IN WHICH I VIEW AN EMPTY WORLD, ACT A HYPOCRITE, AND HEAR A CONFESSION
OF LOVE
I sometimes wonder why it is that troubles pile up. Why they are not
scattered along through our lives, instead of being accumulated, and
then dumped upon our heads all at once. It doesn't seem like a fair game
to me. It seems as if something was taking advantage of our
helplessness. You see a fellow can rally under one or two back licks of
Fate, if they are not too hard, and if there's any sort of fighting
stuff in him. But when they come often, and come big and strong, his
knees get wobbly and his spirit sickens. Is he to blame?
I find myself in some such strait to-night, for the open door of heaven
which I went to sleep thinking about is not open, at all. It might be--I
believe it would be if I could see Celeste, but she is gone. I marvel at
the steady hand with which I trace these words. It is not because I do
not feel. There are invisible fingers at my throat, and a spiked hand
about my heart. Each spasmodic throb seems to thrust the cardiac walls
against nettles. If my journal had not progressed so far I think I would
end it right here. It appears as if this is to be the logical end
anyway. Perhaps when I rise from my work to-night I shall gather up the
written sheets and toss them, so much scrap paper, into the black jaws
of the old fireplace. I don't know. I have come to look forward to my
night's writing. It is not a diary, you see. It is--well, it must be a
story, in a way, but how could we call such simple and homely things as
I have jotted down a story? I'm sure it is not like the other story I
wrote; the book which was published, and which no one would read. I made
that up out of the whole cloth. I wonder if people knew--and I wonder if
they will believe my word that this is the truth. But if I stop writing
to-night I won't have a story. Things have gone on and on, and here I am
mortally in love with Celeste Somebody, and elsewhere are the others I
have met who have touched my life in various ways. All in suspense, as
it were, awaiting developments. I can't end my journal to-night. That
is, I can't end it and expect any sane people to put it between book
covers. Wouldn't it be an innovation! The thought amuses me in the midst
of my heartsickness. But Celeste is gone, and with her gone there is
nothing more to say. I could offer little else than Mark Twain's
memorable diary on shipboard: "Got up, washed, and went to bed." She
must come back, that is all. I don't know where she is, nor how long she
will be away. These things I will find out. Here I have wandered on much
like a maundering old man, without first setting down the adventure of
the day, and then commenting, if so inclined. I beg pardon. To-night I
really am not fit, and should not attempt to write. But I have begun;
inaction would be galling, so I will continue.
Was I astir early this morning? The first gray arrow, barbed with silver
and feathered with gloom, had not found my small window ere I was up
with a snatch of song welling from my throat, and hurrying for the big
washtub back of the kitchen which does the duty of a bathtub in
civilization. I had never been so completely happy since I was a boy on
my grandad's farm. I even wanted to whistle while I was shaving, I was
so full of song and laughter. Cooking breakfast was a jolly lark; eating
it a delicious pastime. Then I was gone like a deer breaking cover, the
door to the Lodge open to its fullest extent. She knew the truth, and I
might even meet her coming to me.
As I ran easily through the forest on the now familiar way, I noticed
that my exuberant spirits began to decline. A foreboding of some
disaster crept stealthily and steadily upon me, until I actually had a
chilly sensation down my spine, and a woeful sinking in my breast. This
phenomenon, in common with many others attendant upon our daily life,
cannot be explained. I really suffered until I came in sight of the roof
which sheltered my beloved; then, as I mounted to the tree-bridge with
feet suddenly grown leaden, a numb calm gripped me. I stood and leaned
against the section of the root-wadded disk which projected above the
butt of the oak, little spiders of feeling scurrying out all over my
chest from a center above my heart. No signs of morning activity greeted
my despairing gaze. The house was silent and lifeless as the trunk
beneath my feet. No blue wood smoke curled up from the kitchen chimney.
Not even the dog was visible. Only from the comb of the chicken house a
lonesome guinea fowl squawked harshly. I dragged myself forward. When I
reached the house I went in a mechanical way to each door and window in
turn. They were fastened, but I discovered the dining room window was
without a shade or curtain, and to a pane of glass here I pressed my
face, shielding my eyes from the light with my hands. Slowly the
interior took shape. A table covered with oilcloth; a few low-backed,
shuck-bottomed chairs; a smaller table against the wall holding what
appeared to be a jar of honey; a safe with tin paneled doors stuck full
of holes in some kind of design; a fly-brush in the corner made of
newspaper slit into strips and fastened to the end of a piece of bamboo
fishing-pole. A bare floor, well scrubbed. I saw no one; I heard
nothing, though I listened for several minutes with parted lips. They
were gone. Everybody was gone. Where? Maybe just to spend the day with a
neighbor. I knew this was a rural custom. Hope flared up with a quick
rush to welcome this idea. Where were those neighbors? Ah, yes! The
Tollers! Celeste had told me of them the first time I had talked with
her. She had said they lived over the hill. So over the hill I fared in
a bee-line, ignoring the road below which in all probability would
conduct me to my destination. It was a hard climb, for the spur rose up
rugged and forbidding, but I was growing inured to such things and
scarcely noticed the exertion. When I reached the valley upon the other
side I came upon the road. Following this for a short distance I
discovered a log cabin, set dangerously near the bank of a creek. To one
side a huge black kettle was a-boil over a faggot fire, and by it stood
a woman stirring with a long stick the clothes she was getting ready for
the wash. Children were everywhere, like squirrels in a hickory tree in
nutting time. There must have been fourteen, and the oldest was far from
grown. At sight of me one gave a shrill little yelp, then there began a
mighty scuttling for hiding places. The majority made for the door of
the cabin, several found refuge behind convenient trees, while one of
the boys shinned up an ash as though in mortal fright. Two or three more
dropped over the shelving bank of the stream, and holding to the sod
with tenacious, grimy paws, thrust their heads up and watched me with
brilliant, dancing eyes. The smallest sought the protection of their
mother's bedraggled skirts, which they pulled over their faces, thus
stifling in a measure the piercing wails which had marked their progress
to her side. The woman turned impatiently at the hubbub, brushed the
smoke from her eyes, and peered at me with puckered face.
I came boldly toward her. Already I knew she whom I sought was not here,
but I had to make my errand known.
"I'm looking for--a person," I began, conscious that I was stating my
mission very lamely.
A look of mingled craft and truculence spread over the seamed, sallow
face of the woman. What a pitiful appearance she made! I was assured she
was not over thirty, but she seemed nearer fifty. Hipless,
flat-breasted, stringy-necked; her hands and wrists red and rough. Her
scanty hair was pale straw in color, showed dirt, and was slicked back
and screwed into a knot about the size of a walnut on the crown of her
head. Her dress was--simply a protection against nakedness.
"I 'low yo' 'd better git!" presently exclaimed this mother of many,
with painful directness.
"Yes," I assented; "I'll git in a minute. Have you seen Lessie this
morning? It is she I want!"
"Oh!"
The washed-out blue, almost vacant eyes popped open wider in instant
relief. Then I knew. Her man was a 'shiner, and she, seeing at a glance
that I was not of the vicinity, had visions of revenue officers and
penitentiaries when I vaguely declared I was looking for a person.
"Air you him?" she resumed, squinting one eye and giving a little jerk
of her head.
From which I judged that my fame had gone abroad throughout all the
region round about, and that her ambiguous query related to the unhappy
dweller on old Baldy's lap.
"I'm him," I acquiesced, a dull misery making me careless of speech.
"Have you seen Lessie this morning?" I repeated, listlessly.
The woman drew a deep breath of visible comfort.
"Naw. She 's gone a-visit'n'. Th' hull kit 'n' bil'n' uv 'em tuk train
this morn'n' at peep o' day. I's over to Granny's yistiddy to borry a
chunk o' soap. She 's tur'ble worrit, 'n' tol' me she 's go'n' 'way fur
a spell."
"Where have they gone?"
"Snack Holler."
"Where 's that?"
"Lard knows! T' other en' o' th' worl', some'r's, lak 's not. Granny's
got folks thur."
She turned to the kettle again and began to stir the clothes.
"You say they left on the train from Hebron?"
"I never said Hebrin, but that's whur they tuk train.... I wouldn't git
on one o' th' murder'n' thin's fur a sheer in th' railroad," she
confided, almost instantly.
"Then they must be going on a long trip?"
"To Snack Holler, I tol' yo'. Granny's got folks thur."
"You don't know whether or not Snack Hollow is in Kentucky?"
A doggedness born of desperation was goading me to find out all I could
about the destination of the fugitives, for I had no doubt this was a
move on Granny's part to elude me utterly and permanently.
"'Pears to me yo' 've axed questions 'nough fur a plum' stranger, 'n'
I'm too busy to be pestered no mo'. 'T ain't none o' my business whur
Snack Holler's at, 'n' thin's whut ain't none o' my business I let
'lone. That's a mort'l good thin' to 'member, stranger--don't bother
'bout other people's business!"
The unkempt brood among whom my approach had wrought such consternation
was beginning to make itself manifest again. Those who had fled
creekward now squatted on the verge of the bank; those who had rushed
indoors had inched out and lined up by the cabin wall; those who had
hastened to place the thickness of a tree between themselves and the
deadly danger which emanated from my simple presence now stalked boldly
in the open, while the infants had forsaken the folds of their mother's
dress and, on hands and knees, were diligently pursuing the erratic
journey of a spotted toad, punching him in the rear with their fingers
when he fain would rest. The tree climber was still wary; I could see
his slim brown legs and knotty knees dangling below a limb where he sat
astride.
I had a prescience that this hill woman knew more than she had told me,
but how was I to get it from her after that last speech? It was safe to
assume the Tollers were good friends to Granny, and confidences were
just as essential to these people as to those more civilized. I
determined to employ strategy. Would it hurt my conscience? Bah! For
Celeste I would lie, or steal, or kill!
"Mrs. Toller," I began, as though I had at that moment made a discovery.
"I declare you have a fine, handsome lot of children. All of them
yours?"
I turned smiling from one group to the other. When my eyes came back to
the woman I saw with joy that her features had relaxed, and something
resembling a grin played about her bloodless lips. She quit work, and
beamed upon her frowzy, tatterdemalion progeny, proud as if each had
been a world conqueror instead of a dirt-enameled midgit of ignorance.
Ah! the simplicity and the beauty of motherhood!
"Ever' chick 'n' chil' 's mine 'n' th' ol' man's." How her voice had
changed; a silver thread had crept into it where before iron had rung.
"Fo'teen uv 'em, sir, 'n' we've marrit fifteen year come th' fust o'
Jinnywary!"
"Fine, healthy lot!"
I rubbed my chin and took a fresh view of the spindle-shanked,
pinched-cheeked, tallow-faced little creatures, salving my conscience as
best as I could by bringing to mind that faulty old saw that the end
justifies the means. But I knew I was lying, and I wasn't used to it.
True this lie would do good. It would give happiness unalloyed to Mrs.
Toller, and I felt that I had put in a wedge with which I might prize
out the information I coveted.
Mrs. Toller relinquished her grasp on the stick, turned her back on the
clothes, and folded her arms contentedly.
"They _air_ a likely look'n' set o' young-uns, since yo' 're kind 'nough
to say so. Co'se it ain't fur me to brag, seein' 's I'm they mammy"--she
could hardly speak that sentence because of the pride which tightened
her throat--"but they ain't none here-'bout, not ev'n over to Hebrin
way, whut's nice 'n' man'erly 'n' _ree_-specb'l, sho!"
The peregrinations of the persecuted toad, after describing an irregular
semi-circle, had now led him near the spot where I stood. After the
patient reptile toiled the three infants; two of the same size and
apparently the same age, and one who had but recently reached the
crawling period. This one, by the way, was perpetually in the rear of
the procession, its single garment hampering its knee action and making
any sort of speed out of the question. The frog had become tired of his
enforced journey, and was getting harder to move after each diminishing
leap. Now it sat with palpitating sides, stubbornly refusing another
jump, while the finger of the lead tormentor prodded with dull
persistence at its posterior.
Up to this time Mrs. Toller had paid no heed to the unique pastime of
her three youngest, such pursuits possibly having lost interest from
their commonness. Now, however, she bent suddenly forward, exclaiming
shrilly:
"You Stephen Alec! Don't tech that varmint ag'in! Yo' wan' to hev warts
all over yo'?"
Stephen Alec promptly drew back and thrust the hand which stood in
jeopardy behind him. He turned a loose-lipped visage to his angry
parent, then began a series of extraordinarily piercing yells.
Behold my chance! I stepped forward and gathered Stephen Alec up in my
arms and sat him upon my shoulder. Then I tossed him gently. Next I was
sitting on the ground with my watch out against his ear. The yells
ceased, and presently brothers and sisters were crowding around me. I
told them a story--one of the old, old favorites which our grandmothers
used to quiet their children with, and before it was done a little girl
had slid up so close to me over the bare ground that, still talking, I
put out my arm and curled it around her and pulled her up onto my knee.
At that another came voluntarily and crouched against my leg. Presently
the whole ragged, unwashed crew were squeezing about me as close as they
could get, and I was digging in the unused recesses of my mind for the
most correct version of Red Riding Hood and Three Little Pigs. Poor Mrs.
Toller! Happy Mrs. Toller! She fluttered from the black kettle to my
group, back and forth, listening in silence, like one of the children,
then hastening back to the clothes. I must have acted entertainer for a
full hour, although I found it interesting, and did not tire. When I
signified my intention of going I encountered a vociferous denial, and
perforce must relate a number of the tales a second time. But at length
I was on my feet, and with urchins clinging to every available hold
about me, advanced to bid Mrs. Toller good-by.
"I'm awfully glad to have seen you and all these bright little people!"
(I should have been ashamed; I know it.) "I must be getting on now."
Mrs. Toller was actually embarrassed.
"I mought 'a' spoke a bit mo' ceev'ly to yo' ef I'd 'a' knowed yo' 's
sich a nice man. A pus'n can't be too partic'ler, yo' know, 'specially
w'en th' man's 'way mos' o' th' time. Since th' chil'n' hev took to yo'
so I don't mind sayin' that Granny 'lowed to me she's tak'n' Lessie 'way
from th' neighborhood 'count uv a man, but she nev'r named 'im 'cus
people don't tell names 'n' tales too, ez a gin'r'l thin'."
"Much obliged to you, indeed. Glad to have seen you. Good-day."
"Good marn'n'. Come back ag'in ef yo' git lonesome."
A half-hour later I was sitting in the porch entrance of the deserted
house at Lizard Point. Right there we had sat such a short time before,
and she had learned her A B C's. Down that winding path we had strolled
the first time I came to call, and she had struggled so to tell me of
the darkened house in which she dwelt. And I was going to help her.
Already I had helped her, and now--I ground my teeth in sudden rage and
leaped up. Where was Jeff Angel? Gone with them? Where was anybody who
could point me a way out? Father John! He might know something of this
remote spot with the classic name where Granny "had folks." I wanted to
see Beryl Drane, anyway. I had not gone to her before because I knew
well no good would come of it. To-day I wanted to stand before her face
in the presence of her uncle, and ask her why she had told that vicious
lie which had wrought such evil. I wanted to confront her with her
baseness, and demand an explanation of her wanton wickedness. The sense
of chivalry which was born in my blood and which had caused me to
shield her once at the sacrifice of myself, was gone. It was consumed
in the hot furnace of my wrath and indignation. I wanted
Celeste--Celeste--Celeste! I would move heaven and earth to get her, for
the wonder and mystery of her rare beauty and the hypnotic effect of her
sweet personality had combined fearfully to work havoc within me. The
elemental peace which brooded like a living presence over the earth this
sunny, summer morning became to me a disturbing, harrowing force by very
contrast with the awful tumult which boiled within my breast. I was
lonely--lonely and desperate. I had borne all I could. That terrible
week wherein I never saw the sun, nor heard a bird voice, nor felt the
soothing benediction of a breeze, had well-nigh worn me out, bodily and
spiritually. This crowning calamity I would not accept meekly. I would
fight it; I would disclaim its existence. It was unjust, unfair,
treacherous and cowardly. I had been honest from the beginning, and when
a man plays the game of life fairly and squarely, not even Providence,
or whatever Great Power there be, has the right to take advantage of
him, and seek to overwhelm him. I would dare everything--heaven and
hell, if need be--for the sake of this golden haired Dryad with the lips
of flame. She had been removed by force. Even a lover's mind is acute
when the object of his adoration is concerned, and I knew--I knew that
Celeste loved me! What else mattered? This compulsory separation? A
great surge of triumph heaved up within me, and the light of victory
came to my eyes. What poor, ignorant puppets these were, who had tried
to rob me of my rare jewel? The beacon of her bright coronal would guide
me to the furthest corner of the earth, and if need had been I would
have followed across sea and plain and mountain and desert; followed
with a fire-wrapped heart of deathless devotion, even as Three of old
followed a certain Star.
Filled with mingled emotions, all primal, all superlative, so that my
head seemed encircled with a close fitting metal band, I took up my
march to Hebron along the dusty road. My mood was reckless. I wanted to
see that little she-cat whose low vindictiveness was at the bottom of my
present luckless plight. I would neither spare nor choose my words.
There was no gallantry lurking in my soul now to temper the accusations
born of an outraged and agonized spirit. I felt sorry for the little
priest, for he loved her well. But innocent suffer with and for the
guilty daily. It is part of that plan we are told to accept blindly, and
when we question it, however meekly and with the true and earnest desire
for light, we are haled forth with a rope around our necks as heretics
and atheists. Father John would have to witness the destruction of an
idol, for I was merciless, and knew the power was within me to beat down
any brazen denial this creature might utter. A mighty strange thing is
love, my masters!
Across the home-made bridge I tramped, striding heavily. A figure stood
in the door of the smithy, leather-aproned, tall and strong. I strode up
the slope with bent head, and reached a point opposite him before I
looked at Buck. Arms akimbo, sturdy legs apart, a grin on his face which
broke into a low, deep chuckle as he caught my eye. I almost stopped,
while my fists knotted with the instinct of a savage. But I went on,
that rumbling, mocking laugh echoing in my ears. He knew she was gone.
Perhaps he had something to do with her leaving. That insulting,
gloating chuckle could easily give rise to a suspicion of the sort, or
it may have been he was in equally bad case, and had simply adopted that
method of tormenting me.
I gained the priest's house with a feeling such as I imagine a tiger
possesses when it gathers itself together to spring upon its prey. It
was entirely alien to my nature, but it had been born of circumstance,
not of my will, and I made no effort to remove or curb it. The front
door was closed, probably against the heat. I pounded upon a panel with
my fist, ignoring the gentler and more refined summons it is customary
to give with the knuckles. As I stood waiting, restlessly turning from
side to side, I observed that the shades to the two windows visible were
drawn to within a foot of their respective sills. At this discovery a
wild and reasonless alarm seized me. I renewed my hammering on the door,
and even seized the knob, shaking it vigorously. A key grated and the
door was opened, revealing the gaunt face and bony form of Marie, the
housekeeper. Wonder and a sort of terror shone in her bright black eyes.
"Father John!... Miss Drane!" I exclaimed roughly, brushing past her
into the hall. "Where are they? In the library? I must see them both at
once--together!"