Part 22 (1/2)
The first house on the side street that ran at right angles to the main thoroughfare, just below Rafferty's, was Duncannon's. A picket fence at the side let into the vegetable gardens of the three, and the quiet little Mrs. Duncannon with the rippley brown hair and soft brown eyes often slipped through and made a morning call under cover of the kindly pole beans that hid her entrances and exits perfectly from any green holland shaded windows that might be open that way. Jane Duncannon formed a third in this little combination.
On the Monday morning following the session meeting Mary Rafferty and Christie McMertrie were at their respective pantry windows flinging together some toothsome delicacies for the evening meal, that all might move smoothly during the busy day.
A neat line of flopping clothes glimmered in each back yard over the trim ”green” that stretched across in front of the back door, and the irons were on in both kitchens preparing for a finish as soon as a ”piece” should show signs of dry.
”Hev ye haird whut the extra session meetin' was called for, Mary?”
asked the older woman looking up from her mixing bowl. ”Tom went to the mill to tak the place of the noight watchman. His feyther's dyin' ye ken, and Tom's not come by yet. I thot ye might hev haird.”
Mary lifted her eyes with troubled glance:
”Not yet,” she said, ”but I'm thinkin of running over to Duncannons as soon as I get these pies in the oven. The clothes won't be dry for a while, an' I'll take my pan of peas to sh.e.l.l. She'll know of course.
Maybe it's nothing much,--but Jim said they held up Mark Carter and made him come in. It was ten minutes of ten before he got away--! You don't suppose anybody's taken the gossip to the session do you?”
”There's one we know well would be full cawpable of the same,” affirmed Christie patting her biscuits into place and tucking the bread cloth deftly over them, ”But I'd be sorry to see a meenister an' a session as wud be held up by one poor whimperin' little elder of the like of him.”
”Mr. Severn won't, I'm sure o' that!” said Mary trustingly, ”but there comes Mrs. Duncannon now, I'll run over and see what's in the wind.”
Mrs. Duncannon had grown a smile on her gentle face that was like as two peas to her husband's wide kindly grin, but there was no smile on her face this morning as she greeted her two friends, and dropped into a chair by the door of Christie's immaculate kitchen, and her soft brown eyes were snapping: She had an air of carrying kindly mysterious explosives:
”Did ye hear that the old ferret held up Mark Carter last night and as good as called him a murderer in the face of the whole session?” she asked breathlessly.
”And whut said our meenister to thot?” inquired Christie.
Jane Duncannon flashed her a twinkle of appreciation:
”He just clapped the senior elder in the chair as neat as a pin in a pincus.h.i.+on an' moved an expression of confidence, _utmost_ confidence was the word--!”
”Mmmmmmmm! I thot as much!” commented Christie, ”The blessed mon!”
”Oh, I'm so glad!” sighed Mary Rafferty sinking into a chair, ”Jim thinks the sun rises and sets in Mark Carter. They were kids together you know. He says people don't know Mark. And he said if they turned Mark down at the church now, if they didn't stand by him in his trouble, he had no more use for their religion!”
”Don't you believe it, Mary Rafferty! Jim Rafferty loves the very ground the meenister walks on!”
”What was that?” exclaimed Jane Duncannon running to the side window. ”A strange car! Mary, come here! Is that the Chief of Police from Economy?”
Mary darted to the window followed by the elder woman:
”Yes, it is!” she exclaimed drawing back aghast, ”You _don't_ suppose he's going to Carter's? He _wouldn't_ do that would he?”
”He huz to do his dooty, doesn't he?” mused Christie, ”But thot's not sayin' he _loikes_ it, child!”
”Well, he might find a way not to frighten his mother--!”
Mrs. Duncannon stretched her neck to see if he was really stopping at the parsonage, and Christie murmured: ”Perhaps he will.”
The little group lingered a moment, till Mary bethought her of her pies in the oven and the three drifted thriftily back to their morning tasks, albeit with mind and heart down in the village.
Presently on the glad morning air sounded again the chug chug of the motor, bringing them sharply back to their windows. Yes, there was the Chief's car again. And Mark Carter with white haggard face sat in the back seat! Apprehension flew to the soul of each loyal woman.
But before the sound of the Chief's motor bearing Mark Carter Economyward had pa.s.sed out of hearing, Jane Duncannon in a neat brown dress with a little round brown ribboned hat set trimly on her rippley hair, and a little round basket on her arm covered daintily with a white napkin, was nipping out her tidy front gate between the sunflowers and asters and tripping down Maple street as if it had been on her mind to go ever since Sat.u.r.day night.