The Best of Gene Stratton-Porter

by Gene Stratton-Porter

  Elnora handed her mother a handsome black-walnut frame a foot and a half wide by two long. It finished a small, shallow glass-covered box of birch bark, to the bottom of which clung a big night moth with delicate pale green wings and long exquisite trailers.

  “So you see I did not have to be ashamed of my gifts,” said Elnora. “I made them myself and raised and mounted the moths.”

  “Moth, you call it,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I’ve seen a few of the things before.”

  “They are numerous around us every June night, or at least they used to be,” said Elnora. “I’ve sold hundreds of them, with butterflies, dragonflies, and other specimens. Now, I must put away these and get to work, for it is almost June and there are a few more I want dreadfully. If I find them I will be paid some money for which I have been working.”

  She was afraid to say college at that time. She thought it would be better to wait a few days and see if an opportunity would not come when it would work in more naturally. Besides, unless she could secure the Yellow Emperor she needed to complete her collection, she could not talk college until she was of age, for she would have no money.

  Chapter 12

  Wherein Margaret Sinton Reveals a Secret, and Mrs. Comstock Possesses the Limberlost

  “Elnora, bring me the towel, quick!” cried Mrs. Comstock.

  “In a minute, mother,” mumbled Elnora.

  She was standing before the kitchen mirror, tying the back part of her hair, while the front turned over her face.

  “Hurry! There’s a varmint of some kind!”

  Elnora ran into the sitting-room and thrust the heavy kitchen towel into her mother’s hand. Mrs. Comstock swung open the screen door and struck at some object, Elnora tossed the hair from her face so that she could see past her mother. The girl screamed wildly.

  “Don’t! Mother, don’t!”

  Mrs. Comstock struck again. Elnora caught her arm. “It’s the one I want! It’s worth a lot of money! Don’t! Oh, you shall not!”

  “Shan’t, missy?” blazed Mrs. Comstock. “When did you get to bossing me?”

  The hand that held the screen swept a half-circle and stopped at Elnora’s cheek. She staggered with the blow, and across her face, paled with excitement, a red mark arose rapidly. The screen slammed shut, throwing the creature on the floor before them. Instantly Mrs. Comstock crushed it with her foot. Elnora stepped back. Excepting the red mark, her face was very white.

  “That was the last moth I needed,” she said, “to complete a collection worth three hundred dollars. You’ve ruined it before my eyes!”

  “Moth!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “You say that because you are mad. Moths have big wings. I know a moth!”

  “I’ve kept things from you,” said Elnora, “because I didn’t dare confide in you. You had no sympathy with me. But you know I never told you untruths in all my life.”

  “It’s no moth!” reiterated Mrs. Comstock.

  “It is!” cried Elnora. “It’s from a case in the ground. Its wings take two or three hours to expand and harden.”

  “If I had known it was a moth—” Mrs. Comstock wavered.

  “You did know! I told you! I begged you to stop! It meant just three hundred dollars to me.”

  “Bah! Three hundred fiddlesticks!”

  “They are what have paid for books, tuition, and clothes for the past four years. They are what I could have started on to college. You’ve ruined the very one I needed. You never made any pretence of loving me. At last I’ll be equally frank with you. I hate you! You are a selfish, wicked woman! I hate you!”

  Elnora turned, went through the kitchen and from the back door. She followed the garden path to the gate and walked toward the swamp a short distance when reaction overtook her. She dropped on the ground and leaned against a big log. When a little child, desperate as now, she had tried to die by holding her breath. She had thought in that way to make her mother sorry, but she had learned that life was a thing thrust upon her and she could not leave it at her wish.

  She was so stunned over the loss of that moth, which she had childishly named the Yellow Emperor, that she scarcely remembered the blow. She had thought no luck in all the world would be so rare as to complete her collection; now she had been forced to see a splendid Imperialis destroyed before her. There was a possibility that she could find another, but she was facing the certainty that the one she might have had and with which she undoubtedly could have attracted others, was spoiled by her mother. How long she sat there Elnora did not know or care. She simply suffered in dumb, abject misery, an occasional dry sob shaking her. Aunt Margaret was right. Elnora felt that morning that her mother never would be any different. The girl had reached the place where she realized that she could endure it no longer.

  As Elnora left the room, Mrs. Comstock took one step after her.

  “You little huzzy!” she gasped.

  But Elnora was gone. Her mother stood staring.

  “She never did lie to me,” she muttered. “I guess it was a moth. And the only one she needed to get three hundred dollars, she said. I wish I hadn’t been so fast! I never saw anything like it. I thought it was some deadly, stinging, biting thing. A body does have to be mighty careful here. But likely I’ve spilt the milk now. Pshaw! She can find another! There’s no use to be foolish. Maybe moths are like snakes, where there’s one, there are two.”

  Mrs. Comstock took the broom and swept the moth out of the door. Then she got down on her knees and carefully examined the steps, logs and the earth of the flower beds at each side. She found the place where the creature had emerged from the ground, and the hard, dark-brown case which had enclosed it, still wet inside. Then she knew Elnora had been right. It was a moth. Its wings had been damp and not expanded. Mrs. Comstock never before had seen one in that state, and she did not know how they originated. She had thought all of them came from cases spun on trees or against walls or boards. She had seen only enough to know that there were such things; as a flash of white told her that an ermine was on her premises, or a sharp “buzzzzz” warned her of a rattler.

  So it was from creatures like that Elnora had secured her school money. In one sickening sweep there rushed into the heart of the woman a full realization of the width of the gulf that separated her from her child. Lately many things had pointed toward it, none more plainly than when Elnora, like a reincarnation of her father, had stood fearlessly before a large city audience and played with even greater skill than he, on what Mrs. Comstock felt very certain was his violin. But that little crawling creature of earth, crushed by her before its splendid yellow and lavender wings could spread and carry it into the mystery of night, had performed a miracle.

  “We are nearer strangers to each other than we are with any of the neighbours,” she muttered.

  So one of the Almighty’s most delicate and beautiful creations was sacrificed without fulfilling the law, yet none of its species ever served so glorious a cause, for at last Mrs. Comstock’s inner vision had cleared. She went through the cabin mechanically. Every few minutes she glanced toward the back walk to see if Elnora were coming. She knew arrangements had been made with Margaret to go to the city some time that day, so she grew more nervous and uneasy every moment. She was haunted by the fear that the blow might discolour Elnora’s cheek; that she would tell Margaret. She went down the back walk, looking intently in all directions, left the garden and followed the swamp path. Her step was noiseless on the soft, black earth, and soon she came close enough to see Elnora. Mrs. Comstock stood looking at the girl in troubled uncertainty. Not knowing what to say, at last she turned and went back to the cabin.

  Noon came and she prepared dinner, calling, as she always did, when Elnora was in the garden, but she got no response, and the girl did not come. A little after one o’clock Margaret stopped at the gate.

  “Elnora has changed her mind. She is not going,” called Mrs. Comstock.

  She felt that she hated Margaret as she hitched her horse and came up the
walk instead of driving on.

  “You must be mistaken,” said Margaret. “I was going on purpose for her. She asked me to take her. I had no errand. Where is she?”

  “I will call her,” said Mrs. Comstock.

  She followed the path again, and this time found Elnora sitting on the log. Her face was swollen and discoloured, and her eyes red with crying. She paid no attention to her mother.

  “Mag Sinton is here,” said Mrs. Comstock harshly. “I told her you had changed your mind, but she said you asked her to go with you, and she had nothing to go for herself.”

  Elnora arose, recklessly waded through the deep swamp grasses and so reached the path ahead of her mother. Mrs. Comstock followed as far as the garden, but she could not enter the cabin. She busied herself among the vegetables, barely looking up when the back-door screen slammed noisily. Margaret Sinton approached colourless, her eyes so angry that Mrs. Comstock shrank back.

  “What’s the matter with Elnora’s face?” demanded Margaret.

  Mrs. Comstock made no reply.

  “You struck her, did you?”

  “I thought you wasn’t blind!”

  “I have been, for twenty long years now, Kate Comstock,” said Margaret Sinton, “but my eyes are open at last. What I see is that I’ve done you no good and Elnora a big wrong. I had an idea that it would kill you to know, but I guess you are tough enough to stand anything. Kill or cure, you get it now!”

  “What are you frothing about?” coolly asked Mrs. Comstock.

  “You!” cried Margaret. “You! The woman who doesn’t pretend to love her only child. Who lets her grow to a woman, as you have let Elnora, and can’t be satisfied with every sort of neglect, but must add abuse yet; and all for a fool idea about a man who wasn’t worth his salt!”

  Mrs. Comstock picked up a hoe.

  “Go right on!” she said. “Empty yourself. It’s the last thing you’ll ever do!”

  “Then I’ll make a tidy job of it,” said Margaret. “You’ll not touch me. You’ll stand there and hear the truth at last, and because I dare face you and tell it, you will know in your soul it is truth. When Robert Comstock shaved that quagmire out there so close he went in, he wanted to keep you from knowing where he was coming from. He’d been to see Elvira Carney. They had plans to go to a dance that night—”

  “Close your lips!” said Mrs. Comstock in a voice of deadly quiet.

  “You know I wouldn’t dare open them if I wasn’t telling you the truth. I can prove what I say. I was coming from Reeds. It was hot in the woods and I stopped at Carney’s as I passed for a drink. Elvira’s bedridden old mother heard me, and she was so crazy for some one to talk with, I stepped in a minute. I saw Robert come down the path. Elvira saw him, too, so she ran out of the house to head him off. It looked funny, and I just deliberately moved where I could see and hear. He brought her his violin, and told her to get ready and meet him in the woods with it that night, and they would go to a dance. She took it and hid it in the loft to the well-house and promised she’d go.”

  “Are you done?” demanded Mrs. Comstock.

  “No. I am going to tell you the whole story. You don’t spare Elnora anything. I shan’t spare you. I hadn’t been here that day, but I can tell you just how he was dressed, which way he went and every word they said, though they thought I was busy with her mother and wouldn’t notice them. Put down your hoe, Kate. I went to Elvira, told her what I knew and made her give me Comstock’s violin for Elnora over three years ago. She’s been playing it ever since. I won’t see her slighted and abused another day on account of a man who would have broken your heart if he had lived. Six months more would have showed you what everybody else knew. He was one of those men who couldn’t trust himself, and so no woman was safe with him. Now, will you drop grieving over him, and do Elnora justice?”

  Mrs. Comstock grasped the hoe tighter and turning she went down the walk, and started across the woods to the home of Elvira Carney. With averted head she passed the pool, steadily pursuing her way. Elvira Carney, hanging towels across the back fence, saw her coming and went toward the gate to meet her. Twenty years she had dreaded that visit. Since Margaret Sinton had compelled her to produce the violin she had hidden so long, because she was afraid to destroy it, she had come closer expectation than dread. The wages of sin are the hardest debts on earth to pay, and they are always collected at inconvenient times and unexpected places. Mrs. Comstock’s face and hair were so white, that her dark eyes seemed burned into their setting. Silently she stared at the woman before her a long time.

  “I might have saved myself the trouble of coming,” she said at last, “I see you are guilty as sin!”

  “What has Mag Sinton been telling you?” panted the miserable woman, gripping the fence.

  “The truth!” answered Mrs. Comstock succinctly. “Guilt is in every line of your face, in your eyes, all over your wretched body. If I’d taken a good look at you any time in all these past years, no doubt I could have seen it just as plain as I can now. No woman or man can do what you’ve done, and not get a mark set on them for every one to read.”

  “Mercy!” gasped weak little Elvira Carney. “Have mercy!”

  “Mercy?” scoffed Mrs. Comstock. “Mercy! That’s a nice word from you! How much mercy did you have on me? Where’s the mercy that sent Comstock to the slime of the bottomless quagmire, and left me to see it, and then struggle on in agony all these years? How about the mercy of letting me neglect my baby all the days of her life? Mercy! Do you really dare use the word to me?”

  “If you knew what I’ve suffered!”

  “Suffered?” jeered Mrs. Comstock. “That’s interesting. And pray, what have you suffered?”

  “All the neighbours have suspected and been down on me. I ain’t had a friend. I’ve always felt guilty of his death! I’ve seen him go down a thousand times, plain as ever you did. Many’s the night I’ve stood on the other bank of that pool and listened to you, and I tried to throw myself in to keep from hearing you, but I didn’t dare. I knew God would send me to burn forever, but I’d better done it; for now, He has set the burning on my body, and every hour it is slowly eating the life out of me. The doctor says it’s a cancer—”

  Mrs. Comstock exhaled a long breath. Her grip on the hoe relaxed and her stature lifted to towering height.

  “I didn’t know, or care, when I came here, just what I did,” she said. “But my way is beginning to clear. If the guilt of your soul has come to a head, in a cancer on your body, it looks as if the Almighty didn’t need any of my help in meting out His punishments. I really couldn’t fix up anything to come anywhere near that. If you are going to burn until your life goes out with that sort of fire, you don’t owe me anything!”

  “Oh, Katharine Comstock!” groaned Elvira Carney, clinging to the fence for support.

  “Looks as if the Bible is right when it says, ‘The wages of sin is death,’ doesn’t it?” asked Mrs. Comstock. “Instead of doing a woman’s work in life, you chose the smile of invitation, and the dress of unearned cloth. Now you tell me you are marked to burn to death with the unquenchable fire. And him! It was shorter with him, but let me tell you he got his share! He left me with an untruth on his lips, for he told me he was going to take his violin to Onabasha for a new key, when he carried it to you. Every vow of love and constancy he ever made me was a lie, after he touched your lips, so when he tried the wrong side of the quagmire, to hide from me the direction in which he was coming, it reached out for him, and it got him. It didn’t hurry, either! It sucked him down, slow and deliberate.”

  “Mercy!” groaned Elvira Carney. “Mercy!”

  “I don’t know the word,” said Mrs. Comstock. “You took all that out of me long ago. The past twenty years haven’t been of the sort that taught mercy. I’ve never had any on myself and none on my child. Why in the name of justice, should I have mercy on you, or on him? You were both older than I, both strong, sane people, you deliberately chose your course when you lur
ed him, and he, when he was unfaithful to me. When a Loose Man and a Light Woman face the end the Almighty ordained for them, why should they shout at me for mercy? What did I have to do with it?”

  Elvira Carney sobbed in panting gasps.

  “You’ve got tears, have you?” marvelled Mrs. Comstock. “Mine all dried long ago. I’ve none left to shed over my wasted life, my disfigured face and hair, my years of struggle with a man’s work, my wreck of land among the tilled fields of my neighbours, or the final knowledge that the man I so gladly would have died to save, wasn’t worth the sacrifice of a rattlesnake. If anything yet could wring a tear from me, it would be the thought of the awful injustice I always have done my girl. If I’d lay hand on you for anything, it would be for that.”

  “Kill me if you want to,” sobbed Elvira Carney. “I know that I deserve it, and I don’t care.”

  “You are getting your killing fast enough to suit me,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I wouldn’t touch you, any more than I would him, if I could. Once is all any man or woman deceives me about the holiest things of life. I wouldn’t touch you any more than I would the black plague. I am going back to my girl.”

  Mrs. Comstock turned and started swiftly through the woods, but she had gone only a few rods when she stopped, and leaning on the hoe, she stood thinking deeply. Then she turned back. Elvira still clung to the fence, sobbing bitterly.

  “I don’t know,” said Mrs. Comstock, “but I left a wrong impression with you. I don’t want you to think that I believe the Almighty set a cancer to burning you as a punishment for your sins. I don’t! I think a lot more of the Almighty. With a whole sky-full of worlds on His hands to manage, I’m not believing that He has time to look down on ours, and pick you out of all the millions of us sinners, and set a special kind of torture to eating you. It wouldn’t be a gentlemanly thing to do, and first of all, the Almighty is bound to be a gentleman. I think likely a bruise and bad blood is what caused your trouble. Anyway, I’ve got to tell you that the cleanest housekeeper I ever knew, and one of the noblest Christian women, was slowly eaten up by a cancer. She got hers from the careless work of a poor doctor. The Almighty is to forgive sin and heal disease, not to invent and spread it.”