MARY AND JOHN ARE MARRIED.
About two weeks after Caleb Saylor and Rosamond were married, John
Cornwall left Harlan on a business trip for Boston and Pittsburgh. As he
had never gone east over the C. & O., he concluded to travel that route,
boarding the train at Winchester.
His intention was to travel direct to Boston, where he was to make
settlement with the executors of the estate of Giusto Poggi, who had
died some months before, a resident of that city. He had left $20,000.00
to Cornwall's client, Luigi Poggi, a miner living on Straight Creek near
the old Saylor home.
After this settlement was made it was his intention to return home by
way of Pittsburgh, stopping there to attend a stockholders' meeting of
the Pittsburgh Coal & Coke Company, of which corporation he had been a
director for more than three years.
As he took his seat in number 9 he saw that quite an attractive-looking
young woman occupied the opposite section. Her face seemed quite
familiar, in that she might have sat for the photograph which occupied
so conspicuous a place on his bedroom dresser. He watched her, hoping
that she might glance up from the book which claimed her whole
attention.
On the front seat of her section, from beneath a summer wrap thrown over
the back, the end of a small leather handbag protruded and on it he
read; "M. E. S. Wellesley, Mass."
He felt a thrill of surprise and pleasure. Taking a second and very
careful look at the lady, he was convinced that he had found the
original of the photograph and discovered the identity of the attractive
stranger, though it was more than twelve years since he had last seen
her.
How Mary had changed! Her beauty was none the less than when he had
first seen her, a rosy-cheeked mountain girl, who looked at every
strange thing in wide-eyed, timid wonder; who blushed when she was
spoken to; and finally, when her timidity wore away, talked with him in
her crude mountain idioms and localisms. He felt sure that when this
cultured creature, who radiated poise and refinement, should feel
inclined to speak after a most formal introduction, her voice would be
soft and low, her words precise and her accent give certain identity of
Bostonian culture and residence.
So the mountain lawyer, too snubbed by even this thought to rise and
speak, sat in confusion across the aisle and made timid inventory of the
charm and grace of his traveling companion.
She looked up from her book at a screw head in the panel about two feet
above John's head, with a fixed thoughtful glance that saw nothing else;
and John blushed. Her dreamy brown eyes spoke of a shackled or
slumbering soul, voluntarily enduring the isolation of cultured
spinsterhood, in search for the higher life. He felt the cold, bony hand
of death reach out and crush his dream of love. After another hour of
observation, the sun came through the window and shed its bright warm
rays upon her hair and he revived a bit when he discovered there the
warmth and color and glow of the southland. She put down her book and
walked down the aisle; then he saw that her figure, though tall and
slender, possessed a freedom of movement, healthy vigor and curves that
told of a clean and vigorous life from early girlhood. When she
returned to her seat he studied her face with care and knew it as the
one he had seen in his dreams for years and each time had yearned to
kiss.
At one of the stops a knight of the road, whose business was selling
women's ready-to-wear garments, came into the car and walked down the
aisle past several vacant sections to number 10, where, pausing, he said
complacently;
"Miss, may I occupy the forward seat of your compartment, until the
conductor assigns me one?"
"Certainly, the space is unoccupied."
"You probably find it tiresome traveling alone?"
"I usually find it more comfortable without company."
"Are you traveling far?"
This question the lady seemed not to hear, but rang the bell for the
porter.
"Porter, please tell the conductor I wish to speak to him."
"Conductor, this gentleman has expressed a wish to be assigned a seat;
he probably desires one in another section."
"There's plenty of room; I told him as he came in to occupy number 4.
'Porter, put this gentleman's baggage in number 4.' This is number 10;
yours is the third section forward."
Another half hour passed. John opening his handbag, took out some
papers; then, reversing the end, moved it so the bag protruded slightly
from under the arm-rest into the aisle. He took the forward seat and
read a while; then, resting his head against the window frame, pretended
to sleep.
The young lady finished her book. She looked out her window until the
view was blotted out by the nearness of the hillside; then indolently
turned and glanced out the opposite window at the swiftly running little
river and a narrow valley hemmed about by timbered hills. Then her
glance rested for a moment on the protruding handbag, and she read;
"John Cornwall, Harlan, Ky."
There was an exclamation of surprise; a slight blush of anticipation; a
look of joy; and she glanced up into the face of the sleeper, whose
dreams were evidently pleasant as he slightly smiled. She saw a man past
thirty, of strong and thoughtful face, whose hair was slightly thinning
over the temples. The dozen years since she last had seen him added much
to an expressive face; his shoulders had broadened and he weighed
perhaps a pound or more for each year;--but it was the same John, her
John,--and she sat and looked into his face and two tears stole down her
cheeks. He stirred, and she turned her face towards her window.
The twilight shadows deepened into night. A waiter came through calling;
"Last call for supper." She arose and walking down the aisle towards the
diner, heard her neighbor move and come following after. When she
reached the vestibule she dropped her handkerchief and as she stooped,
he picked it up. Then the little comedy of surprise and recognition was
acted;--"Oh, John!" "Oh, Mary!"
As they passed into the diner a wise old waiter, who knew he made no
mistake when he spoke of a handsome woman to a man as his wife, though
she might not be, said; "Will this table suit your wife, Sar?" Then John
found that Mary could blush like the mountain girl of old.
They ate slowly, talking of the many things that had happened since last
they parted on Straight Creek at the foot of the Salt Trace trail, and
until the waiter told them; "Boss, this car is drapped at the next
station and they's blowin' fer her now." Then John paid the check and
gave him a dollar. As the waiter closed the door after them he said to
another; "There goes a sure nuff Southern gentleman."
They took seats in Mary's section and continued their talk several
hours; about the marriage of Caleb and Rosamond; Mary's school days; her
trip abroad and her experiences of five years as a teacher; and John of
his business, of his mother, of Bradford and Dorothy and Rosamond; he
even told how near he came to proposing to Rosamond.
"That explains why you were not invited to the wedding. I quarreled with
Caleb and Rosamond when I learned you had not been. Caleb said he
supposed you were; while Rosamond made the excuse that she intended to
but overlooked you in the rush. She calls her husband John Calhoun and
Caleb has promised to change the sign on his office door and to order
new business stationery, which is to be embossed with the name, John
Calhoun Saylor."
The conductor passing through the car glanced at them several times as
did the drummer who occupied the seat forward. They met in the smoking
compartment and the drummer handed the conductor a cigar.
"Well, Mr. Drummer, she seems to like the other fellow; at least she
hasn't sent for me. He must have nerve to tackle her after he saw her
squelch you. But you can never tell what a woman is going to do."
"If you had kept off a bit I would be sitting right there now instead of
that young fellow. They seem to chatter away like old friends."
The next morning John and Mary ate breakfast together in Washington and
that afternoon journeyed on to New York. When they went into the diner
for supper and the waiter referred to Mary as John's wife, she did not
blush, but touched his arm and looked at him with a smile of confidence
and love. As he returned the glance a close observer would have said;
"They are newly married."
* * * * *
The next morning Mrs. Cornwall received a telegram: "Have followed your
advice. Married Mary last night. Her picture is on my dresser. You can
wire us at The McAlpin. John."
Mary and John also telegraphed her mother announcing the marriage and
stating that they would stop over ten days on their way home to Harlan.
* * * * *
John accompanied Mary to Wellesley, where she finally succeeded in
explaining why it was necessary that she should be permitted to resign
as teacher of mathematics.
The girls at first sight of John were quite hysterical, exclaiming:
"What a handsome man Miss Saylor's brother is!" When they learned his
identity and that he came to take her away, he was condemned as a horrid
old baldheaded man. This opinion was mildly modified at the farewell
dinner the school gave to Miss Saylor, where John at his best gave the
young ladies an informal talk on,--"School Days, School Teachers and
Matrimony." More than half of the girls were so impressed by the sense
and sentiment of his talk that for a day or two they thought seriously
of becoming teachers and waiting until they were thirty, when they would
marry a nice-looking and prosperous young lawyer like Miss Saylor's
John.
John rushed through his business engagement in Boston; then they went
down to Atlantic City for several days.
He had written Bradford and Mr. Rogers telling of his marriage. They had
each telegraphed congratulations and insisted that John wire the time of
their arrival in Pittsburgh. This he did.
They were met at the station by Bradford and Dorothy and Mr. Rogers and
his wife. Both families insisted that they should be their guests while
in the city. A compromise was effected by going home with Bradford and
Dorothy and accepting an invitation to be the guests of honor Thursday
evening at the Rogers home, where they were to remain for the night
after a reception and dinner, leaving the next day for Kentucky over the
Pennsylvania.
Saturday noon they arrived at Paint Lick and were met at the station by
Mr. and Mrs. Saylor, Sr. in the family carriage drawn by two sleek black
mules; and Mr. and Mrs. Saylor, Jr. in their new Pierce Arrow.
Rosamond had consented to come over, having forgiven John, because she
thought he had in a spirit of disappointment at her marriage, rushed to
Wellesley and married Mary.
The more than a dozen years that had gone by since John had seen Mr. and
Mrs. Saylor had been kind to them. Mr. Saylor had the look and ways of a
prosperous farmer. He had grown stout and seemed to enjoy the good
things of life. His was a jovial, easy-going disposition. He considered
that fortune had been kind, now that Mary was married to Mr. Cornwall
and Caleb, his boy, was a big man and married to one of the Clays. He
owned a farm of more than four hundred acres and each year had saved
some money, so that now he was considered one of the rich farmers of the
county.
He stood in dread and fear of only one person in the world and that was
Caleb's wife. The lady, disputing the family record which he had made
when she was a little tot, rechristened his Caleb, John Calhoun Saylor,
and he dared not protest. It was several months before his hard head
adjusted itself to the new name. He reached perfection by gradation;
from Caleb to John Caleb and finally mastered John Calhoun.
Upon receipt of the telegram from New York, opening the big family Bible
to make an entry of Mary's marriage in the family record, he was
surprised to find that the entry of birth of Caleb Saylor made by him in
1885 had been changed by Mrs. Saylor, Jr., to John Calhoun Saylor, 1883
which only left his son about two years his wife's junior. Subsequently
he discovered that his son and Rosamond were each born in 1883 when he
examined a carefully mutilated record in the Clay Bible.
John liked Mrs. Saylor. She was a most unselfish soul, giving every
thought of mind and every movement of her body to service for her
husband and children.
She was a slender, large-framed woman, with snow-white hair and a
wrinkled, tired, though kindly face. The face was a happier one than
when he first knew her;--then it seemed all joy had departed from it.
She never whimpered or found fault or raised her voice in anger. She was
a woman of few words and few tears. Her hands, while not those of a
lady, were those of a capable, hard-working mother and had a touch of
gentle softness for the cheek of those she loved. Only when Mary and
Susie were both home did she find time to rest.
Caleb was even more an egotist than when a boy. When he did not talk
about himself his other subject of discussion was the charms of his
wife, yet John, and others thrown with him, discovered he was not a
fool. Under the tutelage of his wife he was gradually acquiring another
faculty or subject of conversation, and that was the power unstintedly
to praise any vain person who might prove of service to him. He had
improved in speech and knowledge, but by contact. He scarcely ever
looked into a book, except to memorize a passage. He always carried a
pocket dictionary and when an unfamiliar word was used in his presence,
surreptitiously consulted it and, familiarizing himself with the meaning
of the word, used it the first time occasion offered. If he once heard a
thing he seemed never to forget it, nor a man's name or face. If his
wife wrote out a speech and read it to him a couple of times it was his
for delivery in practically her words. He struck John as a man devoid of
conscience, yet, at first blush, of pleasant manner and appearance.
To John it seemed the years had made Rosamond nearer the Rosamond of his
dream than the youthful Rosamond who had wandered over the hills with
him and to whom he had made love. The thought occurred that Caleb must
prove a strong and zealous contender for this world's honors to satisfy
his wife's ambition, else he might lose his handsome wife to a greater
champion. He spoke of this impression to Mary and she shared his view,
though Rosamond was in no sense flirtatious.
"Mary, I love all your family, except John Calhoun."
"Well, John, you married me, not the family, though I would have been
unhappy had you not liked mother, father and Susie."
"You must make your mother visit us as soon as we are settled. I believe
she really needs the rest. I know that she and mother will be great
friends and I know your father would like to put in a month hunting up
old friends and knocking about the hills; he must come, too."
They remained at the Saylor homestead for three days. The night before
they left for home, they were entertained by Mrs. John Calhoun Saylor,
who was really proud of these two members of her husband's family and
desired to exhibit them to the friends and relatives of the Clays.
* * * * *
As the train drew near Harlan, winding in and out along the river and
the foothills of Pine Mountain, Mary nestled close to John and, dreamily
watching the big mountain, whose shadow was reflected in the deep pools
of the river, said:
"I no longer call to you through space, John, wondering if you hear. Now
we travel side by side our narrow, little way of life and read its
meaning in each other's eyes. We will soon be home, John; and I for one
am glad we are to live in the mountains. I love them more than plain, or
rolling pasture, or woodland, or the sea. One of my favorite poems is:
"'Thou art a mountain stately and serene,
Rising majestic o'er each earthly thing,
And I a lake that 'round thy feet do cling,
Kissing thy garment's hem, unknown, unseen.
I tremble when the tempests darkly screen
Thy face from mine. I smile when sunbeams fling
Their bright arms 'round thee. When the blue heavens lean
Upon thy breast, I thrill with bliss, O king!
Thou canst not stoop--we are too far apart;
I may not climb to reach thy mighty heart;
Low at thy feet I am content to be.
But wouldst thou know how great thou art,
Bend thy proud head, my mountain love, and see
How all thy glories shine again in me.'"
"Will your mother be glad to see me, John? Will she fear I shall steal
too much of her boy's love?"
"Mary, mother is a little, old woman with a wonderfully big, young heart
and a grand soul filled with tenderness and grace and love. There's not
a joy in all the world she would not share with you. When she shares
your sorrows, night changes quickly to the dusk of morning and as the
day comes they flit away like shadows on the dewy grass. When she sees
you she will kiss you and cry a bit and call you 'John's wife' for a day
and then it will be 'Mary dear.' Were you a stranger, whose name had
never been mentioned, she would take you in, first for my sake, then
love you for your own. One day I said: 'Mother, your aim in life seems
to be to live for and wait on me.' 'No, John, my aim in life is to live
like Him!' She has kept some of earth's clay out of my soul."
As the train pulled into the station, Mary surreptitiously powdered her
nose. Mrs. Cornwall, Mrs. Neal, Duffield and several other friends were
there to meet them.
Mrs. Cornwall seemed not to see John. As she took Mary in her arms she
called her "John's wife"; they cried a wee bit and as she let her go,
John heard her say "Mary dear"; and he knew his mother's heart approved
of his wife. Then he kissed his mother and they greeted his other
friends.
Mrs. Neal was greatly surprised at Mary's appearance. "Mrs. Cornwall,
you really mean to tell me that she was born on Straight Creek?"