"WHO'S AFRAID?"
It was Sis Rutledge who broke the news to Abe Lincoln that Ann said
he was afraid of women. She went over to the store on an errand and
tarried a few moments, as she always did when an excuse offered,
to talk with the tall, good-natured clerk. This time Mrs. Green's
quilting-bee offered an excuse.
"Goin' to Mis' Green's quiltin'-bee, are you?" Sis questioned with a
sort of malicious innocence.
"Men don't go to quiltin'-bees," Abe Lincoln answered.
"They walk as fur as the door," Sis said. "But you ain't like none of
the rest of them. You don't spark none of the girls, nor take none of
them to quiltin'-bees nor sugar parties nor nothing. Ann says you're
scared of petticoats."
"Ann Rutledge says I'm afraid of petticoats, eh? Tell Ann I'm comin' by
this evenin' to see her."
With this astounding piece of news Sis hurried to Ann. She did not,
however, report that part of the conversation which might have
explained to Ann why he was coming.
"Is John McNeil going with you to Mrs. Green's quiltin'-bee?" Abe asked
when she came out to see what he wanted.
"No--John cannot go."
"Would he care if I walked over with you and the rest of them?"
"I don't think he would. We'll all be going together."
"I'll be on hand then," and this was all Ann knew of the matter.
Mrs. Rutledge had gone over early that morning to assist Aunt Sallie
Green--getting ready for such an important social function as a
quilting-bee was no small matter.
First, there was the quilt to put in the frames and the thread and
chalk and strings to have handy, and then there was the dinner, which
took several days to prepare. The feature of most interest at the bee
itself, however, was not the quilt or the feast, but the discussion of
town topics, for women met at the bees who had not had an opportunity
of discussing neighborhood news for weeks, and the time was never long
enough to tell it all.
At Mrs. Green's one of the first topics for discussion was the
postponed marriage of Ann Rutledge and John McNeil. "Ann promised to
marry John McNeil and will sometime," Mrs. Rutledge said, "but her
father wants her to have a good education, and he says there is no
hurry in gettin' her off."
"I wouldn't take no chances in havin' an old maid in the family, if I
was you, Mis' Rutledge," said Mrs. Benson. "I hate to give up my Phoebe
Jane to Windy Batts, but I never would forgive myself if I stood in her
way and caused her to be an old maid."
"Is Phoebe Jane going to marry Windy Batts?" was asked.
"Yes, I've consented. Windy's goin' out to convert the heathens of the
West. He thinks he'll tackle the Indians and preach the Gospel and
Phoebe Jane's goin' with him to sing."
"What did you Hard Shells turn Mentor Graham out of your company for?"
Mrs. Rutledge asked. "He's the finest man in New Salem."
"It was his views on abstinence. Sunday schools, mission societies,
temperance societies, nor none of such things is authorized in the
Bible; you know they ain't, Mis' Rutledge. Well, if they're not
authorized, they're a snare and delusion. Don't meddle with God's
business, we say, and that's what a body does that talks against
dram-drinkin' and tries to start a society."
"Dr. Allen says rum and such drinks is poison--real, sure enough
poison," Aunt Sallie Green remarked.
This statement opened a lively discussion.
"Yes," said one, "and Dr. Allen couldn't get no sort of office
after making a remark like that. Nobody can get anywhere without
dram-drinking."
"Abe Lincoln don't drink anything stronger than cider."
"And he goes with the Clary Grove bunch, too. Wonder how he manages."
"No telling. The Creator broke up the mold after Abe Lincoln was made.
He isn't like no human mortal I ever seen."
"Some folks says he's crazy," Mrs. Benson volunteered.
"It was lazy I heard he was," another said.
"I heard he was dead sure to go to the Legislature, crazy or no crazy."
"He's always reading something. Looks like he'd have all the books read
through after awhile. Wherever he walks he reads."
"Yes, and I've found him sprawled all over the cellar door reading,"
Aunt Sallie Green said.
"And did you ever see him lyin' under that tree in front of the store
with his back to the ground and his long legs reaching up the tree?
Phoebe Jane said he'd better watch or his legs would grow on up like
bean-vines."
"And somebody thought it was so funny, they went and told him," added
Mrs. Cameron.
"Mercy!" ejaculated Mrs. Benson; "was he mad?"
"No. He said he'd learned a new verse--something about seeing ourselves
as others see us--he wasn't mad, though."
"And they do say he hasn't got but one shirt to his back--that he sends
what little money he gets, off to his step-mother."
"And that he never looks at none of the girls. Is this true, Mis'
Cameron?"
"He don't seem to. The time we had that woman from Virginia and her two
daughters, he slept at the store on the counter every night. But he's
obliging that way when we're crowded."
"The men all say he's famous in stump speaking, wrestling and
story-telling."
"And the women like him because he's honest, kind to women and
forgetful of himself."
"He has a good turn for everybody and everything, from rabbits to such
poor stuff as Snoutful Kelly. But he don't show no attention to girls."
"Maybe he has a girl at Gentryville or back on Pigeon Creek."
"I don't think so," Mrs. Cameron said, "and I'd be apt to know."
"Well, I don't know much about his affairs, only he never looks at
Ann," Mrs. Rutledge observed. "He really don't pay as much heed to Ann
as he does to Sis, and that's little enough. I don't suppose he knows
what color her eyes are or her hair."
It was at this stage of the visit that the young people were heard
coming across the fields, shouting and laughing.
Several of the women arose and looked out.
"Will you look!" Mrs. Benson exclaimed. "There's Abe Lincoln himself!"
"And he's with Ann Rutledge," Mrs. Armstrong observed.
"Abe Lincoln with Ann?" Mrs. Rutledge said, hurrying to the door.
For the moment she looked bewildered. Then she said, "He's wanting
something--and just happened to walk with Ann."
"Just hear him laugh," said Aunt Green; "I'm glad he's come. He's a
fine hand to take care of the baby."
At the door the other boys in the party declined to come in. Not so
with Lincoln.
"Howdy, ladies, howdy--howdy!" he said, lifting his hat gallantly. "May
I come in? I've heard tell of New Salem quiltin'-bees and I'd like to
see how it's done."
His welcome was as hearty as his self-invitation, and a few moments
later he found himself tucked behind the quilting--frame beside Ann
Rutledge who was said to be the best quilter in New Salem.
Ann took out her needles, thread, thimble and emery bag. The end of a
chalked string was tossed to her and she quickly made a few white lines.
"See the pattern, Abe?" Mrs. Cameron asked. "It's a tulip design, red
flowers and green leaves. The blue is the pot it's growing in." In a
few moments the company was quilting and conversation had again begun.
"We was just settin' in to talk about Peter Cartwright and the way he
prayed the dancin' out of the legs in this community," Hannah Armstrong
explained.
"I agree with him," Mrs. Benson said; "I'm down on all huggin', whether
settin' or standin' still or movin' about. I haven't brought Phoebe
Jane up the huggin' way. If I had, Windy Batts wouldn't have picked her
to help him convert the Indians."
Abe Lincoln whispered something to Ann about a hugging-match and
laughed.
"I liked his singing," Mrs. Armstrong said. "I thought I'd cry my eyes
out that night he sung 'Down the dark river where the dark willows are
weeping night and day.' I never felt so near a grave-yard in my born
days. Everybody in the camp was mourning for some loved one."
"Wasn't that the same night he got around to eternal punishment and the
thundering smell of smoke?" asked Mrs. Rutledge. "I heard it. After
they got started they kept going until morning."
While the religious question was being discussed Abe Lincoln was
watching the nimble fingers of Ann Rutledge as with one hand on the top
side and one under the quilt she wove the tiny white stitches on the
red and green and blue.
Presently the hand of Abe Lincoln disappeared under the quilt. The next
minute a look of surprise showed on Ann's face as she whispered, "Turn
loose of my hand."
"I'm just trying to learn how it 's done," he whispered back.
Ann looked about. Nobody was paying any attention to them. She tried to
move her hand but it was held as fast as if in a vice.
"I'll holler," she said.
"No, you won't," he whispered back.
Then Ann jerked her hand and for the moment it was free.
She bent her slightly flushed face over the quilt and was soon making
the white stitches again.
But Lincoln's hand was yet under the quilt, and before she had crossed
the red tulip she felt her hand again imprisoned.
"Let go," she whispered, turning a flushed face to him and trying to
work with one hand.
"I can't, I've got to hold on to somethin'. I'm afraid of women," was
the answer.
The words were whispered in her ear. The flush on Ann's face deepened.
She cast a glance around the quilt. Several were now looking at her and
saw that she was confused. Her one free hand was working rapidly, but
the stitches were being set crooked.
For a moment or two her hand was held in its prison. Once more he
whispered, "Afraid of women am I, little Ann Rutledge?"
An instant she lifted her eyes to his. He had never known they were
such beautiful violet blue. They were full of appeal, and Abe Lincoln
could almost see tears coming.
He dropped her hand, and crawling out from behind the quilt, presented
himself before Aunt Sallie and offered his services.
"I can wash dishes, carry wood, rock the baby, do anything that's
needed," he said.
"A man like you ought to have a woman," Aunt Sallie Green observed.
"I'm afraid of women," he answered, laughing with boyish merriment.
Ann's face colored again slightly, but she joined the laugh with the
others.
"Ready to go, Ann Rutledge?" he said when the party was over.
"I am waiting for mother," she answered with quiet dignity.
He laughed. "Who's afraid?" he whispered as they started home. But Ann
walked beside her mother.
This did not prevent word going out that Abe Lincoln was shining up to
Ann Rutledge. What other reason on earth could there be for a young man
attending a quilting-bee and sitting by her and getting her all nervous
right in the middle of her tulip-quilting.