A Cry in the Wilderness Part 37

"Mother said half the women in the village was there ter help. She said she was out in the woodshed cuttin' up some kindlin'--Job never was known ter be forehanded in anythin'--an' Job come out the kitchen end without seein' her. She heard him give a groan an' say, all to himself he s'posed, as plain as could be: 'O Lord, three more mouths ter fill, an' so little ter fill 'em with!' Then, turnin' an' seeing mother, he smiled as well as he could in the circ.u.mstances, an' tried ter put a good face on it by sayin':

"'Well, Aunt Marthy, I ain't got all the material goods thet Old Testament Job had, but I 've got one of his latter day blessings, three daughters, an' I guess, if Sally don't mind, I 'll name 'em after 'em.'

"Thet 'show they come by their names: Keziah, Jemimy, and Keren-happuch, which was the most outlandish name fer about the prettiest baby, mother said, thet ever she 'd set eyes on. They shortened it to 'Happy' mighty quick.

"Aunt Sally who 'd never been strong sence the girls was born, broke right down under her trouble, when she lost her last boy, and never rallied. She died when the girls was n't more 'n ten year old, an'

after thet, those six little hands worked early an' late to keep the house for their father. An' they kept it well too.

"Many 's the time after ch.o.r.es was done, I 'd sly over to Job's to fetch wood an' carry water for the sake of gettin' a smile from my pet, thet was Jemimy--a fair-skinned, blue-eyed little thing thet looked as if a breath of wind would blow her over. I watched her grow up like one of them pink-and-white wind-flowers thet come so early in spring, an' I used ter pull whole basketfuls for her, jest ter see her flush up so pleased like, an' get a kiss for my pains.

"I was ten years older than her--old enough ter know what would happen when Jemimy was ten years older too. She growed right inter my life, an' I growed right inter hers, so 't was nat'ral enough when she was seventeen for us ter say we belonged to one another.

"Job never could get ahead, and the farm was mortgaged clear up to the handle. I had n't much neither, for I had mother ter support and worked out by the month, an' Jemimy said 't was no time ter think of gettin' married; we 'd better wait till we could get a little ahead.

She said she 'd heard of a place in the mills down Ma.s.s'chusetts way, an' although I stood out against it, she had set her heart on goin' an'

earnin' a little extra, an' I let her have her way. Keziah married jest 'bout thet time a poor shote of a feller, an' went out West with him on ter some gov'ment lands. Happy was ter keep the house.

"Jemimy promised faithfully ter write, an' so she did, though 't was hard work after mill hours, she said, for she was so tired; but she loved me too well to have me fret an' worry, so she wrote pretty reg'lar every two weeks.

"She 'd been away 'bout seven months an' Job was lookin' like a man with some backbone in him, for half of Jemimy's pay kept comin' reg'lar an' Happy made everything she come nigh like sunshine, when one evenin'

Job come over an' asked me how long it had been sence I heard from Jemimy. 'Goin' on four weeks,' says I. 'She told me not to expect much this month she 's so busy.'

"'We ain't heard for six weeks,' says Job, 'an' t'other night I had a dream; 't war n't much of a dream neither--only I can't get rid of it, work it off nor sleep it off, neither. S'posin' you write.'

"You may be pretty sure I did, an', not gettin' an answer, I drove down ter the nearest station an' sent a telegram, an' thet not gettin' an answer neither, I jest put myself aboard the next train for Lowell.

Fust time I 'd been on the cars too, but they could n't go fast enough for me.

"I went straight ter the mill she 'd been workin' in, an' asked fer the boss. Then I put the question thet had been hangin' round me like a nightmare for twenty-four hours back.

"'Can you tell me where ter find Jemimy Morey?'

"There was a cur'ous sort er smile went curlin' round the man's lips as he opened a great ledger, an' read an entry thet made me set down on a chair handy, feelin' weak as water:

"'Entered February 2.--Left July 19.'

"Thet was all, but 't was enough.

"'Where 's she gone ter?' says I.

"'We don't keep run of the hands after they 've left unless they go ter another mill, an' she ain't,' says he, clappin' to the ledger with a bang thet said plain as could be, 'Time 's up.'

"'I guess you 'll have ter let me see the women, fer it's a life an'

death matter ter me', says I, fer his drivin' ways madded me, an' I was pretty green an' did n't know as much as I might have.

"The strength seemed ter come floodin' right in ter me when I 'd said thet, and I guess there must have been a kinder 'knock-yer-down' look in my eyes, fer the feller sort o' winced--there war n't but us two in the office--an' said:

"'It's against the rules an' 't won't do no good, but if you 'll feel any better you can this time.'

"You see I thought if I could see the women, I 'd ask 'em, an' p'raps they 'd know 'bout her. But, Lord! when I see thet great room stretchin' away ter nothin', an' them hundreds of girls and women a-workin', tendin' them looms as if their life depended on them wooden bolts shovin' back'ards an' for'ards like lightnin', I jest set down on the first bench I come ter sicker 'n death.

"A great wave of black an' a wave of green went through the room. My pulses kept time to the _rick-rack_ of the flyin' shuttles, an' my head swum with the dizzyin' of the wheels an' the pumpin' of the shafts.

"'Good G.o.d,' I thought, 'is this the place she 's been breathin' out her sweet life in!'

"I tried ter think, but could n't, the floor jarred so with the rumble of the great machines; an' the air grew as thick with dust as a barn floor in threshin' time; an' right through it all, a scorchin' August sun burned in great quiverin' furrers; an' from outside where it slanted on the river rushin' through the mill-sluices, it sent a blindin' reflection whirlin' an' eddyin' along the glarin' white ceilin's till I felt like a drownin' man bein' sucked under...

"I got out somehow, fer I found myself on the street. I went ter every mill in the place--an' might have spared myself the trouble.

"Then I took the houses by rote, askin' at each one for Jemimy Morey.

Up one street, down another, I went, the little red brick boxes lookin'

as like as one honeycomb ter another; most of 'em was empty--all at the mills except the old women and babies; the fust could n't give me no kind of an answer, an' the second I stumbled over.

"It was gettin' towards six, an' I war n't no nearer findin' what I 'd come fer than when I started, when I heard a factory bell ringin' an'

asked what it meant. They told me a quarter ter six an' shuttin' off steam. I started on a dead run fer the little footbridge thet led from the ca.n.a.l alongside, to the mill gates. There I took my stand jest as the six o'clock whistle blew and the great mill gates was hoisted, an'

the women an' children come flockin' out an' over the bridge.

"I asked every squad of 'em--they could n't get by me without answerin'

me fer 't was only a foot-bridge--if they knew a mill hand by name Jemimy Morey?

"For five minutes I got pretty much the same answer, then a little slip of a gal no higher'n my elbow says: 'What d' you want of her? You can't see her for she 's up at Granny's sick of the fever, an' n.o.body da.s.s n't go near her.'

"There 's no use my tellin' you how I found her nor what we said--only 't war n't exactly what I 'd planned all through hayin' time when, noonin's, I 'd stretch out in the shadder of a hayrick an', buryin' my face in the coolin' gra.s.s, think how 't would seem to have _her_ hand strokin' my forehead an' smoothin' all care away by her lovin' ways.

"Jest as soon as she was strong enough, I took her home; an' without much ceremony, she sittin' in the arm-chair an' I standin' by her side, we was made man an' wife.... Oh, we was happy! an' thet choice of our happiness, for we both knew it war n't for long. I 've sometimes thought we took out a mortgage on our future bliss we was so happy....

Six months from the day I took her home, the church bell tolled nineteen--an' might have tolled a thousand for all I heard."

XX

There was a long silence; no one cared to break it. As for me, I felt as if stricken dumb by what I was hearing. I knew, intuitively, what I was about to hear. Mrs. Macleod put her hand on Cale's hard brown fist as it lay on his knee. I am sure the sympathetic pressure prolonged the silence. Doctor Rugvie and Jamie were staring into the fire. I could not take my eyes from Cale's face; I was as if fascinated. He, on the contrary, never looked once my way.

His voice grew husky towards the last; it was not till he had cleared his throat several times that he could speak.

"I ain't said much 'bout Happy,--that's short for Keren-happuch, the name she always went by,--but she was the fust thing I took any interest in after thet. My wife charged me over an' over again to look out fer her, an' I 'd begun ter think 't was time.

"There ain't no telling jest what Happy was. She war n't what you 'd call real harn'some, not at fust; but she had a way with her thet was winnin', an' a laugh thet always put me in mind of our old North Crick in August when it goes gurglin' an' winnerin' over its stony bed. She had a smile, too, to match the laugh. There ain't no tellin' what she was like. She was jest Happy, an' there warn't a likely chap this side of the border and t'other, thet knew her, who had n't tried ter get some hold on her. But 't war n't no use; she jest laughed 'em off, fust one, then t' other--but still they kept tryin' till she was twenty-one.

"On her birthday she come over to me jest 'bout dusk as I was milkin'

in the shed,--I can see her now, standin' by old Speckles' head an'

hangin' on tight ter both her horns as if fer support--an' turnin'

sudden ter me with a kind o' laugh, thet sounded a good deal more like a choked-down sob, she says:

"'Brother Si.'

"My name is Silas C., but when I left what used ter be home ter me, I war n't willin' ter have strangers call me by the name thet belonged ter those I loved, so I 've been Cale to all the rest fer a good many years now.

"'Brother Si,'says she, 'you loved my sister; won't you tell me what ter do?'