Books: The Road To Providence

M >> Maria Thompson Daviess >> The Road To Providence

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"And it are true what the Deacon says, they ain't no help like
music," said Mother Mayberry who had come down the walk and stood
leaning against the gate near them. "A song can tote comfort from
heart to heart when words wouldn't have no meaning. It's a high
calling, child, and have to be answered with a high life."

"I know Pattie and Buck and Aunt Prissy will let you always sing in
the choir if Deacon asks 'em," said Eliza in a practical voice as
she again took hold of the Deacon's hand, "and Mr. Petway are a-
going to buy a piano for Aunt Prissy when they get married and
sometimes you can sing by it if Doctor Tom can't save up enough to
get you one. But I want Deacon to come home now, 'cause he are
tired." And without more ado she departed with her docile charge,
leaving the tired Martin Luther with his hands clasped in Mother
Mayberry's.

"Mother," faltered Miss Wingate as she and Mother Mayberry were
slowly ascending the steps, assisting the almost paralyzed young
missionary to mount between them, "where do you suppose--HE is?" For
some minutes back the singer lady had been growing pale at the
realization that the Doctor had not come to her since she had left
his side in the churchyard and her eyes were beginning to show a
deep hurt within.

"I don't know, Elinory, and I've been a-wondering," answered Mother
Mayberry as she sank down on the top step and took the tired child
in her arms.

"Oh," said Miss Wingate as she stood before her on the lower step
and clasped her white hands against her breast, "do you suppose he
is going to--to hurt me now?"

"Child," answered the Doctor's mother quietly, with a quick sadness
spreading over her usually bright face, "they ain't nothing in the
world that can be as cruel as true love when it goes blind. Tom
Mayberry is a good man and I borned, nursed and raised him, but I
won't answer for him about no co'ting conniptions. A man lover are a
shy bird and they can't nothing but a true mate keep him steady on
any limb. You ain't showed a single symptom of managing Tom yet, but
somehow I've got confidence in you if you just keep your head now."

"But what can the matter be?" demanded Miss Wingate in a voice that
shook with positive terror.

"Well," answered Mother Mayberry slowly, "I sorter sense the trouble
and I'll tell you right out and out for your good. Loving a woman
are a kinder regeneration process for any man, and a good one like
as not comes outen it humbler than a bad most times. Tom have
wrapped you around with some sorter pink cloud of sentiments, tagged
you with all them bokays the world have give you for singing so
grand, turned all them lights on you he first seen you acrost and
now he's afraid to come nigh you. I suspect him of a bad case of
chicken-heart and I'm a-pitying of him most deep. He's just lying
down at your feet waiting to be picked up."

"I wonder where he is!" exclaimed Miss Wingate as a light flashed
into her eyes and a trace of color came back to her cheeks.

"You'll find him," answered the Doctor's mother comfortably, "and
when you do I want you to promise me to put him through a good
course of sprouts. A wife oughtn't to stand on no pedestal for a
man, but she have got no call to make squaw tracks behind him
neither. Go on and find him! A woman have got to come out of the
pink cloud to her husband some time, but she'd better keep a bit to
flirt behind the rest of her life. Look in the office!"

"Well; Martin Luther," remarked Mother a few minutes later, as she
lifted the absolutely dead youngster in her arms and rose to take
him into the house, "life are all alike from Harpeth Hills to
Galilee. A woman can shape up her dough any fancy way she wants and
it's likely to come outen the oven a husband. All Elinory's fine
songs are about to end in little chorus cheeps with Tom under Mother
Mayberry's wings, the Lord be praised!"

And over in the office wing the situation was about as Mother
Mayberry's experienced intuitions had predicted. Miss Wingate found
the young Doctor sitting in the deep window and looking out at
Providence Nob, which the last rays of the sun were dying blood red,
with his strong young face set and white. The battle was still on
and his soul was up in arms.

"Where have you been?" she asked quietly as she came and stood
against the other side of the casement. The pain in his gray eyes
set her heart to throbbing, but she had herself well in hand.

"When I came up the Road the others were all here and I waited to
see you until they were gone," he answered her, just as quietly and
in just as controlled a voice and with possibly just as wild a throb
in his heart "I have been writing to Doctor Stein and there are the
Press bulletins, subject to your approval," He pointed to some
letters on the table which she never deigned to notice. She had
drawn herself to her slim young height and looked him full in the
face with a beautiful stateliness in her manner and glance. Her dark
eyes never left his and she seemed waiting for him to say something
further to her.

"You know without my telling you how very glad I am for you," he
said gently and his hand trembled on the window ledge.

"Are you?" she asked in a low tone, still with her eyes fixed on his
face, but her lips pressed close with a sharp intake of breath.

"Yes," he answered quickly, and this time the note of pain would
sound clearly in his voice. "Yes, no matter what it means to me!"

The pain of it, the haggard gray eyes, the firm young mouth and the
droop of the broad shoulders were too much for the singer girl and
she smiled shakily as she held out her arms.

"Tom Mayberry," she pleaded with a little laugh, "please, please
don't treat me this way. I promised your mother to be stern with you
but--I can't! Don't you see that it can only mean to me what it
means to your happiness--if--do you, could you possibly think it
would make any difference to me? Do you suppose for all the wide
world I would throw away what I have found here in Providence under
Harpeth Hills--my Mother and you? Ah, Tom, I'll be good, I'll go to
Italy and India with you! I'll--I'll 'do for' you just the best I
can!"

"But, dear, it isn't right at all," whispered the young Doctor to
the back of the singer lady's head, as he laid his cheek against the
dark braids. "Your voice belongs to the world--there must be no
giving it up. I can't let you--I--"

"Listen," said the singer girl as she raised her head and looked up
into his face. "For all your life you will have to go where pain and
grief call you, won't you? Can't you take my voice with you and use
it--as one of your--remedies? Your Mother says songs can comfort
where words fail; let me go with you! Your father brought her and
her herb basket to Providence, won't you take me and my songs out
into the world with you? Don't send me back to sing in the dreadful
crowded theaters to people who pay to hear me. Let me give it all my
lifelong, as she has given herself here in Providence. Please, Tom,
please!" And again she buried her head against his coat.

And as was his wont, the silent young doctor failed to answer a
single word but just held her close and comforted. And how long he
would have held her, there is no way to know, because the strain had
been too great on Mother Mayberry and in a few minutes she stood
calmly in the door and looked at the pair of children with happy but
quizzical eyes.

"It's just as well you got Tom Mayberry straightened out quick,
Elinory," she remarked in her most jovial tone. "I've been getting
madder and madder as I put Martin Luther to bed and though I ain't
never had to whip him yet, I'd just about made up my mind to ask him
out in the barn and dress him down for onct. Now are you well over
your tantrum, sir?" she demanded as she eyed the shamefaced young
Doctor delightedly.

"Mother!" he exclaimed as he turned his head away and the color rose
under his tan.

"Have you done made up your mind to travel from town to town with
Elinory and take in the tickets at the door and make yourself useful
to her the rest of your life? Are you a-going to follow her
peaceable all over Europe, Asia and Africa?" And her eyes fairly
over-danced themselves with delight.

"Mother!" and this time the exclamation came from Miss Wingate as
she came over to rest her cheek against Mother Mayberry's arm. She
also blushed, but her eyes danced with an echo of the young Doctor's
mother's laugh as she beheld his embarrassment.

"Yes," answered the Doctor, rallying at last, "yes, I'm ready to go
with her. Will you go too, Mother, as retained physician?"

"Well, I don't know about that," answered his Mother with a laugh;
"not till 'Liza Pike have growed up to take my place here. But I'm
mighty glad to see you take your dose of humble pie so nice, Tom,
and I reckon I'll have to tell you how happy I am about my child
here. It was kinder smart of you to cure her and then claim her
sweet self as a fee, wasn't it?"

"I do feel that way, Mother, and I don't see how I can let her make
the sacrifice. Her future is so brilliant and I--I--"

"Son," said Mother Mayberry with the banter all gone from her rich
voice and the love fairly radiating from her face as she laid a
tender hand on the singer lady's dark head on her shoulder, "I don't
have to ask my honey-bird the choice she have made. A woman don't
want to wear her life-work like no jewelry harness nor yet no
sacrificial garment, but she loves to clothe herself in it like it
were a soft-colored, homespun dress to cover the pillow of her
breast and the cradle of her arms to hold the tired folks against.
Take her to India's coral strand if you must, for it's gave a wife
to follow the husband-star. Long ago I vowed you to the Master's
high call and now with these words I dedicates my daughter the same.
She have waded through much pain and sorrow, but do it matter along
how hard a Road folks travels if at last they come to they Providence?"

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