The Fields

by Conrad Richter

  The Covenhovens and Genny, being the nearest, were almost the last to show up. Sayward’s eyes warmed as she saw her sister. Of all their family, Genny, Wyitt and her were the only ones left around any more. Another Christmas she doubted if they’d see Wyitt. She was glad enough for this night, with the cabin full as Noah’s ark. The babes were laid in a row up in one corner of the loft, and the older young ones sent up after. They took along the white door stone and the hammer to crack hickory nuts and black and white walnuts. The loft boards thumped and small skifts of dust kept drifting down. Smoke rose from clay pipes and curled here and yon around the cabin. That smoke would float calm as a river till it met some hole in the chinking. Then it would run in riffles.

  Oh, they didn’t talk taxing yet. That could wait. They hadn’t seen each other for a while. The night ought to “bile” with sociableness first. Friendly talk and chatter rose between those four walls like the cabin was a nuggin of warm grog, and you could sip it till morning.

  Jake Tench kept riding Mathias Cottle, asking him riddles and catch questions. Never could Mathias give the right answer, but always had he an excuse for being wrong.

  “I was just a thinkin’,” he’d fend himself. “If I hadn’t been a thinkin’, I wouldn’t a thought that way.”

  Sayward guessed she would never hear the last of that. From now on if ever she was wrong, Portius would rally her that she was just a thinking, and if she hadn’t been a thinking, she wouldn’t have thought that way. Portius was a master hand at deviling. He was standing by Jake and Mathias now, his eyes green with relish. She could tell he was cooking up something.

  “I want to ask you a very personal question, Mathias,” he said, and his face was grave as a gravestone. “Is it true you had ancestors?”

  “It’s a lie!” Mathias called out, bristling. “I never did, nor my boy either. His head’s clean as yourn.”

  “Well, they say that you slumber in your sleep,” Portius plagued him.

  “It’s false as a gypsy!” Mathias shouted. “I never once did! Not since I was little, anyway.”

  That’s the way it went. Not till after they had meat, johnnycake and dittany did they get down to taxing. Portius told of his trip to Maytown.

  “Well, gentlemen,” he said, “as you know, we are getting up in the world. Our township was formed last month and is to be known as Washington. I’ll bound it for you.” He took out a paper. “Beginning at a point on east bank of the river, section eighteen, township two, fourteenth range, north along the river in all its meanderings…” He read on till he came back again to the beginning. “Buckman Tull is constable and Zephon Brown, tax collector. Buckman has asked us to help him make out a list to send down to the assessors, and I want you all to lend an ear and a willing hand.”

  It was more than an hour that the men had their heads together by the fire. Once in a while they would ask the women if they knew what kind of a house So-and-So had or how many acres. In the end, Portius read off the list so any who knew could tell if he made a mistake or missed anything.

  “Residents and proprietors of Washington township”: His voice sounded like a judge reading off a list of court sentences. “Noah Andrews, scutched log house, 93 acres; Will Beagle, cabin and shed; Chancy Barker, hewed log house, 113 acres; Joel Butler, round log cabin, 110 acres; Zephon Brown, hewed log house two storey, log barn, 208 acres; cabin, 91 acres, old Harbison Place; Thomas Carter, chipped log house, 90 acres; Peter Chew, hewed log house and barn, 70 acres; Isaac Chapman, log house, spring house and barn, 125 acres; Glass Cochran, round log house and barn, 144 acres; Mathias Cottle, cabin and stable, 86 acres; John Covenhoven, hewed log house, barn and spring house, 164 acres; Henry Giddings, chipped cabin, 42 acres; Amasa Goodrich, chipped log house and cabin stable, 91 acres; Abel Goshorn, log house and mill, 12 acres; Linus Greer, hewed log house and kitchen, 46 acres; Scovel Harris, chipped log cabin; William Harbison, cabin, 28 acres; Norton Ingram, hewed log house, 112 acres; Patrick Keleher, double log cabin, 112 acres; Hugh McFall, log house, and barn, 169 acres; Judah MacWhirter, hewed log house, cabin and barn, 195 acres; Alex McCloud, log house, red log stable, 67 acres; Azariah Penny, round log cabin, 56 acres; Luke Peters, cabin and barn, 87½ acres; George Roebuck, log store and house, 4 acres; Nicholas Ramsay, shell of a scutched log house, 72 acres; Andrew Stackhouse, cabin; Franklin Steffy, cabin, 18 acres; Jacob Tench, cabin; Buckman Tull, hewed log house and barn, 180 acres; Michael Topping, round log house and barn, 117 acres; Portius Wheeler, log cabin, 147 acres; Adam Withers, cabin, 21 acres; Theodore Wylder, hewed log house and shed, 129 acres.”

  Sayward gave no notice she minded when Portius read off his own name as proprietor of their place. Everybody knew it was her land, and that nobody gave out a woman’s name as owner unless her man was dead.

  “You don’t have Louie Scurrah’s place down, Portius,” Jake Tench said.

  “I don’t look for him to come back.”

  “His place is still ’ar.”

  “It should be Ginny’s place,” Sayward said stoutly.

  “If she wants to pay tax on it,” Zephon put in.

  “Oh, I’ll pay what tax I have to to keep it,” Genny declared with spirit. “But I didn’t come here tonight to be taxed. Not on Old Christmas.”

  Portius cleared his throat, and everybody looked at him, for that was a sign he would take care of this.

  “Genny, I thought you were a churchgoer and knew your Bible?” he rebuked mildly. “I want to remind you what the gospel according to St. Luke has to say about taxing at the Christmas season.” His eyes had a bit of the old Harry in them, and his voice came out sonorously as he leaned back and without book or prompting gave from memory as good as a preacher.

  “ ‘And it came to pass in those days that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.

  “ ‘And all went to be taxed, every one to his own city.

  “ ‘And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, into the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; because he was of the house and lineage of David.

  “ ‘To be taxed with Mary, his espoused wife being great with child.

  “ ‘And so it was that while they were there, her days were accomplished that she should be delivered.

  “ ‘And she brought forth her first-born son, and she wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for him in the inn.’ ”

  It seemed mighty quiet in the cabin. Most of them looked at each other as to say, now wasn’t that just like Portius, an unbeliever and yet he knows more about the Bible than meeting-folks. Granny MacWhirter had got so deaf of late she could hardly catch a word, but she knew the gospel when it was spoken. She sat there watching Portius’s lips and nodding. Her face was a quilted patchwork of wrinkles.

  “This is the real day our Lord was borned in,” she said. “Not new Christmas like some want to make out.”

  “How do you know?” Jake rallied her. “That was a long ways back.”

  “Oh, I wa’n’t ’ar,” Granny bobbed her head quickly, “but that’s what Preacher Kindler always said. He ought to know. He claimed a good person couldn’t die on Old Christmas. I’ve watched since and I never knowed any to. Born, yes, but not die. One time the Monseys had Preacher Kindler tied to a stake. He wa’n’t a preacher then. It was the night before Old Christmas and bitter cold. They never looked to find him alive next mornin’, but he was good as ever. At twelve the clock midnight Old Christmas mornin’, he said, a wind came up from the south and thawed him out. It stayed warm all Christmas day.”

  “Didn’t stay warm today,” Jake Tench pointed out.

  “I kin tell you what our pappy told us once, Jake,” Genny called out with spirit. “He never seen it before or since. He caught a coon Christmas mornin’. When he got to his trap that coon was down on his knees. He didn’t know if it was the way the trap had his foot or what, but ’ar he was a kneelin’ in t
he snow on Old Christmas. It went moughty hard to kill him, he said.”

  “I kin tell ye a story of Old Christmas,” Captain Butt offered mildly.

  “It was the way that coon had his paws cotched in the trap,” Jake Tench told Genny.

  “Let the captain tell his story, Jake,” Sayward called.

  The old Indian hunter looked at her pleased. He had a fine face. He knew the woods like an Indian, and in a trade, they said, you could cheat him ten times over, and he was just as easy to fool the last time as the first. You just naturally had to like him. He looked so gentle and accommodating with his soft gray eyes. But Jake said, when he got roused up, those eyes could look at you to make your blood curdle.

  “I don’t mind what year it was any more,” he started out, “but I was just a little tyke. They was three of us, all boys, and our mam made us each a suit of blue-jean stuff. We was proud as Lucifer, and Old Christmas we took the path to our nearest neighbor to show ourselves off. My oldest brother was in the lead. Halfways over through the woods he give a yell he seed Injuns a comin’. ‘Legs for it!’ he called. ‘Every dog for hisself,’ and started runnin’ back through the brush. We run, too. I always heerd how Injuns throwed down their guns and pulled their tommyhawks once they started after. Looking back through the brush I reckoned I could see them comin’ and hear them whoopin’. My middle brother and me stuck together. I seed him pull at his necktie to open it so he could get more wind. But we hadn’t gone fur till I heerd him gaspin’. When I looked, he was staggerin’ and soon went down. ‘I’m done for,’ he made out to tell me. ‘You go on. Tell Mam they got me.’ I was sure a tommyhawk hit him, for I didn’t hear no shot. I turned him over and still couldn’t find blood. But I seed where his necktie was pulled tighter’n a gallows noose. He was so worked up, he’d pulled it the wrong way. I out with my knife and cut him loose. He come to right off. Up he jumped and beat me home. But our pap couldn’t find any sign of Injuns, so I got whupped for slashin’ that necktie.”

  Over her head Sayward had a glimpse of Resolve’s face. He was lying at the loft hole listening. Oh, he was a serious little body. He had no time for play-games or nut-cracking when the talk was good.

  “You saved a good many from the Injuns, Cap’n?” Mrs. Covenhoven asked.

  “I never kep’ account,” he said modestly, “I just try to forgit it like they do.”

  “But they appreciate it!” Genny fetched out.

  “Do they?” The Indian hunter gravely scratched his chin. “I seed one last year. He was just a little feller when I first knowed him. The Delywares took him and his sister. They lived in the Ohio bottom on the Virginny side. Their mam was a good Christian woman and I was bound I’d get them back to her. Well, I must a follered two weeks waitin’ for my chance. One camp I worked in that close I could nigh onto touch them when an old Injun had to get up durin’ the night. He stood in the dark and never seed me layin’ ’ar behind the log. It felt just like warm water out of a tea kittle poured on me. That was the hardest I was ever put to to lay still. But it paid me. Before daylight I got those young ones off. I had to kill five or six of the bunch; but I got those two child’en back to their mam with no more than scratches on them. Last year I seed the boy for the first time since. I wouldn’t have knowed him. A farmer rolled a barrel of cider in at Major Calloway’s where I was stayin’. The major told the farmer, ‘You know this man settin’ ’ar. It’s Captain Butt that took you from the Injuns.’ The farmer never said a word. He heard him all right, but he just kep’ rollin’ that barrel and lookin’ at me over it. Then he went back to his team and drove off. Now I don’t mean he was ungrateful. It was just a long time ago and likely he forgot.”

  Sayward liked that old man. He had more things happen to him than you could shake a stick at. He was mild as milk. He could sit by the fire quiet as a bump on a log, or kick spry as a squirrel when it came to jigs and two and three handed reels.

  Now what could the matter be with Resolve? Sayward wondered. He looked anxious, like he didn’t feel hearty. She felt his forehead and it was hot against her hand. She made him drink penny royal tea, but that only made him worse. He couldn’t stand still any more. He had to fidget around so painful. Minute by minute his little face looked more desperate. She would put him to bed, for he looked like he was coming down with the fever, but he cried out like a soul in fire that he wouldn’t. He was in mortal torment, that’s what he was. When A’nt Genny plagued him what was the matter, he only moaned.

  It was mighty late when she saw his little face screw up with the first hope it had tonight. Captain Butt had left his chimney corner and was wrapping himself up on the way to the door.

  Little Resolve tiptoed over to him.

  “Kin I go ’long out?” he piped.

  The old Indian fighter looked down at him. He understood right off, you could tell.

  “You needn’t be afeared. I’ll look after you,” he said. Then the big one and the little one went out the door together.

  Sayward had to laugh to herself. Now wasn’t she the big fool. It was a joke on her. Why, Resolve wasn’t any more ailing than she was. He was only tormented, that’s what he was. He had to go out so bad, but all those Indian stories had scared him of the dark. She had made him drink all that extra tea, too. Wasn’t he the proper little body to hold it that good and himself so straight? Why, his back teeth must have been floating, and he was too ashamed to tell in front of everybody.

  When he came in, he was changed like night to day. He could jump and bounce. His face shone. Now wasn’t she thick-witted not to have figured it out? Raising three boys would learn her plenty she never knew before. She would be able to walk with Solomon till she got through.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE FACE AT THE WINDER

  IF it had a brighter child in these woods than her Sulie, Sayward did not know who it was. It wasn’t that she was her mammy. Sayward would rather her child be a little slower like the rest. It didn’t do a young one good to be made such a fuss over. It might go to her head and give her the notion she was better than the others. Sooner have her look up to her older brothers and sisters, if she had any, and for the younger ones to take her down to earth once in a while. Now her boys never could get the best of Sulie. She might be littler, but she was too bright for them.

  Sayward wouldn’t tell Portius the strange token she had before Sulie came along in this world. Resolve was only a little feller then, a mite bigger than Sulie was now. Worth’s oiled-paper window was knocked out long ago and Portius had a real glass light from George Roebuck’s. The bound boy had mortared it in the hole. Portius would sit by that window-light with his books and lawyer papers. But this was in the night time. Portius was off somewhere, Guerdon asleep and Kinzie in the cradle. Resolve was a laying on the old bearskin making a cabin of corncobs in front of the fire while Sayward knitted at the thumb of a red mitten.

  It came to her Resolve was mighty quiet. When she turned her head he was looking at the window, and his eyes were stiff in their sockets.

  “Somebody a peekin’ in!” he said.

  She looked but the window was empty.

  “It’s went,” Resolve said. “I’m afeared!”

  Sayward felt no fright. She went to the door, aiming to look outside. When she opened it, Put, the hound, came in stretching and yawning.

  “You just reckoned you seen something,” Sayward told him, coming back.

  “Oh, no, I seen him plain,” Resolve said.

  “Who did you see?” Sayward asked him.

  “A little boy.”

  The first queer feeling ran up Sayward’s spine.

  “Now I know you didn’t see anything,” she said. “What would you be afeared of a little boy for? Besides no such would be out in the woods tonight. And if he was, he couldn’t reach his head up to that winder.”

  “It was a little dark boy,” Resolve said without winking.

  Sayward laid down the mitten. This had gone far enough.

 
; “You’re a makin’ this up,” she said sternly.

  “No, I ain’t. The little dark boy knowed I seen him, too.”

  “Now, harkee, Resolve! I won’t have you lyin’ to me or nobody else either.”

  “I ain’t a lyin’.”

  “If you seen anything,” Sayward said, “I reckon it was the fire shinin’ in the winder.”

  “He was all dressed in white,” Resolve told her.

  That queer feeling went over Sayward again.

  “You go back to your playin’,” she told him. “You just took it into your head you seen somethin’.”

  “I seen him plain like I do you, so I did!” Resolve went back to his corncobs, like she said, but more than once when she looked up she saw his eyes raised to the window.

  Now Sayward wasn’t what you could call a scarebaby. It had no man or woman, either, in these woods she would give ground to. But she didn’t like Resolve’s notion he saw a little dark boy dressed in white a peeping in their window. Not when she was carrying a young one. And she didn’t like the other token she had, the very day before the baby was to show up.

  Old Lady Giddings had had one foot in the grave too long, and when she died, Sayward told them they could bury her aside of Jary, if they wanted. Some of the men came out to clear the brush so that it would be ready as a burying ground tomorrow. Resolve was out. He came in all worked up. He said his mammy had to go along outside. He said he saw something and he didn’t know what it was. When Sayward and he got out, he pointed to a strange dark man tugging at a rock with his back turned.

  Buckman Tull saw him point.

  “Don’t fret, boy,” he said. “It won’t do him no good. We’d never put him in here.”

  The dark man gave no notice he heard, but Portius, who had a grubbing hoe in his hand, stood up.

  “Then, ban my own body from this spot!” he spoke up so all could hear. “Sooner see me laid beside some lowly son of Ham in a remote spot unsanctified by man than in a place marked by human bigotry and dissension.” He looked around him with dignity. “I hope that those within the sound of my voice will be my witnesses and in the event of my untimely death remind my widow of these sentiments.”