Books: The Road To Providence
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Maria Thompson Daviess >> The Road To Providence
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"I don't know," answered Miss Wingate in a small voice as she rubbed
her cheek against the arm of his coat. "I'm in love with Tom
Mayberry of Providence Road. I don't know that I want to go
traveling with a distinguished physician on an important Government
mission and attend Legation dinners and banquets and--I don't want
to leave my Mother," and there was a real catch in the laugh she
smothered in his coat sleeve.
"Dearie girl," he exclaimed, looking down with delight at a small
section of blush left visible against the rough blue serge of his
coat, "you and Mother are--"
"Sakes, you folks, I wish you'd try to listen when you are called
at!" came in a sharp voice as Mrs. Peavey looked down upon them from
over the wall near the barn. "One of them foolish Indiany chickens
are stretched out kicking most drowned in a puddle right by the barn
door, and there you both stand doing nothing for it. Tom Mayberry,
pick it up this minute and give it to me! I'm a-going to put it
behind my stove until Mis' Mayberry comes home. I've got some
feeling for her love of chickens, _I_ have."
"Oh, I didn't see it!" exclaimed Miss Wingate, in an agony of
regret. "The dear little thing! Give it to me and I'll take care of
it."
"Fiddlesticks! Chickens ain't 'dear little things,' and I wouldn't
trust neither one of you to take care of a flea of mine, with your
philandering. Hand it here to me, Tom Mayberry, like I tell you!"
And the Doctor hastened to pick up the little gasping bunch of
drenched feathers, which Mrs. Peavey tucked in the corner of her
shawl "Did you all hear that a car busted into another one down in
the City day before yesterday and throwed the driver and broke a
lady's arm and cut a baby's leg shameful? It was in the morning
paper I saw down to the store; and a wind storm blew off a man's
roof too."
"I haven't read the paper yet," answered the singer lady in the
subdued voice she always used in addressing Mother Mayberry's
pessimistic neighbor.
"Well, you oughter take interest in accidents if you are a-going to
be a Doctor's wife. It'll be all in the family then and you can hear
it all straight and maybe see some folks mended" answered Mrs.
Peavey, and she failed to notice Miss Wingate's horrified expression
at such a prospect. "How's Mis' Bostick, Tom? That is, how do your
Mother say she are, for I couldn't trust your notion in such a case
as her'n."
"I think Mother feels worried over her to-day," answered the Doctor
gently, with not a trace of offense at his neighbor's outspoken
question. "Her heart is very weak and it is impossible to stimulate
her further. Mother is up there now and I'll come tell you what she
says when she comes home to dinner."
"Well, I'm always thankful for news, bad as it mostly are," answered
Mrs. Peavey in gloomy gratitude for his offer of a report from
Mother Mayberry. "You all had better go on in the house now and put
Miss Elinory's wet feet in the stove, for they won't be no use in
her dying on Mis' Mayberry's hands with pneumony at this busy time
of the year. Them slippers is too foolish to look at." With which
the shawled head disappeared from the top of the wall.
"Do you know, I had a strange dream last night," said the singer
lady, as the Doctor hung up his bridle and shut the feed-room door
preparatory to following out Mrs. Peavey's injunction as to carrying
Miss Wingate away to be dry shod. "I dreamed that I was singing to
Mrs. Bostick and the Deacon, REALLY singing, and just as it rose
clear and strong Mrs. Peavey called to me to 'shut up' and it
stopped so suddenly that I waked up--and the strange part of it is
that I heard, really heard, I thought, my own voice die away in an
echo up in the eaves. For a second I seemed awake and listening--and
it was lovely--lovely!"
"Dear," said the Doctor, as he took her hand in his and held it
against his breast, "I would give all life has to offer me to get it
back for you. I will hope against hope! I haven't written Doctor
Stein yet. I can't make myself write. Perhaps we will find some one
on this trip who has some theory or treatment or something to offer.
I've been praying that help will come!"
"Would you--like me any better if I had it back?" she asked with a
happy little laugh as she laid her cheek against their clasped
hands. "Would you want L'ELEONORE more than you do just plain Elinor
Wingate, care Mother Mayberry, Providence, Tennessee?"
"I'm going to carry you in the house so you can put on dry
stockings," answered the Doctor with a spark in his gray eyes that
scorned her question, and without any discussion he picked her up,
strode through the rain with her and deposited her in the kitchen
door.
And over by the long window they found Mother Mayberry standing with
her hand on Cindy's shoulder, who sat with her head bowed in her
apron sobbing quietly, while Martin Luther stood wide-eyed and
questioning, with his little hand clutching Mother's skirts.
"Children," said Mother quietly as she came and stood beside them in
the doorway, while Martin Luther nestled up to Doctor Tom, "I've
come down the Road to tell you that it are all over up at the
Deacon's. It were very beautiful, for Mis' Bostick just give us a
smile and went to meet her Lord with the love of us all a-shining on
her face. We didn't hardly sense it at first, for she had just spoke
to 'Liza, and the Deacon were over by the window. I ain't got no
tears to shed for her and Deacon are so stunned he don't need 'em
yet."
"Mother," exclaimed the Doctor, as he took her hand in his, while
the singer lady crept close and rested against her strong shoulder.
"Yes, son," answered his Mother gently, "it come so sudden I
couldn't even send for you, but go on up there now and see what you
can do for Deacon. He'll want you for the comfort of your presence,
you and 'Liza."
"And Eliza!" exclaimed Miss Wingate with a sob, "it'll break her
little heart."
"They never was such a child as 'Liza Pike in the world," said
Mother Mayberry softly and for the first time a film of tears spread
over her eyes. "She have never said a word, but just stands pressed
up close with her arm 'round the Deacon's shoulders as he sits with
his Good Book acrost his knees. She give one little moan when she
understood, but she ain't made a mite of child-fuss, just shed her
baby tears like a woman growed to sorrow. Her little bucket and dish
of dinner is a-setting cold on the table and a little draggled rose
she had brung in not a hour back is still in Mis' Bostick's fingers,
and the other one pinned on the Deacon's coat. When Judy and Betty
wanted to begin to fix things she understood without a word, led the
Deacon out into the hall and are just a-standing there a-keeping him
up in his daze by the courage in her own loving little heart. The
good Lord bless and keep the child! Now, go on, Tom, and see what
you can do! Yes, Cindy will run right over and tell Mis' Peavey. And
stop in and see Squire Tutt, for Henny Turner says he are down to-
day and a-asking for you. Come into my room, honey-bird, I've got to
look for something."
"Somehow, I don't feel about dying as lot of folks do," she remarked
to the singer lady, as she stood in front of the tall old chest of
drawers in her own room a few minutes later. "Death ain't nothing
but laying down one job of work and going to answer the Master when
He calls you to come take up another. Mis' Bostick have worked in
His vineyard early and late, through summer sun and winter wind, and
now He have summoned her in for some other purpose. He'll find her
well-tried and seasoned to go on with whatever plans He have for her
in His Kingdom."
"It's wonderful to believe that," answered the singer girl through
her tears. "It seems to supply a reason for what happens to us here-
-if we can go on with it later."
"Course we can," answered Mother Mayberry, as she began to search in
her top drawer for something. "I hope He have got some good big job
cut out for Tom Mayberry and me; but course it will have to be
something different, for they won't be no more sickness or death or
sorrowing for us doctors to tend on. But Pa Lovell and Doctor
Mayberry have found something by this time and maybe it will be for
me and Tom to work at it alongside of 'em. It might be you will have
the beautiful voice back and come sing for us all, as have never
heard you in this world. Then, too, I believe He'll give it to
little Sister Pike to tend on the prophets and maybe I'll be there
to see!"
"This is the first time I ever could take--take any interest in
Heaven at all," confessed Miss Wingate, lifting large, comforted
eyes to Mother Mayberry's face. "When I was so desperate and didn't
know what to do, before I came and found out that there was a place
for me in this world even if I couldn't sing any more, I used to
dread the thought of Heaven, even if I might some day be good enough
to go there."
"Well, a stand-around, set-around kind of Heaven may be for some
people as wants it, but a come-over-and-help-us kind is what I'm
hoping for. I want to have a good lot of honest acts to pack up and
take into the judgment seat to prove my character by and then be
honored with some kind of telling labor to do. I'm looking for
something white to put at Mis' Bostick's neck, for we are a-going to
lay her in her grave in the old dress with its honorable patches,
but with a little piece of fine white to match her sweet soul. Here
it is."
"Will you let me know if I can do anything for anybody or the Deacon
later?" asked the singer lady gently.
"I know you will be a comfort to him, child, after a while. You can
look after my chickens and things for me, for Cindy's a-going with
me and that leaves you to feed the two boys, Tom and Martin Luther,
for dinner. And don't you never forget that you are the apple-core
of your Mother Mayberry's heart and she's a-going to hold you to her
tender, even unto them Glory days we've been a-planning for, with
Death here in the midst of Life."
CHAPTER X
THE SONG OF THE MASTER'S GRAIL
"In all my long life it have never been gave to me to see anything
like Deacon Bostick and his Providence children," said Mother
Mayberry, as she stood on the end of the porch with the singer
girl's hand in hers. "He are a-setting on his bench under the tree
right by her window, like he always did to listen for her, and every
child in the Road is a-huddled up against him like a forlorn lot of
little motherless chickens. He have got little Bettie and Martin
Luther on his knees and the rest are just crowded up all around him.
He don't seem to notice any of the rest of us, but looks to 'Liza
for everything. She got him to go to bed at nine o'clock and when
Buck and Mr. Petway went to set up for the night they found she'd
done made 'Lias and Henny and Bud all lie down by him, one on each
side and Bud acrost the foot. He wanted 'em to stay and the men let
'em do it. Judy says she were up by daylight and gone down the Road
to see about his breakfast and things. And now she are just a-
standing by him waiting for the bell to toll for the funeral. The
Deacon have surely followed his Master in the suffering of little
children to draw close to him in this life and now he are becoming
as one of 'em before entering the Kingdom."
"This soft, misty, sun-veiled day seems just made for Mrs. Bostick,"
said Miss Wingate with unshed tears in her voice.
"It may be just a notion of mine, honey-bird, but it looks like up
here in Harpeth Hills the weather have got a sympathy with us folks.
Look how Providence Nob have drawed a mist of tears 'twixt it and
the faint sun. When troubles are with us I've seen clouds boil up
over the Ridge and on the other hand we ain't scarcely ever had rain
on a wedding or church soshul day. I like to feel that maybe the
good Lord looks special after us of His children living out in the
open fields and we have got His word that He tempers the winds.
People in the big cities can crowd up and keep care of one another,
but out here we are all just in the hollow of His hand. Here comes
Mis' Peavey. I asked her to go along to the funeral with me and you.
It are most time now."
"Howdy, all," said Mrs. Peavey in an utterly gray tone of voice.
"Mis' Mayberry, that Circuit Rider have never come from Bolivar yet.
Do you reckon his horse have throwed him or is it just he don't care
for us Providence folks and don't think it worth his while to come
say the words over Sister Bostick?"
"Oh, he come 'most a half-hour ago, Hettie Ann," answered Mother
Mayberry quickly. "Bettie had a little snack laid out for him 'count
of his having to make such a early start to get here. He was most
kind to the Deacon and professed much sorrow for us all. How are
your side this morning?"
"I got out that foolish dry plaster Tom made me more'n a month ago
and put it on last night, 'cause I didn't want to disturb you, and
to my surprise they ain't a mite of pain hit me since. But I guess
it are mostly the clearing weather that have stopped it."
"Maybe a little of both," answered the Doctor's mother with a smile,
"but anyway, it's good that you ain't a-suffering none. We must all
take good care of each other's pains from now on, 'cause we are most
valuable one to another. Friends is one kind of treasure you don't
want to lay up in Heaven."
"I spend most of my time thinking about folks' accidents and hurts
and pains," answered Mrs. Peavey in all truth. "Miss Elinory, did
you gargle your throat with that slippery-ellum tea I thought about
to make for you last week?"
"Yes, Mrs. Peavey, I did," answered Miss Wingate quickly, for she
had performed that nauseous operation actuated by positive fear of
Mrs. Peavey if she should discover a failure to follow her
directions.
"It'll cure you, maybe," answered the gratified neighbor. "There's
the bell and let's all go on slow and respectful."
And the sweet-toned old Providence Meeting-house bell was tolling
its notes for the passing of the soul of the gentle little Harpeth
woman of many sorrows as her friends and neighbors walked quietly
down the Road, along the dim aisle and took their places in the old
pews with a fitting solemnity on their serious faces. The young
Circuit Rider spoke to them from a full heart in sympathetically
simple words and Pattie Hoover led the congregation from behind the
little cabinet organ in a few of the Deacon's favorite hymns.
Then the little procession wound its way among the graves over to a
corner under an old cedar tree, where the stout young farmers laid
their frail burden down for its long sleep. The Deacon stood close
by and the children clung around his thin old legs, to his hands,
and reached to grasp at a corner of his coat. Eliza laid her head
against his shoulder and Henny and 'Lias crowded close on the other
side, while Bud held the old black hat he had taken from off his
white hair, in careful, shaking little hands. The singer lady, with
the Doctor at her side and her hand in Mother Mayberry's, stood just
opposite and the others came near.
The simple service that the Church has instituted for the committing
of its dead to the grave had been read by the Circuit Rider, the
last prayer offered, and as a long ray of sunlight came through the
mist and fell across the little assembly, he turned expectantly to
Pattie Hoover, who stood between her father and Buck at the other
end of the grave. He had read the first lines of the hymn and he
expected her to raise the tune for the others to follow. But when a
woman's heart is very young and tender, and attuned to that of
another which is throbbing emotionally close by, her own feelings
are apt to rise in a tidal wave of tears, regardless of
consequences; and as Buck Peavey choked off a sob, Pattie turned and
buried her head on her father's arm. There was a long pause and
nobody attempted to start the singing. They were accustomed to
depend on Pattie or her organ and their own throats were tight with
tears. The unmusical young preacher was helpless and looked from one
to another, then was about to raise his hands for the benediction,
when a little voice came across the grave.
"Ain't nobody going to sing for Mis' Bostick?" wailed Eliza, as her
head went down on the Deacon's arm in a shudder of sobs.
Then suddenly a very wonderful and beautiful thing happened in that
old churchyard of Providence Meeting-house under Harpeth Hills, for
the great singer lady stepped toward the Deacon a little way,
paused, looked across at the old Nob in the sunlight, and high and
clear and free-winged like that of an archangel, rose her glorious
voice in the
"Hail, holy, holy, holy Lord,"
which she had set for him and the gentle invalid to the wonderful
motif of the Song of the Master's Grail. Love and sorrow and a flood
of tears had relieved a pressure somewhere, the balance had been
recovered and her muted voice freed. And on through the verses to
the very end she sang it, while the little group of field people
held their breath in awe and amazement. Then, while they all stood
with bowed heads for the benediction, she turned and walked away
through the graves, out of the churchyard and on up Providence Road,
with an instinct to hide from them all for a moment of realization.
"And here I have to come and hunt the little skeered miracle out of
my own feather pillows," exclaimed Mother Mayberry a little later
with laughter, tears, pride and joy in her voice, as she bent over
the broad expanse of her own bed and drew the singer girl up in her
strong arms. "Daughter," she said, with her cheek pressed to the
flushed one against her shoulder, "what the Lord hath given and
taketh away we bless Him for and none the less what He giveth back,
blessed be His name. That's a jumble, but He understands me. You
don't feel in no ways peculiar, do you?" and as she asked the
question the Doctor's mother clasped the slender throat in one of
her strong hands.
"Not a bit anywhere," answered Miss Wingate, with the burr all gone
from her soft voice. "Is it true?"
"Dearie me, I can't hardly stand it to hear you speak, it are so
sweet!" exclaimed Mother Mayberry in positive rapture and again the
tears filled her eyes, while her face crinkled up into a dimpled
smile. "Don't say nothing where the mocking-birds will hear you,
please, 'cause they'll begin to hatch out a dumb race from plumb
discouragement. Come out on the porch where it ain't so hot, but I'm
a-holding on to you to keep you from flying up into one of the
trees. I'm a-going to set about building a cage for you right--"
"Now, didn't I tell you about that slippery-ellum!" came in a
positively triumphant voile to greet them as they stepped out of the
front door. Mrs. Peavey was ascending the steps all out of breath,
her decorous hat awry, and her eyes snapping with excitement.
"Course I don't think this can be no positive cure and like as not
you'll wake up to-morrow with your voice all gone dry again, but it
were the slippery-ellum that done it!"
"I think it must have helped some," answered the singer lady in the
clear voice that still held its wonted note of meekness to her
neighbor.
"Course it did! Tom Mayberry's experimenting couldn'ter done it no
real good. His mother have been giving that biled bark for sore
throat for thirty years and it was me that remembered it. But it
were a pity you done it at the grave; that were Mis' Bostick's
funeral and not your'n. Now look at everybody a-coming up the Road
with no grieving left at all."
"Oh, Hettie Ann," exclaimed Mother Mayberry in quick distress, "it
are a mean kind of sorrow that can't open its arms to hold joy
tender. Think what it do mean to the child and--Look at Bettie!"
And indeed it was a sight to behold the pretty mother of the
seventeen sailing up the front walk like a great full-rigged ship.
Miss Wingate flew down the steps to meet her and in a few seconds
was enveloped and involved with little Hoover in an embrace that
threatened to be disastrous to all concerned. Judy Pike was close
behind and, making a grab on her own part, stood holding the end of
the singer lady's sash in her one hand while Teether, from her other
arm, caught at the bright ribbons and squealed with delight. The
abashed Pattie hung over the front gate and Buck grinned in the
rear.
"Lawsy me, child," Mrs. Hoover laughed and sobbed as she patted the
singer lady on the back, little Hoover anywhere he came upmost and
included Teether and Judy also in the demonstration, "I feel like it
would take two to hold me down! You sure sing with as much style as
you dress! And to think such a thing have happened to all of us here
in Providence. We won't never need that phonygraph we all are a-
hankering after now. Speak up to the child, Judy Pike!"
"I don't need to," answered the more self-contained Sister Pike,
"she knows how I'm a-rejoicing for her. Just look at Mr. Hoover and
Ez Pike a-grinning acrost the street at her and here do come the
Squire and Mis' Tutt walking along together for the first time I
almost ever seed 'em."
"Wheeuh," wheezed the Squire, "I done come up here to give up on the
subject of that Tom Mayberry! He don't look or talk like he have got
any sense, girl, but he are the greatest doctor anywhere from
Harpeth Hills to Californy or Alasky. He have got good remedies for
all. I reckon you are one of the hot water kind, but he can give
bitters too. You'd better keep him to the bitters though for
safety."
"There now! You all have done heard the top testimony for Tom
Mayberry," exclaimed Mother, fairly running over with joy.
"Glory!" was the one word that rose to the surface of Mrs. Tutt's
emotions, but it expressed her state of beatitude and caused the
Squire to peer at her with uneasiness as if expecting an outburst of
exhortation on the next breath. Mrs. Peavey's experienced eye also
caught the threatened downpour and she hastened to admonish the
group of women.
"Sakes, you all!" she exclaimed, untying the strings of her bonnet
energetically, "they won't be a supper cooked on the Road if we
don't go get about it. A snack dinner were give the men and such
always calls for the putting on of the big pot and the little kettle
for supper. Miss Elinory will be here for you all to eat up to-
morrow morning, 'lessen something happens to her in the night, like
a wind storm. Go on everybody!"
"Oh," exclaimed Mother Mayberry, as she stood on the top step
looking down at them all, "look how the sun have come out on us all,
with its happiness after the sorrow we have known this day. I thank
you, one and all, for your feeling with me and my daughter Elinory.
The rejoicing of friends are a soft wind to folks' spirit wings and
we're all flying high this night. Get the children bedded down
early, for they have had a long day and need good sleep. Bettie, let
Mis' Tutt walk along with you and the Squire can come on slow. Don't
nobody forget that it are Sewing Circle with Mis' Mosbey to-morrow."
And, with more congratulations to the singer lady, laughs with
Mother Mayberry, and the return of a shot or two with Mrs. Peavey,
the happy country women dispersed to their own roof trees. The
sorrow that had come they had endured for the night and now they
were ready to rise up and meet joy for the morning. In the children
of nature the emotions maintain their elemental balance and their
sense of the proportions of life is instinctively true.
"Look, honey-bird, who's coming!" said Mother Mayberry, just as she
was turning to seat herself in her rocking-chair, tired out as she
was with the strain of the long day. "Run, meet 'em at the gate!"
And up Providence Road came the old Deacon and Eliza hand in hand,
with Martin Luther trailing wearily behind them. When she saw Miss
Wingate at the gate, Eliza, for the first time during the day,
loosed her hold on her old charge and darted forward to hide her
head on the singer lady's breast as her thin little arms clasped
around her convulsively.
"Now," she wailed, "Mis' Bostick are dead and you'll be goned away
too. Can't you stay a little while, till we can stand to let you go?
Poor Doctor Tom! Please, oh, please!"
"Darling, darling, I'm never going to leave you!" exclaimed Miss
Wingate, as she hugged the small implorer as closely as possible and
held out one hand to the Deacon as he came up beside them. "I'm
going to stay and sing for you and the Deacon whenever you want me--
if it will help!"
"Child," said the old patriarch, with an ineffable sweetness shining
from his sad old face, "out of my affliction I come to add my
blessing to what the Lord has given to you this day. And I take this
mercy as a special dispensation to me and to her, as it came when
you were performing one of His offices for us. No sweeter strain
could come from the Choir Invisible that she hears this night, and
if she knows she rejoices that it will be given at other times to
me, to feed my lonely soul."
"The songs are yours when you want them, Deacon," said the singer
girl in her sweet low voice as she held his hand in hers gently.
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