Part 6

Back and forth the road wound, continually disclosing new vistas. In the coves farmers were gathering the “crap.” There were pine-capped crests, bare, tumbled rocks, stream beds showing traces of tempestuous high water, threaded now by tiny, twinkling rills. Beyond, and still beyond, reared peak after peak of the Cumberlands. Gincy looked eagerly toward the southeast. For a moment she almost imagined she could see the tiny cabin perched above Goose Creek.

After a hard climb of almost two hours, the level space on the mountain-top was reached. From a thicket of young trees they emerged into a cleared space where stood a long, red bungalow apparently without doors or windows. Built at the edge of a cliff, it commanded a wonderful view of the surrounding mountains and the Blue Grass country.

“Oh! We’re here at last!” Gincy tumbled out hastily. “Whar do you git in?”

“Down the chimney, of course,” laughed Urilla. “Look for the ladder under the bungalow.”

“You might watch and see how I do it,” said Miss Howard, producing a key and going around to the rear of the building. Presently she pushed up sections of the side—one by one—and lastly threw back the wide front doors.

Gincy stood for a moment enraptured. Below for miles was a fair, level country dotted with towns—another world of which she knew nothing. The sun was dipping westward toward a bluish-purple horizon.

By five o’clock everything was in order. “Not a lazy bone among you,” Miss Howard assured them. “Now scatter and have a good time.”

They needed no second bidding. Lalla led off at a break-neck speed. “We’ll start in at the cave and come back by Fat Man’s Misery; it’ll land us right in front of the bungalow.”

Urilla groaned. “Sh-h-h,” warned Kizzie, “we’re going to initiate Gincy; none of us are fat enough to get stuck, so you needn’t worry.”

“I’m not worrying,” answered Urilla reproachfully. “I’m tired after all my work this morning, but I’m not going to back out.”

The path to the cave led through a grove of young oaks. There were tall ferns and rhododendrons, and mountain laurel. Lalla paused at an immense fallen tree which seemed to block the way; its great roots hung over the yawning space below. Nimbly she sprang upon the giant trunk and disappeared on the other side, calling for the rest to follow.

When the three had done so, they caught a vanishing glimpse of Lalla descending hand over hand on the strong branch of a mammoth grapevine. Thirty feet below she landed upon the level surface of a mossy boulder. Gincy followed Kizzie, and Urilla came last. Before them was the large opening of the cave—a favourite haunt of the students, who from time to time occupied the college bungalow. At its rear, a long, wide crack in the solid rock led in a zigzag direction for twenty rods or more. The path was extremely narrow, and sloping at a sharp incline. Kizzie dodged ahead and Gincy was close behind. Each moment the former grew more reckless; she gathered her skirts around her and slid down a swift descent, the others following.

“Whew! but it’s dampish!” said Gincy. “Hear that water?”

A steady drip, drip, drip came from the walls. In the cracks were long fronded ferns, moss, and here and there wild geraniums. A cool draught struck them. At the farther end the rocks seemed almost to touch, and only a tiny thread of light showed from above. Gincy was close to Kizzie when they reached the narrowest part and began the long, tortuous climb.

“We’ll be ready for hot coffee by the time we get to the top,” called Urilla from the rear.

“I hope Miss Howard won’t fuss; I kin eat anythin’ I’m so hungry,” said Gincy.

“Of course she won’t fuss,” panted Kizzie. “She’s a born manager; she’ll have everything on the table in great shape and a picture painted to boot.”

Up, up, with a scanty, stony foothold, Gincy followed close behind Kizzie, her face growing redder, her breath shorter. The crack of blue was broadening, roots and stocky ferns afforded a surer grasp.

“We’re almost there!” Kizzie exulted. “What on earth are you doing with that stick, Gincy?”

“Watch me and see!” Dexterously Gincy inserted the short, stout stick crosswise above her head and swung up a long step to safe footing beside her leader. “Why, we’re up, aren’t we?” she said, astonished as her eyes caught a glimpse of the foundation of the bungalow a few yards away. The four pulled themselves up the few remaining feet and dropped down in a weary, silent row on a big, flat stone which commanded a glorious view. Even Lalla’s twinkling eyes had lost their usual expression of mischief, and she sat soberly viewing the scene before her.

“Look, Kizzie,” exclaimed Urilla, pointing back to the open bungalow, “Miss Howard’s been to the spring for water, the table’s all set, and I can smell the chicken.”

Nancy Jane was up at sunrise the next morning. She and Mallie stole out of bed noiselessly and started for the spring—it was their turn to get water. There had been a heavy dew, but neither girl wore rubbers. “Another fine day,” said Mallie, stepping high. “Just look at the hills! We’re the highest.”

The winding footpath near the cliff’s edge gave a magnificent view of the peaks which formed a huge semicircle around Indian Mountain. “I’d almost like to live up here,” said Nancy Jane. “It’s more sightly than back in the hills and so near Bentville.”

The two stood near the sagging gate of a yard which had been swept clean as a floor. A few long-legged chickens stepped about gingerly. On the very edge of the cliff stood a low frame house, and near it a corn crib set high to keep out the rats. The path to the spring led through the yard.

“The Haggis family live here,” announced Mallie as she held the gate open. “Miss Howard told me about them last night—they’re awfully poor.”

A small, fat boy wearing a single loose garment was busily playing in the rain barrel. He had a gourd with which he dipped the water out into a pail, sprinkling himself plentifully meanwhile. In the house breakfast was over, and Mrs. Haggis walked around heavily as though her night’s sleep had failed to rest her. She looked old from sickness and overwork; but the girls knew that look—nearly all the mountain women had it—and judged her to be about forty-five.

“Howdy,” she said, beaming at them as they approached the house. “I’m proud ter see ye. I was a-feelin’ jest as down-sperited an’ lonesome when ye druv up yistiddy, an’ all of a suddint the chickens begun ter crow like they knew you’d come. How’s Miss Howard? I think a heap o’ seein’ her every year.”

“She’s well,” smiled Nancy Jane, “and coming over to see you to-day. We were all pretty tired last night and went to bed early.”

“I hope our cow didn’t keep ye awake; Job found her thar come light this mornin’. I reckon she’s proud you’ve come—like we-uns.”

The girls laughed merrily. “Urilla drove her off in the night. She was browsing around the bushes ringing her bell like a fire alarm; it was too funny!” Mallie ended the recital with such evident enjoyment of the situation that Mrs. Haggis joined in the laugh.

“Hit’s comin’ two weeks sence a soul war on this mounting,” sighed the woman, “an’ I’m too porely ter travel any. Didn’t you never feel like you’d jest got ter talk to some one ’sides your own folks? When I’m shet of the men folks fer the day an’ can’t even see ’em workin’ in the cove or hear old Barb’s bell, thar ain’t a human ter talk to ’cept Elam, onless my Rodie comes up from the Hollow an’ packs her baby up these yere rocks.”

Mrs. Haggis was walking along with them toward the spring, talking eagerly. Little Elam had grabbed Nancy Jane’s proffered finger and was trotting by her side; with his other hand he held his dress up as he had seen his mother do. Both the girls noticed how clean the faded blue calico was, and that the back yard was swept as carefully as the front.

“Why, Mrs. Haggis,” said Mallie, “you don’t look strong enough to do so much work; you’re wearing yourself out cleaning like this.”

The woman sighed. “’Pears like when I don’t work, I git ter studyin’ ’bout the chil’ren—I’ve buried seven of ’em. That’s when we lived over in the fur aidge o’ Jackson County. Thar’s only three left ’sides Elam; two are up in Indiany—married—an’ Rodie’s man works the college farm below here. I don’t see her none too often; she helps tend the crap.”

The bushes and saplings hedged their path for several rods, then they came to a tumble of rocks on the very edge of the cliff. A skeleton pine whose roots still clung in the crevices, between the rocks, stood out bare and white. At its base was a windlass, and to the bare trunk were attached wires which slanted down into the treetops below. Mrs. Haggis fastened the pail the girls had brought to the upper wire—a block of wood and a pulley kept it upright—and started it on its way.

“My,” exclaimed Mallie, looking down at the tops of the tulip trees, “it’s a long way to go for water. Is there a spring at the bottom?”

“Yes, nigh fourteen hundred feet down,” said Mrs. Haggis. “You-all hang onto Elam, he’s crazy ter look over the aidge o’ things.”

“Let us do it,” protested Nancy Jane, alternately watching the slender, bent figure and the pail bobbing down the wire.

“’Tain’t nothin’, doin’ this; hit’s the washin’ wears me out.”

“You don’t mean you, have to pull it all up from down there and then carry it to the house?” Mallie inquired in astonishment.

“What I can’t ketch when hit rains. Where’d ye think I got hit?”

“I didn’t think,” said Mallie soberly, tugging at Elam. “You say your daughter comes up this way. I wonder if we couldn’t find the path and go to her house some time?”

“In course ye could. She’d appreciate a visit from you-all the best kind. Hit’s middlin’ steep, though, an’ a power o’ work climbin’ back, but I reckon ye wouldn’t mind.”

Nancy Jane insisted on bringing up the water; it was quite an effort for even her strong, young arms. Then they hurried back to the bungalow to find Gincy frying bacon and the rest making beds. “I knew you’d be coming along pretty soon,” she said, dropping the eggs into the skillet. “Miss Howard wants to ask you something.”

“How would you like to visit Miss Clark’s school to-day, it’s only a little piece from the foot of the mountain near the pinnacle? We can walk it in an hour and a half.”

“But it’s Sunday!” exclaimed Mallie. “How could we?”

Urilla laughed. “Isn’t Sunday a good day to go to Sunday-school, honey? You must be dreaming. Wake up!”

“Oh, that’s it. I never thought of a Sunday-school out here; of course I’ll go. When do we start?”

“Just as soon as the dishes are done. We’ll put up our dinners and walk back just before sunset. We must allow two hours for the climb, anyhow.” Miss Howard began planning for the luncheon.

By eight o’clock the little party were on their way. Mrs. Haggis came out to the gate as they went by. “I wish I war goin’, too,” she said wistfully, “but pore folks has ter work. I couldn’t tromp ’round the mountings an’ git my meals. You-all go on an’ I’ll wash some dishes; I couldn’t run ’round nohow an’ let Job do hit.”

The visitors waved a good-bye and started on. A mountain bluebird darted hither and yon, a cardinal shot like a bright gleam through the gay foliage. The dew was still heavy in the shady places, but they followed the deep wagon track caused by heavy loads of picnickers from the college, and parties at the bungalow. The season was almost over for these, and then the long winter’s isolation began for the Haggis family—an isolation shared by thousands over this great mountain region.

Every downward turn revealed a glimpse of beauty which the girls had not noticed going up. From the coves where the men had been ploughing for fall crops came a fragrant, earthy odour. Off to the southeast range after range rose blue against the sky. At last they reached the pike which led past the little settlement at the foot of the pinnacle. A number of people passed them on horseback with the usual greeting; otherwise the stillness was Sabbath-like.

A turn in the road disclosed the church house, a neat log building near a little spring, and overshadowed by a turreted-topped mountain. There were other buildings in the same yard, and probably a dozen scattered around in sight. The girls noticed that they were of a better type than those back in the hills at Goose Creek, for only one was windowless.

Two vehicles were approaching. The driver of the first was a tall, pleasant-faced, youngish-looking woman who nodded at them with a smile of surprised recognition as she checked the sleek chestnut.

“Why, good-morning, Miss Howard! Had you started for my place? We’re not going to have any Sunday-school to-day—there’s to be a baptizing in the afternoon—and I promised to attend services at Bentville this morning. It’s the only chance I’ve had for a year.”

“I wouldn’t have you miss it for anything, Miss Clark; go right on, all we want is permission to eat our lunch in your yard,” said Miss Howard, smiling. “You’d like to stay to the baptizing, wouldn’t you, girls?”

There was an enthusiastic affirmative from every one. Nobody in the mountains ever missed a baptizing if it were possible to get there.

Miss Clark leaned forward. “Go right into the dog-trot at my house; my raincoat is hanging on the right—near my bedroom door; under it you will find the key. Make yourself perfectly at home until I come back. You’d better make some coffee on the oil stove; there’s cream in the spring house. I’ll come back early.”

“Thank you ever so much, but don’t hurry back!” urged Miss Howard. “You need the change, and we’ll get along splendidly.”

“I’m so glad we came!” exclaimed Urilla. “A baptizin’ is lots more interesting than a Sunday-school. So that’s Miss Clark; I never saw her before.”

“Nor I,” said Kizzie, “but I’m sure I shall like her. They say she’s helped a good many girls to go to Bentville after they’ve finished out here.”

“And boys, too,” added Miss Howard. “She’s changed the whole neighbourhood. If you could only hear her tell of some of her thrilling experiences during the last twelve years—of the shootings, and brawlings, and fightings. To-day the people go to her for everything. She teaches them to sew, and cook, shows them how to care for the sick and the babies. Oh, Miss Clark is a wonderful woman!”

“She must be,” said Gincy soberly, thinking of Goose Creek and its needs. The second team was passing them and she looked up quickly as a familiar voice called out:

“Hello, what are you-all doing out this way?” It was Joe Bradshaw and his roommate, Raphael Sloan.

“What are you?” she retorted.

“Raf lives out here at Pigg Branch and I’ve been visiting him. We thought you were up at the bungalow and we’d drive up for two or three hours.”

“Awfully sorry,” said Lalla, “we brought our dinners, and—” Then she looked at Miss Howard. That lady smiled.

“You’d better come back with us—we’ll have plenty for two more—then we can all see the baptizing this afternoon.”

The boys needed no second invitation. “We were coming down for that anyhow,” said Raphael, as they turned around.

Miss Clark’s home was close to the church house. It was a log house, built Virginia style, with a wide, covered porch through the centre separating the two sides. This dog-trot was a cool place in warm weather, a place to churn, and wash, a place to visit, and sew, or even take a nap. Mallie sank down upon the old-fashioned couch and looked off toward the cabins across the road. They were scattered up the branch, and on beyond, one perched high in a patch of ploughed ground on the opposite mountain.

“Isn’t this a lovely place!” she exclaimed, glancing back at the trellised nasturtiums and morning-glories against the kitchen windows. “I think Miss Clark is great! Look at those ducks in the branch, and such a lot of chickens. How can she find time for everything?”

“Of course she’s great!” Raphael Sloan sank down on the floor cross-legged. “She can do everything—play the organ, preach a sermon, knock a bench together better than the boys, and ride any horse around here. She rode the most ornery mule in these parts one night. Ever hear about it?”

There was a chorus of negatives, and Raphael’s dark eyes lighted over the prospect of thrilling the company. “It was about five years ago when the Bennett and MacGowan feud was stirring things up ’round here and everybody seemed bound to take sides. Miss Clark tried to keep out of it, for there were children from both families in school. One morning Hugh MacGowan came over to borrow a big needle to sew up his mule’s shoulder—some one had cut a long gash in it the night before. You just ought to have seen her eyes flash—I went to school to her then—and she everlastingly told us what she thought of a man or boy who would hurt an animal because he hated the owner. Of course the Bennett children went home and told it, and—”

“I thought they all liked her,” interrupted Gincy.

“They did, but the old folks didn’t relish being criticised even though no names were used. Miss Clark found a note pinned to her door the next morning telling her to mind her own business or she’d get into trouble.

“Things were quiet for a while, then one time about midnight, she heard some drunken men going by shouting and singing—then four or five shots. It was bright moonlight and Miss Clark could see that one was wounded and swaying on his mule; the rest galloped off. Izzie Gray was staying with her then, and begged her not to stir outside, but do you suppose she’d do anything of the kind? Not much. She sailed out and found Lem Bennett bleeding to death—his arm all shot up.”

Raphael stopped suddenly with dramatic effect. His audience was plainly excited and expectant. “Go on, Raf!” commanded Joe impatiently. “What next?”

“Well, Miss Clark rode that mule clear into Bentville and got a doctor, or the Bennett youngsters wouldn’t have a father to-day, I can tell you.”

“Did it stop the fighting?” asked Gincy, jumping up suddenly. She fished the key from under the long raincoat and fitted it into the lock.

“Yes, I really think it did. She told Lem Bennett—he was the worst of the crowd—that she saved his life so he could have a chance to be a better man, and that she loved his children and wanted them to have a better father. Then she had a long talk with the MacGowans. After that the county went dry—she had a hand in that, too—and there wasn’t any more trouble. Oh, Miss Clark is fine, I tell you!”

“I should think she was,” said Nancy Jane, her eyes open wide with admiration. “Come on, let’s go in and see how she lives.”

Gincy was already inside. The rest followed. There was a large bookcase filled with books and magazines, a piano, a big fireplace with a comfortable seat and chair near it.

“Miss Clark made that seat,” said Raphael. “We boys made the chair, and the piano was sent her by some rich people up north. We helped her paint and varnish the floors, too.”

“She has some new rugs,” said Miss Howard. “They’re like those made down at the loom house.”

There were three made of rags with patterns in the borders. They were blue and white. The curtains were white cheesecloth with a blue, stencilled pattern across the bottom. A few water colours and Hoffman’s Christ were the only pictures.

“Come on back and help me find the oil stove; I’m getting hungry,” called Kizzie from the dining-room. “Isn’t this cosy?” she asked, pointing to the long, built-in cupboard and the little square table in the centre of the room.

Beyond, was the kitchen. A large range occupied one corner near the sink. “We’ve made candy and popped corn here many a time,” said Raphael. “Miss Clark has a cooking class every week this year for the older people.”

The oil stove was soon discovered and the coffee over. They ate their dinner in the dogtrot and the crumbs went to the chickens who were sociably inclined. Then they started for the church house, going through the garden and a long arbour.

“What lovely flowers!” Mallie stopped to admire the larkspurs and fall roses until the rest had disappeared inside the church, then she followed.

It was a T-shaped building, one upright being used for the day school and the other for the Sunday-school and monthly preaching. In case of a crowd the two rooms could be thrown into one. A tiny, portable organ occupied the space near the pulpit. Various mottoes, picture cards, and Bible charts adorned the walls. There were a large fireplace and a small sheet-iron stove, a dozen long benches which could be stacked at one side when they met for sociability, and a little Sunday-school library sitting in neat uprightness on the open shelves.

Miss Howard played a half-dozen hymns and they all sang, then Gincy, in a clear, sweet voice, read the lesson. Miss Howard was explaining it when the people began to gather for the baptizing. They came on horseback, in jolt wagons, and afoot. Not far from the house the branch widened until in spring it was almost a pond. Here, under the shade of a dozen walnut and tulip trees, a motley crowd was assembling and the folks inside the church house hurried out to join them. Once outside, they saw Miss Clark coming up the pike, her horse trotting briskly.

They waited at the gate. It wanted only a few minutes of the time and the horse must be unharnessed. Joe dropped the bars and Rafael helped Miss Clark out of the carriage. “You go on with the rest,” he said in a low tone, “we’ll be along after a bit.”

Together they went down the little slope, its edge crowded with women and children. One lone cottonwood shadowed the pool in its deepest place, stretching mottled arms almost to the opposite bank. Half its roots were bare and white, washed by the spring torrents.

Each moment the gathering was augmented by fresh arrivals. Joe and Raphael came up silently and stood near Miss Clark. A gaunt mountain preacher whispered a few words to her, his face showing some perplexity. She turned to the boys.

“Raphael, won’t you and Joe run up to the house? In the woodshed you will find a shovel and hoe. Bring them here as quickly as you can.”

Five minutes later the boys came panting back, bearing the required utensils. Two brawny mountain men took them, waded out into the shallow water, and began digging.

“They’re making it deeper,” said Nancy Jane. “My, but won’t it be roily!”

While the men worked the strange audience waited. Near the water’s edge stood the candidates for baptism—two girls about seventeen, a woman, and a middle-aged man with wiry black hair and dark, smouldering eyes. He was short and stocky, a man of force, and—if roused—of fury.

A long carryall was toiling up the hill. Joe saw it first. “It’s the college team,” he whispered to Miss Howard. “There must be a dozen people.”

The teacher nodded. “Professor Butler’s going to do the baptizing; the rest came along to sing.”

Already they could hear the strains of “Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me,” the rich, full tones swelling through the quiet autumn air as the people in the carryall approached. One by one they joined the waiting crowd. The digging had stopped and there was a hush of expectancy as the minister made his way toward the waiting candidates. He spoke to them quietly, then turned until his glance swept the assemblage.

Gincy never forgot that day. The frightened girls in the foreground, with their coarse, white dresses; the children, their faces curious and alarmed; the sunbonneted women; the row of men on the fence in the rear—sallow, sunburned, and some bearing the marks of dissipation. But what impressed her most was the exalted look on the face of the man when he emerged from the water.

“Who is he?” she whispered to Raphael Sloan.

“Lem Bennett,” he whispered back, “and the woman is his wife.”