“‘’TWA’N’T LONG BEFORE I KNOWED HE WAS THE ONLIEST BOY I WOULD EVER MARRY’”
“No, they hain’t never made peace; but there never was no war betwixt me and Luke. We was the youngest on both sides, and I allus did think Luke was the prettiest boy that ever rid a nag. When we would be out hunting the cows, I never regretted when I met up with him, though of course we wouldn’t speak or let on to see. But one day when we had passed in the road unseeing that a-way, we both turned back to look. Luke he blushed, and I laughed. ‘Goodloes hain’t pizen,’ I says. ‘Neither is Talberts,’ he says; and from that time we would stop and pass a few words when there wa’n’t nobody in sight. ’T wa’n’t long before I knowed he was the onliest boy I would ever marry, and him the same of me. Of course I never told nobody but granny, and she holp us off; she allus did contend that Goodloes and Talberts never ought to be nothing but friends, paw and Jeems having been raised like own brothers.
“Well, maybe you think there wa’n’t a general commotion when me and Luke run off. Paw and Jeems b’iled and raged scandalous, for men lamed and maimed up like them, and it looked like the war would be fit all over ag’in. Luke had took his logging money and bought a piece of ground from his paw right j’ining ours, and raised a house on it, so we had a roof over our heads; but nary a foot did a Goodloe or a Talbert set in it, or so much as look our way in passing, for over a year. But me and Luke we never seed no slights, and allus spoke civil and cheerful to all we met, and in time they begun to drap in, first one side and then t’other. Then when my young uns come along, paw he would sa’nter down now and then to see ’em, and finally Jeems he stumped up on his crutch a time or two, which pleased me a sight, and I had hopes of their meeting peaceable and maybe patching up the war, like granny says she knows they pine to in their hearts, now they are both widows, and getting along in years, and lonesome. But when my man-child come, what did I do but spile everything by naming him John Jeems, atter both; sence which I hain’t had a glimp’ of neither.
“But though the feeling keeps up, there hain’t been to say no active warfare betwixt paw and Jeems sence Luke and me married, and no bad shootings amongst the sons and sons-in-law, like there used to be at Christmas and election-time. Four year’ gone, a five-month district school started up two mile’ down Clinch from us, and both Goodloe and Talbert young uns has been a-going, and has got acquainted and friendly, which has sort of swaged down their payrents; so you might say the war is ended with everybody now but Jeems and paw.
“I been a-going to that district school myself sence it took up. From the time you women was over on Clinch I got me a big hankering for l’arning. Jeems Talbert had sont Luke away to school two term’, and when we was married, to see him read and write and figure, and me not able to tell a from izzard, went ag’in the grain terrible. No Goodloe don’t like to be outdone by a Talbert. So when the school started, though I were a’ old married woman of nineteen, I gathered up my young uns and lit in for l’arning, riding back and forth to school on Cindy and her mule colt. Luke he made cradles for the babes to lay in at school, and the scholars holp me mind ’em, and they never give a’ hour’s trouble. Minervy here she started on the road to knowledge at five days old,—time was precious, and I couldn’t stay away,—and now at three she knows all her a b c’s. And I am able to read and write and figure as good as Luke, and can read every word of that Testament you give me, and hain’t neglected my cooking or spinning or weaving neither.”
Having made sure that Anne would remain to dinner, the heads resumed their work, leaving Christine to entertain the guest. The interesting fact was soon established that the two were almost of an age, both being twenty-three, with birthdays in August.
“Just as good as twins,” exclaimed Anne, delightedly. Then she sighed, and looked wistfully at Christine’s girlish face. “But you that fair and tender you don’t look sixteen,” she said, “and me a’ old woman!” Later she asked, “When a woman don’t marry at fourteen or fifteen or anyhow sixteen, how does she put in her time? What is there for her to do?”
“Many girls put in their time as I did,” replied Christine. “After finishing school, I spent four years in college, then I traveled in Europe for a year, then my father said I knew little more than an infant about actual life, and ought to do some real work for a while to find out; so I came here, where I hope I am learning.”
When the dinner bell rang, Christine found great pleasure in taking Anne to the table and in watching her eager scrutiny of room, children, manners, service.
