Molly Brown of Kentucky

by Nell Speed

  CHAPTER III.

  KENT BROWN.

  "Mother, will you come and take a little walk with me?" asked Kent as hefinished Judy's letter. With his hand trembling, although his eyes werevery steady and his mouth very firm, he tucked the many thin blue sheetsback in their envelope.

  "Yes, my son!" Mrs. Brown held her head very high and in her expressionone could very well read: "I told you so! Did I not know the 'mettle ofhis pasture'?"

  "Mother," he said, as he drew her arm in his and they took their waythrough the orchard to the garden of Chatsworth, "I must go get Judy!"

  "Yes, my son, of course you must."

  "Oh, Mother, you think it is the only thing to do?"

  "Of course, I know it is the only thing to do. I told Molly and Edwinonly a few minutes ago that you would want to do it."

  "And what a mother! I--well, you know, Mother, I am not engaged toJudy--not exactly, that is. She knows how I feel about her andsomehow--I can't say for sure--but I almost know she feels the same wayabout me, at least, feels somehow about me."

  "Of course she does! How could she help it?"

  "You see, I knew it would be some time before I could make a decentliving, and it did not seem fair to Judy to tie her down when maybe shemight strike some fellow who would be so much more worth while than Iam----"

  "Impossible!"

  "I used to think maybe Pierce Kinsella would be her choice, when theypainted together so much."

  "That boy! Why, Kent, how could you?"

  "Well, he was a very handsome and brilliant boy and is pretty well fixedby his uncle's generosity and bids fair to make one of the leadingportrait painters of the day. His portrait of you has made every ladywho has seen it want him to do one of her. Of course, he can't make allof 'em look like you, but he does his best."

  "It may have been wise of you not to settle this little matter withJudy, son, but somehow--I wish you had."

  "It was hard not to, but I felt she was so far away from her parents. Ithought she would be back in America in a month, at least. I wanted herto come with me, but she felt she must wait for them, and of course, Ihad to hurry back because of the possible job in New York. I am afraidthat I will lose that now, but there will be others, and I just can'tthink of the things that might happen to my Judy--she is my Judy,whether we are engaged or not."

  "When will you start, son?"

  "Why, to-night, if you don't mind."

  "Certainly to-night! I have money for you."

  "Oh, Mother, the money part is the only thing worrying me. I have alittle left, but not enough to get me over and back. I must have enoughto bring Judy back, too. You see, a letter of credit now in Paris isnot worth the paper it is on."

  "No, I did not know. That is the one part of Judy's letter that put meat ease about her. I thought she had plenty of money, and moneycertainly does help out."

  "Well, that is the part of her letter that made me know I must go gether. The Americans who are abroad simply can't get checks cashed. Shemight even be hungry, poor little Judy."

  "Thank goodness, I have some money--all owing to Judy's father, too! Ifhe had not seen the bubbles on that puddle in the rocky pasture, wewould never have known there was oil there. What better could we do withthe money that Mr. Kean got for us than use it to succor his daughter?"

  "Oh, Mother, you are so--so--bully! I know no other word to express whatyou are. I am going to pay back every cent I borrow from you. Thankgoodness, I saved a little from the money I made on the architecturalsketches I did for the article Dickson wrote on the French countryhomes. I'm going over steerage."

  "You are going over in the first class cabin! Steerage, indeed! I lendno money for such a trip."

  "All right, Mother! You are the boss. And now, don't you think I'll havetime to go see Aunt Mary a few minutes?"

  "Of course you must go see the poor old woman. She has been afraid shewould not live until you got home. She is very feeble. Dear old AuntMary!"

  They had reached the Chatsworth garden and Kent noticed with delight thehollyhocks that had flourished wonderfully since he had dug them up thatmoonlight night more than three years ago and transplanted them from thechicken yard, where no one ever saw them, to the beds in the garden, andall because Miss Julia Kean had regretted that they were not there tomake a background for the bridal party, after they had determined tohave Mildred's wedding out of doors.

  "Haven't they come on wonderfully? I know Judy would like to see howwell they have done. I think hollyhocks are the most decorative of allflowers. I wonder we never had them in the garden before, Mother."

  Both of them were thinking of Mildred's wedding on that rare day inJune. Kent remembered with some satisfaction that in the generalconfusion that ensued after Mildred and Crit were pronounced, by Dr.Peters, to be man and wife, and everybody was kissing everybody else, hehad had presence of mind to take advantage of the license accorded onthe occasion of a family wedding and had kissed his sister Molly'scollege friend, Miss Julia Kean.

  "By Jove! I think war ought to give a fellow some privilege, too," hedeclared to himself. "I think I'll do the same when I see the young ladyin France."

  They found Aunt Mary lying in state in a great four poster bed, whileher meek half-sister, Sukey Jourdan, administered to her wants, whichwere many and frequent.

  "Lawsamussy, if that ain't that there Kent! Whar you come from, son? Idone got so old an' feeble I can't say mister ter nobody. You alls isall Ernest and Sue and Paul and John and Mildred and Kent and Molly terme. Cepn Molly is Molly Baby. I still got strenth fer that. Law, MissMilly, ain't he growed?"

  "Yes, Aunt Mary, he is looking so well, and now he is going to turnright around and go back to France to-night."

  "Don't say it! Lawsamussy, Miss Milly, did he fergit somethin'?"

  "Well, not exactly," laughed Kent, "but I didn't bring something with methat I should have."

  "Well, you be sho ter make a cross an' spit in it. If'n you fergitssomethin' er fin's you has ter tu'n aroun' an' go back 'thout res'in' apiece, if'n you makes a cross an' spits in it, you is sho ter have goodluck. Here you, Sukey, set a better cheer for Miss Milly. Wherfo' youdone give her sich a straight up'n down cheer?"

  "Oh, this will do very well, Sukey," said Mrs. Brown.

  "You bring another, Sukey. I don' see what makes you so keerless. I lowif'n 'twar that no count Buck Jourdan, you'd be drawin' up the sofy ferhis triflin' bones."

  Poor Sukey had no easy job to keep Aunt Mary satisfied. The old woman,having been a most energetic and tireless person in her day, could notunderstand that the whole world of darkeys could not be as she had been.Sukey's son Buck, the apple of her mild eye, was the bane of Aunt Mary'sexistence. She never missed a chance to make her younger half-sistermiserable on his account. Indeed, Sukey, mild as she was, would not havestayed with Aunt Mary except for the fact that Aunt Mary had insured herlife for her with the understanding that she was to minister to her tothe end. It was dearly paid for, this service, as the old woman was mostexacting. Lenient to a degree of softness with white folks, she wasadamant with those of her own race.

  "How do you feel, Aunt Mary?" asked Kent, looking with sorrow on thewasted features of the beloved old woman.

  "Well, I'm a feelin' tolerable peart this mornin' although endurin' ofthe night I thought my hour had struck. I got ter dreamin' 'bout myfun'ral, an' I got so mad cause Sis Ria Bowles done brought a fun'ralzine like one she done tuck ter Brer Jackson's orgies! An' dead or not,I wa'nt gonter stan' fer no sich monkey shines over me."

  "Why, what did she take to Brother Jackson's funeral?" laughed Kent.

  "Ain't you heard tel er that? She cut a cross outn that there stickytangle yo' foot fly paper en' she kivered it all over with daisy haidsan' call herse'f bringing a zine. I riz up an' spoke my mind in my dreaman' I let all these here niggers in Jeff'son County know that if theydon't see that I gits a fust class fun'ral, I gonter rise up when Iain't a dreamin' an' speak my min'."

  Sukey Jourdan listene
d to this tirade with her eyes bulging out of herhead, much to Aunt Mary's satisfaction, as she very well knew that theway to manage her race was to intimidate them.

  "I done been carryin' insuriance in two clubs an' a comp'ny, an' betwixt'em I's entitled ter seventeen hacks. I'm a trustin' ter Miss Milly an'that there Paul ter make 'em treat me proper. Paul done say he willblack list 'em in his newspaper if'n they leave off one tit or jottlefrom the 'greement. I sho would like ter see my fun'ral. I low it's agoin' ter be pretty stylish. I done pinted my pall buriers an' boughtthey gloves an' I low ter be laid out myself in my best black silk whatMiss Milly done gimme goin' on sixteen year, come nex' Christmas. Iain't a wo' it much, as I had in min' ter save it fer my buryin'. Someof the mimbers gits buried in palls made er white silk. They do lookright han'some laid out in 'em, but then palls is made 'thout a piece erback an' I has a notion that when Gabrel blows his trump on that greatan' turrerble day that ole Mary Morton ain't a goin' ter be caughtwithout no back ter her grabe clothes. It mought make no diffrunce if'nPeter will let me pass on in, 'cause I low that the shining robes willbe a waitin' fer me--but sposin'--jes' sposin'----" and the dear oldwoman's face clouded over with anguish, "jes' sposin' Peter'll say:'You, Mary Morton, g'long from this here portcullis. You blongs in thetother d'rection,' an' I'll hab ter tun 'roun' an' take the broad roadter hell! What'll I feel like, if'n I ain't got no back ter my frock?No, sir! I's a goin' ter have on a dress complete. It mought be thatPeter'll think better er me if I shows him sech a spectful back."

  "You not get in Heaven!" exclaimed Kent. "Why, Aunt Mary, there wouldn'tbe any Heaven for all of us bad Brown boys if you weren't there."

  "Well, now them is words of comfort what beats the preacher's. I donealways been b'lievin' in 'fluence an' I mought er knowed my white folkswould look arfter me on the las' day jes as much as ever. I kin git inas Miss Milly's cook if'n th'aint no other way. I been a 'lowing whin Igits ter Heaven I wouldn't have ter work no more, but sence I been alaid up in the baid so long I gin ter think that work would tas'e rightsweet. Cookin' in Heaven wouldn't be so hard with plenty of 'gredientster han' and no scrimpin' and scrougin' of 'terials. A lan' flowin' withmilk an' honey mus' have aigs an' butter. Here you, Sukey Jourdan! Wharyou hidin'?"

  "Here I is, Sis Ma'y, I jes' stepped in the shed room ter men' the fireginst 'twas time ter knock up a bite er dinner fer you."

  "Well, while I's a thinkin' of it, I want you to git my bes' linen apronoutn the chist--the one with the insertioning let in 'bove the hem, an'put it in the highboy drawer with my bes' black silk. I low I'll be laidout in a apron, 'cause if'n I can't git inter Heaven no other way, I ama thinkin' with a clean white apron on I kin slip in as a good cook."

  "Dear Aunt Mary, you have been as good as gold all your life," declaredMrs. Brown, wiping a tear from her eye, but smiling in spite of herselfat Aunt Mary's quaint idea of a way to gain an entrance through thepearly gates.

  Aunt Mary had had many doubts about her being saved and had spent manyweary nights, terrified at the thought of dying and perhaps not beingfit for Heaven, but now that she had thought of wearing the apron, alldoubts of her desirability were set at rest; indeed, her last days werefilled with peace since she felt now that even Peter could not turn backa good cook.

  "I must be going, Aunt Mary," said Kent, taking the old woman's witheredhand in his strong grasp. "I'll be home again in a few weeks, I fancy,maybe sooner."

  "They's one thing I ain't arsked you yit: whar's that there Judy gal?I been a dreamin' you would bring her back with you."

  "She is the thing I am going back to France for, Aunt Mary."

  "Sho nuf? Well, well! They do tell me they's fightin' goin' on in someer them furren parts. Sholy Miss Judy ain't nigh the fightin' an'fussin'?"

  "Yes, I am afraid she is. That's the reason I must go for her."

  "Oh, Kent son! Don't you git into no scrap yo'sef. It's moughty hardfer young folks ter look on at a scrap 'thout gittin' mixed up in it.Don't you git too clost, whin you is lookin', either. Them what lookson sometimes gits the deepes' razor cuts with the back han' licks. Youpick up that gal an' bring her back ter you' maw jes' as fas' as yo'legs kin carry you."

  "I'll try to," laughed Kent.

  "Don't try! Jes' do it! That there Judy gal is sho nice an''ristocratic, considerin' she ain't never had no home. She done tellme whin she was here to little Miss Milly's weddin' that she an' herfolks ain't never lived in nothin' but rented houses. That's moughtyqueer to me, but 'cose niggers don't understan' ev'y thing. Well, youtell her that ole Mary Morton say she better pick up an' come back toChatswuth."

  "I certainly will, Aunt Mary, and good-by!"

  The old woman put her hand on his bowed head for a moment, and while shesaid nothing, Kent took it for a benediction.