A Forest Hearth: A Romance of Indiana in the Thirties Part 31

"If you lived too close to the river, you might fall in," returned Dic, choosing to take Sukey's remark in jest.

"I'm neither sugar nor salt," she retorted, "and I would not melt. I'm sure I'm not sugar--"

"But sugarish," interrupted Dic.

"_You_ don't think I'm even sugarish," she returned poutingly.

"Indeed I do," he replied; "but you must not tell Tom I said so."

"Why not?" asked Sukey. "He's nothing to me--simply a friend."

So the conversation would run, and Sukey, by judicious fis.h.i.+ng, caught a minnow now and then.

During the latter days of Dic's convalescence, Sukey paid a visit to her friend Rita, and the girls from Blue attracted the beaux of the capital city in great numbers. For the first time in Sukey's life she felt that she had found a battle-field worthy of her prowess, and in truth she really did great slaughter. b.a.l.l.s, hay rides, autumn picnics, and nutting parties occurred in rapid succession. Tom and Williams were, of course, as Tom expressed it, "Johnny on the spot," with our girls.

After Rita's stormy interview with Williams she had, through fear, continued to receive him in friendliness. At first the friendliness was all a.s.sumed; but as the weeks pa.s.sed, and he, by every possible means, a.s.sured her that his rash act was sincerely repented, and under no conditions was to be repeated, she gradually recovered her faith in him.

Her heart was so p.r.o.ne to forgive that it was an easy task to impose upon it, and soon Williams, the Greek, was again encamped within the walls of trusting Troy. He frequently devoted himself to other young ladies, and our guileless little heroine joyfully reached the conclusion that she no longer reigned queen of his cultured heart. For this reason she became genuinely kind to him, and he accordingly gave her much of his company during the month of Sukey's visit.

One day a nutting party, including our four friends, set forth on their way up White River. At the mouth of Fall Creek was a gypsy camp, and the young folks stopped to have their fortunes told. The camp consisted of a dozen covered wagons, each containing a bed, a stove, and cooking utensils. To each wagon belonged a woman who was able and anxious to foretell the future for the small sum of two bits. Our friends selected the woman who was oldest and ugliest, those qualities having long been looked upon as attributes of wisdom. Rita, going first, climbed over the front wheel of the ugliest old woman's covered wagon, and entered the temple of its high priestess. The front curtain was then drawn. The interior of the wagon was darkened, and the candle in a small red lantern was lighted. The hag took a cage from the top of the wagon where it had been suspended, and when she opened the door a small screech owl emerged and perched upon the shoulders of its mistress. There it fluttered its wings and at short intervals gave forth a smothered screech, allowing the noise to die away in its throat in a series of disagreeable gurgles. When the owl was seated upon the hag's shoulder, she took from a box a half-torpid snake, and entwined it about her neck.

With the help of these symbols of wisdom and cunning she at once began to evoke her familiar spirits. To this end she made weird pa.s.ses through the air with her clawlike hands, crying in a whispered, high-pitched wail the word, "Labbayk, labbayk," an Arabian word meaning "Here am I."

Rita was soon trembling with fright, and begged the hag to allow her to leave the wagon.

"Sit where you are, girl," commanded the gypsy in sepulchral tones. "If you attempt to pa.s.s, the snake will strike you and the owl will tear you. The spirit of wisdom is in our presence. The Stone G.o.d has already told me your fate. It is worth your while to hear it."

Rita placed her trembling hand in the hag's claw.

"No purer woman ever lived than you," began the sorceress; "but if you marry the dark man who awaits you outside, you will become evil; you will be untrue to him; you will soon leave him in company with another man who is light of complexion, tall, and strong. Disgrace and ruin await your family if you marry the light man. Even the Stone G.o.d cannot foretell a woman's course when love draws her in opposite directions.

May the Stone G.o.d pity you."

The hag's ominous words, fitting so marvellously the real situation, frightened Rita and she cried, "Please let me out," but the gypsy held her hand, saying:--

"Sit still, ye fool; sit and listen. For one s.h.i.+lling I will teach you a spell which you may throw over the man you despise, and he will wither and die; then you may marry the one of your choice, and all evil shall be averted."

"No, no!" screamed the girl, rising to her feet and forcing her way to the front of the wagon. In pa.s.sing the witch she stumbled, and in falling, grasped the snake. The owl screeched, and Rita sprang screaming from the wagon-seat to the ground.

Sukey's turn came next, and although Rita begged her not to enter the gypsy's den, our lady of the dimples climbed over the front wheel, eager for forbidden fruit.

The hideous witch, the owl, and the snake for a moment frightened Sukey; but she, true daughter of Eve, hungered for apples, and was determined to eat.

After foretelling numerous journeys, disappointments, and pleasures which would befall Sukey, the gypsy said:--

"You have many admirers, but there is one that remains indifferent to your charms. You may win him, girl, if you wish."

"How?" cried Sukey, with eagerness.

"I can give you a love powder by which you may cause him to love you. I cannot sell it; but a gift for a gift is no barter. If you will give me gold, I will give you the powder."

"I have no money with me," answered Sukey; "but I will come to-morrow and bring you a gold piece."

"It must be gold," said the hag, feeling sure of her prey. "A gift of baser metal would kill the charm."

"I will bring gold," answered Sukey. Laden with forbidden knowledge and hope, she sprang from the front wheel into Tom's arms, and was very happy.

That night she asked Rita, "Have you a gold dollar?"

"Yes," replied Rita, hesitatingly, "I have a gold dollar and three s.h.i.+llings. I'm saving my money until Christmas. I want five dollars to buy a--" She stopped speaking, not caring to tell that she had for months been keeping her eyes on a trinket for Dic. "I am not acc.u.mulating very rapidly," she continued laughing, "and am beginning to fear I shall not be able to save that much by Christmas."

"Will you loan it to me--the gold dollar?" asked Sukey.

"Yes," returned Rita, somewhat reluctantly, having doubts of Sukey's intention and ability to repay. But she handed over the gold dollar with which the borrower hoped to steal the lender's lover.

Next day Sukey asked Tom to drive her to the gypsy camp, but she did not explain that her purpose was to buy a love powder with which she hoped to win another man. Sukey, with all her amiable disposition,--Billy Little used to say she was as good-natured as a hound pup,--was a girl who could kiss your lips, gaze innocently into your eyes, and betray you to Caesar, all unconscious of her own perfidy. Rita was her friend. Still she unblus.h.i.+ngly borrowed her money, hoping therewith to steal Dic. Tom was her encouraged lover; still she wished him to help her in obtaining the love powder by which she might acquire the love of another man.

Sukey was generous; but the world and the people thereof were made for her use, and she, of course, would use them. She did not know she was false--but why should I dwell upon poor Sukey's peccadilloes as if she were the only sinner, or responsible for her sins? Who is responsible for either sin or virtue?

Rita deserved no praise for being true, pure, gentle, and unselfish.

Those qualities were given with her heart. The Chief Justice should not be censured because she held peculiar theories of equity and looked upon the words "as we forgive those who trespa.s.s against us" as mere surplusage. She was born with her theories and opinions. Sukey should not be blamed because of her dimples and her too complacent smiles. For what purpose were dimples and smiles created save to give pleasure, and incidentally to cause trouble? But I promise there shall be no more philosophizing for many pages to come.

Sukey, by the help of Tom and Rita, purchased her love powder, and, being eager to administer it, informed Rita that evening that she intended to return home next morning. Accordingly, she departed, leaving Rita to receive alone the attentions of her persistent lover.

Within a week or two after Sukey's return, Dic, having almost recovered, went to see Rita. He was not able to go a-horseback, so he determined to take the stage, and Billy Little went with him as body-guard.

While they waited for the coach in Billy's back room, Williams became the topic of conversation.

"He will marry Rita in spite of you," said Billy, "if you don't take her soon. What do you say? Shall we bring her home with us to-morrow? She was eighteen last week." Billy was eager to carry off the girl, for he knew the Williams danger, and stood in dread of it. Dic sprang from his chair, delighted with the proposition. The thought of possessing Rita to-morrow carried with it a flood of rapturous emotions.

"How can we bring her?" he asked. "We can't kidnap her from her mother."

"Perhaps Rita may be induced to kidnap herself," remarked Billy. "If we furnish the plan, do you believe Rita will furnish the girl? Will she come with us?" You see Billy, as well as Dic, was eloping with this young lady.

"Yes, she will come when I ask her," returned Dic, with confidence.

After staring at the young man during a full minute, Billy said: "I am afraid all my labor upon you has been wasted. If you are so great a fool as not--do you mean to say you have never asked her to go with you--run away--elope?"

"I have never asked her to elope," returned Dic, with an expression of doubt in his face. Billy's words had aroused him to a knowledge of the fact that he was not at all the man for this situation.

"You understand it is this way," continued Dic, in explanation of his singular neglect. "Rita does not see her mother with our eyes. She believes her to be a perfect woman. She believes every one is good; but her mother has, for so many years, sounded the clarion of her own virtues, that Rita takes the old woman at her own valuation, and holds her to be a saint in virtue, and a feminine Solomon in wisdom. Rita believes her mother the acme of intelligent, protecting kindness, and looks upon her cruelty as the result of parental love, meant entirely for the daughter's own good. I have not wanted to pain my future wife by causing a break with her mother. Should Rita run off with me, there would be no forgiveness for her in the breast of Justice."

"The girl, doubtless, could live happily without it," answered Billy.

"Not entirely happy," returned Dic. "She would grieve. You don't know what a tender heart it is, Billy Little. There is not another like it in all the world. Had it not been for that consideration, I would have been selfish enough to bring her home with me when she offered to come, and would--"

"Mighty Moses!" cried Billy, springing to his feet. "She offered to go with you?"

"Yes," replied Dic; "she said when last I saw her, 'You should have taken me long ago.'"