3stalwarts (127 page)

Angy nodded soberly.

“It’s a comforten thing,” she agreed. “Maybe Jerry ain’t got one with him. Seems as how he couldn’t have.” And suddenly the two giggled. They looked sidelong at Mary, and then exchanged glances. “Would you like for to be married with your mother’s ring?”

Mary suddenly shook her head.

“Don’t give it to Jerry!”

“Why not?”

“A man marries a girl with his own mother’s ring, maybe. But he don’t wed her with a ring she gives him,” said Angy.

“But this one’s gold!” cried Esther. “Think of being wedded with a gold ring!”

Mary hardly heard them. It was stuffy under the wagon hood; and the space was crowded. All the back end was piled high with household things: spinning wheels, the large for wool, the small for flax; a heavy bedstead; a trammel and a stack of pots; a chest strong with sage that might be housing linens; another chest, mouse-proof, for seeds; a dasher churn— these and many other things Mary could identify in the close-packed space. There was just enough room left for the feather tick; and standing room behind the seat.

Angy was peeking round the flaps.

“The sun sets low,” she said. “George is back again. Him and Joe are bringing up some fence rails for the fire. Ma’s a-baking and a-bending round the fire. Abijah’s getting out the likker keg. Men will need likker for a celebration, always.”

“Where’s Jerry? I do notion to see a man’s face afore he’s wedded. I mind peeking down the loft stair at Abel. He was setting there and saying yes and no and feeling of his hands. He’s got powerful big hands. I mind me how I skittered looking down on them-there hands of hisn.”

“You was shameless and hussyfied a girl as ever was wedded,” said her sister dryly. “Reckon you was wedded just about in time.”

Esther tossed her head and giggled.

“Some wedding women thinks of other things,” said Angy, pursing her mouth. And she nodded at Mary.

“Where’s Mr. Atterbury?” demanded Esther, craning past her sister.

“He went down by the river, by himself alone.”

“My! Supposing he was to fall in? Supposing the water caught and drowned him? An awful thing!”

“It isn’t you that has to fear, praised be!”

“There’s a little boy coming up along the fence. Staring his eyes to see all! What’s fetching him this way?”

“He’s a funny-looking little boy, ain’t he?”

“Maybe he’s the farmer’s boy.”

“Look, he’s clomb the fence. He’s carrying in his hand. What’s he carrying, Esther?”

“He’s got a string of fish. Lordy, ain’t they large ones? I wonder do the fish grow bigger out this westward.”

“He’s handing them to Ma. Shush you, Esther. Leave us listen.”

Ma Halleck got to her feet laboriously.

“Hello, young mister.”

“Hello,” said the towheaded boy, examining her out of staring blue eyes.

“Them are handsome fish you’ve got.”

“Pa said I was to fetch them for the wedding.”

“My! Ain’t they handsome? Look, Joe, did you ever see such trout?”

“No. I’d like to catch some. Did you fish them, son?”

“Yeanh.” The boy placed one bare foot over the other and rocked himself. He put his hands in his pockets and looked scornful. “I fished them this afternoon. I know where they rest. I ain’t telling, though.”

“Were they all so big?” asked Ma.

“No. But Pa said I was to fetch the biggest. But I kept out the very biggest, though. And then there was a monster trout that got away.”

“He must have been a mammoth fish, judging by these here.”

“Well, I guess that’s likely.”

“Tell your pa my thanks. And thank you, too.”

“It’s all right. I get them all the while. Bigger’n them. Are you the wedded lady?”

“No. Do you want to see the lady that is wedded? You can stay if you do.”

“No, I ain’t got time for weddens.”

“Do you like maple sugar?”

“I don’t mind eating of it.”

Ma Halleck giggled as she gave him a chunk. He bit off some, and chewed it, and looked up.

“Thanks.”

Staring right and left, he walked slowly back to the fence. He paused astride the top rail and bit off another mouthful. “It’s pretty good sugar,” he called, and then ducked down for home.

“My, ain’t they daisies, though? Look at the red in them!” Ma Halleck held the trout up. “I’ll wrap them in corn and fry them fresh. They’ll just make our edibles complete.”

And she bent over vigorously… .

“I can see the Reverend acrosst the meadowland,” said Esther. “It’s time you was dressing, Mary. The sun’s setting deep down, now.”

Far away the barking of a dog, taking a herd out, echoed faintly. A cowbell tinkled.

Mary stood up.

“We shouldn’t rightfully touch you, being married women,” said Angy.

She and her sister hoisted themselves on the seat, and the flap closed over Mary.

All alone in the stuffy wagon, she stood still a moment. Then her hands went slowly to the laces of her dress. Slowly, she undid them, and slowly let the dress down about her feet. Slowly, as if it hurt her, she took off her petticoats and let them fall. She bent again, and her undershift of rough wool slid down her knees. She straightened her back as if a pain were there. And she stood alone with herself, white and still.

The sisters had left the bucket accessible under the seat. Mary went about her washing with a quiet stealth. Scarcely breathing outside the flaps, they yet could not hear her. Their faces sobered, even Esther’s, and suddenly they looked away.

There was a hush in the air that even the twitter of roosting small birds did not break. Only a wagon rumbling far down the road made an undertone in the silence, as though the earth had begun to breathe.

Mary heard it as she plaited the blue ribbon through her hair. Her hands stopped in the task, and she stood with white arms uplifted. In the dusk of the wagon her skin shone dimly with the beauty of her approaching time; and her eyes, half fearful, veiled themselves with lids grown heavy. “Reverend’s coming. He’s crossing over the ploughed land now”— Esther’s voice. And the voice farther off of George hailing Mr. Atterbury, and his voice coming near and replying, and the two of them fixing the spot for the wedding. Jerry being called, and the low mutter of the minister talking to him. Rumbling of the wagon wheels approaching down the pike, growing louder. Scents of cookery, and the hush in Ma Halleck’s chatter. Angy’s whisper: “Near time, Mary. Are you ready?”

Mary stooped her head through the gathered red-brown dress, settled it over her body with half-dead hands that trembled. She put the shawl across her shoulders and the silver chain round her throat. She stood up, and as Angy parted the flaps her eyes became still.

They helped her down over the wheel, adjuring her softly not to falter. Their plump faces were sober now, and they walked with a stiffness in their knees.

Dimly, down the slope of ground, past the fire, as she walked, Mary saw the movers; beyond them, Jerry, red-faced, set-lipped, his dark eyes on hers; and her blood began to stir. She saw the white head of the minister, his blue benign eyes, his gentle mouth to say the everlasting words. Two dead mullein stalks rose up, one either side of him, against the fence rails; and she wondered if the legend were true that bees drowsed out the winters in the dark, hollow rods. Beyond lay the ploughed land, broken, brown, and heavy, making its preparation for the seed. She tried to see it as it would be in its abundance— gentle with grain, swaying to the touch of heaven.

She was aware of the girls halting stiffly behind her; and now she advanced alone. She felt Jerry’s strong, lean hand in hers, and hers in his. But she did not see anything but the vision of barley, and she felt only the breath-taking life in her heart… .

The minister talked softly. He had been by the river, and he had seen on the high banks the painted pictures of the Indians, older than the remembrance of the oldest settler, and a little of the mystery of earth clouded his soft voice. …

But Jerry woke to the singing blood, and he took out the ring he had fashioned from a horseshoe nail, and put it upon her finger, and he bent forward to kiss her, with the minister’s eye upon him, and her lips were cool, and living.

A flock of crows that straggled across the sky hushed their vaunting bedlam at the uncommon sight. The stillness of evening mantled the valley, and the first planet made a spot against the afterglow.

And then Mrs. Halleck cried, “Oh, I do love a wedden!” She swooped down the alleyway between her children and gave the wedded pair great hearty smacks of kisses, and the others clapped, and all at once the late afternoon stage went whirling by for Albany. The driver cried and tootled his horn, and handkerchiefs were waved, and laughter came back to them.

The lid lifted on the kettle and Ma gave a shriek, and in the midst of the others Mary and Jerry were ushered up to the fire. They were sat down side by side and given plates piled high. The minister was served.

Tea was offered for the womenfolks, but Joe passed out glasses of whiskey for the men. As the daylight drew downwards into the west, the firelight sought out their faces, George with his arm round his wife’s waist, the two other couples paired off.

“Come, Ma,” said Joe. “It’s you must take a bachelor man, if the Reverend won’t have you.”

His mother slapped his cheeks.

“Don’t be naughty, Joey.” But the minister had not heard. And Ma’s stout face beamed in spite of herself, and she edged against his output arm and dipped her corn cake in Joe’s whiskey glass and giggled as she ate it down.

“‘Pears to me that married couple over there ain’t eating hearty.”

“Married pairs ain’t given to food, I’ve noticed. Not new-married.”

Jerry grinned.

“Food’s for to comfort,” he said. “And I’ve been comforted already.”

Abijah laughed and clapped his calloused hands.

“By the Lord, I wisht there was a floor for dancing. Every time I look at those two married-person faces I feel my feet get lightsome.”

“Your feet lightsome!” Esther laughed. “Seems my ears still ring with your feet stomping down below at my own wedden.”

“Abijah’s a great dancing man,” Angy said pridefully.

“Wish we had music. I like weddens with some music. I wish there was a fiddler hereabouts. I’d walk a mile to hear some fiddling.”

“Joe,” said George, “where’s your harp?”

Joe grinned up from beside his mother.

“Right in my pants’ pocket, George. Do you calculate on a tune?”

George nodded.

“Now we’ve finished eating. First, though, we’ll drink this couple with some wine.”

Ma Halleck was gathering the whiskey glasses, rinsing them in the water pail. Now George took out the yellow-sealed bottle.

“Don’t break the shield!” cried Ma, as he started to break it. “Maybe Mary will want to keep it for a remembrance. It’s so pretty.”

Mary, who had sat quiet, chin on hands, spoke gently.

“I won’t need no remembrance.”

Jerry eyed her sidelong. Beauty was in her eyes. He had seen Joe glancing at her again and again, had seen the eyes of the other men admiring, had seen Angy’s eyes with a touch of envy. His own face felt stiff and circumspect to himself. But he felt that he had done well. He was proud of her. It made him strong and masterful. He was his own man now, a masterful man.

And then he looked again at Mary, and reading the quiet in her eyes he was jolted back into the intimacy of the present, and he became aware of the overarching shadows of the old grove, of the grey vague rain-stained shapes of the wagon hoods and the ritualistic coils of flame. For a brief space his brain saw clearly. He was conscious of his own unease, a sense of darkness between himself and the fire, and, as he sought to struggle through it, all he could see was Mary’s face,— himself a shadow,— and from her self -containment, like a little boy, he drew assurance.

It seemed to him that he was growing in that flitting time: he remembered himself in the pantry of his father’s house in Uniontown, stealing from the sweet-pickle jar, and his nose was alive to the remembered smells, the cream and butter smell, the dry odor of ageing hams and flitches, the mixed scent of tansy, and tarragon, and camomile, and may-weed, and boneset; the woodshed was clear in his brain with its scent of chips, and he heard his father’s stern words and the swish of the strap, but he did not feel; and a voice was saying, “Love apples are for birds,” and he remembered being sick; and he saw himself going to school under old Jeptha Harris; and he remembered his agony as he stole behind the sleeping old pedagogue and tied the tail of his wig to the chair back, and he saw the red stolid faces of the schoolroom regarding him dispassionately under the old man’s voice; he saw himself later walking through the pine woods with Nancy Van Tripp, the miller’s daughter; he saw the miller’s threatening face; and then his father was saying, “Critters behave in spring, but a man makes his own way,” and yet his father had withstood his seeking his own future; he saw himself going away, his brother waving after him, his mother walking to the gate at his side; his own man at last— he heard the Shaker preacher’s voice, “Money don’t usually buy”; and his strength returned. But the sense of time in him was divided into three parts, and now he listened in the past, and he looked in the future, and he felt the blood in his body, and the time was near.

He stood up to thank them and they cried to him and to Mary to drink glasses together. Mary rose at his side, slowly, without awkwardness. They drank to each other, for it was a thing of instinct, in which they had no need of speech. He was aware of the others clapping, and the twanging of the jew’s-harp as Joe’s hand began to fan. Abel Marcy raised his hoarse voice in the courting song:—

” ‘Hi,’ said the blackbird, sitting on a chair, ‘Once I courted a lady fair; She proved fickle and turned her back; And ever since then I’ve dressed in black.’ “

The jew’s-harp caught up a beat:—

Towdy-owdy, dil-do-dum, Towdy-owdy, dil-do-day, Towdy-owdy, dil-do-dum Tol-lol-liddy, dil-do-day.

George’s voice, sonorous and true: —

” ‘Hi!’ said the little leather-winged bat, ‘I will tell you the reason that, The reason that I fly by night Is because I’ve lost my heart’s delight!’ “