THE MOUNTAIN HOME
Mr. Cleve stretched out his hand and pulled the bell.
An elderly colored woman came in.
“Serve the supper in here, Polly. The dining-room is too cold, I think,”
he said.
“Yes, marster,” the woman replied and went out.
“It is in the northwest angle of the house, and has four large
windows—two north and two west—which shake and rattle, and let in the
wind when it blows, as it does now, from that quarter; and also sends
the smoke in volumes down the chimney. So I think it will be more
comfortable for us to eat supper here,” Mr. Cleve explained as he bent
forward and spread his thin, fair hands to the fire.
“I am sure there could not be a pleasanter room than this,” said Palma
from her low rocker as she basked in the warm glow.
“Ah-h-h!” added Stuart with a sigh of deep satisfaction as he rubbed his
hands.
The woman soon came back with faded felt crumb cloth in her arms, which
she went on to lay down on the shining oak floor.
She was followed by a colored girl with the table damask in her hands.
Between them they set the table, adorning it with rare old china and
antique silver. And then a good supper, in honor of the new arrivals, as
well as in consideration of the weary and hungry travelers. There was
tea, coffee and chocolate, milk, cream and butter, rolls, waffles and
cakes, ham, poultry and game, eggs, cheese and fruit—variety, without
superabundance.
Mr. Cleve arose and invited his relatives to take their seats, and
himself led Palma to the head of the table, saying pleasantly:
“This is your place henceforth, my child—a place that has not been
filled since my dear niece, your husband’s mother, married and left me.”
Palma raised and kissed the pale hand that led her, and then sat down
before the tea tray.
The old gentleman sat opposite to her at the foot, Stuart on the right
and Mrs. Pole on the left side.
The venerable master of the house asked the blessing, and the feast
began. The two colored women waited on the table—the elder one stood
beside Palma to hand the cups; the younger beside Mr. Cleve, to pass the
plates. Varied and appetizing as was the supper, the host partook but
daintily, contenting himself with a cup of cocoa and a wafer. But Cleve
and Palma had healthy young appetites, and so delighted the hearts of
the waiting women with their appreciation of the good things set before
them.
When the meal was over and the table cleared of the service the elder
woman set a lamp upon it; then brought the family Bible and laid it open
where the place was kept by her master’s spectacles as a book mark.
“Come, my dear children, let us draw near to Our Father,” said the
patriarch. And once more they gathered around the table, on this
occasion for worship.
John Cleve read the first chapter of the Sermon on the Mount; then made
a pause, that all might reflect on the divine lesson; next led in the
evening thanksgiving and prayer, offering up on this occasion especially
grateful acknowledgments for the dear children sent to be a comfort to
his declining days, and prayers for their spiritual and eternal welfare.
Then he pronounced the benediction, and the evening service was over.
As soon as they arose from their knees the elder colored woman, whom her
master had called Polly, came up to Palma and said:
“Please, ma’am, if you would like to go to your room now I am ready to
wait on you.”
“Thank you. I should like to retire,” replied wearied Palma.
“An’ de oder lady, likewise,” added the woman, nodding toward Mrs. Pole.
“Yes, I’m sure she would. She is even more fatigued than I am—than
either of us,” replied Palma.
“W’ich it is her age-able years, ma’am, of coorse. She can’t be as young
as she used to be,” said the woman gravely.
“Probably not,” admitted Palma with a smile.
The waiting woman lighted two short sperm candles, in short brackets,
and, with one in each hand, prepared to lead the way.
“Shall we bid you good-night, uncle, dear?” inquired Palma, going to the
side of his easy-chair and bending over him.
“You may, my dear, and your friend; but I must have ten minutes’ talk
with your husband here before I let him go. I will not keep him longer
than that,” replied the old gentleman benignly.
“Good-night, then, uncle, dear,” she said, raising his delicate hands to
her lips.
“God bless you, my love,” he responded, drawing her to him and leaving a
kiss on her forehead.
“Good-night, sir,” said Mrs. Pole with a formal bow.
“Good-night, ma’am,” replied Mr. Cleve, lifting his skullcap and bending
his head.
Palma and Poley followed the colored woman out of the parlor into the
big, bare hall, up the broad stairs to the upper hall, which was quite
as big and as bare.
It was bitterly cold. With a heavily wooded country, with forests of
pine, oak, cedar, hickory, chestnut, poplar and other timber, on the
slopes and in the valleys, and with mines of coal among the rocks and
caverns, it seemed yet impossible to keep a country house of that region
warm in winter. You might keep certain rooms within it warm, but not the
halls and passages, not the whole house, for the reason that they had no
system of furnaces, registers, heat pipes and so forth; but then they
were considered all the more wholesome on that account.
Nevertheless, Palma shivered and shook as with an ague when she stepped
upon the upper landing of the second floor hall. It was almost exactly
like the hall below; four bedroom doors flanked it on each side, and
there was a large window at each end, corresponding to the front and
back door of the under one.
Polly led them about halfway up the hall toward the front of the house,
and paused before a door on the right hand, about midway, saying:
“Here is yer room, ma’am, and the most comfortablest one in the whole
house, ’ceps ’tis ole marster’s, which is downstairs, on t’other side ob
de hall, behine de parlor, an’ befo’ de kitchen, and ‘tween ’em bofe, is
sort o’ fended an’ warmed, and purtected by bofe sides habbin’ ob a big
fire into it, bofe day an’ night.”
She opened a door and showed them into a spacious chamber, warmed and
lighted by a great fire of hickory logs in the ample chimney, which was
directly opposite the door by which they had entered. Tall brass
andirons supported the blazing logs, an antique brass fender and crossed
fire-irons secured the rich Turkey rug and the polished oak floor from
danger by falling brands or flying sparks; a carved oak mantelshelf
surmounted the fireplace and supported an oblong mirror, with a tall
silver candlestick at each end. There was a high window on each side of
the fireplace, but both were closed now, sash and shutter, and the snowy
dimity curtains were dropped. At the end of the room nearest the front
of the house stood a large, four-post bedstead, with high-tented tester,
from which hung full, white dimity curtains festooned and looped from
ceiling to floor. Beside this white “marquee” lay a small Turkey rug.
A chest of drawers, a walnut press, a corner washstand and two
easy-chairs draped with white dimity completed the furniture.
“That little door, ma’am,” said Polly, pointing to one in the wall
opposite the foot of the bed, though a good distance from it, “leads
into a d’essin’-yoom, where you can also keep yer extry clothes and
fings as yer wouldn’t like to clutter up yer bedroom wid.”
“Thank you,” said Palma, dropping into one of the easy-chairs and
beginning to unbutton her own boots.
“Wait, ma’am. Let me. Please let me. I’ll just show this lady here to
her yoom, and then come and take off your shoes for you!” exclaimed
Polly.
Then she put one of her candles on the chest of drawers, and retaining
the other, turned to Mrs. Pole and said:
“Now, ma’am, please I’ll take yer to your yoom. It’s just across the
hall yere, right opposide to dis.”
“Thanky,” replied Mrs. Pole. “I’ll go and find out where it is, and much
obleeged to you. But then, dear, I will come back and stay long o’ you
until Mr. Stuart comes up.”
“Quite right, Poley, dear,” replied Palma, who by this time had got her
boots off and her slippers out of her hand-bag and onto her feet, and
was sitting before the fire with her toes on the top of the fender.
Polly took Mrs. Pole across the hall to the opposite room, which as to
size, windows and fireplace, was exactly like that of Palma’s, except
that it had a northern instead of a southern aspect, and was, therefore,
somewhat colder. It was also upholstered in curtain calico instead of
white dimity, and had a picture of the Washington family, instead of a
handsome mirror over the mantelpiece. But there was a fine fire burning
which filled the room with light and warmth.
“Now, ma’am, if yer want anything as I can get you——” began Polly; but
Mrs. Pole interrupted and dismissed her.
“No; thank you. Good-night,” she said.
And Polly left the room.
Pretty soon Mrs. Pole recrossed the hall and re-entered Palma’s
apartment.
“Has the colored woman gone at last?” she inquired.
“Yes, Poley. But what is the matter, dear? I do believe you are jealous
of that poor creature,” said Palma.
“No, I am not; but I don’t like to be waited on and fussed over so much.
I don’t myself! It is all wrong and on false grounds. They treat me here
just as if I was a lady and——” began Mrs. Pole, but she in her turn was
interrupted by Palma, who said:
“Poley, dear, they treat you as a respectable woman, and as they treat
all respectable women—that is, all respectable white women. You are to
be our housekeeper and, as such, one of the family. Don’t ‘kick against
the pricks,’ Poley, dear.”
“I kick against anything? If you knew the stiffness of my joints through
sitting so long in the cars you wouldn’t be talking of me and kicking in
the same breath,” said Mrs. Pole with an injured air.
Ringing steps, attended by shuffling feet, were heard coming along the
hall, and then the voice of Cleve Stuart saying:
“That will do, ’Sias! Thank you. Good-night.”
And the shuffling feet went back and the ringing steps came on, and the
door opened and Cleve Stuart entered the room.
“Well, good-night, dearie, I’m gone. Good-night, Mr. Stuart,” said Mrs.
Pole. And rising from the second easy-chair into which she had thrown
herself she nodded and left them, regardless of Stuart’s good-natured
protestations that she must not let him drive her away.
All our tired travelers “slept the sleep of the just” that night.
As for Palma, she knew nothing from the time her head touched her pillow
until she opened her eyes the next morning.
The room was dark, or lighted only by the red glow of the hickory wood
fire, and it was silent but for an occasional crackle of some brand that
was not of hickory, but of some more resinous wood that had found its
way in among the harder sort.
Stuart was not by her side, nor anywhere in the room. Evidently he had
got up and dressed and left while she still slept soundly.
Palma crept out of bed and crossed the floor to open the window, but as
she did so the chamber door was opened and the younger of the two negro
women came in.
“‘Mornin’, ma’am,” she said brightly, smiling and showing her teeth. “I
was jes’ waitin’ outside o’ de do’ fo’ yo’ to wake up, to come in an’
wait on yo’.”
“You must have good ears,” said Palma.
“Middlin’. But w’en I heerd de planks in de flo’ creak, den I knowed yo’
was walkin’ across. I did brung up a pitcher o’ hot water fo’ yo’ an’
put it on de ha’rf—dar it is, ma’am,” said the girl, and she stooped and
took up the pitcher and carried it over to the washstand.
“Tell me your name,” said Palma softly.
“Hatty, ma’am,” replied the girl, smiling brightly. And when she smiled
it was with a brilliancy unequaled in Palma’s experience of faces.
Hatty’s face was of the pure African type. There was not a drop of
Caucasian blood in her veins; but she was of the finest African type,
with fine crinkling, silky, black hair, with glowing black eyes, so
large, soft and shining that, with varying phases they might be called
black diamonds, black stars, or—when half closed with smiles or
laughter, and veiled with their long, thick, curled, black
lashes—sunlit, reed-shaded pools. Her nose was flat; her lips large and
red, and her teeth white as ivory. And when she laughed she seemed to be
a natural spring of mirth all by herself. And she was almost always
laughing, often silently. Few could look on the happy face of the child
without smiling in response.
“Well, then, Hatty, I am afraid I am late. I hope I have not kept
anybody waiting.”
The girl, who had gone to open the windows, turned and answered shortly:
“Oh, Lor’, no, ma’am! De birds deirselves—w’ich it is de snowbirds, I
mean—ain’t been long up, an’ de sun hese’f hasn’ showed ’bove de
mount’in, dough he’s riz. See, ma’am!”
She had drawn back the curtains and pulled up the shade, and now she
threw open the shutters.
Palma came to the window and looked out.
Oh! what a glorious sight! Yet, to be graphic, I must compare great
things to small, or at least illustrate the former by the latter. The
house from which she looked seemed now to be situated in the bottom of a
vast, deep, bowl-shaped valley, its colors now, in midwinter, dark
green, with gleams of snow-white, the whole canopied by deep blue,
flushed in the east by opal shades of rose, gold, violet, and emerald.
The mountains loomed all around in a circle of irregular peaks, all
thickly covered with pines, cedars, spruce and other evergreen trees,
which grew closest at the base and thinnest near the tops, which were
mostly bare, and now, in December, covered, with snow.
Looking from the front window of her room Palma could see but half the
circle—the eastern half, made beautiful now by the rising sun. The sun
had not yet come in sight; but even as Palma gazed he suddenly sparkled
up from behind the cliffs, gilding all the opal hues of morning with
dazzling splendor.
“Oh, what a happiness to live in a home like this!” she said to herself;
“how good one ought to be to become half worthy of it! Oh, my! oh, my!”
She heard voices speaking below her window. In the clearness of the
atmosphere she recognized them as her husband’s and his uncle’s.
The former was saying:
“Why, they are not a bit afraid of you! They seem to know you.”
“Oh, yes! they do.”
And the speakers became silent.
“It’s ole marse, a-feedin’ ob de snowbirds,” Hatty explained. “Ole marse
is jes’ a angel, ma’am! He’s good to eberybody an’ eberyfing.”
“You love your master very much, then, Hatty?” said Palma.
“Lub him? Dat ain’t no word for it! ’Cause, yo’ see, ma’am, I lubs so
many bodies an’ so many fings, too, even down to red ribbins an’ cakes!
But I puffickly ’dores ole marse!” said the girl, smiling until her eyes
closed and all the lines of her features were horizontal.
Palma had gone to the washstand, where now the sound of splashing water
prevented the hearing of any talk. Then, while she was drying her face
and neck, she said:
“Run, Hatty, and take my traveling dress from the hook in the closet,
and carry it out and shake it, and brush it, and bring it back to me. I
won’t take time now to unpack my trunks to get another.”
Almost before she ceased to speak the girl, glad to serve her, had
darted into the closet, seized the dress, and was running off with it.
By the time Palma had dried her skin and dressed her hair Hatty was back
with the dark blue flannel suit, looking as fresh as when it came out of
Lovelace & Silkman’s establishment.
As soon as Palma finished her toilet she hurried downstairs and was met
at the foot by the aged master of the house, who had just come in from
his bird feeding.
He wore a faded, dark blue dressing-gown, thickly wadded, and wrapped
closely about his fragile form. He looked, if possible, fairer, frailer
and more of a mere chrysalis than ever.
“Good-morning, my dear,” he said. “You have slept well, I know, and have
risen to a beautiful day.”
“Yes, dear uncle, and opened my eyes upon a beautiful scene! Ah! what a
happiness it is to live in such a lovely place! How much I thank you for
bringing us to such a heavenly place!” said Palma, taking and kissing
the pale hand that he had laid in silent blessing on her head.
“How much I thank you for coming, dear child!”
“Thank us for coming into paradise?”
“Not paradise even in summer, when it is almost a Garden of Eden in the
dip of the mountains! But I hope it will be a very happy home to you and
yours. Remember that you are mistress here, of a house that has not had
a mistress for more than thirty years, when my dear niece, your
husband’s mother, married and left it.”
“No, but I am your servant, uncle—your servant and daughter, whose duty
and delight will be to wait on you and minister to your comfort,”
murmured Palma.
“Breakfast is ready, ma’am,” said Polly, the elderly negro woman,
opening the parlor door.
“Come, my dear,” said Mr. Cleve, drawing Palma’s arm within his own and
leading her to the room, where the table was waiting and a splendid fire
was burning.
“Where is Mr. Stuart and Mrs. Pole?” inquired Palma, looking around.
“Go find them, Hatty,” ordered the master. But as he spoke Cleve entered
the room by the side door and laughingly greeted his wife with the
ironical question whether she was really “up for all day?”
“You should have waked me,” said Palma.
“No, no, he should not. I hold with the Koran and ‘never awaken a
sleeper’ unless, indeed, the occasion is sufficiently important, which
it was not this morning,” said Mr. Cleve as they all sat down to
breakfast.
Mrs. Pole came in, convoyed by Hatty, who had found her upstairs setting
Palma’s room in order, and had taken upon herself to instruct the good
old woman that “age-able ole white ladies didn’t make up no beds when
there was colored young girls to do it for ’em.”
When Mrs. Pole had greeted the company and taken her seat the master of
the house asked the blessing and breakfast went on.
After the morning meal was ended and the table cleared away Mr. Cleve
said to Palma:
“Now, my dear, when you feel disposed call Polly to show you all over
the house. And you will make any alterations you see fit, choose any
rooms that you may prefer for your private apartments, and make a list
of any furniture or household utensils that you may need or may like,
and they shall be bought. There is a good sleigh in the carriage house.
If you would like to take a drive, send Hatty to the stables to tell
Josias to clean it out and harness the horses. Do whatever you like, my
child.”
“Thank you, dear uncle. I wish I knew what you would like, and that I
would do.”
“I would like you to be happy, my child.”
“Very well, then; thank you, uncle, I will,” exclaimed Palma with a
light laugh as she danced out of the room and tripped upstairs to her
own chamber to begin the work of unpacking and putting away her own and
her husband’s wardrobe, in which she was to be assisted by Mrs. Pole,
who soon entered the room.
Never in her life had Palma been so happy, so lighthearted, so contented
with the present, so careless of the future. Even in her bridal days,
sickness and the shadow of death had been about her and had sobered, if
it had not darkened her delight. But now every cloud was lifted; the
present was full of joy, the future full of glad promise, and her own
soul overflowing with thankfulness to the Lord.
Mrs. Pole was almost equally enchanted.
“Now, Poley, we have both reached a haven of peace and safety that is
like a heavenly rest. Let us be good and obedient children to our Father
and Lord. That is all we can do to show our gratitude,” said Palma, who
was kneeling by the side of her great sea trunk, taking out clothing
piece by piece and handing them to her attendant, who was standing
before the bureau and who folded each article in turn and put it away.
“Darling,” answered Mrs. Pole, “I do not think as ever I did such a good
and altogether profitable day’s work as I did that precious day when I
found you too ill to get out of bed and not a single soul to take care
of you; and when I said to myself as the week’s washing at Wilton’s
would have to go with my week’s wages into the bargin, and to-morrow
would have to take thought for itself, according to Scripture, for once,
for I was bound to stop long o’ you an’ nuss you. Lor’, child! I haven’t
too often walked by faith instead o’ by sight, but I did it that once,
and lo and behold! what’s come outen it! We have never parted from that
day to this, and here I am in my old age not only comfortable, but
luxurious pervided for.”
“You ‘cast your bread upon the waters and after many days it has
returned to you,’” said Palma.
“And, please the Lord, for the futur’ I do mean to try to be a better
woman,” said Mrs. Pole very earnestly.
When their task was completed and everything was in order, Palma dropped
into an easy-chair, drew a deep breath, and said:
“Now, Poley, it is but eleven o’clock, and there are three hours before
Uncle Cleve’s early dinner at two, so, if you like, we will send for
Aunt Polly—all the colored women who are past their youth are aunts, you
know; everybody’s aunts, Cleve says—we will send for Aunt Polly and get
her to show us all over our new little kingdom, this big, old house—its
dining-room, kitchen and pantry, its storerooms, china and linen
closets, its chambers, attics and cuddies, and all. Will you come,
Poley, dear?”
“And you tired to death and out of breath now? No, my dear. No. You must
not exert yourself one bit more to-day. Now mind what I tell you, honey.
It is for your good and Its!” replied Mrs. Pole, with a solemn warning
shake of her head.
“Very well, Poley, I will obey you. Cleve and uncle are shut up in the
parlor, talking business, I suppose, so I will sit here and sew until
dinner time, or until I am called,” said Palma.
Mrs. Pole got up and went to the shelf in the closet and returned with
Palma’s workbasket, in which her sewing was already neatly arranged, and
set it down on the floor beside its owner.
And Palma selected a tiny, half-finished garment that might have fitted
a medium doll, and began to sew some lace edging on it. And soon, in the
gayety of her heart, she began to sing at her work.
Mrs. Pole got her own basket of infirm socks and stockings and began to
darn.