CHAPTER VIII
UNCLE TUCKER'S TORCH
"And how do you do, Mr. Crabtree? Glad to see you, suh, glad to seeyou again! How is all Sweetbriar? Any new voters since young Tucker,or a poem or so in the Rucker family? And are you succeeding inkeeping the peace with Mrs. Plunkett for young Bob?" And firing thisvolley of questions through the gently agitated smile-veil theHonorable Gideon Newsome stood in the door of the store, large-loomingand jocular.
"Well, howdy, howdy, Senator, come right in and have a chair in thedoor-breeze!" exclaimed Mr. Crabtree as he turned to beam a welcome onthe Senator from behind the counter where he was filling kerosenecans. "We ain't seen you in most a month of Sundays, and I'm sure gladyou lit in passing again."
"I never just light in passing Sweetbriar, friend Crabtree," answeredthe senator impressively. "I start every journey with a stop atSweetbriar in view, and it seems a long time until I make the haven Iassure you, suh. And now for the news. You say my friend, Mrs.Plunkett, is enjoying her usual good health and spirits?"
"Well, not to say enjoying of things in general, but it do seem shehas got just a little mite of spirit back along of this herebully-ragging of Bob and Louisa Helen. She come over here yesterdayand stood by the counter upwards of an hour before I could persuadeher to be easy in her mind about letting Bob take that frizzling overto Providence to a ice-cream festibul Mis' Mayberry was a-having forthe church carpet benefit last night. After I told her I would put upearly, and me and her could jog over in my buggy along behind themflippets to see no foolishness were being carried on, she took it moreeasy, and it looked like onct and a while on the road she most cometo the point of enjoying her own self. But I reckon I'm just foolingmyself by thinking that though," and Mr. Crabtree eyed the Senatorwith pathetic eagerness to be assured that he was not self-deceived atthis slight advance up the steep ascent of his road of true love.
"Not a bit of doubt in my mind she enjoyed it greatly, suh, greatly,and I consider the cause of diverting her grief has advanced a hundredper cent by her consenting to go at all. Did any of the otherSweetbriar friends avail themselves of the Providence invitation--MissRose Mary and er--any of the other young people?"
"No, Miss Rose Mary didn't want to go, though Mr. Rucker woulder likedto hitch up the wagon and take her and Mis' Rucker and the children.She have been mighty quiet like sinct Mr. Everett left us, thoughshe'd never let anybody lack the heartening of that smile of hern nomatter how tetched with lonesome she was herself. When the letterscome I just can't wait to finish sorting the rest, but I run withhers to her, like Sniffie brings sticks back to Stonie Jackson when hethrows them in the bushes."
"Ahm--er--do they come often?" asked the Senator in a casual voice,but his eyes narrowed in their slits and the veil became impenetrable.
"Oh, about every day or two," answered the unconsciously gossipylittle bachelor. "Looks like the whole family have missed him, too.Miss Viney has been in bed off and on ever since he left, and MissAmandy has tooken a bad cold in her right ear and has had to keep herhead wrapped up all the time. Mr. Tucker's mighty busy a-trying tofigure out how to crap the farm like Mr. Mark laid off on a map forhim to do--but he ain't got the strength now to even get a part of itdone. If Miss Rose Mary weren't strong and bendy as a hickory saplinshe couldn't prop up all them old folks."
"Yes," answered the Senator in one of his most judicial and dulcettones as he eyed the little bachelor in a calculating way as ifdeciding whether to take him into his confidence, "what you say of Mr.Alloway's being too old to farm his land with a profit is true. I havecome this time to talk things over with him and--er--Miss Rose Mary.Did I understand you to say our friend Everett is still in New York?Have you heard of his having any intention of returning to Sweetbriarany time soon?"
"No, I haven't heard tell of his coming back at all, and I'm mightysorry and disappointed some, too," answered Mr. Crabtree with ananxious look coming into his kind eyes. "I somehow felt sure he wouldscratch up oil or some kind of pay truck out there in the fields ofthe Briars. I shipped a whole box of sand and gravel for him accordingto a telegram he sent me just last week and I had sorter got my hopesup for a find, specially as that young city fellow came out here anddug another bag full outen the same place not any time after that. Hehad a map with him, and I thought he might be a friend of Mr. Mark'sand asked him, but he didn't answer; never rested to light a pipe,even, so I never found out about him. I reckon he was just foolingaround and I hadn't oughter hoped on such a light ration."
"When was it that the man came and prospected?" asked the Senator witha quick gleam coming into his ugly little eyes and the smile veil tookon another layer of density, while his hand trembled slightly as helighted his cigar.
"Oh, about a week ago," answered Mr. Crabtree. "But I ain't got nohopes now for Mr. Tucker and the folks from him. We'll all just haveto find some way to help them out when the bad time comes."
"The way will be provided, friend Crabtree," answered the Senator inan oily tone of voice, but which held nevertheless a decided note ofexcitement. "Do you know where I can find Mr. Alloway? I think I willgo have a business talk with him now." And in a few minutes theSenator was striding as rapidly as his ponderosity would allow upProvidence Road, leaving the garrulous little storekeeper totallyunconscious of the fuse he had lighted for the firing of the mine solong dreaded by his friends.
"Well now, Crabbie, don't bust out and cry into them dried apples jestto swell the price, fer Mis' Rucker will ketch you sure when she comesto buy 'em for to-morrow's turnovers," came in the long drawl of thepoet as he dawdled into the door and flung the rusty mail-sack down onto the counter in front of Mr. Crabtree. "They ain't a thing in thatsack 'cept Miss Rose Mary's letter, and he must make a light kind oflove from the heft of it. I most let it drop offen the saddle as Ijogged along, only I'm a sensitive kind of cupid and the buckle ofthe bag hit that place on my knee I got sleep-walking last week whileI was thinking up that verse that '_despair_' wouldn't rhyme with'_hair_' in for me. Want me to waft this here missive over to themilk-house to her and kinder pledge his good digestion and such in aglass of her buttermilk?"
"No, I wisht you would stay here in the store for me while I take itover to her myself. I've got some kind of business with her for a fewminutes," answered Mr. Crabtree as he searched out the solitary letterand started to the door with it. "Sample that new keg of maple dripbehind the door there. The cracker box is open," he added by way ofcompensation to the poet for the loss of the buttermilk.
The imagination of all true lovers is easily exercised about matterspertaining to the tender passion, and though Mr. Crabtree had never inhis life received such a letter he divined instantly that it should bedelivered promptly by a messenger whose mercury wings should scarcelypause in agitating the air of arrival and departure. And suiting hisactions to his instinct he whirled the envelope across the springstream to the table by Rose Mary's side with the aim of one of thelittle god's own arrows and retreated before her greeting andinvitation to enter should tempt him.
"Honey drip and women folks is sweet jest about the same and they bothstick some when you're got your full of 'em at the time,"philosophized the poet as he wiped his mouth with the back of hishand.
"Say, Crabbie, don't tell Mis' Rucker I have come home yet, please. Iwant to go out and lay down in the barn on the hay and see if I canget that '_hair-despair_' tangle straightened out. She hasn't seen meto tell me things for two hours or more and I know I won't get nothinking done this day if I don't make the barn 'fore she spies me."And with furtive steps and eyes he left the store and veered in around-about way toward the barn.
And over in the milk-house Rose Mary stood in the long shaft ofgolden light that came across the valley and fell through the door, itwould seem, just to throw a glow over the wide sheets of closelywritten paper. Rose Mary had been pale as she worked, and her deepeyes had been filled with a very gentle sadness which lighted with aflash as she opened the envelope and began to read.
"Just
a line, Rose girl, before I put out the light and go on a dreamhunt for you," Everett wrote in his square black letters. "The day hasbeen long and I feel as if I had been drawn out still longer. I'mtired, I'm hungry, and there's no balm of Gilead in New York. I can'teat because there are no cornmeal muffins in this howling wildernessof houses, streets, people and noise. I can't drink because somethingawful rises in my throat when I see cream or buttermilk, and sassarcakdoesn't interest me any more. I would be glad to lap out of one ofyour crocks with Sniffie and the wee dogs.
"And most of all I'm tired to see you. I want to tell you how hard Iam working, and that I don't seem to be able to make some of thesestupid old gold backs see things my way, even if I do show it to themcovered with a haze of yellow pay dust. But they shall--and that's myvow to--
"I wish I could kneel down by your rocking-chair with Stonie and hearUncle Tucker chant that stunt about '_the hollow of His hand_.' Is anyof that true, Rose Mamie, and are you true and is Aunt Viney as wellas could be expected, considering the length of my absence? I've gotthe little Bible book with Miss Amanda's blush rose pressed in it, andI put my hand to my breast-pocket so often to be sure it is there andsome other things--letter things--that the heat and friction of themand the hand combined have brought out a great patch of prickly heatright over my heart in this sizzling weather. I know it needs freshcold cream to make it heal up, and I haven't even any talcum powder.How's Louisa Helen and doth the widow consent still not at all? TellCrabtree I say just walk over and try force of arms and not to--Thatforce of arms is a good expression to use--literally in some cases.Something is the matter with my arms. They don't feel strong like theydid when I helped Uncle Tucker mow the south pasture and turn the cornchopper--they're weak and--and sorter useless--and empty. Tell Stoniehe could beat me bear-hugging any day now. Has Tobe discovered any newadventure in aromatics lately, and can little Poteet sit up and takenotice? Help, help, I'm getting so homesick that I'm about to cry andfall into the ink!
"Good night--with all that the expression can imply of moonlightcoming over the head of old Harpeth, pouring down its sides, ripplingout over the corn-fields and flooding over a tall rose girl thing whostands in the doorway with her 'nesties' all asleep in the dark housebehind her--and if any man were lounging against the honeysuckle vinegetting a last puff out of his cigar I should know it, and a thousandmiles couldn't save him. I'm all waked up thinking about it, and Icould smash--Good night!
M.E.
P.S. I don't think it at all square of you not to let Stonie sell methe little dogs. Women ought to keep out of business affairs betweenmen."
And as she turned the last page, slipped it back into place andpromptly began at the beginning of the very first one, Rose Mary'sface was an exquisite study in what might have been entitled pure joy.Her roses rioted up under her lashes, her rich lips curled like thehalf-blown bud between the flower of her cheeks, and her eyes shonelike the two first stars mirrored in a woman's pool of life. Also itis one of the mysteries of the drama why a woman will scan over andover pages whose every letter is chiseled inches deep into her heart;and exactly one-half hour later Rose Mary was still standingmotionless by her table, with the letter outspread in her hand.
And this was a very wonderful woman Old Harpeth had cradled in thehollow of His hand, nurtured on the richness of the valley andbreathed into her with ever-perfumed breath the peace of faith--in Godand man, for to any but an elemental, natural, faith-inspired woman ofthe fields would have come crushing, cruel, tearing doubts of the manbeyond the hills who said so little and yet so much. However, RoseMary was one of the order of fostering women whose arms are foreveroutheld cradle-wise, and to whose breast is ever drawn in mother lovethe child in the man of her choice, so her days since Everett'shurried departure had been filled with love and longing, with faithand prayers, but there had been not one shadow of doubt of him or hislove for her all half-spoken as he had left it.
And added to her full heart had been burdens that had made her handsstill fuller. She had gone on her way day by day pouring out therichness of her life and strength where it was so sorely needed by herfeeble folk, with a song in her heart for him and them and to answerevery call from along Providence Road. Thus it is that the motivepower for the great cycles that turn and turn out in the wide spacesbetween time and eternity, regardless of the wheels of men that whirland buzz on broken cog with shattered rim, is poured through thenatures of women of such a mold for the saving of His nations.
At last Rose Mary folded her letter, hesitated, and with a glint ofthe blue in her eyes as her lashes fell over a still rosier hint inher cheeks, she tucked it into the front of her dress and smoothed andpatted the folds of her apron close down over it, then turned withpraiseworthy energy to the huge bowl of unworked butter.
And it was nearly an hour later, still, that the Honorable Gid loomedin the doorway under the honeysuckle vines, a complacent smilearranged on his huge face and gallantry oozing from every gesture andpose.
"Why, Mr. Newsome, when did you come? How are you, and I'm glad to seeyou!" exclaimed Rose Mary all in one hospitable breath as she beamedat the Senator across her table with the most affable friendship. RoseMary felt in a beaming mood, and the Honorable Gid came under theshower of her affability.
"Do have that chair by the door, and let me give you a glass of milk,"she hastened to add as she took up a cup and started for the crockswith a still greater accession of hospitality. "Sweet or buttermilk?"she paused to inquire over her shoulder.
"Either handed by you would be sweet" answered the Senator withpraiseworthy ponderosity, and he shook out the smile veil until thevery roots of his hair became agitated.
"Yes, Mr. Rucker says my buttermilk tastes like sweet milk with honeyadded," laughed Rose Mary, dimpling from over the tall jar. "He saysthat because I always pour cream into it for him, and Mrs. Ruckerwon't because she says it is extravagant. But I think a poet ought tohave a dash of cream in his life, if just to make the poetry runsmoother--and orators, too," she added as she poured half a ladlefulof the golden top milk into the foaming glass in her hand and gave itto the Senator, who received it with a trembling hand and gulped itdown desperately; for this once in his life the Honorable GideonNewsome was completely and entirely embarrassed. For many a year hehad had at his command florid and extravagant figures of speech which,cast in any one of a dozen of his dulcet modulations of voice, werewarranted to tell on even the most stubborn masculine intelligence,and ought to have melted the feminine heart at the moment ofutterance, but at this particular moment they all failed him, and hewas left high and dry on the coast of courtship with only the barequestion available for use.
"Miss Rose Mary," he blurted out without any preamble at all, anddrops of the sweat of an agony of anxiety stood out all over the widebrow, "I have been talking with Mr. Alloway, and I have come to you tosee if we can't all get together and settle this mortgage question tothe profit of all concerned. I lent him that money six years ago withthe intention of trying to get you to be my wife just as soon as yourecovered from your--your natural grief over the way things had gonewith you and young Alloway. I have waited longer than I had anyintention of doing, because I was absorbed in this political career Ihad begun on, but now I see it is time to settle matters, as the farmis running us all into debt, and I'm very much in need of you as awife. I hope you see it in that light, and the marriage can't takeplace too soon to suit me. You are the handsomest woman in mydistrict, and my constituents can not help but approve of my choice."Something of the Senator's grandiloquence was returning to him, and heregarded Rose Mary with the pride of one who has appraisedsatisfactorily and is about to complete a proposed purchase.
And as for Rose Mary, she stood framed against the fern-lined dusk atthe back of the milk-house like a naiad startled as she emerged fromher tree bower. Quickly she raised her hand to her breast and just asquickly the pressure of the letter laying there against her heart senta flood over her face that had grown pale and still, but she rai
sedher head proudly and looked the Senator straight in the face with aquestioning, hurt surprise.
"You didn't make the terms clear when you lent the money to us," shesaid quietly.
"Well," he answered, beginning to take heart at her very tranquilacceptance of the first bombardment, "I thought it best to let a timeelapse to soothe your deceived affections and cure your humiliation.For the time being I was content to enjoy culling the flowers of yourfriendship from time to time, but I now feel no longer satisfied withthem, but must be paid in a richer harvest. We will take charge ofthis place, assure a comfortable future for the aged relatives in yourcare, and as my wife you will be both happy and honored." The Senatorwas decidedly coming into his own, and smile, glance and voice as heregarded Rose Mary were unctuous. In fact, through their slits hiseyes shot a gleam of something that was so hateful to Rose Mary thatshe caught her breath with horror, and only the sharp corner of herletter pressed into her naked breast kept her from reeling. But in asecond she had herself in hand and her quick mother-wit was aroused tofind out the worst and begin a fight for the safeguarding of hernesties--and the nest.
"And if I shouldn't want to--to do what you want me to?" she asked,and she was even able to summon a smile with a tinge of coquetry thatserved to draw the wily Senator further than he realized.
"Oh, I feel sure you can have no objections to me that are strongenough to weigh against thus providing suitably for your oldrelatives," was the bait he dangled before her humiliated eyes. "It isthe only way to do it, for Mr. Alloway is too old to care any longerfor the place, which has been run at a loss for too long already. Wemay say that in accepting me you are accepting their comfortablefuture. Of course you could not expect things to go on any longer inthis impossible way, as I have need of the home and family I am reallyentitled to, now could you?" The Senator bent forward and finished hissentence in his most beguiling tone as he poured the hateful glanceall over her again so that her blood stopped in her veins from veryfear and repulsion.
"No," she said slowly, with her eyes down on the bowl of butter onthe table before her; "no, things couldn't go on as they have anylonger. I have felt that for some time." She paused a second, thenlifted her deep eyes and looked straight into his, and the woundedlight in their blue depth was shadowed in the pride of the glance."You are right--you must not be kept out of your own any longer. Butyou will--will you give me just a little time to--to get used to--tothinking about it? Will you go now and leave me--and come back in afew days? It is the last favor I shall ever ask of you. I promise whenyou come back to--to pay the debt." And the color flooded over herface, then receded, to leave her white and controlled.
"I felt sure you would see it that way; immediately, immediately, mydear," answered the Senator, as he rose to take his departure. Atriumphant note boomed in his big gloating voice, but some influencethat it is given a woman to exhale in a desperate self-defense kepthim from bestowing anything more than an ordinary pressure on the coldhand laid in his. Then with a heavy jauntiness he crossed the Road,mounted his horse and, tipping his wide hat in a conquering-hero wave,rode on down Providence Road toward Boliver.
And for a long, quiet moment Rose Mary stood leaning against the oldstone table perfectly still, with her hand pressing the sharp-edgepaper against her heart; then she sank into a chair and, stretchingher arms across the cold table, she let her head sink until the chillof the stone came cool to her burning cheeks. So this was the doorthat was to be opened in the stone wall--she had been blind and hadn'tseen!
And across the hills away by the sea he was tired and cold andhungry--with only a few hundred dollars in his pocket. He wasdiscouraged and overworked, and a time was coming when she would nothave the right to shelter his heart in hers. Once when he had been soill, before he ever became conscious of her at all, his head hadfallen over on her breast as she had tended him in his weakness--thethrob of it hurt her now. And perhaps he would never understand. Shecouldn't tell him because--because of his poverty and the hurt itwould give him--not to be able to help--to save her. No, he must notknow until too late--and _never_ understand! Desperately thus waveafter wave swept over her, crushing, grinding, mocking her womanhood,until, helpless and breathless, she was tossed, well nigh unconscious,upon the shore of exhaustion. The fight of the instinctive woman forits own was over and the sacrifice was prepared. She was bound to thewheel and ready for the first turn, though out under the skies,"_stretched as a tent to dwell in_," the cycle was moving on itscourse turned by the same force from the same source that numbers thesparrows.
"Rose Mary, child," came in a gentle voice, and Uncle Tucker'strembling old hand was laid with a caress on the bowed head before shehad even heard him come into the milk-house, "now you've got to lookup and get the kite to going again. I've been under the waters, too,but I've pulled myself ashore with a-thinking that nothing's a-goingto take _you_ away from me and them. What does it matter if we were tohave to take the bed covers and make a tent for ourselves to campalong Providence Road just so we all can crawl under the flaptogether? I need nothing in the world but to be sure your smile is nota-going to die out."
"Oh, honey-sweet, it isn't--it isn't," answered Rose Mary, looking upat him quickly with the tenderness breaking through the agony in aperfect radiance. "It's all right, Uncle Tucker, I know it will be!"
"Course it's all right because it _is_ right," answered Uncle Tuckerbravely, with a real smile breaking through the exhaustion on hisface that showed so plainly the fight he had been having out in hisfields, now no longer his as he realized. "Gid has got the right ofit, and it wasn't honest of us to hold on at this losing rate as longas we did. There is just a little more value to the land than themortgage, I take it, and we can pay the behind interest with that, andwhen we do move offen the place we won't leave debt to nobody on it,even if we do leave--the graves."
"Did he say--when--when he expected you to--give up the Briars?" askedRose Mary in a guarded tone of voice, as if she wanted to be sure ofall the facts before she told of the climax she saw had not been evensuggested to Uncle Tucker.
"Oh, no; Gid handled the talk mighty kind-like. I think it's better tolet folks always chaw their own hard tack instead of trying to grindit up friendly for them, cause the swalloring of the trouble has tocome in the end; but Gid minced facts faithful for me, according tohis lights. I didn't rightly make out just what he did expect, only wecouldn't go on as we were--and that I've been knowing for some time."
"Yes, we've both known that," said Rose Mary, still suspending herannouncement, she scarcely knew why.
"He talked like he was a-going to turn the Briars into a kinder orphanasylum for us old folks and spread-eagled around about something hedidn't seem to be able to spit out with good sense. But I reckon I waskinder confused by the shock and wasn't right peart myself to take inhis language." And Uncle Tucker sank into a chair, and Rose Mary couldsee that he was trembling from the strain. His big eyes were sunk farback into his head and his shoulders stooped more than she had everseen them.
"Sweetie, sweetie, I can tell you what Mr. Newsome was trying to sayto you--it was about me. I--I am going to be his wife, and you andthe aunties are never, never going to leave the Briars. He has justleft here and--and, oh, I am so grateful to keep it--for you--andthem. I never thought of that--I never suspected such--a--door in ourstone wall." And Rose Mary's voice was firm and gentle, but her deepeyes looked out over Harpeth Valley with the agony of all the ages intheir depths.
But in hoping to conceal her tragedy Rose Mary had not counted on thelight love throws across the dark places that confront the steps ofthose of our blood-bond, and in an instant Uncle Tucker's torch ofcomprehension flamed high with the passion of indignation. Slowly herose to his feet, and the stoop in his feeble old shouldersstraightened itself out so that he stood with the height of his youngmanhood. His gentle eyes lost the mysticism that had come with hisyears of sorrow and baffling toil, and a stern, dignified power shonestraight out over the young woman at his side. He r
aised his arm andpointed with a hand that had ceased to tremble over the valley towhere Providence Road wound itself over Old Harpeth.
"Rose Mary," he said sternly in a quiet, decisive voice that rang withthe virility of his youth, "when the first of us Alloways came alongthat wilderness trail a slip of an English girl walked by him when hewalked and rode the pillion behind him when he rode. She finished thatjourney with bleeding feet in moccasins he had bought from an Indiansquaw. When they came on down into this Valley and found this springhe halted wagons and teams and there on that hill she dropped down tosleep, worn out with the journey. And while she was asleep he stuck astake at the black-curled head of her and one by the little, tired,ragged feet. That was the measure of the front door-sill to the Briarsup there on the hill. Come generations we have fought off the Indians,we have cleared and tilled the land, and we have gone up to the statehouse to name laws and order. In our home we have welcomed traveler,man and beast, and come sun-up each day we have worshipped at thealtar of the living God--but we've never sold one of our women yet!The child of that English girl never leaves my arms except to go intothose of a man she loves and wants. Yes, I'm old and I've got stillolder to look out for, but I can strike the trail again to-morrow,jest so I carry the honor of my women folks along with me. We may fallon the march, but, Rose Mary, you are a Harpeth Valley woman, and notfor sale!"
Rose of Old Harpeth Page 8
