The Best of Gene Stratton-Porter

by Gene Stratton-Porter

  “I will not,” she promised instantly.

  She went to the seat under the porch tree and leaning against the trunk she studied the hill, and the rippling course of Singing Water where it turned and curved before the cabin, and started across the vivid little marsh toward the lake. Then she looked at the Harvester. He seated himself on the low railing and smiled at her.

  “You are very tired?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “You are right about the air being better up here. It is stimulating instead of depressing.”

  “So far as pure air, location, and water are concerned,” said the Harvester, “I consider this place ideal. The lake is large enough to cool the air and raise sufficient moisture to dampen it, and too small to make it really cold and disagreeable. The slope of the hill gives perfect drainage. The heaviest rains do not wet the earth for more than three hours. North, south, and west breezes sweep the cool air from the water to the cabin in summer. The same suns warm us here on the winter hillside. My violets, spring beauties, anemones, and dutchman’s breeches here are always two weeks ahead of those in the woods. I am not afraid of your not liking the location or the air. As for the cabin, if you don’t care for that, it’s very simple. I’ll transform it into a laboratory and dry-house, and build you whatever you want, within my means, over there on the hill just across Singing Water and facing the valley toward Onabasha. That’s a perfect location. The thing that worries me is what you are going to do for company, especially while I am away.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself about anything,” she said. “Just say in your heart, ‘she is going to be stronger than she ever has been in her life in this lovely place, and she has more right now than she ever had or hoped to have.’ For one thing, I am going to study your books. I never have had time before. While we sewed or embroidered, mother talked by the hour of the great writers of the world, told me what they wrote, and how they expressed themselves, but I got to read very little for myself.”

  “Books are my company,” said the Harvester.

  “Do your friends come often?”

  “Almost never! Doc and his wife come most, and if you look out some day and see a white-haired, bent old woman, with a face as sweet as dawn, coming up the bank of Singing Water, that will be my mother’s friend, Granny Moreland, who joins us on the north over there. She is frank and brusque, so she says what she thinks with unmistakable distinctness, but her heart is big and tender and her philosophy keeps her sweet and kindly despite the ache of rheumatism and the weight of seventy years.”

  “I’d love to have her come,” said the Girl. “Is that all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Your favourite word,” laughed the Harvester. “The reason lies with me, or rather with my mother. Some day I will tell you the whole story, and the cause. I think now I can encompass it in this. The place is an experiment. When medicinal herbs, roots, and barks became so scarce that some of the most important were almost extinct, it occurred to me that it would be a good idea to stop travelling miles and poaching on the woods of other people, and turn our land into an herb garden. For four years before mother went, and six since, I’ve worked with all my might, and results are beginning to take shape. While I’ve been at it, of course, my neighbours had an inkling of what was going on, and I’ve been called a fool, lazy, and a fanatic, because I did not fell the trees and plow for corn. You readily can see I’m a little short of corn ground out there,” he waved toward the marsh and lake, “and up there,” he indicated the steep hill and wood. “But somewhere on this land I’ve been able to find muck for mallows, water for flags and willows, shade for ferns, lilies, and ginseng, rocky, sunny spaces for mullein, and open, fertile beds for Bouncing Bet—just for examples. God never evolved a place better suited for an herb farm; from woods to water and all that goes between, it is perfect.”

  “And indescribably lovely,” added the Girl.

  “Yes, I think it is,” said the Harvester. “But in the days when I didn’t know how it was coming out, I was sensitive about it; so I kept quiet and worked, and allowed the other fellow to do the talking. After a while the ginseng bed grew a treasure worth guarding, and I didn’t care for any one to know how much I had or where it was, as a matter of precaution. Ginseng and money are synonymous, and I was forced to be away some of the time.”

  “Would any one take it?”

  “Certainly!” said the Harvester. “If they knew it was there, and what it is worth. Then, as I’ve told you, much of the stuff here must not be handled except by experts, and I didn’t want people coming in my absence and taking risks. The remainder of my reason for living so alone is cowardice, pure and simple.”

  “Cowardice? You! Oh no!”

  “Thank you!” said the Harvester. “But it is! Some day I’ll tell you of a very solemn oath I’ve had to keep. It hasn’t been easy. You wouldn’t understand, at least not now. If the day ever comes when I think you will, I’ll tell you. Just now I can express it by that one word. I didn’t dare fail or I felt I would be lost as my father was before me. So I remained away from the city and its temptations and men of my age, and worked in the woods until I was tired enough to drop, read books that helped, tinkered with the carving, and sometimes I had an idea, and I went into that little building behind the dry-house, took out my different herbs, and tried my hand at compounding a new cure for some of the pains of humanity. It isn’t bad work, Ruth. It keeps a fellow at a fairly decent level, and some good may come of it. Carey is trying several formulae for me, and if they work I’ll carry them higher. If you want money, Girl, I know how to get it for you.”

  “Don’t you want it?”

  “Not one cent more than I’ve got,” said the Harvester emphatically. “When any man accumulates more than he can earn with his own hands, he begins to enrich himself at the expense of the youth, the sweat, the blood, the joy of his fellow men. I can go to the city, take a look, and see what money does, as a rule, and it’s another thing I’m afraid of. You will find me a dreadful coward on those two points. I don’t want to know society and its ways. I see what it does to other men; it would be presumption to reckon myself stronger. So I live alone. As for money, I’ve watched the cross cuts and the quick and easy ways to accumulate it; but I’ve had something in me that held me to the slow, sure, clean work of my own hands, and it’s yielded me enough for one, for two even, in a reasonable degree. So I’ve worked, read, compounded, and carved. If I couldn’t wear myself down enough to sleep by any other method, I went into the lake, and swam across and back; and that is guaranteed to put any man to rest, clean and unashamed.”

  “Six years,” said the Girl softly, as she studied him. “I think it has set a mark on you. I believe I can trace it. Your forehead, brow, and eyes bear the lines and the appearance of all experience, all comprehension, but your lips are those of a very young lad. I shouldn’t be surprised if I had that kiss ready for you, and I really believe I can make it worth while.”

  “Oh good Lord!” cried the Harvester, turning a backward somersault over the railing and starting in big bounds up the drive toward the stable. He passed around it and into the woods at a rush and a few seconds later from somewhere on the top of the hill his strong, deep voice swept down, “Glory, glory hallelujah!”

  He sang it through at the top of his lungs, that majestic old hymn, but there was no music at all, it was simply a roar. By and by he came soberly to the barn and paused to stroke Betsy’s nose.

  “Stop chewing grass and listen to me,” he said. “She’s here, Betsy! She’s in our cabin. She’s going to remain, you can stake your oats on that. She’s going to be the loveliest and sweetest girl in all the world, and because you’re a beast, I’ll tell you something a man never could know. Down with your ear, you critter! She’s going to kiss me, Betsy! This very night, before I lay me, her lips meet mine, and maybe you think that won’t be glorious. I supposed it would be a year, anyway, but it’s now! Ain’t you glad you are an
animal, Betsy, and can keep secrets for a fool man that can’t?”

  He walked down the driveway, and before the Girl had a chance to speak, he said, “I wonder if I had not better carry those things into your room, and arrange your bed for you.”

  “I can,” she said.

  “Oh no!” exclaimed the Harvester. “You can’t lift the mattress and heavy covers. Hold the door and tell me how.”

  He laid a big bundle on the floor, opened it, and took out the shoes.

  “Your shoe box is in the closet there.”

  “I didn’t know what that door was, so I didn’t open it.”

  “That is a part of my arrangements for you,” said the Harvester. “Here is a closet with shelves for your covers and other things. They are bare because I didn’t know just what should be put on them. This is the shoe box here in the corner; I’ll put these in it now.”

  He knelt and in a row set the shoes in the curly maple box and closed it.

  “There you are for all kinds of places and varieties of weather. This adjoining is your bathroom. I put in towels, soaps; brushes, and everything I could think of, and there is hot water ready for you—rain water, too.”

  The Girl followed and looked into a shining little bathroom, with its white porcelain tub and wash bowl, enamelled wood-work, dainty green walls, and white curtains and towels. She could see no accessory she knew of that was missing, and there were many things to which she never had been accustomed. The Harvester had gone back to the sunshine room, and was kneeling on the floor beside the bundle. He began opening boxes and handing her dresses.

  “There are skirt, coat, and waist hangers on the hooks,” he said. “I only got a few things to start on, because I didn’t know what you would like. Instead of being so careful with that dress, why don’t you take it off, and put on a common one? Then we will have something to eat, and go to the top of the hill and watch the moon bridge the lake.”

  While she hung the dresses and selected the one to wear, he placed the mattress, spread the padding and sheets, and encased the pillow. Then he bent and pressed the springs with his hands.

  “I think you will find that soft and easy enough for health,” he said. “All the personal belongings I had that clerk put up for you are in that chest of drawers there. I put the little boxes in the top and went down. You can empty and arrange them to-morrow. Just hunt out what you will need now. There should be everything a girl uses there somewhere. I told them to be very careful about that. If the things are not right or not to your taste, you can take them back as soon as you are rested, and they will exchange them for you. If there is anything I have missed that you can think of that you need to-night, tell me and I’ll go and get it.”

  The Girl turned toward him.

  “You couldn’t be making sport of me,” she said, “but Man! Can’t you see that I don’t know what to do with half you have here? I never saw such things closely before. I don’t know what they are for. I don’t know how to use them. My mother would have known, but I do not. You overwhelm me! Fifty times I’ve tried to tell you that a room of my very own, such a room as this will be when to-morrow’s sun comes in, and these, and these, and these,” she turned from the chest of boxes to the dressing table, bed, closet, and bath, “all these for me, and you know absolutely nothing about me—I get a big lump in my throat, and the words that do come all seem so meaningless, I am perfectly ashamed to say them. Oh Man, why do you do it?”

  “I thought it was about time to spring another ‘why’ on me,” said the Harvester. “Thank God, I am now in a position where I can tell you ‘why’! I do it because you are the girl of my dream, my mate by every law of Heaven and earth. All men build as well as they know when the one woman of the universe lays her spell on them. I did all this for myself just as a kind of expression of what it would be in my heart to do if I could do what I’d like. Put on the easiest dress you can find and I will go and set out something to eat.”

  She stood with arms high piled with the prettiest dresses that could be selected hurriedly, the tears running down her white cheeks and smiled through them at him.

  “There wouldn’t be any of that liquid amber would there?” she asked.

  “Quarts!” cried the Harvester. “I’ll bring some.… Does it really hit the spot, Ruth?” he questioned as he handed her the glass.

  She heaped the dresses on the bed and took it.

  “It really does. I am afraid I am using too much.”

  “I don’t think it possibly can hurt you. To-morrow we will ask Doc. How soon will you be ready for lunch?”

  “I don’t want a bite.”

  “You will when you see and smell it,” said the Harvester. “I am an expert cook. It’s my chiefest accomplishment. You should taste the dishes I improvise. But there won’t be much to-night, because I want you to see the moon rise over the lake.”

  He went away and the Girl removed her dress and spread it on the couch. Then she bathed her face and hands. When she saw the discoloured cloth, it proved that she had been painted, and made her very indignant. Yet she could not be altogether angry, for that flush of colour had saved the Harvester from being pitied by his friend. She stood a long time before the mirror, staring at her gaunt, colourless face; then she went to the dressing table and committed a crime. She found a box of cream and rubbed it on for a foundation. Then she opened some pink powder, and carefully dusted her cheeks.

  “I am utterly ashamed,” she said to the image in the mirror, “but he has done so much for me, he is so, so—I don’t know a word big enough—that I can’t bear him to see how ghastly I am, how little worth it. Perhaps the food, better air, and outdoor exercise will give me strength and colour soon. Until it does I’m afraid I’m going to help out all I can with this. It is wonderful how it changes one. I really appear like a girl instead of a bony old woman.”

  Then she looked over the dresses, selected a pretty white princesse, slipped it on, and went to the kitchen. But the Harvester would not have her there. He seated her at the dining table, beside the window overlooking the lake, lighted a pair of his home-made candles in his finest sticks, and placed before her bread, butter, cold meat, milk, and fruit, and together they ate their first meal in their home.

  “If I had known,” said the Harvester, “Granny Moreland is a famous cook. She is a Southern woman, and she can fry chicken and make some especial dishes to surpass any one I ever knew. She would have been so pleased to come over and get us an all-right supper.”

  “I’d much rather have this, and be by ourselves,” said the Girl.

  “Well, you can bank on it, I would,” agreed the Harvester. “For instance, if any one were here, I might feel restrained about telling you that you are exactly the beautiful, flushed Dream Girl I have adored for months, and your dress most becoming. You are a picture to blind the eyes of a lonely bachelor, Ruth.”

  “Oh why did you say that?” wailed the Girl. “Now I’ve got to feel like a sneak or tell you—and I didn’t want you to know.”

  “Don’t you ever tell me or any one else anything you don’t want to,” said the Harvester roundly. “It’s nobody’s business!”

  “But I must! I can’t begin with deception. I was fool enough to think you wouldn’t notice. Man, they painted me! I didn’t know they were doing it, but when it all washed off, I looked so ghastly I almost frightened myself. I hunted through the boxes they put up for you and found some pink powder—”

  “But don’t all the daintiest women powder these days, and consider it indispensable? The clerk said so, and I’ve noticed it mentioned in the papers. I bought it for you to use.”

  “Yes, just powder, but Man, I put on a lot of cold cream first to stick the powder good and thick. Oh I wish I hadn’t!”

  “Well since you’ve told it, is your conscience perfectly at ease? No you don’t! You sit where you are! You are lovely, and if you don’t use enough powder to cover the paleness, until your colour returns, I’ll hold you and put it on. I know
you feel better when you appear so that every one must admire you.”

  “Yes, but I’m a fraud!”

  “You are no such thing!” cried the Harvester hotly. “There hasn’t a woman in ten thousand got any such rope of hair. I have been seeing the papers on the hair question, too. No one will believe it’s real. If they think your hair is false, when it is natural, they won’t be any more fooled when they think your colour is real, and it isn’t. Very soon it will be and no one need ever know the difference. You go on and fix up your level best. To see yourself appearing well will make you ambitious to become so as soon as possible.”

  “Harvester-man,” said the Girl, gazing at him with wet luminous eyes, “for the sake of other women, I could wish that all men had an oath to keep, and had been reared in the woods.”

  “Here is the place we adjourn to the moon,” cried the Harvester. “I don’t know of anything that can cure a sudden accession of swell head like gazing at the heavens. One finds his place among the atoms naturally and instantaneously with the eyes on the night sky. Should you have a wrap? You should! The mists from the lake are cool. I don’t believe there is one among my orders. I forgot that. But upstairs with mother’s clothing there are several shawls and shoulder capes. All of them were washed and carefully packed. Would you use one, Ruth?”