The Wind Before the Dawn Part 27

Silas Chamberlain wiped his knife on a piece of bread and slid it under the section nearest him.

"You never mind about them edges. It looks like a good pie t' me, an' John here will eat his share of it, I'll warrant you. Th' rest of this company can survive if he does. I just been a thinkin' as I set here what a stunnin' cook you've got t' be in these ten months. I used t' think you'd have a lot t' learn after you was married, but you seem t' 'a' learned it short off--eh, John?"

John Hunter had to reply. "I've been sorry mother had to go away.

Elizabeth's done pretty well, but mother would have been a great help, with her fixed ways of doing things," he said reluctantly.

Luther had been looking earnestly at John, but spared Elizabeth when he saw her confusion by looking quickly down at his plate and saying nothing.

"Don't know's Lizzie needs any help as far as doin' things is concerned, though she may need more rest," Silas returned; and Sadie took up the subject.

"I think my stove bakes a little better on the bottom," she remarked critically.

"I low t' taste your pies to-morrow if it don't rain," Silas answered her without looking up from the bite he was severing with the knife upon which it was to be conveyed to his mouth.

Luther Hansen's laugh rang out heartily.

"Don't," he said, winking at Sadie. "She'll be keepin' me out of th' field t' fire th' oven."

The sting of the criticism was drawn by Luther's merry acceptation of it.

Sadie laughed too, but the hint left its rankling point. These same men would harvest for them on the morrow, and as Sadie looked over Elizabeth Hunter's well set table she knew that she would not have the advantage on her side.

"Lizzie's always had th' best of everything," she thought.

Silas Chamberlain thought over the day's events as he rode slowly home.

While unhitching, Old Queen nipped angrily at Bob, who had sniffed at her collar pad, and Silas cuffed her ears.

"Whoa, there, you spiteful beast! You'll be wantin' pie that's a leetle better done on th' under crust next. Drat 'er! I could 'a' fit right there, only--well you kin allus. .h.i.t harder with that kind of folks if you don't let yourself git riled. Pore little woman! Not little, neither--but a year ago so young an' glowin' with happiness. Used t' make me think of a bob-white, trottin' up an down these roads s' contented like, an' allus so friendly an' sociable. Looks 's if she didn't have spirits enough t' laugh at nothin' these days. Looks 's if she'd had a peep into a den of wild beasts an' was afraid they'd break out an' get 'er. Liza Ann's got t' go an' see 'er, an' I'm goin' t' tell 'er so."

As Silas went toward the house, he stopped suddenly and looked back at the wagon, which stood in the same place he had left it that rainy afternoon over a year ago.

"She looked that peert with 'er red lips an' bright eyes, a askin' if th'

school board was t' meet. Pore little woman--she ain't a goslin' any more, an' 'er new feathers ain't turnin' th' rain very good neither," he reflected, shaking his head.

The long day ended at last and John came to the house after the evening ch.o.r.es were finished. Elizabeth waited for him in her bedroom. Throughout the entire evening she had been telling herself that she must make this thing right. For the sake of the expected child she must not let her mind be disturbed with the hurt feeling she had been unable to put away since John had gone out without letting her explain about the morning's baking.

She allowed herself no angry or resentful thought for the prolonged and cruel reproach. Dry-eyed, she sat by the open window in her nightdress, making b.u.t.tonholes in a tiny slip as she waited. She heard him deposit the basket of cobs beside the kitchen stove, which he never forgot to bring in at night, and by the rattle of the dipper which followed and the chug, chug, chug of the pump knew that he was filling the reservoir. Breakfast on the farm was an early meal and greatly facilitated by small preparations. John never forgot nor neglected his part of the household duties. Elizabeth sighed. John had the appearance of right on his side when he demanded her highest efforts at the household altar. She put away the little slip as she heard him coming toward the bedroom and rose to meet him. The tears came in spite of every effort to stay them, and to hide her face she dug it deep into his shoulder while she sobbed out her story. It was a full minute before John's arm went about her, but at last reflecting that something was due one in her condition, he patted her heaving shoulders and said as if addressing a child:

"There, there now, I never thought of you feeling so bad," and after a minute's thought added, "but you see, dear, the part of the dinner you saw to yourself was all right, and the pies had to be apologized for."

CHAPTER XII

"PORE LITTLE WOMAN"

Silas Chamberlain answered to a loud knock on his door at the midnight hour. It was the first week of August.

"From Hunter's, you say?"

There was a mumbled conversation at the door.

"Why, yes, of course. Come right in--glad t' have you. When was you called--an hour an' a half ago? Now you come right upstairs, an' we'll have you in bed in two shakes. There now--them covers'll be too heavy, I 'spect, but you kin throw 'em off if you don't want 'em. Jest keep that light. I'll git another downstairs. Good-night. Oh, yes! Jake's gone for th' doctor, you say? Started an hour an' a half ago? Guess 'e ain't there yet--seven mile you know. Well, good-night!"

Silas stumbled down the steep stairs.

"Liza Ann, it's come! Pore little woman!"

He got back into bed and lay so still that his wife thought him asleep.

"Pore child!" she heard him say just as she was drifting off to dreamland.

An hour pa.s.sed. An hour and a half. There was the sound of wheels.

"That's th' doctor, Liza Ann." There was no reply.

The old man fidgeted for fifteen minutes more; he had grown nervous. He slid out of the bed quietly and went to the barn.

"Thought I heard a noise," he told himself by way of excuse for his action. "Wonder if Old Queen's loose?" He felt his way along the manger carefully. Unaccustomed to midnight visitors, Queen snorted and shrank from his hand when he touched her.

"Whoa, there! You needn't be so blamed 'fraid--nothin's goin' t' hurt you.

You ain't a woman."

Silas found a nail-keg and sat down on it across from the nibbling horses, and thought and waited.

"He's there by this time," he murmured presently. "Wisht they'd 'a' sent for Liza Ann. No, I guess it's better not. She wouldn't know what t' do, havin' no experience."

He debated with himself as to whether he should go back to bed or not.

"Couldn't sleep," he concluded. "Lord! how long the nights is when a feller's awake!"

The horses ate on uninterruptedly and the soft breeze stole through the old barn, while everything in nature was indicative of peace except the old man, whose mind worked relentlessly on the situation of the young wife whose certain suffering racked him almost as much as if he had stood in its presence.

"Gosh-a-livin's!" he exclaimed as a new thought struck him. "I wonder which one of 'em Jake got. Now that young Doc Stubbins ain't got no more sense 'n a louse. I ought t' 'a' told John an' I forgot. Lord! Lord! th'

chances th' poor critters have t' take!"

Mrs. Chamberlain was awakened in the gray light of morning as her husband crept shivering into bed.

"Where you been?" she asked.

"Out t' th' barn. Heard a noise an' thought I'd better look into it," was Silas's reply.

As the sun rose the new life was ushered in. Doctor Morgan did not start home till after nine o'clock.

"Who is to have charge of your wife, Mr. Hunter?" he asked as he paused in the door and looked back at his patient anxiously. Seven miles was a long distance--and she might need him suddenly.

"Why, I thought Hepsie and I could care for her," John replied. Trained nurses were unheard of in those days.

"It simply cannot be," answered the old man. (Doctor Stubbins had not been engaged.) "Another attack like this last one would--well, you _must_ have some one of experience here. It's a matter of life or death--at least it might be," he added under his breath. "Couldn't you stay?" he asked Susan Hornby, who sat with the baby on her knee. "The girl's liable to slip away from us before I could get here."