The Hills of Refuge: A NovelHarben, Will N. (Will Nathaniel)
General
The Hills of Refuge: A Novel
Harben, Will N. (Will Nathaniel)
Fiction
Despite the feeling that she was unwelcomed by the woman, Mary saw no
alternative but to go in. She regretted it the instant her eyes fell on
the wasted form on the unkempt bed and beheld the eager orbs peering at
her from deep, dark sockets beneath shaggy brows. The room seemed to
swing around her, the crude board floor to rise and fall like the waves
of a rocking sea, the bed to float like a raft holding a starving
derelict. Grasping the back of a chair for support, Mary leaned on it
for a moment, and then, slightly recovering, she sat down, wondering if
she could possibly bear the impending ordeal.
"I'm glad you thought enough o' me to come, Miss Mary," Tobe began, in
the instinctive tone of respect that his class had for hers, "an' I want
to say something to you." He hesitated and lifted his eyes to his
mother, who was standing at the foot of his bed. "Ma," he said, "will
you please go out a little while--just a little while?"
"Me! Why, I'd like to know?" she fiercely demanded. "Surely you hain't
got no secrets from me?"
"I hain't got no secrets, but I want to talk free an' easy like to Miss
Mary, an' somehow when you stan' lookin' like that an' thinkin' what I
know you are thinkin'--well, I just can't talk, that's all."
"Humph! I say! Well, this is a pretty come-off!" Mrs. Keith fairly
quivered with suppressed rage. "Can't talk before me, eh? An' me your
mother at that. Well, well, I won't hender you, though you know the
doctor told me to keep you perfectly quiet, an' here you are--Well,
well, I'll go; if you feel that-away I'll go! A mother's feelings is
never paid attention to nohow."
Mary tried to protest, but could think of nothing to say under the
circumstances; besides, the angry woman was already whirling away. Mary
heard her treading the creaking boards of the adjoining room.
"Please move your chair up a little mite closer," Tobe requested. "I've
got just so much wind, an' no more, an' I can talk easier when you are
close to me."
She obeyed, feeling like an inanimate thing pushed forward by some
designing force. His thin hand lay within her reach. It was a repulsive
object, and yet the same force directed her to take it; she did so, and
with the act all her fears, all her timidity, left her. She pressed it
gently; she leaned forward and stroked it almost caressingly with her
other hand. Tears welled up in her eyes; they broke their bounds and
fell upon her hands and his. He stared in slow astonishment, his lower
lip quivered; he closed his great, somnolent eyes as if to give himself
up to the dreamlike ecstasy of the moment. She saw his breast shaking,
his throat moving as if he were swallowing rising sobs. Silence fell,
broken only by the creaking boards in the next room, the clucking of a
busy hen in the yard, the chirping of little chickens, the thwacking of
an ax at a wood-pile not far away. Tobe turned his face from her. She
saw him stealthily wiping his eyes on a soiled handkerchief.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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