CHAPTER XXIII
"THE SHADOW ON THE HEART"
Just off Main street, under the left wing of the court-house, lay thelittle county jail. It frowned down from behind its fierce mask ofbars and spikes, and boldly tried to make the town forget the numberof prisoners that had escaped its walls.
In a small front cell, beside a narrow grated window, Ricks Wilson hadsat and successfully planned his way to freedom.
The prisoner who now occupied the cell spent no time on thoughts ofescape. He paced restlessly up and down the narrow chamber, or lay onthe cot, with his hands under his head, and stared at the grimyceiling. The one question which he continually put to the jailer wasconcerning the latest news of Judge Hollis.
Sandy had been given an examining trial on the charge of resisting anofficer and assisting a prisoner to escape. Refusing to tell what heknew, and no bail being offered, he was held to answer to the grandjury. For two weeks he had seen the light of day only through thedeep, narrow opening of one small window.
At first he had had visitors--indignant, excited visitors who came inhotly to remonstrate, to threaten, to abuse. Dr. Fenton had charged inupon him with a whole battery of reproaches. In stentorian tones herehearsed the judge's kindness in befriending him, he pointed out hisgenerosity, and laid stress on Sandy's heinous ingratitude. Mr.Moseley had arrived with arguments and reasons and platitudes, allexpressed in a polysyllabic monotone. Mr. Meech had come many timeswith prayers and petitions and gentle rebuke.
To them all Sandy gave patient, silent audience, wincing under theblame, but making no effort to defend himself. All he would say wasthat Ricks Wilson had not done the shooting, and that he could say nomore.
A wave of indignation swept the town. Almost the only friend who wasnot turned foe was Aunt Melvy. Her large philosophy of life held thatall human beings were "chillun," and "chillun was bound to act badsometimes." She left others to struggle with Sandy's moral welfare anddevoted herself to his physical comfort.
With a clear conscience she carried to her home flour, sugar, and lardfrom the Hollises' store-room, and sat up nights in her little cabinat "Who'd 'a' Thought It" to bake dumplings, rolls, and pies for her"po' white chile."
Sandy felt some misgivings about the delicacies which she brought, andone day asked her where she made them.
"I makes 'em out home," she declared stoutly. "I wouldn't cook nuffin'fer you on Miss Sue's stove while she's talkin' 'bout you lak she is.She 'lows she don't never want to set eyes on you ag'in as long as shelives."
"Has the judge asked for me?" said Sandy.
"Yas, sir; but de doctor he up and lied. He tol' him you'd went backto de umerversity. De doctor 'lowed ef he tole him de trufe it mightthrow him into a political stroke."
Sandy leaned his head on his hand. "You're the only one that's stoodby me, Aunt Melvy; the rest of them think me a bad lot."
"Dat's right," assented Aunt Melvy, cheerfully. "You jes orter hear deway dey slanders you! I don't 'spec' you got a friend in town 'ceptin'me." Then, as if reminded of something, she produced a card coveredwith black dots. "Honey, I's gittin' up a little collection fer dechurch. You gib me a nickel and I punch a pin th'u' one ob dem dots tosorter certify it."
"Have you got religion yet?" he asked as he handed her some smallchange.
Her expression changed, and her eyes fell. "Not yit," she acknowledgedreluctantly; "but I's countin' on comin' th'u' before long. I's donej'ined de Juba Choir and de White Doves."
"The White Doves?" repeated Sandy.
"Yas, sir; de White Doves ob Perfection. We wears purple calicoes andsets up wid de sick."
"Have you seen Miss Annette?"
"Lor', honey! ain't I tol' you 'bout dat? De very night de jedge wasshot, dat chile wrote her paw de sassiest letter, sayin' she gwine runoff and git married wif dat sick boy, Carter Nelson. De doctor headed'em off some ways, and de very nex' day what you think he done? He putdat gal in a Cafolic nunnery convent! Dey say she cut up scan'lous atfust, den she sorter quiet down, an' 'gin to count her necklace, an'make signs on de waist ob her dress, an' say she lak it so much shegwine be a Cafolic nunnery sister herself. Now de doctor's jestearin' his shirt to git her out, he's so skeered she'll do what shesays."
Sandy laughed in spite of himself, and Aunt Melvy wagged her headknowingly.
"He needn't pester hisseif 'bout dat. Now Mr. Carter's 'bout to die,an' you's shut up in jail, she's done turnin' her 'tention on Mr. SidGray. Dey ain't no blinds in de world big enough to keep dat gal fromshinin' her eyes at de boys!"
"Is Carter about to die?" Sandy had become suddenly grave.
"Yas, sir; so dey say. He's got somepin' that sounds lak tuberoses.Him and Mrs. Nelson and Miss Rufe never did git to Californy. Deystopped off in Mobile or Injiany, I can't ricollec' which. He took defever de day dey lef', an' he ain't knowed nothin' since."
After Aunt Melvy left, Sandy went to the window and leaned against thebars. Below him flowed the life of the little town, the men going homefrom work, the girls chattering and laughing through the dusk ontheir way from the post-office. Every figure that passed, black orwhite, was familiar to him. Jimmy Reed's little Skye terrier dasheddown the street, and a whistle sprang to his lips.
How he loved every living creature in the place! For five years he hadbeen one of them, sharing their interests, part and parcel of the lifeof the community. Now he was an outcast, an alien, as much a strangerto friendly faces as the lad who had knelt long ago at the window of agreat tenement and had been afraid to be alone.
"I'll have to go away," he thought wistfully. "They'll not be wantingme here after this."
It grew darker and darker in the gloomy room. The mournful voice of anegro singing in the next cell came to him faintly:
"We'll hunt no moah fo' de possum and de coon, On de medder, de hill, an' de shoah. We'll sing no moah by de glimmer ob de moon, On de bench by de old cabin doah.
"De days go by like de shadow on do heart, Wid sorrer, wha' all wuz so bright; De time am come when do darkies hab to part-- Den, my ole Kaintucky home, good night."
Sandy's arm was against the grating and his head was bowed upon it.Through all the hours of trial one image had sustained him. It was ofRuth, as he had seen her last, leaning toward him out of thehalf-light, her brown hair blowing from under her white cap and hergreat eyes full of wondering compassion.
But to-night the darkness obscured even that image. The judge's lifestill hung in the balance, and the man who had shot him lay in adistant city, unconscious, waiting for death. Sandy felt that by hissacrifice he had put the final barrier between himself and Ruth.
With a childish gesture of despair, he flung out his arms and burstinto a passion of tears. The intense emotional impulse of his raceswept him along like a feather in a gale. His grief, like his joy,was elemental.
When the lull came at last, he pressed his hot head against the coldiron grating, and his thoughts returned again and again to Ruth. Hethought of her tender ministries in the sick room, of her intense loveand loyalty for her brother. His whole soul rose up to bless her, andthe thought of what she had been spared brought him peace.
Through days of struggle and nights of pain he fought back allthoughts of the future and of self.
These times were ever afterward a twilight-place in his soul, hallowedand sanctified by the great revelation they brought him, blending theblackness of despair with the white light of perfect love. Here histhoughts would often turn even in the stress and strain of the dailylife, as a devotee stops on his busy round and steps within the dimcathedral to gain strength and inspiration on his way.
The next time Aunt Melvy came he asked for some of his law-books, andfrom that on there was no more idling or dreaming.
Among the volumes she brought was the old note-book in which the judgehad made him jot down suggestions during those long evening readingsin the past. It was full of homely advice, the result of forty years'experience, and Sandy found comfort in
following it to the letter.
For the first time in his life he learned the power of concentration.Seven hours' study a day, without diversion or interruption, broughtsplendid results. He knew the outline of the course at the university,and he forged ahead with feverish energy.
Meanwhile the judge's condition was slowly improving.
One afternoon Sandy sat at his table, deep in his work. He heard thekey turn in its lock and the door open, but he did not look up.Suddenly he was aware of the soft rustle of skirts, and, lifting hiseyes, he saw Ruth. For a moment he did not move, thinking she must bebut the substance of his dream. Then her black dress caught hisattention, and he started to his feet.
"Carter?" he cried--"is he--"
Ruth nodded; her face was white and drawn, and purple shadows layabout her eyes.
"He's dead," she whispered, with a catch in her voice; then she wenton in breathless explanation: "but he told me first. He said, 'Hurryback, Ruth, and make it right. They can come for me as soon as I cantravel. Tell Kilday I wasn't worth it.' Oh, Sandy! I don't knowwhether it was right or wrong,--what you did,--but it was merciful: ifyou could have seen him that last week, crying all the time like alittle child, afraid of the shadows on the wall, afraid to be alone,afraid to live, afraid to die--"
Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands.
Sandy started forward, then he paused and gripped the chair-backuntil his fingers were white.
"Ruth," he said impatiently, "you'd best be going quick. It'll breakthe heart of me to see you standing there suffering, unless I can takeyou in me arms and comfort you. I've sworn never to speak the word;but, by the saints--"
"You may!" sobbed Ruth, and with a quick, timid little gesture shelaid her hands in his.
For a moment he held her away from him. "It's not pity," he cried,searching her face, "nor gratitude!"
She lifted her eyes, as honest and clear as her soul.
"It's been love, Sandy," she whispered, "ever since the first."
"'It's been love, Sandy, ... ever since the first'"]
Two hours later, when the permit came, Sandy walked out of the jailinto the court-house square. A crowd had collected, for Ruth had toldher story and the news had spread; public favor was rapidly turning inhis direction.
He looked about vaguely, as a man who has gazed too long at the sunand is blinded to everything else.
"I've got my buggy," cried Jimmy Reed, touching him on the arm. "Wheredo you want to go?"
Sandy hesitated, and a dozen invitations were shouted in one breath.He stood irresolute, with his foot on the step of the buggy; then hepulled himself up.
"To Judge Hollis," he said.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE PRIMROSE WAY
Spring and winter, and spring again, and flying rumors flutteredtantalizing wings over Clayton. Just when it was definitely announcedthat Willowvale was to be sold, Ruth Nelson returned, after a year'sabsence, and opened the old home.
Mrs. Nelson did not come with her. That excellent lady had concludedto bestow her talents upon a worthier object. In her place came MissMerritt, a quiet little sister of Ruth's mother, who proved to be tothe curious public a pump without a handle.
About this time Sandy Kilday returned from his last term at theuniversity, and gossip was busy over the burden of honors under whichhe staggered, and the brilliance of the position he had accepted inthe city. In prompt contradiction of this came the shining new sign,"Hollis & Kilday," which appeared over the judge's dingy littleoffice.
Nobody but Ruth knew what that sign had cost Sandy. He had come home,fresh from his triumphs, and burning with ambition to make his way inthe world,--to make a name for her to share, and a record for her tobe proud of. The opportunity that had been offered him was one in alifetime. It had taken all his courage and strength and loyalty torefuse it, but Ruth had helped him.
"We must think of the judge first, Sandy," she said. "While he liveswe must stay here; there'll be time enough for the big world after awhile."
So Sandy gave up his dream for the present and tacked the new signover the office door with his own hand.
The old judge watched him from the pavement. "That's right," he said,rubbing his hands together with childish satisfaction; "that's justabout the best-looking sign I ever saw!"
"If you ever turn me down in court I'll stand it on its head and makemy own name come first," threatened Sandy; and the judge repeated thejoke to every one he saw that day.
It was not long until the flying rumors settled down into positivefacts, and Clayton was thrilled to its willow-fringed circumference.There was to be a wedding! Not a Nelson wedding of the olden times,when a special car brought grand folk down from the city, and thetownspeople stayed apart and eyed their fine clothes and gay behaviorwith ill-concealed disfavor. This was to be a Clayton wedding for highand low, rich and poor.
There was probably not a shutter opened in the town, on the morning ofthe great day, that some one did not smile with pleasure to find thatthe sun was shining.
Mrs. Hollis woke Sandy with the dawn, and insisted upon helping himpack his trunk before breakfast. For a week she had been absorbed inhis nuptial outfit, jealously guarding his new clothes, to keep himfrom wearing them all before the wedding.
Aunt Melvy was half an hour late in arriving, for she had tarried at"Who'd 'a' Thought It" to perform the last mystic rites over arabbit's foot which was to be her gift to the groom.
The whole town was early astir and wore a holiday air. By noonbusiness was virtually abandoned, for Clayton was getting ready to goto the wedding.
Willowvale extended a welcome to the world. The wide front gates stoodopen, the big-eyed poplars beamed above the oleanders and the myrtle,while the thrushes and the redwings twittered and caroled theirgreetings from on high. The big white house was open to the sunshineand the spring; flowers filled every nook and corner; even therose-bush which grew outside the dining-room window sent a fewventuresome roses over the sill to lend their fragrance to thosewithin.
And such a flutter of expectancy and romance and joy as pervaded theplace! All the youth of Clayton was there, loitering about the groundsin gay little groups, or lingering in couples under the shadow of thebig porches.
In the library Judge and Mrs. Hollis did the honors, and presented theguests to little Miss Merritt, whose cordial, homely greetingscounteracted the haughty disapproval of the portraits overhead.
Mr. Moseley rambled through the rooms, indulging in a flowingmonologue which was as independent of an audience as a summer brook.
Mr. Meech sought a secluded spot under the stairway and nervouslypractised the wedding service, while Mrs. Meech, tucked up for once inher life, smiled bravely on the company, and thought of a little greenmound in the cemetery, which Sandy had helped her keep bright withflowers.
They were all there, Dr. Fenton slapping everybody on the back androaring at his own jokes; Sid Gray carrying Annette's flowers with alook of plump complacency; Jimmy Reed constituting himself a bureau ofinformation, giving and soliciting news concerning wedding presents,destination of wedding journey, and future plans.
Up-stairs, at a hall window, the groom was living through rapturousthroes of anticipation. For the hundredth time he made sure the ringwas in the left pocket of his waistcoat.
From down-stairs came the hum of voices mingled with the music. Thewarm breath of coming summer stole through the window.
Sandy looked joyously out across the fields of waving blue-grass tothe shining river. Down by the well was an old windmill, and at itstop a weather-vane. When he spied it he smiled. Once again he was aragged youngster, back on the Liverpool dock; the fog was closing in,and the coarse voices of the sailors rang in his ears. In quickflashes the scenes of his boyhood came before him,--the days onshipboard, on the road with Ricks, at the Exposition, at Hollis Farm,at the university,--and through them all that golden thread of romancethat had led him safe and true to the very heart of the enchanted landwhere he was to dwell
forever.
"'Fore de Lawd, Mist' Sandy, ef you ain't fergit yer necktie!"
It was Aunt Melvy who burst in upon his reverie with these ominouswords. She had been expected to assist with the wedding breakfast, butthe events above-stairs had proved too alluring.
Sandy's hand flew to his neck. "It's at the farm," he cried in greatexcitement, "wrapped in tissue-paper in the top drawer. Send Jim, orJoe, or Nick--any of the darkies you can find!"
"Send nuthin'," muttered Aunt Melvy, shuffling down the stairs. "I'sgwine myself, ef I has to take de bridal kerridge."
Messengers were sent in hot haste, one to the farm and one to town,while Jimmy Reed was detailed to canvass the guests and see if a whitefour-in-hand might be procured.
"The nearest thing is Mr. Meech's," he reported on his fourth tripup-stairs; "it's a white linen string-tie, but he doesn't want to takeit off."
"Faith, and he'll have to!" said Sandy, in great agitation. "Don't heknow that nobody will be looking at him?"
Annette appeared at a bedroom door, a whirl of roses and pink.
"What's the m-matter? Ruth will have a f-fit if you wait much longer,and my hair is coming out of curl."
"Take it off him," whispered Sandy, recklessly, to Jimmy Reed; andviolence was prevented only by the timely arrival of Aunt Melvy withthe original wedding tie.
The bridal march had sounded many times, and the impatient guests werebecoming seriously concerned, when a handkerchief fluttered from thelanding and Sandy and Ruth came down the wide white steps together.
Mr. Meech cleared his throat and, with one hand nervously fidgetingunder his coattail, the other thrust into the bosom of his coat,began:
"We are assembled here to-day to witness the greatest and mosttime-hallowed institution known to man."
Sandy heard no more. The music, the guests, the flowers, even hisnecktie, faded from his mind.
A sacred hush filled his soul, through which throbbed the vows he wasmaking before God and man. The little hand upon his arm trembled, andhis own closed upon it in instant sympathy and protection.
"In each of the ages gone," Mr. Meech was saying with increasingeloquence, "man has wooed and won the sweet girl of his choice, andthen, with the wreath of fairest orange-blossoms encircling her purebrow, while yet the blush of innocent love crimsoned her cheek, ledher away in trembling joy to the hymeneal altar, that their names,their interests, their hearts, might all be made one, just as two raysof light, two drops of dew, sometimes meet, to kiss--to part no moreforever."
Suddenly a loud shout sounded from the upper hall, followed by soundslike the repeated fall of a heavy body. Mr. Meech paused, and all eyeswere turned in consternation toward the door. Then through thestillness rang out a hallelujah from above.
"Praise de Lawd, de light's done come! De darkness, lak de thunder,done roll away. I's saved at last, and my name is done written in dePromised Land! Amen! Praise de Lawd! Amen!"
To part of the company at least the situation was clear. Aunt Melvy,after seeking religion for nearly sixty years, had chosen thisinopportune time to "come th'u'."
She was with some difficulty removed to the wash-house, where shecontinued her thanksgiving in undisturbed exultation.
Amid suppressed merriment, the marriage service was concluded, Mr.Meech heroically foregoing his meteoric finale.
Clayton still holds dear the memory of that wedding: of the beautifulbride and the happy groom, of the great feast that was served indoorsand out, and of the good fellowship and good cheer that made it a galaday for the country around.
When it was over, Sandy and Ruth drove away in the old town surrey,followed by such a shower of rice and flowers and blessings as hadnever been known before. They started, discreetly enough, for therailroad-station, but when they reached the river road Sandy drewrein. Overhead the trees met in a long green arch, and along thewayside white petals strewed the road. Below lay the river, dancing,murmuring, beckoning.
"Let's not be going to the city to-day!" cried Sandy, impulsively."Let's be following the apple-blossoms wherever they lead."
"It's all the same wherever we are," said Ruth, in joyful freedom.
They turned into the road, and before them, through the trees, lay thelong stretch of smiling valley.
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