Books: The Road To Providence
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Maria Thompson Daviess >> The Road To Providence
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"There you are right," laughed the widow. "It's getting so that they
ain't a child on the Road as will let its own mother look at a cut
finger or a black bruise 'fore 'Liza have done had her say about
what is to be did. I believe it is as you say, Mis' Mayberry, and
'Liza can play raven for us in fine style. I know Mis' Pike will
push it on and more'n do her part in the filling of the child's
covered dish."
"That she will," answered Mother Mayberry heartily. "Judy Pike
spends a heap of time turning over life to find for certain which is
the right and wrong of it, but once found, she sticks close to the
top weave. We'll plan it all out at the Sewing Circle, and then get
it down to days who's to send what regular. I'm thankful for this
leading of how to take care of our old folks, and I know you are,
too."
"Couldn't nobody be thankfuller," answered the rosy widow, "and the
filling of that dish is a-going to give me a lot of good pride. But
I'd better be going and seeing after them girls and the house
cleaning. They are both master hands, but if Buck Peavey was to
happen to tie hisself up to the front gate, it would be good-by
dust-pan and mop for Pattie. Not that I don't feel for her in the
liking of that rampaging boy of Mis' Peavey's, and it's mighty hard
not to kinder saunter into a little chat when the men folks call
you. How are Miss Elinory to-day? Ain't she the prettiest and most
stylishest girl you have ever saw? I wonder if she would lend me
that long-tailed waist she wears to get the pattern off to make me
and Clara May and Pattie one?" As she spoke, Mrs. Pratt rose, picked
up little Hoover and set Bettie on her little bare feet.
"I know she will be glad to, and such a head sewer as you are can
copy it most exact. Here she are now! Child, Mis' Pratt have been so
complimenting of your looks and clothes that I'm sorter set up with
pride over you."
"Good morning, Mrs. Pratt," exclaimed the singer lady, as she
appeared in the doorway with the resuscitated Martin Luther at her
side. "The darling babies! You are not going, are you?" The widow
and Miss Wingate had developed a decided attraction for each other,
and their blossoming friendship delighted Mother Mayberry most
obviously.
"I wish I didn't have to," answered Mrs. Pratt, beaming with smiles,
which little Bettie echoed as she coquetted around her mother's
skirts with Miss Wingate, "but it's most dinner-pot time, and I've
got mouths to feed when the horn blows."
"Elinory, child, run get that pink, long-tailed waist of your'n to
let Bettie make one by, please," said Mother Mayberry, with total
unconsciousness of that very strong feminine predilection for
exclusiveness of design in wearing apparel. The garment in question
was a very lovely, simply-cut linen affair that bore a distinguished
foreign trade-mark. "I know you feel complimented by her wanting to
make one for herself by it, and maybe Clara May and Pattie, too.
They ain't no worldly feeling as good as having your clothes
admired, is they?"
"Indeed there isn't," answered Miss Wingate cordially, and if there
was chagrin in her heart at the thought of seeing Providence in
uniform with the precious pink blouse, her smile belied it. She
immediately ascended to her room, and returned quickly with the
treasure in her hand. "Let me come and see you fit them," she
entreated. "I don't know how to sew one, but I can tell how it ought
to look."
"Come spend the day next Monday. We'll all have a good time together
and I'll make you some more of them fritters you liked for supper
the other night." The widow fairly beamed like a headlight at the
thought of the successful impromptu supper party a few nights
before, when Doctor Mayberry had brought Miss Wingate down upon her
unexpectedly with a demand to be invited to stay to supper for that
especial dainty. As she spoke she was half-way down the walk, and
looked back, smiling at them over the baby's bonnet.
"Yes, I heard Tom Mayberry disgraced himself over your maple syrup
jug, Bettie Pratt," called Mother Mayberry after her. "That Hoover
baby surely have growed. Good-by!"
"They ain't nothing in this world so comforting to a woman as good
feeling with her sisters, one and all," Mother Mayberry said as she
watched the last switch of the widow's skirt. "Mother, wife and
daughter love is a institution, but real sistering is a downright
covenant. Me and Bettie have held one betwixt us these many a year.
But you and me have both put a slight on the kitchen since Cindy got
back. Let's go see if dinner ain't most on the table."
And they found that from their neglect the dinner had suffered not
at all. Cindy, a gaunt, black woman with a fire of service and
devotion to Mother Mayberry in her eyes, and apparently nothing else
to excuse existence, had accomplished the meal as a triumph.
She had set the table out on the side porch under the budding
honeysuckle, and as Mother Mayberry and Miss Wingate, followed by
Martin Luther, ever ready to do trencher duty, came out of the back
hall Doctor Tom emerged from his office door.
"Why, I didn't see you come in, Tom," said Mother. "You muster used
wings and lit."
"No, I came from across the fields and in the back way. I've had a
patient and I'm puffed up with pride." As he spoke he smiled at Miss
Wingate and his mother delightedly.
"'Lias Hoover's puppy," said Mother, stating the fact to Miss
Wingate. "Was you able to fix him up, Tom?"
"Oh, yes; his puppyship will navigate normally in ten days, I think;
but this was a real patient."
"Why, who, son? Don't keep me waiting to know, for I'm worried at
the very thought of a Providence pain. Who's down now and what did
you do for 'em?" And Mother bestowed upon the young doctor a glance
of inter-professional inquiry. "Squire Tutt," answered her son
promptly. "I met him up by the store and he asked me what I would do
if a man had a snake bite out in the woods, ten miles from any hot-
water kettle. I diagnosed the situation and prescribed with the help
of Mr. Petway, and I think--I think, Mother, I've proselyted your
patient."
"Now, Tom, don't make fun of the Squire. Them are real pains he has,
and I don't think it is right for a doctor to have a doubting mind
towards a patient. Sympathy will help worry any kinder bad dose
down. You know I want you to do your doctoring in this life with
love to be gave to help smooth all pain." Mother regarded him
seriously over her glasses as she admonished.
"I will--I do, Mother," answered the Doctor, and his gray eyes
danced before he veiled them with his black lashes as he looked down
at his plate.
Miss Wingate flushed ever so slightly and busied herself with
spreading butter on a large piece of bread for Martin Luther, an
unnecessary attention, as she had performed that same office for him
just the moment before, and even he had not been able to make an
inroad thereon.
"I think you are right, Mrs. Mayberry," she said slowly after a
second's rally of her forces. "The sympathy and--and regard of one's
physician is very necessary at times and--and--" She paused, but not
so much as a glance out of the corner of her purple black eyes did
she throw in the direction of the Doctor.
"Course they ain't nothing so encouraging in the world as love, and
I think the sick oughter have it gave to 'em in large and frequent
doses! I'm thankful I've got so much in my heart that I can just
prescribe it liberal when needed. Dearie me, could that shadow be a
chicken-hawk? Just excuse me, children; finish your dinner while I
go out and look after my feather babies." And Mother hurried away
through the kitchen, leaving the singer lady and the Doctor sitting
at the table under the fragrant vine, with the replete Martin Luther
nodding his sleepy head down into his plate between them.
And thus deserted, the flush rose up under Miss Wingate's eyes and a
dimple teased at the corner of her red lips, but she busied herself
with removing the plate from under Martin Luther's yellow mop and
making a pillow of her own bare arm, against which he nestled his
chubby little cheek with a sigh of content, as he drifted off into
his usual after-dinner nap.
The Doctor watched her from under his half-closed eyes, then he lit
a cigarette, leaned his elbow on the table and sat silent for a few
moments, while under her breath she hummed a little sleep song to
the drifting baby.
"On the whole," he asked at last, the usual delightful courtesy with
which he always addressed her striving with an unusual trace of
gentle banter in his deep voice, "what do you think of Mother's
philosophies?"
"I think," she answered as she ruffled the baby's curls with one
white hand, "they are so true that no wonder they are--are more
healing than--than your medicines."
She raised her eyes to his suddenly and they were filled to the brim
with frank merriment.
"Don't tell me I'm going to lose my one and only star patient,
Teether Pike and the puppy excepted!" he exclaimed with a laugh.
"Yes," she answered slowly, "I'm going to let you operate when the
time comes--but it's your Mother that's healing me. Oh, can't you,
can't you see what she's doing for me?" she turned to him and asked
suddenly, the burr thrown across her voice heavily because of the
passion in her tones. "I came to you a broken instrument--useless
for ever, perhaps--unfit for all I knew of life unless you healed
me, and now--now I can make things and do things--a pie and a good
one, bread to feed and the butter thereto, and to-day two halves of
a pair of trousers, no the halves of two pairs of trousers. What
matter if I never sing again?" She stretched her white arm across
the table and looked over the head of the sleeping baby straight
into his eyes. Hers were soft with tears, and a divine shyness that
seemed to question him.
He lifted the white hand, with its pink palm upward, gently into his
own brown one, and placed the tip of one of his fingers on a tiny
red scar on her forefinger.
"Do you know the story the drop of blood I took from this prick this
morning told?" he asked with his eyes shining into hers. "A gain of
over thirty percent in red corpuscles in less than a month. Yes, I
admit it; Mother is building, but when she has you ready--I'm going
to give it back to you, the wonderful voice. I don't know why I
know, but I do."
"And I don't know why I know that you will--but I do," she answered
with lowered voice and eyes. "When all the others tried I knew they
would fail. The horrible thought clutched at my throat always, and
there seemed no help. I don't feel it now at all. I'm too busy," she
added with a catch in her laugh and a sudden mist in her eyes.
"Mother's treatment again," he laughed as he laid her hand gently
back on the table.
"And yours--when directed by her--her philosophies," she ventured
daringly, as she lifted Martin Luther into her arms, with a view to
depositing him upon the haven of Mother's bed to finish his nap.
The Doctor looked at her a second, started to answer, thought better
of it, took the heavy youngster out of her arms into his own and
strode across the hall with him into Mother's room.
The singer lady walked to the edge of the porch, pulled down a spray
of the fragrant vine and looked out through it to the blue hills
beyond the meadows. She hummed a waltz-song this time, and her eyes
were dancing as if she were meditating some further assault on the
Doctor's imperturbability. He came back and stood beside her, and
was just about to make a tentative remark when Mother Mayberry
hurried around the side of the house.
"Children!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining, her cheeks pink with
excitement, and the white curls flying in every direction; "I never
did have such a time in my life! It WERE a chicken-hawk and he were
right down amongst the hens and little chickens. Old Dominick was
spread out like a featherbed over all hers and most of Spangles',
and there Spangles was just a-contending with him over one of her
little black babies. He had it in his claw, but she had him by a
beak full of feathers and was a-swinging on for fare-you-well. Old
Dominick was a-directing of her with squawks, and Ruffle Neck was
just squatting over hers, batting her eyes with skeer, for all the
world like she was a fine lady a-going into a faint. And there stood
all four of the roosters, not a one of 'em a-turning of a feather to
help her! They looked like they was petrified to stone, and I'm a
great mind to make 'em every one up into pies and salad and such.
They's a heap of men, come trouble, don't make no show, and the
women folks have to lead the fight. But they might er helped her
after she's took holt!"
"The brutes!" exclaimed Doctor Tom with real indignation. "When are
you going to have the pie, Mother?" he added teasingly.
"Well, I've got no intentions of feeding no such coward truck to
you, sir," answered his mother, still flurried with belligerency.
"But the little baby chicken--what DID become of it?" demanded Miss
Wingate, and she, too, cast a glance of scorn at the Doctor.
"Why, he dropped it and flew away as soon as he caught sight of me.
It ain't hurt a mite, and Spangles have hovered it and all the rest
she could coax out from under Dominick. Now this do settle it! Good
looks don't disqualify a woman from nothing; it's the men that can't
stand extra long tail feathers and fluted combs. I'm a-going to put
'em all four in the pot before Wednesday."
"I apologize; I apologize, with emotion, for all my doubts, both
expressed and unexpressed, of Mrs. Spangles!" the Doctor hastened to
exclaim. "Neck under heel for the whole masculine fraternity and
suffrage triumphant!"
"Well, it's not as bad as that," answered Mother in a jovially
mollified tone of voice. "Meek, plain-favored men like you may be
let live, with no attention paid 'em. Now go on over to Flat Rock
and stop a-wasting me and my honey-bird's time with your chavering.
Come back early for supper or you won't get none, for all three of
us are a-going to prayer meeting."
"I'll be here, and thank you for-crumbs of attention," answered the
Doctor, and, with a laughing glance at both his mother and Miss
Wingate he took himself off in the direction of the barn, for the
purpose of saddling his horse for his afternoon visit to his
patients beyond the Nob.
"Ain't he good to look at?" asked Mother Mayberry as she watched his
tall figure swing down the garden path. "Good looks in a man can be
a heap of pleasure to a woman, but she mustn't let on to him."
"I believe," said Miss Wingate in an impersonally judicial tone of
voice, "that Doctor Mayberry is the very handsomest man I ever saw.
One would almost call him beautiful. It isn't entirely that he is so
tall and grand and has such eyes, but--do you know I think it is
because he is so like you that he is so lovely." And the singer lady
tucked her hand into Mother Mayberry's with a shy blush.
"Liking folks kinder shines 'em up, same as furniture polish, honey-
bird," laughed Mother Mayberry with delight at the compliment.
"You're a-rubbing some on me and Tom Mayberry. But he were the best
favored baby I 'most ever saw, if I do say it, as shouldn't."
"Oh!" said Miss Wingate delightedly, "I know he must have been
lovely! What was he like?"
"Well," answered Mother reminiscently, "he were about like he are
now. He come so ugly I cried when I seen him first, and Doctor
Mayberry teased me about it to the day of his death. He called Tom
'Ugly' for short. But he mighty soon begun to sprout little pleasing
ways, a-looking up under them black lashes and a-laughing acrost my
breast. His cheeks was rosy, his back broad and his legs straight,
same as now. He teethed easy, walked soon, have never learned to
talk much yet, and had his measles and whooping-cough when his time
come. I just thought he were something 'cause he were mine. All
babies is astonishing miracles to they mothers."
"But I'm sure Doctor Mayberry was really wonderful," said Miss
Wingate, instantly sympathetic. "Had he always such black hair?"
"Borned with it. Now, my little girl had beautiful yellow curls and
I can show you one, by the Lord's mercy I've got it." Mother paused
and an ineffable gentleness came into her lovely old face. "I want
to tell you about it, honey-heart, 'cause it have got a strange
sweetness to it. She wasn't but five years old when she died, tooken
sudden with pneumony cruel bad. Nobody thought to cut me one of her
curls before they laid her away, and when I come to myself I grieved
over it more than I had oughter. But one day when the fall come on
and the days was short and dark; and it looked like nothing couldn't
light up the old house with that sunshine head gone, me almost a-
feeling bitter and questioning why, Tom went out and picked up a
robin's nest that had blowed down from a tree in the yard. And
there, wound around inside it, was the little curl I had cut off in
the spring, out on the porch, what had tagged into her eyes and
worried her! The mother bird had used it to make the nest soft for
her babies and now didn't need it no more. When I looked at it I
took it as a message and a sign that my Lord hadn't forgot me, and I
ain't never mistrusted Him again. Come, let me show it to you."
CHAPTER V
THE LITTLE RAVEN AND HER COVERED DISH
Wednesday morning dawned clear and bright. From over Providence Nob
the round red old sun looked jovially and encouragingly down upon
Providence, up and stirring at an unusually early hour, for in the
mid-week came Sewing Circle day and the usual routine of work must
be laid by before the noon meal, and every housewife in condition to
forgather at the appointed place on the stroke of one. Mrs. Peavey
had aroused the protesting Buck at the peep of dawn, the Pikes were
all up and breakfasting by the first rays of light that fell over
the Ridge, and the Hoover biscuits had been baked in the Pratt oven
and handed across the fence fifteen minutes agone. Down the road Mr.
Petway was energetically taking down the store shutters and Mr.
Mosbey was building the blacksmith shop fire. Cindy had milked and
started breakfast and Mother Mayberry had begun the difficult task
of getting the Doctor up and ready for the morning meal. Martin
Luther had had a glass of warm milk and was ready for an energetic
attack upon his first repast.
Above, in her room under the gables, the singer lady had been
awakened by the brushing of a white-capped old locust bough against
her casement as it attempted to climb with all its bloom into her
dormer window. As she looked through the mist, a long golden shaft
of light shot across the white flowers and turned the tender green
leaves into a bright yellow. Suddenly a desire to get up and look
across at the Nob possessed her, for the arrival of the sun upon the
scene of action was a sight that held the decided charm of novelty.
And on this particular morning she found it more than worth while.
Providence lay at her feet like a great bouquet of lilacs, locust
and fruit blossoms. The early mist was shot through with long spears
of gold and the pale smoke curled up from the brick chimneys and
mingled its pungent wood-odor with the perfume laden air. She drank
in great drafts of exhilaration and delighted her eyes with the
picture for a number of minutes, until an intoxicating breakfast
aroma began to steal up from Cindy's domain. Then, spurred by a
positive agony of hunger, it took the singer lady the fewest
possible number of minutes to complete a dainty and most ravishing
breakfast toilet.
"Why, honey-bird," exclaimed Mother Mayberry as she descended the
steps and found them all at breakfast in the wide-open dining-room,
"what did you get up so soon for? It's Wednesday and the Sewing
Circle meets with me, so Cindy and us must be a-stirring, but I had
a breakfast in my mind for you two hours from now. You hadn't
oughter done it. Them ain't orders in your prescription."
"I'm so hungry," she pleaded with a most wickedly humble glance at
the Doctor, who was busy consuming muffins and chicken gravy. "Can't
I have a breakfast now, Doctor--and the other one two hours later?
Please!"
"Yes," answered the Doctor, "but don't forget the two glasses of
cream and dinner and some of the Sewing Party refreshments, to say
nothing of supper-and are you going to make custards for us to eat
before seeking our downy couches?"
"The cup custards are going to be part of the Sewing Circle
refreshments," his mother answered him. "I want to show off my
teaching to the Providence folks. Give the child some chicken, Tom
Mayberry, and then you can go to your work. We don't want you
underfoot."
"Don't you need my help?" asked the Doctor, as, in a disobedient
frame of mind, he lingered at the table to watch the singer lady
begin operations on her dainty breakfast.
"Well, you can set here and see that Elinory gets all she wants and
more too, but I must be a-doing around. There cames the Deacon! I
wonder what the matter is!" And Mother Mayberry hurried out of the
house and down to the front gate to meet the Deacon who was coming
slowly up the Road.
"Good morning, Sister Mayberry," he said cheerily enough, though
there was an expression of anxiety on his gentle old face. "I
thought I would find you up, even at this unusually early hour. Your
lamp is always burning to meet emergencies. Mrs. Bostick is not well
this morning and I came up to see if you could find a moment to step
down to see her soon. I also wanted to ask Thomas to stop in for a
moment on his way over to Flat Rock. I am sure that she is not at
all ill, but I am just overly anxious."
"Why, of course, we will both come right away, Deacon! What did she
eat last night for supper? She oughter be careful about her night
eating."
"Let me see," answered the Deacon thoughtfully, "I think we both had
a portion of milk and toast administered by our young sister, Eliza
Pike. I recall I pleaded for some of the peaches, still in the jar
you gave Mrs. Bostick, but was sternly denied." As he spoke the
Deacon beamed with affectionate pride over having been vanquished by
the stern Eliza.
Just at this moment from around the corner of the Pike home came the
young woman in question, with a pitcher in one hand and a covered
dish in the other. Ez followed her with a plate wrapped in a napkin,
and Billy brought up the rear with a bucket of cool water which he
sloshed over his bare feet with every step.
"Why, Deacon," demanded Eliza sternly, "you ain't gone and et
breakfast with Mother Mayberry, when I told you about Maw making
light rolls before she went to bed 'cause to-day is Wednesday?"
"No, Eliza," answered the Deacon meekly, with a delighted glance at
Mother Mayberry out of the corner of his eye. "Neither Mrs. Bostick
nor I would think of breakfasting without your superintendence. I
was just starting over to tell you that she felt indisposed and
would like to see you and Sister Mayberry, along with the Doctor,
later in the day."
"Well," answered Eliza confidently, "I think I can tend to her if
Mother Mayberry is too busy to come. I was a-going to watch for
Doctor Tom and ask him in anyway. Please come on home, Deacon, 'fore
the rolls get cold and the scrambled eggs set. Ez, hold the plate
straight or the butter will run outen the rolls! Please come on,
Deacon!"
"Yes, Deacon, go along with her right away," answered Mother
Mayberry, as her eyes rested on the serious face of the ministering
child with a peculiar tenderness tinged with respect. "And, 'Liza,
honey, stop by and tell me how Mis' Bostick does when you come back,
and let me know if you need me to help you any."
"Yes'm, Mother Mayberry," answered Eliza with a flash of pure joy
shining in her devoted little face when she found that she was not
to be supplanted in her attendance on her charges. "I was a-coming
to see you this morning anyway about the place Mr. Mosbey burned his
finger and I tied up last night. Please come on, Deacon!"
"And a little child shall lead them," said Mother Mayberry to
herself, as she watched the breakfast party down the road. Martin
Luther had come out from the table by this time and now trotted
along at the Deacon's heels like a replete and contented puppy. Ez
held the plate carefully and Billy seemed about sure of arriving at
his destination with at least half the bucket of cool water. "Yes, a
little child--but some children are borned with a full-growed
heart."
And true to her promise Eliza appeared an hour or two later to hold
serious consultation over the blacksmithing finger down the Road.
"'Liza," said Mother Mayberry as she prepared a stall for the finger
and poured a cooling lotion in a small bottle for which the child
waited eagerly, "you are a-doing the right thing to take nice things
to Mis' Bostick and the Deacon and I'm proud of your being so kind
and thoughtful. Do they ever ask you where you bring 'em from?"
"I always tell 'em, Mother Mayberry. Deacon said I oughtn't to get
things from other folks to bring to 'em, but I told him that you and
Mis' Pratt and Mis' Mosbey and Mis' Peavey would be mad at me if I
just took things from Maw to 'em and slighted they cooking. I pick
out the best things everybody makes. Maw's light rolls, Mis' Pratt's
sunshine cake and cream potatoes, Cindy's chicken and Mis' Peavey
for baked hash. I took the custards from Miss Elinory to please her;
but Mis' Mosbey's is better. I wanted 'em to have the best they is
on the Road, 'cause they is old and they is our'n."
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