Raintree County (61 page)

She decided to go on. For perhaps half an hour she wandered completely lost. She didn't know what trees she passed, what stones she stumbled over, but at last she saw the familiar headland and the boulder—only she was approaching it from the other direction. There was no one there. She had a great sinking of heart. She began to run on the firm ground toward the boulder. When she reached it, she stopped and put her shoes and stockings down. She had heard steps coming along the path.

Instantly Mr. Shawnessy appeared. She had beaten him to the rock.

She stood, watching him, her lips parted, unable to take her eyes away from him. He walked swiftly up the path, watching her all the time, and when he reached her, he put one arm out as if to steady her, for in fact she was swaying like a great flower bending on its stalk. She put her arms up over his arms, knocking his coat to the ground, and she clung to him so tight that she nearly pulled him off balance. His face was very close to hers. Then she was touching her face against his face. She felt his mustache on her cheek and against her neck as she held to him, shutting her eyes to the unendurable sunlight. Her body seemed to tip backward and sway as if her head had become too heavy for the rest of her.

Come to Lake Paradise, in the very center of Raintree County, 0, come, come, come to—0, come to Lake Paradise in the very lifegiving warmth and brightness of—o, come, come, come to—

Esther couldn't talk, and he put her down on the rock where she sat, still clinging to him.

—I had no idea, child, that you felt this way, he said.

—O, yes, she said, I've always loved you, ever since I was a little girl. There was always only one man for me.

He began to tell her something about his marital situation. She nodded her head, but just then this information didn't seem important to her. He went on explaining something to her with great care, and she kept nodding her head, and still holding to him. She kept shutting her eyes and then opening them hastily as if she were afraid to find that all her happiness was a mirage. Finally, he said,

—Well, what about it, Esther? Do you want me, knowing all that?

—O, yes, Mr. Shawnessy, she said.

He smiled and said,

—Don't you think you could call me by my first name now?

—I'll think of something, she said.

She didn't want to leave the wild side of the lake and return to Raintree County, but about four o'clock Mr. Shawnessy said they must be back before the picnickers.

—We'll have to be careful, he said. We mustn't tell anyone, of course, until I have a chance to work this out and find a way to make it all right.

It was hard to be careful, though, during the next few days. The rest of the people at Paradise Lake had become as though they didn't exist for her. She smiled at them, listened to them, even sometimes said something, but she wasn't sure afterward what she had said and whether it made any sense at all. In a single hour, the real world had been enormously contracted and by the same token enormously expanded. There were only Mr. Shawnessy, herself, and the lake, and the hours that they spent together. All other hours were a vague dream of waiting to be alone with him. And if some afternoon the mythical youth had suddenly disclosed himself to her, she knew that she would become his companion in ecstasy beneath the Raintree. But he remained lost and didn't appear, and neither of the two lovers ever referred to him.

—Esther, Ivy Foster said to her sharply one day while they were dressing and no one else was around, what's happened to you?

—I don't know, Ivy, Esther said, smiling tranquilly. Why, what do you think has happened?

—I think you're in love, Ivy said. You silly little fool, you
are
in love!

—Well, Esther said. Yes, that's it. I'm in love.

—You're in love with Mr. Shawnessy, you crazy little thing!

—Yes, Esther said, smiling a sweet smile of resignation and candor. Yes, I am.

—Is he in love with you?

—Yes.

—Don't you know, Ivy Foster said, her eyes brilliant at the pleasure of having discovered a real passion and a shocking one at that, don't you know that he was married and has a wife and——

—Yes. Yes, I know. It doesn't make any difference. I always did love him.

—We mustn't tell anyone, Ivy said. Maybe it can be arranged. Maybe the woman will die, or something.

—Maybe so, Esther said.

She was hoping that the woman would die. It seemed the only decent and honorable thing that the woman could do. Surely if the woman knew the great love that was between Esther Root and Mr. Shawnessy, she would understand the importance of gracefully dying and permitting that great love to have its course.

—What about your Pa? Ivy said.

At this, Esther came suddenly to her senses. Here was the thing that she had been hiding from herself. Here at Lake Paradise, she had denied that other world.

—I don't know, she said. I dasn't tell him.

—He'll hear, Ivy said.

—He mustn't, Esther said. We must hide it.

—You aren't hiding anything, Ivy said. Anyone can tell you're-sappy about Mr. Shawnessy. Everyone's talking about it.

Next day, a mature maiden lady who had spent a good deal of time thrusting a bounteous bosom under Mr. Shawnessy's perceptive nose during the earlier days of the Institute, took Esther aside and said in an ardently friendly way,

—Esther Root, I'm goin' to tell you something for your own good, because I'm your friend and a friend of your family. Everyone knows the goings on between you and Mr. Shawnessy. Now, you're headin' for trouble, dear. It's nothing to me person'ly, but I take a personal interest because of your family and all, and I know how your pa would take it, just to mention one. You must know that John Shawnessy is
not
a free man, dear, and his reputation isn't anything
to shout about. Besides, child, he's twice your age, even if he doesn't look it. Now, I say all this in the warmest spirit of personal friendship, and I'm a little older than you myself, dear, and take this sisterly interest in your welfare, out of my personal friendship for you and your family. What I say is you'd better not have anything more to do with him. That's just my personal advice to you, and you can do what you want with it.

Esther didn't feel anger or any other very definite feeling except foreboding and sadness. She thanked the lady and said it was kind of her to say tactfully and honestly what she thought about things.

That afternoon she and Mr. Shawnessy went walking as usual.

The night before the Institute was going to end, there was a big dance in the dining room of the Biltmore Hotel. Esther danced all the dances with Mr. Shawnessy. It was a hot, hushed night on the lake. Parties of young people came out from Freehaven, and there was a tumult of buggies coming and going in the darkness. A sound of singing came from across the water, and someone said that some of the young men at the dance were drunk.

Around ten o'clock, while she was dancing with Mr. Shawnessy, she looked up and saw Pa standing at the door of the hotel. He had his riding whip in his hand, and his big face was stern.

Then she knew that she had sinned a sin so blissful that the penalty must be proportionately severe. She kept her eyes on the floor while Pa walked across the room in his great boots.

He didn't look at Mr. Shawnessy. He held out his hand to her. Putting her hand in Pa's, she walked toward the door, but just before leaving the hall, she turned and looked once at Mr. Shawnessy. His eyes had a curious brightness.

Then she was following Pa out, and they got into the buggy, and Pa laid his whip to the horse, and they were riding away.

—Esther, Pa said after they had ridden for a long time in silence and had at last reached a main road, I know you didn't know what you was doing. It wasn't your fault. You're only a child after all. I know I've only to tell you what kind of man this feller is to make you see the light. This John Shawnessy is plain no good. If it were anyone else in the world, I don't know as I would stand in your way. But in this case, I feel it my fatherly duty to protect you. This feller comes from a nogood family, and he's no good himself. He has a
weak streak in him, always had. Besides, he's married and had a child by his wife years ago. They's a big mystery about what ever happened to her. He's a queer sort of feller—folks say he's an atheist. Any which way you look at it, Esther, he's not fit to lick your boot. Now, I want you to know that I don't blame you at all. I blame him. And by the livin' God, if ever I catch him hangin' around you again——

Pa's deep voice rose and trembled violently; his body seemed to bulge as if enlarged by passion.

—You're wrong, Pa, she said. He's a good man.

She couldn't remember ever before saying to Pa in so many words that he was wrong. But Pa's voice was deceptively gentle as he said,

—You're just a child, Esther. I don't blame you at all. You just don't understand about these things. I'm your pa, and I know what's good for you. In this case, you'll just have to take my word for it. I think I know how you feel. This man is much older than you, child, why, he's about as old as I am, old enough to be your—your father.

She was crying then, sobbing hopelessly as the buggy went on through the night farther and farther from Lake Paradise and back across the level part of the County toward the Farm, from which, as it now seemed, ages ago she had . . .

Come to Lake Paradise. It is—it is in the very center of Raintree County, and here (but 0, so long, so many years ago) the father and mother of mankind walked alone and naked. O, come to Paradise Lake in the center of Raintree County! Here was planted the tree from which the County takes its name. O, did we not eat long ago of the fruit—of the delectable flesh of the fruit of the golden tree? It was so long ago, and now the tree is gone, only the scar remains, and the fruit is stricken from our hands. Come back, come back to Paradise Lake, from the wrath of the allseeing father, come back, my darkhaired child,

SOME DAY TO THE STILL WATERS AND
THE CIRCLING HILLS OF
LAKE

—PARADISE
lost in one willful act! For the Woman takes the fruit and bursts it between her lips. And she finds it delicious. And she's not satisfied to have a little of it. O, no! She takes down whole armfuls of it, and she and the Serpent both eat of it and gorge themselves on it, and then she goes out and finds her husband. O, I've just found the most wonderful thing, Adam! Here, take a taste. Poor Adam suspects what she has done, deep in his heart he knows, but the Woman beguiles him to sin with her. And Adam takes a taste of it too. Hit is good, he says. Hit's wonderful! she says. And the taste of that fruit maddens them. They look at each other with new eyes. And, o, I'm afraid, I'm very much afraid, that the father and mother of mankind give rein to lewd and improper desires. Anyway, such is the interpretation of Milton, the great Puritan poet. Let us draw a curtain of reticence on them, poor, sinnin' creatures wallowin' briefly in the pleasures of their lustful discovery. Hit
is
good, Adam says. O, hit's wonderful! she says.

Preacher Jarvey's voice was elaborately ironical. His small eyes glared lustfully around as he plucked and tore imaginary fruit from an imaginary tree.

—. . . and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves aprons.

And they heard the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day: and Adam and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God amongst the trees of the garden.

Esther had been so absorbed in the Preacher's discourse that she had failed until this moment to observe a buggy approaching on the road from Moreland. Now, looking up, she saw what looked like Pa's big shiny black pulling a buggy, though dust and distance obscured the face of the driver.

—Unto the woman he said, I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception; in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children; and thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee.

And unto Adam he said, Because thou hast hearkened unto the voice of thy wife, and hast eaten of the tree, of which I commanded thee, saying, Thou shalt not eat of it: cursed is the ground for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life. . . .

The buggy was only a few hundred feet now from the tent. In the seat, Esther saw Pa's erect, broad form, his broadbrimmed black hat, his patriarchal beard.

—In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.

The buggy began to slow down. Esther could see Pa's black eyes searching the rows of heads under the Revival Tent. His right hand gripped the handle of a whip.

—And Adam called his wife's name Eve; because she was the mother of all living. . . .

—And the Lord God said, Behold, the man is become as one of us, to know good and evil: and now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live forever:

Therefore the Lord God sent him forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from whence he was taken.

So he drove out the man; and he placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life.

Preacher Jarvey put the book down and closed it resoundingly. He removed his glasses. His great hairy head dripped sweat. The front of his shirt was soaked. The horn of his voice had been muted to a pitch of resignation and sadness.

—So endeth, brothers and sisters in Adam and children of the errin' mother of mankind, so endeth the Oldest Story in the World.
In Adam's fall we sinned all.
The highest wisdom is to know that we are sinners. In the pride and pomp of this day on which we celebrate the birth of our nation, let us not forget the birth of our race. With one hand, God giveth, and with the other He taketh away.