Part 29 (1/2)
The Greenwood carriage rolled out of the town into the April country.
The fruit trees were in bloom, the woods feathering green, the quiet and the golden light inestimable after the moaning wards. The carriage went slowly, for the roads were heavy; moreover the former carriage horses were gone to the war. These were two from the farm, somewhat old and stiff, willing, but plodders. They went half asleep in the soft suns.h.i.+ne, and Isham on the box went half asleep too. Judith would have been willing to sleep, but she could not. She sat with her gaze upon the fair spring woods and the amethystine hills rising to blue skies. The carriage stopped. Isham bent down from the box. ”Miss Judith, honey, er gent'man's on de road behin' us, ridin' ter overtek de kerridge.”
”Wait for him, then,” said Judith. ”There is some message, perhaps.”
While they waited she sat with folded hands, her eyes upon the purple hills, her thoughts away from Albemarle. The sound that Isham made of surprise and satisfaction did not reach her. Until she saw Cleave's face at the window she thought him somewhere in the Valley--fighting, fighting! in battle and danger, perhaps, that very day.
Her eyes widened, her face had the hush of dawn; it was turned toward him, but she sat perfectly still, without speaking. Only the door was between them, the gla.s.s down. He rested his clasped hands on the ledge, and his dark, moved face looked in upon her. ”Judith,” he said, ”I did not know.--I thought it was one of the others.... I hope that you are a little glad to see me.”
Judith looked at him a moment longer, then swayed a little forward. She bent her head. Her cheek touched his clasped hands, he felt her kiss upon them, and her forehead resting there.
There was a moment's silence, deep, breathless, then Cleave spoke.
”Judith ... Am I mad?”
”I believe that you love me,” she said. ”If you do not, it does not matter.... I have loved you for two years.”
”Maury Stafford?”
”I have never believed that you understood--though what it was that made you misunderstand I have never guessed.... There is no Maury Stafford.
There never was.”
He opened the door. ”Come out,” he said. ”Come out with me into the light. Send the carriage on.”
She did so. The road was quiet, deserted, a wide bright path between the evening hills. Dundee following them, they walked a little way until they came to a great rock, sunk in the velvet sward that edged a wood.
Here they sat down, the gold light bathing them, behind them fairy vistas, fountains of living green, stars of the dogwood and purple sprays of Judas tree. ”How I misunderstood is no matter now,” said Cleave. ”I love you, and you say that you love me. Thank G.o.d for it!”
They sat with clasped hands, their cheeks touching, their breath mingling. ”Judith, Judith, how lovely are you! I have seen you always, always!... Only I called it 'vision,' 'ideal.' At the top of every deed I have seen your eyes; from the height of every thought you have beckoned further! Now--now--It is like a wonderful home-coming ... and yet you are still there, above the mountains, beckoning, drawing--There and here, here in my arms!... Judith--What does 'Judith' mean?”
”It means 'praised.' Oh, Richard, I heard that you were wounded at Kernstown!”
”It was nothing. It is healed.... I will write to your father at once.”
”He will be glad, I think. He likes you.... Have you a furlough? How long can you stay?”
”Love, I cannot stay at all. I am on General Jackson's errand. I must ride on to Gordonsville--It would be sweet to stay!”
”When will you come again?”
”I do not know. There will be battles--many battles, perhaps--up and down the Valley. Every man is needed. I am not willing to ask even a short furlough.”
”I am not willing that you should.... I know that you are in danger every day! I hear it in the wind, I see it in every waving bough.... Oh, come back to me, Richard!”
”I?” he answered, ”I feel immortal. I will come back.”
They rose from the rock. ”The sun is setting. Would you rather I went on to the house? I must turn at once, but I could speak to them--”
”No. Aunt Lucy is in town, Unity, too.... Let's say good-bye before we reach the carriage.”
They went slowly by the quiet road beneath the flowering trees. The light was now only on the hilltops; the birds were silent; only the frogs in the lush meadows kept up their quiring, a sound quaintly mournful, weirdly charming. A bend of the road showed them Isham, the farm horses, and the great old carriage waiting beneath a tulip tree.
The lovers stopped, took hands, moved nearer each to the other, rested each in the other's arms. Her head was thrown back, his lips touched her hair, her forehead, her lips. ”Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye!”