She laid it on her breast, dropped her chin on it and drew the bow softly across the strings. One after another she tested the open notes. Gradually her stroke ceased to tremble and she drew the bow firmly. Then her fingers began to fall and softly, slowly she searched up and down those strings for sounds she knew. Standing in the middle of the floor, she tried over and over. It seemed scarcely a minute before the hall was filled with the sound of hurrying feet, and she was forced to put away the violin and go to her classes. The next day she prayed that the violin would be left again, but her petition was not answered. That night when she returned from the school she made an excuse to go down to see Billy. He was engaged in hulling walnuts by driving them through holes in a board. His hands were protected by a pair of Margaret’s old gloves, but he had speckled his face generously. He appeared well, and greeted Elnora hilariously.
“Me an’ the squirrels are laying up our winter stores,” he shouted. “Cos the cold is coming, an’ the snow an’ if we have any nuts we have to fix ’em now. But I’m ahead, cos Uncle Wesley made me this board, and I can hull a big pile while the old squirrel does only ist one with his teeth.”
Elnora picked him up and kissed him. “Billy, are you happy?” she asked.
“Yes, and so’s Snap,” answered Billy. “You ought to see him make the dirt fly when he gets after a chipmunk. I bet you he could dig up Pa, if anybody wanted him to.”
“Billy!” gasped Margaret as she came out to them.
“Well, me and Snap don’t want him up, and I bet you Jimmy and Belle don’t, either. I ain’t been twisty inside once since I been here, and I don’t want to go away, and Snap don’t, either. He told me so.”
“Billy! That is not true. Dogs can’t talk,” cautioned Margaret.
“Then what makes you open the door when he asks you to?” demanded Billy.
“Scratching and whining isn’t talking.”
“Anyway, it’s the best Snap can talk, and you get up and do things he wants done. Chipmunks can talk too. You ought to hear them damn things holler when Snap gets them!”
“Billy! When you want a cooky for supper and I don’t give it to you it is because you said a wrong word.”
“Well, for—” Billy clapped his hand over his mouth and stained his face in swipes. “Well, for—anything! Did I go an’ forget again! The cookies will get all hard, won’t they? I bet you ten dollars I don’t say that any more.”
He espied Wesley and ran to show him a walnut too big to go through the holes, and Elnora and Margaret entered the house.
They talked of many things for a time and then Elnora said suddenly: “Aunt Margaret, I like music.”
“I’ve noticed that in you all your life,” answered Margaret.
“If dogs can’t talk, I can make a violin talk,” announced Elnora, and then in amazement watched the face of Margaret Sinton grow pale.
“A violin!” she wavered. “Where did you get a violin?”
“They fairly seemed to speak to me in the orchestra. One day the conductor left his in the auditorium, and I took it, and Aunt Margaret, I can make it do the wind in the swamp, the birds, and the animals. I can make any sound I ever heard on it. If I had a chance to practise a little, I could make it do the orchestra music, too. I don’t know how I know, but I do.”
“Did—did you ever mention it to your mother?” faltered Margaret.
“Yes, and she seems prejudiced against them. But oh, Aunt Margaret, I never felt so about anything, not even going to school. I just feel as if I’d die if I didn’t have one. I could keep it at school, and practise at noon a whole hour. Soon they’d ask me to play in the orchestra. I could keep it in the case and practise in the woods in summer. You’d let me play over here Sunday. Oh, Aunt Margaret, what does one cost? Would it be wicked for me to take of my money, and buy a very cheap one? I could play on the least expensive one made.”
“Oh, no you couldn’t! A cheap machine makes cheap music. You got to have a fine fiddle to make it sing. But there’s no sense in your buying one. There isn’t a decent reason on earth why you shouldn’t have your fa—”
“My father’s!” cried Elnora. She caught Margaret Sinton by the arm. “My father had a violin! He played it. That’s why I can! Where is it! Is it in our house? Is it in mother’s room?”
“Elnora!” panted Margaret. “Your mother will kill me! She always hated it.”
“Mother dearly loves music,” said Elnora.
“Not when it took the man she loved away from her to make it!”
“Where is my father’s violin?”
“Elnora!”
“I’ve never seen a picture of my father. I’ve never heard his name mentioned. I’ve never had a scrap that belonged to him. Was he my father, or am I a charity child like Billy, and so she hates me?”
“She has good pictures of him. Seems she just can’t bear to hear him talked about. Of course, he was your father. They lived right there when you were born. She doesn’t dislike you; she merely tries to make herself think she does. There’s no sense in the world in you not having his violin. I’ve a great notion—”
“Has mother got it?”
“No. I’ve never heard her mention it. It was not at home when he—when he died.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“Yes. I’m the only person on earth who does, except the one who has it.”
“Who is that?”
“I can’t tell you, but I will see if they have it yet, and get it if I can. But if your mother finds it out she will never forgive me.”
“I can’t help it,” said Elnora. “I want that violin.”
“I’ll go to-morrow, and see if it has been destroyed.”
“Destroyed! Oh, Aunt Margaret! Would any one dare?”
“I hardly think so. It was a good instrument. He played it like a master.”
“Tell me!” breathed Elnora.
“His hair was red and curled more than yours, and his eyes were blue. He was tall, slim, and the very imp of mischief. He joked and teased all day until he picked up that violin. Then his head bent over it, and his eyes got big and earnest. He seemed to listen as if he first heard the notes, and then copied them. Sometimes he drew the bow trembly, like he wasn’t sure it was right, and he might have to try again. He could almost drive you crazy when he wanted to, and no man that ever lived could make you dance as he could. He made it all up as he went. He seemed to listen for his dancing music, too. It appeared to come to him; he’d begin to play and you had to keep time. You couldn’t be still; he loved to sweep a crowd around with that bow of his. I think it was the thing you call inspiration. I can see him now, his handsome head bent, his cheeks red, his eyes snapping, and that bow going across the strings, and driving us like sheep. He always kept his body swinging, and he loved to play. He often slighted his work shamefully, and sometimes her a little; that is why she hated it—Elnora, what are you making me do?”
The tears were rolling down Elnora’s cheeks. “Oh, Aunt Margaret,” she sobbed. “Why haven’t you told me about him sooner? I feel as if you had given my father to me living, so that I could touch him. I can see him, too! Why didn’t you ever tell me before? Go on! Go on!”
“I can’t, Elnora! I’m scared silly. I never meant to say anything. If I hadn’t promised her not to talk of him to you she wouldn’t have let you come here. She made me swear it.”
“But why? Why? Was he a shame? Was he disgraced?”
“Maybe it was that unjust feeling that took possession of her when she couldn’t help him from the swamp. She had to blame some one, or go crazy, so she took it out on you. At times, those first ten years, if I had talked to you, and you had repeated anything to her, she might have struck you too hard. She was not master of herself. You must be patient with her, Elnora. God only knows what she has gone through, but I think she is a little better, lately.”
“So do I,” said Elnora. “She seems more interested in my clothes, and she fixes me such delicious lun
ches that the girls bring fine candies and cake and beg to trade. I gave half my lunch for a box of candy one day, brought it home to her, and told her. Since, she has wanted me to carry a market basket and treat the crowd every day, she was so pleased. Life has been too monotonous for her. I think she enjoys even the little change made by my going and coming. She sits up half the night to read the library books I bring, but she is so stubborn she won’t even admit that she touches them. Tell me more about my father.”
“Wait until I see if I can find the violin.”
So Elnora went home in suspense, and that night she added to her prayers: “Dear Lord, be merciful to my father, and oh, do help Aunt Margaret to get his violin.”
Wesley and Billy came in to supper tired and hungry. Billy ate heartily, but his eyes often rested on a plate of tempting cookies, and when Wesley offered them to the boy he reached for one. Margaret was compelled to explain that cookies were forbidden that night.
“What!” said Wesley. “Wrong words been coming again. Oh Billy, I do wish you could remember! I can’t sit and eat cookies before a little boy who has none. I’ll have to put mine back, too.” Billy’s face twisted in despair.
“Aw go on!” he said gruffly, but his chin was jumping, for Wesley was his idol.
“Can’t do it,” said Wesley. “It would choke me.”
Billy turned to Margaret. “You make him,” he appealed.
“He can’t, Billy,” said Margaret. “I know how he feels. You see, I can’t myself.”
Then Billy slid from his chair, ran to the couch, buried his face in the pillow and cried heart-brokenly. Wesley hurried to the barn, and Margaret to the kitchen. When the dishes were washed Billy slipped from the back door.
Wesley piling hay into the mangers heard a sound behind him and inquired, “That you, Billy?”
“Yes,” answered Billy, “and it’s all so dark you can’t see me now, isn’t it?”
“Well, mighty near,” answered Wesley.
“Then you stoop down and open your mouth.”
Sinton had shared bites of apple and nuts for weeks, for Billy had not learned how to eat anything without dividing with Jimmy and Belle. Since he had been separated from them, he shared with Wesley and Margaret. So he bent over the boy and received an instalment of cooky that almost choked him.
“Now you can eat it!” shouted Billy in delight. “It’s all dark! I can’t see what you’re doing at all!”
Wesley picked up the small figure and set the boy on the back of a horse to bring his face level so that they could talk as men. He never towered from his height above Billy, but always lifted the little soul when important matters were to be discussed.
“Now what a dandy scheme,” he commented. “Did you and Aunt Margaret fix it up?”
“No. She ain’t had hers yet. But I got one for her. Ist as soon as you eat yours, I am going to take hers, and feed her first time I find her in the dark.”
“But Billy, where did you get the cookies? You know Aunt Margaret said you were not to have any.”
“I ist took them,” said Billy, “I didn’t take them for me. I ist took them for you and her.”
Wesley thought fast. In the warm darkness of the barn the horses crunched their corn, a rat gnawed at a corner of the granary, and among the rafters the white pigeon cooed a soft sleepy note to his dusky mate.
“Did—did—I steal?” wavered Billy.
Wesley’s big hands closed until he almost hurt the boy.
“No!” he said vehemently. “That is too big a word. You made a mistake. You were trying to be a fine little man, but you went at it the wrong way. You only made a mistake. All of us do that, Billy. The world grows that way. When we make mistakes we can see them; that teaches us to be more careful the next time, and so we learn.”
“How wouldn’t it be a mistake?”
“If you had told Aunt Margaret what you wanted to do, and asked her for the cookies she would have given them to you.”
“But I was ’fraid she wouldn’t, and you ist had to have it.”
“Not if it was wrong for me to have it, Billy. I don’t want it that much.”
“Must I take it back?”
“You think hard, and decide yourself.”
“Lift me down,” said Billy, after a silence, “I got to put this in the jar, and tell her.”
Wesley set the boy on the floor, but as he did so he paused one second and strained him close to his breast.
Margaret sat in her chair sewing; Billy slipped in and crept beside her. The little face was lined with tragedy.
“Why Billy, whatever is the matter?” she cried as she dropped her sewing and held out her arms. Billy stood back. He gripped his little fists tight and squared his shoulders. “I got to be shut up in the closet,” he said.
“Oh Billy! What an unlucky day! What have you done now?”
“I stold!” gulped Billy. “He said it was ist a mistake, but it was worser ’an that. I took something you told me I wasn’t to have.”
“Stole!” Margaret was in despair. “What, Billy?”
“Cookies!” answered Billy in equal trouble.
“Billy!” wailed Margaret. “How could you?”
“It was for him and you,” sobbed Billy. “He said he couldn’t eat it ’fore me, but out in the barn it’s all dark and I couldn’t see. I thought maybe he could there. Then we might put out the light and you could have yours. He said I only made it worse, cos I mustn’t take things, so I got to go in the closet. Will you hold me tight a little bit first? He did.”
Margaret opened her arms and Billy rushed in and clung to her a few seconds, with all the force of his being, then he slipped to the floor and marched to the closet. Margaret opened the door. Billy gave one glance at the light, clinched his fists and, walking inside, climbed on a box. Margaret closed the door.
Then she sat and listened. Was the air pure enough? Possibly he might smother. She had read something once. Was it very dark? What if there should be a mouse in the closet and it should run across his foot and frighten him into spasms. Somewhere she had heard—Margaret leaned forward with tense face and listened. Something dreadful might happen. She could bear it no longer. She arose hurriedly and opened the door. Billy was drawn up on the box in a little heap, and he lifted a disapproving face to her.
“Shut that door!” he said. “I ain’t been in here near long enough yet!”
Chapter 10
Wherein Elnora Has More Financial Troubles, and Mrs. Comstock Again Hears the Song of the Limberlost
The following night Elnora hurried to Sintons’. She threw open the back door and with anxious eyes searched Margaret’s face.
“You got it!” panted Elnora. “You got it! I can see by your face that you did. Oh, give it to me!”
“Yes, I got it, honey, I got it all right, but don’t be so fast. It had been kept in such a damp place it needed glueing, it had to have strings, and a key was gone. I knew how much you wanted it, so I sent Wesley right to town with it. They said they could fix it good as new, but it should be varnished, and that it would take several days for the glue to set. You can have it Saturday.”
“You found it where you thought it was? You know it’s his?”
“Yes, it was just where I thought, and it’s the same violin I’ve seen him play hundreds of times. It’s all right, only laying so long it needs fixing.”
“Oh Aunt Margaret! Can I ever wait?”
“It does seem a long time, but how could I help it? You couldn’t do anything with it as it was. You see, it had been hidden away in a garret, and it needed cleaning and drying to make it fit to play again. You can have it Saturday sure. But Elnora, you’ve got to promise me that you will leave it here, or in town, and not let your mother get a hint of it. I don’t know what she’d do.”
“Uncle Wesley can bring it here until Monday. Then I will take it to school so that I can practise at noon. Oh, I don’t know how to thank you. And there’s more than the violin for which to
be thankful. You’ve given me my father. Last night I saw him plainly as life.”
“Elnora you were dreaming!”
“I know I was dreaming, but I saw him. I saw him so closely that a tiny white scar at the corner of his eyebrow showed. I was just reaching out to touch him when he disappeared.”
“Who told you there was a scar on his forehead?”
“No one ever did in all my life. I saw it last night as he went down. And oh, Aunt Margaret! I saw what she did, and I heard his cries! No matter what she does, I don’t believe I ever can be angry with her again. Her heart is broken, and she can’t help it. Oh, it was terrible, but I am glad I saw it. Now, I will always understand.”
“I don’t know what to make of that,” said Margaret. “I don’t believe in such stuff at all, but you couldn’t make it up, for you didn’t know.”
“I only know that I played the violin last night, as he played it, and while I played he came through the woods from the direction of Carneys’. It was summer and all the flowers were in bloom. He wore gray trousers and a blue shirt, his head was bare, and his face was beautiful. I could almost touch him when he sank.”
Margaret stood perplexed. “I don’t know what to think of that!” she ejaculated. “I was next to the last person who saw him before he was drowned. It was late on a June afternoon, and he was dressed as you describe. He was bareheaded because he had found a quail’s nest before the bird began to brood, and he gathered the eggs in his hat and left it in a fence corner to get on his way home; they found it afterward.”
“Was he coming from Carneys’?”
“He was on that side of the quagmire. Why he ever skirted it so close as to get caught is a mystery you will have to dream out. I never could understand it.”
The Best of Gene Stratton-Porter Page 38
