The Desired Woman(Fiscle Part-3 Of 2) by Will N. Harben (e book reader pdf TXT) 📕

Contracted The Habit Yet,  But She Can Easy Enough If She Keeps It Up.

She Takes A Bottle Of Them Wherever She Goes. When I Was Young,  A

Woman Who Was A Mother Of A Child Like Hers Loved It,  Nursed It,

Petted It,  Got Natural Joy Out Of It; But Irene Seldom Speaks To Dick,

And He Doesn't Care For Her Any More Than For A Stranger,  But He Loves

You--God Only Knows Why,  But He Does. It Is 'Daddy,  Daddy,  Daddy' With

Nearly Every Breath He Draws."

Mostyn Felt A Force Within Him Rising And Expanding. A Sob Lodged In

His Tight Throat And Pained Him. He Was Grateful For The Deepening

Shadows,  For The Droning Prattle From The Old Lips. He Sank Into A

Chair. The Droning Continued,  Sounding Far Off. A Thousand Incidents

And Faces (Smiling And Blending) Sprang Upon Him Out Of The Past--The

Happy,  Irresponsible Past,  The Seductive,  Confident,  Ambitious Past.

Surely Fate Was A Mental Entity,  Capable Of Crafty Design Against The

Heedless Young. He Remembered The Vows Of Chastity And Honor He Had

Made During A Revival In A Country Church Under A Blazing Faith. He

Recalled How Soon They Were Forgotten,  How Sure He Was,  Later On,  That

Nature's Physical Laws Were The Highest Known. Man Was Made To Live,

Enjoy,  And Conquer All If He Could. And He Had Succeeded. He Had

Become Rich And Prosperous. Next He Found His Memory Swimming Through

That Black Period Of Satiated Desire And Disgust Of Self.

"I Wish Folks Would Not Mix _Me_ Up With Your Private Matters." The

Words Rose Sharply From The Senile Prattle And Penetrated Mostyn's

Lethargy. "There's Old Jeff Henderson--He Had The Cheek To Come To Me

To-Day To Borrow Money. Said His Family Was In Rags And Starving. Said

You Euchred Him Out Of All He Had And Got Your Start On It. What In

The Name Of Common Sense Does He Come To _Me_ For? I Don't Own You,

And I Knew Nothing About That Transaction,  Either. I Reckon He's Going

Crazy,  But That Doesn't Keep Him From Bothering Me."

Seeing The Futility Of Explaining A Thing He Had Many Times Explained,

Mostyn Rose. Before Him The Open Doorway Framed An Oblong Patch Of

Calm Gray Sky,  And Toward It He Moved,  His Mental Hands Impotently

Outstretched,  A Soundless Cry Welling Up From The Depths Of Himself.

On The First Morning After His Permanent Removal To His Plantation

Jarvis Saunders Waked With A Boundless Sense Of Freedom From Care,

Which Had Not Been His Since His Boyhood. Through All His Short Visits

To The Spot Hitherto He Had Been Haunted With The Unpleasant Thought

Of Having To Return To The City And The Rigid Demands Of Business. But

It Was Different Now. He Lay In The Wide,  High-Posted Colonial Bed,

Stretched Himself,  Looked At The Sunlight On The Small-Paned Windows,

And Sighed With Complete Content. From The Outside Came The Chirping

Of Birds,  The Crowing Of Roosters,  The Cackle Of Hens,  The Quacking Of

Ducks,  The Scream Of Geese,  The Thwack Of An Ax At The Wood-Pile,  The

Mellow Song Of The Lank Negro Chopper,  Uncle Zeke,  One Of The Ex-

Slaves Of His Family.

Rising And Standing At A Window,  And Parting The Pink And Blue

Morning-Glories Which Overhung It In Dew-Dipped Freshness,  Saunders

Looked Down Into The Yard. He Saw Aunt Maria,  Zeke's Portly Wife,

Approach From The Kitchen Door And Begin To Fill Her Apron With The

Chips His Ax Had Strewn Upon The Ground.

"You Go On En Ring Dat Fus' Breakfus'-Bell,  Zeke," She Said,

Peremptorily. "De Fus' Litter O' Biscuits Is Raidy To Slide In De

Stove,  En De Chicken En Trout Is Fried Brown. Everthing Is Got Ter Be

Des Right Dis Fus' Mawnin' Dat Marse Jarvis Is Home Ter Stay. Fifteen

Minutes Is Long 'Nough Fer 'Im Ter Dress."

"Ring De Bell _Yo'se'f_,  'Ooman!" Zeke Laughed,  Loudly. "Yo' Gittin'

So Heavy En Waddly Yo' Don' Want Ter Turn Yo' Han's Over. Look Yer,

'Ooman,  Marse Jarvis Ain't Gwine Ter Let Yo' Cook Fer 'Im Regular,

Nohow. He Gwine Ter Fix De House Up Spank New,  Fum Top Ter Bottom,  En

Git De Ol' 'Fo'-De-Wah Style Back Ergin. He Gwine Ter Sen' Away Off

Som'er's Fer Er Spry Up-Date Cook. Yo' Know What,  'Ooman? I'm Gwine Be

His Head House-Servant,  I Is. My Place'll Be In De Front Hall Ter Mix

Mint-Juleps Fo' 'Im En His Frien's Fum De City When Dey Skeet By In

Deir Automobiles En Stop Over Fer Er Smoke En Er Howdy-Do. He Gwine

Ter Order Me Er Long-Tail,  Jimswingin' Blue Coat. He Done Say Dat

He'll Look Ter Me Ter Keep You-All's J'ints Oiled Up So Yo' Won't

Walk In Yo' Sleep So Much In De Day-Time."

"Go 'Long,  Yo' Fool Nigger!" Maria Sniffed,  As She Shook Her Chips

Down Into Her Apron. "When Marse Jarvis Stick Er Black Scarecrow Lak

Yo' In De Front Part De House He Shore Will Be Out His Senses. He

Gwine Ter Mek Yo' Haul Manure Wid Er Dump-Cart,  Dat What He Is."

Saunders Smiled As He Stepped Back And Began To Dress. "God Bless

Their Simple,  Loyal Souls!" He Said. "They Shall Never Suffer As Long

As I Live. My Parents Loved Them,  And So Do I."

At The Sound Of The Second Bell He Went Downstairs. How Cool,

Spacious,  And Inviting Everything Looked! The Oblong Drawing-Room,

Into Which He Glanced In Passing,  With Its White Wainscoting And

Beautiful Oriel Window At The End On The Left Of The Entrance-Hall,

Brought Back Many Memories Of His Childhood And Youth. He Recalled The

Gay Assemblages Of Summer Visitors To His Father And Mother From

Augusta And Charleston--The Dances,  The Horseback Rides,  The Hunting-

Parties,  The Music,  The Singing Of Hymns On Sundays.

"I Must Bring It All Back," He Mused. "That Was Normal Living."

These Memories Followed Him To The Great Dining-Room In The Rear Of

The House. As He Took His Usual Seat At The Head Of The Long Table The

Delicious Aroma Of Fine Coffee,  The Smell Of Frying Meats And Hot

Biscuits Came In From The Adjoining Kitchen. The Wide Fireplace Had

Been Freshly Whitewashed,  And Was Filled With The Resinous Boughs Of

Young Pines. The Several Windows Were Open,  And Through Them He Had

Glimpses Of His Verdant Lands And The Mountains Beyond. The Portraits

Of His Mother,  Father,  And Grandparents Seemed To Smile Down From

Their Massive Frames On The White Walls. The Same Silverware And Cut

Glass Which They Had Used Were Before Him On The Mahogany Sideboard;

The Same China.

Aunt Maria Had Put The Hot,  Tempting Dishes Before Him And Gone Away.

The Pot Of Coffee Was Steaming At His Side. Suddenly An Impulse,  Half

Sentimental,  Came Over Him Which He Could Not Resist. He Recalled How

His Father Had Always Said Grace; And,  Bowing His Head,  He Whispered

The Long-Silent Words Over His Unturned Plate And Folded Napkin. How

Odd! He Thought: It Was As If The Short Prayer Had Been Laid Upon His

Lips By The Spirit Of His Father; The Fervent "Amen" Seemed To Be

Echoed By His Mother's Voice From The Opposite End Of The Board.

Saunders's Soul Was Suddenly Filled With A Transcendent Ecstasy. His

Parents Seemed To Be Actually Present,  Invisible,  And Yet Flooding His

Being With Their Spiritual Essence.

"Surely," He Said,  The Wonder Of The Thing Bursting Upon Him Like

Ineffable Light,  "There Is 'A Peace Which Passeth Understanding.'"

After Breakfast He Went To The Front Veranda To Smoke. He Saw Tom

Drake Walking Across A Meadow To Some Drainage Ditches Which Were

Being Dug To Destroy Some Objectionable Marshes. The Results Of The

Man's Work As Manager Had Been More Than Satisfactory.

Presently Saunders Descried A Few Hundred Yards Down The Main Road A

Woman On A Horse. It Was Dolly Drake; And,  Throbbing With Delight,  He

Hastened Down To The Gate,  Thinking That She Might Be Coming To Speak

To Her Father,  And Would Need Assistance In Alighting. But She Had No

Intention Of Stopping,  And With A Merry Bow Was About To Ride By When

He Stepped Out And Playfully Held Up His Hands.

"Your Money Or Your Life!" He Cried.

She Reined The Spirited Young Black Horse In And Sat Jauntily On The

Side-Saddle. Her Color Was High; She Wore A Pretty Riding-Hat,  A

Close-Fitting Gray Habit,  And Her Eyes Were Sparkling From The

Exhilaration Of The Gallop Along The Level Road.

"Take My Life,  But For Heaven's Sake Spare My Money!" She Retorted,

With An Ironical Laugh.

"I Think I Have Some News For You," He Said,  Approaching And Testing

The Girth Of Her Saddle. "Sit Still And Let Me Draw It Tighter."

"News," She Said,  With The Eagerness Of A Child,  As He Pulled Upward

On The Strap,  "For Me?"

"Yes,  For You. I Knew You Would Be Interested In The Bill Before The

House And Senate,  And So I Asked The Governor To Write Me If It Went

Through."