VII
A MORNING IN CEDAR HOUSE
It was almost morning when the boy and William Pressley reached home.David did not go to bed, but set out at the first glimmer of dawn to dothe judge's bidding, calling the black men to go with him, since therewas no great glory to be won by going alone in the daylight. There wastime for a little rest after coming back, and it was still very earlywhen he arose from his bed and began to get ready for breakfast.
He looked from his cabin window at the river which always drew hiswaking gaze. It was sparkling like a stream of liquid diamonds under theflood of sunlight pouring over the dazzled earth. The fringing rushesrippled as gently as the water under the snowy breasts of many swans.The trees along the shore were freshly green and newly alive with thecolor and chatter of the paroquets. Looking and listening, he thoughtwhat a poetic notion it was that these vivid birds should carry the seedpearls of the mistletoe from one mighty oak to another, bearing the tinytreasures in the wax on their feet.
Far up the wide, shining river a great, heavy-laden barge was glidingswiftly down. Its worn and clumsy sail seemed as white and graceful asthe wings of the swans in the sun. Its dull and tangled coils ofcordelles caught an unwonted charm from the sunbeams. Its merry crew wassinging a song, which came gayly over the flashing water:--
"Hi-ho, the boatmen row, The Kentuck boys and the O-hi-o. Dance, the boatmen, dance, Dance, the boatmen, dance; Dance all night till broad daylight, And go home with the gals in the mornin'."
Watching the barge pass out of sight beneath the overhanging trees,David turned to see a small dark object, leading two long verging linesof silvery ripples across the glittering current. This cleft the waternear the Shawnee Crossing, and might, not long before, have been theplumed head of a warrior wanting his canoe. But since the warriors wereall gone so strangely and suddenly, this brown speck now crossing theriver must have been the antlered head of a deer swimming to the otherside, thus giving the hunters warning that these green hills would soonbe white with snow. If so, there was no other sign of nearing winter.The sombre forest stretching away from the opposite shore had not yetbeen brightened by a touch of frost. The leaves on the near-by trees,the great oaks and elms and poplars standing around Cedar House, werethinning only through ripeness, and drifting very slowly down to thegreen and growing grass. On the tall maples perfection alone had culledthe foliage, so wreathing the bronze boughs with rarer garlands offretted gold.
No dread of wintry storms had yet driven away any of the birds that Ruthfed every day on the sill of her chamber window. They were all there asusual--the whole feathered colony--as if they wished to be polite, eventhough they were not hungry on that sunny morning. The little ones, tobe sure, pecked a crumb now and then with a languid indifference. Theblue jays--as usual--were brazen in their ingratitude for any dole ofcommonplace crumbs, while spicy seeds were still strewn by every scentedbreeze. But shy and bold alike, they all flocked around Ruth's window,and sat on the sill within reach of her hand, and cocked their prettyheads as if it were feast enough only to look at her.
She had already been downstairs to fetch the birds' breakfast, and hadgone into the garden where the sweetest and reddest roses of all theyear were still blooming. She held a big bunch of them in her hand asshe stood at the open window and waved it at David in a morninggreeting, when she saw him crossing the yard. She came down the broadstairs as he entered the great room, and she was wearing a fresh whitefrock and her arms were full of the fragrant red roses.
The rest of the family were already in the room, and the table was laidfor breakfast. Ruth greeted each one with a smile, but she did notspeak, and began to move quietly about the table, giving those daintylittle finishing touches which no true woman ever leaves to a servant.She put some of the roses in a vase, and rearranged this and that,moving lightly and softly about. Her footsteps were as soundless as thefall of tender leaves, and her garments made no more rustle than theunfolding of a flower. She threw one of the red roses at David, andwafted the judge a kiss. Once or twice she turned to speak to William,but forthwith smilingly gave up all thought of it for the time being.
There never was any use in anybody's trying to speak while Miss Penelopewas in the height of the excitement of making the morning coffee. Anopportunity for a word might possibly occur during the making of thecoffee for dinner or supper. Miss Penelope did not consider thisfunction quite so solemn a ceremony at dinner or supper time. Sometimes,at rare intervals, she had been known to allow the coffee for dinner orsupper to be made by the cook in the kitchen. But the making of thebreakfast coffee was a very different and far more imposing ceremonial.This must always be performed in the presence of the, entire assembledhousehold, by her own hand, on the wide hearth in the great room ofCedar House. To have permitted the cook to make the morning coffee inthe kitchen, would have been in Miss Penelope's eyes, to relegate asacred rite to profane hands in an unconsecrated place. Her own makingof the morning coffee had indeed much of the solemnity of a religiousceremony--or would have had, if those who looked on, had been unable tohear, or even slightly dull of hearing. For the sound of Miss Penelope'svoice was charming when the listener could not hear what it said. Andher dulcet tone always ran through the whole performance like the faint,sweet echo of distant music. But when the listener's ears were keen, andhe could hear the things that this kind, caressing voice was saying, thethreats that it was uttering!--They were alarming enough to curdle theblood of the little cup-bearers, black, brown, and yellow, who alwaysflew like shuttles back and forth between the big house and the distantkitchen while Miss Penelope was making the breakfast coffee. It requiredmuch flying of small dusky legs, to and fro, before the cold water wascold enough, the hot water hot enough, and the fresh egg fresh enough,to satisfy Miss Penelope that the coffee would be all that it should be.
On this particular morning the usual excitement had reached its crisisas Ruth came down the stairs. There was usually a slight lull when thefirst slender and almost invisible column of steam arose from the longspout of the coffee-pot. That was the most critical moment, and it nowbeing safely past, Miss Penelope hastily sent away all the cup-bearersin a body. But she still hovered anxiously over the pot, gravelyconsidering how many minutes longer it should rest on its trivet overthe glowing coals. Hers was a quaint little figure. She wore a queerlittle black dress, very short and narrow, made after some peculiarfashion of her own, and over it a queerer little cape of the same stuff.Her cap on the other hand was singularly large and white, and the rufflearound her face was very wide and very stiff. The snapping black eyesunder the ruffle were never still, and the clawlike little hands werenever at rest. David in his idle way used to wonder what she worriedabout and fidgeted over in her sleep. But it was hard to think of herasleep; it would have been easier to fancy a sleeping weasel.Nevertheless the boy liked Miss Penelope. Ruth and he had learned whilethey were little children, that there was no unkindness in the snappingof her sharp little black eyes, and that the terrible things she saidwere as harmless as heat lightning. Even the little cup-bearers, black,brown, and yellow, all knew how kind-hearted she was, and did not mindin the least the most appalling threats uttered by her sweet, softvoice. She always gave them something before she sent them flying backto the cabins. Everybody liked her better than the widow Broadnax whonever scolded or meddled and indeed, rarely spoke at all to any one uponany subject. For the household had long since come to understand thatthis lady, like many another of her kind, was silent mainly because shehad nothing to say; and that she never found fault, simply because shedid not care. Indifference like hers often passes for amiability; andthat sort of motionless silence conceals a vacuum quite as often as itcovers a deep. Only one thing ever fully aroused the widow Broadnax; andthis was to see her half-sister taking authority in her own brother'shouse. And indeed, that were enough to rouse the veriest mollusk of awoman. In the case of the widow Broadnax this natural feeling was not atall affected by the fact that she was too indolent to make the
exertionto claim and fill her rightful place as mistress of the house. It didnot matter in the least that she lay and slept like a sloth while poorlittle Miss Penelope was up and working like a beaver. No woman's claimsever have anything to do with her deserts; perhaps no man's ever haveeither; perhaps all who claim most deserve least. At all events, it wasperfectly natural that the widow Broadnax should feel as truly anddeeply aggrieved at her half-sister's ruling her own brother's house, asif she, herself, had been the most energetic and capable ofhousekeepers.
On that morning her dull eyes kept an unwavering, unwinking watch overthe coffee making; as they always did over every encroachment upon herrights. Her heavy eyelids were only partially lifted, yet not a movementof Miss Penelope's restless little body, not a gesture of her nervouslittle hands was allowed to escape. Now that the coffee was nearlyready, Miss Penelope had become rather more composed. She still stoodguard over the coffee-pot; she never left it till she carried it to thetable with her own hands, but she was lapsing into a sort of spentsilence. She merely sighed at intervals with the contented wearinessthat comes from a sense of duty well done. But her half-sister stilleyed her as a fat, motionless spider eyes a buzzing little fly which isceasing to flutter. Miss Penelope had not observed a large pewter cupresting on the floor near the widow Broadnax's chair. It had been leftthere by a careless servant, who had used a portion of the mixture ofred paint and sour buttermilk with which it was filled, to give the widehearth its fine daily gloss. Miss Penelope had not observed it becauseshe was always oblivious to everything else while hanging over thecoffee-pot. The widow Broadnax had seen the cup at once because it wasslightly in the way of her foot; and she was quick enough to notice theleast discomfort. But she had not immediately perceived the longed-foropportunity which it gave her. That came like an inspiration a fewmoments later, when Miss Penelope was off guard for an instant. Her backwas turned only long enough for her to go to the table and see if thetray was ready for the coffee-pot, but the widow Broadnax found thisplenty of time. With a quickness truly surprising in one of her habitualslowness, she swooped down and seized the cup of buttermilk and paint.In a flash she lifted the lid of the coffee-pot, poured the contents ofthe cup in the coffee, set the empty cup down in its place, and was backagain, resting among the cushions as if she had never stirred, when poorlittle Miss Penelope, all unsuspecting, returned to her post.
"You really must get up, Sister Molly," that lady said resolutely,renewing an altercation. "I hid the pantry keys under your chaircushions at supper, last night. That's always the safest place. But Iforgot to take them out before you sat down. And you must get up--thereisn't enough sugar for the coffee."
"Let me," said Ruth, coming forward with a smile, in her pretty, coaxingway.
When the antagonism between the sisters broke into open hostility, itwas nearly always she who managed to soothe them and restore a temporarysemblance of peace--for beyond that no mortal power could go. She nowprevailed upon the widow Broadnax to rise with her assistance, thussecuring the keys, and when that lady was once on her feet she waseasier to move, so that Ruth now led her to her place at the breakfasttable without further trouble. There was, however, always more or lesstrouble about the place itself. It was but woman nature to feel it to bevery hard for a whole sister to sit at the side of the table while ahalf sister sat at its head. The judge always did what he could to spareher feelings, and Miss Penelope's at the same time. He was a bachelor,and held women in the half-gallant, half-humorous regard which sets thebachelor apart from the married man, and places him at a disadvantagewhich he is commonly unaware of. The judge thought he understood thedistinctively feminine weaknesses particularly well, and that he madeuncommonly large allowance for them, as the bachelor always thinks andnever does. And then when the quarrel reached a crisis, and he wasentirely at the end of his resources for keeping the peace, he couldalways threaten to take to the woods, and that usually brought a shorttruce.
"Ruth, my dear, what's all this about some stranger's bringing you homelast night?" he inquired, taking his seat at the foot of the table."Where were you, William? and what were you doing? You shouldn't havetaken Ruth to such a place, or anywhere, if you couldn't take care ofher," with unusual severity.
Ruth sprang to William's defence. She said that it was not his fault.They were separated by the crowd. He had done his best, and all that anyone could have done.
"I made William take me. He didn't want to do it. And I am not sorrythat I went, although I was so much frightened at the time. Withoutseeing it, no one can ever know what this strange and awful thing islike. No description can possibly describe it," she said, with darkeningeyes and rising color.
"A most shocking and improper scene," said William Pressley, as one whoweighs his words. "A most shocking and improper scene."
Ruth looked at him wonderingly.
"Shocking--improper!" she faltered, perplexedly. "What a strange way tothink of it. To me it was a great, grave, terrible spectacle. The awe ofit overwhelmed me, alarmed as I was. Why, it was like seeing the Souluniversal--bared and quivering."
William Pressley said nothing more. He never discussed anything. Once hehad spoken, the subject seemed to him finally disposed of.
"Great Grief!" cried Miss Penelope in the blankest amazement and thegreatest dismay. "For the land's sake!"
As the faithful high-priestess of the coffee-pot she was always thefirst to taste her own brew. She now set her cup down hastily. Her red,wrinkled little face was a study. The widow Broadnax, whose cup wasuntouched, sat silent and impassive as usual, regarding her with thesame dull, half-open, unwinking gaze.
"What under the sun!" gasped Miss Penelope, still more and more amazedand dismayed, and growing angry as she rallied from the shock.
"Come, come!--if I can't eat breakfast in peace, I'll take to the woods.What's the matter?" exclaimed the judge. "Didn't you get the coffee madeto suit you, after all that rumpus? Isn't it good?"
"Good!" shrieked Miss Penelope. "It's poisoned, I do believe! Don'tdrink it, any of you, if you value your lives!"
"Oh, nonsense!" said the judge. "You are too hard to please, SisterPenelope. And you spoil the rest of us, making the coffee yourself.Never mind--never mind!"
He took a sip and made a wry face, but he hardly ever knew what he waseating, and pushing the cup back, forgot all about it. He was moreinterested in Ruth's account of the meeting, and asked many questionsabout her ride home.
"This young doctor must be a fine fellow," he said. "I have been hearinga good deal about him from Father Orin. They are already great friends,it seems. They meet often among the poor and the sick, and worktogether. I hope, my dear, that you thought to ask him to call. Youremembered, didn't you, to tell him that the latch-string of Cedar Housealways hangs on the outside? I want to thank him and then I should liketo know such a man. He is an addition to the community."
"Oh, yes, I thought of that, of course," said Ruth, simply. "I told himI knew you and William would like to thank him. He is coming to-day. Ihope, uncle Robert, that you will be here when he does come."
"I shall be here to thank him," said William. "Uncle need take notrouble in the matter. I will do all that is necessary."
A woman must be deeply in love before she likes to hear the note ofownership in a man's voice when speaking of herself. Ruth was not at allin love--in that way--although she did not yet know that she was not.The delicate roses of her cheeks deepened suddenly to the tint of therich red ones which she held again in her hands. Her blue eyes darkenedwith revolt, and she gave William a clear, level look, throwing up herhead. Then her soft heart smote her, and her gentle spirit reproachedher. She believed William Pressley to be a good man, and she was everready to feel herself in the wrong. She got up in a timid flurry andwent to the door and stood a moment looking out at the sun-lit river.Presently she quietly returned, and shyly pausing behind William'schair, rested her hand on the back of it. There was a timid apology inthe gesture. She was thinking only of her own sho
rtcomings. Had she beencritical of him or even observant, she would have seen that there wassomething peculiarly characteristic in the very way that he handled hisknife and fork; a curious, satisfied self-consciousness in the verylift of his wrists which seemed to say that this, and no other, was thecorrect manner of eating, and that he disapproved of everybody else'smanner. But she saw nothing of the kind, for hers was not the pooraffection that stands ever ready to pick flaws. He did not know that shewas near him until the judge spoke to her; and then he sprang to hisfeet at once. He was much too fine a gentleman to keep his seat whileany lady stood. Ruth smilingly motioned him back to his chair, and goinground the table, leant over the judge's shoulder. He had been examininga packet of legal papers, and he laid a yellow document before her,spreading it out on the table-cloth.
"You were asking the other day about the buffalo--when they were here,and so on. Now, listen to this old note of hand, dated the fifteenth ofOctober, seventeen hundred and ninety-two, just nineteen years ago. Hereit is: 'For value Rec'd, I promise to pay Peter Wilson or his Agent,twenty pounds worth of good market Buffalo Beef free from Boone, to bedelivered at Red Banks on the Ohio River, or at aney other place that heor his shall salt beef on the banks of said river, and aney time in theensuing fawl before this fawl's hunting is over.' There now, my dear!That would seem to prove that there were plenty of buffalo hereaboutsnot long ago. A hundred dollars in English gold must have bought alarge amount of wild meat. If this meant Virginia pounds it was still agreat deal. And the hunter who drew this note must have known how he wasgoing to pay it."
"Rachel Robards says there were lots of buffalo when she came," saidMiss Penelope, who was gradually recovering from the shock of tastingthe coffee, and now prudently thought best to say no more about thematter. "I always call her Rachel Robards, because I knew her so well bythat name. I am not a-disputing her marriage with General Jackson. Ifshe wasn't married to him when she first thought she was, she is now,hard and fast enough. I have got nothing to say about that one way oranother. As a single woman, it don't become me to be a-talking aboutsuch matters. But married or not married, I have always stood up forRachel Robards. Lewis Robards would have picked a fuss with the AngelGabriel, let alone a fire-eater like Andrew Jackson. Give the devil hisdue. But all the same, if Andrew Jackson does try to chastise PeterCartwright for what he said last night, there's a-going to be trouble.Now mark my word! I know as well, and better than any of you, that Peteris only a boy. Many's the time that I've seen his mother take off herslipper and turn him across her lap. And she never hit him a lick amiss,either. But that's neither here nor there. His being young don't keep mefrom seeing that he has surely got the Gift. It don't make anydifference that he hasn't cut his wisdom teeth, as they say. What if hehasn't?" demanded Miss Penelope, with the most singular contrast betweenher mild tone and her fierce words. "What has the cutting of wisdomteeth got to do with preaching, when the preacher has been given theGift!"
So speaking, she suddenly started up from the table with an exclamationof surprise, and ran to the open door.
"Peter! Oh, Peter Cartwright!" she called. "Wait--stop a minute. Tothink of your going by right at the very minute that we were a-talkingabout you!"
She went out under the trees where the square-built, stern-faced,swarthy young preacher had brought his horse to a standstill.
"Now, Peter, you surely ain't a-going up to the court-house to seeAndrew Jackson," she said in sudden alarm.
"No, no, not now," said Peter, hurriedly. "I am riding fast to keep anappointment to preach on the other side of the river."
"But you can stop long enough to eat breakfast. I lay you haven't had abite this blessed day."
Peter shook his head, gathering up the reins.
"And ten to one that you haven't got a cent of money!" Miss Penelopeaccused him.
Peter's grim young face relaxed in a faint smile. He put his hand in hispocket and drew out two small pieces of silver.
"Ah, ha, I knew it!" exulted Miss Penelope. "Now do wait just oneminute till I run in the house and get you some money."
"No, no, there isn't time. I'll miss my appointment to preach. I willget along somehow. Thank you--good-by."
Miss Penelope, reaching up, seized the bridle-reins and held on by mainforce with one hand while she rummaged in her out pocket with the other.
"There!--here are three bits--every cent I've got with me," she saidindignantly, shoving it in his hand. "Well, Peter Cartwright, if yourmother could know--"
But the young backwoodsman, whose fame was already filling thewilderness, and was to fill the whole Christian world, now pressed onriding fast, and was soon beyond her kind scolding.
"Well, 'pon my word! Did anybody ever see the like of that!" she cried,seeing that Ruth had followed her to the door. "That boy don't know halfthe time whether he has had anything to eat or not. And it's justexactly the same to him when he's got money and when he hasn't."
The girl did not hear what Miss Penelope said. Her heart was responding,as it always did, to everything great or heroic, and she looked afterthis boy preacher with newly opened eyes. She suddenly saw as by a flashof white light, that he and the other pioneer men of God--thesesoldiers of the cross who were bearing it through the tracklesswilderness--were of the greatest. Her dim eyes followed the youngman--this brave bearer of the awful burden of the divinemission--watching him press on to the river. She thought of the manyrivers that he must swim, the forests that he must thread, the savagesthat he must contend against, the wild beasts that he must conquer, theplague that he must defy, the shelterless nights that he must sleepunder the trees--freezing, starving, struggling through winter's coldand summer's heat, and all for the love of God and the good of mankind.