Chit-Chat; Nirvana; The Searchlight Part 14

Sat.u.r.day noon they arrived at Paint Lick and were met at the station by Mr. and Mrs. Saylor, Sr. in the family carriage drawn by two sleek black mules; and Mr. and Mrs. Saylor, Jr. in their new Pierce Arrow.

Rosamond had consented to come over, having forgiven John, because she thought he had in a spirit of disappointment at her marriage, rushed to Wellesley and married Mary.

The more than a dozen years that had gone by since John had seen Mr. and Mrs. Saylor had been kind to them. Mr. Saylor had the look and ways of a prosperous farmer. He had grown stout and seemed to enjoy the good things of life. His was a jovial, easy-going disposition. He considered that fortune had been kind, now that Mary was married to Mr. Cornwall and Caleb, his boy, was a big man and married to one of the Clays. He owned a farm of more than four hundred acres and each year had saved some money, so that now he was considered one of the rich farmers of the county.

He stood in dread and fear of only one person in the world and that was Caleb's wife. The lady, disputing the family record which he had made when she was a little tot, rechristened his Caleb, John Calhoun Saylor, and he dared not protest. It was several months before his hard head adjusted itself to the new name. He reached perfection by gradation; from Caleb to John Caleb and finally mastered John Calhoun.

Upon receipt of the telegram from New York, opening the big family Bible to make an entry of Mary's marriage in the family record, he was surprised to find that the entry of birth of Caleb Saylor made by him in 1885 had been changed by Mrs. Saylor, Jr., to John Calhoun Saylor, 1883 which only left his son about two years his wife's junior. Subsequently he discovered that his son and Rosamond were each born in 1883 when he examined a carefully mutilated record in the Clay Bible.

John liked Mrs. Saylor. She was a most unselfish soul, giving every thought of mind and every movement of her body to service for her husband and children.

She was a slender, large-framed woman, with snow-white hair and a wrinkled, tired, though kindly face. The face was a happier one than when he first knew her;--then it seemed all joy had departed from it.

She never whimpered or found fault or raised her voice in anger. She was a woman of few words and few tears. Her hands, while not those of a lady, were those of a capable, hard-working mother and had a touch of gentle softness for the cheek of those she loved. Only when Mary and Susie were both home did she find time to rest.

Caleb was even more an egotist than when a boy. When he did not talk about himself his other subject of discussion was the charms of his wife, yet John, and others thrown with him, discovered he was not a fool. Under the tutelage of his wife he was gradually acquiring another faculty or subject of conversation, and that was the power unstintedly to praise any vain person who might prove of service to him. He had improved in speech and knowledge, but by contact. He scarcely ever looked into a book, except to memorize a pa.s.sage. He always carried a pocket dictionary and when an unfamiliar word was used in his presence, surrept.i.tiously consulted it and, familiarizing himself with the meaning of the word, used it the first time occasion offered. If he once heard a thing he seemed never to forget it, nor a man's name or face. If his wife wrote out a speech and read it to him a couple of times it was his for delivery in practically her words. He struck John as a man devoid of conscience, yet, at first blush, of pleasant manner and appearance.

To John it seemed the years had made Rosamond nearer the Rosamond of his dream than the youthful Rosamond who had wandered over the hills with him and to whom he had made love. The thought occurred that Caleb must prove a strong and zealous contender for this world's honors to satisfy his wife's ambition, else he might lose his handsome wife to a greater champion. He spoke of this impression to Mary and she shared his view, though Rosamond was in no sense flirtatious.

"Mary, I love all your family, except John Calhoun."

"Well, John, you married me, not the family, though I would have been unhappy had you not liked mother, father and Susie."

"You must make your mother visit us as soon as we are settled. I believe she really needs the rest. I know that she and mother will be great friends and I know your father would like to put in a month hunting up old friends and knocking about the hills; he must come, too."

They remained at the Saylor homestead for three days. The night before they left for home, they were entertained by Mrs. John Calhoun Saylor, who was really proud of these two members of her husband's family and desired to exhibit them to the friends and relatives of the Clays.

As the train drew near Harlan, winding in and out along the river and the foothills of Pine Mountain, Mary nestled close to John and, dreamily watching the big mountain, whose shadow was reflected in the deep pools of the river, said:

"I no longer call to you through s.p.a.ce, John, wondering if you hear. Now we travel side by side our narrow, little way of life and read its meaning in each other's eyes. We will soon be home, John; and I for one am glad we are to live in the mountains. I love them more than plain, or rolling pasture, or woodland, or the sea. One of my favorite poems is:

"'Thou art a mountain stately and serene, Rising majestic o'er each earthly thing, And I a lake that 'round thy feet do cling, Kissing thy garment's hem, unknown, unseen.

I tremble when the tempests darkly screen Thy face from mine. I smile when sunbeams fling Their bright arms 'round thee. When the blue heavens lean Upon thy breast, I thrill with bliss, O king!

Thou canst not stoop--we are too far apart; I may not climb to reach thy mighty heart; Low at thy feet I am content to be.

But wouldst thou know how great thou art, Bend thy proud head, my mountain love, and see How all thy glories shine again in me.'"

"Will your mother be glad to see me, John? Will she fear I shall steal too much of her boy's love?"

"Mary, mother is a little, old woman with a wonderfully big, young heart and a grand soul filled with tenderness and grace and love. There's not a joy in all the world she would not share with you. When she shares your sorrows, night changes quickly to the dusk of morning and as the day comes they flit away like shadows on the dewy gra.s.s. When she sees you she will kiss you and cry a bit and call you 'John's wife' for a day and then it will be 'Mary dear.' Were you a stranger, whose name had never been mentioned, she would take you in, first for my sake, then love you for your own. One day I said: 'Mother, your aim in life seems to be to live for and wait on me.' 'No, John, my aim in life is to live like Him!' She has kept some of earth's clay out of my soul."

As the train pulled into the station, Mary surrept.i.tiously powdered her nose. Mrs. Cornwall, Mrs. Neal, Duffield and several other friends were there to meet them.

Mrs. Cornwall seemed not to see John. As she took Mary in her arms she called her "John's wife"; they cried a wee bit and as she let her go, John heard her say "Mary dear"; and he knew his mother's heart approved of his wife. Then he kissed his mother and they greeted his other friends.

Mrs. Neal was greatly surprised at Mary's appearance. "Mrs. Cornwall, you really mean to tell me that she was born on Straight Creek?"

CHAPTER XI.

HOME LIFE.

Mrs. Cornwall, upon the receipt of the telegram notifying her of John's marriage, went to his room and taking Mary's photograph, carried it to the window and in the strong light of the June day studied the face.

Even under her critical a.n.a.lysis, that of a mother-in-law whose love was centered in her son and who believed that he was ent.i.tled to the world's best, the picture met her approbation.

She held it in her arms, as one who loved might have held the original; and after a few tears of mingled sadness and joy--sadness for what had gone from her life and joy for what she thought had come into her son's--and after a prayer that G.o.d would bless the union of her son and this woman, making their life long and true and completing their happiness by giving them sweet children to make the union one of body and soul, she carried it down to her parlor and placed it on the center table beside that of her son's, wreathing and cl.u.s.tering them round with deep-red, velvety roses from the garden, and each day until they came gathered fresh ones, replacing those that withered. She telegraphed her blessing and love to them both and wrote Mary a long letter, telling her how happy she should be to welcome her home as John's wife and her daughter.

Though Mary several times had asked, John had told her very little about their home. She knew from descriptions Rosamond and Dorothy had given her that it was an attractive place. When they drove into the yard and up to the porch with its colonial pillars and the old-fashioned, arched doorway, he could see that she was artistically satisfied.

Then as they pa.s.sed through the portal into the hall and the double parlors, she gave voice to her appreciation.

"Mrs. Cornwall, you have made the house indeed a home. No wonder John was so near remaining a bachelor. You made him entirely too comfortable; he will expect too much. John, see how your mother has bordered our photographs with roses."

"I hope you and John will be pleased with your rooms. If they are not just what you wish, satisfy yourselves; the house is large enough. Mary, you know the house is yours. I have been after John for ten years to marry and give me a chance to shift the responsibility of housekeeper to younger shoulders."

"You know they say comparisons are odious. I am sure if you were to force me to a.s.sume instant charge, John would never believe I could make a good housekeeper. Were the house inartistic or disordered, I might be tempted to do so, but everything is so harmonious, so comfortable, so home-like, that I must serve a long apprenticeship before you should force the responsibility upon me. You know I have been a teacher; I must be gradually taught housekeeping, and in the meantime am to be your daughter as John is your boy."

"Mother, when did you have all this done?"

"The day after I received your telegram I sent to Louisville and had Mr.

Stra.s.sel come up; he, Mrs. Neal and I redecorated and refurnished these rooms for Mary."

"You have been very thoughtful. John, your mother has not given up her rooms for us, has she? If so, we must refuse to take them."

"No, one of them was mine; the other was a spare bedroom."

"Please come to this window. What a happy view, the garden, the river, the valley, the fields of grain and the distant, blue mountains! John, I love your mother and my home most as much as I do you!"

The neighbors and friends of the Cornwalls were very kind to Mary. She grew to be very fond of Mrs. Neal and Mrs. Duffield. Duffield, several years before, had married Helen Creech.

Mary was just beginning to feel thoroughly at home, and under Mrs.

Cornwall's tutelage and diplomacy unconsciously a.s.suming charge as mistress of the house, which was not so hard, as she had an efficient maid and had always helped her mother, when Dorothy and Bradford came on from Pittsburgh. Ever since their marriage they had spent the month of August with Mrs. Neal.

After their arrival they, with John and Mary, began wandering about the hills and playing the part of lovers as they had done years before, though the Bradfords were somewhat hampered in their rambles by a little son whom they had christened John Durrett Bradford.

Rosamond, who knew that the Bradfords were visiting Mrs. Neal, telegraphed Mary that she and her husband were coming to make her a visit, leaving home on the 12th of August; they would remain ten days.

She answered, expressing her pleasure, and asked that they bring her mother with them.

While it was a matter of no importance to John Calhoun and, therefore, he made no objection, his wife refused to bring her, saying: "We will not mention that we intend going to her. She can go after we return. I am going on a pleasure trip; not to look after an old woman."

When they arrived, Mary was greatly disappointed that her mother had not come. When told by Rosamond that they had not asked her mother because she did not look well and the trip might prove too trying, she was worried about her mother's health and immediately wrote her sister.

In answer, her sister said: "Mother was very much disappointed when she learned John and Rosamond had gone to visit you, as had she known, she would have come with them. She is perfectly well and it is quite evident to me that they did not want her with them. You need not be surprised at anything that pair do."

John Calhoun did not care to wander about the hills or picnic along the river bank with his wife, saying: "I had enough of climbing hills and basket meetings when a boy." His wife accompanied Mary and John on their rambles, while he loafed around the hotel and the court house, making friends and acquaintances, or rode over to the mines, cultivating the miners and discussing politics with them.