XIII
"Do you love the country as much as you seem to?" she asked, gazingblissfully up at the dense foliage of the elm tree under which we wereresting.
"I could not love it more; it is a wonder which never ends, and anenduring delight. If I could think that Paradise was like this day, andthis place, I would not care when death came."
"I'm so glad," she answered, with the simplicity and directness of achild. "I have been in cities, and I don't see how a soul can livethere. It seems to me that mine would cramp and dwindle until it died ifI had to live in a big town. Even the large and beautiful places ofworship speak more of the human than of the divine. It seems that mengo because they must, and that women go to show their clothes. This ismy religion and my temple." She smiled in real joy as she waved her handabout her in a gesture comprehending everything bounded by the horizon."Look at the roof of my temple. Was there ever one so high built bymortals, and was there ever a pigment mixed that could give it the tintwhich mine holds? And it is not always the same. To-day it is a paleblue, marked with delicate lines of cloud. At twilight it will darken toazure; to-night it will be studded with a million gems. And no prayerfalls back from that roof upon the head of the sender, for the stars arethe portholes through which they go to heaven. Do you never think thatway?"
I shook my head slowly.
"It is very beautiful," I said, "and equally true, no doubt, but I hadnever thought of it in just that way. I love this life because I can'thelp but love it. The forests, the meadows, the fields, and the brooksare what my soul craves; yet if you ask me why, I cannot tell you. Ihave been happier the few short weeks I have spent in your home than Iwas all the rest of my life. Since you have come, my happiness hasdeepened."
I dared not look up, but kept my eyes on the four-leaf clover I wasplucking to pieces.
"I'm glad I've helped make your visit pleasant."
Her voice was in the same low sweet tones which she had before employed,and I knew by this she attached no particular significance to my lastsentence.
"When mother wrote me that you had come to board with us, I was a littledispleased, for I was jealous of the sweet accord in which we all dwelt,and did not want it marred. But when she told me all about you, andyour habits, my feelings changed. I do not wish to draw any unjustcomparisons, but there are very few people with tastes and inclinationslike yours and mine,--don't you think so?"
This naive frankness almost amused me.
"I think you are right. I never knew any one who would care for just thethings we do, and they are certainly the most innocent pleasures whichthe world affords."
A sudden darkening of the landscape and a breath of cool air accentuatedthe silence which fell at this point. We both looked up, and saw theedge of a blue-black cloud peeping over the shoulder of a northwesternhill.
"I'm afraid we'll get wet," said Salome, rising hastily, and surveyingher airy garments dubiously. "There isn't even a cabin between here andhome. I wouldn't care a fig, but mother always hates for me to be out ina storm. We can only do our best, and walk rapidly."
With the salt bucket in my left hand, and her hand in my right, I helpedher up the hill the best I could. Fido limped behind. He had been lostnearly all the time since we started,--chasing rabbits, doubtless,--andhad only made his appearance a few moments before the cloud startled us.We gained the pike directly, and as we hurried towards the wheat-fieldthe cloud grew with alarming rapidity, and a scroll-work of flame beganto show about its outer edges.
"Isn't it beautiful?" whispered Salome. "But we're going to catch it."
And we did. Half-way across the wheat-field the first big dropssplashed against our faces, blown by strong gusts of wind. I gazedaround helplessly for shelter. A few yards to our right rose thecumbersome shape of a last year's straw-rick; it was better thannothing.
"Come!" I said, taking her arm firmly. "I'll find you shelter."
She consented silently, and I crushed a path for her through the ripegrain until we reached the rick. The rain was beginning to pelt ussharply. Furiously I went to work, tearing out straw by the handfuls,armfuls, and in a few seconds I had excavated a hole large enough forSalome to enter in a crouching posture.
"Get in!" I commanded. I think she little liked the tone of authority Ihad assumed, for if there ever was a petted being, it was she, yet sheobeyed, and cuddled up in her refuge out of reach of the driving rain.
I sat down by the side of her covert, and rested my back against therick. I also turned up my coat-collar, and pulled my hat well down uponmy head; but I soon saw that a good soaking was in store for me.
"Why don't you come in, too?" she asked in guileless innocence. "I canmake room for you, and you will surely get wet out there. Aren't youafraid of rheumatism? Father has it if he gets his toe damp."
"I'll get along all right," I replied. "There doesn't much rain strikeme, and I never had the rheumatism in my life."
I didn't tell her of the trouble with my breathing, and the attack thatwould be almost sure to follow this exposure.
We both grew quiet after this, and listened to the swish of the rain andthe mighty howling of the wind. It had grown very dark, and the air waschilly. The lightning was incessant, and traced zigzag pathways of fireacross the sombre heavens. The thunder was terrific, and often shook thesolid earth. I asked Salome if she was not afraid, but she laughed fromher snug retreat, and said she loved it all. What manner of girl wasthis, who feared nothing, and who loved Nature even when she was at warwith herself?
The strife of the elements ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Thethunder rumbled away in the east; the rain stopped falling, and a riftof blue showed through the dun masses overhead. This was followed by abroad shaft of sunlight, which struck on the golden sea around us with ashimmering radiance. I jokingly called Salome a "hayseed" when sheemerged from her shelter, for her brown hair was sprinkled with wisps ofstraw. She ignored the epithet in her solicitation for my welfare, andproceeded straightway to place her hand upon my shoulders and back tosee if I was wet.
"You're soaking!" she declared in genuine alarm. "You must have a hotwhiskey toddy and six grains of quinine the minute you get home!"
I made a wry face; but she only shook her head in a determined way, andannounced that she would see to it in person. As for herself, she was asdry as a butterfly which had just emerged from a chrysalis, and Icongratulated myself upon the care I had taken of her. But before wereached home she was in a plight almost equal to my own, for the windhad blown the wheat across the path, and it was impossible for me toremove it entirely.
As a consequence, her ladyship was at once hustled off to bed by goodMrs. Grundy, and treated to the same remedy she had prescribed for me. Itook a rather stiff toddy, and changed my clothes, and felt no illeffects from my experience.
After the first wild flush which had attended the discovery of theawakening of my affection for this girl had subsided, I became, in adegree, calmer. But it was there, deep in my soul, and I could feel itgrowing, growing, as steadily as my heart was beating. And I was oldenough to know that in time it would conquer me, and drag me to her feetlike a fettered slave before his master. My will seemed, in a measure,paralyzed, and I made no effort to escape. Something warned me that itwould be useless. And so I drifted, living in a careless sort of lotosdream, which I could have wished would last forever. Now there werescented, joyful days, when we strolled through dales and wooded hollows,listening to Nature's great orchestra as it played its never-endingsymphony. Perfect nights, when the heavy air would be redolent of thehoneysuckles' wafted souls and the breath of sleepy roses. From thecabins in the locust grove would float the tinkling of the banjo, theuntrained guffaw of the negro men, and the wild, half-barbaric notes ofan old-time melody. And the stars would shine in glory above us, and wewould sit on the steps and talk of the things we both loved. The oldfolks on the settee would get sleepy and go in, and we would sit thereby the hour, and still my secret was my own. I think she guessed it, butthis blis
sful existence was too sweet to be ended by some foolish wordswhich had better remain forever in my heart, even though they ate itout.
XIV
August came. It was half gone ere I realized that she would go back toBellwood early in September. How and where the days had gone I could nottell. Week after week had slipped by, and, forgetting that time waspassing, I lived in my fool's paradise, and gave no thought to the daysthat were speeding away on silken wings. Harvest had come and gone; thefierce heat of a Kentucky summer made the days sultry, but the nightswere good to live. I had lived through it all as in a kind of wakingdream. But in the worship-chamber of my heart I had built an altar, andon it was placed the first and only love of my life. The fire whichglowed there was as pure as Easter dawn, yet it was as intense as thestill white heat you may see in a furnace. And the time was coming whenshe would go away.
One night I wandered, restless, down into the tree-grown yard. We hadsat together that night, as usual, but my lips had been mute. The timehad come when there was but one thing to say, and I had resolved not tosay it. And so she had left me early, saying, in her impetuous way, thatI was unsociable. Back and forth the long avenue I paced, thinking ofthe day she came home, of the many, many times we had been together;thinking of the pure, unselfish, Christian womanhood which crowned herwith its consecrating light. Back and forth, back and forth, and hersweet young face burned itself into my mind with every step I took. Downthe avenue, then up, and I leaned against the corrugated trunk of anoak, and fastened my eyes upon the windows of her room. The blinds weredrawn, but she was up, for a light showed through them. Salome!Salome!--that was the one thought of my mind, the one bitter cry from myaching heart. There was a shadow on the curtain; a bare, uplifted armwas silhouetted against it. God bless you, Salome! My Salome!Good-night!
The next day I kept to my room, sending word that my head was troublingme. In the afternoon I went out and sat upon the porch, turning mytroubled face towards the peaceful west. The sun was sinking, swathed inpurple robes. Far stretching on either side were azure seas, withdun-colored islands dotting their broad expanses. Below me wound thedusty pike, like a yellow ribbon, flanked on one side by the half-drycreek, and on the other by a field of tasselled corn. A crow sat uponthe dead limb of a sycamore, and cawed, and cawed, in noisy unrest. Theweight which had been placed upon my breast two months before seemedlike a millstone now. The consciousness of hopelessness made it heavierthan before.
"Has your headache gone, Mr. Stone?"
She had come to the doorway without my knowledge, and now advancedtowards me with a tender, questioning look upon her face.
"Yes," I answered in quiet desperation, turning my face from her. "Thepain has gone to my heart."
She stood beside me, silently, and I felt the muscles hardening in mycheeks, as I shut my jaws tight to keep back the flood of words whichrushed to my lips, and clamored for utterance. Presently I felt that Icould speak rationally.
"How long before you return to school?"
"Three weeks; I wish I did not have to go."
"Let's walk down to the grape-vine swing," I proposed abruptly, turningto her with set face.
She held her sunbonnet in her hand,--the same bonnet she always wore outof doors about the farm,--and she settled it on her brown, fluffy hairas I arose. The swing was in one corner of the yard, quite away from thehouse, and it had come to be one of our favorite resorts at twilight.This afternoon she occupied it, as was her custom, and I sat at the baseof a walnut tree close by her. Something had fallen upon her usually gayspirits, and checked the outpourings of her mind. She sat silent,holding to the arms of her swing, and looking with earnest eyes out overthe varied landscape. I watched her, while the fierce pulsings of mytemples blurred my eyes, and made her seem as in a sea of mist. Thenoises of the day had lulled to echoes. The peace of a summer twilightwas stealing stealthily over all the land. From a far-off pasture camethe silvery tinkle of a sheep-bell; the unutterably mournful cooing of adove was borne from the forest. The whispering leaves above us rustledgently before the approach of the Angel of the Dusk. The sylvan solitudebecame as an enchanted spot where none were living but she and I.Why--oh, why could it not last forever, just as it was that moment! ButTime does not halt for love or hate, and she was going away,--out of mylife, to leave it as a barren rock in a burning desert. The intenselonging of my gaze caused her to turn towards me. She dropped her eyes,while her cheeks grew rosy as the sunset.
"Salome!"
The sweet name fell in trembling accents from my lips. She caught herbreath quickly, but did not look up. I arose and stood before her, withmy hands clasped in front of me.
"I love you, Salome!" I said in husky tones, for my voice would barelycome. "You have called into life that love which God has given everyman. It possesses me as utterly as the winds of heaven possess theearth. It has made me as weak as a child, and, like a child, I have toldyou. I was not strong enough to keep it from you. Should you detest mefor giving way as I have, I would not blame you. I am a middle-aged man;you are a little girl, and I have no right to ask anything from you.Your life is before you; mine is over half spent. But I love you, and Iwould die for you, Salome--Salome, my precious one!"
I turned from her, and set my teeth upon my lip, for my confession hadshaken my soul to its uttermost depths. Not for the earth, nor forheaven would I have touched her white hand. Through the swirling bloodwhich benumbed my consciousness I felt a presence near me,--herpresence. I turned with a low cry. She was standing there, close to me.Her bonnet had fallen off, and in the deep twilight her brown hairglowed like an aureole about a saint. One swift, hurt, appealing glancefrom her uplifted eyes, and she sank, quivering, upon my breast,sobbing, "Abner! Abner!"
God of mercy, I thank thee! I thank thee!
* * * * *
Once more we sat on the steps. The bewitching beauty of the August nightlay around us. The yellow harvest moon sailed on as calmly as though itwere used to beholding lovers. I held her hand in a kind of stupefiedsatisfaction, feeling as though under the spell of some powerful opiate.She was so close to me!--the skirt of her gingham gown had fallen overone of my feet. I touched her hair, so tenderly, and smoothed it backfrom her pure forehead. How could it be? This young creature, so full oflife and health, encompassed with all that wealth and love couldgive--to love me!--me, a simple bookworm and lover of Nature, who hadcome into her life by chance. The golden hours of that enchanted nightstill glow like letters of fire upon the web of memory. It was the oneperfect period in my quiet and uneventful existence,--the one brief timewhen life was full, and I held to my lips the cup of all earthlyhappiness. And the changing years cannot rob me of the recollection.
XV
The next day Salome was seized with a severe headache. She did not leavethe house, and of course I did not see her, as she stayed in her roomupstairs. We felt no especial concern, although she was not accustomedto such attacks, and with the coming of night her head grew easier. Iwent out after supper to pace up and down the avenue, to smoke my pipe,and to watch the windows of her room. I remained in the yard till nearlyeleven, and the light was still burning when I went in. The next morningMrs. Grundy told me that Salome had some fever, and that a doctor hadbeen sent for. I heard the news in silent fear, and my heart sank. Ilonged to tell this good old woman what her daughter was to me; butSalome had said nothing about it, and I could not speak without herconsent.
The doctor came, an important-looking young fellow whom I felt inclinedto kick off the porch the moment he set foot on it. When he descendedfrom the sick room he pompously announced that it was only an ordinarycold, which would quickly disappear before the remedies which he hadleft. But the days went by, and she grew no better, and I never saw her.How my heart hungered for a glance of her sweet face; how my eyes longedto look into the clear, brown depths of hers. One morning I was toldthat a leading physician from Louisville had been summoned. Dr. Yandelcame--and stayed. Typhoid fever is a grim foe whi
ch requires vigilanceas well as medical skill.
I went about like one distraught with a cold hand gripping my heart. Itwas then she asked to see me. I went to her room for a few moments, andcame out with my face gray, and a pitiful, broken prayer to God. Twoweeks--and one night they came for me. Like a broken, shattered lily shelay, but her lips smiled with their last breath, and whispered--"Abner."
Blinded and weak, I groped my way out into the night, and sat down. Myyellow dog found me, and crept, whining, between my knees. When I liftedmy stricken face to the sky, I thought I saw a misty shallop touch thestrand of heaven, and a slender white figure with brown hair step ontothe plains of Paradise.
* * * * *
Transcriber's note
The following changes have been made to the text:
Page 16: "hard biscuit" changed to "hard biscuits".
Page 86: "give her royal welcome" changed to "give her a royal welcome".
The Love Story of Abner Stone Page 13
