“But to his surprise the citizens listened. In fact, even the king took the warning seriously and issued an official edict, decreeing a time of national fasting and prayer. And in the face of this repentance, God decided to call off the punishment.
“Now ordinarily we would expect the messenger to be delighted that his words had resulted in the community’s revival. Not a bit of it! Instead he lashed out at God, ‘You told me to warn these people what would happen to them, and now nothing’s going to happen at all! So where does that leave me—looking like a liar and a fool!’
“Whereupon, angrily, he stomped off to the outskirts of the city where he sulked under a gourd vine and pleaded with God to let him die.”
Her gray eyes looked unblinkingly at David. “Thee is not unlike that old prophet, Jonah.”
David gazed back at her, stark misery on his face. “I sure agree with you on one point: I look like a fool. Everybody lately seems to come off better than I do. Even Bird’s-Eye Taylor.” The voice was tinged with bitterness. “I can’t do anything right. I even snarled things up between Christy and me the other night.”
I couldn’t bear it. “Oh David, no! Stop it—that isn’t true.”
He ignored my protest. “There’s something else I want to tell you both. I’ve made a decision. As soon as the epidemic is under control, I’m resigning here. I’m going to head back north, make my report to the seminary, and then clear out of there too. There’s only one good thing about this experience in the mountains. At least it’s showed me what I needed to know: wherever else I belong, it’s not in the ministry.”
I felt sick for him. “David, you’re beside yourself tonight. All this will pass. David, please—”
“Nothing stings like hurt pride, David,” Miss Alice said calmly. “Take a look at why thee hurts. The man who challenged thee before everyone has listened and turned—”
“That’s right, heap it on. I’ve read Jonah too. Right now I feel like that worm chomping down Jonah’s gourd vine.”
Miss Alice laughed. “You’re no worm, David, and you still have a sense of humor. As for not belonging in the ministry, the Friends say something that speaks to that point: every one of us belongs in some kind of ministry. ‘Ministry’ isn’t just a profession of the church, David. Give thyself a largesse of credit. Thee has been ministering in a hundred ways, day after day, before the epidemic and through it.”
“Sure, I’ve been busy. I suppose you could say a lot of it has been God’s work. But there’s such a thing as doing His work and yet not feeling a part of His work. You know God in a way that I don’t, Miss Alice. You have an inner sureness that I envy.”
“Could it be, David, that deep down thee has never really wanted it—or Him?”
“Yes—you could be right. I think I’ve been running away from a lot of things in my life.”
“Not things. A Person and persons. And now you feel like running again?”
David did not answer immediately. His face was flushed and he was sliding his finger up and down that bent part of his nose. “I don’t want to stay where I’m doing more harm than good.”
“Your work here is much on the plus side, David. But that’s beside the point. All your life you’ve had people at home telling you what to do. You’ve resisted and resented that—often quite rightly—because it was a threat to your manhood. I’ve heard you lay at your mother’s door your decision to enter the ministry. But perhaps there was another reason. I wonder, David, if thee didn’t see in the ministry the chance to tell others what to do—for a change. But it doesn’t quite work out that way, does it?”
Her voice had become so low and gentle that it was like listening to the patter of soft rain. “Could it be, David,” she went on, “that your deepest fear is calling anyone Master and Lord?”
David looked at her, obviously struggling with the questions she had flung at him, but he did not reply.
Then as often happened when I was with Miss Alice, a new idea fell into my mind. By now I could recognize these special thoughts by a certain luminous quality—like those thunderheads during a storm piling up over the mountains, outlined in light: Is Miss Alice really saying that David can’t love me—or anyone—until he has given himself and his love away to God?
Miss Alice rose, smoothed her skirts, and stood looking down at David a moment longer. “Whether or not thee belongs in the church professionally isn’t for me to know. If not, thee will find another avenue of service, equally fine. But David,” here her voice grew warm with feeling, “there’s just the chance that this wormlike moment of facing thyself, this knowledge and admission of thy own need, is the needle’s eye to a new life for thee. It could be the sign that thee does belong.”
David glanced up and there was pain in his eyes. I was agonizing for him. “You’ve both made me look at myself and see things I haven’t wanted to see.” Slowly, he unbent his long frame and stood up. “I have some tough thinking to do. I’d better get on with it.”
I got to my feet too, only to find the room whirling around me. I reached out for the table to steady myself. Dizzy! So dizzy! I swayed. The table was tipping. The oil lamp is on that table. I must—How can I—?
As I pitched forward, there was the crash of shattering glass and—as from a great distance—David’s voice.
The blankets were heavy, so heavy—They were crushing me. I had to get them off me, had to escape. Why were they keeping me here, pinned down with all this weight? If only someone would come to help me.
My tongue felt dry and swollen, too large for my mouth. Water would taste good. Pick a sprig of the mint first. There it is, growing moist beside the cool, dripping water. Chew the mint. Ah, where is the water? Sweet water! I should get some for myself.
But first I must open my eyes. I was in my room, but it looked different. Bare. Denuded. Some pieces of furniture had been moved out. There were not even any curtains at the windows. A lot of bottles were on the table. There was a smell like creosol.
It was Miss Alice bending over me. I liked the feel of her cool hands on my forehead. I looked up into her face. “Am I sick?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up to give you a drink. You’ve a little fever, that’s all. You’re going to be fine, Christy. You just got too tired.”
My eyelids were so weighted that they shut themselves. Dutifully, I opened my mouth when I felt the spoon touch my lips. The cool liquid trickled across my tongue and down my throat. But my throat was sore like my tongue—something was wrong, I was sick. I must find out what had happened. I could not think.
Day melted into night. . . . Night into day. . . . People came and went. Why would they not leave me alone? I wanted solitude so that I could feel the strength of the mountains enfold me. I would lie here for a long time and let the bed support me, and never move for a long time.
So many people. They kept opening my mouth and pouring drinks down my throat. Someone was always fussing with my covers, washing my body. Why did they wash me so much? They should know that it did not matter. Nothing mattered, nothing at all. Peace, just to be left in peace, that was what I wanted.
Dr. MacNeill’s face was over me. He must be talking to me, but I was not sure what he was saying. I would ask him to repeat that. No, I could not; it was too hard.
His hands were on my body. He had gentle hands. Now he was pressing my side. That hurt. Why was he poking my stomach?
Light . . . darkness. Hours . . . days. Time? What was time? Springtime . . . autumn. Months . . . eons. I could not tell. Nothing mattered. Starlight . . . moonrise . . . dawning . . . melded into one. All the same.
The voices of those men were angry. I recognized one voice. It was Bird’s-Eye Taylor shouting at—oh, no! At David!
“Preacher, I’m a-warnin’ ye. Keep yer religion inside the church-house, lessun you want to see yer great-great-greats real soon.”
I could see him because the wall of my room was glass. He was raising his shotgun to his shoulder. I called fr
antically to David, but he could not hear me through the glass. I must warn him!
Out through the upstairs hall I sped, down the stairs, almost to the front door now. But my feet were so leaden. Jerk the door open. Across the porch. David had a gun in his hands too. And those awful black ravens were swooping round and round his head. “David, watch out! The birds! Duck, David—fight them off.”
But he was staring at Bird’s-Eye, paying no attention to the ravens. His gun was cocked. They’re going to shoot it out! Maybe if I stand between them . . .
“David, how can you? That’s not the way, David. Put the gun down!”
I put my fingers in my ears to shut out the sound of the explosion. A wreath of gunsmoke hung in the air. There was the groan of a wounded man. Which one? I could not bear to look. I had to look. It was Bird’s-Eye, staring up at me—but not seeing. He was dead. David had killed Bird’s-Eye.
What do we do now? I was in David’s arms, sobbing on his shoulder. He was crushing me in his arms. “Why did you do that? David, you shouldn’t have done that. You killed a man—”
Miss Alice kept telling me that it was not so, that of course David had not killed anyone. But she did not know; she did not understand. Miss Alice was so good and kind. She could help us. If only I could get her to believe me, that it had really happened.
“Miss Alice, please don’t leave. Stay with me. Why do I ache so? Am I on fire? I never felt so hot before. Miss Alice, what will you do with my dresses . . . ?”
Days and nights . . . No difference. That deep, booming voice. That could only be David. He sounded teasing. “I hear you’re worried about me. On my honor, Christy, I haven’t been shooting it out with anyone. Bird’s-Eye’s very much alive. He and I are friends. Opal and I have him firmly in tow.”
I heard his words, piled-up words. Perhaps later on I would understand what the words meant . . . “Want you to know something else too. I’m not going to quit. I’ve gotten a letter from my seminary—they’ve asked me to come for a talk. May be a new opportunity. I sure was tempted to go. Then I remembered Jonah. I just can’t run like Jonah. Now I know—I have to stand my ground and find myself right here. Not sure what I’m supposed to do in the future, but I will know. Christy! Understand me, Christy? You do understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”
His voice had that old jocular ring. That was good, that David was himself again. He sounded happy. I was glad that David was happy. The deep voice retreated.
But there was something strange about it all. I was letting something go. What was it that I was letting go? Perhaps I had not understood all of it. Whatever it was, it was all right. David was happy. Wearily, I turned over.
Miss Alice was back. I wanted to talk to her. It was always fun to talk with Miss Alice . . . “Remember that mountain that Fairlight and I climbed? The high one? I want to lie there in the fairy meadow. I want to lie on the very summit. I want to be a perch for the red-tailed hawk, his wide wings soaring on an updraft across the valley, sailing into the vault of the sky. I’d like to be free to soar like the hawk . . .”
Bend with the wind. Don’t let the wind suck your breath away. The gusts were stronger and wilder. They were going to blow Mr. Pentland and me right off that cliff. I tried to feel my face with my mittened hands, but there was no feeling in my fingers. My eyelashes were rimed with powdery snow. Mr. Pentland seemed to know where he was going. He was a nice man, a friendly man. I was safe with him . . .
Sights and sounds . . . I could hear the sound of an axe ringing out in the crystal air; the tattoo of hoofbeats on the frozen road. Footsteps running. Why it was Little Burl! “Teacher, Teacher, I come to swap howdys with you.”
I took him in my arms and hugged him. “You’re cold, Little Burl.” I was dancing up and down the hillside to warm him up. We were both laughing hilariously as we danced.
“Teacher, tell me the story of the Little Yellow Dragon. Never did hear the finish of hit.”
Silly little boy! Dear little boy! I plopped him on the ground and stooped to his level and gently pushed that shock of red hair out of his eyes. I touched his freckly pug nose with my fingertip. “I have a secret, Little Burl! Can you guess? . . . I love you!”
My body felt light, almost weightless, as when I was a child and could run and skip and jump with abandon, skimming over the earth, covering great distances through meadows and fields unaware of time or of anything except glorious freedom. There was joy in me, flowing through me, dancing in me, aching for expression, demanding release. Why—the thought came fleetingly—had I been so serious so much of the time? What had so many people been so bothered about? But then the joy rushed in to overflow the question.
Light was drawing me irresistibly, dazzling light, refulgent light of a quality I had had but hints of before. The light was up ahead, still in the distance. But even here it bathed the glen through which I was running in shimmering splendor. The grass was dotted with flowers—I spotted buttercups and the orchid of fairy fringe and the vermilion of fire pinks, and mountain bluets like patches of sky fallen into the grass—all of such intense coloration that they were not like flowers at all: they were explosions of color. I did not understand and longed to pause to examine the flowers more closely. But I could not stop for that now. The light . . . I must get to the light!
Then I came to some sort of barrier. Not a wall because I could see through it. Not glass because when I put out my hand I felt—nothing. But I was stopped there nonetheless. Some sort of decision seemed to be required of me. I could go on—or I could stay on this side of the barrier: the alternative was mine. I had been stopped in my joyous dash to make certain that I would pause to consider my choice.
Over there was the light . . . green wood, green wood, flower-starred grass. The air was crystal. It was as if some sun of suns was glinting off numberless prisms, shattering the light rays, deflecting them, reflecting them so dazzlingly that I had to put my hand up to shield my eyes. Once before I had seen something like this. Oh yes, now I remembered: that ice world reflecting back the colors of the setting sun at which I had gazed from the train windows. Only this sun was not sinking like that other one, it was at its zenith.
Bathed in its luster, the leaves on the trees, the blossoms on the boughs, the blades of grass did not seem to be lighted from the outside. Rather the light appeared to come from the inside of each object, from its heart, from its very nature, so that each leaf, each petal stood apart from all others, living dynamic forces somehow poised in motion, energy in balance.
Something had been stripped from my eyes. I was seeing in a manner I had never seen before. Unbelievingly, my eyes fastened on the colors, the vivid pulsating colors, the riotous intensified colors, drinking them in, feasting on them. All of my life I had cherished color and light, but never had there been such colors or such light, never in all the world. In all the world . . . I remembered something I had known long ago: For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face . . .
Now into the scene trouped a group of children and they were playing with the same abandon that I had felt as I was skimming over the fields and the glens to get here. They were beautiful children, but not with the ethereal beauty of fairies or angels because there were chubby little bodies and skinny ones, pigtails and dimples, freckles and snaggleteeth. One rangy-legged boy was whistling. A fat-cheeked little girl, blonde and dimpled, laughter burbling from her, poked the whistler and then dodged and ran. An older girl with nut brown skin was carrying a baby. One tiny boy stood on tiptoe trying to catch sunbeams in his fists. “Jeter cotch it, Jeter cotch it,” he exulted over and over.
I did not recognize any of the children—and yet I did. “Jeter.” Where had I heard that name? The scene floated back . . . The Spencers’ front porch, Fairlight’s voice, “Jeb and I . . . lost a newborned gal-baby. Front name was Ceclie. Then Jeter. He was three when he was took bad with the croup and left us.”
Just children. Still there was something different . . . I cou
ld feel the love that surrounded them, and out of the love flowed harmony. No discordant note. No dissonance. So the joy of the dimples and the pigtails galloped and cavorted. They were like spirited colts out for a frolic.
And there among the children, right there, was the happiness that all men seek and so few find. The joy of the children . . . I want the joy of those children. Yes, I will go on. Yes, I want to go. I must . . .
At that instant I saw her walking along the bank of the stream that flowed under the trees and through the meadow. It could not be! But it was. Fairlight! It was Fairlight. . . . She was barefoot, wearing a gingham dress I knew well—a blue plaid one with a wide white collar—only the gingham had a new texture and the white was as glistening as new-fallen snow. On her arm she was carrying one of those homemade honeysuckle baskets, swinging along with that erect carriage of hers, with the easy grace of a highland princess. Why, she looked happy. Every worry line was gone; no hint of any shadow across her face now. The texture of her skin, like the gingham cloth, was different too—smooth as silk, glowing with vitality. I could not take my eyes off the beauty of her features—so serene, so confident.
She had not seen me. I wanted her to see me. Fairlight . . . Beloved Fairlight! I started to call out to her—but something held me back.
Now she was running lightly toward the children in the meadow, toward the brown-skinned girl. The baby held out her arms to Fairlight. She took the baby and cuddled her. And then with the baby still in her arms, she sought out Jeter and took him by the hand. The three of them went back to the stream where she put the baby down on the thick carpet of moss.
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