CHAPTER XXIII
LEST I FORGET
Mrs. Newbolt was cutting splints for her new sun-bonnet out of apasteboard box. She hitched her chair back a little farther into theshadow of the porch, for the impertinent sun was winking on her brightscissors, dazzling her eyes.
It was past the turn of the afternoon; a soft wind was moving withindolence among the tender leaves, sleepy from the scents of lilac andapple bloom which it had drunk on its way. And now it loitered under theeaves of the porch to mix honeysuckle with its stream of drowsy sweets,like a chemist of Araby the Blest preparing a perfume for the harem'spride.
There was the gleam of fresh paint on the walls of the old house. Thesteps of the porch had been renewed with strong timber, the rottingsiding had been replaced. Mrs. Newbolt's chair no longer drew squeaksand groans from the floor of the porch as she rocked, swaying gently asher quick shears shaped the board. New flooring had been laid there, andpainted a handsome gray; the falling trellis between gate and door hadbeen plumbed and renewed.
New life was everywhere about the old place, yet its old charm wasundisturbed, its old homeliness was unchanged. Comfort had come todejection, tidiness had been restored to beauty. The windows of the oldhouse now looked upon the highway boldly, owing the world nothing in theway of glass.
Where the sprawling rail fence had lain for nearly forty years, renewedpiecemeal from time to time as it rotted away, its corners full ofbrambles, its stakes and riders overrun with poison-vine; where thisbrown, jointed structure had stretched, like a fossil worm, a greattransformation had come. The rails were gone, the brambles were clearedaway, and a neat white fence of pickets stretched in front of the house.This was flanked on either hand by a high fence of woven wire, new tothat country then, at once the wonder of the old inhabitants, thedespair of prowling hogs and the bewilderment of hens. There was a gatenow where the old gap had been; it swung shut behind one with an eagerlittle spring, which startled agents and strangers with the sharpness ofits click.
The shrubbery had been cleared of dead wood, and the underlyinggenerations of withered honeysuckle vines which had spread under thegreen upon the old trellis, had been taken away. Freshness was there,the mark of an eager, vigorous hand. The matted blue grass which soddedthe yard had been cut and trimmed to lines along the path. A great andhappy change had come over the old place, so long under the shadow.People stopped to admire it as they passed.
"Well, well; it's the doin's of that boy, Joe Newbolt!" they said.
Mrs. Newbolt paused in her clipping of bonnet slats to make a menacingsnip at a big white rooster which came picking around the steps. Thefowl stretched his long neck and turned his bright eye up to hismistress with a slanting of the head.
"How did you git out of that pen, you old scalawag?" she demanded.
The rooster took a long and dignified step away from her, where hestood, with little appearance of alarm, turning his head, questioningher with his shining eye. She made a little lunge with her shears.
"Yes, I'm goin' to tell Joe on you, you scamp!" she threatened.
"_Coo-doot-cut!_" said the rooster, looking about him with a longstretching of the neck.
"Yes, you better begin to cackle over it," said she, speaking in solemnreproof, as if addressing a child, "for Joe he'll just about cut yoursassy old head clean off! If he don't do that, he'll trim down that wingof yourn till you can't bat a skeeter off your nose with it, youredick-lous old critter!"
But it was not the threat of Joe that had drawn the cry of alarm fromthe fowl. The sound of steps was growing along the path from the frontgate, and the fowl scampered off to the cover of the gooseberry vines,as Mrs. Newbolt turned to see who the visitor was. The scissors fellfrom her lap, and her spool trundled off across the porch.
"Laws, Sol Greening, you give me a start, sneakin' up like that!"
Sol laughed out of his whiskers, with a big, loose-rolling sound, andsat on the porch without waiting to be asked.
"I walked up over the grass," said he. "It's as soft under your feet asplowed ground. They say Joe's got one of them lawn-cutters to mow itwith?"
"Well, what if he has?" she wanted to know. "He's got a good many thingsand improvements around here that you folks that's lived here forseventy years and more never seen before, I reckon."
"He sure is a great feller for steppin' out his own way!" marveled Sol."I never seen such a change in a place inside of a year as Joe's made inthis one--never in my mortal borned days. It was a lucky day for Joewhen Judge Maxwell took a likin' to him that way."
Mrs. Newbolt was looking away toward the hills, a dreamy cast in herplacid face.
"Yes," said she, "there's no denyin' that. But Joe he'd 'a' got along,Judge Maxwell or no Judge Maxwell. Only it'd 'a' been slower and harderfor him."
"He would 'a'," nodded Sol, without reservation. "No discountin' onthat. That boy beats anything this here country ever perduced, barrin'none, and I ain't sayin' that, either, ma'am, just to please you."
"Much thanks I owe you for what you think of Joe!" said she, scornfully."You was ready enough, not so very long ago, to set the whole worldag'in' him if you could."
"Well, circumstantial evidence--" began Sol.
"Oh, circumstantial nest-eggs!" said she, impatiently. "You'd known Joeall his life, and you know very well he didn't shoot Isom Chase any morethan you done it yourself!"
"Well, mistakes is humant," sighed Sol, taking advantage of thatuniversal absolution. "They say Judge Maxwell's goin' to leaveeverything he's got to Joe, and he's got a considerable, I reckon."
"I don't know as Joe'd take it," said she, folding her hands in her lap."Judge Maxwell had a hard time to git Joe to let him put in the money todo things around here, and send him to college over in Shelbyville lastwinter. Joe let him do it on the understandin' that it was a loan, to bepaid interest on and paid back when he was able."
"Well, from the start he's makin' it don't look like the judge 'd havevery long to wait for his money," said Sol. "Twenty acres of apple treesall in a orchard together, and twenty acres of strawberries set outbetwixt and between the rows!"
He looked over the hillside and little apron of valley where Joe's youngorchard spread. Each tiny tree was a plume of leaves; the rows stretchedout to the hilltop, and over.
"I can figger out how twenty acres of apples can be picked and took careof," reflected Sol, as if going over with himself something which he hadgiven thought to before, "but I'll be durned if I can figger out how anyman's goin' to pick and take care of twenty acres of strawberries!"
"Joe knows," said his mother.
"Well, I hope he does," sighed Sol, the sigh being breathed to giveexpression of what remained unspoken. No matter what his hopes, hisdoubts were unshaken.
No man had ever taken care of twenty acres of strawberries--nor thetwentieth part of one acre, for that matter--in that community. No mancould do it, according to the bone-deep belief of Sol and his kind.
"Joe says that's only a little dab of a start," said she.
"Cree-mo-nee!" said Sol, his mouth standing open like a mussel shell inthe sun. "When'll they be ripe?"
"Next spring."
"Which?" queried Sol, perking his head in puzzled and impertinent way,very much as the rooster had done a little while before him.
"Next spring, I said," she repeated, nodding over her bonnet, into whichshe was slipping the splints.
"No crop this year?"
"No; Joe says it weakens the plants to bear the first year they're set.It takes the strength away from the roots, he says. He goes through thefield and snips off every bloom he sees when he's hoein' among 'em, andI help him between times. We don't git all of 'em, by a mighty sight,though."
Sol shook his head with wise depreciation.
"Throwin' away money," said he.
"Did you ever raise any strawberries?" she inquired, putting down thebonnet, bringing Sol up with a sharp look.
"Reckon I raised as many as Joe ever did, and them mainly wit
h a spoon,"said Sol.
The joke was not entirely new; it could not have been original with Solby at least three hundred years. But it did very well as an excuse forSol to laugh. He was always looking for excuses to laugh, that was theone virtue in him. Without his big laugh he would have been an emptysack without a bottom.
"Joe got them rows mighty purty and straight," said Sol, squinting alongthe apple trees.
"Yes, he set 'em out accordin' to geog'aphy," said she.
"Which?" said Sol.
"Ge-og'a-phy, I said. Didn't you never hear tell of that before neither,Sol Greening?"
"Oh," said Sol, lightly, as if that made it all as plain to him as hisown cracked thumbs. "How much does Joe reckon he'll git off of thatpatch of berries when it begins to bear?"
"I never heard him say he expected to make anything," said she, "but Iread in one of them fruit-growin' papers he takes that they make as muchas three hundred dollars an acre from 'em back in Ellinoi."
Sol got up, slowly; took a backward step into the yard; filled hislungs, opened his mouth, made his eyes round. Under the internalpressure his whiskers stood on end and his face grew red. "Oh, you git_out_!" said he.
"I can show it to you in the paper," she offered, making as if to putaside her sewing.
Sol laid a finger on his palm and stood with his head bent. After a bithe looked up, his eyes still round.
"If he even makes a hundred, that'll be two thousand dollars a year!"
It was such a magnificent sum that Sol did not feel like taking thefamiliarity with it of mentioning it aloud. He whispered it, giving itlarge, rich sound.
"Why, I reckon it would be," said she, offhand and careless, just as iftwo thousand a year, more or less, mattered very little to Joe.
"That's more than I ever made in my whole dad-blame life," said Sol.
"Well, whose fault is it, Sol?" asked she.
"I don't believe it can be done!"
"You'll see," she assured him, comfortably.
"And Joe he went and stuck to the old place," reflected Sol. "He might'a' got some better land for his sperimentin' and projeckin' if he'd 'a'looked around."
"He was offered land, all the land a man could want," said she. "Olliewanted him to take over the Chase home place and farm it when she andMorgan married and left, but Joe he said no; the Newbolts had made theirfailures here, he said, and here they was goin' to make their success.He had to redeem the past, Joe said, and wipe out the mistakes, and showfolks what a Newbolt can do when he gits his foot set right."
"He'll do it, too," said Sol, without a reserved grudge or jealousy;"he's doin' it already."
"Yes, I always knew Joe would," said she. "When he was nothing but alittle shaver he'd read the _Cottage Encyclopedy_ and the _Imitation_and the Bible, from back to back. I said then he'd be governor of thisstate, and he will."
She spoke confidently, nodding over her work.
"Shucks! How do you know he will?"
Sol's faith was not strong in this high-flying forecast. It seemed tohim that it was crowding things a little too far.
"You'll live to see it," said she.
Sol sat with his back against a pillar of the porch, one foot on theground, the other standing on the boards in front of him, his handslocked about his doubled knee. He sat there and looked up at the WidowNewbolt, raising his eyebrows and rolling his eyes, but not lifting hishead, which was slightly bent. "Well, what's to be's to be," said he."When's he goin' to marry?"
"When he's through goin' to college."
"That'll be two or three years, maybe?"
"Maybe."
"Hum; Alice Price she'll be gettin' purty well along by that time."
"She's not quite a year older than Joe," Mrs. Newbolt corrected him,with some asperity, "and she's one of the kind that'll keep. Well, I wasmarried myself, and had a baby, when I was nineteen. But that's nosign."
"Joe'll build, I reckon, before then?" guessed Sol.
"No; Alice don't want him to. She wants to come here a bride, to thishouse, like I come to it long, long ago. We'll fix up and make ready forher, little by little, as we go along. It'll be bringin' back thepleasure of the old days, it'll be like livin' my courtship and marriageover. This was a fine house in the days that Peter brought me here, forPeter, he had money then, and he put the best there was goin' into it."
"It looks better than any house around here now, since you fixed it upand painted it," said Sol.
"It's better inside than outside," said she, with a woman's pride in ahome, which justifies her warmth for it. "We had it all plastered andvarnished. The doors and casin's and all the trimmin's are walnut, worththeir weight in gold, now, almost, Judge Maxwell says."
"Yes, the curly walnut's all gone, years and years ago," said Sol.
"It passed away with the pioneers," sighed she.
"I suppose they'll build in time, though?" Sol said.
"I 'low they will, maybe, after I'm gone," said she.
"Well, well!" said Sol. He sat silent a little while. "Folks never havegot over wonderin' on the way she took up with Joe," he said.
Mrs. Newbolt flashed up in a breath.
"Why should anybody wonder, I'd like for you to tell me?" she demanded."Joe he's good enough for her, and too good for anybody else in thiscounty! Who else was there for Joe, who else was there for Alice?"
Sol did not attempt to answer. It was beyond him, the way some peoplefiggered, he thought in the back of his mind. There was his own girl,Tilda Bell. He considered her the equal to any Newbolt that everstraddled a horse and rode over from Kentucky. But then, you never couldtell how tastes run.
"Well, reckon I'll have to be rackin' out home," said he, getting up,tiptoeing to take the cramp out of his legs.
"Yes, and I'll have to be stirrin' the pots to get supper for my boyJoe," she said.
The smoke from her kitchen fire rose white as she put in dry sumac togive it a start. It mounted straight as a plume for a little way, untilit met the cool air of evening which was beginning to fall. There itspread, like a floating silken scarf, and settled over the roof. Itdraped down slowly over the walls, until it enveloped the old home likethe benediction of a loving heart.
The sun was descending the ladder of the hills; low now it stood abovethem, the valley in shadow more than half its breadth, a tender flood ofgold upon the slope where the new orchard waved its eager shoots; theblessing of a day was passing in the promise of a day to come.
Out of the kitchen came the cheerful sound of batter for the corn breadbeing beaten in the bowl, and with it Sarah Newbolt's voice in song:
_Near the cross, O Lamb of God_----
The beating of the batter dimmed the next line. Then it rose to theclose----
_Let me walk from day to day, With its shadow o'er me._
The clamp of the oven door was heard, and silence followed.
Sarah was standing on the porch again wiping her hands on her apron,looking away toward the fields. The sun was dipping now into the forestcresting the hills; the white rooster was pacing the outside of the wireenclosure from which he had escaped, in frantic search of an opening toadmit him to his perch, his proud head all rumpled in his baffledeagerness, his dangling wattles fiery red.
The smoke had found the low places in garden and lawn, where it hovered;a dove wailed from the old orchard, where a pair of them nested yearafter year; a little child-wind came with soft fingers, and laid them onthe waiting woman's hair.
Her face quickened with a smile. Joe was coming home from the field.Over his shoulder he carried his hoe, and as he came on toward her inyard-long strides his mother thought of the young soldiers she had seenmarch away to the war, carrying their guns in that same free confidenceof careless strength. His hat was pushed back from his forehead, thecollar of his blue flannel shirt was open. His boyish suspenders hadbeen put away in favor of a belt, which was tight-drawn about his slimwaist.
Very trim and strong, and confident he looked, with the glow of youth inh
is cheeks, and the spark of happiness in his gray eyes. He was well setin the form of a man now, the months since his imprisonment havingbrought him much to fasten upon and hold.
Joe made the same great splashing that he had made on that springevening of a year gone by, when he came home from work to step into theshadow which so quickly grew into a storm. But there was no shadow aheadof him this night; there was no somber thing to bend down the highserenity of his happy heart.
He stood before the glass hung above the wash bench and smoothed hishair. Mrs. Newbolt was standing by the stove, one of the lids partlyremoved, some white thing in her hand which she seemed hesitating overconsigning to the flames.
"What've you got there, Mother?" he asked cheerily as he turned to takehis place at the waiting table.
"Laws," said she, in some perturbation, her face flushed, holding thething in her hand up to his better view, "it's that old paper I got fromIsom when I--a year ago! I mislaid it when the men was paintin' andplasterin', and I just now run across it stuck back of the coffee jar."
For a moment Joe stood behind her, silently, looking over her shoulderat the signature of Isom Chase.
"It's no use now," said she, her humiliation over being confronted withthis reminder of her past perfidy against her beloved boy almostoverwhelming her. "We might as well put it in the stove and git it outof sight."
Joe looked at her with a smile, his face still solemn and serious forall its youth and the fires of new-lit hope behind his eyes. He laid hishand upon her shoulder assuringly, and closed the stove.
"Give it to me, Mother," said he, reaching out his hand.
She placed the bond of his transference to Isom Chase in it, and thoseold heart-wrung tears of hers, which had been dry upon her cheeks nowfor many a happy day, welled, and flowed down silently.
Joe folded the paper.
"I'll keep it, Mother," said he, "so that it will stand as a reminder tome in prosperity that I was once poor and in bondage; and in myhappiness that it may tell me of the days when I was forsaken and inprison, with only my mother's faithful hand to comfort me.
"I'll put it away and keep it, Mother, lest in my prosperity some day Imay forget the Lord; forget that He giveth, and that He taketh away,also; that His hand chastiseth in the same measure that it bestowsblessings upon us. I'll leave it up here, Mother, on the old shelf;right where I can see it every time I take down the Book."
W. B. C.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends