The Mountain Girl

by Payne Erskine

  CHAPTER XII

  IN WHICH CASSANDRA HEARS THE VOICES, AND DAVID LEASES A FARM

  That evening David sat long on his rock holding his flute and watchingthe thin golden crescent of the new moon floating through a pale ambersky, and one star near its tip slowly sliding down with it toward thedeepening horizon.

  The glowing sky bending to the purple hilltops--the crescent moon andthe lone shining star--the evening breeze singing in the pines abovehim--the delicate arbutus blossoms hiding near his feet--the call of abird to its mate, and the faint answering call from some distantshade--the call in his own heart that as yet returned to him unanswered,but with its quiet surety of ultimate response--the joy of these momentsperfect in beauty and a more abundant assurance of gladness near athand--filled him and lifted his soul to follow the star.

  Guided by the unseen hand that held the earth, the crescent moon and thestar to their orbits, would he find the great happiness that should benot his alone, but also for the eyes uplifted to the mountain top andthe heart waiting in the shadows for the one to be sent? Ah, surely,surely, for this had he come. He stooped to the arbutus blossoms toinhale their fragrance. He rose and, lifting his flute to his lips,played to solace his own waiting, inventing new caprices and tossingforth the notes daringly--delicately--rapturously--now penetrating andstrong, now faintly following and scarcely heard, uttering a wordlessgladness.

  Under the great holly tree in the shadows Cassandra sat, watching, as hewatched, the crescent moon and the lone star sailing in the pale amberlight, with the deepening purple mountain hiding the dim distance belowthem. Often in the early evening when her mother and Hoyle weresleeping, she would climb up here to pray for Frale that he might trulyrepent, and for herself that she might be strong in her purpose to giveup all her cherished hopes and plans, if thereby she might save him fromhis own wild, reckless self.

  It was here his boy's passion had been revealed to her, and here she hadseen him changed from boy to man, filled with a man's hunger for her,which had led him to crime, and held him unrepentant and glad could hethus hold her his own. She must give up the life she had hoped to leadand take upon her the life of the wife of Cain, to help him expiate hisdeed. For this must she bow her head to the yoke her mother had bornebefore her. In the sadness of her heart she said again and again:"Christ will understand. He was a man of sorrows and acquainted withgrief! He will understand."

  Again came to her, as they had often come of late, dropping down throughthe still air, down through the leafless boughs like joyful hopes yet tobe realized, the flute notes. What were they, those sweet sounds? Sheheld her breath and lifted her face toward the sky. Once, long ago inFrance, the peasant girl had heard the "Voices." Were they heavenlysweet, like these sounds? Did they drop from the sky and fill the airlike these? Oh, why should they seem like hopes to her who had put awayfrom her all hope? Were they bringing hope to her who must rise to toiland lie down in weariness for labor never done; who must hold alwayswith sorrowing heart and clinging hands to the soul of a murderer--holdand cling, if haply she might save--and weep for that which, for her,might never be? Were they bringing hope that she might yet live gladlyas the birds live; that she might go beyond that and live like those whohave no sin imposed on them, to walk with the gods, she knew not how,but to rise to things beyond her ken?

  Down came the notes, sweet, shrill, white notes,--hurrying, drifting,lingering, calling her to follow; down on her heart with healing andcomfort they fell, lightly as dew on flowers, sparkling with life,joy-giving and pure.

  Slowly she began climbing, listening, waiting, one step upward afteranother, following the sound. As if in a trance she moved. Below her thenoise of falling water made a murmuring accompaniment to the musicdropping from above--an earth-made accompaniment to heaven-sent melody,meeting and forming a perfect harmony in her heart as she climbed.Gradually the horror and the sorrow fell away from her even, as the soulshall one day shed its garment of earth, until at last she stood aloneand silent near David, etherealized in the faint light to a spirit-likesemblance of a woman.

  With a glad pounding of his heart he sprang towards her. Scarcelyconscious of the act he held out both his arms, but she did not move.She stood silently regarding him, her hands dropped at her side, thenwith drooping head she turned and began wearily to descend the way shehad come. He followed her and took her hand. She let it lie passively inhis and walked on. He wished he might feel her fingers close warmlyabout his own, but no, they were cold. She seemed wholly withdrawn fromhim, and her face bore the look of one who was walking in her sleep, yethe knew her to be awake.

  "Miss Cassandra, speak to me," he begged, in quiet tones. "Don't walkaway until you tell me why you came."

  She seemed then to become aware that he was holding her by the hand andwithdrew it, and in the faint light he thought she smiled. "It was justfoolishness. You will laugh at me. I heard the music, and I thought itmight be--you made it I reckon, but down there it sounded like it mightbe the 'Voices.' You remember how they came to Joan of Arc, like we werereading last week?" She began to walk on more hurriedly.

  "I will go down with you," he said, "you thought it might be the voices?What did they say to you?"

  "Oh, don't go with me. I never heed the dark."

  "Won't you let me go with you? What did the flute say to you? Can't youtell me?"

  She laughed a little then. "It was only foolishness. I reckon the'Voices' never come these days. I have heard it before, but didn't knowwhere it came from. It just seemed to drop down from heaven like, andthis time it seemed some different, as if it might be the 'Voices'calling. It was pretty, suh, far away and soft--like part--ofeverything. My father's playing sounded sad most times, like sweetcrying, but this was more like sweet laughing. I never heard anything soglad like this was, so I tried to find it. Now I know it is you whomake it I won't disturb you again, suh. Good evening." She hastened awayand was soon lost in the gloom.

  David stood until he heard her footsteps no more, then turned andentered his cabin, his mind and heart full of her. Surely he had calledher, and the sound of his call was to her like "sweet laughing." Herface and her quaint expressions went with him into his dreams.

  When he hurried down to the widow's place next morning, his mind filledwith plans which he meant to carry out and was sure, with the boyishcertainty of his nature he could compass, he heard the voice of littleHoyle shrilly calling to old Pete: "Whoa, mule. Haw there. Haw there,mule. What ye goin' that side fer; come 'round here."

  Below the widow's house, the stream, after its riotous descent from thefall, meandered quietly through the rich bit of meadow and field, herinheritance for over a hundred years, establishing her claim todistinction among her neighbors. Here Martha Caswell had lived with hermother and her two brothers until she married and went with her younghusband over "t'other side Pisgah"; then her mother sent for them toreturn, begging her son-in-law to come and care for the place. Her twosons, reckless and wild, were allowing the land to run to waste, and thebuildings to fall in pieces through neglect.

  The daughter Martha, true to her name, was thrifty and careful, andunder her influence, her gentle dreamer of a husband, who cared more forhis fiddle, his books, and his sermons, gradually redeemed the soil fromweeds and the buildings from dilapidation, until at last, with theproceeds of her weaving and his own hard labor, they saved enough to buyout the brothers' interests.

  By that time the younger son had fallen a victim to his wild life, andthe other moved down into the low country among his wife's people. Thuswere the Merlins left alone on their primitive estate. Here they livedcontentedly with Cassandra, their only child, and her father's constantcompanion, until the tragedy which she had so simply related to David.

  Her father's learning had been peculiar. Only a little classic lore,treasured where schools were none and books were few, handed down fromgrandfather to grandson. His Greek he had learned from the two smallbooks the widow had so carefully preserved, their marginal notes hisonl
y lexicon. They and his Bible and a copy of Bunyan's _Pilgrim'sProgress_ were all that were left of his treasures. A teething puppy hadtorn his _Dialogues of Plato_ to shreds, and when his successor had comeinto the home, he had used the _Marcus Aurelius_ for gun wadding, erehis wife's precaution of placing the padlock from the door on hermother's old linen chest.

  To-day, as David passed the house, the old mother sat on her littleporch churning butter in a small dasher churn. She was glad, as he couldsee, because she could do something once more.

  "Now are you happy?" he called laughingly, as he paused beside her.

  "Well, I be. Hit's been a right smart o' while since I been able to do alick o' work. We sure do have a heap to thank you fer. Be Decatur Irwinas glad to lose his foot as I be to git my laig back?" she queriedwhimsically; "I reckon not."

  "I reckon not, too, but with him it was a case of losing his life or hisfoot, while with you it was only a question of walking about, or beingbedridden for the next twenty years."

  "They be ignorant, them Irwins, an' she's more'n that, fer she's a fool.She come round yest'day wantin' to borry a hoe to fix up her gyardenpatch, an' she 'lowed ef you'n Cass had only lef' him be, he'd 'a' comethrough all right, fer hit war a-gettin' better the day you-uns took hitoff. I told her yas, he'd 'a' come cl'ar through to the nex' world, likeFarwell done. When the misery left him, he up an' died, an' Lord knowswhar he went."

  "I'll get him an artificial foot as soon as he is able to wear one.He'll get on very well with a peg under his knee until then. What'sHoyle doing with the mule?"

  "He's rid'n' him fer Cass. She's tryin' to get the ground ready fer acrap. Hit's all we can do. Our women nevah war used to do such workneither, but she would try."

  "What's that? Is she ploughing?" he asked sharply, and strode away.

  "I reckon she don't want ye there, Doctah," the widow called after him,but he walked on.

  The land lay in a warm hollow completely surrounded by hills. It hadbeen many years cleared, and the mellow soil was free from stumps androots. When Thryng arrived, three furrows had been run rather crookedlythe length of the patch, and Cassandra stood surveying them ruefully,flushed and troubled, holding to the handles of the small plough andstruggling to set it straight for the next furrow.

  The noise of the fall behind them covered his approach, and ere she wasaware he was at her side. Placing his two hands over hers which clungstubbornly to the handles of the plough, he possessed himself of them.Laughingly he turned her about after the short tussle, and looked downinto her warm, flushed face. Still holding her hands, he pulled her awayfrom the plough to the grassy edge of the field, leaving Hoyle waitingastride the mule.

  "Whoa, mule. Stand still thar," he shrilled, as the beast sought tocross the bit of ploughed ground to reach the grass beyond.

  "Let him eat a minute, Hoyle," said David. "Let him eat until I come.Now, Miss Cassandra, what does this mean? Do you think you can ploughall that land? Is that it?"

  "I must."

  "You must not."

  "There is no one else now. I must." He could feel her hands quiver inhis, as he forcibly held them, and knew from her panting breath how herheart was beating. She held her head high, nevertheless, and lookedbravely back into his eyes.

  "You must let me--" he paused. Intuitively he knew he must not say asyet what he would. "Let me direct you a little. You have been most kindto me--and--it is my place; I am a doctor, you know."

  "If I were sick or hurt, I would give heed to you, I would do anythingyou say; but I'm not, and this is laid on me to do. Leave go my hands,Doctor Thryng."

  "If you'll sit down here a moment and talk this thing out with me, Iwill. Now tell me first of all, why is this laid on you?"

  "Frale is gone and it must be done, or we will have no crop, and thenwe must sell the animals, and then go down and live like poor whitetrash." Her low, passive monotone sounded like a moan of sorrow.

  "You must hire some one to do this heavy work."

  "Every one is working his own patch now, and--no, I have no money tohire with. I reckon I've thought it all over every way, Doctor." Shelooked sadly down at her hands and then up at the mountain top. "I knowyou think this is no work for a girl to do, and you are right. Our womennever have done such. Only in the war times my Grandmother Caswell didit, and I can now. A girl can do what she must. I have no way to turnbut to live as my people have lived before me. I thought once I might dodifferent, go to school and keep separate--but--" She spread out herhands with a hopeless gesture, and rose to resume her work.

  "Give me a moment longer. I'm not through yet. That's right, now listen.I see the truth of what you say, and I came down this morning to make aproposition to your mother--not for your sake only--don't be afraid, formy own as well; but I didn't make it because I hadn't time. She told mewhat you were doing, and I hurried off to stop you. Don't speak yet, letme finish. I feel I have the right, because I know--I know I was senthere just now for a purpose--guided to come here." He paused to allowhis words to have their full weight. Whether she would perceive hismeaning remained to be seen.

  "I understand." She spoke quietly. "Doctor Hoyle sent you to be helpedlike he was--and you have been right kind to more than us. You've helpedthat many it seems like you were sent here for we-all as well as foryour own sake, but that can't help me now, Doctor; it--"

  "Ah, yes it can. I'm far from well yet. I shall be, but I must stay onfor a long time, and I want some interest here. I want to see things ofmy own growing. The ground up around my little cabin is stony and verypoor, and I want to rent this little farm of yours. Listen--I'll payenough so you need not sell your cattle, and you--you can go on withyour weaving. You can work in the house again as you have always done.Sometime, when your mother is stronger, you can take up your life againand go to school--as you meant to live--can't you?"

  "That can never be now. If you take the farm or not, I must bide on herein the old way. I must take up the life my mother lived and mygrandmother, and hers before her. It is mine, forever, to live it thatway--or die."

  "Why do you talk so?"

  "God knows, but I can't tell you. Thank you, suh. I will be right gladto rent you the farm. I'd a heap rather you had it than any one else Iever knew, for we care more for it than you would guess, but for therest--no. I must bide and work till I die; only maybe I can save littleHoyle and give him a chance to learn something, for he never couldwork--being like he is."

  Thryng's eyes danced with joy as he regarded her. "Hoyle is not going tobe always as he is, and he shall have the chance to learn somethingalso. Look up, Miss Cassandra, look squarely into my eyes and laugh. Behappy, Miss Cassandra, and laugh. I say it."

  She laughed softly then. She could not help it.

  "Wasn't that what the 'Voices' were saying last night when youfollowed?"

  "Yes, yes. They seemed like they were calling, 'Hope, hope,' but theywere not the real 'Voices.' You made it."

  "Yes, I made it; and I was truly calling that to you. And you replied;you came to me."

  "Ah, but that is different from the 'Voices' she heard."

  "But if they called the truth to you--what then?"

  "Doctah, there is no longer any hope for me. God called me and let mecut off all hope, once. I did it, and now, only death can change it."

  "If I believe you, you must believe me. We won't talk of it any more.I'm hungry. Your mother was churning up there; let's go and get somebuttermilk, and settle the business of the rent. You've run three goodfurrows and I'll run three more beside them--my first, remember, in allmy life. Then we'll plant that strip to sunflowers. Come, Hoyle, tie themule and follow us."

  So David carried his way. They walked merrily back to the house,chattering of his plans and what he would raise. He knew nothingwhatever of the sort of crops to be raised, and she was naively gay athis expense, a mood he was overjoyed to awaken in her. He vowed thatmerely to walk over ploughed ground made a man stronger.

  On the porch he sat and drank his butter
milk and, placing his paper onthe step, drew up a contract for rent. Then Cassandra went to herweaving, and he and Hoyle returned to the field, where with much laborhe succeeded in turning three furrows beside Cassandra's, rather crookedand uncertain ones, it is true, but quite as good as hers, as Hoylereluctantly admitted, which served to give David a higher respect forfarmers in general and ploughmen especially.