FOLLOWING HIS ADVICE
NO FURTHER reference was made to the difference between the two friends,
but Ambrose had reason to believe a few days later that Miss Dunham was
following his advice; for coming out in his yard before breakfast, after
a restless night, he was just in time to spy Mrs. Barrows climbing into
the gig with Doctor Webb, carrying a basket on her arm and wearing so
glorified an expression that it could come of nothing but the
opportunity of ministering to the sick. For the care of the sick gave to
Susan the same glow of pleasure that the act of creation gives to the
artist or the command of his army gives the born general. Once stationed
by the bedside of a patient, was she not the main source from which news
of the illness must flow as well as the basin into which all inquiries
must be poured? Certainly Ambrose had so considered her.
Moreover, that afternoon his suspicion was justified by Miner's growling
at him over the opening of a new hogshead of molasses: "Miss Dunham's
powerful poorly," and then going on furiously with his work as though he
had never spoken.
And Ambrose did not dare ask questions nor prolong the subject of their
conversation, though wistful to hear that Miner as well as Emily
approved his plan. However, there was little doubt of its success, for
the turning of the tide in favour of the Yankee schoolmistress soon
could be seen, heard, and felt. Rivers of soup were made to flow toward
the once anathematized cabin, and mountains of sponge cake and jelly
were dumped at its door.
Since the day of the first visit there had always been in Pennyroyal a
small number of women headed by Mrs. Dr. Webb who were not so manifestly
unfavourable to Emily, but according to report they had lately been most
unmercifully snubbed and put down by Mrs. Barrows, who would allow no
one else inside the cabin and actually barred other ministering angels
from the door.
Hearing word of the approach of these ladies one morning through Emily's
coloured maid, Susan came forth into the clearing to meet them and stood
waiting as usual with one hand resting on each sharp hip. Then before
any other mouth could be opened hers was at work.
"I am powerful glad, Maria Webb, that you have had a change of heart
toward the poor young girl," she commenced, "but you needn't try now to
be gettin' inside her home after havin' so long kep' her out of your
own. Besides, she's too sick to see no one 'cept the doctor and me.
Doctor Webb says she's real ill with chills and fever 'cause papaw trees
won't flourish 'ceptin' where it's damp, but I call it human ague the
child's got. Talkin' about millstones hung about your neck, they're
necklaces compared to the way women tries to drag down other women when
they start in to do something a mite different."
And this intense irritation of Mrs. Barrows showing itself thus to her
female friends even extended to her comparatively favoured next door
neighbour, although Ambrose could not understand the cause. Emily of
course had taken Susan into her confidence and she was a natural
dramatist and yet why should she positively glare at him one evening as
he stood snipping the dead stalks from the rose bushes in his yard?
Indeed her disapproval was so evident that Ambrose straightening up
asked in amazement: "Whatever have I done, Susan?"
"Ain't it about time you was inquirin' concernin' Miss Dunham?" Susan
demanded; "you're 'most the only person now in Pennyrile that ain't, and
ef there's one thing I more'n another nacherally despise it's folks
proppin' up a thing when it's standin' firm and don't need help, and
then beginnin' to ease off when mebbe it's likely to fall."
"How is Miss Dunham?" Ambrose queried, and the older woman gave him a
curious look. "She ain't dyin' sick yet, Doctor Webb says, but it's
worse'n he thought, 'cause it ain't plain chills and fever; mebbe it's
the typhoids."
At this information Ambrose paled slightly, but when his neighbour had
disappeared into her house for fresh clothes and supplies his expression
grew more peaceful.
"Em'ly's turnin' out a lot better actress'n I thought," he said to
himself. "I wasn't figurin' on her play actin' so long."
He was leaning on his rake, having suddenly lost every atom of energy,
when Susan, passing out again, dealt him another blow.
"Ain't you never goin' to stop mopin', Ambrose Thompson? I'm sick of
lookin' at you," she said. "Seems like there's nothin' on this earth
more tryin' than the way some folks act dead 'cause some one they love
is. Ef the Lord hadn't wanted you to live, man, I reckon He'd 'a' took
you with Sarah. 'Tain't likely He wants dead folks on His livin' earth!"
And then Mrs. Barrows hurried away to her charge, having left behind her
sufficient inspiration to persuade Ambrose to finish the task of tidying
up his yard.
[Illustration: "Ain't you never goin' to stop mopin', Ambrose Thompson?
I'm sick of lookin' at you"]
And so another week went by, Ambrose and Miner in the meanwhile having
less to say to each other than at any time in their lives since they had
learned to speak, and never meeting any more outside of working hours.
Nevertheless when they were together, although Miner's manner continued
surly and unapproachable, his eyes constantly watched the face of his
former friend, while Ambrose never altered in his old attitude of
affection toward him.
Yet on Sunday morning, as Ambrose stood dressing for church in front of
his yellow pine bureau, without warning his bedroom door suddenly opened
and in stalked Miner. Grave and silent he waited, until when the meeting
bell sounded, he started forth to church, leaning as of old on the arm
of his friend, and entering his pew sat down beside him.
Ambrose did not pay a great deal of attention to the beginning of the
service that day; on coming in he noticed that Susan and Doctor Webb
were not in their accustomed places, but afterward he seemed always to
have been listening to the August hum of the bees just outside the
raised window on his side of the pew. Through it he could also see the
deep rose of the ripening pink clover fields, smell their almost
overpowering sweetness, till with the weight on his chest which he never
shook off these days he wondered if Emily, who loved the outdoors as he
did, was not by this time weary of feigning illness.
Then Brother Bibbs so changed the order of the usual Sunday routine
that it must have startled Ambrose into consciousness. The elderly man
had finished his sermon, but instead of at once announcing the closing
hymn to be followed by the benediction, he stood clearing his throat,
his little worn face paling with emotion.
"Brether'n and sister'n," he began slowly, "there be faith, hope and
charity, these three things, but the greatest of these is charity. I
want you now to fall on your knees with me and pray for the life of the
young woman lately come into our midst whom we, like the Pharisees of
old, have tried to cast out. I want you to pray for that young Yankee
school teacher, Miss Emily Dunham, because she is powerful sick, and if
the good Lord takes her to Him, I don't see just how we are coming out
with the greatest of these three things."
While the rest of the congregation were falling upon their knees Ambrose
somehow got himself out of the church, nor did he realize during the
moment of his leaving that Miner was there hanging on to his arm. After
a time, however, when both men were walking toward the log cabin, he
turned to his friend, whispering brokenly:
"I didn't know she was sick really, Miner. I thought she was just play
actin' same as I asked her to."
And Miner nodded. "My fault. I suspicioned your ignorance, but I ain't
been able to break it. Em'ly told me of your letter soon as it come. She
hadn't been feelin' any too well before then, though she'd sort 'er been
hidin' it, and afterward she kep' a-gettin' worse and worse."
When finally they had come near the cabin, Ambrose sat down on the
selfsame stump where he had waited so long for Emily on the afternoon of
their first meeting, and since he would not go inside the house Miner
went in without him, promising to bring back news. However, several
hours passed and Miner did not return; Ambrose saw Doctor Webb leave the
house, stay away half an hour and then go back into it and remain there.
Then afterward Brother Bibbs followed him in, and Mrs. Webb and a dozen
or more Pennyroyal townsfolk appeared clustering in a hushed group near
the little schoolhouse door.
Nevertheless the waiting time did not seem long to Ambrose Thompson,
since he was living over every moment he had ever spent with Emily,
hearing the sound of her laughter, feeling the touch of her hand over
his, and then remembering how he had wondered in the days since his
surrender whether it would not have been easier for him to have given
her up through death.
It was dusk when Miner laid his hand on Ambrose's arm; he had not seen
the little man's approach.
"It's past, the crisis," Miner said huskily; "she's better and has been
askin' for you."
Then Ambrose rose, but he didn't move in the direction of the cabin;
instead, he began running toward home, Miner having difficulty in
keeping up with him. And it was hearing Miner's hard breathing behind
that finally made him slow up.
"I couldn't 'a' gone to her, Miner," he explained. "Can't you see, ef I
should 'a' seen her lyin' there so white and helpless I couldn't 'a'
helped takin' her in my arms and tellin' her I loved her. No man kin
bear it when it looks like the woman he loves is needin' him."