Read Online The Mountain and the Valley by Ernest Buckler - Free Book Online
Authors: Ernest Buckler
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was funny the way they’d drop a thing immediately, without resentment when Joseph snubbed it.
David glanced, alerted, at his mother’s face.
Sometimes when his father spoke sharply, there’d be no open quarrel, but her face would look as if everything retreated behind her lips and eyes. For a day or two after that, his father’s voice didn’t seem to reach her at all.
But this was one of the times when the savagery of his father’s expression struck her the alternate way. She looked athim with a kind of wondering indulgence in her smile; as if, if she let herself begin to laugh outright at what he’d said (“gospel-grinders”!), she’d be helpless to stop.
“You don’t think I’m a gospel-grinder, do you?” she said.
“No,” Joseph said, “I didn’t mean you.”
He smiled too. He looked half-abashed, and lurkingly half-pleased that his remark had turned out to be a funny one. For an instant they seemed newly wonderful to each other.
“Bess shouldn’t give them a
chance
to talk, though,” Martha said, holding onto the thing a little yet.
Joseph didn’t reply. He’d said what he had to say, and it was over.
“Better ask her how she’s off for wood,” he said. “Maybe we would git her up a frolic.”
The spring-sad dusk echoed with irrevocability.
Walking down the road, Martha thought: How will they ever get along? Rachel could sell some timberland maybe. (Poor Spurge, she’d never let him sell a stick while he was alive. He had to go on working, whether he felt like it or not.) But what would Bess ever do? There’d be some way, she supposed. Things had happened to so many families in Entremont which made it impossible, really impossible, for them to get along; yet somehow they had. But how could you get along without your husband?
How would she ever get along without Joseph? Not to walk with him through the garden rows the first Sunday after planting and look for sprouts … not to wait to put the tea down at noon until she heard him scraping the dirt from his boots on the edge of the porch step … not there in the evenings, when everyone else was older than you or younger, unless you were the one who had travelled the same path … not there in bed beside her at night, more sheltering thansleep itself … “There must be strength given.” She said the words aloud.
She was almost at Bess’s gate. She glanced at her dooryard, Poor soul, there
was
no wood there. That was a good idea of Joseph’s. Not right away, but as soon as Bess felt like giving the men their suppers.
Would the men be joking about Bess again (she knew they
did)
by that time? she thought. Would they tease Joseph if Bess’s arm touched his neck when she reached over his shoulder to fill up his plate? Would Bess herself be laughing again by that time?
She walked slower. Then she stood still. Maybe Bess would rather be alone tonight, she said to herself.
She hesitated; then she turned and walked homeward. She stopped for a few minutes at Rachel’s on the way.
V
While Martha was gone, Ellen sewed a meal bag into the mat frames with twine. Anna held the side pieces taut as she fixed them securely with the iron clamps. She rested the frames on the tops of four chairs and marked in the border scrolls with Joseph’s carpenter pencil, dipped in brown dye.
Anna chose the rags as she began to hook—so nearly the ones Ellen would have chosen herself that almost none had to be rejected. She told Anna some little thing about the garment from which each rag had come.
That was the skirt she’d worn the night of Joseph’s saluting. Her feet had still moved so lightly they’d made her lead the Lancers and the Eights.
That was the dress that had come so like a gift to Martha. The catalogue dress she’d ordered had been out of stock and they’d substituted one for twice the price. She’dfound the very dress on a coloured page. She had kept it good, for years.
That was the blouse David had worn the first time
David glanced, alerted, at his mother’s face.
Sometimes when his father spoke sharply, there’d be no open quarrel, but her face would look as if everything retreated behind her lips and eyes. For a day or two after that, his father’s voice didn’t seem to reach her at all.
But this was one of the times when the savagery of his father’s expression struck her the alternate way. She looked athim with a kind of wondering indulgence in her smile; as if, if she let herself begin to laugh outright at what he’d said (“gospel-grinders”!), she’d be helpless to stop.
“You don’t think I’m a gospel-grinder, do you?” she said.
“No,” Joseph said, “I didn’t mean you.”
He smiled too. He looked half-abashed, and lurkingly half-pleased that his remark had turned out to be a funny one. For an instant they seemed newly wonderful to each other.
“Bess shouldn’t give them a
chance
to talk, though,” Martha said, holding onto the thing a little yet.
Joseph didn’t reply. He’d said what he had to say, and it was over.
“Better ask her how she’s off for wood,” he said. “Maybe we would git her up a frolic.”
The spring-sad dusk echoed with irrevocability.
Walking down the road, Martha thought: How will they ever get along? Rachel could sell some timberland maybe. (Poor Spurge, she’d never let him sell a stick while he was alive. He had to go on working, whether he felt like it or not.) But what would Bess ever do? There’d be some way, she supposed. Things had happened to so many families in Entremont which made it impossible, really impossible, for them to get along; yet somehow they had. But how could you get along without your husband?
How would she ever get along without Joseph? Not to walk with him through the garden rows the first Sunday after planting and look for sprouts … not to wait to put the tea down at noon until she heard him scraping the dirt from his boots on the edge of the porch step … not there in the evenings, when everyone else was older than you or younger, unless you were the one who had travelled the same path … not there in bed beside her at night, more sheltering thansleep itself … “There must be strength given.” She said the words aloud.
She was almost at Bess’s gate. She glanced at her dooryard, Poor soul, there
was
no wood there. That was a good idea of Joseph’s. Not right away, but as soon as Bess felt like giving the men their suppers.
Would the men be joking about Bess again (she knew they
did)
by that time? she thought. Would they tease Joseph if Bess’s arm touched his neck when she reached over his shoulder to fill up his plate? Would Bess herself be laughing again by that time?
She walked slower. Then she stood still. Maybe Bess would rather be alone tonight, she said to herself.
She hesitated; then she turned and walked homeward. She stopped for a few minutes at Rachel’s on the way.
V
While Martha was gone, Ellen sewed a meal bag into the mat frames with twine. Anna held the side pieces taut as she fixed them securely with the iron clamps. She rested the frames on the tops of four chairs and marked in the border scrolls with Joseph’s carpenter pencil, dipped in brown dye.
Anna chose the rags as she began to hook—so nearly the ones Ellen would have chosen herself that almost none had to be rejected. She told Anna some little thing about the garment from which each rag had come.
That was the skirt she’d worn the night of Joseph’s saluting. Her feet had still moved so lightly they’d made her lead the Lancers and the Eights.
That was the dress that had come so like a gift to Martha. The catalogue dress she’d ordered had been out of stock and they’d substituted one for twice the price. She’dfound the very dress on a coloured page. She had kept it good, for years.
That was the blouse David had worn the first time
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