Over Paradise Ridge
Page 12
lightning grab for the Byrdand tumbled him back into the loamy earth.
I realized then that up to a quarter of five o'clock on thattwenty-first-of-April day I had been really wretchedly uneasy aboutPeter in every way, that I did and did not understand since that sceneat the tea-table in the Astor when I had assumed the responsibility ofhim. But at that moment when Sam held back a tangle of blackberry-bushesand low-sweeping dogwood boughs, and we stepped out on a moss-coveredrock-ledge that commanded a view of the Harpeth Valley, stretching awayand away in an iridescent shimmer of springiness and sunshine, itcompletely vanished, for the time being, anyway.
"Oh," I said, with a great sigh of relief, "let's plant Peter here.He--he can grow his dream in this place."
"Yes," answered Sam, quietly, "I'll log up and daub up a shack righthere, with a stone fireplace. It won't cost anything, for I'll use myown logs and pick up my own stones. Thank God for shoulders and armswhich can make shelter for anybody that needs it anywhere," and as hespoke Sam looked across the valley into the blaze of the sun that wasbeginning to go down behind Paradise Ridge, with that earth-smolder Iwas beginning to recognize. I knew that David and Moses and Christ hadall looked down across new life from a hillside, and Sam seemed almosttransfigured to me. And I had a--a vision. I saw that Sam was to be oneof a gigantic new kind of men to whom all who were ahungered and athirstwould come to be cared for. I had brought Peter to him first, and Iknew--I felt that others--that--
"Sam," I said, as I reached out and laid a timid hand, for the firsttime stained with earth labor, on the blue sleeve of his overalls,"don't ever leave Peter and me anywhere you are not, will you?"
"I'm always here for you both when you need me, Betty. Just call," heanswered. "And now you hustle home to Mother Hayes or she won't let mehave you at six and a quarter cents any more."
"Make it five, Sam. I feel smaller now."
"No, that'll be Pete's rate. Come on and take the mud-scow back to Eph.Present my compliments to him after he has washed it."
Some people have a way of pruning a friend's spirit in a manner thatmakes it bush out more hardily than ever. That is the way Sam does me,and I intend to worship him delightfully if I want to and he continuesto deserve it. It is so much better for a woman to worship a man thanlove him; it puts a strong barrier between them to keep him from hurtingher, which loving him doesn't seem to, at least not with Edith andTolly; and I am always worried over Peter; but for long intervals I canforget Sam comfortably and find him right there when I need him.
I am glad that I had that care-free day of hard work with Sam out at TheBriers to fatigue me so that I couldn't take Peter's letter completelyto heart. I read it, cried over it a minute, and then fell into my bedwithout even putting rose oil on my cheek curls to hold them in place.My first day at farming had done me up. Still, it's no use to cover upyour head from trouble; it's right here by the bed the minute you peepover the top of the sheet. I woke up, feeling that the whole world mustbe camping on the top of my crocheted lace counterpane; but soon Irealized that it was only Peter's play. Peter is stuck in the mud at thebeginning of the third act, and he thinks it is quicksands that aregoing to drown him. The last few sentences of the letter sound like abeautiful funeral oration to himself, and they made me so miserable thatI put on my clothes and fled to daddy, who was out smoking his cigar onthe front porch in the crisp morning air.
"And Sam can't possibly get ready for him to come down in less than twoweeks. He has to build the house in between the plowing and milking andother things. Peter may die. What shall we do?" I wound up with a wail.
"Sam paid off the note on two of the cows and cash for the mule lastMonday," answered daddy. "Not a farmer in the Harpeth Valley has donebetter in less than two years, and I would leave Peter to him. I guesshe can fodder up the play, too. Have the poet down to visit mother whilehe waits."
"He can't come for a week; he's going to be decorated at the Academy.He's the youngest that ever has been; but I'll write and ask him," Ianswered, in a jumble, but very much comforted.
Peter accepted my invitation and announced his arrival as ten dayslater. Then real work began among Sam's friends and mine in Hayesboro.
I put the case to them plainly and movingly. Here was a young anddistinguished genius coming to settle down in Hayesboro to rescue hisplay, and it was the duty of everybody to help him in every way. Thefirst thing he had to have was shelter, and we ought to all help Sam asmuch as we could to provide it for him. He was willing to stay with usfor a few days, on mother's invitation, which I had to hide ninecrochet-needles to make her write him, but he wrote that his "spiritpanted for the wilderness," and if he felt that way about it he ought tobe settled in the cabin as soon as possible.
"Why, of course," said Julia, with large and responsive enthusiasm, "wemust just all turn in and help Sam. I never helped build a house, but ifyou can, Betty, so can I."
"I can make curtains and things and cushions for chairs," said Edith,with no less enthusiasm than Julia's. "I have a lovely bureau-scarf allfinished and--"
"Chairs--bureau!" I fairly gasped. "Neither Sam nor I had thought offurniture. Sam paid a big note in the bank for the cows and mule, andhow can he buy more stock like chairs and bureaus and beds?"
"Why, hasn't Sam got furniture? The Crittenden house had the loveliestin Hayesboro," asked Edith, plaintively.
"He's sold it; Sam is poor," I answered, proudly. "He hasn't gotanything but Mammy and Byrd and the other stock, and places for all tosleep and eat and keep warm. Now what are we going to do?"
"He wouldn't let us buy him anything, would he?" asked Sue,thoughtfully.
"I know Sam better than that," said Edith.
"I'll tell you," I exclaimed, suddenly and radiantly. "Of course, wecan't give Sam anything, but I believe--I believe that if I asked himvery kindly he would let us make a kind of museum of affection ofPeter's room and take all the lovely things we can borrow from people toput in the shack to help inspire him. Mother will let me start withGrandmother Nelson's desk, though it is dearer than life to me; and Iknow she'll crochet him a lamp-mat before he gets here--maybe several,if she likes the pattern she starts on."
"Do you remember that mahogany table in my room?" exclaimed Julia,several minutes lost in deep reflection. "It is real Chippendale, AuntAmanda says, and I'll send that out. Oh, to think of a poet laying hispen down on it! Or does he use a pencil?"
And it is true that from very small beginnings great trees grow. Inthis case it was Peter's roof-tree, or rather what was under it. I neversaw anything like Hayesboro when it takes generosity in its teeth andruns away, as at the time when Mr. Stanton, the Methodist minister, hadthirty-five pounds of sausage sent him from different hog-killings justbecause in prayer-meeting, when he publicly thanked the Lord for hisseventh child, he mentioned that it was welcome, though one more mouthto feed. Of course, the baby didn't need the sausage any more than Peterreally needed all the things everybody wanted to send out to make thecabin comfortable for him. Fortunately, Sam kept his head, as theminister did when he sold the sausage and bought groceries for the wholefamily; he selected only five pieces out of the list of sixty that wegave him, and it took me a day and a half to go around and keep peoplefrom getting hurt because he didn't call in his wagon for the thingsthey had got out and rubbed and dusted. And before the sun set on thesecond day of my explanations I had talked Peter into the very heart ofHayesboro, which was all down to the station to meet him and welcomehim. The mayor wanted to have the brass band, but I persuaded him not todo that, but to make Peter a little speech. Miss Henrietta Spain askedto have her school children march down to throw jonquils in his path,and I had to give in to that. Besides, I thought Peter would like it; sodid Sam.
But that came later, after six of the longest days any of us ever livedthrough. We spent them at The Briers, and every soft friend I had is nowa hardened specimen. Everybody went out to see Sam and advise him abouthow to care for a distinguished guest that they all felt that Hayesboroowned and was j
ust lending to Sam for the time being, and they allremained to farm. Most of them had never been to see him before, andthey were so delighted that they lost their heads and hearts to thefarm. The Briers is like a great, big, beautiful dog that lies therebegging you to come and plow it and scratch it and hoe it and rake it,while it licks out green curly vegetable tongues for more. At first Samseemed slightly overwhelmed by all the offers of help that came with mein Redwheels, dressed in business-like corduroys that had been made likemine, in a hurry, and with hoes and seed-baskets, or that Pink or Tollydrove out in their cars; but he finally entered