Rare Earth/Chapter 12

by Frank Owen

 

Chapter XII

 

The Joel homestead was very small but it was snug and warm in winter because it had a huge open-fireplace that took up almost an entire side of the living-room. There were only four rooms in the house. A kitchen and living-room downstairs, while the upper floor was composed of two bedrooms with sloping ceilings. At one end of each room a giant could have stood upright. There was ample room to plant a bean-stalk. But the ceiling at the other end of the room was so low a dwarf would have bumped his nose against it. When Enoch had asked his father why the ceilings sloped so oddly, his father had replied whimsically, "That is to give a boy a chance to grow. If the ceiling was low all over the room, a boy couldn't grow at all."

"But," objected Enoch, "why couldn't it be high evywheres?"

"Why that," chuckled Benda, "would be too much wasted space. And it would have a tendency to make a boy grow quicker. Perhaps it would result in his having a neck like a giraffe or an ostrich."

"Do 'raffes live in rooms 'at has high ceilin's?"

"Don't know," reflected Benda. "Never lived with a giraffe. For that matter I never lived with an ostrich either. But sometimes I think they get long necks because they are forever reaching for the moon. Not much use reaching for the moon, Enoch. It's far better to stick to the earth. It never pays to want the moon. Many men have learned that."

"Did you, daddy?"

It was some moments before Benda answered, then he said slowly, "I hardly know. Perhaps I did. Anyway I tried to pluck a star from the sky and you can't do that either. It is better to be a happy dwarf and live in the low side of the room than a sad giant and attain the heights."

"I don't wan' to be either," declared Enoch. "I wan' to be a man 'at drives a plow."

"That at least," mused Benda, "is something attainable. When a man turns to the earth, he succeeds."

Almost every evening when the nights were cold the three of them gathered around the open-fire. Although there was usually a large log burning in the grate Enoch loved to gather bits of twigs and branches during the daytime which he fed to the fire at night.

"The fire is really a person," drawled Benda, "who lives in this house with us, a very important person, a warm friend. The log is its supper and the twigs are its dessert. I think I can hear it smack its lips as it devours them. Not only are they nutritious but they are tasty too."

Benda as a rule fell asleep in his chair before the fire. He was very tired after working in the fields. Besides he had a barn and two horses and a cow to look after. The chicken house did not cause him much worry because Linda and Enoch always attended to that. Enoch liked to feed the chickens. How he laughed when they came to him when he whistled.

"Dey know me! Dey know me!" he cried jubilantly. "Every single one."

Those were happy nights for Linda. The quietude of the warm house, broken occasionally by the whistling of the wind about the eaves or by the purring of Paw Paw, the kitten stretched at ease at their feet. The warmth of the fire made her think of home, of fier father in the Carolina low country, of the bonfires which had been built so frequently before his cabin-door while all the neighbors grouped around to sing.

Sometimes, when lost in such pleasant reveries, she sang snatches of old songs. She usually did her singing when Enoch had finished playing and all tired out had climbed upon her lap. That was the most perfect hour of the day. Paw Paw snoozing at her feet, Benda in a rickety chair dozing and Enoch in her arms with his head against her bosom. Then softly she would sing a lullaby.

"Whut's a wood-fire, honey?
Place dat's filled with coze,
With a chair an' blanket.
Won'rous place to doze.

With ma Id honey
Here 'pon my knee
An' a kettle singin'
Lovin' songs to me.

Guess a wood-fire, honey,
Makes you hate to part,
'Cause o' every Id house
It really is the heart."

Before she had finished the last verse Enoch would be sleeping and a solemn hush would settle down over the house. Linda would sigh with contentment. Her life had not been fruitless. She had never been rich in material wealth but in the things that made life worth living her holdings were incalculable. Existence for her had rounded out into complete fulfillment.

Then she would carry her boy upstairs. While he still slept she would undress him, put on his night-gown which had been made from one of Benda's old shirts and tuck him snugly into bed. For a few moments she would linger there gazing down at his winsome, cute face. He was her own boy, her own flesh and blood, a bit of life to work for and cherish. No wonder she imagined the night wind about the eaves was singing songs of contentment for a little house.

Life on the Joel farm was not easy. It was work, work, work. Only one thing prevented them from being absolute slaves to toil. They loved their work. Sometimes when Benda was ill Linda drove the plow herself. It was pitifully hard but there was a grim beauty about it. She loved the fresh crash of the wind against her cheeks. This was almost primitive existence. It held a curious fascination. It was good to struggle with the soil for the food one was to eat.

In the early years on the farm things were very bad indeed. There was a time when their money was absolutely gone. They lived on potatoes and corn-bread frequently for days at a time. And then once as Benda was almost finished plowing the only horse they owned had died. It was a calamity but they bore it with rare fortitude. It was no worse than Benda's disappointment when he failed as an engineer. His ancestors had been slaves, little more than beasts of burden. When they were acquired by a plantation they caused no more of a stir than the acquisition of a mule. In his own eyes he was no better than his ancestors. So he hitched himself to the plow and struggled to finish turning the soil in the balance of the field. The cords on his neck stood out in relief as he exerted every ounce of strength. Sweat poured from his brow. His face almost ceased to be human. He must not give up. If the soil failed him whence could he turn?

And Linda guided the plow. She pushed with all her strength that the blade might cut the earth more easily. She knew that it was one of the big moments of their lives. Everything depended on their crop that year. Neither spoke. Until at last the field was done. Benda was so tired he could not eat the sparse supper of potatoes. He fell on his bed, clothed as he was and slept. At least he had done his best. And the soil knew and appreciated his efforts. That year the crops were splendid. While they were waiting for the harvest Benda did odd jobs for the neighbors round about. He was a handy man. He could turn his hand to anything. But in carpentry he was particularly adept. So they managed to scrape through the months somehow. That season, however, marked the lowest ebb of their fortunes. Benda was never too poor thereafter to own a horse.