XVII
Twice her lips opened soundlessly and, dazed, she could only pointdumbly. The old step-mother laughed:
"Jack Hale done that. He pestered yo' pap to let him do it fer ye, an'anything Jack Hale wants from yo' pap, he gits. I thought hit was plum'foolishness, but he's got things to eat planted thar, too, an' I declarhit's right purty."
That wonderful garden! June started for it on a run. There was abroad grass-walk down through the middle of it and there were narrowgrass-walks running sidewise, just as they did in the gardens which Haletold her he had seen in the outer world. The flowers were planted inraised beds, and all the ones that she had learned to know and love atthe Gap were there, and many more besides. The hollyhocks, bachelor'sbuttons and marigolds she had known all her life. The lilacs,touch-me-nots, tulips and narcissus she had learned to know in gardensat the Gap. Two rose-bushes were in bloom, and there were strangegrasses and plants and flowers that Jack would tell her about whenhe came. One side was sentinelled by sun-flowers and another sideby transplanted laurel and rhododendron shrubs, and hidden in theplant-and-flower-bordered squares were the vegetables that won herstep-mother's tolerance of Hale's plan. Through and through June walked,her dark eyes flashing joyously here and there when they were not alittle dimmed with tears, with Loretta following her, unsympathetic inappreciation, wondering that June should be making such a fuss about alot of flowers, but envious withal when she half guessed the reason, andimpatient Bub eager to show her other births and changes. And, over andover all the while, June was whispering to herself:
"My garden--MY garden!"
When she came back to the porch, after a tour through all that was newor had changed, Dave had brought his horse and Loretta's to the gate.No, he wouldn't come in and "rest a spell"--"they must be gittin' alonghome," he said shortly. But old Judd Tolliver insisted that he shouldstay to dinner, and Dave tied the horses to the fence and walked to theporch, not lifting his eyes to June. Straightway the girl went into thehouse co help her step-mother with dinner, but the old woman told hershe "reckoned she needn't start in yit"--adding in the querulous toneJune knew so well:
"I've been mighty po'ly, an' thar'll be a mighty lot fer you to do now."So with this direful prophecy in her ears the girl hesitated. The oldwoman looked at her closely.
"Ye ain't a bit changed," she said.
They were the words Loretta had used, and in the voice of each was thesame strange tone of disappointment. June wondered: were they sorryshe had not come back putting on airs and fussed up with ribbons andfeathers that they might hear her picked to pieces and perhaps do someof the picking themselves? Not Loretta, surely--but the old step-mother!June left the kitchen and sat down just inside the door. The Red Fox andtwo other men had sauntered up from the store and all were listening tohis quavering chat:
"I seed a vision last night, and thar's trouble a-comin' in thesemountains. The Lord told me so straight from the clouds. These railroadsand coal-mines is a-goin' to raise taxes, so that a pore man'll have tosell his hogs and his corn to pay 'em an' have nothin' left to keephim from starvin' to death. Them police-fellers over thar at the Gap isa-stirrin' up strife and a-runnin' things over thar as though the earthwas made fer 'em, an' the citizens ain't goin' to stand it. An' thiswar's a-comin' on an' thar'll be shootin' an' killin' over thar an' overhyeh. I seed all this devilment in a vision last night, as shore as I'msettin' hyeh."
Old Judd grunted, shifted his huge shoulders, parted his mustache andbeard with two fingers and spat through them.
"Well, I reckon you didn't see no devilment. Red, that you won't take ahand in, if it comes."
The other men laughed, but the Red Fox looked meek and lowly.
"I'm a servant of the Lord. He says do this, an' I does it the bestI know how. I goes about a-preachin' the word in the wilderness an'a-healin' the sick with soothin' yarbs and sech."
"An' a-makin' compacts with the devil," said old Judd shortly, "whenthe eye of man is a-lookin' t'other way." The left side of the Red Fox'sface twitched into the faintest shadow of a snarl, but, shaking hishead, he kept still.
"Well," said Sam Barth, who was thin and long and sandy, "I don't keerwhat them fellers do on t'other side o' the mountain, but what air theya-comin' over here fer?"
Old Judd spoke again.
"To give you a job, if you wasn't too durned lazy to work."
"Yes," said the other man, who was dark, swarthy and whose blackeyebrows met across the bridge of his nose--"and that damned Hale, who'sa-tearin' up Hellfire here in the cove." The old man lifted his eyes.Young Dave's face wore a sudden malignant sympathy which made Juneclench her hands a little more tightly.
"What about him? You must have been over to the Gap lately--like Davethar--did you git board in the calaboose?" It was a random thrust, butit was accurate and it went home, and there was silence for a while.Presently old Judd went on:
"Taxes hain't goin' to be raised, and if they are, folks will be betterable to pay 'em. Them police-fellers at the Gap don't bother nobody ifhe behaves himself. This war will start when it does start, an' as forHale, he's as square an' clever a feller as I've ever seed. His word isjust as good as his bond. I'm a-goin' to sell him this land. It'll behis'n, an' he can do what he wants to with it. I'm his friend, and I'mgoin' to stay his friend as long as he goes on as he's goin' now,an' I'm not goin' to see him bothered as long as he tends to his ownbusiness."
The words fell slowly and the weight of them rested heavily on allexcept on June. Her fingers loosened and she smiled.
The Red Fox rose, shaking his head.
"All right, Judd Tolliver," he said warningly.
"Come in and git something to eat, Red."
"No," he said, "I'll be gittin' along"--and he went, still shaking hishead.
The table was covered with an oil-cloth spotted with drippings from acandle. The plates and cups were thick and the spoons were of pewter.The bread was soggy and the bacon was thick and floating in grease. Themen ate and the women served, as in ancient days. They gobbled theirfood like wolves, and when they drank their coffee, the noise they madewas painful to June's ears. There were no napkins and when her fatherpushed his chair back, he wiped his dripping mouth with the back ofhis sleeve. And Loretta and the step-mother--they, too, ate with theirknives and used their fingers. Poor June quivered with a vague newborndisgust. Ah, had she not changed--in ways they could not see!
June helped clear away the dishes--the old woman did not object tothat--listening to the gossip of the mountains--courtships, marriages,births, deaths, the growing hostility in the feud, the random killing ofthis man or that--Hale's doings in Lonesome Cove.
"He's comin' over hyeh agin next Saturday," said the old woman.
"Is he?" said Loretta in a way that made June turn sharply from herdishes toward her. She knew Hale was not coming, but she said nothing.The old woman was lighting her pipe.
"Yes--you better be over hyeh in yo' best bib and tucker."
"Pshaw," said Loretta, but June saw two bright spots come into herpretty cheeks, and she herself burned inwardly. The old woman waslooking at her.
"'Pears like you air mighty quiet, June."
"That's so," said Loretta, looking at her, too.
June, still silent, turned back to her dishes. They were beginning totake notice after all, for the girl hardly knew that she had not openedher lips.
Once only Dave spoke to her, and that was when Loretta said she mustgo. June was out in the porch looking at the already beloved garden, andhearing his step she turned. He looked her steadily in the eyes. Shesaw his gaze drop to the fairy-stone at her throat, and a faint sneerappeared at his set mouth--a sneer for June's folly and what he thoughtwas uppishness in "furriners" like Hale.
"So you ain't good enough fer him jest as ye air--air ye?" he saidslowly. "He's got to make ye all over agin--so's you'll be fitten ferhim."
He turned away without looking to see how deep his barbed shaft wentand, startled, June flushed to her hair. In a
few minutes they weregone--Dave without the exchange of another word with June, and Lorettawith a parting cry that she would come back on Saturday. The old manwent to the cornfield high above the cabin, the old woman, groaningwith pains real and fancied, lay down on a creaking bed, and June,with Dave's wound rankling, went out with Bub to see the new doings inLonesome Cove. The geese cackled before her, the hog-fish darted likesubmarine arrows from rock to rock and the willows bent in the samewistful way toward their shadows in the little stream, but its crystaldepths were there no longer--floating sawdust whirled in eddies on thesurface and the water was black as soot. Here and there the whitebelly of a fish lay upturned to the sun, for the cruel, deadly workof civilization had already begun. Farther up the creek was a buzzingmonster that, creaking and snorting, sent a flashing disk, rimmed withsharp teeth, biting a savage way through a log, that screamed with painas the brutal thing tore through its vitals, and gave up its life eachtime with a ghost-like cry of agony. Farther on little houses were beingbuilt of fresh boards, and farther on the water of the creek got blackerstill. June suddenly clutched Bud's arms. Two demons had appeared ona pile of fresh dirt above them--sooty, begrimed, with black faces andblack hands, and in the cap of each was a smoking little lamp.
"Huh," said Bub, "that ain't nothin'! Hello, Bill," he called bravely.
"Hello, Bub," answered one of the two demons, and both stared at thelovely little apparition who was staring with such naive horror at them.It was all very wonderful, though, and it was all happening in LonesomeCove, but Jack Hale was doing it all and, therefore, it was all right,thought June--no matter what Dave said. Moreover, the ugly spot on thegreat, beautiful breast of the Mother was such a little one after alland June had no idea how it must spread. Above the opening for themines, the creek was crystal-clear as ever, the great hills were thesame, and the sky and the clouds, and the cabin and the fields of corn.Nothing could happen to them, but if even they were wiped out by Hale'shand she would have made no complaint. A wood-thrush flitted from aravine as she and Bub went back down the creek--and she stopped withuplifted face to listen. All her life she had loved its song, and thiswas the first time she had heard it in Lonesome Cove since she hadlearned its name from Hale. She had never heard it thereafter withoutthinking of him, and she thought of him now while it was breathing outthe very spirit of the hills, and she drew a long sigh for already shewas lonely and hungering for him. The song ceased and a long waveringcry came from the cabin.
"So-o-o-cow! S-o-o-kee! S-o-o-kee!"
The old mother was calling the cows. It was near milking-time, and witha vague uneasiness she hurried Bub home. She saw her father coming downfrom the cornfield. She saw the two cows come from the woods into thepath that led to the barn, switching their tails and snatching mouthfulsfrom the bushes as they swung down the hill and, when she reached thegate, her step-mother was standing on the porch with one hand on her hipand the other shading her eyes from the slanting sun--waiting for her.Already kindness and consideration were gone.
"Whar you been, June? Hurry up, now. You've had a long restin'-spellwhile I've been a-workin' myself to death."
It was the old tone, and the old fierce rebellion rose within June, butHale had told her to be patient. She could not check the flash from hereyes, but she shut her lips tight on the answer that sprang to them, andwithout a word she went to the kitchen for the milking-pails. The cowshad forgotten her. They eyed her with suspicion and were restive. Thefirst one kicked at her when she put her beautiful head against its softflank. Her muscles had been in disuse and her hands were cramped andher forearms ached before she was through--but she kept doggedly at hertask. When she finished, her father had fed the horses and was standingbehind her.
"Hit's mighty good to have you back agin, little gal."
It was not often that he smiled or showed tenderness, much less spoke itthus openly, and June was doubly glad that she had held her tongue. Thenshe helped her step-mother get supper. The fire scorched her face, thathad grown unaccustomed to such heat, and she burned one hand, butshe did not let her step-mother see even that. Again she noticedwith aversion the heavy thick dishes and the pewter spoons and thecandle-grease on the oil-cloth, and she put the dishes down and, whilethe old woman was out of the room, attacked the spots viciously. Againshe saw her father and Bub ravenously gobbling their coarse food whileshe and her step-mother served and waited, and she began to wonder. Thewomen sat at the table with the men over in the Gap--why not here? Thenher father went silently to his pipe and Bub to playing with the kittenat the kitchen-door, while she and her mother ate with never a word.Something began to stifle her, but she choked it down. There were thedishes to be cleared away and washed, and the pans and kettles to becleaned. Her back ached, her arms were tired to the shoulders and herburned hand quivered with pain when all was done. The old woman had lefther to do the last few little things alone and had gone to her pipe.Both she and her father were sitting in silence on the porch when Junewent out there. Neither spoke to each other, nor to her, and both seemedto be part of the awful stillness that engulfed the world. Bub fellasleep in the soft air, and June sat and sat and sat. That was allexcept for the stars that came out over the mountains and were slowlybeing sprayed over the sky, and the pipings of frogs from the littlecreek. Once the wind came with a sudden sweep up the river and shethought she could hear the creak of Uncle Billy's water-wheel. Itsmote her with sudden gladness, not so much because it was a reliefand because she loved the old miller, but--such is the power ofassociation--because she now loved the mill more, loved it because themill over in the Gap had made her think more of the mill at the mouthof Lonesome Cove. A tapping vibrated through the railing of the porch onwhich her cheek lay. Her father was knocking the ashes from his pipe. Asimilar tapping sounded inside at the fireplace. The old woman had goneand Bub was in bed, and she had heard neither move. The old man rosewith a yawn.
"Time to lay down, June."
The girl rose. They all slept in one room. She did not dare to put onher night-gown--her mother would see it in the morning. So she slippedoff her dress, as she had done all her life, and crawled into bed withBub, who lay in the middle of it and who grunted peevishly whenshe pushed him with some difficulty over to his side. There were nosheets--not even one--and the coarse blankets, which had a close acridodour that she had never noticed before, seemed almost to scratch herflesh. She had hardly been to bed that early since she had left home,and she lay sleepless, watching the firelight play hide and seek withthe shadows among the aged, smoky rafters and flicker over the stringsof dried things that hung from the ceiling. In the other corner herfather and stepmother snored heartily, and Bub, beside her, was in anerveless slumber that would not come to her that night--tired and achingas she was. So, quietly, by and by, she slipped out of bed and out thedoor to the porch. The moon was rising and the radiant sheen of it haddropped down over the mountain side like a golden veil and was lightingup the white rising mists that trailed the curves of the river. It sankbelow the still crests of the pines beyond the garden and dropped onuntil it illumined, one by one, the dewy heads of the flowers. She roseand walked down the grassy path in her bare feet through the silentfragrant emblems of the planter's thought of her--touching this flowerand that with the tips of her fingers. And when she went back, she bentto kiss one lovely rose and, as she lifted her head with a startof fear, the dew from it shining on her lips made her red mouth asflower-like and no less beautiful. A yell had shattered the quiet of theworld--not the high fox-hunting yell of the mountains, but something newand strange. Up the creek were strange lights. A loud laugh shatteredthe succeeding stillness--a laugh she had never heard before in LonesomeCove. Swiftly she ran back to the porch. Surely strange things werehappening there. A strange spirit pervaded the Cove and the very airthrobbed with premonitions. What was the matter with everything--whatwas the matter with her? She knew that she was lonely and that shewanted Hale--but what else was it? She shivered--and not alone from thechill night-air--and puzz
led and wondering and stricken at heart, shecrept back to bed.