FullReads

In the midst of the joy of the spring day stood the house, desolate and empty, out of which its owner had been carried to a bed in the cold, clinging clay of the little burying-ground.

The girls and Sarah worked swiftly, brushing, cleaning, setting aside, giving little thought to even the beauty of the morning, which entered their blood unconsciously.

“Well, how goes it?” asked a quick, jovial voice.

The girls gave screams of affected fright.

“Why, Deacon! You nearly scared the life out of us.”

Deacon Williams was always gallant.

“I didn’t know I was given to scaring the ladies,” he said. “Well, who’s here?”

“Nobody but us so far.”

“Hain’t seen nothing o’ Harkey?”

“Not a thing. He sent word he’d be on hand, though.”

“M–, well, we’ve got the machinery invoiced. Guess I’ll look around and kind o’ get the household things in my mind’s eye,” said the Deacon, taking on the air of a public functionary.

“All right. We’ll have everything ready here in a few minutes.”

They returned to work, dusting and scrubbing. The girls with their banter put death into the background as an obscure and infrequent incident of old age.

Sarah again studied the road down the Coolly.

“Well there! I see a team coming up the Coolly now; wonder if it’s Emmy.”

“Looks more like Bill Gray’s team,” said one of the girls, looking slyly at Sarah, who grew very red.

“Oh, you’re too sharp, ain’t you?”

It was perfectly ridiculous (to the young people) to see these middle-aged lovers courting like sixteen-year-olds, and they had no mercy on either Bill or Sarah.

Bill drove up in leisurely way, his horses steaming, his wagon-wheels loaded with mud. Mrs. Gray was with him, her jolly face shining like the morning sun.

“Hello, folkses, are you all here?”

“Good morning, Mrs. Gray,” said the Deacon, approaching to help her out. “Hello, Bill, nice morning.”

Bill looked at Sarah for a moment. “Bully good,” he said, leaving his mother to scramble down the wagon-wheel alone–at least so far as he was concerned, but the Deacon stood below courageously.

Mrs. Gray cried out in her loud good humor: “Look out, Deacon, don’t git too near me–if I should fall on you there wouldn’t be a grease spot left. There! I’m all right now,” she said, having reached ground without accident. She shook her dress and looked briskly around. “Wal, what you done, anyway? Emmy’s folks come yet?”

“No, but I guess that’s them comin’ now. I hope Ike won’t come, though.”

Mrs. Gray stared at the Deacon. “Why not?”

“Well, he’s just sure to make a fuss,” said Jack, “he’s so afraid he won’t get his share.”

Bill chewed on a straw and looked at Sarah abstractedly.

“Well, what’s t’ be done?” inquired Mrs. Gray, after a pause.

“Can’t do much till Emmy gets here,” said Sarah.

“Oh, I guess we can. Bill, you put out y’r team, we won’t get away ‘fore dinner.”

The men drove off to the barn, leaving the women to pick their way on chips and strips of board laid in the mud, to the safety of the chip-pile, and thence to the kitchen, which was desolately littered with utensils.

Deacon assumed command with the same alertness, and with the same sunny gleam in his eye, with which he directed the funeral a few days before.

“Now, Bill, put out your team and help Jack and me pen them hogs. Women folks ‘ll git things ready here.”

Emma came at last, driven by Harkey’s brother and his hired man. They were both brawny fellows, rude and irritable, and the Deacon lifted his eyebrows and whistled when he saw them drive in with a lumber wagon.

The women swarmed out to greet Emma, who was a thin, irritable, feeble woman.

“Better late than never. Where’s Ike?” inquired Mrs. Gray.

“Well, he–couldn’t git away very well–he’s got t’ clean up some seed-oats,” she answered nervously. After the men drove off, however, she added: “He thought he hadn’t ought to come; he didn’t want to cause no aidgewise feelin’s, so he thought he hadn’t better come–he’d just leave it to you, Deacon.”