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A Stolen Festival
by
“I don’t know’s I ever did give you anything, Letty,” he said, with a new pain stirring in his face. “I don’t b’lieve I ever thought of it. It wasn’t that I begrudged anything.”
“Oh, my soul, no!” cried Letty, in an agony of her own. “I knew how ‘t was. It wa’n’t your way, but they didn’t know that. And I couldn’t have ’em thinkin’ what they did think, now could I? So I bought me–David, I bought me that high comb I used to wear, and–and a blue handkerchief–and a thimble–and–and–this ring. And I said you give ’em to me. And I trusted to chance for your never findin’ it out. But I always hated the things; and as soon as we were married, I broke the comb, and burnt up the handkerchief, and hammered the thimble into a little wad, and buried it. But I didn’t dare to stop wearin’ the ring, for fear folks would notice. Then t’other day I felt so about it I knew the time had come, and I went down to the Old Hole and threw it in. And now that hateful Sammy’s found it and brought it back, and I’ve sent him your solder, and Debby’s promised me she wouldn’t tell you about the pork, and I–I’m no better than the rest of ’em that lie and lie and don’t let their men-folks know!” Letty was sobbing bitterly, and David drew her into his arms and laid his cheek down on her hair. His heart was aching too. They had all the passionate sorrow of children over some grief not understood.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked at length.
“When?” said Letty chokingly.
“Then–when folks expected things–before we were married.”
“Oh, David, I couldn’t!”
“No,” said David sadly, “I s’pose you couldn’t.”
Letty had been holding one hand very tightly clenched. It was a plump hand, with deep dimples and firm, short fingers. She unclasped it, and stretched out toward him a wet, pink palm.
“There!” she said despairingly. “There’s the ring.”
Again David felt his inadequacy to the situation. “Don’t you want to wear it?” he hesitated. “It’s real pretty. What’s that red stone?”
“I hate it!” cried Letty viciously. “It’s a garnet. Oh, David, don’t you ever let me set eyes on it again!”
David took it slowly from her hand. He drew out his pocket-book, opened it, and dropped the ring inside. “There!” he said, “I guess’t won’t do me no hurt to come acrost it once in a while.” Then they kissed each other again, like two children; Letty’s tears wet his face, and he felt them bitterer than if they had been his own.
But for Letty the air had cleared. Now, she felt, there was no trouble in her path. She had all the irresponsible joy of one who has had a secret, and feels the burden roll away. She was like Christian without his pack. She put her hands on David’s shoulders, and looked at him radiantly.
“Oh, I’m so glad!” she cried. “I’m just as wicked as I was before; but it don’t seem to make any difference, now you know it!”
Though David also smiled, he was regarding her with a troubled wonder. He never expected to follow these varying moods. They were like swallow-flights, and he was content to see the sun upon their wings. So he drove thoughtfully off, and Letty went back to her work with a singing heart. She was not quite sure that it was right to be happy again, all at once, but she could not still her blood. To be forgiven, to find herself free from the haunting consciousness that she could deceive the creature to whom she held such passionate allegiance–this was enough to shape a new heaven and a new earth. Her simple household duties took on the significance of noble ceremonies. She sang as she went about them, and the words were those of a joyous hymn. She seemed to be serving in a temple, making it clean and fragrant in the name of love.