APPLE-BLOSSOM LAND
Several days had passed since gentle William Pryor had at last found
rest. Yorkburg recovering from its shock, took up once more the placid
movement of its life.
Mary Cary opened her shutters and with hands on the window-sill
leaned out and took a deep breath, then she laughed and nodded her
head. "Good-morning sun," she said, "good-morning birds, good-morning
everything!" Her eyes swept the scene before her, adsorbed greedily
its every detail, then rested on the orchard to the right.
"Oh, you beautiful apple blossoms! You beautiful, beautiful apple
blossoms!" She threw them a kiss. "And to think you are mine--mine!"
In her voice was a quivering little catch, and presently she dropped on
her knees by the open window and rested her arms on the sill. Again her
eyes swept sky and field, now glancing at the lawn of velvet green, now
at the upturned earth on the left, the or hard on the right, the thread
of water in the distance winding lazily in and out at the foot of low
hills, and now at the sun, well up from the soft dawning of another day,
and suddenly she stretched out her arms.
"God," she said, "God, I am so glad--so glad!"
For some minutes she knelt, her chin in the palms of her hands, her gaze
wandering down the road to the little town less than a mile away, and
presently she laughed again as if at some dear memory. It was so good
to be among the old loved things, the straggling streets and shabby
houses, the buttercups and dandelions, and the friends of other days.
It was good, and out loud she said again: "I am so glad."
"Your bath, mein Fraulein."
She got up; the soft gown falling from bare shoulders stirred in the
light breeze. She pulled the ribbons from the long braids of hair, and
coiled them round her head, but she did not leave the window.
"All right, I'll be there in a minute." Then: "Hedwig?"
"Yes, mein Fraulein."
"Do you think I could have the day to myself? I have something
important to do, and I can't do it if constantly interrupted. If any
one comes, could you keep me from knowing it?"
"I think so, mein Fraulein."
The shadow of a smile hovered a moment on Hedwig's lips. "Does that
mean all and everybody, or--"
"Everybody! Of course not Miss Gibbie, but everybody else. I shall not
be at home, you see. I will be down in the orchard, and if Miss Gibbie
comes bring her there, but never, never let any one else come there,
Hedwig."
"I understand, mein Fraulein."
The door was closed quietly, and the girl now standing in front of her
mirror looked into it first with unseeing eyes, then suddenly with
critical ones.
"You must look you best to-night, Mary Cary. You don't want to go to
that meeting. You don't like to do a lot of things you've got to do if
you're to be a brave lady, but Martha knows nothing is accomplished by
wanting only, and Martha is going to make you talk to those men
to-night." She leaned closer to the mirror. "I wonder how you happened
to have light eyes when you like dark ones so much better, and brown
hair when black is so much prettier? You should be thankful you don't
have to use curlers, and that you have plenty of color, but every now
and then I wish you were a raging beauty, so men would do what you
want."
Her brow ridged in fine upright folds as if thinking, then she turned,
nodding her head in decision. "I will ear that white embroidered mull
to-night. It is so soft and sweet and silly, and men like things like
that."
Some hours later, household duties having been attended to, fresh
flowers cut and the stable visited, the little vine-draped shelter made
of saplings, stripped of branch but not of bark, and canvas-covered on
the top, was the point of destination; but first she stood on the front
porch and looked up and down the sandy road which could be well seen
from the hilltop. No sign of life upon it, she turned and went through
the hall to the back porch and down the steps to the orchard, in one
hand writing-materials, in the other pieces of stale bread for the
birds; and as she walked she hummed a gay little tune to whose rhythm
she unconsciously kept step.
Many of the trees were old and bent and twisted in fantastic shapes--
some were small and partly dead, but most were fit for some festival of
the gods; and as she went in and out among them, her feet making but
slight impression on the moist springy soil, grass-grown and sprinkled
with petals, pink and white, she stopped now and then and touched first
one and then the other, for a swift moment laid her cheek on the rough
bark as if to send a message to its heart.
From the shelter she drew out a rug, spread it close to her best-loved
tree, then sitting upon it leaned against the trunk, feet crossed and
hands clasped loosely behind her head. The chirp of sparrows and twitter
of small birds, the clear song of robin and the cat-bird's call fell
after a while unheeding on her ears, and the drowsy hum of insects was
lost in the dreaming that possessed her. From the garden of
old-fashioned flowers some distance off the soft breeze flung fragrance
faint and undefined, and for a while she was a child again--the child
who used to run away in the springtime and hide in the orchard, that she
might say her prayers before a shrine of unknown name.
Presently she sat upright and opened her portfolio. "And now to think it
is mine, Aunt Katherine, mine!" she began. "At last everything is ready,
everything is finished, and I am in my own home. I am still full of
wonder and unbelief, still not understanding how Tree Hill is my
property. The quaint old house is not degraded by its changes, and
already I love its every room, its every outlook; and if you and Uncle
Parke and the children do not soon come I shall be of all creatures the
most disappointed and indignant. I want you to see the beautiful things
Miss Gibbie has done. Of course, Yorkburg doesn't understand; doesn't
know why I am back, and why I am living alone save for the servants;
and some don't approve. That the once charity child who lived at the
asylum should now own Tree Hill is something of a trial, and that it
could happen without their knowledge or consent is grievous unto them.
But they have been so good to me, all the old friends; are glad, they
say, to have me back, and I am so happy to be back. There have been
changes, but not many. The mills and factories have brought new people,
some of the old ones have died, the little ones grown up, several have
married and gone away to live, but it is the same sunshiny little place,
and I love it. In the months spent with Miss Gibbie, waiting for Tree
Hill to be made ready to live in, there was the restless feeling that
belongs to temporary arrangement, but now I am home; here to live and
work, and the only shadow is that the big and little Aldens are not
here, too. And what a relief to Miss Gibbie to be once more by herself!
I couldn't keep people away, and I was constantly afraid she would take
a broom and sweep them out. How she does hate to have people in her
house unless she sends for them! Man may not have been meant to live
alone, but Miss Gibbie was--"
The rustle of skirts made her look up, and quickly she was on her feet,
her arms around her visitor's waist, cheek pressed close to cheek.
"Oh, dear, I am so glad you've come. I was going--"
"To choke me, crush me, knock me down and sit on me, were you?
Well, you're to do nothing of the kind. And it's too hot to embrace.
Stand straight and let me look at you. How did you sleep last night?"
"I don't know. Wasn't awake long enough to find out. Oh, Miss Gibbie,
if you were a little girl I'd play all around the green grass with you!
Apple-Blossom Land is the place to play it in, and this is Apple-Blossom
Land! And to think--to think that it is mine!"
"Why not? Why shouldn't what you want be yours? Heaven knows an
old house on a hilltop, with some twisted trees on the side and
cornfields at the back, isn't much to dance over; but things have in
them what we get out of them, and if you will stop hugging me and get me
something to sit on I will be obliged."
"Will the rug do?"
"Rug? How could I get up if I every got down? No. Get me a chair.
What are you out here for, anyhow? Bugs and bees and birds may like
such places, but being a mere human being I prefer indoors."
"Then we will go in. I came out here so as to be not at home if any one
came up to see me."
"Hiding, are you? If you don't want to see people, why see them?" She
waved her turkey-wing fan inquiringly. "Nonsense such as this will force
you on the roof, if you'd say your prayers in private, and you're making
a bad beginning. Have you got that list of the councilmen? I want to see
it again."
Mary Cary picked up her writing-materials, crumbled the bread and
threw it to the birds, and, with arm in Miss Gibbie's, turned toward the
house.
"It's on the library table. I've seen every one of them. I'm sure it's
going to be all right."
"You are? That's because you are yet young. Never be sure a man in
politics is going to do what he says until he does it. When he makes you
a promise, just ask him to kindly put his name to it. I'm like a
darkey--I've more confidence in a piece of paper with some writing on it
than in the spoken word. Men mean well, and they'll promise a woman
heaven or hell to get rid of her, but you can't trust them. How about
Mr. Chinn?"
"Hardest of all. He can't speak correctly, and has never been out of
Yorkburg a week in his life. And yet he says we've got as good streets
as we need, and he doesn't approve of all this education, anyhow."
"Naturally. People are generally opposed to things they know nothing
about. Here, Hedwig, take my hat and bring me some iced tea--and next
time your Fraulein hides in the orchard you can find her and not send
me there."
Blowing somewhat from her walk, Miss Gibbie dropped in a chair in the
hall, unfastened the strings of her broad-brimmed hat and handed it to
Hedwig. Spreading out her ample skirts, she pulled off her white cotton
gloves, opened the bag hanging from her waist, took from it a
handkerchief of finest thread, and with it wiped her face. After a
moment she glanced around. "A house knows when it is occupied. Sleeping
here has given things a different air." She looked at the girl standing
in front of her, hands clasped behind, and the turkey-wing fan stopped
on its backward motion. "You are sure you will not be lonely? Sure you
will not be afraid?"
"Afraid! I'm not just Mary Cary, I'm Martha Cary also. Martha has
never been afraid, and Mary has never been lonely in her life. And I
love it so, my little Harmony House! Oh, Miss Gibbie, you have been so
good, so precious good!" The strong young arms reached down, and on
her warm breast she drew the anxious face of the older woman, kissed it
swiftly, then pushed her back against the cushions. "If only you would
let me tell how good you've been!"
"If only you would behave yourself and get me some tea I would think
more of you. There are many things I might forgive, but never the
telling of my private affairs. Where is that list of City Fathers? Here,
get me another chair. One feels like a kitty puss on a feather-bed in a
thing of this kind. I prefer to sit like a human being."
With an effort she extricated herself from the depths of the big
chintz-covered chair and took a tall straight one near the table on
which Hedwig was placing iced tea and sandwiches, and as she reached for
the tea with her right hand, she held out her left for the paper Mary
Cary was bringing to her.
She glanced down its length, and for some moments drank her tea in
silence save for an occasional grunt which was half sniff, half snort;
then as she put down her glass and took up a sandwich she waved the
paper in good-natured derision.
"And that's what governs us--that!
"Oh, august body of assembled men,
The gods in thee have come to earth again!"
She bit into the sandwich and again skimmed the paper. "These are the
individuals who make our local laws and do with our taxes what they
will. Listen:
"'1. Josiah Chinn, Undertaker.' Deals with the dead. An eye single to
the grave.
"'2. Franklin Semph, Machine Agent.' Travels. Sleeps home two nights in
the week. Drinks.
"'3. Richard Moon, President Woolen Mills.' In council as matter of
conscience. Only attends when Mary Cary makes him.
"'4. Jefferson Mowry. Chewer and spitter.' Livery business. Reads less
than he writes--never writes.
"'5. Jacob Walstein, born Pawnbroker, now Banker.' Rich and rising.
"'6. Williamson Brent, General Merchandise.' Votes as he's told by the
last person who tells. Putty man.
"'7. Blacker Ash, Secretary and Treasurer of Yorkburg Shoe Factory.'
Sensible and good worker. Bachelor. Does as Miss Cary tells him.
"'8. John Armitage. Soap-box politician.' Clerk in Mr. Blick's grocery
store. Salary eight dollars per week. When it's ten he will marry; told
me so.
"'9. Robertson Grey, Lawyer.' Well born and lazy.
"'10. Patrick Milligan.' Whiskey business and good talker. Slippery."
She crumpled the paper and threw it at the girl standing in front of
her. "There," she said, "there's the list of your Yorkburg Fathers. I
hope Hedwig will fumigate you when you get home to-night."
"She will if necessary." The crumpled paper was smoothed and folded
carefully. "But I don't believe it will be. I've taken tea with most of
their families."
"You've taken /what?/" Miss Gibbie bounced half-way out of her
chair.
"Tea." Mary Cary's head nodded affirmatively. "That's what I said,
tea--I mean supper. I invited myself to some of the places, but some
of the people invited me themselves. I'm afraid I did hint a little. But
we had a good time, and I've got my little piece of paper--see!"
She held a note-book toward Miss Gibbie, but the latter waved it back.
"Do you mean you sat down at the table and ate with them?"
"That's what I did. It would have been better could they have sat down
at my table and eaten with me, for then I could have selected the things
to eat, and food makes such a difference in a man's feelings. But there
isn't such a great difference in people when you know them through and
through, and I had a lovely time taking supper with them. I really did.
I told you about the Milligans. Don't you remember I was sick the next
day?"
Miss Gibbie shook her head. "Never told me. Glad you were sick."
"Not sick enough to hurt, or to keep me from the Mowrys the next night.
The Mowrys didn't have but four kinds of bread and three kinds of cake
and two kinds of meats and some other things, but you couldn't see a
piece of Mrs. Milligan's table-cloth as big as a salt-cellar, it was so
full of food. I took some of everything on the table. Mr. Milligan kept
handing me things from his end and Mrs. Milligan from her end, and the
little Milligans from the sides, and we laughed so much and I tried so
hard to eat I got really excited about it, and of course I was sick the
next day. But it didn't matter. We had a beautiful time, and I learned
things I never knew before."
She dropped on her knees by the older woman and crossed her arms on
her lap. "When I was a little girl, Miss Gibbie, and lived here in the
asylum, I used to wish I was a fairy or a witch or a wizard, or
something that could make great changes, could turn things round and
upside down; could put poor people where were rich, put sad ones where
were happy, put the lowly where were the high, and see what they would
do. And in the years I have been away, almost ten years, I have been
thinking and watching and wondering if half the trouble in the world is
not from misunderstanding, from not knowing each other better. And how
can we know if each stays in his own little world, never touches the
other's life?" She laughed, nodding her head. "I wouldn't discuss
Flaubert with Mr. Milligan or Greek Art with Mr. Chinn, but they can
tell me a good deal about Yorkburg's needs; and, after all, a person's
heart is more important than his head. We are educating people at a
terrible rate, but what are we going to do about it if we're not friends
when we're through? Of course you can't see my way. You hate dirty
people to come near you, but how get them clean if we keep from them?"
Miss Gibbie took up her fan and used it as if already the atmosphere
were affected, then she tapped the face in front of her. "I used to be
young once and dreamed dreams, but I dreamed them in my own house.
I might understand how you could eat with any sort of sinner--I've eaten
with all sorts--but with people who put their knives in their mouths
and don't clean their finger-nails!"
She lay back in her chair, chin up and eyebrows lifted, and Mary Cary,
getting on her feet, laughed, then leaned over and kissed her.
"To-morrow night I am going to the McDougals'. Susie McDougal's
beau, Mr. John Armitage, the soap-box politician, is to be there. You
don't mind, do you?"
Miss Gibbie's mouth, eyes, and nose all screwed together, and the
turkey-wing fan was held at arm's-length. "He uses hair-oil. Yes, I
mind, but I remember I was not to interfere."