MOONLIGHT AND APPLE-BLOW
"I hope you feel easy in your mind, child, now you've put this whole
garden to bed and tucked 'em under cover, heads and all," said Uncle
Tucker, as he spread the last bit of old sacking down over the end of
the row of little sprouting bean vines. "When I look at the garden I'm
half skeered to go in the house to bed for fear I haven't got a quilt
to my joints."
"Now, honey sweet, you know better than that," answered Rose Mary as
she rose from weighting down the end of a frilled white petticoat with
a huge clod of earth and stretched it so as to cover quite two yards
of the green shoots. "I haven't taken a thing of yours but two shirts
and one of your last summer seersucker coats. I'm going to mend the
split up the back in it for the wash Monday. Aunt Amandy lent me two
aprons and a sack and a petticoat for the peony bushes, and Aunt Viney
gave me this shawl and three chemises that cover all the pinks. I've
taken all the tablecloths for the early peas, and Stonie's shirts,
each one of them, have covered a whole lot of the poet's narcissus.
All the rest of the things are my own clothes, and I've still got a
clean dress for to-morrow. If I can just cover everything to-night, I
won't be afraid of the frost any more. You don't want all the lovely
little green things to die, do you, and not have any snaps or peas or
peonies at all?"
"Oh, fly-away!" answered Uncle Tucker as he tucked in the last end of
a nondescript frill over a group of tiny cabbage plants, "there's not
even a smack of frost in the air! It's all in your mind."
"Well, a mind ought to be sensitive about covering up its friends from
frost hurts," answered Rose Mary propitiatingly as she took a
satisfied survey of the bedded garden, which looked like the scene of
a disorganized washday. "Thank you, Uncle Tucker, for helping me--keep
off the frost from my dreams, anyway. Don't you think--"
"Well, howdy, folks!" came a cheerfully interruptive hail from across
the brick wall that separated the garden from the cinder walk that lay
along Providence Road, which ran as the only street through
Sweetbriar, and Caleb Rucker's long face presented itself framed in a
wreath of budding rose briars that topped the wall in their spring
growth. "Tenting up the garden sass ag'in, Miss Rose Mary?"
"No, we're jest giving all the household duds a mooning instead of a
sunning, Cal," answered Uncle Tucker with a chuckle as he came over to
the wall beside the visitor. "What's the word along the Road?"
"Gid Newsome have sent the news as he'll be here Sad'ay night to lay
off and plow up this here dram or no-dram question for Sweetbriar
voters, so as to tote our will up to the state house for us next
election. As a state senator, we can depend on Gid to expend some and
have notice taken of this district, if for nothing but his corn-silk
voice and white weskit. It must take no less'n a pound of taller a
week to keep them shoes and top hat of his'n so slick. I should jedge
his courting to be kinder like soft soap and molasses, Miss Rose
Mary." And Mr. Rucker's smile was of the saddest as he handed this bit
of gentle banter over the wall to Rose Mary, who had come over to
stand beside Uncle Tucker in the end of the long path.
"It's wonderful how devoted Mr. Newsome is to all his friends,"
answered Rose Mary with a blush. "He sent me three copies of the
Bolivar _Herald_ with the poem of yours he had them print last week,
and I was just going over to take you and Mrs. Rucker one as soon as I
got the time to--"
"Johnnie-jump-ups, Miss Rose Mary, don't you never do nothing like
that to me!" exclaimed Mr. Rucker with a very fire of desperation
lighting his thin face. "If Mis' Rucker was to see one verse of that
there poetry I would have to plow the whole creek-bottom corn-field
jest to pacify her. I've done almost persuaded her to hire Bob Nickols
to do it with his two teams and young Bob, on account of a sciattica
in my left side that plowing don't do no kind of good to. I have took
at least two bottles of her sasparilla and sorgum water and have let
Granny put a plaster as big and loud-smelling as a mill swamp on my
back jest to git that matter of the corn-field fixed up, and here you
most go and stir up the ruckus again with that poor little _Trees in
the Breeze_ poem that Gid took and had printed unbeknownst to me.
Please, mam, burn them papers!"
"Oh, I wouldn't tell her for the world if you don't want me to, Mr.
Rucker!" exclaimed Rose Mary in distress. "But I am sure she would be
proud of--"
"No, it looks like women don't take to poetry for a husband; they
prefers the hefting of a hoe and plow handles. It's hard on Mis'
Rucker that I ain't got no constitution to work with, and I feel it
right to keep all my soul-squirmings and sech outen her sight. The
other night as I was a-putting Petie to bed, while she and Bob was at
the front gate a-trying to trade on that there plowing, a mighty sweet
little verse come to me about
"'The little shoes in mother's hand
Nothing like 'em in the land,'
and the tears was in my eyes so thick 'cause I didn't have nobody to
say 'em to that one dropped down on Pete and made him think I was
a-going to wash his face, and sech another ruckus as she had to come
in to, as mad as hops! If I feel like it, I'm a-going to clean every
weed outen the garden for her next week to try and make up to her
for--"
"Aw, Mr. Rucker, M-i-s-t-e-r Rucker, come home to get ready for
supper," came in a loud, jovial voice that carried across the street
like the tocsin of a bass drum. The Rucker home sat in a clump of
sugar maples just opposite the Briars, and was square, solid and
unadorned of vine or flower. A row of bright tin buckets hung along
the picket fence that separated the yard from the store enclosure, and
rain-barrels sat under the two front gutters with stolid
practicability, in contrast to the usual relegation of such
store-houses of the rainfall to the back of the house and the planting
of ferns and water plants under the front sprouts, as was the custom
from the beginning of time in Sweetbriar. Mrs. Rucker in a clean print
dress and with glossy and uncompromisingly smoothed hair stood at the
newly whitewashed front gate. "Send him on home, Rose Mary, or
grass'll grow in his tracks and yours, too, if he can hold you long
enough," she added by way of badinage.
"I'm a-coming, Sally, right on the minute," answered the
poet-by-stealth, and he hurried across the street with hungry
alacrity. The poem-maker was tall and loose-jointed, and the breadth
of his shoulders and long muscular limbs decidedly suggested success
at the anvil or field furrow. He made a jocular pass at placing his
arm around the uncompromising waist-line of his portly wife, and when
warded off by an only half-impatient shove he contented himself by
winding one of her white apron strings around one of his long fingers
as they leaned together over the gate for further parley with the
Alloways across the road.
"When did you get back, Mrs. Rucker?" asked Rose Mary interestedly, as
she rested her arms on the wall and Uncle Tucker planted himself
beside her, having brushed away one of the long briar shoots to make
room for them both.
"About two hours ago," answered Mrs. Rucker. "I found everybody in
fine shape up at Providence, and Mis' Mayberry sent Mr. Tucker a new
quinzy medicine that Tom wrote back to her from New York just day
before yesterday. I made a good trade in hogs with Mr. Hoover for
myself and Bob Nickols, too. Mr. Petway had a half-barrel of flour in
his store he were willing to let go cheap, and I bought it for us and
you-all and the Poteets. Me and you can even up on that timothy seed
with the flour, Mr. Tucker, and I'm just a-going to give a measure to
the Poteets as a compliment to that new Poteet baby, which is the
seventh mouth to feed on them eighty-five acres. I've set yeast for
ourn and your rolls for to-morrow, tell your Aunt Mandy, Rose Mary,
and I brought that copy of the _Christian Advocate_ for your Aunt
Viney that she lost last month. Mis' Mayberry don't keep hern, but
spreads 'em around, so was glad to let me have this one. I asked about
it before I had got my bonnet-strings untied. Yes, Cal, I'm a-going
on in to give you your supper, for I expect I'll find the children's
and Granny's stomicks and backbones growing together if I don't hurry.
That's one thing Mr. Satterwhite said in his last illness, he never
had had to wait--yes, I'm coming, Granny," and with the encomium of
the late Mr. Satterwhite still unfinished Mrs. Rucker hurried up the
front path at the behest of a high, querulous old voice issuing from
the front windows.
"Well, there's no doubt about it, no finer woman lives along
Providence Road than Sallie Rucker, Marthy Mayberry and Selina Lue
Lovell down at the Bluff not excepted, to say nothing of Rose Mary
Alloway standing right here in the midst of my own sweet potato
vines," said Uncle Tucker reflectively as he glanced at the retreating
figure of his sturdy neighbor, which was followed by that of the lean
and hungry poet.
"Yes, she's wonderful," answered Rose Mary enthusiastically,
"but--but I wish she had just a little sympathy for--for poetry. If a
husband sprouts little spirit wings under his shoulders it's a kind
thing for his wife not to pick them right out alive, isn't it? When I
get a husband--"
"When you get a husband, Rose Mary, I hope he'll hump his shoulders
over a plow-line the number of hours allotted for a man's work and
then fly poetry kites off times and only when the wind is right,"
answered Uncle Tucker with a quizzical smile in his big eyes and a
quirk at the corner of his mouth.
"But I'm going always to admire the kites anyway, even if they don't
fly," answered Rose Mary with the teasing lift of her long lashes up
at him. "Maybe just a woman's puff might start a man's kite sky high
that couldn't get off right without it. You can't tell."
"Yes, child," answered Uncle Tucker as he looked into the dark eyes
level with his own with a sudden tenderness, "and you never fail to
start off all kites in your neighborhood. When I took you as a bundle
of nothing outen Brother John's arms nearly thirty years ago this
spring jest a perky encouraging little smile in your blue eyes started
my kite that was a-trailing weary like, and it's sailed mostly by your
wind ever since--especially these last few years. Don't let the breeze
give out on me yet, child."
"It never will, old sweetie," answered Rose Mary as she took Uncle
Tucker's lean old hand in hers and rubbed her cheek against the sleeve
of his rough farm coat. "Is the interest of the mortgage ready for
this quarter?" she asked quietly in almost a whisper, as if afraid to
disturb some listening ear with a private matter.
"It lacks more than a hundred," answered Uncle Tucker in just as quiet
a voice, in which a note of pain sounded plainly. "And this is not the
first time I have fallen behind with Newsome, either. The repairs on
the plows and the food chopper for the barn have cost a good deal,
and the coal bill was large this winter. Sometimes, Rose Mary, I--I am
afraid to look forward to the end. Maybe if I was younger it would be
different and I could pay the debt, but I am afraid--if it wasn't for
your aunts, looks like you and I could let it go and make our way
somewhere out in the world beyond the Ridge, but they are older than
us and we must keep their home as long as we can for 'em. Maybe in a
few years--Newsome won't press me, I'm mighty sure. Do you think you
can help me hold on for 'em? I don't matter."
"We'll never let it go, Uncle Tuck, never!" answered Rose Mary
passionately as she pressed her cheek closer to his arm. "I don't know
why I know, but we are going to have it as long as they--and you,
_you_ need it--and I'm going to die here myself," she added with a
laughing sob as she shook two tears out of her lashes and looked up at
him with adorning stars in her eyes.
"It's as He wills, daughter," answered Uncle Tucker quietly as he
laid a tender hand on the dark braids resting against his shoulder.
"It isn't wrong for us to go on keeping it if we can jest pay the
interest to our friend--pay it to the day. That is the only thing that
troubles me. We must not fall behind and--"
"Oh, but honey-sweet, let me tell you, let me tell you!" exclaimed
Rose Mary with shining eyes, "I've got just lots of money, more than
twenty dollars, nearly twice more. I've saved it just in case we did
need it for this or--or--or any other thing," she added hastily, not
willing to disclose her tooth project even to Uncle Tucker's
sympathetic ear.
Uncle Tucker's large eyes brightened with relief for a second and then
clouded with a mist of tears.
"What were you saving it for, child?" he asked with a quaver in his
sweet old voice, and his hand clasped hers more closely. "You don't
ever have what pretty women like you want and need, and that's what
grinds down on me most hardest of all. You are young and--and mighty
beautiful, and looks like it's wrong for you to lay down yourself for
us who are a good long way on the other side of life's ridge. I ought
to send you back across the hills to--to find your own--no matter what
happens!"
"Try it!" answered Rose Mary, again lifting her star eyes to his. "I
was saving that money to buy Aunt Viney a set of teeth that she thinks
she wants, but I know she couldn't use them when she gets them. If I'm
as beautiful as you say, isn't this blue homespun of great Grandmother
Alloways, made over twentieth century style, adornment enough? Some
people--that is, some one--Mr. Mark said this morning it was--was
_chic_, which means most awfully stylish. I've got one for my back and
one for the tub all out of the same old blue bed-spread, and a white
linen marvel contrived from a pair of sheets for Sunday. Please don't
send me out into the big world--other people might not think me as
lovely as you do," and her raillery was most beautifully dauntless.
"The Lord bless you and keep you and make the sun to shine upon you,
flower of His own Kingdom," answered Uncle Tucker with a comforted
smile breaking over his wistful old face. "I had mighty high dreams
about you when that young man talked his oil-wells to me a month ago,
and I wanted my rose to do some of her flowering for the world to see,
but maybe--maybe--"
"She'll flower best here, where her roots go down into Sweetbriar
hearts--and Sweetbriar prayers, Uncle Tucker; she knows that's true,
and so do you," answered Rose Mary quickly. "And anyway, Mr. Mark is
making the soil survey for you, and if we follow his directions there
is no telling what we will make next year, maybe the interest and some
of the money, too, and the teeth and--and a sky-blue silk robe for
me--if that's what you'd like to see me wear, though it would be
inconvenient with the milking and the butter and--"
"Tucker, oh Brother Tucker!" came a call across the garden fence from
the house, in a weak but commanding voice, and Rose Mary caught a
glimpse of Miss Lavinia's white mob cap bobbing at the end of the
porch, "that is in Proverbs tenth and nineteenth, and not nineteenth
and tenth, like you said. You come right in here and get it straight
in your head before the next sun sets on your ignorance."
"Fly-away!" exclaimed Uncle Tucker, "now Sister Viney's never going to
forgive me that Bible slip-up if I don't persuade her from now on till
supper. But there is nothing more for you to do out here, Rose Mary,
the sun'll put out the light for you," and he hurried away down the
path and through the garden gate.
Rose Mary remained leaning over the garden wall, looking up and down
the road with interest shining in her eyes and a laugh and nod for the
neighbors who were hurrying supperward or stopping to talk with one
another over fences and gates. A group of men and boys stood and sat
on the porch in front of the store, and their big voices rang out now
and again with hearty merriment at some exchange of wit or clever bit
of horse-play. Two women stood in deep conclave over by the Poteet
gate, and the subject of the council was a small bundle of flannel and
lawn displayed with evident pride by a comely young woman in a pink
calico dress. Seeing Rose Mary at the wall, they both smiled and
started in her direction, the bearer of the bundle stepping carefully
across the ditch at the side of the walk.
"Lands alive, Rose Mary, you never did see nothing as pretty as this
last Poteet baby," exclaimed Mrs. Plunkett enthusiastically. "The year
before last one, let me see, weren't that Evelina Virginia, Mis'
Poteet? Yes, Evelina Virginia was mighty pretty, but this one beats
her. I declare, if you was to fail us with these spring babies, Mis'
Poteet, it would be a disappointment to the whole of Sweetbriar. Come
next April it will be seven without a year's break, astonishing as it
do sound."
"It would be as bad as the sweetbriar roses not blooming, Mrs.
Poteet," laughed Rose Mary as she held out her arms for the bundle
which cuddled against her breast in a woman-maddening fashion that
made her clasp the mite as close as she dared.
"Yes, I tell you, seven hand-running is enough for any woman to be
proud of, Mis' Poteet, and it ought to be taken notice of. Have you
heard the news of the ten acres of bottom land to be given to him,
Rose Mary? That's what all the men are a-joking of Mr. Poteet about
over there at the store now. They are a-going to make out the deed
to-night. They bought the land from Bob Nickols right next to Mr.
Poteet's, crops and all, ten acres of the best land in Sweetbriar. I
call it a nice compliment. 'To Tucker Poteet, from Sweetbriar, is to
go right in the deed."
"'Tucker Poteet,' oh, Mrs. Poteet, have you named him for Uncle
Tucker?" exclaimed Rose Mary with beaming eyes, and the rapture of her
embrace was only modified by a slight squirm from the young heir of
all Sweetbriar.
"Well, I had had that name in my mind from the first if he come a boy,
but when Mr. Poteet got down to the store for some tansy, when he
weren't a hour old, he found all the men-folks had done named him that
for us, and it looked like we didn't have the chance to pass the
compliment. We ain't told you-all nothing about it, for they all
wanted Mr. Tucker to read it in the deed first."
"And ain't them men a-going to have a good time when they give Mr.
Tucker that deed to read? Looks like, even if it is some trouble, you
couldn't hardly begrudge Sweetbriar these April babies, Mis' Poteet,"
said Mrs. Plunkett in a consoling voice.
"Law, Mis' Plunkett, I don't mind it one bit. It ain't a mite of
trouble to me to have 'em," answered the mother of the seven hardily.
"You all are so kind to help me out all the time with everything.
Course we are poor, but Jim makes enough to feed us, and every single
child I've got is by fortune, just a hand-down size for somebody
else's children. Five of 'em just stair-steps into clothes of Mis'
Rucker's four, and Mis' Nickols saves me all of Bob's things to cut
down, so I never have a mite of worry over any of 'em."
"Yes, I reckon maybe the worry spread over seven don't have a chanct
to come to a head on any one of 'em," said Mrs. Plunkett thoughtfully,
and her shoulders began to stoop dejectedly as a perturbed expression
dawned into her gray eyes. "Better take him on home now, Mis' Poteet,
for sundown is house-time for babies in my opinion. Hand him over,
Rose Mary!"
Thus admonished, with a last, clinging embrace, Rose Mary delivered
young Tucker to his mother, who departed with him in the direction of
the Poteet cottage over beyond the milk-house.
"Is anything worrying you, Mrs. Plunkett? Can I help?" asked Rose Mary
as her neighbor lingered for a moment and glanced at her with wistful
eyes. Mrs. Plunkett was small, though round, with mournful big eyes
and clad at all times in the most decorous of widow's weeds, even if
they were of necessity of black calico on week days. Soft little curls
fell dejectedly down over her eyes and her red mouth defied a dimple
that had been wont to shine at the left corner, and kept to confines
of straight-lipped propriety.
"It's about Louisa Helen again and her light-mindedness. I don't see
how a daughter of mine can act as she does with such a little feeling.
Last night Mr. Crabtree shut up the store before eight o'clock and put
on his Sunday coat to come over and set on the front steps a-visiting
of her, and in less'n a half hour that Bob Nickols had whistled for
her from the corner, and she stood at the front gate talking to him
until every light in Sweetbriar was put out, and I know it muster been
past nine o'clock. And there I had to set a-trying to distract Mr.
Crabtree from her giggling. We talked about Mr. Plunkett and all our
young days and I felt real comforted. If I can jest get Louisa Helen
to see what a proper husband Thomas Crabtree will make for her we can
all settle down comfortable like. He wants her bad, from all the signs
I can see."
"But--but isn't Louisa Helen a little young for--" began Rose Mary,
taking what seemed a reasonable line of consolation.
"No, she's not too young to marry," answered her mother with spirit.
"Louisa Helen is eighteen years old in May, and I was married to Mr.
Plunkett before my eighteenth birthday. He was twenty-one, and I
treated him with proper respect, too. I never said no such foolish
things as Louisa Helen says to that Nickols boy, even to Mr.
Crabtree, hisself."
"Oh, please don't worry about Louisa Helen, Mrs. Plunkett. She is just
so lovely and young--and happy. You and I both know what it is to be
like that. Sometimes I feel as if she were just my own youngness that
I had kept pressed in a book and I had found it when I wasn't looking
for it." And Rose Mary's smile was so very lovely that even Mrs.
Plunkett was dazzled to behold.
"Lands alive, Rose Mary, you carry your thirty years mighty easy, and
that's no mistake. You put me in mind of that blush peony bush of
yourn by the front gate. When it blooms it makes all the other flowers
look like they was too puny to shake out a petal. And for sheep's
eyes, them glances Mr. Gid Newsome casts at you makes all of Bob
Nickols' look like foolish lamb squints. And for what Mr. Mark does in
the line of sheeps--Now there they come, and I can see from Louisa
Helen's looks she have invited that rampage in to supper. I'll have to
hurry on over and knock up a extra sally-lunn for him, I reckon.
Good-by 'til morning!" And Mrs. Plunkett hurried away to the
preparation of supper for the suitor of her disapproval.
For a few moments longer Rose Mary let her eyes go roaming out over
the valley that was lying in a quiet hush of twilight.
Lights had flashed up in the windows over the village and a night
breeze was showering down a fall of apple-blow from the gnarled old
tree that stood like a great bouquet beside the front steps of the
Briars. All the orchards along the Road were in bloom and a fragrance
lay heavy over the pastures and mingled with the earth scent of the
fields, newly upturned by the plowing for spring wheat.
"Is that a regiment you've got camping in the garden, Rose Mary?"
asked Everett as he came up the front walk in the moonlight some two
hours later and found Rose Mary seated on the top of the front steps,
all alone, with a perfectly dark and sleep-quiet house behind her.
Rose Mary laughed and tossed a handful of the pink blow she had
gathered over his shoulder. "Did you have your supper at Bolivar?" she
asked solicitously. "I saved you some; want it?"
"Yes, I had a repast at the Citizens', but I think I can manage yours
an hour or two later," answered Everett as he seated himself beside
her and lighted a cigar, from which he began to puff rings out into
the moonlight that sifted down on to them through the young leaves of
the bloom-covered old tree. "You weren't afraid of frost such a night
as this, were you?" he further inquired, as he took a deep breath of
the soft, perfume-laden air.
"I'm not now, but a cool breeze blew up about sundown and made me
afraid for my garden babies. Now I'm sure they will all wilt under
their covers, and you'll have to help me take them all off before you
go to bed. Isn't it strange how loving things make you afraid they
will freeze or wilt or get wet or cold or hungry?" asked Rose Mary
with such delightful ingenuousness that a warm little flush rose up
over Everett's collar. "Loving just frightens itself, like children in
the dark," she added musingly.
"And you saved my supper for me?" asked Everett softly.
"Of course I did; didn't you know I would?" asked Rose Mary quickly,
in her simplicity of heart not at all catching the subtle drift of his
question. "They all missed you, and Uncle Tucker went to bed almost
grumpy, while Stonie--"
"Rose Mamie," came in a sleepy but determined voice as the General in
a long-tailed nightshirt appeared in the dark doorway, "I went to
sleep and you never came back to hear me pray. Something woke me;
maybe the puppy in my bed or maybe God. I'll come out there and say
'em so you won't wake the puppy, because he's goned back to sleep," he
added in a voice that was hushed to a tone of extreme consideration
for the slumber of his young bedfellow.
"Yes, honey-heart, come say them here. Mr. Mark won't mind. I came
back, Stonie, to hear them, truly I did, but you were so fast to sleep
and so tired I hated to wake you." And Rose Mary held out tender arms
to the little chap who came and knelt on the floor at her side,
between her and Everett.
"But, Rose Mamie, you know Aunt Viney says tired ain't no 'scuse to
the Lord, and I don't think it are neither. I reckon He's tired, too,
sometimes, but He don't go back on the listening, and I ain't a-going
to go back on the praying. It wouldn't be fair. Now start me!" and
having in a completely argumentative way stated his feelings on the
subject of neglected prayer, the General buried his head on Rose
Mary's shoulder, folded one bare, pink foot across the other, clasped
his hands at proper angle and waited.
"_Now I lay me_," began Rose Mary in a low and tender tone.
"No," remonstrated Stonie in a smothered voice from her shoulder,
"this is 'Our Father' week! Don't tire out the Lord with the '_Now I
lay me_,' Rose Mamie!"
With an exclamation of regret Rose Mary clasped him closer and led the
petition on through to its last word, though it was with difficulty
that the sleepy General reached his Amen, his will being strong but
his flesh weak. The little black head burrowed under Rose Mary's chin
and the clasped pink feet relaxed before the final words were said.
For a few minutes Rose Mary held him tenderly and buried her face
against the back of the sunburned little neck, while as helpless as
young Tucker Stonie wilted upon her breast and floated off into the
depths. And for still a few seconds longer Everett sat very still and
watched them with a curious gleam in his eyes and his teeth set hard
in his cigar; then he rose, bent over and very tenderly lifted the
relaxed General in his arms and without a word strode into the house
with him. Very carefully he laid him in the little cot that stood
beside Rose Mary's bed in her room down the hall, and with equal care
he settled the little dog against the bare, briar-scratched feet,
returned to the moonlight porch and resumed his seat at Rose Mary's
side.
"There is something about the General," he remarked with a half smile,
"that--that gets next. He has a moral fiber that I hope he will be
able to keep resistent to its present extent, but I doubt it."
"Oh," said Rose Mary, quickly looking up with pierced, startled eyes,
"he must keep it--he must; it is the only hope for him. Tell me if you
can how to help him keep it. Help me help him!"
"Forgive me," answered Everett in quick distress. "I was only
scoffing, as usual. He'll keep what you give him, never fear, Rose
Mary; he's honor bound."
"Yes, that's what I want him to be--'honor bound.' You don't know
about him, but to-night I want to tell you, because I somehow feel you
love him--and us--and maybe if you know, some day you will help him.
Just after I came back into the Valley and found them all so troubled
and--and disgraced, something came to me I thought I couldn't stand.
Always it seemed to me I had loved him, my cousin, Uncle Tucker's son,
and I thought--I thought he had loved me. But when he went out into
the world one of the village girls, Granny Satterwhite's daughter, had
followed him and--yes, she had been his wife for all the time we
thought she was working in the city. They had been afraid--afraid of
Uncle Tucker and me--to acknowledge it. She was foolish and he
criminally weak. After his--his tragedy she came back--and nobody
would believe--that she was his wife. I found her lying on the floor
in the milk-house and though I was hurt, and hard, I took her into my
room--and in a few hours Stonie was born. When they gave him to me, so
little and helpless, the hurt and hardness all melted for ever, and I
believed her and forgave her and him. I never rested until I made him
come back, though it was just to die. She stayed with us a year--and
then she married Todd Crabtree and moved West. They didn't want
Stonie, so she gave him to me. When my heart ached so I couldn't stand
it, there was always Stonie to heal it. Do you think that heartaches
are sometimes just growing pains the Lord sends when He thinks we have
not courage enough?" And in the moonlight Rose Mary's tear-starred
eyes gleamed softly and her lovely mouth began to flower out into a
little smile. The sunshine of Rose Mary's nature always threw a bow
through her tears against any cloud that appeared on her horizon.
"I don't believe your heart ever needed any growing pains, Rose Mary,
and I resent each and every one," answered Everett in a low voice, and
he lifted one of Rose Mary's strong slim hands and held it close for a
moment in both his warm ones.
"Oh, but it did," she answered, curling her fingers around his like a
child grateful for a caress. "I was romantic--and--and intense, and I
thought of it as a castle for--for just one. Now it's grown into a
wide, wing-spreading, old country house in Harpeth Valley, with vines
over the gables and doves up under the eaves. And in it I keep
sunshiny rooms to shelter all the folks in need that my Master sends.
Yours--is on the south side--corner--don't you want your supper now?"