added: “Now this little horse had quite a trip from town, and the wheels cut deeply into this woods soil and make difficult pulling, so I wonder if I had not better put him in the stable and let him become acquainted with Betsy. I don’t know what she will think. She has had sole possession for years. Maybe she will be jealous, perhaps she will be as delighted for company as her master. Ruth, if you could have heard what I said to Belshazzar when he decided I was to go courting this year, and seen what I did to him, and then take a look at me now—merciful powers, I hope the dog doesn’t remember! If he does, no wonder he forms a new allegiance so easily. Have you observed that lately when I whistle, he starts, and then turns back to see if you want him? He thinks as much of you as he does of me right now.”

  “Oh no!” cried the Girl. “That couldn’t be possible. You told me I must make friends with him, so I have given him food, and tried to win him.”

  “You sit in the carriage until I put away the horse, and then I’ll help you to the cabin, and save you being alone while I work. Would you like that?”

  “Yes.”

  She leaned her head against the carriage top the Harvester had raised to screen her, and watched him stable the horse. Evidently he was very fond of animals for he talked as if it were a child he was undressing and kept giving it extra strokes and pats as he led it away. Ajax disliked the newcomer instantly, noticed the carriage and the woman’s dress, and screamed his ugliest. The Girl smiled. As the Harvester appeared she inquired, “Is Ajax now sending a wireless to Ceylon asking for a mate?”

  The Harvester looked at her quizzically and saw a gleam of mischief in the usually dull dark eyes that delighted him.

  “That is the customary supposition when he finds voice,” he said. “But since this has become your home, you are bound to learn some of my secrets. One of them I try to guard is the fact that Ajax has a temper. No my dear, he is not always sending a wireless, I am sorry to say. I wish he was! As a matter of fact he is venting his displeasure at any difference in our conditions. He hates change. He learned that from me. I will enjoy seeing him come for favour a year from now, as I learned to come for it, even when I didn’t get much, and the road lay west of Onabasha. Ajax, stop that! There’s no use to object. You know you think that horse is nice company for you, and that two can feed you more than one. Don’t be a hypocrite! Cease crying things you don’t mean, and learn to love the people I do. Come on, old boy!”

  The peacock came, but with feathers closely pressed and stepping daintily. As the bird advanced, the Harvester retreated, until he stood beside the Girl, and then he slipped some grain to her hand and she offered it. But Ajax would not be coaxed. He was too fat and well fed. He haughtily turned and marched away, screaming at intervals.

  “Nasty temper!” commented the Harvester. “Never mind! He soon will become accustomed to you, and then he will love you as Belshazzar does. Feed the doves instead. They are friendly enough in all conscience. Do you notice that there is not a coloured feather among them? The squab that is hatched with one you may have for breakfast. Now let’s go find something to eat, and I will finish the bridge so you can rest there to-night and watch the sun set on Singing Water.”

  So they went into the cabin and prepared food, and then the Harvester told the Girl to make herself so pretty that she would be a picture and come and talk to him while he finished the roof. She went to her room, found a pale lavender linen dress and put it on, dusted the pink powder thickly, and went where a wide bench made an inviting place in the shade. There she sat and watched her lightly expressed whim take shape.

  “Soon as this is finished,” said the Harvester, “I am going to begin on that tea table. I can make it in a little while, if you want it to match the other furniture.”

  “I do,” said the Girl.

  “Wonder if you could draw a plan showing how it should appear. I am a little shy on tea tables.”

  “I think I can.”

  The Harvester brought paper, pencil, and a shingle for a drawing pad.

  “Now remember one thing,” he said. “If you are in earnest about using those old blue dishes, this has got to be a big, healthy table. A little one will appear top heavy with them. It would be a good idea to set out what you want to use, arranged as you would like them, and let me take the top measurement that way.”

  “All right! I’ll only indicate how its legs should be and we will find the size later. I could almost weep because that wonderful set is broken. If I had all of it I’d be so proud!”

  The Girl bent over the drawing. The Harvester worked with his attention divided between her, the bridge, and the road. At last he saw the big red car creeping up the valley.

  “Seems to be some one coming, Ruth! Guess it must be Doc. I’ll go open the gate?”

  “Yes,” said the Girl. “I’m so glad. You won’t forget to ask him to help me if he can?”

  The Harvester wheeled hastily. “I won’t forget!” he said, as he hurried to the gate. The car ran slowly, and the Girl could see him swing to the step and stand talking as they advanced. When they reached her they stopped and all of them came forward. She went to meet them. She shook hands with Mrs. Carey and then with the doctor.

  “I am so glad you have come,” she said.

  “I hope you are not lonesome already,” laughed the doctor.

  “I don’t think any one with brains to appreciate half of this ever could become lonely here,” answered the Girl. “No, it isn’t that.”

  “A-ha!” cried the doctor, turning to his wife. “You see that the beautiful young lady remembers me, and has been wishing I would come. I always said you didn’t half appreciate me. What a place you are making, David! I’ll run the car to the shade and join you.”

  For a long time they talked under the trees, then they went to see the new home and all its furnishings.

  “Now this is what I call comfort,” said
the doctor. “David, build us a house exactly similar to this over there on the hill, and let us live out here also. I’d love it. Would you, Clara?”

  “I don’t know. I never lived in the country. One thing is sure: If I tried it, I’d prefer this to any other place I ever saw. David, won’t you take me far enough up the hill that I can look from the top to the lake?”

  “Certainly,” said the Harvester. “Excuse us a little while, Ruth!”

  As soon as they were gone the Girl turned to the doctor.

  “Doctor Carey, David says you are great. Won’t you exercise your art on me. I am not at all well, and oh! I’d so love to be strong and sound.”

  “Will you tell me,” asked the doctor, “just enough to show me what caused the trouble?”

  “Bad air and water, poor light and food at irregular times, overwork and deep sorrow; every wrong condition of life you could imagine, with not a ray of hope in the distance, until now. For the sake of the Harvester, I would be well again. Please, please try to cure me!”

  So they talked until the doctor thought he knew all he desired, and then they went to see the gold flower garden.

  “I call this simply superb,” said he, taking a seat beneath the tree roof of her porch. “Young woman, I don’t know what I’ll do to you if you don’t speedily grow strong here. This is the prettiest place I ever saw, and listen to the music of that bubbling, gurgling little creek!”

  “Isn’t he wonderful?” asked the Girl, looking up the hill, where the tall form of the Harvester could be seen moving around. “Just to see him, you would think him the essence of manly strength and force. And he is! So strong! Into the lake at all hours, at the dry-house, on the hill, grubbing roots, lifting big pillars to support a bridge roof, and with it all a fancy as delicate as any dreaming girl. Doctor, the fairies paint the flowers, colour the fruit, and frost the windows for him; and the winds carry pollen to tell him when his growing things are ready for the dry-house. I don’t suppose I can tell you anything new about him; but isn’t he a perpetual surprise? Never like any one else! And no matter how he startles me in the beginning, he always ends by convincing me, at least, that he is right.”

  “I never loved any other man as I do him,” said the doctor. “I ushered him into the world when I was a young man just beginning to practise, and I’ve known him ever since. I know few men so scrupulously clean. Try to get well and make him happy, Mrs. Langston. He so deserves it.”

  “You may be sure I will,” answered the Girl.

  After the visitors had gone, the Harvester told her to place the old blue dishes as she would like to arrange them on her table, so he could get a correct idea of the size, and he left to put a few finishing strokes on the bridge cover. She went into the dining-room and opened the china closet. She knew from her peep in the work-room that there would be more pieces than she had seen before; but she did not think or hope that a full half dozen tea set and plates, bowl, platter, and pitcher would be waiting for her.

  “Why Ruth, what made you tire yourself to come down? I intended to return in a few minutes.”

  “Oh Man!” cried the laughing Girl, as she clung pantingly to a bridge pillar for support, “I just had to come to tell you. There are fairies! Really truly ones! They have found the remainder of the willow dishes for me, and now there are so many it isn’t going to be a table at all. It must be a little cupboard especially for them, in that space between the mantel and the bookcase. There should be a shining brass tea canister, and a wafer box like the arts people make, and I’ll pour tea and tend the chafing dish and you can toast the bread with a long fork over the coals, and we will have suppers on the living-room table, and it will be such fun.”

  “Be seated!” cried the Harvester. “Ruth, that’s the longest speech I ever heard you make, and it sounded, praise the Lord, like a girl. Did Doc say he would fix something for you?”

  “Yes, such a lot of things! I am going to shut my eyes and open my mouth and swallow all of them. I’m going to be born again and forget all I ever knew before I came here, and soon I will be tagging you everywhere, begging you to suggest designs for my pencil, and I’ll simply force life to come right for you.”

  The Harvester smiled.

  “Sounds good!” he said. “But, Ruth, I’m a little dubious about force work. Life won’t come right for me unless you learn to love me, and love is a stubborn, contrary bulldog element of our nature that won’t be driven an inch. It wanders as the wind, and strikes us as it will. You’ll arrive at what I hope for much sooner if you forget it and amuse yourself and be as happy as you can. Then, perhaps all unknown to you, a little spark of tenderness for me will light in your breast; and if it ever does we will buy a fanning mill and put it in operation, and we’ll raise a flame or know why.”

  “And there won’t be any force in that?”

  “What you can’t compel is the start. It’s all right to push any growth after you have something to work on.”

  “That reminds me,” said the Girl, “there is a question I want to ask you.”

  “Go ahead!” said the Harvester, glancing at her as he hewed a joist.

  She turned away her face and sat looking across the lake for a long time.

  “Is it a difficult question, Ruth?” inquired the Harvester to help her.

  “Yes,” said the Girl. “I don’t know how to make you see.”

  “Take any kind of a plunge. I’m not usually dense.”

  “It is really quite simple after all. It’s about a girl—a girl I knew very well in Chicago. She had a problem—and it worried her dreadfully, and I just wondered what you would think of it.”

  The Harvester shifted his position so that he could watch the side of the averted face.

  “You’ll have to tell me, before I can tell you,” he suggested.

  “She was a girl who never had anything from life but work and worry. Of course, that’s the only kind I’d know! One day when the work was most difficult, and worry cut deepest, and she really thought she was losing her mind, a man came by and helped her. He lifted her out, and rescued all that was possible for a man to save to her in honour, and went his way. There wasn’t anything more. Probably there never would be. His heart was great, and he stooped and pitied her gently and passed on. After a time another man came by, a good and noble man, and he offered her love so wonderful she hadn’t brains to comprehend how or why it was.”

  The Girl’s voice trailed off as if she were too weary to speak further, while she leaned her head against a pillar and gazed with dull eyes across the lake.

  “And your question,” suggested the Harvester at last.

  She roused herself. “Oh, the question! Why this—if in time, and after she had tried and tried, love to equal his simply would not come would—would—she be wrong to PRETEND she cared, and do the very best she could, and hope for real love some day? Oh David, would she?”

  The Harvester’s face was whiter than the Girl’s. He pounded the chisel into the joist savagely.

  “Would she, David?”

  “Let me understand you clearly,” said the man in a dry, breathless voice. “Did she love this first man to whom she came under obligations?”

  The Girl sat gazing across the lake and the tortured Harvester stared at her.

  “I don’t know,” she said at last. “I don’t know whether she knew what love was or ever could. She never before had known a man; her heart was as undeveloped and starved as her body. I don’t think she realized love, but there was a SOMETHING. Every time she would feel most grateful and long for the love that was offered her, that ‘something’ would awake and hurt her almost beyond endurance. Yet she knew he never would come. She knew he did not care for her. I don’t know that she felt she wanted him, but she was under such obligations to him that it seemed as if she must wait to see if he might not possibly come, and if he did she should be free.”

  “If he came, she preferred him?”

  “There was a debt she had to pay—if
he asked it. I don’t know whether she preferred him. I do know she had no idea that he would come, but the POSSIBILITY was always before her. If he didn’t come in time, would she be wrong in giving all she had to the man who loved her?”

  The Harvester’s laugh was short and sharp.

  “She had nothing to give, Ruth! Talk about worm-wood, colocynth apples, and hemlock! What sort of husks would that be to offer a man who gave honest love? Lie to him! Pretend feeling she didn’t experience. Endure him for the sake of what he offered her? Well I don’t know how calmly any other man would take that proceeding, Ruth, but tell your friend for me, that if I offered a woman the deep, lasting, and only loving passion of my heart, and she gave back a lie and indifferent lips, I’d drop her into the deepest hole of my lake and take my punishment cheerfully.”

  “But if it would make him happy? He deserves every happiness, and he need never know!”

  The Harvester’s laugh raised to an angry roar.

  “You simpleton!” he cried roughly. “Do you know so little of human passion in the heart that you think love can be a successful assumption? Good Lord, Ruth! Do you think a man is made of wood or stone, that a woman’s lips in her first kiss wouldn’t tell him the truth? Why Girl, you might as well try to spread your tired arms and fly across the lake as to attempt to pretend a love you do not feel. You never could!”

  “I said a girl I knew!”

  “‘A Girl you knew,’ then! Any woman! The idea is monstrous. Tell her so and forget it. You almost scared the life out of me for a minute, Ruth. I thought it was going to be you. But I remember your debt is to be paid with the first money you earn, and you can not have the slightest idea what love is, if you honestly ask if it can be simulated. No ma’am! It can’t! Not possibly! Not ever! And when the day comes that its fires light your heart, you will come to me, and tell of a flood of delight that is tingling from the soles of your feet through every nerve and fibre of your body, and you will laugh with me at the time when you asked if it could be imitated successfully. No, ma’am! Now let me help you to the cabin, serve a good supper, and see you eat like a farmer.”