by Zane Grey
“Sure!” said Bud, with that assurance born of his life acquaintance with his mother, who had never failed him in a trying situation so far as things to eat were concerned.
Margaret looked happily from one of her invited guests to the other, and Gardley forgot to answer for himself in watching the brightness of her face, and wondering why it was so different from the faces of all other girls he knew anywhere.
But Mom Wallis was overwhelmed. A wave of red rolled dully up from her withered neck in its gala collar over her leathery face to the roots of her thin, gray hair.
“Me! Stay to dinner! Oh, I couldn’t do that nohow! Not in these here clo’es. ’Course I got that pretty collar you give me, but I couldn’t never go out to dinner in this old dress an’ these shoes. I know what folks ought to look like an’ I ain’t goin’ to shame you.”
“Shame me? Nonsense! Your dress is all right, and who is going to see your shoes? Besides, I’ve just set my heart on it. I want to take you up to my room and show you the pictures of my father and mother and home and the church where I was christened, and everything.”
Mom Wallis looked at her with wistful eyes, but still shook her head. “Oh, I’d like to mighty well. It’s good of you to ast me. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. ’Sides, I gotta go home an’ git the men’s grub ready.”
“Oh, can’t she stay this time, Mr. Gardley?” appealed Margaret. “The men won’t mind for once, will they?”
Gardley looked into her true eyes and saw she really meant the invitation. He turned to the withered old woman by his side. “Mom, we’re going to stay,” he declared, joyously. “She wants us, and we have to do whatever she says. The men will rub along. They all know how to cook. Mom, we’re going to stay.”
“That’s beautiful!” declared Margaret. “It’s so nice to have some company of my own.” Then her face suddenly sobered. “Mr. Wallis won’t mind, will he?” And she looked with troubled eyes from one of her guests to the other. She did not want to prepare trouble for poor Mom Wallis when she went back.
Mom Wallis turned startled eyes toward her. There was contempt in her face and outraged womanhood. “Pop’s gone off,” she said, significantly. “He went yist’day. But he ain’t got no call t’ mind. I ben waitin’ on Pop nigh on to twenty year, an’ I guess I’m goin’ to a dinner-party, now ’t I’m invited. Pop’d better not mind, I guess!”
And Margaret suddenly saw how much, how very much, her invitation had been to the starved old soul. Margaret took her guests into the stiff little parlor and slipped out to interview her landlady. She found Mrs. Tanner, as she had expected, a large-minded woman who was quite pleased to have more guests to sit down to her generous dinner, particularly as her delightful boarder had hinted of ample recompense in the way of board money; and she fluttered about, sending Tanner after another jar of pickles, some more apple-butter, and added another pie to the menu.
Well pleased, Margaret left Mrs. Tanner and slipped back to her guests. She found Gardley making arrangements with Bud to run back to the church and tell the men to leave the buckboard for them, as they would not be home for dinner. While this was going on she took Mom Wallis up to her room to remove her bonnet and smooth her hair.
It is doubtful whether Mom Wallis ever did see such a room in her life; for when Margaret swung open the door the poor little woman stopped short on the threshold, abashed, and caught her breath, looking around with wondering eyes and putting out a trembling hand to steady herself against the door-frame. She wasn’t quite sure whether things in that room were real, or whether she might not by chance have caught a glimpse into heaven, so beautiful did it seem to her. It was not till her eyes, in the roving, suddenly rested on the great mountain framed in the open window that she felt anchored and sure that this was a tangible place. Then she ventured to step her heavy shoe inside the door. Even then she drew her ugly calico back apologetically, as if it were a desecration to the lovely room.
But Margaret seized her and drew her into the room, placing her gently in the rose-ruffled rocking-chair as if it were a throne and she a queen, and the poor little woman sat entranced, with tears springing to her eyes and trickling down her cheeks.
Perhaps it was an impossibility for Margaret to conceive what the vision of that room meant to Mom Wallis. The realization of all the dreams of a starved soul concentrated into a small space; the actual, tangible proof that there might be a heaven some day—who knew?—since beauties and comforts like these could be real in Arizona.
Margaret brought the pictures of her father and mother, of her dear home and the dear old church. She took her about the room and showed her the various pictures and reminders of her college days, and when she saw that the poor creature was overwhelmed and speechless she turned her about and showed her the great mountain again, like an anchorage for her soul.
Mom Wallis looked at everything speechlessly, gasping as her attention was turned from one object to another, as if she were unable to rise beyond her excitement; but when she saw the mountain again her tongue was loosed, and she turned and looked back at the girl wonderingly.
“Now, ain’t it strange! Even that old mounting looks diffrunt—it do look diffrunt from a room like this. Why, it looks like it got its hair combed an’ its best collar on!” And Mom Wallis looked down with pride and patted the simple net ruffle about her withered throat. “Why, it looks like a picter painted an’ hung up on this yere wall, that’s what that mounting looks like! It kinda ain’t no mounting any more; it’s jest a picter in your room!”
Margaret smiled. “It is a picture, isn’t it? Just look at that silver light over the purple place. Isn’t it wonderful? I like to think it’s mine—my mountain. And yet the beautiful thing about it is that it’s just as much yours, too. It will make a picture of itself framed in your bunk-house window if you let it. Try it. You just need to let it.”
Mom Wallis looked at her wonderingly. “Do you mean,” she said, studying the girl’s lovely face, “that ef I should wash them there bunk-house winders, an’ string up some posy caliker, an’ stuff a chair, an’ have a pin-cushion, I could make that there mounting come in an’ set fer me like a picter the way it does here fer you?”
“Yes, that’s what I mean,” said Margaret, softly, marveling how the uncouth woman had caught the thought. “That’s exactly what I mean. God’s gifts will be as much to us as we will let them, always. Try it and see.”
Mom Wallis stood for some minutes looking out reflectively at the mountain. “Wal, mebbe I’ll try it!” she said, and turned back to survey the room again.
And now the mirror caught her eye, and she saw herself, a strange self in a soft white collar, and went up to get a nearer view, laying a toil-worn finger on the lace and looking half embarrassed at sight of her own face.
“It’s a real purty collar,” she said, softly, with a choke in her voice. “It’s too purty fer me. I told him so, but he said as how you wanted I should dress up every night fer supper in it. It’s ’most as strange as havin’ a mounting come an’ live with you, to wear a collar like that—me!”
Margaret’s eyes were suddenly bright with tears. Who would have suspected Mom Wallis of having poetry in her nature? Then, as if her thoughts anticipated the question in Margaret’s mind, Mom Wallis went on:
“He brang me your little book,” she said. “I ain’t goin’ to say thank yeh, it ain’t a big-’nuf word. An’ he read me the poetry words it says. I got it wropped in a hankercher on the top o’ the beam over my bed. I’m goin’ to have it buried with me when I die. Oh, I read it. I couldn’t make much out of it, but I read the words thorough. An’ then he read ’em—the Kid did. He reads just beautiful. He’s got education, he has. He read it, and he talked a lot about it. Was this what you mean? Was it that we ain’t really growin’ old at all, we’re jest goin’ on, gettin’ there, if we go right? Did you mean you think H
im as planned it all wanted some old woman right thar in the bunk-house, an’ it’s me? Did you mean there was agoin’ to be a chanct fer me to be young an’ beautiful somewheres in creation yit, ’fore I git through?”
The old woman had turned around from looking into the mirror and was facing her hostess. Her eyes were very bright; her cheeks had taken on an excited flush, and her knotted hands were clutching the bureau. She looked into Margaret’s eyes earnestly, as though her very life depended upon the answer; and Margaret, with a great leap of her heart, smiled and answered:
“Yes, Mrs. Wallis, yes, that is just what I meant. Listen, these are God’s own words about it: ‘For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that shall be revealed in us.’”
A kind of glory shone in the withered old face now. “Did you say them was God’s words?” she asked in an awed voice.
“Yes,” said Margaret; “they are in the Bible.”
“But you couldn’t be sure it meant me?” she asked, eagerly. “They wouldn’t go to put me in the Bible, o’ course.”
“Oh yes, you could be quite sure, Mrs. Wallis,” said Margaret, gently. “Because if God was making you and had a plan for you, as the poem says, He would be sure to put down something in His book about it, don’t you think? He would want you to know.”
“It does sound reasonable-like now, don’t it?” said the woman, wistfully. “Say them glory words again, won’t you?”
Margaret repeated the text slowly and distinctly.
“Glory!” repeated Mom Wallis, wonderingly. “Glory! Me!” and turned incredulously toward the glass. She looked a long tune wistfully at herself, as if she could not believe it, and pulled reproachfully at the tight hair drawn away from her weather-beaten face. “I useta have purty hair onct,” she said, sadly.
“Why, you have pretty hair now!” said Margaret, eagerly. “It just wants a chance to show its beauty, Here, let me fix it for dinner, will you?”
She whisked the bewildered old woman into a chair and began unwinding the hard, tight knot of hair at the back of her head and shaking it out. The hair was thin and gray now, but it showed signs of having been fine and thick once.
“It’s easy to keep your hair looking pretty,” said the girl, as she worked. “I’m going to give you a little box of my nice sweet-smelling soap-powder that I use to shampoo my hair. You take it home and wash your hair with it every two or three weeks and you’ll see it will make a difference in a little while. You just haven’t taken time to take care of it, that’s all. Do you mind if I wave the front here a little? I’d like to fix your hair the way my mother wears hers.”
Now nothing could have been further apart than this little weather-beaten old woman and Margaret’s gentle, dove-like mother, with her abundant soft gray hair, her cameo features, and her pretty, gray dresses; but Margaret had a vision of what glory might bring to Mom Wallis, and she wanted to help it along. She believed that heavenly glory can be hastened a good deal on earth if one only tries, and so she set to work. Glancing out the window, she saw with relief that Gardley was talking interestedly with Mr. Tanner and seemed entirely content with their absence.
Mom Wallis hadn’t any idea what “waving” her hair meant, but she readily consented to anything this wonderful girl proposed, and she sat entranced, looking at her mountain and thrilling with every touch of Margaret’s satin fingers against her leathery old temples. And so, Sunday though it was, Margaret lighted her little alcohol-lamp and heated a tiny curling-iron which she kept for emergencies. In a few minutes’ time Mom Wallis’s astonished old gray locks lay soft and fluffy about her face, and pinned in a smooth coil behind, instead of the tight knot, making the most wonderful difference in the world in her old, tired face.
“Now look!” said Margaret, and turned her about to the mirror. “If there’s anything at all you don’t like about it I can change it, you know. You don’t have to wear it so if you don’t like it.”
The old woman looked, and then looked back at Margaret with frightened eyes, and back to the vision in the mirror again.
“My soul!” she exclaimed in an awed voice. “My soul! It’s come a’ready! Glory! I didn’t think I could look like that! I wonder what Pop’d say! My land! Would you mind ef I kep’ it on a while an’ wore it back to camp this way? Pop might uv come home an’ I’d like to see ef he’d take notice to it. I used to be purty onct, but I never expected no sech thing like this again on earth. Glory! Glory! Mebbe I could get some glory, too.”
“‘The glory that shall be revealed’ is a great deal more wonderful than this,” said Margaret, gently. “This was here all the time, only you didn’t let it come out. Wear it home that way, of course, and wear it so all the time. It’s very little trouble, and you’ll find your family will like it. Men always like to see a woman looking her best, even when she’s working. It helps to make them good. Before you go home I’ll show you how to fix it. It’s quite simple. Come, now, shall we go down-stairs? We don’t want to leave Mr. Gardley alone too long, and, besides, I smell the dinner. I think they’ll be waiting for us pretty soon. I’m going to take a few of these pictures down to show Mr. Gardley.”
She hastily gathered a few photographs together and led the bewildered little woman down-stairs again, and out in the yard, where Gardley was walking up and down now, looking off at the mountain. It came to Margaret, suddenly, that the minister would be returning to the house soon, and she wished he wouldn’t come. He would be a false note in the pleasant harmony of the little company. He would be disagreeable to manage, and perhaps hurt poor Mom Wallis’s feelings. Perhaps he had already come. She looked furtively around as she came out the door, but no minister was in sight, and then she forgot him utterly in the look of bewildered astonishment with which Gardley was regarding Mom Wallis.
He had stopped short in his walk across the little yard, and was staring at Mom Wallis, recognition gradually growing in his gaze. When he was fully convinced he turned his eyes to Margaret, as if to ask: “How did you do it? Wonderful woman!” and a look of deep reverence for her came over his face.
Then suddenly he noticed the shy embarrassment on the old woman’s face, and swiftly came toward her, his hands outstretched, and, taking her bony hands in his, bowed low over them as a courtier might do.
“Mom Wallis, you are beautiful. Did you know it?” he said, gently, and led her to a little stumpy rocking-chair with a gay red-and-blue rag cushion that Mrs. Tanner always kept sitting by the front door in pleasant weather. Then he stood off and surveyed her, while the red stole into her cheeks becomingly. “What has Miss Earle been doing to glorify you?” he asked, again looking at her earnestly.
The old woman looked at him in awed silence. There was that word again—glory! He had said the girl had glorified her. There was then some glory in her, and it had been brought out by so simple a thing as the arrangement of her hair. It frightened her, and tears came and stood in her tired old eyes.
It was well for Mom Wallis’s equilibrium that Mr. Tanner came out just then with the paper he had gone after, for the stolidity of her lifetime was about breaking up. But, as he turned, Gardley gave her one of the rarest smiles of sympathy and understanding that a young man can give to an old woman; and Margaret, watching, loved him for it. It seemed to her one of the most beautiful things a young man had ever done.
They had discussed the article in the paper thoroughly, and had looked at the photographs that Margaret had brought down; and Mrs. Tanner had come to the door numberless times, looking out in a troubled way down the road, only to trot back again, look in the oven, peep in the kettle, sigh, and trot out to the door again. At last she came and stood, arms akimbo, and looked down the road once more.
“Pa, I don’t just see how I can keep the dinner waitin’ a minute longer, The potatoes ’ll be sp’iled. I don‘t see what’s
keepin’ that preacher-man. He musta been invited out, though I don’t see why he didn’t send me word.”
“That’s it, likely, Ma,” said Tanner. He was growing hungry. “I saw Mis’ Bacon talkin’ to him. She’s likely invited him there. She’s always tryin’ to get ahead o’ you, Ma, you know, ’cause you got the prize fer your marble cake.”
Mrs. Tanner blushed and looked down apologetically at her guests. “Well, then, ef you’ll just come in and set down, I’ll dish up. My land! Ain’t that Bud comin’ down the road, Pa? He’s likely sent word by Bud. I’ll hurry in an’ dish up.”
Bud slid into his seat hurriedly after a brief ablution in the kitchen, and his mother questioned him sharply.
“Bud, wher you be’n? Did the minister get invited out?”
The boy grinned and slowly winked one eye at Gardley. “Yes, he’s invited out, all right,” he said, meaningly. “You don’t need to wait fer him. He won’t be home fer some time, I don’t reckon.”
Gardley looked keenly, steadily, at the boy’s dancing eyes, and resolved to have a fuller understanding later, and his own eyes met the boy’s in a gleam of mischief and sympathy.
It was the first time in twenty years that Mom Wallis had eaten anything which she had not prepared herself, and now, with fried chicken and company preserves before her, she could scarcely swallow a mouthful. To be seated beside Gardley and waited on like a queen! To be smiled at by the beautiful young girl across the table, and deferred to by Mr. and Mrs. Tanner as “Mrs. Wallis,” and asked to have more pickles and another helping of jelly, and did she take cream and sugar in her coffee! It was too much, and Mom Wallis was struggling with the tears. Even Bud’s round, blue eyes regarded her with approval and interest. She couldn’t help thinking, if her own baby boy had lived, would he ever have been like Bud? And once she smiled at him, and Bud smiled back, a real boy-like, frank, hearty grin. It was all like taking dinner in the Kingdom of Heaven to Mom Wallis, and getting glory aforetime.