A Prophecy
Over the shoulder of Yellow Old Bald up came the sun, bannered and
glorious; the distant ranges glowed in his splendours; the sere fields
about the place were all gilded. The small-paned eastern window of the
sick-room let in a flood of morning light. Gone was the bird choir that
used to welcome his earliest rays, swept south by the great tide of
migration. Those that remained, snowbird, cardinal, and downy
woodpecker--the "checkerbacker" of the mountaineer,--harboured all night
and much of the day in the barn loft and in Judith's cedar tree. Their
twittering sounded cheerily about the eaves.
Back and forth in the puncheon-floored kitchen trudged old Dilsey Rust's
heavy-shod foot, carrying her upon the appointed tasks of the day.
In the quiet sick-room, where the low, alternating voices had subsided
into an exchange of murmured words, suddenly Creed dropped his head back
to stare at his companion with startled eyes.
"Judith!" he exclaimed. "Where are the boys?"
He glanced at the window, then about the room.
"It's broad day. That word Blatch sent was a decoy; Huldah Spiller isn't
on the mountain. Somebody must go over there."
Judith rose swiftly to her feet.
"My Lord, Creed! I forgot all about 'em," she said contritely. "Ye don't
reckon Blatch would harm the boys? And yet yo' right--it does look bad. I
don't know what to do, honey. They ain't a man on the place till Uncle
Jep comes. But maybe he'll be along in about an hour."
She hurried to the window and stared over toward the Gulch; and at the
moment a group of people topped the steep, rising into view one after the
other out of the ravine, and coming on toward the house.
"Here they are now," she said with relief in her tones. "Thar's
Andy--Jeff, Pendrilly--why, whatever--The Lusk girls is with 'em! They's
another--Creed, they _have_ got Huldy! And that last feller--no, 'tain't
Blatch--of all things--it's Wade! They're comin' straight to this door.
Shall I let them in?"
"Yes," said Creed's steady voice. "Let them right in."
She ran swiftly to slip an extra pillow under her patient's shoulders,
straighten the covers of the bed, and put all in company trim. Her eye
brightened when she saw him sitting so erect and alert almost like his
old self. Somebody rattled the latch.
"Come in, folks," Creed called, speaking out with a roundness and
decision that it did her heart good to hear.
They all pushed into the room, the men shouldering back a little,
glancing anxiously at the sick man, the Lusk girls timid, but Huldah
leading the van.
"How's Creed?" cried the irrepressible one, bounding into the room and
looking about her. "Wade got yo' letter, Cousin Judy, an' I says to him
that right now was the time for us to make a visit home. Wade's got him a
good place on the railroad, and I like livin' in the settlement; but
bridal towers is all the go down thar, and we 'lowed we'd take one."
Every inch of her raiment bespoke the bride, and it did not take Creed
many moments to understand the situation, put out a thin white hand and,
smiling, offer his congratulations. Wade received them with some
low-toned, hesitating words of apology.
"Law, Cousin Creed's ready to let bygones be bygones, Wade, honey!" his
wife admonished him.
"_Cousin_ Creed?" echoed the obtuse Jeff.
Wade's wife whirled to put a ready arm around Judith's waist. "Why, you
an' him is a-goin' to be wedded, ain't you Judy? I always knowed, and I
always said to everybody that I named it to, that you was cut out and
made for each other. We heared tell from everybody in the Turkey Tracks
that you an' Creed was goin' to be wedded as soon as he got well--then I
reckon he'll be my cousin, won't he?"
Creed looked past the whispering girls to where Andy and Jeff stood. As
the boys moved toward the bed.
"Did you find Blatch?" he asked, with a man's directness. "How did
you-all make out?"
Andy opened his lips to answer, when there was a clatter of hoofs
outside. As they all turned to the window, Jephthah Turrentine's big
voice, with a new tone in it, called out to somebody.
"Hold on thar, honey--lemme lift ye down."
"Ain't Uncle Jep goin' to be proud when he sees how well you air?"
Judith, stooping, whispered to Creed. "He went off to get somebody to
he'p nurse you, because he said I done you more harm than good."
"Your Uncle Jep don't know everything," returned Creed softly.
No mountaineer ever knocks on a door, but Jephthah Turrentine made
considerable racket with the latch before he entered the room.
"Oh--you air awake," he said cautiously, then, looking about at the
others, "an' got company so airly in the mornin'." He glanced from the
newcomers to his patient. "You look fine--fine!" he asserted with high
satisfaction; then turning over his shoulder, "Come right along in,
honey--Creed'll be proud to see ye."
He paused on the threshold, reaching back a hand and entered, pulling
after him Nancy Card--who was Nancy Card no longer. A wild-rose pink was
in her withered cheeks under the frank grey eyes. She smiled as Judith
had never imagined she could smile. But even then the young people
scarcely fathomed the situation.
"Creed," cried the old man, "I've brung ye the best doctor and nurse
there is on the mountings. Nancy she run off and left us, and I had to go
after her, and I 'lowed I'd make sartain that she'd never run away from
me again, so I've jest--we jest----"
"Ye ain't married!" cried Judith, sudden light coming in on her.
"We air that," announced old Jephthah radiantly.
"Well, Jude, I jest had to take him," apologised Nancy. "Here was him
with the rheumatics every spring, an' bound and determined that he'd lay
out in the bushes deer-huntin' like he done when he was twenty, and me
knowin' in reason that a good course of dandelion and boneset, with my
liniment well rubbed in, would fix him up--why, I jest _had_ to take
him."
She looked about her for support, and she got it from an unexpected
quarter.
"Well, I think you done jest right," piped up Huldah, who had been a
silent spectator as long as she could endure it, "I'm mighty glad I've
got a new mother-in-law, 'caze I know Pap Turrentine's apt to be well
taken keer of in his old days."
His old days! Nancy looked indignantly from the red-haired girl to her
bridegroom who, in her eyes, was evidently still a sprightly youth.
"Huh!" she remarked enigmatically. Then with a sudden change; "Yit whilst
we are a-namin' sech, honey, won't you jest run out to my saddle and
bring me the spotted caliker poke off'n hit--hit's got my bundle of yarbs
in it. I'll put on a drawin' of boneset for you befo' I set down."
"All right, Nancy--but I reckon I'll have to clear these folks out of
this sick-room fust," responded old Jephthah genially. "We're apt to have
too much goin' on for Creed."
But as they were marshalled to leave, the noise of a new arrival in the
kitchen brought the curious Huldah to the door and she threw it wide to
admit Iley, into whose arms she promptly precipitated herself with
voluble explanations, which covered her career from the time she left Jim
Cal's cabin till that moment.
"You an' Wade are wedded? Why couldn't you let a body know?" inquired
Iley wrathfully, grasping her by the shoulder, holding her off for
somewhat hostile inspection.
"That's what I say," echoed Jim Cal's voice from the doorway where he
harboured, a trifle out of sight. "Ef you-all gals would be a little mo'
open an' above-bo'd about yo' courtin' business hit would save lots of
folks plenty of trouble. Here's Iley got some sort o' notion that Huldy
was over at Blatch's, an' she put out an' run me home so fast that I
ain't ketched my breath till yit."
"Over at Blatch's?" old Jephthah looked angrily about him, and Judith
made haste to explain the whole matter, detailing everything that had led
up to the trouble.
"We-all talked it over, Uncle Jep, and as you wasn't here we made out to
do the best we could, and the boys went."
"After me!" crowed Huldah. "An' thar I was on the train 'long o' Wade
comin' to Garyville that blessed minute."
"Well, Blatch had us hog-tied an' waitin' for the marshal to come an'
cyart us down and send us to the penitentiary," Jeff set forth the case.
"But you know how Blatch is, always devilin' folks; he made old Gid Rust
mad, an' when Clianthy an' Pendrilly met the old man out on the road soon
this mornin', he told 'em to take a knife and come up to the cave an'
they could keep what they found."
"I never was so scairt in my life," Cliantha asseverated. Her china-blue
eyes had not yet resumed their normal size or contour, and the assertion
was easily believed.
"Nor me neither," agreed Pendrilla. "I says to him, says I, 'Now you, Gid
Rust, do you 'low we're crazy? We're a-lookin' for old Boss and Spot, an'
we ain't a-goin' up yon nary step.' An' he says to us, says he, 'Gals,
you never mind about no cows,' he says. 'Hit'll shore be the worse for
Andy and Jeff Turrentine ef you don't git yo'selves up thar an' git up
thar quick.' An' with that he gives us his knife out of his pocket, 'caze
we didn't have none, and we run the whole blessed way, and cut the boys
a-loose."
"I was that mad when I seen 'em tied up thataway," chimed in Cliantha,
"that I wouldn't a 'cared the rappin' o' my finger ef old Blatch
Turrentine hisself had been thar. I'd 'a' stood right up to him an' told
him what I thort o' him an' his works." There are conditions, it is said,
in which even the timid hare becomes militant, and doves will peck at the
intruder.
"Well, I reckon I got to get you folks out of here now for sartain," said
Jephthah as she made an end. "Nancy, honey, is the yarbs you wanted for
Creed in with them you're a-goin' to use on me?"
The little old woman felt of Creed's fingers, she laid a capable hand
upon his brow. Then she flashed one of her quick, youthful smiles at her
husband.
"You named it to me about Jude and Creed being at the outs," she said
frankly; "but I see they've made up their troubles. The boy don't need no
medicine."
Jephthah stared at his transformed patient, and admitted that it was so.
"Well he does need some peace and quiet," the head of the house
maintained as he ushered his clan into the adjoining room.
"Uncle Jephthah," called Creed's quiet voice, with the ring of the old
enthusiasm in it, as his host was leaving the room. "Do you remember
telling me that the trouble with my work on the mountain was, I was one
man alone? Do you remember saying that if I was a member of a big
family--a great big tribe--that I'd get along all right and accomplish
what I set out for?"
"I say sech a lot of foolishness, son, I cain't ricollect it all. Likely
I did say that. Hit mought have some truth in it."
"Well," said Creed, carrying the hand he held to his lips, "I reckon I'll
be a member of a big tribe now; maybe I can take up the work yet, and do
some good."
The old man looked at him. Here was the son of his heart--of his mind and
nature--the congenial spirit; the welcome companion, interested like
himself in abstractions, willing to stake all on an idea. Days of good
comradeship stretched before these two. He reached down a brown right
hand, and Creed's thin white one went out to meet it in a quick, nervous
clasp.
"Son," spoke out Jephthah in that deep, sonorous voice of his, "Creed,
boy, what you set out to do was a work for a man's lifetime; but God made
you for jest what you aimed then to do and be. Yo' mighty young yet, but
you air formed for a leader of men. To the last day of its life an oak
will be an oak and a willer a willer; and yo' head won't be grey when you
find yo' work and find yo'self a-doin' it right."
"Pap Turrentine!" called Huldah from the kitchen, "Maw wants ye out
here."
The door swung wide; it showed a vision of Nancy Turrentine, flushed,
bustling, capable, the crinkled grey hair pushed back above those bright
eyes of hers with a prideful hand, entering upon the administration of
her new realm. Oh, it had not been easy for one of her spirit to be a
poor little widow, living out on the Edge, with nobody but slack Doss
Provine to do for her, hardly dishes enough to set the table, often not
much to put in them, eking out a scanty living by weaving baskets of
white-oak splits. When Judith rode up to the cabin on the Edge that
evening of late March, it was the hardest time of the year; now was the
mountaineer's season of cheer and abundance--his richest month. Outside,
nuts were gathering, hunting was good, and she had for her provider of
wild meat the mightiest hunter in the Turkey Tracks. Jephthah
Turrentine's home was ample and well plenished. There was good store of
root crops laid up for winter. Judith had neglected such matters to tend
on Creed, but Nancy was already putting in hand the cutting and drying of
pumpkins, the threshing out of beans. Here were milk vessels a-plenty to
scald and sun--and filling for them afterward. Oh, enough to do
with!--the will to do had always been Nancy's--and for yokefellow in the
home, one who would carry his share and pull true--a real man--the only
one there had ever been for Nancy.
"Pap," called Huldah's insistent voice again.
"All right--I'm a-comin'," declared Jephthah, then, with the door in his
hand, turned back, meaning to finish what had been in his mind to say to
Creed.
Jephthah Turrentine was himself that day a bridegroom, wedded to the one
love of his life; he appreciated to the full that which had come to
Creed. He had thought to say to the boy that now was the opening of great
things, to remind him that one must first live man's natural life, must
prove himself as son, brother, husband, father, and neighbour, before he
will be accepted or efficient in the larger calling. He would have said
that life must teach the man before the man could teach his fellows.
But the words of homely wisdom in which he would have clothed this truth
remained unspoken. He glanced back and saw the dark head bent close above
the yellow one, as Judith performed some little service for Creed. The
girl's rich brown beauty glowed and bloomed before the steady, blue fire
of her lover's eyes. She set down her tumbler and knelt beside him. Their
lips were murmuring, they had forgotten all the world save themselves and
their love. Jephthah looked at the rapt young faces; these two were on
the mount of transfiguration; the light ineffable was all about them.
"Lord, what's the use of a old fool like me sayin' I, ay, yes or no to
sech a pair as that?" he whispered as he went out softly and closed the
door.