THE WORK OF THE SUN
BEFORE Kate awakened the following morning George was out feeding the
horses, cattle, and chickens, doing the milking, and working like the
proverbial beaver. By the time breakfast was ready, he had convinced
himself that he was a very exemplary man, while he expected Kate to be
convinced also. He stood ready and willing to forgive her for every
mean deceit and secret sin he ever had committed, or had it in his
heart to commit in the future. All the world was rosy with him, he was
flying with the wings of hope straight toward a wonderful achievement
that would bring pleasure and riches, first to George Holt, then to his
wife and children, then to the old aunt he really cared more for than
any one else.
Incidentally, his mother might have some share, while he would bring
such prosperity and activity to the village that all Walden would
forget every bad thing it had ever thought or known of him, and delight
to pay him honour. Kate might have guessed all this when she saw the
pails full of milk on the table, and heard George whistling "Hail the
Conquering Hero Comes," as he turned the cows into the pasture; but she
had not slept well. Most of the night she had lain staring at the
ceiling, her brain busy with calculations, computations, most of all
with personal values.
She dared not be a party to anything that would lose Aunt Ollie her
land; that was settled; but if she went into the venture herself, if
she kept the deeds in Aunt Ollie's name, the bank account in hers, drew
all the checks, kept the books, would it be safe? Could George buy
timber as he thought; could she, herself, if he failed? The children
were old enough to be in school now, she could have much of the day,
she could soon train Polly and Adam to do even more than sweep and run
errands; the scheme could be materialized in the Bates way, without a
doubt; but could it be done in a Bates way, hampered and impeded by
George Holt? Was the plan feasible, after all? She entered into the
rosy cloud enveloping the kitchen without ever catching the faintest
gleam of its hue. George came to her the instant he saw her and tried
to put his arm around her. Kate drew back and looked at him intently.
"Aw, come on now, Kate," he said. "Leave out the heroics and be human.
I'll do exactly as you say about everything if you will help me wheedle
Aunt Ollie into letting me have the money."
Kate stepped back and put out her hands defensively: "A rare bargain,"
she said, "and one eminently worthy of you. You'll do what I say, if
I'll do what you say, without the slightest reference as to whether it
impoverishes a woman who has always helped and befriended you. You
make me sick!"
"What's biting you now?" he demanded, sullenly.
Kate stood tall and straight before and above him
"If you have a good plan, if you can prove that it will work, what is
the necessity for 'wheedling' anybody? Why not state what you propose
in plain, unequivocal terms, and let the dear, old soul, who has done
so much for us already, decide what she will do?"
"That's what I meant! That's all I meant!" he cried.
"In that case, 'wheedle' is a queer word to use."
"I believe you'd throw up the whole thing; I believe you'd let the
chance to be a rich woman slip through your fingers, if it all depended
on your saying only one word you thought wasn't quite straight," he
cried, half in assertion, half in question.
"I honour you in that belief," said Kate. "I most certainly would."
"Then you turn the whole thing down? You won't have anything to do
with it?" he cried, plunging into stoop-shouldered, mouth-sagging
despair.
"Oh, I didn't SAY that!" said Kate. "Give me time! Let me think! I've
got to know that there isn't a snare in it, from the title of the land
to the grade of the creek bed. Have you investigated that? Is your
ravine long enough and wide enough to dam it high enough at our outlet
to get your power, and yet not back water on the road, and the farmers
above you? Won't it freeze in winter? and can you get strong enough
power from water to run a large saw? I doubt it!"
"Oh, gee! I never thought about that!" he cried.
"And if it would work, did you figure the cost of a dam into your
estimate of the building and machinery?"
He snapped his fingers in impatience.
"By heck!" he cried, "I forgot THAT, too! But that wouldn't cost much.
Look what we did in that ravine just for fun. Why, we could build that
dam ourselves!"
"Yes, strong enough for conditions in September, but what about the
January freshet?" she said.
"Croak! Croak! You blame old raven," cried George.
"And have you thought," continued Kate, "that there is no room on the
bank toward town to set your mill, and it wouldn't be allowed there, if
there were?"
"You bet I have!" he said defiantly. "I'm no such slouch as you think
me. I've even stepped off the location!"
"Then," said Kate, "will you build a bridge across the ravine to reach
it, or will you buy a strip from Linn and build a road?"
George collapsed with a groan.
"That's the trouble with you," said Kate. "You always build your
castle with not even sand for a foundation. The most nebulous of rosy
clouds serve you as perfectly as granite blocks. Before you go
glimmering again, double your estimate to cover a dam and a bridge, and
a lot of incidentals that no one ever seems able to include in a
building contract. And whatever you do, keep a still head until we get
these things figured, and have some sane idea of what the venture would
cost."
"How long will it take?" he said sullenly.
"I haven't an idea. I'd have to go the Hartley and examine the records
and be sure that there was no flaw in the deeds to the land; but the
first thing is to get a surveyor and know for sure if you have a
water-power that will work and not infringe on your neighbours. A
thing like this can't be done in a few minutes' persuasive
conversation. It will take weeks."
It really seemed as if it would take months. Kate went to Walden that
afternoon, set the children playing in the ravine while she sketched
it, made the best estimate she could of its fall, and approved the
curve on the opposite bank which George thought could be cleared for a
building site and lumber yard. Then she added a location for a dam and
a bridge site, and went home to figure and think. The further she went
in these processes the more hopeless the project seemed. She soon
learned that there must be an engine with a boiler to run the saw. The
dam could be used only to make a pond to furnish the water needed; but
at that it would be cheaper than to dig a cistern or well. She would
not even suggest to Aunt Ollie to sell any of the home forty. The sale
of the remainder at the most hopeful price she dared estimate would not
bring half the money needed, and it would come in long-time payments.
Lumber, bricks, machinery, could not be had on time of any length,
while wages were cash every Saturday night.
"It simply can't be done," said Kate, and stopped thinking about it, so
far as George knew.
He was at once plunged into morose moping; he became sullen and
indifferent about the work, ugly with Kate and the children, until she
was driven almost frantic, and projects nearly as vague as some of
George's began to float through her head.
One Saturday morning Kate had risen early and finished cleaning up her
house, baking, and scrubbing porches. She had taken a bath to freshen
and cool herself and was standing before her dresser, tucking the last
pins in her hair, when she heard a heavy step on the porch and a loud
knock on the screen door. She stood at an angle where she could peep;
she looked as she reached for her dress. What she saw carried her to
the door forgetful of the dress. Adam, Jr., stood there, white and
shaken, steadying himself against the casing.
"Adam!" cried Kate. "Is Mother--?"
He shook his head.
"Father--?" she panted.
He nodded, seeming unable to speak. Kate's eyes darkened and widened.
She gave Adam another glance and opened the door. "Come in," she said.
"When did it happen? How did he get hurt?"
In that moment she recalled that she had left her father in perfect
health, she had been gone more than seven years. In that time he could
not fail to illness; how he had been hurt was her first thought. As
she asked the question, she stepped into her room and snatched up her
second best summer dress, waiting for Adam to speak as she slipped into
it. But speaking seemed to be a very difficult thing for Adam. He was
slow in starting and words dragged and came singly:
"Yesterday--tired--big dinner--awful hot--sunstroke--"
"He's gone?" she cried.
Adam nodded in that queer way again.
"Why did you come? Does Mother want me?" the questions leaped from
Kate's lips; her eyes implored him. Adam was too stricken to heed his
sister's unspoken plea.
"Course," he said. "All there--your place--I want you. Only one in
the family--not stark mad!"
Kate straightened tensely and looked at him again. "All right," she
said. "I can throw a few things in my telescope, write the children a
note to take to their father in the field, and we can stop in Walden
and send Aunt Ollie out to cook for them; I can go as well as not, for
as long as Mother wants me."
"Hurry!" said Adam.
In her room Kate stood still a second, her eyes narrow, her underlip
sucked in, her heart almost stopped. Then she said aloud: "Father's
sons have wished he would die too long for his death to strike even the
most tolerant of them like that. Something dreadful has happened. I
wonder to my soul--!"
She waited until they were past Hartley and then she asked suddenly:
"Adam, what is the matter?"
Then Adam spoke: "I am one of a pack of seven poor fools, and every
other girl in the family has gone raving mad, so I thought I'd come
after you, and see if you had sense, or reason, or justice, left in
you."
"What do you want of me?" she asked dazedly.
"I want you to be fair, to be honest, to do as you'd be done by. You
came to me when you were in trouble," he reminded her.
Kate could not prevent the short laugh that sprang to her lips, nor
what she said: "And you would not lift a finger; young Adam MADE his
MOTHER help me. Why don't you go to George for what you want?"
Adam lost all self-control and swore sulphurously.
"I thought you'd be different," he said, "but I see you are going to be
just like the rest of the--!"
"Stop that!" said Kate. "You're talking about my sisters--and yours.
Stop this wild talk, and tell me exactly what is the matter."
"I'm telling nothing," said Adam. "You can find out what is the matter
and go it with the rest of them, when you get there. Mother said this
morning she wished you were there, because you'd be the only SANE one
in the family, so I thought I'd bring you; but I wish now I hadn't done
it, for it stands to reason that you will join the pack, and run as
fast as the rest of the wolves."
"FROM a prairie fire, or TO a carcass?" asked Kate.
"I told you, you could find out when you got there. I'm not going to
have them saying I influenced you, or bribed you," he said.
"Do you really think that they think you could, Adam?" asked Kate,
wonderingly.
"I have said all I'm going to say," said Adam, and then he began
driving his horse inhumanely fast, for the heat was deep, slow, and
burning.
"Adam, is there any such hurry?" asked Kate. "You know you are abusing
your horse dreadfully."
Adam immediately jerked the horse with all his might, and slashed the
length of its body with two long stripes that rapidly raised in high
welts, so Kate saw that he was past reasoning with and said no other
word. She tried to think who would be at home, how they would treat
her, the Prodigal, who had not been there in seven years; and suddenly
it occurred to Kate that, if she had known all she now knew in her
youth, and had the same decision to make again as when she knew
nothing, she would have taken wing, just as she had. She had made
failures, she had hurt herself, mind and body, but her honour, her
self-respect were intact. Suddenly she sat straight. She was glad that
she had taken a bath, worn a reasonably decent dress, and had a better
one in the back of the buggy. She would cut the Gordian knot with a
vengeance. She would not wait to see how they treated her, she would
treat them! As for Adam's state, there was only one surmise she could
make, and that seemed so incredible, she decided to wait until her
mother told her all about whatever the trouble was.
As they came in sight of the house, queer feelings took possession of
Kate. She struggled to think kindly of her father; she tried to feel
pangs of grief over his passing. She was too forthright and had too
good memory to succeed. Home had been so unbearable that she had taken
desperate measures to escape it, but as the white house with its tree
and shrub filled yard could be seen more plainly, Kate suddenly was
filled with the strongest possessive feeling she ever had known. It
was home. It was her home. Her place was there, even as Adam had
said. She felt a sudden revulsion against herself that she had stayed
away seven years; she should have taken her chances and at least gone
to see her mother. She leaned from the buggy and watched for the first
glimpse of the tall, gaunt, dark woman, who had brought their big brood
into the world and stood squarely with her husband, against every one
of them, in each thing he proposed.
Now he was gone. No doubt he had carried out his intentions. No doubt
she was standing by him as always. Kate gathered her skirts, but Adam
passed the house, driving furiously as ever, and he only slackened
speed when he was forced to at the turn from the road to the lane. He
stopped the buggy in the barnyard, got out, and began unharnessing the
horse. Kate sat still and watched him until he led it away, then she
stepped down and started across the barnyard, down the lane leading to
the dooryard. As she closed the yard gate and rounded a widely
spreading snowball bush, her heart was pounding wildly. What was
coming? How would the other boys act, if Adam, the best balanced man
of them all, was behaving as he was? How would her mother greet her?
With the thought, Kate realized that she was so homesick for her mother
that she would do or give anything in the world to see her. Then there
was a dragging step, a short, sharp breath, and wheeling, Kate stood
facing her mother. She had come from the potato patch back of the
orchard, carrying a pail of potatoes in each hand. Her face was
haggard, her eyes bloodshot, her hair falling in dark tags, her cheeks
red with exertion. They stood facing each other. At the first glimpse
Kate cried, "Oh, Mother," and sprang toward her. Then she stopped,
while her heart again failed her, for from the astonishment on her
mother's face, Kate saw instantly that she was surprised, and had
neither sent for nor expected her. She was nauseatingly disappointed.
Adam had said she was wanted, had been sent for. Kate's face was
twitching, her lips quivering, but she did not hesitate more than an
instant.
"I see you were not expecting me," she said. "I'm sorry. Adam came
after me. I wouldn't have come if he hadn't said you sent for me."
Kate paused a minute hopefully. Her mother looked at her steadily.
"I'm sorry," Kate repeated. "I don't know why he said that."
By that time the pain in her heart was so fierce she caught her breath
sharply, and pressed her hand hard against her side. Her mother
stooped, set down the buckets, and taking off her sunbonnet, wiped the
sweat from her lined face with the curtain.
"Well, I do," she said tersely.
"Why?" demanded Kate.
"To see if he could use you to serve his own interests, of course,"
answered her mother. "He lied good and hard when he said I sent for
you; I didn't. I probably wouldn't a-had the sense to do it. But
since you are here, I don't mind telling you that I never was so glad
to see any one in all my born days."
Mrs. Bates drew herself full height, set her lips, stiffened her jaw,
and again used the bonnet skirt on her face and neck. Kate picked up
the potatoes, to hide the big tears that gushed from her eyes, and
leading the way toward the house she said: "Come over here in the
shade. Why should you be out digging potatoes?"
"Oh, they's enough here, and willing enough," said Mrs. Bates. "Slipped
off to get away from them. It was the quietest and the peacefullest
out there, Kate. I'd most liked to stay all day, but it's getting on
to dinner time, and I'm short of potatoes."
"Never mind the potatoes," said Kate. "Let the folks serve themselves
if they are hungry."
She went to the side of the smoke house, picked up a bench turned up
there, and carrying it to the shady side of a widely spreading privet
bush, she placed it where it would be best screened from both house and
barn. Then setting the potatoes in the shade, she went to her mother,
put her arm around her, and drew her to the seat. She took her
handkerchief and wiped her face, smoothed back her straggled hair, and
pulling out a pin, fastened the coil better.
"Now rest a bit," she said, "and then tell me why you are glad to see
me, and exactly what you'd like me to do here. Mind, I've been away
seven years, and Adam told me not a word, except that Father was gone."
"Humph! All missed the mark again," commented Mrs. Bates dryly. "They
all said he'd gone to fill you up, and get you on his side."
"Mother, what is the trouble?" asked Kate. "Take your time and tell me
what has happened, and what YOU want, not what Adam wants."
Mrs. Bates relaxed her body a trifle, but gripped her hands tightly
together in her lap.
"Well, it was quick work," she said. "It all came yesterday afternoon
just like being hit by lightning. Pa hadn't failed a particle that any
one could see. Ate a big dinner of ham an' boiled dumplings, an' him
an' Hiram was in the west field. It was scorchin' hot an' first Hiram
saw, Pa was down. Sam Langley was passin' an' helped get him in, an'
took our horse an' ran for Robert. He was in the country but Sam
brought another doctor real quick, an' he seemed to fetch Pa out of it
in good shape, so we thought he'd be all right, mebby by morning,
though the doctor said he'd have to hole up a day or two. He went
away, promisin' to send Robert back, and Hiram went home to feed. I
set by Pa fanning him an' putting cloths on his head. All at once he
began to chill.
"We thought it was only the way a-body was with sunstroke, and past
pilin' on blankets, we didn't pay much attention. He SAID he was all
right, so I went to milk. Before I left I gave him a drink, an' he
asked me to feel in his pants pocket an' get the key an' hand him the
deed box, till he'd see if everything was right. Said he guessed he'd
had a close call. You know how he was. I got him the box and went to
do the evening work. I hurried fast as I could. Coming back, clear
acrost the yard I smelt burning wool, an' I dropped the milk an' ran.
I dunno no more about just what happened 'an you do. The house was
full of smoke. Pa was on the floor, most to the sitting-room door, his
head and hair and hands awfully burned, his shirt burned off, laying
face down, and clear gone. The minute I seen the way he laid, I knew
he was gone. The bed was pourin' smoke and one little blaze about six
inches high was shootin' up to the top. I got that out, and then I saw
most of the fire was smothered between the blankets where he'd thrown
them back to get out of the bed. I dunno why he fooled with the lamp.
It always stood on the little table in his reach, but it was light
enough to read fine print. All I can figure is that the light was
going out of his EYES, an' he thought IT WAS GETTIN' DARK, so he tried
to light the lamp to see the deeds. He was fingerin' them when I left,
but he didn't say he couldn't see them. The lamp was just on the bare
edge of the table, the wick way up an' blackened, the chimney smashed
on the floor, the bed afire."
"Those deeds are burned?" gasped Kate. "All of them? Are they all
gone?"
"Every last one," said Mrs. Bates.
"Well, if ONE is gone, thank God they all are," said Kate.
Her mother turned swiftly and caught her arm.
"Say that again!" she cried eagerly.
"Maybe I'm WRONG about it, but it's what I think," said Kate. "If the
boys are crazy over all of them being gone, they'd do murder if part
had theirs, and the others had not."
Mrs. Bates doubled over on Kate's shoulder suddenly and struggled with
an inward spasm.
"You poor thing," said Kate. "This is dreadful. All of us know how
you loved him, how you worked together. Can you think of anything I
can do? Is there any special thing the matter?"
"I'm afraid!" whispered Mrs. Bates. "Oh, Katie, I'm so afraid. You
know how SET he was, you know how he worked himself and all of us--he
had to know what he was doing, when he fought the fire till the shirt
burned off him"--her voice dropped to a harsh whisper--"what do you
s'pose he's doing now?"
Any form of religious belief was a subject that never had been touched
upon or talked of in the Bates family. Money was their God, work their
religion; Kate looked at her mother curiously.
"You mean you believe in after life?" she asked.
"Why, I suppose there must be SOMETHING," she said.
"I think so myself," said Kate. "I always have. I think there is a
God, and that Father is facing Him now, and finding out for the first
time in his experience that he is very small potatoes, and what he
planned and slaved for amounted to nothing, in the scheme of the
universe. I can't imagine Father being subdued by anything on earth,
but it appeals to me that he will cut a pathetic figure before the
throne of an Almighty God."
A slow grin twisted Mrs. Bates' lips.
"Well, wherever he went," she said, "I guess he found out pretty quick
that he was some place at last where he couldn't be boss."
"I'm very sure he has," said Kate, "and I am equally sure the
discipline will be good for him. But his sons! His precious sons!
What are they doing?"
"Taking it according to their bent," said Mrs. Bates. "Adam is insane,
Hiram is crying."
"Have you had a lawyer?" asked Kate.
"What for? We all know the law on this subject better than we know our
a, b, c's."
"Did your deed for this place go, too?" asked Kate.
"Yes," said Mrs. Bates, "but mine was recorded, none of the others
were. I get a third, and the rest will be cut up and divided, share
and share alike, among ALL OF YOU, equally. I think it's going to kill
Adam and ruin Andrew."
"It won't do either. But this is awful. I can see how the boys feel,
and really, Mother, this is no more fair to them than things always
have been for the girls. By the way, what are they doing?"
"Same as the boys, acting out their natures. Mary is openly rejoicing.
So is Nancy Ellen. Hannah and Bertha at least can see the boys' side.
The others say one thing before the boys and another among themselves.
In the end the girls will have their shares and nobody can blame them.
I don't myself, but I think Pa will rise from his grave when those
farms are torn up."
"Don't worry," said Kate. "He will have learned by now that graves are
merely incidental, and that he has no option on real estate where he
is. Leave him to his harp, and tell me what you want done."
"I want you to see that it was all accidental. I want you to take care
of me. I want you should think out the FAIR thing for all of us to DO.
I want you to keep sane and cool-headed and shame the others into
behaving themselves. And I want you to smash down hard on their
everlasting, 'why didn't you do this?' and 'why didn't you do that?' I
reckon I've been told five hundred times a-ready that I shouldn't
a-give him the deeds. Josie say it, an' then she sings it. NOT GIVE
THEM TO HIM! How could I help giving them to him? He'd a-got up and
got them himself if I hadn't--"
"You have cut out something of a job for me," said Kate, "but I'll do
my best. Anyway, I can take care of you. Come on into the house now,
and let me clean you up, and then I'll talk the rest of them into
reason, if you stand back of me, and let them see I'm acting for you."
"You go ahead," said Mrs. Bates. "I'll back whatever you say. But keep
them off of me! Keep them off of me!"
After Kate had bathed her mother, helped her into fresh clothes, and
brushed her hair, she coaxed her to lie down, and by diplomatic talk
and stroking her head, finally soothed her to sleep. Then she went
down and announced the fact, asked them all to be quiet, and began
making her way from group to group in an effort to restore mental
balance and sanity. After Kate had invited all of them to go home and
stay until time for the funeral Sunday morning, and all of them had
emphatically declined, and eagerly had gone on straining the situation
to the breaking point, Kate gave up and began setting the table. When
any of them tried to talk or argue with her she said conclusively: "I
shall not say one word about this until Monday. Then we will talk
things over, and find where we stand, and what Mother wants. This
would be much easier for all of us, if you'd all go home and calm down,
and plan out what you think would be the fair and just thing to do."
Before evening Kate was back exactly where she left off, for when Mrs.
Bates came downstairs, her nerves quieted by her long sleep, she asked
Kate what would be best about each question that arose, while Kate
answered as nearly for all of them as her judgment and common sense
dictated; but she gave the answer in her own way, and she paved the way
by making a short, sharp speech when the first person said in her
hearing that "Mother never should have given him the deeds." Not one
of them said that again, while at Kate's suggestion, mentally and on
scraps of paper, every single one of them figured that one third of
sixteen hundred and fifty was five hundred and fifty; subtracted from
sixteen hundred and fifty this left one thousand one hundred, which,
divided by sixteen, gave sixty-eight and three fourths. This result
gave Josie the hysterics, strong and capable though she was; made Hiram
violently ill, so that he resorted to garden palings for a support;
while Agatha used her influence suddenly, and took Adam, Jr., home.
As she came to Kate to say that they were going, Agatha was white as
possible, her thin lips compressed, a red spot burning on either cheek.
"Adam and I shall take our departure now, Katherine," she said,
standing very stiffly, her head held higher than Kate ever had thought
it could be lifted. Kate put her arm around her sister-in-law and gave
her a hearty hug: "Tell Adam I'll do what I think is fair and just;
and use all the influence I have to get the others to do the same," she
said.
"Fruitless!" said Agatha. "Fruitless! Reason and justice have
departed from this abode. I shall hasten my pace, and take Adam where
my influence is paramount. The state of affairs here is deplorable,
perfectly deplorable! I shall not be missed, and I shall leave my male
offspring to take the place of his poor, defrauded father."
Adam, 3d, was now a tall, handsome young man of twenty-two, quite as
fond of Kate as ever. He wiped the dishes, and when the evening work
was finished, they talked with Mrs. Bates until they knew her every
wish. The children had planned for a funeral from the church, because
it was large enough to seat the family and friends in comfort; but when
they mentioned this to Mrs. Bates, she delivered an ultimatum on the
instant: "You'll do no such thing!" she cried. "Pa never went to that
church living; I'll not sanction his being carried there feet first,
when he's helpless. And we'll not scandalize the neighbours by fighting
over money on Sunday, either. You'll all come Monday morning, if you
want anything to say about this. If you don't, I'll put through the
business in short order. I'm sick to my soul of the whole thing. I'll
wash my hands of it as quick as possible."
So the families all went to their homes; Kate helped her mother to bed;
and then she and Adam, 3d, tried to plan what would be best for the
morrow; afterward they sat down and figured until almost dawn.
"There's no faintest possibility of pleasing everyone," said Kate. "The
level best we can do is to devise some scheme whereby everyone will
come as nearly being satisfied as possible."
"Can Aunt Josie and Aunt Mary keep from fighting across the grave?"
asked Adam.
"Only Heaven knows," said Kate.