always was as pretty as a picture, but she was as nice-mannered,
well-behaved a gyirl as you'd want to see. There was jest as much
difference betwixt her then and what she used to be as there is
betwixt a tame fox and a wild one. Of course the wildness is all
there, but it's kind o' covered up under a lot o' cute little tricks
and ways; and that's the way it was with Annie. Squire Elrod's pew was
jest across the aisle from Old Man Bob's, and I could see Dick
watchin' her durin' church time. But Annie never looked one way nor
the other. She set there with her hands folded and her eyes straight
before her, and nobody ever would 'a' thought that she'd been ridin'
horses bare-back and climbin' eight-rail fences ever since she could
walk, mighty near.
"When she come back from school in June it was the same thing over
again, Old Man Bob braggin' on her and everybody sayin' how sweet and
pretty she was. Dick began to wait on her right away, and before long
folks was sayin' that they was made for each other, especially as
their farms jined. That's a fool notion, but you can't git it out o'
some people's heads.
"Things went on this way for two or three years, Annie goin' and
comin' and gittin' prettier all the time, and Dick waitin' on her
whenever she was at home and carryin' on between times with every
gyirl in the neighborhood. At last she come home for good, and Dick
dropped all the others in a hurry and set out in earnest to git Annie.
Folks said he was mightily in love, but accordin' to my way o'
thinkin' there wasn't any love about it. The long and the short of it
was that Annie knew how to manage him, and the other gyirls didn't.
They was always right there in the neighborhood, and it don't help a
woman to be always under a man's nose. But Annie was here and there
and everywhere, visitin' in town and in Louisville and bringin' the
town folks and the city folks home with her, and havin' dances and
picnics, and doin' all she could to make Dick jealous. And then I
always believed that Annie was jest as crazy about Dick as the rest o'
the gyirls, but she had sense enough not to let him know it. It's
human nature, you know, to want things that's hard to git. Why, if
fleas and mosquitoes was sceerce, folks would go to huntin' 'em and
makin' a big fuss over 'em. Annie made herself hard to git, and that's
why Dick wanted her instead o' Harriet Amos, that was jest as good
lookin' and better in every other way than Annie was. Everybody was
sayin' what a blessed thing it was, and now Dick would give up his
wild ways and settle down and be a comfort to the Squire in his old
age.
"Well, along in the spring, a year after Annie got through with
school, Sally Ann come to me, and says she, 'Jane, I saw somethin'
last night and it's been botherin' me ever since;' and she went on to
say how she was goin' home about dusk, and how she'd seen Dick Elrod
and little Milly Baker at the turn o' the lane that used to lead up to
Milly's house. 'They was standin' under the wild cherry tree in the
fence corner,' says she, 'and the elderberry bushes was so thick that
I could jest see Dick's head and shoulders and the top of Milly's
head, but they looked to be mighty close together, and Dick was
stoopin' over and whisperin' somethin' to her.'
"Well, that set me to thinkin', and I ricollected seein' Dick comin'
down the lane one evenin' about sunset and at the same time I'd caught
sight o' Milly walkin' away in the opposite direction. Our Mite
Society met that day, and Sally Ann and me had it up, and we all
talked it over. It come out that every woman there had seen the same
things we'd been seein', but nobody said anything about it as long as
they wasn't certain. 'Somethin' ought to be done,' says Sally Ann;
'it'd be a shame to let that pore child go to destruction right before
our eyes when a word might save her. She's fatherless, and pretty
near motherless, too,' says she.
"You see, the Bakers was tenants of old Squire Elrod's, and after
Milly's father died o' consumption the old Squire jest let 'em live on
the same as before. Mis' Elrod give 'em quiltin' and sewin' to do, and
they had their little gyarden, and managed to git along well enough.
Some folks called 'em pore white trash. They was pore enough, goodness
knows, but they was clean and hard-workin', and that's two things that
'trash' never is. I used to hear that Milly's mother come of a good
family, but she'd married beneath herself and got down in the world
like folks always do when they're cast off by their own people. Milly
had come up like a wild rose in a fence corner, and she was jest the
kind of a girl to be fooled by a man like Dick, handsome and smooth
talkin', with all the ways and manners that take women in. Em'ly
Crawford used to say it made her feel like a queen jest to see Dick
take his hat off to her. If men's manners matched their hearts, honey,
this'd be a heap easier world for women. But whenever you see a man
that's got good manners and a bad heart, you may know there's trouble
ahead for some woman.
"Well, us women talked it over till dark come; and I reckon if we had
app'inted a committee to look after Milly and Dick, somethin' might
have been done. But everybody's business is nobody's business, and I
thought Sally Ann would go to Milly and give her a word o' warnin',
and Sally Ann thought I'd do it, and so it went, and nothin' was said
or done at last; and before long it was all over the neighborhood that
pore little Milly was in trouble."
Aunt Jane paused, took off her glasses and wiped them carefully on a
corner of her gingham apron.
"Many's the time," she said slowly, "that I've laid awake till the
chickens crowed, blamin' myself and wonderin' how far I was
responsible for Milly's mishap. I've lived a long time since then, and
I don't worry any more about such things. There's some things that's
got to be; and when a person is all wore out tryin' to find out why
this thing happened and why that thing didn't happen, he can jest
throw himself back on the eternal decrees, and it's like layin' down
on a good soft feather bed after you've done a hard day's work. The
preachers'll tell you that every man is his brother's keeper, but
'tain't so. I ain't my brother's keeper, nor my sister's, neither.
There's jest one person I've got to keep, and that's myself.
"The Bible says, 'A word spoken in due season, how good it is!' But
when folks is in love there ain't any due season for speakin' warnin'
words to 'em. There was Emmeline Amos: her father told her if she
married Hal, he'd cut her name out o' the family Bible and leave her
clear out o' his will. But that didn't hinder her. She went right on
and married him, and lived to rue the day she did it. No, child,
there's mighty little salvation by words for folks that's in love. I
reckon if a word from me would 'a' saved Milly, the word would 'a'
been given to me, and the season too, and as they wasn't, why I hadn't
any call to blame myself.
"Abram and Sam Crawford did try to talk to Old Man Bob; but, la! you
might as well 'a' talked to the east wind. All he said was, 'If Annie
wants Dick Elrod, Annie shall have him.' That's what he'd been sayin'
ever since Annie was born. Nobody said anything to Annie, for she was
the sort o' girl who didn't care whose feelin's was tramped on, if she
jest had her own way.
"So it went on, and the weddin' day was set, and nothin' was talked
about but Annie's first-day dress and Annie's second-day dress, and
how many ruffles she had on her petticoats, and what the lace on her
nightgowns cost; and all the time there was pore Milly Baker cryin'
her eyes out night and day, and us women gittin' up all our old baby
clothes for Dick Elrod's unborn child."
Aunt Jane dropped her knitting in her lap, and gazed across the fields
as if she were seeking in the sunlit ether the faces of those who
moved and spoke in her story. A farm wagon came lumbering through the
stillness, and she gathered up the double thread of story and knitting
and went on.
"Annie always said she was goin' to have such a weddin' as the county
never had seen, and she kept her word. Old Man Bob had the house fixed
up inside and out. They sent up to Louisville for the cakes and
things, and the weddin' cake was three feet high. There was a solid
gold ring in it, and the bridesmaids cut for it; and every gyirl there
had a slice o' the bride's cake to carry home to dream on that night.
Annie's weddin' dress was white satin so heavy it stood alone, so they
said. And Old Man Bob had the whole neighborhood laughin', tellin' how
many heifers and steers it took to pay for the lace around the neck of
it.
"Annie and Dick was married in October about the time the leaves fell,
and Milly's boy was born the last o' November. Lord! Lord! what a
world this is! Old Man Bob wouldn't hear to Annie's leavin' him, so
they stayed right on in the old home place. In them days folks didn't
go a-lopin' all over creation as soon as they got married; they
settled down to housekeepin' like sensible folks ought to do. Old Lady
Elrod was as foolish over Dick as Old Man Bob was over Annie, and it
was laid down beforehand that they was to spend half the time at Old
Man Bob's and half the time at the Squire's, 'bout the worst thing
they could 'a' done. The further a young couple can git from the old
folks on both sides the better for everybody concerned. And besides,
Annie wasn't the kind of a gyirl to git along with Dick's mother. A
gyirl with the kind o' raisin' Annie'd had wasn't any fit
daughter-in-law for a particular, high-steppin' woman like Old Lady
Elrod.
"There was some people that expected a heap o' Dick after he married,
but I never did. If a man can't be faithful to a woman before he
marries her, he ain't likely to be faithful after he marries her. And
shore enough the shine wasn't off o' Annie's weddin' clothes before
Dick was back to his old ways, drinkin' and carryin' on with the women
same as ever, and the first thing we knew, him and Annie had a big
quarrel, and Old Man Bob had ordered him off the place. However, they
made it up and went over to the old Squire's to live, and things went
on well enough till Annie's baby was born. Dick had set his heart on
havin' a boy, but it turned out a girl, and as soon as they told him,
he never even asked how Annie was, but jest went out to the stable and
saddled his horse and galloped off, and nobody seen him for two days.
He needn't 'a' took on so, for the pore little thing didn't live but a
week. Annie had convulsions over Dick's leavin' her that way, and the
doctor said that was what killed the child. Annie never was the same
after this. She grieved for her child and lost her good looks, and
when she lost them, she lost Dick. It wasn't long before Dick was
livin' with his father, and she with hers. At last he went out West;
and in less than three years Annie died; and a good thing she did, for
a more soured, disappointed woman couldn't 'a' been found anywhere.
"Well, all this time Milly Baker's baby was growin' in grace, you
might say. And a finer child never was born. Milly had named him
Richard, and nature had wrote his father's name all over him. He was
the livin' image of Dick, all but the look in his eyes; that was
Milly's. Milly worshiped him, and there was few children raised any
carefuler and better than Milly Baker's boy; that was what we always
called him. Milly was nothin' but a child herself when he was born,
but all at once she appeared to turn to a woman; acted like one and
looked like one. It ain't time, honey, that makes people old; it's
experience. Some folks never git over bein' children, and some never
has any childhood; and pore little Milly's was cut short by trouble.
If she felt ashamed of herself or the child, nobody ever knew it. I
never could tell whether it was lack of sense, or whether she jest
looked at things different from the rest of us; but to see her walk in
church holding little Richard by the hand, nobody ever would 'a'
thought but what she was a lawful wife. No woman could 'a' behaved
better'n she did, I'm bound to say. She got better lookin' all the
time, but she was as steady and sober as if she'd been sixty years
old. Parson Page said once that Milly Baker had more dignity than any
woman, young or old, that he'd ever seen. It seems right queer to talk
about dignity in a pore gyirl who'd made the misstep she'd made, but I
reckon it was jest that that made us all come to treat her as if she
was as good as anybody. People can set their own price on 'emselves,
I've noticed; and if they keep it set, folks'll come up to it. Milly
didn't seem to think that she had done anything wrong; and when she
brought little Richard up for baptism there wasn't a dry eye in the
church; and when she joined the church herself there wasn't anybody
mean enough to say a word against it, not even Silas Petty.
"Squire Elrod give her the cottage rent free after her mother died,
and betwixt nursin' and doin' fine needlework she made a good livin'
for herself and the boy.
"Little Richard was a child worth workin' for from the start. Tall and
straight as a saplin', and carried himself like he owned the earth,
even when he was a little feller. It looked like all the good blood on
both sides had come out in him, and there wasn't a smarter, handsomer
boy in the county. The old Squire thought a heap of him, and nothin'
but his pride kept him from ownin' the child outright and treatin' him
like he was his own flesh and blood. Richard had an old head on young
shoulders, though he was as full o' life as any boy; and by the time
he was grown the old Squire trusted him with everything on the place
and looked to him the same as if he'd been a settled man. After Old
Lady Elrod died, he broke terrible fast, and folks used to say it was
a pitiful sight to see him when he'd be watchin' Richard overseein'
the hands and tendin' to things about the place. He'd lean on the
fence, his hands tremblin' and his face workin', thinkin' about Dick
and grievin' over him and wishin', I reckon, that Dick had been such a
man as Milly's boy was.
"All these years nobody ever heard from Dick. Once in a while
somebody'd come from town and say they'd seen somebody that had seen
somebody else, and that somebody had seen Dick way out in California
or Lord knows where, and that was all the news that ever come back.
We'd all jest about made up our minds that he was dead, when one
mornin', along in corn-plantin' time, the news was brought and spread
over the neighborhood in no time that Dick Elrod had come home and was
lyin' at the p'int of death. I remembered hearin' a hack go by on the
pike the night before, and wondered to myself what was up. I thought,
maybe, it was a runaway couple or some such matter, but it was pore
Dick comin' back to his father's house, like the Prodigal Son, after
twenty years. It takes some folks a long time, child, to git tired of
the swine and the husks.
"Well, of course, it made a big commotion, and before we'd hardly
taken it in, we heard that he'd sent for Milly, and her and Richard
had gone together up to the big house.
"Jane Ann Petty was keepin' house for the old Squire, and she told us
afterwards how it all come about.
"We had a young probationer preachin' for us that summer, and as soon
as he heard about Dick, he goes up to the big house without bein' sent
for to talk to him about his soul. I reckon he thought it'd be a
feather in his cap if he could convert a hardened sinner like Dick.
"Jane Ann said they took him into Dick's room, and he set down by the
bed and begun to lay off the plan o' salvation jest like he was
preachin' from the pulpit, and Dick listened and never took his eyes
off his face. When he got through Dick says, says he:
"'Do you mean to say that all I've got to do to keep out of hell and
get into heaven is to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ?' And Brother
Jonas, he says:
"'Yes, my dear brother, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou
shalt be saved. The blood of Jesus Christ, his Son, cleanseth us from
all sin."'
"And they said Dick jest laughed a curious sort o' laugh and says he:
"'It's a pretty God that'll make such a bargain as that!' And says he,
'I was born bad, I've lived bad, and I'm dyin' bad; but I ain't a
coward nor a sneak, and I'm goin' to hell for my sins like a man. Like
a man, do you hear me?'
"Jane Ann said the look in his eyes was awful; and the preacher turned
white as a sheet. It was curious talk for a death-bed; but, when you
come to think about it, it's reasonable enough. When a man's got hell
in his heart, what good is it goin' to do him to git into heaven?"
"What, indeed?" I echoed, thinking how delightful it was that Aunt
Jane and Omar Khayyam should be of one mind on this subject.
"When Dick said this the young preacher got up to go, but Dick called
him back, and says he, 'I don't want any of your preachin' or prayin',
but you stay here; there's another sort of a job for you to do.' And
then he turned around to the old Squire and says, 'Send for Milly.'
"When we all heard that Milly'd been sent for, the first thing we
thought was, 'How on earth is Milly goin' to tell Richard all he's
got to know?' I never used to think we was anything over and above the
ordinary out in our neighborhood, but when I ricollect that Richard
Elrod come up from a boy to a man without knowin' who his father was,
it seems like we must 'a' known how to hold our tongues anyhow. There
wasn't man, woman, or child that ever hinted to Milly Baker's boy that
he wasn't like other children, and so it was natural for us to wonder
how Milly was goin' to tell him. Well, it wasn't any of our business,
and we never found out. All we ever did know was that Milly and
Richard walked over to the big house together, and Richard held his
head as high as ever.
"They said that Dick give a start when Milly come into the room. I
reckon he expected to see the same little girl he'd fooled twenty
years back, and when she come walkin' in it jest took him by surprise.
"'Why, Milly,' says he, 'is this you?'
"And he held out his hand, and she walked over to the bed and laid her
hand in his. Folks that was there say it was a strange sight for any
one that remembered what them two used to be. Her so gentle and
sweet-lookin', and him all wore out with bad livin' and wasted to a
shadder of what he used to be.
"I've seen the same thing, child, over and over again. Two people'll
start out together, and after a while they'll git separated, or,
maybe, they'll live together a lifetime, and when they git to the end
o' fifteen or twenty or twenty-five years, one'll be jest where he was
when they set out, and the other'll be 'way up and 'way on, and
they're jest nothin' but strangers after all. That's the way it was
with Milly and Dick. They'd been sweethearts, and there was the child;
but the father'd gone his way and the mother'd gone hers, and now
there was somethin' between 'em like that 'great gulf' the Bible tells
about. Well, they said Dick looked up at Milly like a hungry man looks
at bread, and at last he says:
"'I'm goin' to make an honest woman of you, Milly.'
"And Milly looked him in the eyes and said as gentle and easy as if
she'd been talkin' to a sick child: 'I've always been an honest woman,
Dick.'
"This kind o' took him back again, but he says, right earnest and
pitiful, 'I want to marry you, Milly; don't refuse me. I want to do
one decent thing before I die. I've come all the way from California
just for this. Surely you'll feel better if you are my lawful wife.'
"And they said Milly thought a minute and then she says: 'I don't
believe it makes any difference with me, Dick. I've been through the
worst, and I'm used to it. But if it'll make it any easier for you,
I'll marry you. And then there's my boy; maybe it will be better for
him.'
"'Where's the boy?' says Dick; 'I want to see him.'
"So Milly went and called Richard in. And as soon as Dick saw him he
raised up on his elbow, weak as he was, and hollered out so you could
hear him in the next room.
"'Why,' says he, 'it's myself! It's myself! Stand off there where I
can see you, boy! Why, you're the man I ought to have been and
couldn't be. These lyin' doctors,' says he, 'tell me that I haven't
got a day to live, but I'm goin' to live another lifetime in you!'
"And then he fell back, gaspin' for breath, and young Richard stood
there in the middle o' the floor with his arms folded and his face
lookin' like it was made of stone.
"As soon as Dick could speak, they said he pulled Milly down and
whispered something to her, and she went over to the chair where his
clothes was hangin' and felt in the pocket of the vest and got a
little pearl ring out. They said she shook like a leaf when she saw
it. And Dick says: 'I took it away from you, Milly, twenty years ago,
for fear you'd use it for evidence against me--scoundrel that I was;
and now I'm goin' to put it on your finger again, and the parson shall
marry us fair and square. I've got the license here under my pillow.'
And Milly leaned over and lifted him and propped him up with the
pillows, and the young parson said the ceremony over 'em, with Jane
Ann and the old Squire for witnesses.
"As soon as the parson got through, Dick says: 'Boy, won't you shake
hands with your father? I wouldn't ask you before.' But Richard never
stirred. And Milly got up and went to him and laid her hand on his arm
and says: 'My son, come and speak to your father.' And he walked up
and took Dick's pore wasted hand in his strong one, and the old Squire
set there and sobbed like a child. Jane Ann said he held on to
Richard's hand and looked at him for a long time, and then he reached
under the pillow and brought out a paper, and says he: 'It's my will;
open it after I'm gone. I've squandered a lot o' money out West, but
there's a plenty left, and that minin' stock'll make you a rich man.
It's all yours and your mother's. I wish it was more,' says he, 'for
you're a son that a king'd be proud of.'
"Them was about the last words he said. Dr. Pendleton said he wouldn't
live through the night, and sure enough he begun to sink as soon as
the young parson left, and he died the next mornin' about daybreak.
Jane Ann said jest before he died he opened his eyes and mumbled
somethin', and Milly seemed to know what he wanted, for she reached
over and put Richard's hand on hers and Dick's, and he breathed his
last jest that way.
"Milly wouldn't let a soul touch the corpse, but her and Richard. She
was a mighty good hand at layin' out the dead, and them two washed and
shrouded the body and laid it in the coffin, and the next day at the
funeral Milly walked on one side o' the old Squire and Richard on the
other, and the old man leaned on Richard like he'd found a prop for
his last days.
"I ain't much of a hand to believe in signs, but there was one thing
the day of the buryin' that I shall always ricollect. It had been
rainin' off and on all day,--a soft, misty sort o' rain that's good
for growin' things,--but while they were fillin' up the grave and
smoothin' it off, the sun broke out over in the west, and when we
turned around to leave the grave there was the brightest, prettiest
rainbow you ever saw; and when Milly and Richard got into the old
Squire's carriage and rode home with him, that rainbow was right in
front of 'em all the way home. It didn't mean much for Milly and the
Squire, but I couldn't help thinkin' it was a promise o' better things
for Richard, and maybe a hope for pore Dick.
"Milly didn't live long after this. They found her dead in her bed one
mornin'. The doctor said it was heart disease; but it's my belief that
she jest died because she thought she could do Richard a better turn
by dyin' than livin'. She'd lived for him twenty years and seen him
come into his rights, and I reckon she thought her work was done.
Dyin' for people is a heap easier'n livin' for 'em, anyhow.
"The old Squire didn't outlive Milly many years, and when he died
Richard come into all the Elrod property. You've seen the Elrod place,
ain't you, child? That white house with big pillars and porches in
front of it. It's three miles further on the pike, and folks'll drive
out there jest to look at it. I've heard 'em call it a 'colonial
mansion,' or some such name as that. It was all run down when Richard
come into possession of it, but now it's one o' the finest places in
the whole state. That's the way it is with families: one generation'll
tear down and another generation'll build up. Richard's buildin' up
all that his father tore down, and I'm in hopes his work'll last for
many a day."