The Mountain Girl

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  IN WHICH FRALE RETURNS TO THE MOUNTAINS

  Doctor Hoyle lingered until the last of the laurel bloom was gone, andthe widow had become so absorbed in her grandchild as to make theparting much easier. Then he took the small Adam and departed for theNorth. Never did the kind old man dream that his frail and twistedlittle namesake would one day be the pride of his life and the comfortof his declining years.

  "Hoyle sure do look a heap bettah'n when Doctah David took him off thatday. Hit did seem like I'd nevah see him again. Don't you guess 'at he'sbeginnin' to grow some? Seems like he do."

  The widow was seated on her little porch with the doctor, the eveningbefore they left, and Cassandra, who, since the birth of the heir, hadbeen living again in her own little cabin, had brought the baby down. Helay on his grandmother's lap quietly sleeping, while his mother gatheredHoyle's treasures, and packed his diminutive trunk. The boy followedher, chattering happily as she worked. She also had noticed the changein him, and suggested that perhaps, as he had gained such a start towardhealth, he need not return, but would do quite well at home.

  "He's a care to you, Doctor, although you're that kind and patient,--Idon't see how ever we can thank you enough for all you've done!" ThenHoyle, to their utter astonishment, threw himself on the ground at thedoctor's feet and burst into bitter weeping.

  "Why, son, are ye cryin' that-a-way so's you can get to go off an' leavemaw here 'lone?" But he continued to weep, and at last explained to themthat the "Lord done crooked him up that-a-way so't he could git to goan' learn to be a painter an' make a house full of pictures," and thatthe doctor had said he might. Doctor Hoyle lifted him to his knees withmany assurances that he would keep his word, but for a long time thechild sobbed hysterically, his face pressed against the old man'ssleeve.

  "What's that you sayin', child, 'bouts the Lord twistin' yer neck?Bettah lay sech as that to the devil, more'n likely."

  At the mention of that sinister individual, the babe wakened andstretched out his plump, bare arms, with little pink fists tightlyclosed. He yawned a prodigious yawn for so small a countenance, andgazed vacantly in his grandmother's face. Then a look of intelligencecrept into his eyes, and he smiled one of those sweet, evanescent smilesof infancy.

  "Look at him now, laughin' at me that-a-way. He be the peartest I evehdid see. Cass, she sure be mean not to tell his fathah 'at he have ason, she sure be."

  Cassandra came and tenderly took the babe in her arms and held him toher breast. "There, there. Sleep, honey son, sleep again," she cooed,swaying her body to the rhythm of her speech. "Sleep, honey son, sleepagain."

  "Don't you reckon she be mean to Doctah David, nevah to let on 'at hehave a son, and he a-growin' that fast? You a-doin' his fathah mean,Cassandry." Still Cassandra swayed and sang.

  "Sleep, honey son, sleep again."

  "He nevah will forgive you when he finds out how you have done him. Ican't make out what-all ails ye, nohow."

  "Hush, mother. I'm just leaving his heart in peace. He'll come when hecan, and then he'll forgive me."

  As the doctor walked slowly at her side that evening, carrying thesleeping child back to her cabin, he also ventured a remonstrance, butwithout avail.

  "It's hardly fair to his father--such a fine little chap. You--you havea monopoly of him this way, you know."

  She flushed at the implication of selfishness, but said nothing.

  "How--how is that? Don't you think so?" he persisted kindly.

  "I reckon you can't feel what I feel, Doctor. Why should I make hisheart troubled when he must stay there? David knows I hate it to bideso long without him. He--he knows. If he could get to come back, don'tyou guess he'd come right quick, anyway? Would he come any sooner forhis son than for me?" It was the doctor's turn for silence. She askedagain, this time with a tremor in her voice. "You reckon he would,Doctor?"

  "No! Of--of course not," he cried.

  "Then what would be the use of telling him, only to trouble him?"

  "He--he might like to think about him--you know--might like it."

  "He said he must go to Africa in May, so now he must have started--andour wedding was on May-day. Now it's the last of May; he must be there.He might be obliged to bide in that country a whole month--maybe two.It's so far away, and his letters take so long to come! Doctor, are theyfighting there now? Sometimes I wake in the night and think what if heshould die away off there in that far place--"

  "No, no. That's done. Not fighting, thank God. Rest your heart in peace.Now, after I'm gone, don't stay up here alone too much. I'm a physician,and I know what's best for you."

  She took the now soundly sleeping child from the doctor's arms and laidhim on the bed in the canvas room. The day had been warm, and the firewas out in the great fireplace; the evening wind, light and cool, ladenwith sweet odors, swept through the cabin.

  They talked late that night of Hoyle and his future, but never a wordmore of David. The old man thought he now understood her feeling, andrespected it. She certainly had a right to one small weakness, thisstrong fair creature of the hills. Her husband must release himself fromhis absorbing cares and return simply for love of her--not at the callof his baby's wail.

  So the doctor and his diminutive namesake drove contentedly away nextmorning in the great covered wagon, and Cassandra, standing by hermother's door, smiled and lifted her baby for one last embrace from hisloving little uncle.

  "I'm goin' to grow a big man, an' I'll teach him to make pictures--bigones," he called back.

  "Yas, you'll do a heap. You bettah watch out to be right good andpeart; that's what you bettah do."

  David, not unmindful of affairs on the far-away mountain side, made itquite worth the while of the two cousins to stay on with the widow andrun the small farm under Cassandra's directions, and she found herselffully occupied. She wrote David all the details: when and where thingswere planted--how the vines he had set on the hill slope weregrowing--how the pink rose he had brought from Hoke Belew's and plantedby their threshold had grown to the top of the door, and had three sweetblossoms. She had shaken the petals of one between the pages of herletter on May-day, and sent it to remind him, she said.

  Nearly a month later than he had intended to sail, David left England,overwhelmed with many small matters which seemed so great to his motherand sister, and burdened with duties imposed upon him by the realizationthat he had come into the possession of enormous wealth, more than hecould comprehendingly estimate; and that he was now setting out tosecure and prevent the loss of possibly double what he alreadypossessed.

  People gathered about him and presented him with worthy and unworthyopportunities for its disposal. They flocked to him in herds, withimportunities and flatteries. The tower which he had built up with hisideals, and in which he had intrenched himself, was in danger of beingundermined and toppled into ruins, burying his soul beneath the debris.When seated on the deck, the rose petals dropped into his hand as hetore open Cassandra's letter. Some, ere he could catch them, were caughtup and blown away into the sea.

  He held them and inhaled their sweetness, and everything seemed to findits true value and proportion and to fall into its right place. Again onthe mountain top, with Cassandra at his side, he viewed in a perspectiveof varying gradations his life, his aims, and his possessions.

  The personality of his young wife, of late a vague thing to him, distantand fair, and haloed about with sweet memories dimly discerned like adream that is past, presented itself to him all at once vivid and clear,as if he held her in his arms with her head on his breast.

  He heard again her voice with its quaint inflections and lingeringtones. Their love for each other loomed large, and became for him atonce the one truly vital thing in all his share of the universe. Had hisbody been endowed with the wings of his soul, he would have left all andgone to her; but, alas for the restrictions of matter! he was glidingrapidly away and away, farther from the immediate attainment. Yet washis tower strengthened wherein he h
ad intrenched himself with hisideals. The withered rose petals had brought him exaltation of purpose.

  In the mountains, July came with unusually sultry heat, yet the richpocket of soil, watered by its never failing stream, suffered littlefrom the drought. Weeds grew apace, and Cassandra had much ado to holdher cousin Cotton Caswell, easy-going and thriftless, to his task ofkeeping the small farm in order.

  For a long time now, Cassandra had avoided those moments of far-seeingand brooding. Had not David said he feared them for her? In these daysof waiting, she dreaded lest they show her something to which she wouldrather remain blind. In the evenings, looking over the hilltops from herrock, visions came to her out of the changing mists, but she put themfrom her and calmed her breast with the babe on her bosom, and solacedher longing by keeping all in readiness for David's return. Perhaps atany moment, with wind-lifted hair and buoyant smile, he might come upthe laurel path.

  For this reason she preferred living in her own cabin home, and, thatshe might not be alone at night, Martha Caswell or her brother slept ona cot in the large cabin room, but Cassandra cared little for theircompany. They might come or not as they chose. She was never afraid nowthat she was strong again and baby was well.

  One evening sitting thus, her babe lying asleep on her knees and herheart over the sea, something caused her to start from her revery andlook away from the blue distance, toward the cabin. There, a few pacesaway, regarding her intently, stalwart and dark, handsome and eager,stood Frale. Much older he seemed, more reckless he appeared, yet stilla youth in his undisciplined impulse. She sat pale as death, unable tomove, in breathless amazement.

  He smiled upon her out of the gathering dusk. For some minutes he hadbeen regarding her, and the tumult within him had become riotous withlong restraint. He came swiftly forward and, ere she could turn herhead, his arms were about her, and his lips upon hers, and she feltherself pinioned in her chair--nor, for guarding her baby unhurt by hisvehemence, could she use her hands to hold him from her; nor for thesuffocating beating of her heart could she cry out; neither would hercry have availed, for there were none near to hear her.

  "Stop, Frale! I am not yours; stop, Frale," she implored.

  "Yas, you are mine," he said, in his low drawl, lifting his head to gazein her face. "You gin me your promise. That doctah man, he done gone an'lef' you all alone, and he ain't nevah goin' to come back to these heremountins."

  She snatched her hands from the child on her knees, and, with suddenmovement, pushed him violently; but he only held her closer, and it wasas if she struggled against muscles of iron.

  "Naw, you don't! I have you now, an' I won't nevah leave you go again."He had not been drinking, yet he was like one drunken, so long had hebrooded and waited.

  Rapidly she tried to think how she might gain control over him, when,wakened by the struggle, the babe wailed out and he started to his feet,his hands clutching into his hair as if he were struck with sudden fear.He had not noticed or given heed to what lay upon her knees, and the crypenetrated his heart like a knife.

  A child! His child--that doctor's child? He hated the thought of it, andthe old impulse to strike down anything or any creature that stood inhis way seized him--the impulse that, unchecked, had made him amurderer. He could kill, kill! Cassandra gathered the little body to herheart and, standing still before him, looked into his eyes.Instinctively she knew that only calmness and faith in his right actionwould give her the mastery now, and with a prayer in her heart she spokequietly.

  "How came you here, Frale? You wrote mother you'd gone to Texas." Hisfigure relaxed, and his arms dropped, but still he bent forward andgazed eagerly into her eyes.

  "I come back when I heered he war gone. I come back right soon. CateIrwin's wife writ me 'at he war gone; an' now she done tol' me he ain'tnevah goin' to come back to these here mountins. Ev'ybody on themountins knows that. He jes' have fooled you-all that-a-way, makin' outto marry you whilst he war in bed, like he couldn' stand on his feet,an' then gittin' up an' goin' off this-a-way, an' bidin' nigh on to ayear. We don't 'low our women to be done that-a-way, like they war porewhite trash. I come back fer you like I promised, an' you done gin meyour promise, too. I reckon you won't go back on that now." He steppednearer, and she clasped the babe closer, but did not flinch.

  "Yes, Frale, you promised, and I--I--promised--to save you fromyourself--to be a good man; but you broke yours. You didn't repent, andyou went on drinking, and--then you tried to kill an innocent man whenhe was alone and unarmed; like a coward you shot him. I called back mywords from God; I gave them to the man I loved--promise for promise,Frale."

  "Yas, and curse for curse. You cursed me, Cass." He made one more stepforward, but she stood her ground and lifted one hand above her head,the gesture he so well remembered.

  "Keep back, Frale. I did not curse you. I let you go free, and no onefollowed you. Go back--farther--farther--or I will do it now-- Oh,God--" He cowered, his arm before his eyes, and moved backward.

  "Don't, Cass," he cried. For a moment she stood regally before him, herbabe resting easily in the hollow of her arm. Then she slowly loweredher hand and spoke again, in quiet, distinct tones.

  "Now, for that lie they have told you, I am going to my husband. I startto-morrow. He has sent me money to come to him. You tell that word allup and down the mountain side, wherever there bides one to hear."

  She lifted her baby, pressing his little face to her cheek, and turning,walked slowly toward her cabin door.

  "Cass," he called.

  She paused. "Well, Frale?"

  "Cass, you hev cursed me."

  "No, Frale, it is the curse of Cain that rests on your soul. Youbrought it on you by your own hand. If you will live right and repent,Christ will take it off."

  "Will you ask him for me, Cass? I sure hev lost you now--forever, Cass!"

  "Yes, Frale. I'll ask him to cover up all this year out of your life. Ithas been full of mad badness. Be like you used to be, Frale, and leaveoff thinking on me this way. It is sin. Go marry somebody who can loveyou and care for you like you need, and come back here and do for motherlike you used to. Giles Teasley can't pester you. He's half dead withhis badness--drinking his own liquor."

  She came to him, and, taking his hand, led him toward the laurel path."Go down to mother now, Frale, and have supper and sleep in your ownbed, like no evil had ever come into your neart," she pleaded. "The goodis in you, Frale. God sees it, and I see it. Heed to me, Frale.Good-night."

  Slowly, with bent head, he walked away.

  Trembling, Cassandra laid her baby in the cradle Hoke Belew had madeher, and, kneeling beside the rude little bed, she bowed her head overit and wept scalding, bitter tears. She felt herself shamed before thewhole mountain side. Oh, why--why need David have left her so long--solong! The first reproach against him entered her heart, and at the sametime she reasoned with herself.

  He could not help it--surely he could not. He was good and true, andthey should all know it if she had to lie for it. When she had sobbedherself into a measure of calmness, she heard a step cross the cabinfloor. Quickly drying her tears, she rose and stood in the doorway ofthe canvas room, with dilated eyes and indrawn breath, peering into' thedusk, barring the way. It was only her mother.

  "Why, mothah!" she cried, relieved and overjoyed.

  "Have you seen Frale?"

  "Yes, mothah. He was here. Sit down and get your breath. You haveclimbed too fast."

  Her mother dropped into a chair and placed a small bundle on the tableat her side.

  "What-all is this Frale say you have told him? Have David writ fer youlike Frale say? What-all have Frale been up to now? He come downcreepin' like he a half-dade man--that soft an' quiet."

  "I'm going to David, mother. You know he sent me money to use any way Ichoose, and I'm going." She caught her breath and faltered.

  The mother rose and took her in her arms, and, drawing her head down toher wrinkled cheek, patted her softly.

  "Thar, honey, thar.
I reckon your ol' maw knows a heap more'n you think.You keep mighty still, but you can't fool her."

  Cassandra drew herself together. "Why didn't Martha come up thisevening?"

  "She war makin' ready, in her triflin' slow way, an' then Frale comedown an' said that word, an' I knew right quick 'at ther war somethin'behind--his way war that quare--so I told Marthy to set him out a goodsuppah, an' I'd stop up here myself this night. She war right glad to dohit. Fool, she be! I could see how she went plumb silly ovah Frale allto onc't."

  "Mothah, you know right well what they're saying about David and me. Isit true, that word Frale said, that everyone says he nevah will comeback?" The mother was silent. "That's all right, mothah. We'll pack upto-night, and I'll go down to Farington to-morrow. Mrs. Towahs will helpme to start right."

  She lighted candles and began to lay out her baby's wardrobe. "I haven'tanything to put these in, but I can carry everything I need down therein baskets, and she will help me. They've always been that good tome--all my life."

  "Cass, Cass, don't go," wailed her mother. "I'm afraid somethin'llhappen you if you go that far away. If you could leave baby with me,Cass! Give hit up. Be ye 'feared o' Frale, honey?"

  "No, mother, the man doesn't live that I'm afraid of." She paused,holding the candle in her hand, lighting her face that shone whitely outof the darkness. Her eyes glowed, and she held her head high. Then sheturned again to her work, gathering her few small treasures and placingthem on one of the highest shelves of the chimney cupboard. As sheworked, she tried to say comforting things to her mother.

  "I'll write to you every day, like David does me, mother. See? I'vekept all his letters. They're in this box. I don't want to burn thembecause I love them; and I don't want any one else to read them; and Idon't want to carry them with me because I'll have him there. Will youlock them in your box, mother, and if anything happens to me, will yousure--sure burn them?" She laid them on the table at her mother's elbow."You promise, mothah?"

  "Yas, Cass, yas."

  "What's in that bundle, mothah?"

  With trembling fingers the widow opened her parcel and displayed thesilver teapot, from which the spout had been melted to be moulded intosilver bullets.

  "Thar," she said, holding it out by the handle, "hit's yourn. Farwell,he done that one day whilst I war gone, an' the last bullet war the oneFrale used when he nigh killed your man. No, I reckon you nevah did seehit before, fer I've kept hit hid good. I knowed ther were somethin' tocome outen hit some day. Hit do show your fathah come from some finehigh fambly somewhar. I done showed hit to Doctah David, fer I 'lowed hemount know was hit wuth anything, but he seemed to set more by them twoleetle books. He has them books yet, I reckon."

  "Yes, he has them."

  "When Frale told me you war a-goin' to David, I guessed 'at thar warsomethin' 'at I'd ought to know, an' I clum up here right quick, fer ifhe war a-lyin', I meant to find out the reason why." She looked keenlyin her daughter's face, which remained passive under the scrutiny.

  "Has Frale been a-pesterin' you?"

  "He did--some--at first; but I sent him away."

  "I reckoned so. Now heark. You tell me straight, did David send fer ye,er didn't he?"

  In silence Cassandra turned to her work, until it seemed as if the roomwere filled with the suspense of the unanswered question. Then she triedevasion.

  "Why do you ask in that way, mothah?"

  "Because if he sont fer ye, I'll help ye all I can; but if he didn't,I'll hinder ye, and ye'll bide right whar ye be."

  "You won't do that, mothah."

  "I sure will. If David haven't sont fer ye, an' ye go, ye'll have towalk ovah me to get thar, hear?"

  The mother's voice was raised to a higher pitch than was her wont, andthe little silver pot shook in her hand. Cassandra took it and regardedit without interest, absorbed in other thoughts. Then, throwing off herabstraction, she began questioning her mother about it, and why she hadbrought it to her now. The widow told all she knew, as she had toldDavid, and pointed out the half obliterated coat of arms on the side.

  "I've heered your paw say 'at ther war more pieces'n this, oncet, butthis'n come straight to him from his grandpaw, an' now hit's yourn. Ifhe have sont fer ye, take hit with ye. Hit may be wuth more'n you thinkfer now. I been told they do think a heap o' fambly ovah thar, jest likewe do here in the mounting. Leastways, hit's all we do have--some of us.My fambly war all good stock, capable and peart; an' now heark to me.Wharevah you go, just you hold your hade up. The' hain't nothin' moredespisable than a body 'at goes meachin' around like some oldsheep-stealin' houn' dog. Now if he sure 'nough have sont fer ye, go,an' I'll help ye, but if he haven't, bide whar ye be."

  Cassandra drew in her breath sharply, no longer able to evade thequestion, with her mother's keen eyes searching her face. All herreasons for going flashed through her mind in a moment's space of time.The book she had been reading--what were English people really like? AndDavid--her David--her boy's father--what shameful things were theysaying of him all over the mountain that Frale should dare come to heras he had done? She could not stay now; she would not. Her cheeksflamed, and she walked silently into the canvas room and stood by herbaby's cradle. Her mother began wrapping up the silver pot.

  "I guess I'll take this back an' lock hit up again. You sure hain't togo if ye can't give me that word."

  Cassandra went quickly and took it from her mother's hand. "No, mother,give it to me. I told Frale David had sent for me, and I'm going."

  "And he have sont fer ye?"

  "Yes, mothah." Her reply was low as she turned again to her work.

  "Waal, now, why couldn't you have give me that word first off? Hit's hisright to have ye, an' I'll he'p ye. You'd ought to go to him if he can'tcome to you."

  Instantly up and alert, putting bravely aside her own feelings at thethought of parting, the mother began helping her daughter; but longafter they were finished and settled for the night, she lay wakeful anddreading the coming day.

  Cassandra slept less, and lay quietly thinking, sorrowful that she mustleave her home, and not a little anxious over what might be her futureand what might be her fate in that strange land.

  When at last she slept, she dreamed of the people she had met in _VanityFair_, with David strangely mixed up among them, and Frale ever alertand watchful, moving wherever she moved, silently lingering near andnever taking his eyes from her face.

  In the morning, mother and daughter were up betimes, but no word wasspoken between them to betoken hesitation or fear. Cassandra walked in asort of dumb wonder at herself, and smouldering deep beneath the surfacewas a fierce resentment against those who, having known her fromchildhood, and receiving many favors and kindnesses from her, should nowpresume to so speak against her husband as to make Frale dare toapproach her as he had. Oh, the burning shame of those kisses! The shameof the thought against David that pervaded her beloved mountains! Forthe sake of his good name, she would put away her pride and go to him.