Azalea: The Story of a Little Girl in the Blue Ridge Mountains

by Elia Wilkinson Peattie

“Good old Haystack!” cried Mr. Carson when he read the telegraphic message. And he himself ventured on a dispatch to Mr. Thompson.

“Keep on fiddling,” he wired. “The third wagon will come back.”

Then Mr. Carson rode home hard with the news to his Carin; and Mr. McBirney put his tired horses up the long mountain road to carry the word to his Mary. And Azalea’s friends took heart, and hoped on and prayed on; and the sheriff made his more or less languid inquiries, and the newspapers printed articles, and hundreds of people who did not know Azalea at all were very much interested.

But all this was not greatly helping Azalea through the long days. They kept out of sight as much as possible—Betty Bowen and her odd “family.” By creeping along old roads and only stopping at the most out-of-the-way villages they seemed to escape the curiosity of the people. Indeed, many of those they came across seemed not to have energy enough for anything so lively as curiosity. Azalea always had taken an interest in the world, and the best part of the old life had been, to her, the quiet journeys along the roads, with the glimpses they gave of farmhouses and cabins and little towns. Now that she had come to know so many warmhearted new people, and that her own heart was aglow with the remembrance of it all, her interest in the homes she passed was keener than ever. So long as she was allowed to sit where she could look out, she did not greatly mind the days. In spite of the constant watch kept over her, and of the fact that she had not dreamed it would be so long before she was restored to her friends, she would not be downcast, and it was only when Bet gave the word that they were to halt and go into camp for a day that the girl found life unendurable.

To be sure she grew very weary of going over and over the same thoughts; of wondering and wondering why no one came to her aid; of thinking what would happen to her when they had caught up with Sisson and his show. But when the dread and the fear were at their worst, she remembered certain words that Ma McBirney had spoken to her.

“No matter what comes to you, Azalea,” she had told her once, “you keep your heart full of God’s light and of God’s love, and nothing can really harm you. You mind what I say, child. You do that and the angels of the Lord will compass you about.”

If Betty Bowen had been her enemy she could have broken the child’s heart, or let her become exposed to some of those vague dangers which Azalea half imagined. But she was not her enemy. In her tired, discouraged way she seemed to like her. And she admired her. She used to command the child to sing and Azalea sang the sweet songs she had learned from Carin and from Ma McBirney.

They had crept up into the mountains by roundabout ways, and were now feeling their way toward the Sisson All Star Combination, the precise location of which they did not know. When Azalea learned that, in spite of herself, she began to feel anxious. Little by little the courage in her heart oozed out, leaving her a sad and trembling child. If the old-time wanderings with the show had been hateful to her when she was with her mother, she knew they would be much, much more so now that she was alone and unfriended. It is possible for children to feel black despair, and something like that came to Azalea. It was evident to her that her friends had failed to get on her track, and in the long, idle, sodden hours of thought, she decided that her escape depended on herself.

Little by little the watch set over her had grown less strict. She had made no attempt to get away, and Betty and her son had come to count her in as a part of their company. They could not, indeed, imagine what would become of her should she leave them. Sour and bitter as their natures were, they really could not help liking this winsome girl, whose voice and manner seemed to speak to them day by day of better things than they had ever known. And liking her, they no doubt felt that she liked them. At least, as they traveled together, or made camp in some wild, beautiful mountain cove, or worked side by side around the camp fire, she gave no sign that was not friendly. Even Tige had come to watch her in a spirit of defense rather than of attack.

So one night when they had been sitting late before the camp fire, and she had gone into the tent to go to bed, she crept beneath the canvas at the rear and stole away through the woods. If it had not been for the crackling of the camp fire, she might have been overheard; and if it had not been for the growing weakness which kept poor weary Bet drowsing sleepily there before the blaze, her escape would soon have been discovered. But as it was, not even the alert Tige had a hint of her going. He lay snoring and nuzzling before the fire, dimly aware that his master was near, and asking for no greater happiness. And that master sat there beside him, his head in his hands, thinking thoughts that for him were strange indeed. He had come back from a life of wandering and self-indulgence to prey upon his mother. She was a clever one—so he put it—and if she wanted him to keep out of mischief, let her find some way to care for him! But now, after these weeks in the company of the young girl who looked out at life with kind and trusting eyes, and who was polite even to the woman who kept her prisoner, Rafe began to see things in a different light. He had meant to torment that girl, and he had thought that he would have pleasure in doing it. But he had, someway, not been able to carry out his intention. She had seen through him—had believed in his good nature in spite of everything. And he knew now that he wanted to be the way she thought him. He wanted her to think of him as something besides a bully and jailer. He wished his mother were different from what she was; wished from the bottom of his heart that the two of them were something better than wandering vagabonds. If they had lived in a proper house, if his father had not left them, if he could have had a sister like Azalea, he would have made a very different fellow of himself from what he was.