In a jerky fashion Calihan spit over his shoulder again. He looked at his wife and daughter for an instant, and nodded several times as if acknowledging the force of Odell’s words. Bart Callaway took out his tobacco-quid and nervously shuffled it about in his palm as if he had half made up his mind that Odell ought not to do all the talking, but he remained mute, for Mrs. Calihan had suddenly looked up.
“That’s what I told him,” she whimpered, bestowing a tearful glance on her husband. “He mought ‘a’ kep’ his idees to hisse’f ef he had to have ‘em, and not ‘a’ fetched calumny an’ disgrace down on me an’ Sally. When he used to set thar atter supper an’ pore over the True Light when ever’body else wuz in bed, I knowed it’d bring trouble, kase some o’ the doctrine wuz scand’lous. The next thing I knowed he had lost intrust in prayer-meetin’, an’ ‘lowed that Brother Washburn’s sermons wuz the same thing over an’ over, an’ that they mighty nigh put him to sleep. An’ then he give up axin’ the blessin’ at the table—somethin’ that has been done in my fam’ly as fur back as the oldest one kin remember. An’ he talked his views, too, fer it got out, an’ me nur Sally narry one never cheeped it, fer we wuz ashamed. An’ then ever’ respectable woman in Big Cabin meetin’-house begun to sluff away from us as ef they wuz afeerd o’ takin’ some dreadful disease. It wuz hard enough on Sally at the start, but when Eph up an’ tol’ her that you had give him a good tongue-lashin’, an’ had refused to deed him the land you promised him ef he went any further with her, it mighty nigh prostrated her. She hain’t done one thing lately but look out at the road an’ pine an’ worry. The blame is all on her father. My folks has all been good church members as fur back as kin be traced, an’ narry one wuz ever turned out.”
Mrs. Calihan broke down and wept. Calihan was deeply touched; he could not bear to see a woman cry. He cleared his throat and tried to look unconcerned.
“What step do you-uns feel called on to take next to—to what you are a-doin’ of now?” he stammered.
“We ‘lowed,” replied Odell, “ef we couldn’t come to some sort o’ understandin’ with you now, we’d fetch up the case before preachin’ to-morrow an’ let the membership vote on it. The verdict would go ag’in’ you, Ab, fer thar hain’t a soul in sympathy with you.”
The sobbing of the two women broke out in renewed volume at the mention of this dreadful ultimatum, which, despite their familiarity with the rigor of Big Cabin Church discipline, they had up to this moment regarded as a vague contingent rather than a tangible certainty.
Calihan’s face grew paler. Whatever struggle might have been going on in his mind was over. He was conquered.
“I am ag’in’ bringin’ reproach on my wife an’ child,” he conceded, a lump in his throat and a tear in his eye. “You all know best. I reckon I have been too forward an’ too eager to heer myself talk.” He got up and looked out toward the towering cliffy mountains and into the blue indefiniteness above them, and without looking at the others he finished awkwardly: “Ef it’s jest the same to you-uns you may let the charge drap, an’—an’ in future I ’ll give no cause fer complaint.”
“That’s the talk,” said Odell, warmly, and he got up and gave his hand to Calihan. The others followed his example.
“I ’ll make a little speech before preachin’ in the mornin’,” confided Odell to Calihan after congratulations were over. “You needn’t be thar unless you want to. I ’ll fix you up all right.”