XII
THE EVE OF ALL SOULS'
Ruth saw Paul Colbert when he passed Cedar House for the first timewithout stopping. He was riding very fast, and she feared that the ColdPlague must be growing worse. Still, a glance at her chamber windowwould not have delayed him, and she wondered why he did not turn hishead. She was almost sure he must know that she always gave the birdstheir supper on the window-sill at that hour. She did not know that hehad seen her without looking, and had borne away in his heart a pictureof her slight white form, framed by the sun-lit window, and surroundedby the fluttering birds. Disappointed, wondering, and vaguely troubled,she gazed after him as long as he was visible amid the green gloom ofthe forest path. And then when he was lost to sight, she turned sharplyon the boldest blue jay.
"Go 'way, you greedy thing! You startled me. I wasn't thinking about anyof you. How tiresome you all are! To teach you better manners, I amgoing to throw this down to Trumpeter," leaning forward to see the swanwhich stood on the grass below, anxiously watching everything that wenton above. "There! That is the last nice fat crumb."
The day had seemed endlessly long. She went wearily down the stairsagain, as she had done many times since morning. Neither the judge norWilliam was at home. Miss Penelope and the widow Broadnax were in theiraccustomed places, and matters around the hearth were going forward asusual. Miss Penelope had asked fiercely in her mildest tone, whatanybody could expect to become of any country, when one of the biggesttowns in it built a theatre before building any kind of a church, asLouisville had done. The widow Broadnax had replied in her loudest,roughest voice, that she supposed the people there, as well aselsewhere, could keep on getting married two or three times, and mixingup families that otherwise might have lived in peace, just as wellwithout a church as with one. But the girl listened listlessly andunsmilingly, hardly hearing what was said. Going out of the room she satfor a long time on the doorstep, watching the forest path with patientwistfulness. But there was no sign of the young doctor's coming back andit was a relief when David came up the river bank. He reminded her thatshe had asked him to go with her to the Sisters' house, and she aroseand went indoors to get her bonnet.
"You'd just as well take the orphans one of the biggest fatty gourds ofmaple sugar," sighed Miss Penelope. "Ten to one none of us will everlive to eat much of anything, with that comet a-hanging over us. It'sjust as well to get ready as soon as you can, when you've been warned. Iknow what to look for when I've dreamt of wading through muddy waterthree times a-hand-running. Tell the Sisters that all the maple sugarthat was ever poured into fatty gourds couldn't hurt the children'steeth now. The poor little things, and all of us, will have mightylittle use for teeth--or stomachs either, for that matter--if thingsdon't take a turn for the better a good deal sooner than I think theywill. For my part, I don't see what else anybody can expect with thatbig black ring round the comet's head a-getting bigger and blacker everynight of our miserable lives."
She called all the small cup-bearers,--for some unknown reason she nevercalled one or two without calling all,--and sent them running to thesmoke-house to fetch the fatty gourd. She threatened them fiercely inher dovelike tones, saying what she would do if they loitered, orstopped to put their little black paws in the sugar. But the cup-bearersknew Miss Penelope quite as well as she knew them, and when they cameback with the fatty gourd they waited, as a matter of course, till shegave each one of them a generous handful of the sugar, before handingthe gourd to David.
The Sisters' house was within walking distance, and Ruth and David hadgone about half the way when they met Father Orin and Toby. Theseco-workers were not moving with their usual speed on account of anunwieldy burden. Tied on behind the priest's saddle was a great bag,containing the weekly mail for the neighborhood. He went to thepostoffice oftener than any one else, and it had become his custom tofetch the mail to the chapel once a week, and distribute it afterservice on Sundays. When possible, he sent the letters of those who werenot of his congregation by some neighbor who was present; but he oftenrode miles out of his way to deliver them with his own hand. It was incarrying the mail on a bitter winter's day, when the earth was aglittering sheet of ice, that he had fallen and broken his arm. It was aserious accident, and would have disabled any one else for a long time,but he was out again and as busy as ever within a few days, though hehad to carry his arm in a sling for several weeks. He now hailed the twoyoung people with his kind, merry greeting.
"There's a great letter up at the convent," he said, when he came upbeside them. "The Sisters have got it, and they will show it to you. Askthem to read it to you. That letter will have a place in Kentuckyhistory. This is where we must turn out. No, Toby, old man, there's notime for you to be listening and enjoying yourself, nor for nibblingpea-vine, either. Move on, move on! Good-by, my children. Don't forgetto ask the Sisters to show you the bishop's letter."
Sister Teresa held it in her hand when she came to the door to meetthem. Both the girl and the boy had been her pupils, and she had formedan attachment for them which had not been weakened by their leaving thelittle school. Sister Elizabeth also hastened to receive them mostcordially. Sister Angela merely waved her hand through the window, butthe little faces peeping over the sill, and the tops of the little curlyheads bobbing up and down at her side, told why she could not come withthe others to meet the welcome guests. Sister Teresa did not wait to beasked to read the letter, she was too much excited over it to forget itfor a moment; its coming was the greatest event that the convent hadever known.
"This, my dear children," she began almost as soon as they were withinhearing, "is a letter from Bishop Flaget, the first bishop of Kentucky,the first bishop of the whole northwest. Of course you must know, mydears, that this is far too important a letter to have been written toan humble little community like ours, or even to Father Orin, much as heis esteemed. This is merely a copy of the letter which Bishop Flaget issending back to France, and the original was addressed to the FrenchAssociation for the Propagation of the Faith. It was written in June ofthis year, soon after the arrival of his Reverence in Kentucky, but ourcopy has reached us only to-day. Listen! This is what he says about hiscoming to Bardstown: 'It was on the 9th of June, 1811, that I made myentry into this little village, accompanied by two priests, and threeyoung students for the ecclesiastical state. Not only had I not a centin my purse, but I was compelled to borrow nearly two thousand francs inorder to reach my destination. Thus, without money, without a house,without property, almost without acquaintances, I found myself in themidst of a diocese, two or three times larger than all France,containing five large states and two immense territories, and myselfspeaking the language, too, very imperfectly. Add to this that almostall the Catholics were emigrants, but newly settled and poorlyfurnished.' Ah, but he was welcomed with all our hearts!" cried SisterTeresa, with tears springing to her gentle eyes. "Listen to this, fromanother letter, telling how he came to St. Stephen's. It is like abeautiful painting--you can see how it looked! 'The bishop there foundthe faithful kneeling on the grass, and singing canticles in English:the country women were nearly all dressed in white, and many of themwere still fasting, though it was four o'clock in the evening; theyhaving indulged the hope to be able to assist at his Mass, and receivethe Holy Communion from his hands. An altar had been prepared at theentrance of the first court under a bower composed of four small treeswhich overshadowed it with their foliage. Here the bishop put on hispontifical robes. After the aspersion of the holy water, he wasconducted to the chapel in procession, with the singing of the Litany ofthe Blessed Virgin; and the whole function closed with the prayers andceremonies prescribed for the occasion in Roman Pontifical.' Ah, yes; wedid our best for him!"
Sister Teresa's soft eyes were shining now behind her tears.
"And hear this, also written by the same dear friend who sends us thebishop's letter. The priest, M. Badin, to whom this letter refers, is incharge of St. Stephen's, so that it was his duty as well as his pleasureto make pre
parations for the bishop's coming. This letter says that: 'M.Badin had for his lodgings one poor log house ... and it was with greatdifficulty that he was enabled to build and prepare for his illustriousfriend, and the ecclesiastics who accompanied him, two miserable logcabins, sixteen feet square: and one of the missionaries was evencompelled to sleep on a mattress in the garret of this strange episcopalpalace, which was whitewashed with lime, and contained no otherfurniture than a bed, six chairs, two tables, and a few planks for alibrary. Here the bishop still resides, esteeming himself happy to livethus in the midst of apostolic poverty.'" The Sister broke off suddenly."But I must not allow you to stand out here, my dear children. It soongrows chilly on these late fall evenings. Come indoors at once, mydears. And then, Ruth, Sister Angela is very anxious to show you thesewing which she has finished."
"Oh, I know how beautiful it is without seeing it," said Ruth, with asudden shrinking; but she added hastily, "There is no such needle-womanas Sister Angela anywhere."
She followed the Sister into the larger of the two rooms which the housecontained. David bashfully stayed behind, lingering on the threshold,and keeping man's respectful distance from the mysteries of femininewear. But the three white caps and the flower-wreathed bonnet drew closetogether over the dainty garments, all a foam of lace and ruffles andembroidery. David heard the terms rolling and whipping, and felling andovercasting and hemstitching and herring-boning which were an unknowntongue to him. Ruth praised everything, till even Sister Angela wasquite satisfied. That pretty young sister was indeed so elated that sheturned to admire Ruth's dress but the Sister Superior gently remindedher that it was the eve of All Souls', when they and every one should bethinking of graver things.
"This year the souls and the safety of the living, as well as the reposeof the dead, will need all our prayers," said Sister Teresa. "Thereseems no doubt of the war with the Shawnees. Ah me, ah me! And the ColdPlague growing worse every day!"
"But Doctor Colbert is curing that," said Ruth, eagerly.
"As God wills, my daughter," said the Sister, making the sign of thecross. "More recover, certainly, since he came. Before, the little onesalways died."
"He told me that three babies were coming to you yesterday. Are theyhere? The poor, poor little things! And may I see them, Sister? I shouldlike to help take care of them, if I might," Ruth said timidly, notknowing that her pink cheeks bloomed into blush roses.
The Sister led the way into the other room--the first orphan asylum inthe wilderness--and Ruth smiled and talked to the desolate little waifsof humanity as brightly as she could with dim eyes and quivering lips.She, herself, and David, also, had been like this. He had followed herinto the room, and was now standing by her side, so that she could clasphis hand and hold it close.
Walking homeward through the darkening shadows of the forest, she stillheld his hand. Both were thinking sadly enough of their own coming intothis wild country, they knew not--whence or how or wherefore--and werenever to know.
"Fathers and mothers must go suddenly when they leave their childrenso," said Ruth, musingly. "Ours must have died--"
"Or have been murdered!" David broke out fiercely.
"No, no!" cried Ruth, shrinking closer to his side. "I could not bear tothink that."
But the boy went on, as if speaking thoughts which had long rankled inbitter silence. "It isn't so bad as to believe that they deserted us, ordied without leaving a word. Fathers and mothers who love their childrenwell enough to bear them in their arms through hundreds of weary milesover high mountains and down long rivers, and into the depths of thewilderness, would never desert them at the hard journey's end. Fathersand mothers who loved their children so dearly could hardly be takenaway by lightning so quickly that they would not leave behind a singletoken of their love. And we have never seen a sign showing that oursever lived. There is something wrong--something unaccountedfor--something that we have not been permitted to know!"
"David, dear, dear David!"
"I have always believed it--ever since I have been able to think. Assoon as I am old enough to speak like a man, I mean to demand the truthfrom Philip Alston!"
She dropped his hand and drew away from him with a look of wonderingdistress. It was the one thing over which they had ever disagreed.
"You must never again say anything of that kind to me, David," she saidfirmly. "I beg that you will never say it to any one, never even thinkit. For in thinking it, let alone saying it, you are not only unjust,but ungrateful. What possible object could Philip Alston have inconcealing anything that he might know about you and me? Hasn't healways been our best friend?"
And then the quick anger which had flashed out of her loyalty turned togentle pleading.
"I can't bear a word said against him, dear. And it grieves me to seeyou making yourself unhappy over such useless brooding. What does itmatter, after all--our knowing nothing about ourselves, who we are, orwhere we came from? We are happy, everybody is kind and good to us."
They started at the sound of a voice calling her name, and they sawWilliam Pressley come out of the dark shadows beneath the trees, andstand still, waiting for them to approach.
"It is late, my dear, for you to be roaming about the woods like this,"he said, when they were near enough.
He used the term of endearment in the tone of calm, moderate reproofwhich a justly displeased, but self-controlled husband sometimes uses.And Ruth felt the resentment that every woman feels at its unconsciousmockery.
"Why, there isn't any danger," she said. "We haven't been out of sightand hearing from Cedar House."
"I was thinking of seemliness, not of danger," William Pressley repliedcoldly. "And then Mr. Alston is waiting for you."
Ruth moved nearer, and laid her hand on his arm, smiling rather timidly,with conciliatory, upward glances. Her first effort, whenever they met,was always to make something right--often before she could remember whatit was that she had done or not done to displease him. This feeling wasthe natural attitude of a gentle, loving nature toward a harsh, unlovingone, and it was the most natural thing of all that he should mistake hergentleness for weakness; that he should mistake her fear of givingoffence for a lack of moral courage. This is a common mistake often madeby those who care little for the feelings of others, about those whocare, perhaps, too much. And as the three young people walked alongtoward Cedar House, Ruth gave David her left hand, and spoke to him nowand then, just as affectionately and freely as she had done while theyhad been alone. William Pressley did not speak to the boy at all ornotice him in any way. He did not dislike him, for he never dislikedanything that was not of some importance. He disapproved of hisimpractical, visionary character, and thought that it might have ratheran undesirable influence over Ruth. For this reason he tacitlydiscouraged all intimacy between them, but he did not take the troubleto express it and merely ignored the lad. And David, seeing how it was,felt instantly and strongly, that being overlooked was harder to bearthan being misused--as most of us are apt to feel.
"We have been at the Sisters' house," said Ruth, shyly, breaking astrained silence. "They sent for me--to see the sewing that SisterAngela has been getting ready for Christmas Eve."
William Pressley looked down at her uplifted, blushing face, and smiled,as the most self-centred and serious of men must do, when the girl whois to be his wife speaks to him of her wedding clothes.
Round Anvil Rock: A Romance Page 12
