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Sometime in the night some sound awakened him. He lay and listened but half concernedly, filled as he was with the thoughts of Delph that came sharp in his mind. He heard it again, Caesar's eager whine by the backyard gate as if he would follow something. Marsh lay a time, and when the dog continued to whine he got up, drew on his shoes, and went to see if there were prowlers about, though Caesar knew enough to bark at prowlers or would-be chicken thieves instead of stand and whine.
It was an eerie time of night, he thought, near moonset time with the valley black as pitch, but the top of the hill on Dorie's side of the river shining like silver. He went down the back porch steps, walking slowly so as not to stumble in the dark. Caesar came sniffing at his feet and his hands, then circled away toward the gate, whining to follow something through the cornfields.
The night was warm for October with a warmish wind out of the west and the few stars low and dim like stars in a summer sky. He stood by the back gate and listened with Caesar, but could hear nothing except the dried box elder leaves rustling in the wind, and the soft swish of the little cedar trees on the river hill. Somewhere, far away, maybe as far as the high hills back of Burdine, he heard the thin mournful cry of a hunter's horn calling hound dogs in as the moon went down.
Caesar pricked his ears and whined again, and Marsh reached for his head in the darkness and patted him. "Too bad when a farmer's old dog gets a taste a huntin' fever in th' fall," he said, and groped his way back to the house, but Caesar did not follow, only stood whining by the gate.
In the kitchen he stopped at the foot of the stairs and stood a moment, of half a mind to go to Delph. She slept lightly as Caesar and most likely she had heard his whining and the hunting horn. He called softly, "Delph," but when she did not answer he went back to bed.
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Burr-head awakened him, bright eyed and eager for the trip to Hawthorne Town. Marsh quieted him with a sh-sh-sh-ing for he knew that Delph would never awaken so early; the morning was still more black than blue. But Burr-Head bounced and jiggled on the bed, until Marsh got up and tiptoed shoeless to the kitchen and built a fire.
He dressed Burr-Head, and though it was hardly light enough for walking, he and the child went to the barn to feed the mules and wait until Delph should waken. They stood in the barn hall and listened to the crunching sound of mules feeding, and watched the coming of the red autumn dawn. The light warm wind still blew out of the west and rustled the yellow blades of the late garden corn, and high in the east one star hung large and pale above the river hill.
"I like it now, don't you, Marsh?" Burr-Head whispered, and Marsh nodded, soothed in spite of all the misery in his heart by the feeling of security and achievement and peace that his great well-filled barns gave him in autumn. It was good to smell the clean hay and new corn and think of the winter, know that however hard it might be, he and all that looked to him for keep would be safe and warm and fed.
"I want to see th' sun rise," Burr-Head said, and they climbed in darkness to the haymow and crawled over the high mound of hay to a small eastern window. There, they lay in silence and watched the round red sun roll over Dorie's chimneys. "I guess Delph will be up now," Marsh said, and slipped down the hay, but stopped when he felt something by his foot. He reached and drew the object into the
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red light and saw a book, a pretty thing bound in red leather, filled with curious pictures of people like those out of fairy tales, and in a strange languageGerman he guessed it to be. "That's one a Sam's books," Burr-Head explained.
"Howwhy is it up here?"
"He used to read to us here in th' hayon rainy days when people thought you might diebut I knowed differ'nt. He'd read an' we'd all eat apples, him an' Delph an' me.Sometimes I'd get tired an' go away. Poetry, I think it was. Then he'd just read to Delph." Marsh left the book on the hay. He explored and found another one, and left it also. When Burr-Head said, "We'd better take 'em back to Delph," he only answered slowly, ''We'll leave 'em there."
Burr-Head came reluctantly away. "He thought a sight a that red one, he said. It's old an' come from over th' ocean. He'd read it an' Delph would laugh so."
"If he wants it he'll come."
"Mebbe I can tell him goodbye. I wisht I hadn't gone to sleep last night, when I heared his car.I hope he comes again."
"He willmost likelybut we'll be gone to Hawthorne Town."
"But Caesar won't bite him an' chase him away. He likes Sam."
"Delph, she'll be here."
"OhI thought she was goin' to Town. But she can tell him goodbye for me."
"Yesshe cantell him goodbye."
Burr-Head looked up at the haymow in the direction of the pretty book. "Sam liked Delph. Maybe he left th' books on purpose for her."
"Yesmaybe he did."
Burr-Head looked into his father's face, studied it a moment and seemed to find something he had never seen. He turned away and did not speak of Sam again.
Something in Delph's face made him want to be good. Her eyes were big and she looked tired, and all through breakfast she hardly said a word, just passing food to him and Marsh, asking Marsh if he wouldn't have another hot biscuit or a little more coffee or a bit of plum jelly, and Marsh always shaking his head. When he was getting ready for the trip to Town, he washed his face so carefully and scrubbed his ears so well, that when Delph examined him as she
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always did, she smiled at him out of her big sad eyes and said, ''You're a clean child, Burr-Head."
He wished she would come to stand in the barn hall and watch him and Marsh drive away, but she hardly lifted her head from the dish washing as they went out the door. They climbed in the wagon and Marsh gathered up the reins, but lingered a moment, and looked back toward the house before he drove slowly down the lane. He stopped at the big road gate and said, "You hold th' reins, Burr-Head. Iforgot somethin' back at th' house," then he jumped from the wagon and hurried away with long strides. He found Delph as he had left her, rubbing a plate round and round in the soapy dish water and staring at the wall. She looked up like a startled wild thing when he spoke to her from the door. "II forgot to ask you, Delph, was there anything you wanted from Town?"
She considered a time with her eyes on the dish pan before she finally shook her head. "N-o-o. I don't guess I need a thingbut you ought to buy some shirts for yourself an' Burr-Head."
He studied her face, and after a moment said, "You look peaked, Delph.Why don't you get out while we're gone, go up to Perce's, say."
"I get tired of Lizzie's talk," she answered, "but it would be nice to walk about in this pretty weather. If it wasn't Saturday I'd visit th' school."
He fumbled with the broken arrow in his pocket and would not look at her as he said, "It'll be such a fine daythis weather won't hold much longeryou could hunt hick'ry nuts over by th' creekor pick wild grapes for jelly. Th' vines by Solomon's pasture are fairly purple, an' th' other day Sadie Huffacre was tellin' me she'd like to pick some if I didn't mind.Th'jelly would be nice this winterI'm even beginnin' to like such things."
It hurt the way her sad eyes brightened, proud as always when she could do something to please himbut never proud of him. "I'll pick 'em as soon as I get th' work done."
"Don't work hard at it. You need a rest. Play along an' take your time. Butwaitwait till about noon, say. It'll be warmer then."
"That'll be nice," she said. "I'll not bother with cookin' dinner. Caesar an' me we'll have a picnic up where th' stone house will be."
"Oh, Delph, I wish you'd gone with me," he said, and caught her shoulders and kissed her quickly on the mouth.
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He felt better as he ran back to the wagon. Delph would be all right. Sam might come to tell her goodbye, but most likely he would never find her, picking wild grapes in the pasture. It was better that way; she with her foolish whims and fancies had to be watched sometimes like Burr-Head.
; Once he had topped the hill, he cracked the whip and the wagon wheels spun faster. He drove between the rolling fields of shocked corn and pasture and tobacco land that bordered the road to Hawthorne Town. It was good to look at a field of fine shocked corn, and know that no matter how large and straight and heavy the ears of corn, he could raise as good or better. Once, he had wondered if he could grow corn, fine corn.
It was good to have men wave and call, "Aye, Lord, I never thought after last summer th' day would ever come when you'd be drivin' by." It was good to meet the men in Hawthorne Town; see their gladness on finding him well and able to come to Town, hear their talk of crops and cattle and land, have some ask his advice on this or that, find admiration in most eyes, and spoken recognition of what he had done from not a few. Silas Copenhaver gave him the paid-off mortgage and praised him for being clear of debt, but he knew the moment was not as fine as it might have been. He wanted to get out of the bank and have a drink in some saloon; but he couldn't do that, not with Burr-Head, so he only sat still in his chair and tried to make a little conversation. "I've been lucky, I guess. I'm built like an oxan' money from Delph's timber an' sellin' th' brick house, all that helped a sight."
"Call it luck if you want to," Silas said. "You've had your share a trouble. I'll always recollect th' time I saw you in th' store when that boy there was three or four days old. You looked like a mule driver fresh from a two weeks spree."
Marsh nodded and studied his hat. "Things did look badthen. Delph so low, an' my house an' all my bottom lands under waterbut Delph an' Burr-Head pulled throughan' all my neighbors they were mighty fine."
Silas studied Burr-Head's curly hair. "You have been lucky in a wayyour wife, I mean. My wife was sayin' a while back when folks were beginnin' to think you'd never live that Delph must be one more womanbear up so well under all that sickness an' trouble an' see that your farmin' went on."
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Marsh's eyes brightened. "Did you ever see her vegetables an' canned goods an' cakes at th' Fairan' that flower garden up by th' brick house, she had a bigger hand in th' makin of that than th' Elliots?" He remembered that Delph had never liked to be praised for such thingswork that any dumb-witted hired girl could do as well, she always said.
He left the bank soon after, and outside in the street he thought of Delph, and the day was empty and dull. He stood now on the high hill of his life, but he was all alone. Delph had never felt the burden of debt on their land, had never cared for the goodwill and admiration of the county seat town, and in her eyes he had accomplished nothingless than nothing, he guessed.
Still, some of the lost goodness came back to the world when Burr-Head teased to be taken to Roan's office and see a drop of Prissy's milk under the microscope. Marsh, though no dairyman, was rather proud of the milk production record of his county,and his was among the best. He and Roan had worked much together, had schemed and plotted and planned on ways and means to increase the cream content and decrease the bacterial count of a cow's milk. Marsh had succeeded beyond the others, and he was proud that he could feed and breed and tend cows able to produce such milk.
Today he watched Burr-Head's clumsy, squint-eyed efforts to look into the microscope, and thought how Delph would like to see him now. But they would tell her tonight. He smiled a little with his eyes in thinking of the evening; they would sit by the fire and talk and plan. She would say as she always said when she had failed to come to Town with him, "Pshaw, Marsh, you ought to ha' made me gone. I didn't know you'd all have so much fun," and she would nod and smile into the fire and the shadows of the leaping flames would cut across her eyes and tremble on her hair.
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Delph walked over the rough land above the creek and gathered grapes. She worked slowly, stopping now and then with her hands filled with the frosty purple bunches, while she lifted her head with listening and looked in the direction of the Hawthorne Road. It was a Saturday with many cars going by, and the sound of their passing
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came to her in a faint droning and humming like that of circling bees. Now and then she glanced toward the sun, and when it stood almost overhead she left the creek side and went to gather grapes by Solomon's fence. The split basket was filled now, but she continued to heap more on, and never noticed that many fell to the ground.
Sometimes Caesar trotted up to her, but when she did not pat his head or speak to him, he would lift his brows and study her, then go away to chase rabbits or lie in the sun. Solomon, grazing in the upper corner of the field, came near the fence and looked at her with his angry eyes and pawed and bellowed and lashed his rope-like tail. But when Delph only glanced at him a moment and continued to pick grapes on the other side of the fence, he tired of watching her and stalked away to the lower side of the field.
Though it was near noon, and Caesar showed plainly that it was time to go home, Delph, when Solomon had gone, climbed to the top of his fence where it crossed the highest part of the hill. She settled herself on a post and looked out over the country. Toward the east there were the rows of marching hills, not sharp against the sky today, but filmed with haze and fading into a deeper and deeper tone of blue until earth and air seemed one. She looked overhead at the sky, high, and calm, and blue, holding so many things beyond it; frost and winter and dull dark daysand other things worse than the silence of snow or the drip of winter rain from the eaves. She shivered and pulled her apron over her knees and sat crouching by the post as she had crouched by the fire.
Now and then a red or yellow leaf would come drifting over her head; a squirrel came near and studied her then scampered away over the leaves, and a covey of quail lifted out of Solomon's pasture with a loud whirring, but she noticed none of such things. Sometimes she looked at Fairchild's Place, the bit of roof and the chimneys that could be glimpsed between the leafless trees in the backyard, now and then she twisted about on the post and glanced toward the short strip of Hawthorne Road past the brick house, but most often she was still, studying her drawn up knees.
When the short shadow of the post had started to point east instead of west, a car whirred softly up the Hawthorne Road, through Marsh's pasture gate, and stopped by the orchard fence, Caesar ran wagging his tail and barking, and Delph leaped from the
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post and ran through the grove of walnut trees toward the car. But when she reached the open pasture, she turned abruptly back and ran to wait among the trees.
She watched Sam get out of the car, pat Caesar on the head, look quickly over the field, find her at last, and then come striding up to her. She saw his proud dark head, bare, with his black hair flashing in the sun. She watched his long legs come swinging over the grass with the easy hill man's stride that all his living away had never changed. She watched his face as he walked nearer, tired it was with all the light laughter gone from his eyes. Then he was there and taking her hands, just holding them and saying never a word. "You oughtn't to have stopped," she said, when the choking in her throat would let her speak.
He shook his head over her foolish ways. "You knew, Delph, I couldn't go away until I was certain you wereall right."
"I'm all right," she said.
He tossed back the black forelock that was always tumbling over his eyes. "You know you're lying, Delph. Neither of us can ever be all right againever, not after."
She jerked her hands suddenly free and sprang away and stood with her back to a walnut tree. "Don't remember anything, Sam. We're what we've always been. We've got to be all right. We've got to be." She tried to smile, and failing, straightened her shoulders and lifted her head until the yellow sunshine falling on her face made the shadows of her lashes like dark fringe across her cheeks. "Wewedon't be so miserable, Sam. Recollect once you said, a body could forget anything, anything. Recollect that? You've got your work an' all your life away an' I've got." Her voice she knew was loud and shrill, empty as the look in Sam's eyes.
She made no move to draw away whe
n he came and hemmed her with his hands against the tree, and talked to her in his husky voice that quivered sometimes, and other times was dull and dead like a clock ticking out words. "You know you can't forgetever. That day I talked to you, I didn't know. I'd never triednot this. Just little things, like forgetting all my family here, and forgetting the hills so I could live always away, and forgetting the smell of the wild iris by the river, and forgetting that once I had wanted to do real honest to God research, not this eternal hunting for what I'm paid to find, and
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