CHAPTER XI
FOLLOWING HIS ADVICE
No further reference was made to the difference between the two friends, but Ambrose had reason to believe a few days later that Miss Dunham was following his advice; for coming out in his yard before breakfast, after a restless night, he was just in time to spy Mrs. Barrows climbing into the gig with Doctor Webb, carrying a basket on her arm and wearing so glorified an expression that it could come of nothing but the opportunity of ministering to the sick. For the care of the sick gave to Susan the same glow of pleasure that the act of creation gives to the artist or the command of his army gives the born general. Once stationed by the bedside of a patient, was she not the main source from which news of the illness must flow as well as the basin into which all inquiries must be poured? Certainly Ambrose had so considered her.
Moreover, that afternoon his suspicion was justified by Miner's growling at him over the opening of a new hogshead of molasses: "Miss Dunham's powerful poorly," and then going on furiously with his work as though he had never spoken.
And Ambrose did not dare ask questions nor prolong the subject of their conversation, though wistful to hear that Miner as well as Emily approved his plan. However, there was little doubt of its success, for the turning of the tide in favour of the Yankee schoolmistress soon could be seen, heard, and felt. Rivers of soup were made to flow toward the once anathematized cabin, and mountains of sponge cake and jelly were dumped at its door.
Since the day of the first visit there had always been in Pennyroyal a small number of women headed by Mrs. Dr. Webb who were not so manifestly unfavourable to Emily, but according to report they had lately been most unmercifully snubbed and put down by Mrs. Barrows, who would allow no one else inside the cabin and actually barred other ministering angels from the door.
Hearing word of the approach of these ladies one morning through Emily's coloured maid, Susan came forth into the clearing to meet them and stood waiting as usual with one hand resting on each sharp hip. Then before any other mouth could be opened hers was at work.
"I am powerful glad, Maria Webb, that you have had a change of heart toward the poor young girl," she commenced, "but you needn't try now to be gettin' inside her home after havin' so long kep' her out of your own. Besides, she's too sick to see no one 'cept the doctor and me. Doctor Webb says she's real ill with chills and fever 'cause papaw trees won't flourish 'ceptin' where it's damp, but I call it human ague the child's got. Talkin' about millstones hung about your neck, they're necklaces compared to the way women tries to drag down other women when they start in to do something a mite different."
And this intense irritation of Mrs. Barrows showing itself thus to her female friends even extended to her comparatively favoured next door neighbour, although Ambrose could not understand the cause. Emily of course had taken Susan into her confidence and she was a natural dramatist and yet why should she positively glare at him one evening as he stood snipping the dead stalks from the rose bushes in his yard?
Indeed her disapproval was so evident that Ambrose straightening up asked in amazement: "Whatever have I done, Susan?"
"Ain't it about time you was inquirin' concernin' Miss Dunham?" Susan demanded; "you're 'most the only person now in Pennyrile that ain't, and ef there's one thing I more'n another nacherally despise it's folks proppin' up a thing when it's standin' firm and don't need help, and then beginnin' to ease off when mebbe it's likely to fall."
"How is Miss Dunham?" Ambrose queried, and the older woman gave him a curious look. "She ain't dyin' sick yet, Doctor Webb says, but it's worse 'n he thought, 'cause it ain't plain chills and fever; mebbe it's the typhoids."
At this information Ambrose paled slightly, but when his neighbour had disappeared into her house for fresh clothes and supplies his expression grew more peaceful.
"Em'ly's turnin' out a lot better actress 'n I thought," he said to himself. "I wasn't figurin' on her play actin' so long."
He was leaning on his rake, having suddenly lost every atom of energy, when Susan, passing out again, dealt him another blow.
"Ain't you never goin' to stop mopin', Ambrose Thompson? I'm sick of lookin' at you," she said. "Seems like there's nothin' on this earth more tryin' than the way some folks act dead 'cause some one they love is. Ef the Lord hadn't wanted you to live, man, I reckon He'd 'a' took you with Sarah. 'Tain't likely He wants dead folks on His livin' earth!" And then Mrs. Barrows hurried away to her charge, having left behind her sufficient inspiration to persuade Ambrose to finish the task of tidying up his yard.
"Ain't you never goin' to stop mopin', Ambrose Thompson? I'm sick of lookin' at you"
And so another week went by, Ambrose and Miner in the meanwhile having less to say to each other than at any time in their lives since they had learned to speak, and never meeting any more outside of working hours. Nevertheless when they were together, although Miner's manner continued surly and unapproachable, his eyes constantly watched the face of his former friend, while Ambrose never altered in his old attitude of affection toward him.
Yet on Sunday morning, as Ambrose stood dressing for church in front of his yellow pine bureau, without warning his bedroom door suddenly opened and in stalked Miner. Grave and silent he waited, until when the meeting bell sounded, he started forth to church, leaning as of old on the arm of his friend, and entering his pew sat down beside him.
Ambrose did not pay a great deal of attention to the beginning of the service that day; on coming in he noticed that Susan and Doctor Webb were not in their accustomed places, but afterward he seemed always to have been listening to the August hum of the bees just outside the raised window on his side of the pew. Through it he could also see the deep rose of the ripening pink clover fields, smell their almost overpowering sweetness, till with the weight on his chest which he never shook off these days he wondered if Emily, who loved the outdoors as he did, was not by this time weary of feigning illness.
Then Brother Bibbs so changed the order of the usual Sunday routine that it must have startled Ambrose into consciousness. The elderly man had finished his sermon, but instead of at once announcing the closing hymn to be followed by the benediction, he stood clearing his throat, his little worn face paling with emotion.
"Brether'n and sister'n," he began slowly, "there be faith, hope and charity, these three things, but the greatest of these is charity. I want you now to fall on your knees with me and pray for the life of the young woman lately come into our midst whom we, like the Pharisees of old, have tried to cast out. I want you to pray for that young Yankee school teacher, Miss Emily Dunham, because she is powerful sick, and if the good Lord takes her to Him, I don't see just how we are coming out with the greatest of these three things."
While the rest of the congregation were falling upon their knees Ambrose somehow got himself out of the church, nor did he realize during the moment of his leaving that Miner was there hanging on to his arm. After a time, however, when both men were walking toward the log cabin, he turned to his friend, whispering brokenly:
"I didn't know she was sick really, Miner. I thought she was just play actin' same as I asked her to."
And Miner nodded. "My fault. I suspicioned your ignorance, but I ain't been able to break it. Em'ly told me of your letter soon as it come. She hadn't been feelin' any too well before then, though she'd sort 'er been hidin' it, and afterward she kep' a-gettin' worse and worse."
When finally they had come near the cabin, Ambrose sat down on the selfsame stump where he had waited so long for Emily on the afternoon of their first meeting, and since he would not go inside the house Miner went in without him, promising to bring back news. However, several hours passed and Miner did not return; Ambrose saw Doctor Webb leave the house, stay away half an hour and then go back into it and remain there. Then afterward Brother Bibbs followed him in, and Mrs. Webb and a dozen or more Pennyroyal townsfolk appeared clustering in a hushed group near the little schoolhouse door.
Nevertheless the waiting time did not seem long to Ambrose Thompson, since he was living over every moment he had ever spent with Emily, hearing the sound of her laughter, feeling the touch of her hand over his, and then remembering how he had wondered in the days since his surrender whether it would not have been easier for him to have given her up through death.
It was dusk when Miner laid his hand on Ambrose's arm; he had not seen the little man's approach.
"It's past, the crisis," Miner said huskily; "she's better and has been askin' for you."
Then Ambrose rose, but he didn't move in the direction of the cabin; instead, he began running toward home, Miner having difficulty in keeping up with him. And it was hearing Miner's hard breathing behind that finally made him slow up.
"I couldn't 'a' gone to her, Miner," he explained. "Can't you see, ef I should 'a' seen her lyin' there so white and helpless I couldn't 'a' helped takin' her in my arms and tellin' her I loved her. No man kin bear it when it looks like the woman he loves is needin' him."