Over Paradise Ridge Read online

off to Sam'sbrier-patch I began to wonder how long it would take me to rush backinto Hayesboro, bundle mother into Redwheels, and get back to the cows.It was just a quarter after nine o'clock, but I knew she would be sleepyand would have to be forced to come with me very gently and slowly.Still, I didn't see how I could go on out into the woods with only Samand the Butterball which was wheezing out cow conversation to Sam that Iwas intensely interested in and ought to have been listening to ratherthan wasting force on foolish proprieties. I was about to turn and takeSam's advice on the matter when he suddenly laid his fingers on my armand said:

  "Stop a minute, Betty. What's that roosting on that stone wall?" And ashe spoke he peered out toward a strange, huge bird sitting by the sideof the road.

  I stopped just about opposite the object and Sam sprang out.

  "You, Byrd Crittenden, where did you come from?" I heard Sam demand ofthe huddled bundle as he lifted it off the wall. It was attired inscanty night-drawers and a short coat, and shivered as it stood, firston one foot and then on the other.

  "I ain't a-going to stay in no country with a hoot-owl, Sam. I'm goingto somewhere that a lady lives at, too." And the manful little voicebroke as the bunch shivered up against Sam's legs.

  "Honest, Byrd, I thought you were asleep and wouldn't wake up tillmorning. You never did before; but when I go--go gallivanting, have Igot to take you or not go?" And Sam's voice was bravely jocular.

  "Bring him here to me, Sam," I cried out, quickly. "Come in here withBetty, Byrd." And I cuddled his long, thin, little legs down under mylap-blanket beyond the steering-gear. "You didn't forget Betty while shewas away, did you?" I asked, as we snuggled to each other and I startedthe motor, while Dr. Chubb chuckled and Sam still stood in the middle ofthe moonlit road as if uncertain what to do next.

  "Yes, I forgot you," answered Byrd, candidly, though I had adored himsince his birth; "but I like to go see Mother Hayes and eat jelly-cake.Can I go home with you?"

  "No. I'm going as fast as I can with you to your home to keep you fromfreezing to death," I answered, quickly adopting this recovered oldfriend in the double capacity of an excuse and a chaperon. "Just sithere in the seat by me and watch me get us all back to your house in ahurry. You sit with the doctor, Sam."

  "Oh no, Betty," answered Sam, quickly. "It is only a little over a milenow, and the doctor and Byrd and I can walk it all right. You come outin the morning and--"

  "I'm going on with the doctor to those cows, Sam, and if you want to gowith us, get in quick," I answered, in a tone of voice I have used onSam once or twice in our lives with great effect. He hopped in and Istarted at top speed.

  "Hic-chew! Fine goer that," wheezed the doctor, and I didn't knowwhether he alluded to me or Redwheels. But there was evident relish ofreal pace in his voice, so I speeded up and shot away from the main roadinto the hard dirt lane in good style.

  "I'm a bird--I'm a bird!" shouted the picked fledgling at my side as wewhizzed under dark cedar boughs that waved funereal plumes over ourheads, and over stumps and stones with utter disregard of the heavy newtires. One of the lessons I learned early is that men are timid of awoman's driving them in any vehicle, and I was surprised that I at lastrounded the bend and drew up beside a long, low shed which Sam hadcalmly pointed out to me, without having had a single remonstrance fromthe back seat.

  "Moo," came in a gentle, sad voice from the depths of the shed as we allbegan to disembark at the same time.

  "Well, one is alive, anyway," said Sam as he set Byrd on the ground andheld up his arms to me. "It's good to have you back, Betty," hewhispered, in an undertone, as he turned me against his shoulder to setme down. "It 'll all go right now that you are here to--"

  "Now tell us what to do, Doctor." I interrupted him determinedly,because I felt that it was not the occasion for friendlysentimentalities.

  If at any time in the three years that preceded that night I hadforeseen the way I was to spend it I would have been justified in flatlyrefusing to carry out my horoscope. Suppose, for instance, while I wasin the midst of the wonderful dinner Peter Vandyne's cousin, Count Henride Berssan, gave me in Brussels, a week before the storm broke thatcarried him before cannon and bayonet, I had seen a mental picture ofmyself six months from that minute, out in the woods on the side of aHarpeth hill under an old cedar-pole shed with my jacket off, myembroidered blouse sleeves rolled to the shoulder, filling a tin can,which had a long spout to be poked down a cow's throat, with a vile,greasy mixture out of a black bottle, at the directions of ashirt-sleeved little man and a red-headed farmer in blue overalls, whilea wisp of a boy writhed in and out and around and under a pathetic oldJersey cow, who was being rescued from the jaws of death. Now I wonderjust what I would have done to escape such an experience? Slated myselffor Belgian widowhood, perhaps, as a kinder fate, or stayed right therein New York to help Peter on "The Emergence." I wonder if Peter ever sawa dear, big-eyed, trustful old Jersey cow have medicine poured down herthroat. It is called "drenching." I wish he could see it before hefinishes that play. The sight produces a peculiar kind of emotion thatmight be worth recording in an all-comprehensive drama of American life.In fact, I know that what I felt at the end was worth recording in anykind of literature, by any kind of a poet--if we were equal to it. OldDr. Chubb leaned breathlessly against a rough post, I staggered down onan upturned bucket, and Sam reached out his long, blue-overalled armsand embraced Buttercup's neck and buried his head on her patientshoulder, just as a faint streak of April dawn showed behind theoak-trees, for we realized then that the dreadful cramp was gone andthat she could chew the wisp of hay offered by Byrd.

  "Hic-chew! All out of the woods," wheezed Dr. Chubb, as he looked at oldButtercup and the two other young cows we had been working over allnight, with as fine an exaltation of achievement as any I ever saw, notexcepting that of an American man of letters I witnessed take his degreeat Oxford.

  But Sam's head was still bowed on old Buttercup's back and I went andstood beside him.

  "Will I ever learn how to take care the right way of--of life?" he saidunder his breath, as he stood up straight and tall with the early lightstreaming over his great mop of sun-bronzed hair and the bare breastfrom which his open shirt fell away.

  "I'll help you," I said, as I came still nearer and leaned againstButtercup's warm, yellow side so closely that she looked around from hermeal from the Byrd's hand and mooed with grateful affection plussurprise to find us still standing by her so determinedly. "That is,if--if--I can learn myself."

  "You haven't found out you are a woman yet, have you, Betty?" answeredSam, with a laugh that embarrassed me. I would have considered itungrateful if it hadn't sounded so comfortable and warm out in the coldof the dawn--which had come before I realized that midnight had passed,about which time I had intended to go home. But how could a person feelguilty while playing Good Samaritan to a cow? I didn't.

  Then, as the streak of new day widened into a soft pink flush over thetops of the bare trees that etched their fine twigs into an archaicpattern against a purple sky lit by the gorgeous flame of the morningstar retreating before the coming sun, we all collected buckets and ragsand bottles and sponges. In Indian file we were led by Sam around thehill, up a steep path that was bordered by coral-strung buck-bushes andrasping blackberry brush, and to his little farm-house perched on aplateau almost up to the top of the hill. It was long and low, with awide red roof that seemed to hover in the whitewashed walls and greenshutters; while white smoke from an old gray-rock, mud-daubed chimneymelted away among the tree-tops into the lavender of the coming day. Itlooked like a great brooding white hen setting in a nest of radiantwoods, and I felt like a little cold chicken as Sam led the way throughthe low, wide door for me to creep under the sheltering wings. In abouttwo seconds we were all sheltered in complete comfort. At a huge firethat was a great glow of oak coals old Mammy Kitty, who hadsuperintended Sam's birth and childhood, as well as "neighbored" mine,was gently stirring a mixture that smelled like the kind of breakfastnectar
they must have in heaven, while she also balanced a steamingcoffee-pot on a pair of crossed green sticks at one corner of thechimney. In the ashes I could see little mounds which I afterward foundto be flaky, nutty com-pones, and I flew to kneel at her side with myhead on her gaudy neckerchief.

  "Dah, dah, dah, child," she crooned, as she smiled a queer, loving, oldsmile that showed me how glad she was to see me, but never another worddid she utter. I almost never remember hearing Mammy say an articulateword; but all children and those grown up who have any child left intheir hearts can understand her croon. It is cradle music--to theinitiated.

  "Mammy's rheumatism is mighty bad, but she can still shake up corn ashcake and chicken hash with the best," said Sam, coming over to warm hishands and tower above us, while Byrd volunteered to lead Dr. Chubb outto what he called the wash-up bench on the back porch.

  I looked up at Sam as he stood above me in a mingling of fire-glow andthe early morning light with his low-beamed, deep-toned humble home as abackground, and he--he loomed.

  "I--I love this place," I positively gasped, as I moved still closer toMammy and stirred the spoon in the pot of hash.

  "Shelter, fire, a chicken in the pot, and a woman crouched on the hearthstirring it--what more could any man want or get, no matter how heworked?" answered Sam, as he looked down at me with the smolder in hisblue-flecked hazel eyes to which Peter had once written a poem called"On the Gridiron."

  "Yes, but what would you do if you didn't have Mammy?" I ventured back,as I bent across Mammy's knee and began to stir more vigorously whileshe shook up her coffee-pot and raked a few last coals over the cakesfor their complete browning. "You always were a good provider, Sam," Iadded, under the excitement of the bubbling over of the coffee.

  "Yes, locusts for hollyhock children and the wife of a summer day who--"

  "Whew-shk! but my stomick have got a breakfas' notice," interrupted Dr.Chubb. He and the Byrd had come into the room as hungry as raveningwolves.

  While Mammy stirred and shoveled off ashes I fed all three men to thepoint of utter repletion, feeding myself from Sam's plate as I broughtthe food back and forth. He didn't want me to wait on them, and Isuppose that is the reason I insisted on it, and partly ate hisbreakfast while doing it, just as an act of defiance.

  "You taught me to eat out of your hand, even when it was unspeakablydirty, and you had only saved me about two good bites and the core," Ianswered one of his remonstrances.

  "But think of the pain it was to save even a third of a tea-cake inyour pocket when your stomach was so near it," he answered as hefinished the bottom half of a pone I had spread thick with the juicyhash before I had greedily eaten the upper crust.

  "I'd rather eat my breakfast out of my own plate and let ladies eatthey's. Sam has to tie up cows that eat out of other's stalls, and theold white rooster has to be put in a coop 'cause he gobbles the henfeed; but 'cause you are company he lets you do it," the Byrd remarked,all in one breath between two pieces of his pone. At which Dr. Chubbwheezed and chuckled delightedly and Sam roared.

  "Women critters ain't ever so free with vittels as men; they have tokinder toll 'em along to nibble feed, and life, too," remarked thedoctor of distressed animals as we all rose from the table just as thesun burst in on the situation from over Paradise Ridge.

  And while he and the Byrd went to again look at the invalids, and MammyKitty removed the dishes into a little cupboard that served as butler'spantry and storeroom, Sam showed me the rest of his house--whichconsisted of his own room, that "leaned-to" the long living-roomopposite that of Mammy Kitty, and a back porch. That little room made mefeel queer and choky. It was neat and poor; and a narrow, old mahoganybed, that had always been in the Crittenden nursery, was pushed backunder the low side. It had a shelf or two with a curtain of dark chintzunder which farm clothes hung, a gun in the corner, a jolly little woodstove, and close beside Sam's bed was the young Byrd's cot with itslittle pillow my mother had made for him before he was ushered into theworld on the day his mother left it. I could almost see the big roughhand go out to comfort the little fledgling in the dark. I choked stillfurther, and turned hurriedly out on to the low, wide old porch that ranall the way across the back of the house and which apparently wasbath-room, refrigerator, seed-rack as to its beams, and the generaldepositing-place of the farm; but not before I had remarked, hanging byhis door, a grass basket I had woven for Sam to bring locust pods to thehollyhock family. Then I fled, only stopping to squeeze Mammy over herdish-pan and get my hat off the cedar pegs that stuck out of the side ofthe old chimney to serve just such a purpose.

  I found Dr. Chubb and the Byrd, who was now attired in overalls of theexact shade and cut of Sam's, standing by Redwheels with their mouthsand eyes wide open in rapture.

  "Well, 'fore I die I've saw a horse with steel innards and rid it,"remarked the old doctor. "Machines is jest the common sense of GodAlmighty made up by men, 'ste'd er animals made up by His-self. But Imust git on, missie, or some critter over at Spring Hill will have aconniption and die in it fer lack of a drench or a dose."

  I left Sam and the Byrd standing in the sunshine at the gate of cedarpoles that Sam had set up at the entrance of his wilderness, and Idon't believe I would have had the strength of character to go until Ihad been introduced to every stick and stone on the farm if I hadn'twanted so much to find out all about cows from Dr. Chubb. I drove slowlyand extracted the whole story from his enthusiastic old mind. What Idon't know about the bovine family now is not worth knowing, and Ibelieve I would enjoy undertaking to doctor a Texas herd. We parted withvows of eternal mutual interest, and I expect to cherish thatfriendship. It is not every day a girl has the chance to meet and profitby such wisdom as a successful seventy-year-old veterinary surgeon isobliged to possess.

  As I went up the stairs to my room I met mother coming down to herhalf-after-eight breakfast, and she was mildly surprised that I had notcome home at a proper time and gone to bed; but when she heard that Ihad been with Sam's sick cows all night she was perfectly satisfied,even pleased. Mother rarely remembers that I am a girl. She has thoughtin masculine terms so long that it is impossible for her to get her mindto bear directly on the small feminine proprieties.

  "That's right, Betty, be a doer, no matter whom you do, even if it isSam's cow," said daddy, when I had finished my eulogy of Dr. Chubb andbeautiful old Mrs. Buttercup. Then he kissed mother and me and went ondown to his office, while she followed him to the gate, crocheting andquite forgetting me.

  Completely exhausted, but feeling really more effective in life than Iever had before, even at the Astor tea-table (because Peter had beenperfectly well and Sam's cows hadn't), I took a magazine with anentrancing portrayal of a Belgian soldier apparently eleven feet tall onthe cover and went out on the side porch to sit in the cool springsunshine and pick up the pieces of myself. When I put myself togetheragain I found that I made something that looked like an illustration toa farm article rather than the frontispiece to an American epic. Still,if for a friend I could grasp a farm problem with that executiveenthusiasm, had I any reason to doubt that I would have any trouble inhelping along an epic of American life? I decided that I would not, andsettled down to find out about the eleven-foot Belgian before I creptoff for a nap, when an interruption came and I had to prop my eyes open.It was Eph with a letter and the information that Redwheels had shed abolt in its flight last night. I settled the bolt question with aquarter and turned to the letter. It was from Peter, and I knew by theamount of ink splashed all over the envelope that it must contain a highexplosive splashed on the inside.

  Peter Vandyne really is a wonderful man, and he will enrich Americanletters greatly after he has had time to live a lot of the things he hasplanned to write. Farrington, the great producer and dramatist, had readthe first act of his epic and said good things about it, Farrington isnot a friend of Peter's sister, Mabel, nor does he own or want to buyany of Judge Vandyne's stock in railroads or things. He's just reallythe dean of the American stage. Co
uld anybody blame Peter if he had usedten pounds of paper, if paper comes by the pound, and a quart of inktelling about it? But he didn't; about five of the seven pages were allabout me and Farrington. I never was so astonished. The morning I gothome I had written Peter about how all my friends had been glad to seeme, and the way the different ones had shown it, and Peter had read thatpart to Mr. Farrington and he had said that Peter ought to get me tosupply some of the human comedy that Peter's play lacked. Peter knows somuch about life from his literary researches that it goes off and hidesfrom him when he sets out in search for it, and I understood immediatelywhat the great dramatist meant, though Peter probably did not.

  So weave some of your heart spells for me, dearest dear Betty [Peter wrote], I am sending you the manuscript of Act I and part of Act II, and I know you will read them carefully and let me know fully what you think of them. Criticize them from your splendid human viewpoint. The dear old governor has been rather hard on me of late, and I may have to go into the office yet. Death! Help, rescue me, dear, for to put a play across will be my salvation from his prejudices. I must do it this summer, and then--then by the new year perhaps I can lay the gems of success at your feet. May I come down and talk to you soon about it all? No one knows what's in my heart but you, my own