A WEEK IN A MOUNTAIN HOME.
There are some free-thinking souls who love nature and the primitive so
well as to believe that Providence made a mistake in permitting men to
pass beyond the pastoral stage.
There are many who, though they love art, literature and the other gifts
and comforts of civilization, would trade all to live in a primitive
mountain home; to call their time, a house of logs and a few barren
fields, "my own."
They care not for the smoke of many chimneys, or the surging crowd or
the ceaseless din of commercial centers. They love the view from
mountain tops, where hills peep over hills and pinnacles are clothed in
clouds. They love the peace and quiet of the sheltered coves; where the
timber grows verdant and strong, fern-bordered fountains burst forth to
life, and the squirrels and other free things dwell. They love a home
site in a secluded valley near the head of a gurgling, restless,
mountain river and think to live a life of peace, dividing the glories
of mountain and plain. But wherever man would rest and hide his head and
heart, giant care comes with a club and the huntress misfortune finds
her way with a full quiver.
Mary, who had done no wrong and expected no punishment, when she
returned home, found these two unbidden guests awaiting her. Her eyes
were opened to see sorrow; which all the world knows.
The following morning when she walked up to the school house door the
children stood in groups talking in subdued tones. The little girls for
the first time since the early days of the term failed to rush forward
and greet her. She rang the bell; they came in slowly and rebelliously,
the big boys last of all. Several of the children, among them those of
one of the trustees, were absent.
Tim Fields, a lanky, overgrown boy of sixteen, after having been
reproved, continued talking to his desk-mate. When Mary told him he must
behave or go home, he arose and, starting towards the door, said: "I
guess I will go anyway; pap said, last night, he didn't think a
convict's daughter oughter handle this here school and he was going to
see the trustees and the county superintendent and git ma's sister in."
A few minutes later, Luigi Poggi, whose seat near the window overlooked
the creek, saw him on the bank throwing small boulders at a flock of
geese.
He raised his hand, and snapping his fingers to attract attention,
asked, and was given permission, to go to the spring for a bucket of
water. When out of sight of the teacher he whistled for Tim and walked
on slowly down towards the spring, until he came to a dusty, bare spot
in the path under a tree, where the boys played keeps.
"Tim, what did you say that to teacher for; she's good to all of us?"
"What you got to do with it, you Dago?"
"This," and he struck Tim in the face with the empty water bucket.
They fought in the sand path for about five minutes; when Luigi,
throwing Tim face down, rubbed and bumped his head in the sand until Tim
could scarcely breathe through his bleeding nose and his mouth choked
with dust and sand.
When he said, "'nuff," Luigi let him up, and returned to the school
house with a dirty, scratched face, but a full bucket of spring water.
"Luigi, what made you so long?"
"I fell down."
"Are you hurt?"
"No'm."
"Go down to the creek and wash your face."
"Yes'm."
On Friday morning not more than half of the school were present.
Saturday afternoon the county superintendent called at the Saylor home
and, telling Mary that several of the trustees objected to her keeping
the school, asked for her resignation, which she wrote out and handed
him.
* * * * *
The days were pleasant and busy ones for Cornwall. He looked forward
with pleasure, as to a vacation, when he should return to Straight Creek
and make the survey of the Brock, Helton and Saylor properties, and for
that purpose chose that delightful season in October; last harvest time
for man and beast, when the corn is ripe and the nuts loosened by the
early frost are showering upon the ground like manna for all. It is the
beginning of Indian summer, when nature, festive and placid of mood,
clothes the hills in shades of red and brown; and, fearful that man, who
is inclined to overlook nearby joys and pleasures for more distant and
less certain ones, might overlook the familiar hills, even though
freshly painted, hides her far-off attractions with a hazy curtain.
As the party came down over Salt Trace into the Straight Creek valley,
in full accord with the perfect day and as gay of heart as the trees
were gayly colored, they met Caleb going down the creek road with the
old squirrel rifle, longer of barrel than the small boy.
"Where now, hunter, just at sunset, when most hunters seek the camp?"
was Cornwall's greeting.
"I'm going down to Elhannon Howard's. Ma told me he sent pap to jail. I
shore will fix him if this gun don't bust."
"Wait a minute. That's a fine gun; let me have a look at it. It's mighty
heavy. I'll ride down with you and carry it until we get within sight of
the house. Has Elhannon any boys?"
"Yes, two."
"How old are they?"
"John is eleven; Henry is nine."
"John is a big, strong boy. I bet you are afraid of him. If you were
not, it would be great fun to beat him up with your fists or kick him in
the slats, or throw him in the creek and make him holler "'nuff." Why
not save Elhannon for your dad when he gets out? He might not want you
to do his fighting for him. Did he ask you to take a shot at old man
Howard?"
"No, I ha'int thought about that."
"You didn't say you were not afraid of John Howard."
"No, I'm not. Why?"
"If you were not afraid of him, you would leave your gun at home and
tomorrow beat him up at school."
"I believe I will go back home and beat him up at school tomorrow; but
recess will be plenty long to wait."
"Oh, we better go on; he's older and bigger than you; you are afraid of
him. You better tackle him with your gun."
"Waste powder and ball on that chump? Not me; I'm not afraid of any of
them Howards. I'm hungry; supper's about ready; let's go home. I shore
hope he comes to school tomorrow."
"Say, boy, are those your hogs? Why don't you feed them some corn?"
"They shore am poor. Them's old man Lewis'. He lives down the crick
below here. This time last year he turned them out to eat the mast.
After the mast was gone he still let them run and would go out with a
basket of corn and feed them. He's dumb, he can't holler. He called them
by pounding with a rock on a dead snag. Since the woodpecker's came this
spring them fool hawgs have nigh 'bout run themselves to death."
"Here, boy, take your gun; there's a squirrel."
"That's right; give her here."
"He's a nice fat one."
"Yes, there's plenty of nuts now."
"I don't believe I would reload her now; there's the house."
"Mr. Cornwall, I'll loan you my gun tomorrow and you can go hunting."
"You better let me have her all the time we are surveying the land."
"All right."
Cornwall was met at the gate by Mary and her mother; they both seemed
pleased to see him. Caleb took his horse to the barn and, removing the
saddle, turned him loose for a roll in the dusty lot. Then he was put in
a box stall and given three sheaves of oats.
"Mrs. Saylor, you see I am back and have brought three others with me.
We will be here a week. I hope you will not find us too troublesome. The
two chainmen will sleep in the loft on the hay, so as not to crowd you."
"We are glad to have you; come right in."
"Miss Mary, you must treat us like home folks; no extra work now or we
will move down to old man Howard's. Your school and those big boys are
enough of a worry."
"I have more time. They have another teacher at the school, Mrs. Field's
sister. They removed me because of father's conviction."
"Who?"
"The county superintendent and the trustees."
"When we buy your father's land, why don't you go east to school?"
"I have been thinking of that. What school would you suggest?"
"Go to one of the best--Wellesley."
The next morning at sun-up the party started surveying the Saylor
property. This they completed in two days; the boundary held three
hundred and five acres.
Cornwall insisted on carrying Caleb's rifle; but the only squirrels they
got were those killed by Henry Saylor. He was sixteen; a good axeman,
and employed to blaze the lines and locate the corners.
Saturday morning they started on the Brock boundary; but quit work about
four o'clock in the afternoon and had a most refreshing swim in a deep
pool of the creek before supper.
Sunday afternoon the family went down to the school house, "to meeting."
It was the first time Mary had been in the building or seen many of her
acquaintances since the school had been taken from her.
When she walked in accompanied by Cornwall and Duffield, the surveyor,
her face shone with happiness. Cornwall had dispelled the cloud of
misfortune that had overshadowed it by the assurance that her father
would be given a new trial and acquitted. Since her active, ambitious
mind was building glorious castles of hope on the prospects of
refinement and education, she found much joy and comfort in the company
of the young lawyer; more than she admitted even to herself; and the
young surveyor and his assistants were a source of amusement and
entertainment.
She was so occupied with and hedged about by the two "furreeners" that
young Doctor Foley, who had come to church with the hope of taking her
home in his new buggy, had but time to greet her and pass on.
Several of the girls, who had rejoiced at her humiliation were
disappointed when they saw how happy she seemed, saying: "She's a cool
one; she don't care if her pap is in jail, now that she is bent on
catching that city lawyer."
The preacher, a circuit rider, who during each month tried to preach not
less than once at more than a dozen small log churches and school
houses, many miles apart, was a godly man who traveled over the hills on
an old gray mare, carrying most of his earthly possessions in his
saddle-bags. His hair was thin and his frame almost a shadow. His
deep-set eyes and strong face had an expression of righteousness and
peace. Years before he had loved a young woman, but knew that he could
not continue preaching in his district and support a wife. One day he
came to her home and in tears, holding her hands, made and told her his
choice.
Since then, with quivering voice but calm face, he had married her to a
friend, and baptized her two children and had buried her husband. He
loved her still, but his earthly treasurers were as meager as when she
had wedded another.
The crowd was too great for the little school house, so they came out
and sat upon the green under two great twin oaks, while God's
ambassador, standing upon a rude bench nailed between the trunks, gave
to them his message of simple words in the voice and tone of friend and
neighbor.
Since early morning he had preached two sermons, christened a half dozen
infants, baptized three confessors, visited a bed-ridden man and a
feeble, old, blind woman, and given burial service to one of his
congregation. Far in the night, when the day's work was done and he
slept, his were dreams of peace. Two angels with forward pendant wings
formed a mercy seat above his bed and on it sat One a thousand times
brighter than the sun, who in a voice that might be heard through space,
though softer than the music of riffled waters, spoke to him.
"Well done, good and faithful servant, continue in the labor of the
Lord."
"But, Lord, I am lonely and weak and homeless and would rest."
"Weary not in well-doing. My grace is sufficient for thee; My strength
is made perfect in weakness--you have a home not made with hands,
eternal in the heavens."
* * * * *
On Tuesday the surveying party began work on the Helton property. This
was so distant from Saylor's that they thought of moving headquarters to
Asher Brock's at the head of the creek valley; but as a couple of days
would complete the work they concluded to remain where they were, riding
forth in the morning and back in the evening.
Mary fixed a lunch, which was placed in a grain sack and tied behind
Cornwall's saddle. Near noon they stopped to rest and eat under some
elms in the upper creek valley, when Cornwall discovered that the lunch
was gone, the sack having been pulled off while he was riding through
the dense underbrush.
Their appetites were whetted by the smell of frying ham, wind-wafted
down the creek from Asher Brock's. They rode to the house and asked to
share the meal. The maintainer is like the Arab; he never refuses to
entertain a guest.
The old man sat at the end of the table, with Duffield on his right and
his daughter, a girl about seventeen, and barefooted, next beyond. The
family circle was large and, with the four guests, the table was
crowded.
In the midst of the meal they were startled by the girl who, crying
"Ouch!" jumped up from the table.
Her father, looking at Duffield with murder in his eye, said: "What's
the matter, Cinthy?"
"The cat scratched my foot."
The old man looked under the table for confirmation; and there sat the
old, black cat, looking as innocent as a Madonna. And the family resumed
the meal.
That afternoon, as they were running one of the lines, Cornwall said to
Duffield: "That cat saved your life."
"Heck! That cat scared me to death."
"Oh, I'm on to you; I have heard of your tricks when you were surveying
in Clay and Leslie."
"You mean that time over on Red Bird; that is the greatest fishing
stream in Kentucky, and most appropriately named, as each papaw bush and
hazel and blackberry thicket is the home of a family of red birds.
"From Big to Bear Creek it is a succession of riffles and smooth pools.
These pools are the favored haunts and playgrounds of bass, perch and
soft-shell turtles. A single drag with a minnow seine in one of the
feeding brooks will give you an ample supply of bait. When carefully
keeping behind the overhanging shore brush and exercising caution not to
knock brush or clod into the stream, an hour's mediocre effort is
rewarded by a dozen bass of uniform size, weighing about a pound each.
Should you make an unusual noise, break a twig or cause the sandy bank
to cave and ripple the water, you must pass on to the next pool and use
more caution.
"We were stopping at old man White's. The house had three rooms in the
front. It was in the spring, and at night we sat in the big middle room
around the open fireplace and joined in the family conversation. This
was the bedroom of the old folks. Their grown daughter, who attended
school, sat by the table worrying over her lessons in compound interest,
the practical application of which in after years would be as needful as
a mariner's compass to steer her father's log canoe, tied to the root of
a sycamore. I went over and helped her a bit and she became quite
cordial in manner.
"When I handed back her slate, I wrote upon it: 'By moonlight, when all
is still, I will play Romeo under your window.' I saw that she read it
when, with a half-blush, half-smile, she applied the rag with vigor to
her slate. I knew she understood. All the girls in this broad land,
though they may not know the sum of seven times eight, are familiar with
the story of Romeo and Juliet and the balcony scene in ancient Verona.
"Coleman Reid was with me. You know he is always butting in when there
is a girl around. He came over and began drawing cartoons on the slate
and, satisfied with prospective arrangements, I gave him my seat, taking
his by the fire.
"In a short while the girl and her sister went to their room on the
right end of the house and Reid and I to ours on the left.
"Reid wore his hair long and roached back; mine I have always worn
short. We undressed and went to bed, both pretending to be sleepy.
"After an hour I got up, dressed, and started out, when my friend, who
had been playing possum all the time, said: 'Where are you going?'
"'I'm not sleepy; I think I will take a little walk.'
"'Don't you want your hat?'
"'No.'
"And so I walked around to the north end of the house, where our host's
daughter sat at the open window.
"I said something about it being a pleasant night, to which she replied:
"'Ayr you the long-haired or the short-haired one?'
"'The short-haired one.'
"'Bend over so I can feel and see.'
"So I bent over, happy to have my clipped locks caressed by her capable
hands, when she gave me a crack with a rolling pin or some other
delicate instrument. And, without a word, half staggering, I walked out
from the shadow of the house into the moonlight and sat down on the
stile blocks until I could distinguish the real from the artificial
stars. Then I went in and to bed.
"Reid was half-dressed when I came in and, about the time I climbed into
bed, he went out the door for a walk, blaming me for waking him up.
"In a little while he came back, looking the worse for wear. A few drops
of blood discolored his cheek near the ear. He never told me what
happened. I only know that after that night he was not so restless and
took no moonlight strolls.
"The next night I helped the girl again with her compound interest, but
Reid talked to the old man about running logs down the river on the June
tide."
Thursday morning, Cornwall and his party, having completed the surveys,
returned to Harlan.
A week later Mrs. Saylor met him by appointment in Pineville. They went
to the jail with a notary, when she and her husband executed a deed to
the Pittsburgh Coal & Coke Company for the Straight Creek place, and
were given a check for the purchase price, thirty-five thousand
dollars.