Part 51 (1/2)
It was the ”we” in this sentence which thrilled. If she had bade him put his neck in front of the handsaw just then Jed would have obeyed, and smilingly have pulled the lever which set the machine in motion. But the question, nevertheless, was a staggerer.
”W-e-e-ll,” he admitted, ”I--I hardly know what to say, I will give in. To be right down honest--and the Lord knows I hate to say it-- it wouldn't do for a minute to let those two young folks get engaged--to say nothin' of gettin' married--with this thing between 'em. It wouldn't be fair to her, nor to Sam--no, nor to him or you, either. You see that, don't you?” he begged. ”You know I don't say it for any reason but just--just for the best interests of all hands. You know that, don't you--Ruth?”
”Of course, of course. But what then?”
”I don't really know what then. Seems to me the very first thing would be for you to speak to him, put the question right up to him, same as he's been puttin' it to himself all this time. Get him to talk it over with you. And then--well, then--”
”Yes?”
”Oh, I don't know! I declare I don't.”
”Suppose he tells me he means to marry her in spite of everything?
Suppose he won't listen to me at all?”
That possibility had been in Jed's mind from the beginning, but he refused to consider it.
”He will listen,” he declared, stoutly. ”He always has, hasn't he?”
”Yes, yes, I suppose he has. He listened to me when I persuaded him that coming here and hiding all--all that happened was the right thing to do. And now see what has come of it! And it is all my fault. Oh, I have been so selfis.h.!.+”
”Sshh! sshh! You ain't; you couldn't be if you tried. And, besides, I was as much to blame as you. I agreed that 'twas the best thing to do.”
”Oh,” reproachfully, ”how can you say that? You know you were opposed to it always. You only say it because you think it will comfort me. It isn't true.”
”Eh? Now--now, don't talk so. Please don't. If you keep on talkin' that way I'll do somethin' desperate, start to make a johnny cake out of sawdust, same as I did yesterday mornin', or somethin' else crazy.”
”Jed!”
”It's true, that about the johnny cake. I came pretty nigh doin'
that very thing. I bought a five-pound bag of corn meal yesterday and fetched it home from the store all done up in a nice neat bundle. Comin' through the shop here I had it under my arm, and-- hum--er--well, to anybody else it couldn't have happened, but, bein' Jed Shavin's Winslow, I was luggin' the thing with the top of the bag underneath. I got about abreast of the lathe there when the string came off and in less'n two thirds of a shake all I had under my arm was the bag; the meal was on the floor--what wasn't in my coat pocket and stuck to my clothes and so on. I fetched the water bucket and started to salvage what I could of the cargo.
Pretty soon I had, as nigh as I could reckon it, about fourteen pound out of the five scooped up and in the bucket. I begun to think the miracle of loaves and fishes was comin' to pa.s.s again. I was some shy on fish, but I was makin' up on loaves. Then I sort of looked matters over and found what I had in the bucket was about one pound of meal to seven of sawdust. Then I gave it up. Seemed to me the stuff might be more fillin' than nouris.h.i.+n'.”
Ruth smiled faintly. Then she shook her head.
”Oh, Jed,” she said, ”you're as transparent as a windowpane. Thank you, though. If anything could cheer me up and help me to forget I think you could.”
Jed looked repentant. ”I'd no business to tell you all that rigamarole,” he said. ”I'm sorry. I'm always doin' the wrong thing, seems so. But,” he added, earnestly, ”I don't want you to worry too much about your brother--er--Ruth. It's goin' to come out all right, I know it. G.o.d won't let it come out any other way.”
She had never heard him speak in just that way before and she looked at him in surprise.
”And yet G.o.d permits many things that seem entirely wrong to us humans,” she said.
”I know. Things like the Kaiser, for instance. Well, never mind; this one's goin' to come out all right. I feel it in my bones.
And,” with a return of his whimsical drawl, ”I may be short on brains, but a blind man could see they never skimped me when they pa.s.sed out the bones.”
She looked at him a moment. Then, suddenly leaning forward, she put her hand upon his big red one as it lay upon the bench.
”Jed,” she said, earnestly, ”what should I do without you? You are my one present help in time of trouble. I wonder if you know what you have come to mean to me.”
It was an impulsive speech, made from the heart, and without thought of phrasing or that any meaning other than that intended could be read into it. A moment later, and without waiting for an answer, she hurried from the shop.