CHAPTER XThrough the Ever Changing Scenes
Thedays following the rescue of Gena Filson and the period of her convalescence were trying ones for the humble folks of Blood Camp. Without exception, every man from the bottom of his heart was glad that the fingers of the law had finally reached out and taken hold upon old Jase Dillenburger. Yet, for fear, not a man had given expression to the fact to his next neighbor.
When the news came from the sick-room, telling of the change for the better, the convalescence period, then the long suspense which had held the little hamlet in awful dread so long was broken. Darkness dispersed, and the people of Blood Camp adjusted themselves to the new conditions, and turned again to honest toil with contented minds and grateful hearts.
Since Paul Waffington had again taken his leave, the courts had decreed and ordered that the cabin and three acres of land that belonged to old Jase Dillenburger should pass to Gena Filson, and forthwith appointed Slade Pemberton her guardian and administrator.
Slade Pemberton was a hard man of the hills. He had about “held his own” or “kept even,” as he would say, selling goods in Blood Camp, and perhaps, he had been niggardly with it. He invariably tied the twenty-five-cent bag of brown sugar at the top with about an inch of cotton string, instead of wrapping the bag with the string, as is the custom, thereby saving a few inches of wrapping-string. But with Slade Pemberton twentyinches of cotton string saved was twenty inches made. More than one mother in Blood Camp could testify that his pound was short and his yard niggardly.
Still Slade Pemberton was the store-keeper, and the people looked up to him in a way, and respected him. Since good luck had favored him somewhat lately, and he had been able to settle his back accounts with his dealers in the cities and thereby reopen his store for business, he had tried ever so hard to deal justly with all. But Slade Pemberton found it hard, even a strain upon him, to put more than thirty-five and one-half inches in his yard. But recently he had attended a few sessions of the Sunday-school “Jist to hear the tunes—not to take part,” as he said. But the tunes seemed to have done him good. The Sunday-school, the new adjustment of life in Blood Camp, and one other great fact—the fact that he was now the guardian of Gena Filson—all seemed to take hold upon him until the little spark of good that was in him flamed up and found expression in deeds of kindness.
Without further delay, he had the cabin on the mountainside cleansed of its filth and the greasy and germ-laden furnishings burned. When all had been made clean, the serviceable furnishings were arranged in their places, a few new things bought and installed, and all was made ready for the return of Gena Filson. Slade Pemberton had even outdone himself in the matter of kindness for Gena Filson. He arranged with Emeline Hobbs that she should close up her own little house and go with Gena on the mountain and be her housekeeper.
When the day arrived for Gena Filson to return to the cabin and make it her future home, misgivings were in her heart. But Slade Pemberton closed and locked his store and accompanied Gena and her housekeeper to the new home. At the first sight of the old home, Gena shrankback with dread. She thought of the awful past, of her hard master Jase, whom she had seen standing in the door a thousand times.
“Ay, it’s all different now, Genie, it’s all different now,” said Slade Pemberton, as he led the way.
She came up and took a look through the little door. She saw to her great surprise many changes in that dismal little room. It looked so different, so clean and really sweet, she thought. Then it was to be her home, it was her home. And then she was to have a housekeeper, and the best housekeeper! And it all—all the three acres of corn, potatoes and house—all her own.
“All for me—all mine!” she cried, with delight.
It was the first evening of September now. She had been to the wood-yard, where she had filled her basket with dry chips. Returning, she had built a fire for the night was growing chilly. When the sun was high the days were still warm and pleasant, but the nights were growing cold and tonight there was dampness in the room. Supper was over, and Emeline Hobbs was busy putting away the dishes while she finished the fire. The blaze leaped up and lent a cheerful look to the room as she sat throwing on handfuls of chips.
Gena Filson was herself again now, and was growing stronger each succeeding day. The rose was coming again to her cheeks and she was truly grateful for her existence. She smiled with satisfaction as she listened to the stub, stub of Emeline Hobbs’ wooden peg, as that happy soul busied herself about the kitchen work humming the while “Am I a Soldier.” Then, taking a pailful of beans from a corner of the room, she began stringing them for the morrow’s cooking, as the figure of a boy appeared in the open door.
“Howdy, Genie?”
“Why, how do you do, Boaz. Do come right in.Why, Boaz, this is the first time you have come to see me since—since I came back home. I’m so glad that you have come. Have this chair, Boaz.”
“Jist leave stan’. Iz Emeline here? I’d a come sooner, but I know’d Emeline wuz here. I don’t like her much, you know. You know thet she wuz allus a peckin’ on me in Sunday-skule for sumthin’ or ’nother. But she ain’t done it as much lately as she used to. Maybe she’s got a little more feelin’ fur a feller or sumthin’. I jist thot I’d come up and fetch you these daisies, ef you wanted ’em. They’re about all gone. Found these over by the big stub over yander on Slade’s hill. I started up here more’n two hours ago, but as I cum up, I saw an adder, and laid them daisies down to kill ’em, an’ I like to never found them daisies agin when I got through with that adder. I wisht I may die, ef I didn’t hunt an hour fur ’em ’fore I found ’em. But I found ’em.”
“How can I ever thank you for the kindness you show me? I do love daisies. You are a good boy, Boaz, and a dear friend to me.”
“Yes, you bet I’m your friend all right, Genie, an’ don’t you fergit it,” piped Boaz. “Course I’m jist a boy an’ can’t help you like Mr. Waffington did when he was here.” He looked into the fire for a long time, turned over his quid of tobacco, spat in the ashes and gave a jerk at his head as he continued: “He’s gone agin now, though. But ef I wuz a man, though, I’d show them rowdies, Fen Green an’ them, how to impose on you, Genie. Has Fen Green bin up here lately, Genie?”
“No, I think not, Boaz,” she replied, and went on breaking and stringing the beans.
“Well, he’s acomin’! I hear him atellin’ the boys down to the shop yisterday, thet he was agoin’ to put on his new celloi’ collar and his new striped shirt andfix up an’ come upon the mountain tomorrow an’ see his future wife—Miss Genie Filson. The dang——”
“Oh, Boaz! You mustn’t! I didn’t think that you would——”
“Well, I didn’t. I didn’t cuss, Genie. Not hardly, I didn’t. Don’t count it this time. But you ain’t afixin’ to marry Fen Green, air you, Genie?”
“Why, no, Boaz, I’m not fixing to marry anybody,” she simply said.
“O—o—o—oh!” he said. His clenched fists relaxed and he stood looking into the fire. Stooping to the floor, he picked up the few beans that had been carelessly dropped to the floor, threw them into the pail and said, “It’s gettin’ dark—I got to go. I’ll see you at Sunday-skule nex’ Sunday. Good-bye, Genie,” and he disappeared through the door and went down the mountainside like a flash. She ran to the door and looked after him. Then presently there came to her ears from away off down the mountainside the familiar tune:
“Ho-de-o-do, ho-de o de; ho de o do, ho diddle de de.” Her cheeks flushed crimson as she smiled, went in and shut the door.
Gena Filson sits by her own fire in a speculative mood tonight. Was she not happy, she thought. She was now her own mistress in a sense, free to do in most things—as she chose. The house and corn patches were hers; her savage old master, Jase, was now behind prison walls making reparation in some degree for the stripes that he had laid upon her. But since her recent illness; since the lifting of the yoke from her neck; since the new era in Blood Camp life, there appeared a pain in her young heart not without a cause. Fen Green wanted to marry Gena Filson, and she was aware of the fact. Oh, no; she could never marry Fen Green. She knew not the reason why, but then, that could never be. Thenthere was another friend, one who had so befriended her. But she had never thought of marrying him—of marrying anybody. Why, she thought, Paul Waffington had never even hinted that he cared for her in the slightest—and much less thought of marrying her. But whose name was it that was on her lips most during those long hours of delirium? To whom did she then appeal constantly for help? Who was it that she pulled down over the bed and begged a hundred times over that he would not let old Jase beat her again? Had no one ventured to tell her that it was Paul Waffington? But now, as she sits looking into the fire, she thinks that she can faintly recall the gentle touch of soft hands and a sweet reassuring voice bending over her, constantly telling her that no harm should come nigh her. And as she reflects upon it all tonight, she allows her heart to half wish that Paul Waffington loved her. But perish the thought, she reasoned. Had he not returned to his native country to be with those who honor and love him? Perhaps tonight he sits at the festal board smiling upon her whom he loves and who he boasts as his equal. One who has many graces, refinement, culture and sterling character. But no matter, thought Gena Filson, he had befriended her, and she resolved now to ever be grateful at least for his friendship.
The fire on the hearth went out; she arose and went to her bed with the first gentle call of love throbbing in her bosom.
On the following day Fen Green found her about the flowers in the yard. She was preparing to take up many of the flowers and remove them into the house for the long winter. In all the style and glory of which Boaz Honeycutt had told her Fen Green came.
“It’s mighty pretty day, an’ ye air alookin’ well, Genie. I’m glad ye air so well. I hope thet ye air well enoughto lis’en with some sense to what I’m agwin’ to say. Now, will yer be fair?”
“Why, yes, Fen, I will always try to see things rightly,” she said, as she took up a large chrysanthemum near the gate.
“Slade Pemberton is atalkin’ of you agwin’ off to skule. Now you don’t need no more skulin’. You’ve bin to skule an’ then your maw learnt you a lot at home. You don’t need no more learnin’. Too much learnin’ makes wimen highfalutin. An’ you know thet it wuz the will of Jase thet me an’ you marry at Chrismus. Now what you goin’ to do? You ain’t agoin’ to forgit adyin’ man’s request, air ye? He’s bin took to prison, an’ he’s too old to sarve out his time an’ come back—so he’s jist as good as ded. I won’t never beat ye like Jase did, neither. I’ll allus keep ye plenty to eat an’ ware. An’ you know I have a little farm up thar on the hill, with plenty of corn, cabbage, taters and sich like. Now won’t thet be better than goin’ off to skule an’ settin’ yerself for somebody thet ye can’t git?”
“Fen, I’m not thinking of marrying anybody. You have befriended me, and I want your friendship. I need it, especially when friends are so few.” She put down the spade and looked away off down the mountainside. Then slowly said: “No, Fen, we cannot marry. Here in this valley below us are girls better suited to you than I. Choose you a wife from among them, and prove yourself worthy of her. As a friend you can help me and as your friend I will try to help you.”
“I have loved you an’ waited fur ye—an’ I ain’t agoin’ to give ye up. I’ll be yer friend, an’ I’ll be yer lover too—an’ I hope thet ye’ll come to your senses some day,” he called back over his shoulder as he went down the mountainside.
The time came when Slade Pemberton was to close his store and make another trip up on the mountain to the cabin of Gena Filson. He went this time with a grave face but a good mission in his heart.
“I’m not much of a man, Genie, but I’m disposed to do the best for ye that I know. I wrote Mr. Waffington fer a little advice. I told him all about everything—thet I had been appointed your guardian an’ that the house an’ all was your’n, and that you could sell off enough of corn, beans and a few other things to send you to skule off somewhere fur a whole year or nearly so. Now I’ve got a letter here from him. He says that he will help you to get a scholarship. Now, I come up to see you an’ find out from you ef it’s your own mind fer you to go off to skule. Now ef it is, then Slade Pemberton is goin’ to see to it thet you git to go. Ef you want to go off an’ study music an’ a few other things, I say that you can go. I’ll buy in your corn an’ other things mostly myself. Emeline can go back to her own home while you are gone. I’ll git Uncle Laz to take care of the house while you are gone. Now, Genie, you jist decide about this to suit yerself. I’m jist Slade Pemberton, but I’m going to do right by ye, Genie, ef I know what right is.”
“Oh, I can hardly believe that you are saying it!” she cried, joyfully. “Oh, if I could only go to school!”
Slade Pemberton left Gena Filson with her heart all aflame that afternoon. She sat on the tuft of grass in her own yard looking down on the hundreds of peaks before her, and wondered how it would all seem to be beyond the hills, within the limits of some great city; to push one’s way along through the mighty throngs in the congested business districts. Then college! She had seen the pictures of colleges in the magazines and the catalogues—but to go to college! that would be altogether another thing. To get a real chance in life; to minglewith the learned and refined people of the world, she thought, could not fail to set her feet upon higher planes of service and endeavor in the battle of human life.
At last the desire of Gena Filson’s heart was realized—she went to college. To her scanty little wardrobe were added three cheap dresses that she and Emeline Hobbs had hurriedly made by candle-light. All were at length crowded into a little trunk that had long since seen more service than its share, and Gena Filson climbed upon the wagon seat by the side of Slade Pemberton one bright morning, and was ready to leave for college.
Once more the hearts of all Blood Camp were made sad. All had gathered at the store to see her off. Mothers forgot, in their real sorrow, to still their crying children as they stood on the store platform, holding them in their arms—looking on with downcast hearts.
All had been made glad when the news flashed back that Jase Dillenburger had been sent to prison. All had again had much cause for thanksgiving, when they found that the one beloved in the village above all others—Gena Filson—was to make her home in the cabin in their midst. But now that she was going away to be gone a very long period of time, and perhaps never to return, was too much for them. It made them all sore at heart. And if she did return, would she be the same? She would be above them, Fen Green had said.
“Be a good girl, honey, an’ doan’ yo’ nebber go back on de folks at home. No matter whar’ yo’ go nor what yo’ see, doan’ nebber fergit ’em. De is mighty rough folks, but ebber one has good hearts an’ lobes yo’. An’ honey, doan’ yo’ forgit yo’ ole black mammy. I’ll be stan’in’ right ober der in de do’ah alookin’ fo’ yo’ whin yo’ come. Good-bye, honey.”
The wagon went up over the little hill and out of sight. Fen Green jabbed the spur into his horse’s side and shot away in the opposite direction, yelling as he went:
“Let ’er go—nobody cares.”
For a time the others stood together looking at the spot just where the wagon disappeared, as if they were bound together under the spell. But after a time the mothers rewrapped the babies in their shawls and resignedly returned to their homes.
Boaz Honeycutt remained upon the store platform alone. He had not seen the wagon pass out of sight over the hill. He had strained his eyes watching the wagon as it neared the hill-top, and finally, when he heard the words come ringing back to him:
“Good-bye, Boaz; don’t forget me”—tears filled his eyes and put the wagon out of his vision. For a long time the little barefoot boy sat without a stir. Then, getting up, he ran his hands down deep into the bottomless pockets of his coat and slowly walked away.