They sat on either side of the hearth, for the night was cold, and while the hickory log blazed, and the mountain woman used snuff, Steve indulged in a rhodomontade that did him credit.
“But I ain’t sure I’ll go soldierin’ any more,” he closed. “Savin’ the army ’n’ all’s enough. I got a honourable discharge.”
The mountain woman dipped a bit of hazel twig again into the small round tin box of snuff. She was not much older than Steve, and, in a gaunt way, not bad-looking. “An’ you ain’t married?”
“Naw. I ain’t never found any one to suit me—at least, till recently I thought I hadn’t.”
In the lean-to, when he had rolled himself in the rising-sun quilt, he lay and looked out of the open door at the stars below the hilltop. “The army’s beaten,” he thought, “’n’ the war’s ended, or most ended. Anyhow it’s fightin’ now without any chance of anything but dyin’.” He sat up and rested his chin on his knees. “I ain’t ready to die.... Sheridan’s drivin’ the Second Corps, ’n’ the Sixty-fifth’s all cut to pieces ’n’ melted away, ’n’ Grant’s batterin’ down Petersburg ’n’ gettin’ ready to fall on Richmond. We’re beaten, ’n’ I know it, ’n’ I ain’t a-goin’ back; ’n’ I ain’t a-goin’ back to Thunder Run neither—not yet awhile! An’ she’s strong ’n’ a good worker, ’n’ she’s got property, ’n’ I’ve seen a plenty worse-lookin’. Lucinda Heard was worse-lookin’.”
The next day they gathered apples, for the mountain woman said she would make apple butter. It was beautiful weather, mild and bright. Steve lay on the porch beneath the gourd vine and watched his hostess hang the kettle over the outdoor fire and bring water in a bucket from the spring and fill it. While the fire was burning she came and sat down on the porch edge. “When air you goin’ away?”
Steve grinned propitiatively. “Gawd knows I don’t want to go away at all! I like it here fust-rate.—You ain’t never told me your name?”
“My name’s Cyrilla.”
“That’s an awful pretty name,” said Steve. “It’s prettier ’n Christianna, ’n’ Lucinda, ’n’ a lot others I’ve heard.”
After supper they sat again on either side of the hearth, with a blazing hickory log between, and the mountain woman dipped snuff and Steve nursed his ankle.