In the Way (2 page)

             
He had sat in just that way many a time waiting, with no particular end in view except that he happened to be there at that time, and it was interesting to sec who would come and who would go. Now it was different, and the commotion in his breast made him wish himself at home. In a few minutes all the eyes would be leveled at him, and the wonder and surprise would be about him and his sister. How strange that word "sister" sounded to him, anyway! He had never really thought of her as belonging to him, and he was conscious of almost wishing at that moment that she did not. Then the distant whistle sounded, and he lounged out of the wagon and stood waiting with the others.

             
There were not many passengers to alight at the small village. One or two drummers, a merchant returned from a trip to New York, and an old grandmother come to visit a swarm of grandchildren, who were all down to meet her. After these, preceded by an obsequious porter from the parlor car carrying her immaculate luggage, came a dainty young woman. She had golden hair, which es-caped from the imprisoning shell combs into little sun-shiny rings about her temples, and her eyes were large and blue, keen and bright, yet tender. David's eyes were blue too. She was dressed all in brown, very plainly indeed, and yet it seemed extraordinary to Summerton, for they seldom saw a dress or a coat so perfectly made. The oldest grandchild, who was herself approaching young womanhood, wondered what in the world there was about her simple hat that looked “so awfully stylish,” and began studying it, if perchance her last year's might be made to serve in somewhat similar fashion.

             
Ruth Benedict walked the entire length of the platform to the dingy station, and had her baggage deposited on the grimy, much-cut benches, paid the porter a shining quarter, and then looked about for her brother. She had not discovered him in her walk down the platform.

             
He meantime had been sure that this was his sister, but he could not bring himself to speak while that important black porter was in attendance, and the blood mounted in rich waves to his face as she passed him. He turned his eyes the other way lest she should divine who he was and speak. She, meanwhile, knew not what manner of person to look for. She knew he was a farmer, but at least she expected a collar, and so she passed him by at the first glance; but something in his face, as he turned during the bustle of the moving train to slip around to where she stood, attracted her attention, and she looked again, a smile lighting up her sweet face, the same smile he remembered of her childhood. That smile enabled him to get over the embarrassing ground between them and reach her side without the painful interval he had expected.

             
“Are you David?” she asked eagerly before he reached her, and then without waiting to give him time for more than a nod in reply, she put up her pretty lips and threw one arm simply and gracefully about his neck and kissed him.

             
David felt as though he never had been through such a trying experience in his life, and would rather be killed outright than go through it again. He was painfully conscious of the watching eyes. He dared not turn toward them to sec what they thought. He had a faint hope that the outgoing train had attracted the attention of most of them, but it was only a hope. Ellen Amelia Haskins, the eldest granddaughter, was taking notes with undivided attention, and she immediately began to give abroad news.

             
All Summerton knew that away back in the years somewhere there had been a baby sister in the Benedict household, who had been adopted by the father's rich brother, but they had almost forgotten the story. Now, even as David hurried his sister to the waiting wagon behind the station, it was revived, as Ellen Amelia's excited voice proclaimed in tones which might have been heard by the occupants of the wagon, had it not been for their absorption in themselves, that she “just betted Dave Ben'dic's sister had come to make a visit, 'cause she kissed him,” and she added, "and he looked real kind of handsome and majestic bendin' down to encircle her slight form," and she giggled softly to herself and remembered the last week's story in the "Fireside Companion."

             
David Benedict did not stay to hear what might be said. He whipped up Old Gray as that animal could not remember to have been whipped since the last hired man got married and went away, and the wagon was soon hidden down the road behind the great elm trees at the corner.

RUTH felt not a little dismayed to find her brother present so unpolished an appearance, but she tried to remember that it was early morning and she knew nothing of farm life. Doubtless he had left his morning work to meet her. Her artist's eye decided that he was handsome in spite of no collar. The Summerton girls had not known enough to discover this as yet. They looked more upon the outward adornment than upon the true man, and could not recognize him except accompanied by well-oiled hair, flashy necktie, and perfumery on his handkerchief, which was to their nostrils a perfect cover for a barnyard odor on the boots or onions on the breath. Besides, David was shy and awkward and never gave them any attention. Joseph, the younger brother, was much more to their liking.

              Ruth, sitting beside her silent brother trying to get acquainted and feel her way into his heart, felt her own sink in a lonely, homesick way, and began to long again for the dear ones who were gone, whose constant care had made her life so bright. But she turned her attention to the country about, frankly admiring the river views and the waving fields of grain. It was indeed a lovely drive to the Benedict farmhouse, and Ruth began to dread its ending.

             
She had been curious to know what her old home was like, but something began to warn her that she would be disappointed. She had read of and seen some beautiful old farmhouses, painted white with green blinds and with lofty columns supporting the front roof. She had imagined that her home would be something like this with a velvety lawn in front and a dainty white hen here and there walking carefully over it, while at the back there would be a row of shining milk cans, and some peaceful cows musing not far off. That was her idea of farmhouses in general. Now she began to feel that there might be some mistake about their all being like that. Since they had left the station they had passed no such homes.

             
They presently came in sight of some spacious barns, well coated with red, and a little farther over a large old-fashioned rambling house, of color so dingy that no one might tell what it had been in former days. The front part of the house seemed to be closed, at least the weather-beaten blinds were shut There was no smoke coming from any chimney except the back one. The front porch had a fallen-down appearance, which gave an expression to the house of a person with the corners of his mouth drooped sadly. This porch was an old-fashioned “stoop,” with a narrow seat on either side too, instead of a wide, airy piazza stretched across the front of the house. The front dooryard was overgrown with tall grass and a few straggling pinks and bachelor's buttons here and there, while the rose and lilac bushes had tangled their branches across the path to the steps, according to their own sweet will. Ruth wondered idly how the people could ever reach the front door, and felt sad at the air of abandonment and desolation. Then she saw Old Gray turn in at the great unpainted gate of many bars, and knew that she was at home. Somehow the tears were very near her eyes, but she bravely pressed them back and tried to be cheery and find something to admire. Strangely enough the old flat stone in front of the worn, much-chipped old green kitchen door with the quaint brass knob was the first thing that caught her eye.

             
“What a beautiful flat stone that would have been to play on when I was a little girl,” she said impulsively, feeling that she must say something or break down; and then she realized what a silly remark that was to make. But some One wiser than herself was guiding her words that day. She could not have said anything that would so have warmed David's heart to his sister as that. He had a feeling that she must of course consider her life and her bringing-up as above that of her brothers, and when she actually spoke as if she would have liked to share their childhood joys in the old plain home, he felt as if he loved her at once. The old flat stone was dear to him for memory's sake. He could even remember so far back as when he used to sit on it, in his little gingham apron, and his mother would come to the door and give him a large piece of warm gingerbread, standing there a minute to watch his enjoyment as he ate, and saying in soft tones, “Mother's dear little boy.”

             
His heart was so soft over Ruth's words that when he awkwardly helped her out of the wagon he had an impulse to kiss her. He restrained it, of course. All his life training since his mother died had been to restrain any such sentimental impulses as that, but the impulse had made his heart warm, nevertheless. It is a pity he did not give way to that impulse, for Ruth, suddenly ushered into that dreary kitchen, and left alone with the injunction to sit down and rest herself until her brother put out the horse, felt such a rush of desolation come upon her as almost overpowered her.

             
She sat down in Aunt Nancy's old rocking chair and buried her face in her hands. What did it all mean? Was there nobody left who cared for her? Did her brother not know what to do with her? Was she an unwelcome guest? That had not occurred to her before. Now it brought a sickening loneliness. She had been rash, after all, as her old lawyer friend had told her, in rushing off to brothers she did not know without any warning to them or any chance to hear from them. Yet she had thought when she prayed to be guided that her direction had been to come here. Could it be that she was mistaken? Perhaps her own desire for the love of some one who belonged to her had made her mistake her desires for God's guidance! Then came another thought. Perhaps he had wanted her to come here after all, and though there might not be comfort for her, still he might intend that there was something she could do for her brothers. Perhaps they did not know Jesus Christ. Her heart went out in great longing for them. She wanted to be sure that they were Christians. If they were Christians, then surely there would be a tie between them even stronger than blood. If they were not, then she must stay and try to lead them to Christ. She slipped down on her knees beside the old calico-cushioned rocker and asked her Saviour for help and guidance, promising to try to do whatever he wanted her to do here in this home, no matter how hard it might seem, if he would only stay with her and help her. Then she got up, resolutely wiped away the tears, and looked about her. She forced herself to take in every detail of that room. It did not take long, for the kitchen had not much in it. She even walked over and looked at the chromos of bright red and pink roses framed in pine cones, hanging on each side of the little high clock shelf, and took in the fact of the smoky kerosene lamp, realizing that there would be no gas in this house.

             
Then with a glance out of the window, to make sure David was not at the door, she went over to the pantry with swift determination. David had told her during the drive that Aunt Nancy was dead, and that they were living alone, and she began to wonder how they lived. Did they board, or what? She stood in the door in wonder. The great piece of ham, the half-loaf of bread, the broken cheese, and bag of crackers told a pitiful tale to her. She applied the tip of her nose to the baker's bread, and then straightened up suddenly with an involuntary “Ugh!”

             
Something of her amazement, disgust, and pity, mingled, must have been in her face as she turned at a slight sound behind her and saw her elder brother standing hopelessly in the door. He would not willingly have had her see that pantry. He had fixed it all, out in the barn, while he unharnessed Old Gray. He would go right over to the Barneses and take board for his sister, and then he and Joe could go over and call upon her often and keep her from being lonely. The old house was no place for her, and of course she could not cat there. It was all well enough for him and Joe to get along on anything, but such a dainty bit of flesh and blood as their sister must have better fare. Accordingly he had stopped in the process of unharnessing and come into the house to tell Ruth his plan for her and ask if she would like to ride over there with him at once, and have him take her trunk over with them.

             
Shame filled his face at sight of her discovery of his awkward attempts at housekeeping. He would have resented her going to look in that pantry if she had not been his sister, and even as it was a kind of anger began to rise in his heart, and he would soon have been ready to say with pride, "It's none of her business how we live. She has no right to poke and pry into things." But Ruth turned with tears in her eyes and threw her arms about her brother.

             
“Oh, you poor, dear David!” she exclaimed. “How you have needed me! And you have been trying to keep house for yourselves. I see it all now. I am so glad I have come. I was afraid at first that you did not want me; but you do need me, don't you? Tell me you do, for I am so hungry to be loved and needed. And I'm glad I came to make you comfortable. You are glad too, aren't you?” and then she hid her face in his coat and cried.

             
He stood helpless before her tears. He was really frightened. He had never seen a woman cry before, and began to wonder if he ought to go for a doctor; but just when he felt the most helpless, she lifted a face all smiling through her tears and kissed him.

             
Somehow David felt as though she were more really his sister after that, as if in some subtle way a sympathy had been established between them. He was willing to let her do anything she wanted to now, and he felt as if he would stand up for her against the world. He made her sit down while he explained his plan for her boarding, but she only laughed a silvery laugh.

             
“Now, David, my dear brother, did you suppose I came here to be a summer boarder with the Barneses, and have you come and call on me occasionally? No, indeed! The Barneses are well enough in their places, and I shall be glad enough to call on them some time in the future if they don't see fit to call on me first; but just now I have not time. There's a great deal to be done in this house before dinner. I came here to find my brothers, and I find they need me a great deal more than I supposed they did. What time do you usually have dinner? and where is my other brother?”

             
“But what do you mean to do?" he asked helplessly. “You can't eat here,” and he looked about on the kitchen which seemed, with her bright presence in it, to have a great many more defects for a kitchen then he had ever seen before.

             
“Why can't I eat here, I should like to know?” asked the sister brightly; “I guess I can if you can. But I must go to work, or there won't be anything fit for either of us to eat. That bread in there is very sour. I wonder you haven't got the dyspepsia. Do you mean to say that you and Joseph have been living in this way on such food as that ever since Aunt Nancy died? You poor dear! Now, let's get to work. We must have everything nice and cheery before Joseph comes. That fire looks as if it was almost discouraged. Can you make up a good fire for me? I'll have to learn how to operate that stove; our range was different. But if you'll fix the fire real rousing and bright, and bring my trunk in and unstrap it, I'll fix things up all right. Where is my room to be?”

             
David did not know how to answer all her questions. He felt that some one had come at last who knew what she wanted and his part was only to obey, so in bewilderment he brought her trunk in and deposited it in the room she selected. She had resolutely refrained from looking about her much as she went through a portion of the rest of the house. The kitchen was enough to deal with at first, and too much dreariness would take away her self-control. A room with four walls and a bed was an absolute necessity, and beyond that she would not see anything until she had done all she could in the kitchen. She kept her eyes strictly upon their work, while she rapidly took off her traveling dress and donned a neat gingham, enveloping herself in a large kitchen apron. It was the apron she and her dear adopted mother had made for her to use in cooking school a year before, and the tears came to her eyes as she fastened it, with the memory of all the sweet words and looks sewed into the garment with the dainty stitches.

             
“Darling, this apron will be with you in many a time of need and stand you in good stead,” the mother had said. “You may find times when you will prize it more than any pretty dress you have. I hope this apron will wear to help you do great good and achieve great things in the culinary line.” These had been that dear mother's laughing words as she handed her the finished garment. Ruth brushed the tears away and rushed down to the kitchen. There she found a bright fire roaring away in the stove, and David standing by it looking about in a dazed way as if he wondered what was coming next.

             
“Now the next thing is to find out what there is to work with,” said the new housekeeper eagerly. “David, have you any yeast? I want to set some bread the first thing.”

             
“Yeast?” said David; "no, we haven't had any yeast in the house since Aunt Nancy died.” “And David, where do you keep the baking powder and the salt?” called Ruth from the pantry. “You will certainly have to go to the grocery before we can have dinner," she said, emerging from her investigations. “If you will go to market I will write down a list of things we need right away. I'll try to have some kind of lunch for you when you come back. I cannot make bread without yeast and I cannot make biscuits without baking powder.” David brought the potatoes from the cellar and saddling the horse made ready to go on his errand, not much relishing the thought of the sensation he would make, returning to market with a basket so soon after the supposed the arrival of his sister. However, he hastened away, and Ruth locked the door securely and went to work. It must be confessed that while she was a brave girl in the city, here in the country she felt the least bit timid at being left alone in this strange house for an hour. Who could tell what awful tramp might come? However, she made up her mind to be so busy she would not think of it, and sending up a prayer for help, she went in search of a knife to peel the potatoes. It was fortunate that there was so much to be done, else the desolation of the whole home, without even an attempt at comfort, might have made her heart fail her, till she must have returned to the lovely home in the city she had left behind for love of two unknown brothers.