Books: The Road To Providence
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Maria Thompson Daviess >> The Road To Providence
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"It's a circus," she said breathlessly, "a-moving over from Bolivar
to Springfield and nelephants and camels and roar-lions and tigers
and Mis' Pratt and Deacon and Mr. Hoover and everybody is a-going
over to watch it pass--and we can't--we can't!" Her voice broke into
a wail, which was echoed by a sob and a howl from across the street
just inside the Pike gate, where Bud and Susie pressed their forlorn
little bodies against the palings and looked out on the world with
the despair of the incarcerated in their eyes.
"Why can't you?" demanded Mother.
"Oh, Maw have gone across the Nob to Aunt Elviry's and left Susie
May and Bud being punished. They can't go outen the gate and I ain't
a-going to no circus with my little brother and sister being
punished, and I won't let Billy and Ez go either." By this time the
whole group was in different stages of grief, for the viewing of a
circus without the company of Eliza Pike had the flavor of dead sea
fruit in all their small mouths. From the heart in Eliza's small
bosom radiated the force that vivified the lives of the whole small-
fry congregation, and a circus not seen through her eyes would be
but a dreary vision.
"Now ain't that too bad!" said Mother Mayberry with compassion and
irritation striving in her voice. "What did they do and just what
did she say?"
"Susie hurted Aunt Prissy's feelings, by taking the last biscuit
when they wasn't one left for her, and Maw said she would have to
stay in the yard until she learned to be kind and respectful to
Paw's sister, She didn't mean to be bad." And Eliza presented the
case of her small sister with hopelessness in every tone.
"Well, Susie," said Mother Mayberry, "don't you feel kind to her
yet?" There was a note of hope in Mother's voice that silenced all
the wails, and they all fixed large and expectant eyes upon this
friend who never failed them. By this time the Deacon had joined the
group and his gentle old eyes were also fixed on Mother Mayberry's
face, with the same confident hope that the children's expressed.
"I've done been kind to her," sniffed the culprit. "I let her cut
all my finger-nails and wash my ears and never said a word. She have
been working on me all afternoon and it hurt."
"Susie," said Mother Mayberry, "you can go over to the cross-roads
and see that circus with the Deacon. They can't no little girl do
better than that, and your Maw just told you to stay until you
learned that lesson. You are let out! Now, what did you do, Bud?"
"I slid on the lean-to and tored all the back of my britches out.
She couldn't stop to mend 'em and she said I could just stay front
ways to folks until she come home, and they shouldn't nobody mend
'em for me." Bud choked with grief and mortification and edged back
as little Bettie Pratt started in his direction on an investigating
tour.
"Well course, Bud," said Mother with judicial eye, "you can't take
them britches off." She paused and looked at him thoughtfully.
"I ain't a-going a step without him," reiterated the loyal Eliza,
and the rest of the children's faces fell.
"Too bad," murmured the Deacon, and Miss Wingate could see that his
distress at the plight of young Bud was as genuine as that of any of
the rest.
"But," began Mother Mayberry slowly, having in the last second
weighed the matter and made a decision, "your mother ain't said you
couldn't go outen the yard and she ain't said I couldn't wrap you up
in one of my kitchen aprons. That wouldn't be the same as changing
the britches. She didn't know about this circus and if she was here
you all know she woulder done as I asked her to do about Bud, so he
ain't a-disobeying her and I ain't neither, Run get the apron
hanging behind the door, Susie, and I'll fix him."
"Sister Mayberry," said the Deacon with a delighted smile in his
kind eyes, but a twinkle in their corners, "your decision involves
the interpretation of both the letter and the spirit of the law. I
am glad it, in this case, rested with you."
"Well," answered Mother Mayberry, as she took the apron from Susie
and started across the Road on her rescue mission, "a woman have got
to cut her conscience kinder bias in the dealing with children. If
they're stuffed full of food and kindness they will mostly forget
to be bad, and oughtent to be made to remember they CAN be by being
punished too long. Now, sonny, I'll get you fixed up so stylish with
these pins and this apron that the circus will want to carry you
off. Start on, Deacon, he's a-coming."
"I've got to get the baby's bonnet," said Eliza as the whole party
started away in a trail after the Deacon, who led Martin Luther by
one hand and little Bettie by the other. Over by the store they
could see Mrs. Pratt waiting to marshal the forces on down the Road
and Mr. Hoover stood ready as outstanding escort. He had brought the
news of the passing of the circus train and she had promptly
consented to taking the children and the Deacon over for a view.
"Please, Eliza, please don't take the baby! Leave him with me," said
Miss Wingate and as she spoke she stretched out her arms to Teether.
Teether was looking worn with the excitement of the day and his
sympathetic friend felt the journey would be too much for him. He
smiled and fell over on her shoulder with a sigh of contentment.
"Don't you think he oughter see them nelephants and things?" asked
Eliza doubtfully, her loyalty to Teether warring with the relief of
having him out of her thin little arms for the journey.
"He won't mind. Let me keep him here on the front porch until you
come back. Now run along and have a good time," and Miss Wingate
started up the front walk, as Eliza darted away to join the others.
"I do declare," said Mother Mayberry, as she watched the expedition
wend its way down the white Road in the direction of the Bolivar
pike, "the way the Deacon do love the children is plumb beautiful,
and sad some too. I don't know what he would do without Jem or they
without him. Seeing 'em together reminds me of that scraggy, old
snowball bush in full bloom, leaning down to the little Stars of
Bethlehem reaching up to it. What that good man have been to me only
my Heavenly Father can know and Tom Mayberry suspicion. I tell you
what I think I'll do; I'll take one of them little pans of rolls
what Cindy have baked for supper, with a jar of peach preserves, and
go down and set with Mis' Bostick while the Deacon are gone. We can
run the pan of rolls in to get hot for him when he comes home and I
know he likes the preserves. I want to stop in to see Mis' Tutt too
and give her a little advice about that taking so much blue-mass. I
don't see how anybody with a bad liver can have any religion at all,
much less a second blessing. I know the Squire have his faults, but
others has failings too. And, too, I'll have to stop in and pacify
Miss Prissy about turning the children loose, before I go down the
Road."
"Miss Prissy always seems to be getting the children into trouble. I
wonder why," said the singer lady with a shade of resentment in her
voice. The little Pikes had established themselves firmly in the
heart of this new friend, and she found herself in an attitude of
critical partisanship.
"I reckon Miss Prissy is what you call a kinder crank," answered
Mother Mayberry as she paused at the foot of the steps. "A married
woman have got to be the hub of a family-wheel, but a old maid can
be the outside crank that turns the whole contraption backwards if
she has a mind to. I wish Miss Prissy had a little more
understanding of the children, 'cause the rub all comes on Mis'
Pike, and she's fair wore out with it. But I must be a-going so as
to be the sooner a-coming. I wisht you would tell Tom Mayberry to go
and let you help him put the hens and little chickens to bed. Feed
'em two quarts of millet seed, and you both know how to do it right
if you have a mind to. I'm going to compliment you by a-trusting you
this once, and don't let me wish I hadn't! I'll be back in the
course of time."
And so it happened that as Doctor Mayberry was in the act of
swinging his microscope over a particularly absorbing new plate, a
very lovely vision framed itself in his office door against the
background of Harpeth Hill, which was composed of the slim singer
girl with the baby nodding over her shoulder. The unexpectedness of
the visit sent the color up under his tan and brought him to his
feet with a delighted smile.
"I don't know how you are going to feel about it, but I bring the
news of an honor which we are to share. Do you suppose, do you, that
we can put the chickens to bed for Mrs. Mayberry? She says we are to
try, and if we don't do it the right way she is never going to
compliment us with her confidence again. Help, please! I'm weighted
down by the responsibility." And as she spoke Miss Wingate's eyes
shone across Teether's bobbing head with delighted merriment.
"Well, let's try," answered the Doctor with the air of being ready
to do or dare, an attitude which a vision such as his eyes rested
upon is apt to incite in any man thus challenged. "Will you take
command? I'm many times proved incompetent on such occasions, and I
feel sure Mother trusted to your generalship." And together they
went through the garden and over into the chicken yard.
"Now," said Miss Wingate, "I think the thing to do is not to let
them know we are afraid of them. Let's just take their going under
the coops as a matter of course, and then, perhaps, they will go
without any remonstrance."
"Sort of a mental influence dodge," answered the Doctor
enthusiastically. "Let's try it on Spangles first. I somehow feel
that she will be more impressionable than Old Dominick. You
influence while I spread the millet seed in front of her coop." And
he bent down in front of the half barrel and carefully laid a
tempting evening meal, with his eye on Fuss-and-Feathers. Spangles
hesitated, stood on one foot, clucked in an affected tone of voice
to her huddling babies and coquettishly turned her head from one
side to the other as if enthusing over his artistic service before
accepting his hospitality. Then, just as she was poising one dainty
foot ready for the first step in advance, and had sounded a forward
note to the cheepers around her, Old Dominick calmly stalked
forward, stepped right across the Doctor's coaxing hand held out to
Spangles, and, settling herself in the coop, began, with her
voracious band of little plebeians, to devour the grain with stolid
appreciation.
Miss Wingate laughed merrily, Teether Pike gurgled and the Doctor
looked up with baffled astonishment.
"That was your fault," he accused; "you influenced Dominick while I
was expending my force in beguiling Spangles. Now, you try to get
her in the next coop yourself. I shan't help you further than to
spread the grain in front of all the coops." And in accordance with
his threat the Doctor disposed of the rest of the food and stood
with the empty pan in his hand. And, like the well-trained flock of
biddies that they were, all the rest of the hen mothers clucked and
cajoled their fluffy little families into their accustomed shelters
and began to dispose of their suppers with contented clucks and
cheeps. Only Mrs. Spangles stood afar and eyed the only vacant coop
with evident disdain.
"I don't know what to do," murmured Miss Wingate pleadingly. But the
Doctor stood firm, and regarded her with maliciously delighted eyes.
Teether bobbed his head over her shoulder and giggled with
ungrateful delight The poor little chicks peeped sleepily, but still
Spangles held her ground. The truth of the matter was that Dominick
had really taken the coop usually occupied by her ladyship, and with
worldly determination, the scion of all the Wyandottes was holding
out against the exchange.
With a glance out of the side of her eyes from under her lowered
lashes in the direction of Doctor Mayberry in his stern attitude,
the singer lady cautiously veered around to the rear of the insulted
grandee, and, grasping her fluffy skirts in her free hand, she shook
them out with a pleading "Shoo!" Instantly a perfect whirlwind of
spangled feathers veered around and faced the cascade of frills, and
a volume of defiant hisses fairly filled the air. Teether squealed
and Miss Wingate retreated to the bounds of the fence. The Doctor
laughed in the most heartless manner, and still Spangles held her
ground.
To make matters worse, Mother Mayberry's jovial voice, mingled with
the shrill treble of the combined circus party, who were trying all
at once to tell her the wonders of the adventure, could be
distinctly heard in an increasing volume that told of their rapid
approach. The situation was desperate, and the loss of Mother
Mayberry's faith in her seemed inevitable to the nonplussed singer
lady as she leaned against the fence with Teether over her shoulder.
Then the instinct that is centuries old presented to her the wile
that is of equal antiquity and, raising her purple eyes to the
defenseless Doctor, she murmured in a voice of utter helplessness,
into which was judiciously mingled a tone of perfect confidence:
"Please, sir, get her in for me."
The response to which, being foreordained from the beginning of
time, took Doctor Mayberry just one exciting half-minute grab and
shove to accomplish, at the end of which a ruffled but chastened
Spangles was forced to assemble her family and content herself
behind the bars of the despised coop.
"Well," said Mother Mayberry as she hurried around the corner of the
house with the depleted and milk-hungry Martin Luther trailing at
her skirts, "did you make out to manage 'em? Why, ain't that fine;
every one in and settled and Fuss-and-Feathers in that end coop
where I have been wanting her to be for a week, seeing Dominick have
got so many more chickens and needs that larger barrel. I didn't
depend on Tom Mayberry, but I did on you, Elinory. This just goes to
show that if you put a little trust in people they are mighty apt to
rise in the pan to a occasion. You all look like you've been having
a real good time!"
CHAPTER IV
LOVE, THE CURE-ALL
"Eat milk, thank ma'am, please, Mother Lady," demanded Martin
Luther as he stood on the top step in front of Mother Mayberry, who,
with Miss Wingate beside her, sat sewing away the early hours of the
morning. A tiny blue-check shirt was taking shape under Mother's
skilful fingers, and the singer lady was deep in the mysteries of
the fore and aft of a minute pair of jeans trousers. The limitations
of young Ez's wardrobe had necessitated the speedy construction of
one for the little adopt, and Miss Wingate's education along the
lines of needle control was progressing at what she considered a
remarkable rate.
"Why, Martin Luther!" She looked down at him over a carefully poised
needle. "How can you be hungry when you ate your breakfast not two
hours ago?" she added with the intent to beguile him from his
demand.
"All gone, thank ma'am, please," he answered, looking out from under
his curl with a pathetic cast of his blue eyes, and at the same time
spreading both hands over his entire vital region.
"I reckon maybe we'd better fill him up again," said Mother. "Them
legs still look 'most too much like knitting-needles to suit me, and
I kinder want to feel him to be sure his stomick haven't growed to
his backbone. Anyway, you can't never measure a boy's food by his
size. Please run and get him a glass of buttermilk and a biscuit,
child, while I finish setting in this sleeve. Let me see them
britches legs 'fore you put 'em down. Dearie me, if you ain't gone
and made 'em both for the same leg! Too bad, with all them pretty
baste-stitches!"
"Oh!" gasped Miss Wingate in dismay; "have I ruined them?"
"No, indeed, just turn the left leg inside out and hem it up again--
or you might make two more right legs to sew on to these. It would
be a good thing to double one failing mistake up into two successes,
wouldn't it? Often bad luck turned inside out makes a cap that fits
plumb easy. While you fill the boy up, I'll cut out his other legs
for you to baste right this time. Take a peep around the garden
before you come back to see if Spangles have got her chickens in the
wet weeds. I hadn't oughter let her pretty feathers make me distrust
her, but it do." And Mother went placidly on with her sewing as she
watched the girl and the tot go hand-in-hand down the path to the
spring-house under the hill. She had just placed in her sleeve and
was regarding it with entire satisfaction, when the front gate
clicked and she looked up with interest.
"Well, good morning, Mis' Mayberry," came in Bettie Pratt's hearty
voice as she swung up the walk at a brisk pace. On one arm she held
a bobbing baby in a white sunbonnet, a toddler clung to her skirts
and a small boy trailed behind her with a puppy in his arms. She was
buxom and rosy, was the Widow Pratt, with a dangerous dimple over
the corner of her mouth, a decided come-hither in her blue eyes, and
a smile that compelled a response.
"Why, Bettie child, how glad I am to see you!" exclaimed Mother,
rendering the smile from out over her glasses. "I didn't see you all
day yesterday and not the day before, neither. But I put it down to
a work-hold on us both, and didn't worry none. And now here you are,
with some of the little folks! Here's a empty spool for little
Bettie," and she held out the treasure to the toddler, who sidled up
to her knee with confidence to grasp the gift.
"I told Pattie Hoover if she would stay at home this morning and
clean up some like her Pa wants her to that I'd let my Clara May
help her and would bring the baby on up here to get him outen the
way. 'Lias come along to get you to look at his puppy's foot, and I
want you to see if you don't think the baby have fatted some since
I've took holt and helped Pattie with the feeding of him."
"He have that," answered Mother heartily. "I can tell it without
even feeling of his legs. You've got the growing hand with babies,
Bettie, and I'm glad you don't hold it back from this little half-
orphant. I don't know what the poor little Hoovers would do without
you!"
"That's what poor Mr. Hoover says," answered Bettie with the utmost
unconsciousness. "Show Mis' Mayberry the puppy's foot, 'Lias."
"Why, the pitiful little thing!" exclaimed Mother when a small,
brown, crushed paw was presented to her inspection. "What happened
to it?"
"Mr. Petway's horse stepped on it--he didn't care. He just got in
the buggy and went on. I'm a-going to kill him with a gun when I get
one." Tears of rage and grief welled up in 'Lias' eyes, but he
choked them back with a resolution that boded ill for Mr. Petway
when the time of reckoning came.
"You mustn't talk that way, 'Lias, though it are a shame," said
Mother as she looked closely at the injured paw. "The bone's all
crushed. I'll tell you what to do; just take him around to Doctor
Tom's office and he'll fix it in no time for you, in a way I
couldn't never do. He won't even limp, maybe." And Mother Mayberry
made the offer of a piece of skilled surgery with the utmost
generosity.
'Lias clasped the puppy closer, looked down and drew one of his bare
toes along a crack in the floor. "I'd rather you'd do it," he said.
"Now, don't that just beat all!" exclaimed Mother with both
amusement and exasperation in her face. "Looks like I can't even get
Tom a puppy practice."
"Why, 'Lias Hoover, I'm ashamed of you not to want Doctor Tom to fix
his foot, and thank you, too! Didn't Bud Pike tell you last night
how he cut his little brother's mouth and didn't hurt him a bit,
neither? Bud is going to get him to fix his next stubbed toe
hisself. Bud ain't no bigger boy than you, but he knows a good
doctor same as Mis' Mayberry and me does when he sees one." There
are ways and ways of controverting masculine obstinancy, and
evidently life had taught Mrs. Pratt the efficacy of beguilement.
Without more reluctance 'Lias disappeared around the house in the
direction of the office wing.
"I'm mighty glad you come along this morning, Bettie," said Mother
Mayberry, as she threaded a new needle with a long thread. Little
Bettie had seated herself on the floor and begun operations with the
spool and a piece of string that vastly amused little Hoover, whom
Mrs. Pratt deposited opposite her within reach of her own balancing
foot, for the baby's age and backbone were both at a tender period.
"I've got a kinder worry on my mind that I'd like to get a little
help from you as to know what to do about. Have you noticed that
both the Deacon and Mis' Bostick look mighty peaky? Course Deacon
have been sick, and she have had a spell of nursing, but they don't
neither of them pick up like they oughter. Mis' Bostick puts me in
mind of a little, withered-up, gray seed pod when all the down have
blowed away, and the Deacon's britches fair flap around his poor
thin shanks. Something or other just makes me sense what is the
matter."
"And me, too, Mis' Mayberry. I've been a-feeling of it for some
time, since we all quit out with the nursing and taking 'em
complimentary dishes of truck. They is--is hungry." Mrs. Pratt
brought out the statement of the fact in a positively awestruck
voice.
"That's what I'm afraid it is, Bettie," answered Mother, "and it
hurts me hard to think how he have served the Lord and helped us all
in our duty to Him and each other, she a-giving us of her bounty of
sister-love, and now, when they's old and feeble, a-feeling the
pinch of need. The young can reach out and help theyselves to they
share of life, but it oughter be handed old folks with thoughtful
respect. We've got to do something about it."
"Course we have," assented the widow heartily. "But how are we a-
going to just give 'em things offen a cold collar? They're both so
proud. With owning the house, the bit the church gives 'em would do
the rest, but the Deacon have tooken that debt no-'count Will
Bostick run off and left down in the City to pay, and it have left
'em at starvation's door. But that's neither here nor there; we've
got to do something. They don't need much but food, and Mis' Bostick
is most too weak now to cook it if they has the ingredients gave 'em
to hand. They must be did for some way."
"And we've got to do it without a-giving them a single hurt feeling,
either," said Mother. "Enough good-will jelly will hide any kind of
charity pill, I say. Not as what we do for her and the Deacon can
ever be anything but thanks rendered for the blessing of them. But
you get to thinking, Bettie. The knees to my wits are getting old
and stiff."
"Well, there's a donation party," suggested the widow thoughtfully.
"Everybody could help, and it could be made real pleasant with the
men asked to come in after supper. Everything could be gave from
stovewood to the Deacon some new Sunday pants. We did that once
before, five years ago to his birthday, and they was mighty pleased.
Let's do it again."
"But that was before this disgrace of Will happened, and they didn't
downright need the things then--it were all sort of complimentary.
When needs are gave it's charity, but what you don't want is just a
present. We've got to find a way to do up needs in a present package
for 'em. I declare, I feel right put to know what to do." Mother
Mayberry's voice was actually worried, and she paused with her
scissors ready to snip a bit of the gingham into narrow bands.
"Well, we oughter be thankful we've got the things to give, and
we'll find some sort of way to slip up on the blind side of them
about the taking of them. The Deacon's britches is one pressing
thing. Can't we take some of the church carpet money and get Mr.
Hoover to buy him a pair when he hauls corn to town Monday?"
"Yes, indeed, we can," answered Mother Mayberry, radiant at the very
thought of this relief proposition. "It's a heap more important to
carpet the Deacon with britches than the church floor right now.
Between them and her old bombersine, Mis' Bostick have spent the
year with her patch-thimble on her finger."
"I declare, it hurts me so in church to look at her elbows and back
seams that I can't hardly listen to the Deacon pray. Patching is the
most worrisome job a woman has to do, according to my mind," said
the widow, with an expression of distaste on her beaming face. "I've
done patched two men, and I know what I'm talking about."
"It is a trial," answered Mother Mayberry, "and Mis' Bostick's life
have been a patched one at the best, a-moving in the Methodist wagon
from one station to another and a-trying every time to cut herself
out by a new style to suit each congregation, Anyway, I reckon all
women's lives have wored thin and had to be darned in some places,
but patches on her garment of life ain't going to make no difference
to a woman when she puts it on to meet her Lord, just so it's cut on
the charity mantle pattern. And Mis' Bostick's was hung to cover the
multitude. But a-talking here have made me sprout a idea: 'Liza Pike
have blazed the trail for us, bless her little heart! Her mother
don't never cook a single thing that 'Liza haven't got a dish handy
to beg some for the Deacon and Mis' Bostick. And she don't stop at
her own cook stove, but she's always here looking into what Cindy
cooks with an eye to the old folk's sweet-tooths or chicken-hankers.
I know, too, she gets what she wants from you for them, so there is
our leading. The Deacon loves 'Liza, and she is such a entertainment
to him that he'd eat ten meals a day at her dictation and no
questions asked. And she do beat all with her mothering ways with
them old folks. Last Wednesday night she had Deacon a-leading prayer
meeting with a red flannel band around his throat for his croaks,
and just yesterday she made Mis' Bostick stay in bed half the day,
covered up head and ears, to sweat off a little nose-dripping cold.
She's always a-consulting Tom and leaving me out. I think she's got
her eye on my practice. They never was such a master-hand of a child
in Providence before."
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