Authors: Grace Livingston Hill
The work of setting the table did not progress so rapidly as it might have done under other circumstances. In the first place, the table received a thorough scrubbing, as the two young men had not thought it necessary to wipe off any stray molasses drops for many a day. They had supposed a table was an article of furniture that would clean itself in some way. Then a table-cloth must be searched for. Napkins she did not find, but supplied them from a few she had brought in her trunk. She also placed in the center of the table a daintily embroidered bit of linen, and then after surveying the general effect, decided that it did not fit into its present surroundings. There would need to be great changes made in that room before the doily would belong there. In fact, it seemed to be incongruous with the immediate proximity of the cook-stove.
Ruth wondered furtively if there was not a dining room in the house, but forbore to reflect much on the subject, resolving to consider the question at her earliest convenience. Then the dishes came in for investigation. They were thick, and some were cracked and ill-smelling. Up on the top shelf were a few bits of rare old china, perhaps some of her own mother's wedding gifts. She wiped these off tenderly, and washed such of the others as she considered necessary to the meal, not being entirely satisfied with the result of David's dish-washing. The table at last was set. She stood back and surveyed it a moment. It did not look much like the elegant table to which she was used to sitting down daily, with its fine linen, solid silver, cut glass, and china, and the various forks and spoons considered necessary in polite society for the different courses, but it was neat and inviting looking.
Next she turned her attention to the menu. There was not much variety available until David returned from the store. There were eggs and potatoes, and cheese and crackers, and plenty of milk and cream, and—yes, there was the ham. She despised the very thought of ham herself; but probably David liked it, and she would sacrifice her feelings and cook him a bit, for he must be very hungry after all these months of his own house-keeping. So she toasted some of the cheese, after grating it on the crackers, creamed the potatoes, made a puffy brown omelet, and crisped a bit of the ham by way of decoration. She had everything ready, and was just making a cup of most delicious coffee as her brother rode into the yard. To understand David's feelings when he opened that kitchen door and saw that table, you must be a man and keep house for yourself for a few months. In spite of the fact that many of the so-considered necessities of a good meal were missing, and that there was no bread, the young man considered it the best meal he had eaten in years. In fact, he was not sure but things tasted better than they ever had in his life, except perhaps that ginger-bread his mother used to make.
He told Ruth so, and her eyes grew bright and her heart beat fast with the pleasure. She felt well rewarded for her efforts. She resolved also, if possible, to have some warm gingerbread very soon for David, and meanwhile she started some bread with the yeast which he had brought, which she was sure would be delicious. She was an expert in the art of bread-making.
But the work of regulating that kitchen was by no means more than begun, so though she had been somewhat weary before lunch, she went to work again as soon as David had gone out.
The washing of the dishes proved to be not so rapid as she had intended it to be. She unceremoniously dumped the ill-smelling dish-cloth into the fire, and washed all the others out in scalding water before beginning. Then when the dishes stood shining from their bath in boiling water, dry already, because allowed to drain scientifically, she attacked the china closet. It would never do to put the dishes back into such a state of hubbub. She stood a moment reflecting, and then put all the remaining dishes into the hot suds and washed off the shelves. Of course boys could not be expected to know how to clean house, and evidently this one had not been cleaned since Aunt Nancy's death.
When that cupboard was cleaned and the dishes in shining order, her excitement had reached such a point that she felt she could not rest till the mantel and clock shelf were also cleaned of their rubbish. And it was while she was engaged in cleaning off that same mantel that she came on something which made her heart almost stop in dismay, and for an instant she felt as though she must turn and flee out of that house and away from that place as fast as she could go.
IT was not dirt, nor insects, nor a revolver, nor a serpent, nor a whiskey bottle. It was only David's black, ugly pipe. But it gave her such a throb of disappointment and disgust, that she found herself trembling and weak, and obliged to sit down to regain her strength.
She had been brought up very rigidly with regard to the questions of temperance and tobacco. Her adopted father had never smoked, and her adopted mother had taught her that it was a vile and filthy habit, not only making the persons addicted to it disagreeable nuisances, but making them dishonor and defile their bodies, the temples of the Holy Ghost. Ruth had thought and read a great deal on the subject. She had tried and succeeded in turning every member of her large Sunday-school class of boys against the habit. She had been an enthusiastic member of a club of young Christian women who were banded together pledged not to select their friends from among the young men who smoked, and never to consent to walk the street with a young man who was smoking. It was in her eyes a disgrace. Now to find that one of her own brothers—perhaps both—smoked, was terrible. The blood rolled in waves over her fair neck and cheeks at the disappointment and shame and disgrace of it, and the tears would come in spite of herself. To have her brother wear no collar had been a surprise, but a collar was not a vital matter. This black pipe was.
It required a moment's prayer before she could calmly return to that mantelpiece. What to do with that pipe was a serious question. She hated to touch it. She had never touched a pipe or cigar in her life. After some consideration she got a newspaper, and by help of a burnt match, shoved the pipe to the paper and laid it on the floor in the corner where no harm could come to it. She would have liked to destroy it, but she knew that would do more harm than good, and besides, it was not hers, and she had no right to do any such thing. However, during the remainder of her work that afternoon, she was reflecting on what course she should pursue with regard to it, and many were the prayers for guidance that she sent up.
As she worked and prayed her heart grew calmer. Perhaps, after all, it might have belonged to some hired man; she would try to think so for the sake of her own peace of mind, at least for this afternoon. Happily it did not occur to her to think that it might have belonged to her own father. There was too much to be done for her to dwell upon details. She had set her heart upon having a cheerful room for her two brothers to come home to that evening.
She viewed the contents of the pantry with utmost scorn, and doubtless gave those two young men more pity than they deserved, for they had fed upon such fare so long that it was not the hardship to them to eat such things that it would have been to their dainty sister.
It may have been her compassion which led her to plan a rather elaborate supper, considering her recent arrival and the state of the kitchen. For though she was somewhat weary with traveling, her nerves were keyed high to accomplish what she purposed. She arose from her knees where she had been washing the oilcloth under the stove by the door, and stood thinking a moment. Then she shut her lips firmly and rapidly went to work making a custard and some gingerbread. After all it did not take long to do things when one had the will. When they were in the oven she went back to her housecleaning with renewed energy. Given nerves, a quick brain, and a pair of deft and willing hands, great changes can be wrought in the course of an afternoon. David came to the door once, from his work, to ask if she was lonesome and if there was anything he could do, and looked about helplessly on her work and went away bewildered. He had a dim idea that this was not exactly the way to entertain a city young lady on the first day of her arrival; but she seemed determined, and what could he do?
She had promised to call him if she needed anything, and by and by she did open the door and ask for his help a moment. She had ventured into one of the unused rooms on the ground floor; it seemed to have been a bedroom, and she called David to know if he would mind if she took the large rug made of rag carpet from the center of that room to spread in the kitchen. He was entirely willing she should do anything she pleased in the house, and awkwardly helped her to shake it and arrange it under the kitchen table. Then he stood a moment irresolutely by the door wishing he knew something else to do, but finally went out.
Ruth worked hard. It grew late before things were in the order that pleased her fastidious taste. It was growing dark. She wondered why Joseph did not come, and yet was glad he delayed, and finally she stood a moment and gave a last look at her completed task before she slipped away to her room to smooth her hair and remove the traces of toil from face and hands and dress.
Everything was immaculately clean. The lamp chimney shone with cleanliness, and the light glowed through a rose-colored crape paper shade she had hastily improvised from a roll of paper in her trunk. The table was set decently and in order, as nearly like that of her city home as she could compass with her present material. There was a plate of delicate, puffy white biscuits suggestively near the golden honeycomb David had brought in that afternoon from one of the hives. The bread had been started so late that it was just now beginning to send out a wholesome odor from the oven, so the biscuits had been made in a desperate rush at the last, when the cook found that the bread could not possibly get itself ready for supper. The roasted potatoes had their brown coats just ready to crack open, and covered closely on the back of the stove was the meat, which had been gently simmering all the afternoon, till it was tender as could be, and browned to a nicety with a savory gravy about it. The coffee gave a hint of its aroma also.
It is necessary to understand the details of this first supper of the united family in the old home, that you may be able to enter into the feelings of the young man who entered by the back kitchen door not two minutes after the fairy who had wrought all this change had departed to her toilet.
Joseph had toiled hard all day doing work that might have waited until his brother could help him. Gloomily he had eaten his dry, solitary lunch on a log, glaring at the brightness of the day with a fierce expression of dislike. Occasionally he wondered how David was managing at home. That he would get rid of the unwelcome young lady sister in some comfortable way Joseph never doubted. The old farmhouse was no place for her. What could they do with her there? David would either send her back where she came from, or get her a place to board near by at some house in the village until some-thing could be done with her.
Life had been hard and disagreeable enough before without this rude breaking in upon the poor comfort of their solitude. Joseph felt a fierce rebellion at the unfairness of Providence in so ordering things, and said to himself two or three times that it wasn't of much account to live anyway. He had indeed reached a stage of his life where he was dissatisfied with his surroundings. He did not know that his restless, unhappy feelings came from a longing for a higher, richer life. He had been brought up to this; how should he know there was anything better? To work hard all day he did not grudge, and in a way he enjoyed the evenings he occasionally spent in the downtown grocery; but David kept a pretty steady watch on his evenings, and the ones he spent in the village were not so many as he desired. No other avenue of amusement was at this time open to him, unless indeed he went to church. There had been a time when he haunted the church steps during the progress of any meeting or entertainment or supper, but since he had outgrown his Sunday-school class at the time of the death of his first and only teacher he had dropped that amusement.
Life on the whole looked dull and uninteresting to him. He had fierce, wild thoughts of plunging off into a city somewhere and doing as he pleased, though that was impracticable, for he had no money aside from his share in the farm, and his early training had at least given him a horror of tramps. He worked doggedly on in the gathering shadows until the darkness put a stop to his labors. Even then he was as slow as possible about gathering up his tools. He would not go home until every possible chance of seeing the intruder was gone. David would surely have disposed of her by this time, he thought, as he dragged his weary, unwilling feet homeward.
He was growing very hungry, for his hasty lunch had been meager and his day long and filled with hard work. Fortunately he did not approach the house from the side where the kitchen windows shone bright in the rosy light of crape paper and clean window-glass, else he might have disappeared into the darkness again, who knows where? and for how long, who can tell? Instead, so sure was he that David had managed things somehow by this time, that he came in as usual through the back kitchen door. He paused in the shed a moment before he laid down his heavy tools, and listened. He heard nothing. All was quiet. Only the sound of David's voice in the cowyard not far off, as he spoke to the cow he was milking, and the ring of the milk-pails as something hit against one of them.
The light under the crack in the kitchen door guided him as he hung up his old coat and put away his tools. He was glad David had lit the lamp before he went out. Strange he was so late at milking, but probably he had been so busy getting their sister off somewhere that he had only just come home. Now that she was fully disposed of, he thought to himself perhaps it had been a little mean of him to go off and leave everything to David in that way. Not that he would do otherwise now, but he felt a little compassion for his brother. It was the penalty he paid for being the elder brother.
Then Joseph pulled off his heavy, mud-covered boots, set them by the shed door, and walked on to where the crack showed a little cheer. He threw open the door and stepped in. Coming from the darkness into the unusual brilliancy of the room blinded him, and for a moment he stood winking and trying to see. Gradually the changed room dawned upon him one corner at a time. He noticed everything, even to the details of the delicious supper prepared. He was dazed. Could he have made a mistake in the dark and gone out of his way into another man's house? Was he in a dream? What was the matter? Had David gone and hired a housekeeper, and was the obnoxious sister then in the house, and were they waiting supper for him?
Before he had time to think further or even to move from where he was standing, the opposite door opened and the sister came in. She was a trim little figure in a plain, dark-blue dress and a white apron. She saw her brother at once. Some women are gifted with being able to read men at a glance. Perhaps too, some words that David had spoken, or more, the words he had not spoken, about this brother, had helped her to know what to expect in him, and she had made up her mind to win him if possible. Her greeting was as sensible and sweet and winning as could be desired by any brother, no matter how crusty he was feeling.
“Oh, this is Joseph, isn't it? I'm so glad you've come, for supper is all ready, and the potatoes are horrid if they are not eaten the minute they are ready.” And she reached up and kissed the bewildered, embarrassed, uncomfortable young man just as if she had been accustomed to kissing him every day all the years of her life. He was painfully conscious of his old brown jean shirt and his stockinged feet, especially as the weekly darning had been neglected for many a long week. But she, with a cultured woman's instinct, understood his embarrassment and covered it by cheerily bustling about at her supper, telling him to hurry and get his hands washed, and asking if she could not find his slippers for him. David came in just then, the full brightness of the room bursting upon him for the first time, and his heart leaped with a new kind of joy he had not imagined was possible. Was it going to be a happy thing after all to have this high-bred sister live with them? Was it possible there was in the world for them as much brightness as this kitchen contained, to be lived in every day in the week, all the year around? He had supposed it was only rich city people who had things so kind of comfortable and cheery looking.
Then presently they sat down to that supper table. The meat and potatoes vanished rapidly, for the two young men were hungry. Only the cook did not partake very freely, but her nerves were too highly strung, and she was too weary to eat much. The Benedict boys discovered that their sister could cook. She was so lately the pupil of a famous cooking school that it had been easier for her to prepare this somewhat elaborate repast under the circumstances, than it would have been for most city girls who had indeed been taught to cook, but who had not had the opportunities for everyday practice which her wise foster-mother had given her. So Ruth thanked God for her ability to cook as she watched the great pile of puffy biscuits disappear rapidly. For the brothers did justice to the supper, the like of which they seemed never to have tasted before.
There were embarrassments connected with the meal, and Ruth was glad that they were hungry, in order that they should not feel quite so awkward. Instinctively she felt that she was on sufferance with her younger brother, and perhaps to some extent with the elder also. She dared not stop to think of it, or she would have broken down and cried. It seemed too dreadful to have come all this way to find brotherly love, and to be all alone in the world, and then to find that one was not wanted. Her better sense told her that she was needed there, and some heavenly influence seemed to say God had a work for her. She tried to remember that she had but just come, and they did not know her nor know what to do with her.