known anything like itbefore. The women all laughed and cried in their excitable foreign way,and the men's faces showed great white teeth in radiant smiles. Theykissed my hands and even the sleeves of my dress, and some of thechildren danced around and around in a very ecstasy of welcome, for Ifelt sure that to them I was the keeper of mammoth banana-bags. And Ilaughed and sniffed and patted and hugged the women in return, andnodded and called broken Belgian-English greeting to the men--to all butSam. Sam stood perfectly still in the middle of the lane in the exactplace that he had been when he caught sight of me coming out of thesunset toward him. He let the child slip from his shoulders and nevertook his eyes off me during the five minutes of the reunion rejoicings.And I never looked at or spoke to Sam, but walked on back to The Briersahead of him, with the women chattering and gesticulating around me.
When we came to the gate I waited for Sam to come forward to open it. Iwanted him to lead his flock into their promised land and--and I wantedto follow at his heels with them.
Around up the hill he led us, down the old road, past the big rockspring-house with its nine crocks of milk that I could see the womeneagerly point out to one another, and into the little town of tents, atwhose entrance stood daddy and Dr. Chubb, with their sleeves rolled upand energetic welcome in their eyes.
Then for an hour there was sorting of bundles and bedding; locating andhousing; assuring and reassuring; nursing babies by camp-fires, andfeeding little mouths out of the huge chicken-dumpling pots that Mammy,with Dr. Chubb's assistance, had been brewing since morning. A big heapof coals was shoveled off a perfect mound of corn-pones; and there wasplenty for all and some left over. I think I never saw anything so happyas the fledgling as he squatted on the ground and fed two toddlers froma bowl of corn-bread and gravy, strictly turnabout, the odd one to hisown mouth.
Then, as the twilight came down softly like a beautiful benediction, weleft them all, strangers in a strange land, fed, housed, and comforted.
We went up to the old white, hovering house, and while Mammy and Iplanned and in a measure mixed breakfast for the multitude down thehill, daddy and Dr. Chubb went with Sam, who had slipped on hisoveralls, to look at the new mules tied out behind the barn to longtemporary stable poles. The Byrd I could not get from the company downby the spring. Later Mammy had to go down and extract him, fast asleep,from the midst of the largest Belgian family, where he was watched overtenderly by the fierce-eyed woman and the mother of the twins.
I had wiped the meal off my hands and taken off Mammy's apron when Samcame to the door and called me; and I felt very much as I used to whenat school I went in to get my examination marks, as I followed him downto Peter's shack on the hillside. I wasn't one bit afraid of SamuelFoster Crittenden, I told myself, while I walked along behind him as heheld the coral-strung buck-bushes out of my path; but my knees didtremble, and my teeth chattered so that I felt sure he would hear them.
For a long moment Sam stood in front of the shack and looked out over toParadise Ridge. I knew that now was the time for me to marshal up mydefense and demand to be put on the same footing in life with thosepeasant women sleeping below us beside the covered camp-fires.
"What right has any man to say that a woman shall not plow and sow andreap and dig if she wants to, and especially if it is so much in herblood that she can't keep away from it?" I was just getting ready todemand. Then suddenly Sam sobbed, choked, sobbed again, and reached outhis arms to fold me in against the sobs so closely that I could feelthem rising out of his very heart.
"Betty, Betty," he fairly groaned, with his face pressed close to mine.A tear wet my cheek, larger and warmer than the ones which werebeginning to drip from my own eyes.
"I can't help it, Sam," I sobbed. "I will be just as good as any of theother women; but I want a--a mule and twenty acres here with you. Idon't feel safe anywhere else. I might starve, away from you."
And then, very quietly, very surely, I found out what it was I had beenhungry for and thirsty for, what it was I had been used to having fed meever since I could remember--it was Sam's love. He held me close, thencloser for a long second--and then he pressed his lips on mine until Iknew what it was to feel--fed.
"My woman," he said, when at last I turned my face away for breath andto get room to raise my arms around his neck and hold on tight until Icould get used to being certain that he was there.
"I tried to let you give me away, Sam, but I couldn't," I said, with adive into the breast of his overalls, which had that glorious barn andfield--was it cosmic he told me to call it?--smell.
"When I've loved you a little longer I'm going to shake the life out ofyou for this mix-up," said Sam, hollowing his long arms and breast stilldeeper to fold me fast.
"I--I held Peter's hand all during that long play-making, and I can'tstand it any longer," I said, squirming still closer and hiding myabashed eyes under his chin.
"Just hold my heart awhile now," Sam answered, as he sank down on thedoor-sill of the shack and cradled me close and warm, safe from thelittle chill breeze that blew up from the valley.
I don't know how long we sat there with arms and breasts and cheeksclose, but I do know that some of the time Sam was praying, and Iprayed, too. That is, I thanked God for Sam in behalf of myself and thehelpless people in the camp below us and the rest of the world, even ifthey don't know about him yet. Amen.
Of course, it is easy enough, if you have a little money in yourstocking, to cut any kind of hard knot and go off on a railroad train,leaving the ravelings behind you. But I believe that sooner or laterpeople always have to tie up all the strings of all the knots theyruthlessly cut. Sam made me do it the very next day, after a long talkout on the front porch under the honeysuckle that was still blowing afew late flowers.
First he made me tell mother. She said:
"Why, of course, Betty dear, I always expected you to marry Sam, and Iam so glad that you are so like my mother and will be a good farmer'swife. Did I give you that gardening-book of hers that I found? It mightbe a help to you both."
Did she give me that gardening-book which had made all the mischief? Ifelt Sam laugh, for I was hanging on to his arm just as I always didwhen he took me in to tell mother on myself. I was glad that shefinished the eighth row of the mat and began on the ninth at that exactmoment, so we could go on back to the honeysuckles and the young moon.
Then Sam made me tell daddy. Daddy said:
"Now I suppose I will be allowed to purchase a mule and cow or anelectric reaper for that farm when I think it necessary?" And as hespoke he looked Sam straight in the face, with belligerency making thecorners of his white mustache stand straight up.
"Make it a big steam-silo, first, Dad Hayes," answered Sam, laughing andred up to the edges of his hair--and daddy got an arm around us both fora good hug.
But the letter to Peter was another thing, and I didn't wait for Sam totell me to write it. I smudged and snubbed and scratched over it all dayand flung myself weeping into Sam's arms that night with it in my hand.
"Why, I wrote to Peter that night--the night I--took you over, Bettykin.And here's the answer that came an hour ago by wire. Take your hair outof my eyes and let me read it to you."
I snuggled two inches lower against Sam, and this is what he read:
My life for your life, yours for mine, and joy to us both. PETE.
I got a letter from Peter the next day, and it said such wonderfulthings about Sam that I pasted it in Grandmother Nelson's book with theCommissioner's report. I had to cut out a whole page about Julia'sbeauty and the way New York was crazy about her. Peter is the mostwonderful man in the world in some ways, and I believe that, as hedeserves all kinds of happiness, he'll get it; maybe a nice, big, pinkhappiness in a blue chiffon and gold dress that will rock his nervesthrough a long career of play-writing. I told Sam my hopes.
He ruffled my hair with his big hand, and my lips with his, as hesmoldered out toward Old Harpeth. In his eyes was the gr
idiron land lookthat started the flow of sap along the twigs of my heart just a fewmonths ago. Then he said:
"A man must plow his field of life deep, Betty, but if a woman didn'ttrudge 'longside with her hoe and seed-basket, what would the harvestbe?"
THE END
Over Paradise Ridge Page 25
