II
Itwas a soft and gracious evening early in the month. The dusk, drenched by dew, which brought out the fragrance of locust blossoms, of peonies, roses, and cut grass in the dooryards up and down the street, fell over Hart’s Run in breath after breath of oncoming darkness, obliterating the sordid aspect of the village—except where the electric lights glaringly defied it—so that the cheap lines of the new garage were gathered into obscurity, the telegraph poles disappeared, and looking up one saw the wide, tumbled outline of mountains, with a remote young moon sailing the sky.
Some of the night’s fragrance drifted in through Julie’s back door, but she was unconscious of its appeal, having gone into her shop to see if everything was in order and safely locked up, before she started out for the week-night prayer-meeting.
She had already seen to everything once, but she returned nervously this second time just tobe quite sure that all was safe. Snapping on the light, she stood a moment, and looked all about the neat little place; then she stepped across and tried the handle of the door. She was just turning away, when a sudden rasping noise jumped her heart into her throat, and stiffened all the nerves at the back of her neck. She stood transfixed, frozen with terror. She was all alone in her part of the house. What could the noise be? A snake? Once, as a little girl, she had almost stepped on a rattlesnake, and ever since any sudden rasping sound threw her into an agony of fear. Again the sound broke forth, constricting her with renewed terror. But now she realized that it came from the old disused fireplace, and she knew distressfully well what it was; though her fear left her, revulsion and discomfort took its place. It was the chimney swallows. Their nest had come down and the young birds were in the fireplace. Julie crept over, and pulling forward the board screen which she had covered with wall paper, peered into the hearth. There was only one, a naked little fledgling with blind eyes and gaping mouth. The sight of it nauseated Julie, and yet filled her with unhappy compassion.
“Poor little thing! Poor little thing!” she shuddered. “What in the world am I going to do with you?”
“Julie! Aw, Julie!” a strident voice called all at once from the back door, making Julie jump again.
It was Mrs. Dolly Anderson, Julie knew. She had stopped on her way to prayer-meeting. Julie wished she had not come until she had decided what to do about the chimney-swallow.
“Julie! Where are you?” the rasping voice persisted. Mrs. Anderson was coming in through the back way, and was already in the kitchen. Julie hastily replaced the screen, and met her at the shop door.
“There you are, dearie,” the visitor proclaimed. “I been bawling my head off for you. I come by to go with you to prayer meetin’—but you look’s white as a sheet. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, I’m all right,” Julie said, nervously.
“Something’s scared you,” the other stated, her stalwart figure settling firmly back upon her heels, as she surveyed Julie with a relentless stare. “I never knowed any person to get scared as easy as you do, Julie. What’s happened now?I’ll bet a hopper-grass jumped at you! Or,” with sudden elephantine playfulness, “I caught you up to something you hadn’t ought to do. Now then!” she admonished, shaking a stubby and roguish finger, and pouncing inexorably upon Julie’s self-conscious look. “Tell its mammy what it’s been doin’.—Oh, for themercy sake! What’sthat?”
The young swallow had broken out stridently once more.
“It’s a chimney-swallow,” Julie confessed. “I was just trying to think what to do with it.”
“Where is it—over in the fireplace?” Mrs. Anderson, with a tread that made the boards complain under her, went over and pulled the screen away, with large competent hands. “Ugh! How I despise little naked birds!” she ejaculated. “Here, where’s the cat?”
“Oh, I don’t want the cat to get it.”
“Yes, you do. There ain’t a thing else to do. Here, kitty! Puss, puss, puss!”
“But I tell you I don’t want—”
“Yes you do, too, Julie. Here, kitty, kitty! Yougotto do it, Julie! There ain’t another thing to do with ’em. Pus-sie! Puss, puss!”
Julie’s big black cat came running in on soft eager feet.
“Here, pussie!” Mrs. Anderson called.
“No, don’t! Please don’t!” Julie begged. “Scat! scat out of here, Blackie!”
But as the cat paused in the doorway, looking uncertainly from one to the other, half crouched, with green eyes glinting and tail lashing, Mrs. Anderson dragged it forward by the scruff of the neck, and in an instant the combination was effected. There was a pounce, a last shriek of supreme agony from the fledgling, and with a growl the cat ran out of the room, the bird in its mouth.
Julie leaned against the counter, swallowing convulsively.
“Julie! for mercy sake! you know that was the onliest thing to do. When they come down the chimney like that, you just have to give ’em to the cat. There ain’t another thingtodo.”
“I—I might have tried to raise it,” Julie said, weakly.
“No, you could not,” Mrs. Anderson retorted. “You don’t know what to feed it; an’ even s’posing you did, you ain’t got time to waste pokin’fishin’ worms down a nasty little naked bird’s throat—specially now in the war when our boys needs every single thing we can do for ’em.”
“I know, but—”
“Well, but what?”
“It sounded so awful when the cat got it!”
“Julie! I never did see any person take things as hard as you do. I reckon it’s because you’re so thin. Just look at your arms!” Mrs. Anderson took one of Julie’s hands, and pushed the loose sleeve up above her elbow. “Looks about the size of a toothpick to me. If you were fleshier, things wouldn’t get to you so quick. Look at me, now,” she commanded, drawing up her frank proportions. “Things have to go through about six inches of grease ’fore they can reach me. But you—why you’re pretty near as naked to the world as that nasty little chimney-swallow. You can’t go through life like that. Oh, it’s all right for a real young girl, but you must be over thirty; it’s time you was featherin’ up, dearie.”
Julie snapped off the light in silence, and they passed out of the shop.
“Well, I will say one thing for you, you alwayslook s’ nice,” Mrs. Anderson approved her, as they emerged from Julie’s side door and set out together along the village street. “I never seen you when you didn’t look like you’d stepped right out of a bandbox. That’s a mighty cute little collar you got on, dearie,” she continued, fingering the delicate ruffles at Julie’s neck. Julie was constantly at the mercy of other women’s hands. Her smallness stirred their maternal instincts; they were apt to stroke her and patronize her. “I declare, you don’t seem like nothing but a doll baby to me,” her companion pursued, her large damp hand giving Julie’s shoulder a final pat. “It beats me why you never married, Julie.—Oh my Lord!” she broke off abruptly, clapping her hand to her mouth.
“What is it? What’s the matter?” Julie cried, in alarm.
Mrs. Anderson performed some violent mouth-gymnastics behind her palm. “It’s my teeth,” she explained, spasmodically, at last. “I can’t seem to get used to this new set, an’ seems like they’re always a-bitin’ at my tongue. I have to watch ’em all the time. An’ I’m mightily afraid they’ll drop out in company some day.” Shewithdrew her hand at length, and they started on again. “But as I say,” she continued, “I don’t see why in the name of goodness you never married.”
“I never wanted to marry,” Julie said hastily, an uncomfortable restraint falling upon her.
“Oh yes, that’s just what every old maid says, if you’ll excuseme,” Mrs. Anderson retorted.
“No—but it’s true; I mean it,” Julie protested. “I—I always just hated the idea of getting married. It scares me to think of it.”
They were passing under an electric light, and Mrs. Anderson looked down at her curiously. “Well, now, ain’t that funny? I just believe that’s so,” she stated. “An’ it ain’t for want of chances, neither. There was Sam Dodson—he courted you, didn’t he?”
Julie was silent, but in the street light Mrs. Anderson could see the nervous self-consciousness of her face.
“Oh, all right, don’t tell, then,” she continued. “But everybody knows he did, an’ Pinckney Wayland, too—and wasn’t there a drummer feller from Cincinnati? Why, Julie, you’ve had a heap of chances. Most people would brag about’em. Scary as you are, I’d think you’d want to be married an’ have a man ’round to look after you—There! there, now!” She stopped again, dramatically.
“What is it? Your teeth?” Julie inquired, with concern.
“No, but I got an idea. It’s come to me all of a sudden. I just believe I’ll make a match between you and the new preacher. Now I think that’d be real suitable. He’s about the right age for you, an’ maybe marrying a widower like that wouldn’t scare you s’ much.”
Julie quickened her pace nervously, walking with averted eyes.
“Widowers, now,” Mrs. Anderson pursued, “They’re broke to double harness already—they ain’t so hard to drive as a colt.”
She suddenly collapsed in mirth. “’Magine you drivin’ a colt husband, Julie!” she giggled. “Don’t walk so fast, dearie; you put me all out er breath. Well, anyhow, I think widowers are real nice. I ain’t got one thing against ’em. I just believe I’ll make the match between you and Brother Seabrook. You like his looks all right, don’t you?”
Julie had fallen into a frozen silence. But her companion was inexorable.
“Don’t you, dearie? Don’t you like his looks?” she persisted.
“I—I haven’t thought anything about how he looks,” Julie stumbled, unhappily.
“I b’lieve he’d like you, too,” Mrs. Anderson went on. “Big men like him are mighty apt to take to little scary women like you. An’ you’d make him a real good wife, Julie. I will say for you, you’re ’bout the best cook in town. You get that from your mother; she always set the prettiest table—you recollect, Julie?”
Again Julie was silent. The remembrance of her mother informed all her life, but it was not possible for her to speak of it to Mrs. Anderson.
“Well, of course Brother Seabrook would rather have you keepin’ his house an’ raisin’ his children for him than that soured-faced old aunt he’s got now. An’ you wouldn’t give him a speck er trouble; you wouldn’t kick over the traces, would you? ’Magine you kickin’ over anything, Julie!” Again Mrs. Anderson was convulsed with mirth, but this time she was interrupted. “Oh, mercy! Them old teeth!” she cried, clappingher hand to her mouth. “My! But they certainly did take a spiteful nip at my tongue that time. Yes, sir,” she continued, “I’m certainly goin’ to make that match if I live. I’ll commence right this evenin’ by bringin’ you to his notice. I’ll tip him off to call on you to pray.”
“Oh, no!” Julie burst out. “Oh, please, Mrs. Anderson—please don’t do anything like that! You know I never do lead in prayer. I can’t do it. I never could. Brother Mead knew I couldn’t—and old Brother Johnston, too—mother told them privately, and they never called on me. I’ll do anything to help the church—anything I can. But I can’t lead in prayer, Mrs. Anderson; you know I can’t! I never could.”
“Well, now, it’s time you learned. You been a member in the Methodist church too long not to be able to pray, Julie. Why, what’ll folks think if it gets about you can’t pray? Why, prayer’s just the very foundation of the church. What’s the matter?”
Julie had stopped. “I’m not going to prayer-meeting this evening,” she faltered. “I’ve got to go back. I—I don’t feel so very well.”
Mrs. Anderson laid firm hands upon her.“That’s perfect nonsense,” she cried. “You got to go. Why, this is Brother Seabrook’s first prayer-meeting. Everybody’ll think it’s awful funny if you ain’t there to welcome him.”
“I’m not going,” Julie protested, trying to twist herself free of the large hand on her wrist. “I—I—Oh, you know I can’t lead in prayer! If he calls on me, I’ll not be able to say one word—an’ everybody’ll laugh.”
“Julie! You a Methodist an’ can’t pray?”
“I’ll die if he calls on me,” Julie cried, on the verge of tears.
“Oh, no, you won’t. Folks don’t die that easy. What’s the matter with you, anyhow, Julie?” Mrs. Anderson interrupted herself suddenly. “Why, now I come to recollect, I heard you pray once, an’ it was just grand. It was the time we had that big revivalist here—remember? Why, you was just wonderful that night.”
“I know—I remember,” Julie returned hurriedly. “But that was different. I was just carried away that night. Something got hold of me—it sort of swept me out of myself. I—I wasn’t there that night. It was his preaching, I reckon. It seemed to set me free.” She broke off,a sudden bravery brought momentarily to her face by the remembrance. “But—but that was different,” she hurried on. “I couldn’t do it now. Please let me go.”
But the other was inexorable.
“You’ve prayed once an’ you can pray again,” she persisted. “An’ it would be awful for you not to be there for Brother Seabrook’s first prayer-meeting. If you struggle now, Julie, it’ll look like I was draggin’ you to church, an’ what’ll folks think of that?”
Julie knew, all through her sensitive being, just how it would look, and so perforce she yielded.
Fortunately, however, they were late, so that when they entered the Sunday-School room, where the week-night services were held, all the front benches were occupied and they were forced to slip into obscure seats, near the door. Hidden away by a broad back in front of her, Julie drew a breath of relief. The agitated beating of her heart began to subside, and during the singing of the first hymn she even dared to peep forth between the other worshipers, letting her eyes rove over the familiar congregation, theplaster walls ornamented by texts, the red runner of carpet in the aisle, and at last up to the front where Brother Seabrook stood by the reading-table, his hymn book stretched away from his farsighted eyes. He was a tall man, and big in proportion. Breathlessly, overpoweringly big he seemed to Julie. A personality that made her feel stifled. His hair was dark, and although flecked with gray, still persisted in a tendency to curl. He had a trick of smoothing it down fiercely from time to time. He smoothed it now as he gave himself to the loud worship of song, his body swaying slightly on his wide-planted legs, and his eyes, as round and dark and almost as expressionless as shoe buttons, alternately dropped to pick up a line of hymn and then raised to sweep over his flock. Peeping forth at him, Julie heard again in her mind Mrs. Anderson’s bold voice as she planned the match between Brother Seabrook and herself, and at the remembrance she blushed. She felt the blush not only in her face but all down into her very being. His eyes terrified her. Once, as she watched him, they came full upon hers, roving down between the channel of the people in front. She looked hastily away, but sheknew he had seen her, had marked where she was sitting; and the blush burned through her more violently than ever.
The hymn came to an end, and with a final smooth to his hair Brother Seabrook spread his handkerchief on the floor, and dropped one knee upon it in prayer.
“Seems like he needn’t to be so scary about trustin’ both knees to our floor,” Mrs. Anderson whispered resentfully to Julie, as they bent forward.
Brother Seabrook’s petition was an impassioned plea that his flock might be instructed in prayer—all of them, even the least in their midst—and here Mrs. Anderson dug her elbow into Julie’s ribs. Another hymn followed, and as the congregation sang through “Take it to the Lord in prayer,” Julie tried to fortify herself with the thought that surely none of the women members would be called on at this very first prayer-meeting. But when the hymn died away, Brother Seabrook shattered this forlorn hope by booming out, “Sister Humphries, will you offer a prayer?” Obediently, old Miss Mary Humphries, up at the front, bowed her broad back tothe burden. It was more than Julie could face. He was calling on the women, and he had fixed his eyes upon her. It was terrifying to leave. It was impossible to stay. She went. Mrs. Anderson’s face was buried in her hands. She never knew when Julie slipped from her side. None of the worshipers saw her go. She was so far back that a stride or two brought her to the door. It was half open, and she passed through it to freedom and safety, without a sound.