THROUGH THE EVER CHANGING SCENES
The days following the rescue of Gena Filson and the period of her
convalescence were trying ones for the humble folks of Blood Camp.
Without exception, every man from the bottom of his heart was glad that
the fingers of the law had finally reached out and taken hold upon old
Jase Dillenburger. Yet, for fear, not a man had given expression to the
fact to his next neighbor.
When the news came from the sick-room, telling of the change for the
better, the convalescence period, then the long suspense which had
held the little hamlet in awful dread so long was broken. Darkness
dispersed, and the people of Blood Camp adjusted themselves to the new
conditions, and turned again to honest toil with contented minds and
grateful hearts.
Since Paul Waffington had again taken his leave, the courts had decreed
and ordered that the cabin and three acres of land that belonged to old
Jase Dillenburger should pass to Gena Filson, and forthwith appointed
Slade Pemberton her guardian and administrator.
Slade Pemberton was a hard man of the hills. He had about “held his
own” or “kept even,” as he would say, selling goods in Blood Camp,
and perhaps, he had been niggardly with it. He invariably tied the
twenty-five-cent bag of brown sugar at the top with about an inch of
cotton string, instead of wrapping the bag with the string, as is the
custom, thereby saving a few inches of wrapping-string. But with Slade
Pemberton twenty inches of cotton string saved was twenty inches made.
More than one mother in Blood Camp could testify that his pound was
short and his yard niggardly.
Still Slade Pemberton was the store-keeper, and the people looked up
to him in a way, and respected him. Since good luck had favored him
somewhat lately, and he had been able to settle his back accounts with
his dealers in the cities and thereby reopen his store for business,
he had tried ever so hard to deal justly with all. But Slade Pemberton
found it hard, even a strain upon him, to put more than thirty-five
and one-half inches in his yard. But recently he had attended a few
sessions of the Sunday-school “Jist to hear the tunes--not to take
part,” as he said. But the tunes seemed to have done him good. The
Sunday-school, the new adjustment of life in Blood Camp, and one other
great fact--the fact that he was now the guardian of Gena Filson--all
seemed to take hold upon him until the little spark of good that was in
him flamed up and found expression in deeds of kindness.
Without further delay, he had the cabin on the mountainside cleansed of
its filth and the greasy and germ-laden furnishings burned. When all
had been made clean, the serviceable furnishings were arranged in their
places, a few new things bought and installed, and all was made ready
for the return of Gena Filson. Slade Pemberton had even outdone himself
in the matter of kindness for Gena Filson. He arranged with Emeline
Hobbs that she should close up her own little house and go with Gena on
the mountain and be her housekeeper.
When the day arrived for Gena Filson to return to the cabin and make
it her future home, misgivings were in her heart. But Slade Pemberton
closed and locked his store and accompanied Gena and her housekeeper
to the new home. At the first sight of the old home, Gena shrank back
with dread. She thought of the awful past, of her hard master Jase,
whom she had seen standing in the door a thousand times.
“Ay, it’s all different now, Genie, it’s all different now,” said Slade
Pemberton, as he led the way.
She came up and took a look through the little door. She saw to her
great surprise many changes in that dismal little room. It looked so
different, so clean and really sweet, she thought. Then it was to be
her home, it was her home. And then she was to have a housekeeper, and
the best housekeeper! And it all--all the three acres of corn, potatoes
and house--all her own.
“All for me--all mine!” she cried, with delight.
It was the first evening of September now. She had been to the
wood-yard, where she had filled her basket with dry chips. Returning,
she had built a fire for the night was growing chilly. When the sun was
high the days were still warm and pleasant, but the nights were growing
cold and tonight there was dampness in the room. Supper was over, and
Emeline Hobbs was busy putting away the dishes while she finished the
fire. The blaze leaped up and lent a cheerful look to the room as she
sat throwing on handfuls of chips.
Gena Filson was herself again now, and was growing stronger each
succeeding day. The rose was coming again to her cheeks and she was
truly grateful for her existence. She smiled with satisfaction as she
listened to the stub, stub of Emeline Hobbs’ wooden peg, as that happy
soul busied herself about the kitchen work humming the while “Am I a
Soldier.” Then, taking a pailful of beans from a corner of the room,
she began stringing them for the morrow’s cooking, as the figure of a
boy appeared in the open door.
“Howdy, Genie?”
“Why, how do you do, Boaz. Do come right in. Why, Boaz, this is the
first time you have come to see me since--since I came back home. I’m
so glad that you have come. Have this chair, Boaz.”
“Jist leave stan’. Iz Emeline here? I’d a come sooner, but I know’d
Emeline wuz here. I don’t like her much, you know. You know thet she
wuz allus a peckin’ on me in Sunday-skule for sumthin’ or ’nother. But
she ain’t done it as much lately as she used to. Maybe she’s got a
little more feelin’ fur a feller or sumthin’. I jist thot I’d come up
and fetch you these daisies, ef you wanted ’em. They’re about all gone.
Found these over by the big stub over yander on Slade’s hill. I started
up here more’n two hours ago, but as I cum up, I saw an adder, and laid
them daisies down to kill ’em, an’ I like to never found them daisies
agin when I got through with that adder. I wisht I may die, ef I didn’t
hunt an hour fur ’em ’fore I found ’em. But I found ’em.”
“How can I ever thank you for the kindness you show me? I do love
daisies. You are a good boy, Boaz, and a dear friend to me.”
“Yes, you bet I’m your friend all right, Genie, an’ don’t you fergit
it,” piped Boaz. “Course I’m jist a boy an’ can’t help you like Mr.
Waffington did when he was here.” He looked into the fire for a long
time, turned over his quid of tobacco, spat in the ashes and gave a
jerk at his head as he continued: “He’s gone agin now, though. But ef
I wuz a man, though, I’d show them rowdies, Fen Green an’ them, how to
impose on you, Genie. Has Fen Green bin up here lately, Genie?”
“No, I think not, Boaz,” she replied, and went on breaking and
stringing the beans.
“Well, he’s acomin’! I hear him atellin’ the boys down to the shop
yisterday, thet he was agoin’ to put on his new celloi’ collar and his
new striped shirt and fix up an’ come upon the mountain tomorrow an’
see his future wife--Miss Genie Filson. The dang----”
“Oh, Boaz! You mustn’t! I didn’t think that you would----”
“Well, I didn’t. I didn’t cuss, Genie. Not hardly, I didn’t. Don’t
count it this time. But you ain’t afixin’ to marry Fen Green, air you,
Genie?”
“Why, no, Boaz, I’m not fixing to marry anybody,” she simply said.
“O--o--o--oh!” he said. His clenched fists relaxed and he stood looking
into the fire. Stooping to the floor, he picked up the few beans that
had been carelessly dropped to the floor, threw them into the pail and
said, “It’s gettin’ dark--I got to go. I’ll see you at Sunday-skule
nex’ Sunday. Good-bye, Genie,” and he disappeared through the door and
went down the mountainside like a flash. She ran to the door and looked
after him. Then presently there came to her ears from away off down the
mountainside the familiar tune:
“Ho-de-o-do, ho-de o de; ho de o do, ho diddle de de.” Her cheeks
flushed crimson as she smiled, went in and shut the door.
Gena Filson sits by her own fire in a speculative mood tonight. Was she
not happy, she thought. She was now her own mistress in a sense, free
to do in most things--as she chose. The house and corn patches were
hers; her savage old master, Jase, was now behind prison walls making
reparation in some degree for the stripes that he had laid upon her.
But since her recent illness; since the lifting of the yoke from her
neck; since the new era in Blood Camp life, there appeared a pain in
her young heart not without a cause. Fen Green wanted to marry Gena
Filson, and she was aware of the fact. Oh, no; she could never marry
Fen Green. She knew not the reason why, but then, that could never be.
Then there was another friend, one who had so befriended her. But
she had never thought of marrying him--of marrying anybody. Why, she
thought, Paul Waffington had never even hinted that he cared for her in
the slightest--and much less thought of marrying her. But whose name
was it that was on her lips most during those long hours of delirium?
To whom did she then appeal constantly for help? Who was it that she
pulled down over the bed and begged a hundred times over that he would
not let old Jase beat her again? Had no one ventured to tell her that
it was Paul Waffington? But now, as she sits looking into the fire,
she thinks that she can faintly recall the gentle touch of soft hands
and a sweet reassuring voice bending over her, constantly telling her
that no harm should come nigh her. And as she reflects upon it all
tonight, she allows her heart to half wish that Paul Waffington loved
her. But perish the thought, she reasoned. Had he not returned to his
native country to be with those who honor and love him? Perhaps tonight
he sits at the festal board smiling upon her whom he loves and who
he boasts as his equal. One who has many graces, refinement, culture
and sterling character. But no matter, thought Gena Filson, he had
befriended her, and she resolved now to ever be grateful at least for
his friendship.
The fire on the hearth went out; she arose and went to her bed with the
first gentle call of love throbbing in her bosom.
On the following day Fen Green found her about the flowers in the yard.
She was preparing to take up many of the flowers and remove them into
the house for the long winter. In all the style and glory of which Boaz
Honeycutt had told her Fen Green came.
“It’s mighty pretty day, an’ ye air alookin’ well, Genie. I’m glad ye
air so well. I hope thet ye air well enough to lis’en with some sense
to what I’m agwin’ to say. Now, will yer be fair?”
“Why, yes, Fen, I will always try to see things rightly,” she said, as
she took up a large chrysanthemum near the gate.
“Slade Pemberton is atalkin’ of you agwin’ off to skule. Now you don’t
need no more skulin’. You’ve bin to skule an’ then your maw learnt you
a lot at home. You don’t need no more learnin’. Too much learnin’ makes
wimen highfalutin. An’ you know thet it wuz the will of Jase thet me
an’ you marry at Chrismus. Now what you goin’ to do? You ain’t agoin’
to forgit adyin’ man’s request, air ye? He’s bin took to prison, an’
he’s too old to sarve out his time an’ come back--so he’s jist as good
as ded. I won’t never beat ye like Jase did, neither. I’ll allus keep
ye plenty to eat an’ ware. An’ you know I have a little farm up thar on
the hill, with plenty of corn, cabbage, taters and sich like. Now won’t
thet be better than goin’ off to skule an’ settin’ yerself for somebody
thet ye can’t git?”
“Fen, I’m not thinking of marrying anybody. You have befriended me,
and I want your friendship. I need it, especially when friends are so
few.” She put down the spade and looked away off down the mountainside.
Then slowly said: “No, Fen, we cannot marry. Here in this valley below
us are girls better suited to you than I. Choose you a wife from among
them, and prove yourself worthy of her. As a friend you can help me and
as your friend I will try to help you.”
“I have loved you an’ waited fur ye--an’ I ain’t agoin’ to give ye up.
I’ll be yer friend, an’ I’ll be yer lover too--an’ I hope thet ye’ll
come to your senses some day,” he called back over his shoulder as he
went down the mountainside.
The time came when Slade Pemberton was to close his store and make
another trip up on the mountain to the cabin of Gena Filson. He went
this time with a grave face but a good mission in his heart.
“I’m not much of a man, Genie, but I’m disposed to do the best for ye
that I know. I wrote Mr. Waffington fer a little advice. I told him all
about everything--thet I had been appointed your guardian an’ that the
house an’ all was your’n, and that you could sell off enough of corn,
beans and a few other things to send you to skule off somewhere fur a
whole year or nearly so. Now I’ve got a letter here from him. He says
that he will help you to get a scholarship. Now, I come up to see you
an’ find out from you ef it’s your own mind fer you to go off to skule.
Now ef it is, then Slade Pemberton is goin’ to see to it thet you git
to go. Ef you want to go off an’ study music an’ a few other things,
I say that you can go. I’ll buy in your corn an’ other things mostly
myself. Emeline can go back to her own home while you are gone. I’ll
git Uncle Laz to take care of the house while you are gone. Now, Genie,
you jist decide about this to suit yerself. I’m jist Slade Pemberton,
but I’m going to do right by ye, Genie, ef I know what right is.”
“Oh, I can hardly believe that you are saying it!” she cried, joyfully.
“Oh, if I could only go to school!”
Slade Pemberton left Gena Filson with her heart all aflame that
afternoon. She sat on the tuft of grass in her own yard looking down on
the hundreds of peaks before her, and wondered how it would all seem
to be beyond the hills, within the limits of some great city; to push
one’s way along through the mighty throngs in the congested business
districts. Then college! She had seen the pictures of colleges in the
magazines and the catalogues--but to go to college! that would be
altogether another thing. To get a real chance in life; to mingle with
the learned and refined people of the world, she thought, could not
fail to set her feet upon higher planes of service and endeavor in the
battle of human life.
At last the desire of Gena Filson’s heart was realized--she went to
college. To her scanty little wardrobe were added three cheap dresses
that she and Emeline Hobbs had hurriedly made by candle-light. All were
at length crowded into a little trunk that had long since seen more
service than its share, and Gena Filson climbed upon the wagon seat by
the side of Slade Pemberton one bright morning, and was ready to leave
for college.
Once more the hearts of all Blood Camp were made sad. All had gathered
at the store to see her off. Mothers forgot, in their real sorrow,
to still their crying children as they stood on the store platform,
holding them in their arms--looking on with downcast hearts.
All had been made glad when the news flashed back that Jase
Dillenburger had been sent to prison. All had again had much cause for
thanksgiving, when they found that the one beloved in the village above
all others--Gena Filson--was to make her home in the cabin in their
midst. But now that she was going away to be gone a very long period of
time, and perhaps never to return, was too much for them. It made them
all sore at heart. And if she did return, would she be the same? She
would be above them, Fen Green had said.
“Be a good girl, honey, an’ doan’ yo’ nebber go back on de folks at
home. No matter whar’ yo’ go nor what yo’ see, doan’ nebber fergit ’em.
De is mighty rough folks, but ebber one has good hearts an’ lobes yo’.
An’ honey, doan’ yo’ forgit yo’ ole black mammy. I’ll be stan’in’ right
ober der in de do’ah alookin’ fo’ yo’ whin yo’ come. Good-bye, honey.”
The wagon went up over the little hill and out of sight. Fen Green
jabbed the spur into his horse’s side and shot away in the opposite
direction, yelling as he went:
“Let ’er go--nobody cares.”
For a time the others stood together looking at the spot just where
the wagon disappeared, as if they were bound together under the spell.
But after a time the mothers rewrapped the babies in their shawls and
resignedly returned to their homes.
Boaz Honeycutt remained upon the store platform alone. He had not seen
the wagon pass out of sight over the hill. He had strained his eyes
watching the wagon as it neared the hill-top, and finally, when he
heard the words come ringing back to him:
“Good-bye, Boaz; don’t forget me”--tears filled his eyes and put the
wagon out of his vision. For a long time the little barefoot boy sat
without a stir. Then, getting up, he ran his hands down deep into the
bottomless pockets of his coat and slowly walked away.