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CHAPTER IV

Andy went about doing his duty that day with a nervousness that kept him from doing anything right. Knowing about the hour she would return from Big Sewell that evening, he watched and was determined to continue the conversation of that morning.

The sun had set when he saw her going over the turnpike just before the point when she would turn off into the lane that led to her home in the Pines. He hurriedly mounted his horse and rode through an opening in the rock fence behind the Tyree Tavern into the lane just as Molly reached the same location.

Reining her horse to a standstill, sarcastically she demanded, “Where do you think you are going?”

“I would like to ride all the way home with you, Molly, I—”

“No!” she protested. “I’d just as soon you dragoons did not know where I live. Good-bye.”

Taking hold of Black Demon’s bridle to keep the horse from advancing farther, Andy calmly replied, “But that’s just the point. Some of them do know where you live, and because they do, I want to know myself. They know your two niggers live a distance out back in a shanty and that you are alone and unprotected. I am afraid for you. I am fearful—Molly, that’s the God’s truth. If anything should happen, I need to know how to get there without losing any time. So I insist on going all the way.”

She intensely searched his face before she answered. “You have a good, honest face, and I admit that you are a convincing talker. Surely you would not tell me these things if they were not true. I believe you, Sergeant, and I’m going to trust you. Come on.”

Together they rode down the lane over the brow of a small hill, down a gentle slope to the mountain home where Molly lived.

There it was, not ostentatious, a little snow-white cabin[1] framed by two high hemlock trees standing on each side of the lane. The yard, enclosed by a wood picket fence, dotted with more than a dozen cone-shaped pine trees. The pickets were whitewashed to blend with the cabin, as white and clean looking as a new fallen snow. Between the two large hemlock trees that also served as corners of the front yard ran the white picket fence, with a small oval-top swinging gate in the center. From the gate a small flower-bordered path led up to the front porch of the cabin. The cabin was elevated two steps high off the ground on stone pieces. The fence framed the cabin, extending up each side and around back, meeting another oval-top gate a few yards from the kitchen porch.

Along the left side of the fence, a small lane continued back to four well-kept outbuildings. To the right of the outbuildings, maybe seventy yards back, stood a smaller white cabin, the quarters for Rubin and Rachel. To the immediate rear of the outbuildings and at the foot of a cliff stood a small log springhouse. From within the spring flowed constantly and abundantly to deliver the purest, coolest water that was piped down beside the lane, filling to overflowing a log watering trough that sat close by the white picket fence just a few yards from the back porch.

The cabin was not elaborate, but it was inviting, and the setting was excitingly beautiful. There were five rooms, divided by a hall running through the center of the house from the front to the back porches. The back porch was L-shaped, serving the hall and kitchen door.

There were three big outside stone chimneys, one at each end of the house, and Virginia creepers grew and vined upward on each one.

The kitchen looked as if it were a smaller square cube, with a chimney on one end that had been set to one side and joined into a large square cube. In the kitchen were a large fireplace and a long, narrow table with jars and crocks sitting on its top. There were several cast-iron pots in and around the fireplace.

The room adjoining the kitchen was the eating area. Table and chairs were in place. There were windows on the two outside walls. On one wall on each side of the window were cabinets with dishes carefully arranged in them. Under the window on the opposite wall stood a quilting frame holding a half-finished quilt.

The room forward of the eating area was a sitting room. There was a high-backed, wood-framed, and stuffed couch with two or three tables and a few chairs. The floor was wood and different from the other rooms. It was constructed of small narrow strips of beech wood drawn tightly together, nearly white and highly polished. In one corner was a stone fireplace joining a similar one, back-to-back, in the dining area.

The door from the sitting room opened into the hall. A door opened to the front and back porches. Exiting the hall to the back porch, to the left, a stairway led up to the loft.

Across the hall were two bedrooms. In each a corner, fireplaces were back-to-back where the partition separated the two bedrooms.

Molly and Sergeant Yates slackened rein as they rode up to the watering trough, thus allowing the horses to drink.

“So this is the place?” remarked Andy as his eyes surveyed the scene before him.

“Yes. How do you like it?” asked Molly.

“I like it. I think it is beautiful. It is so wonderful. I think I could live here forever.”

“That’s because you have never lived here, Sergeant. Life is hard and terrible lonely in the mountains. After my mother died, before the damn war, for two summers I visited relatives in Richmond, Boston, Washington, and Philadelphia. Since that time, I have wished for the city. Well, I guess we always want the things we do not have. You must be from the city. By the way, where is your home, Sergeant?”

“In Chicago,” Andy replied. “I was born and raised there. My father is a merchant and a banker. My parents are rich. I’m the only child and I-I-I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. They lavished me with a good education and everything else. They petted and humored me till I-I—well, I’m no more than a spoiled baby. I’ve had everything, traveled everywhere, seen everything, and tried about everything at least once. But one day I realized I was not happy. It convinced me that I had an empty life where someone was always doing for me or telling me what to do. I ran away from home and enlisted in the Gray Dragoons, which is the only thing I have ever done on my own. My parents don’t know where I am. Fact is, I haven’t cared much lately until I saw you, and it’s been different. You’ve been like a dream to a dying man.”

“A dream!” she shouted. “You’ve said it quite well, Sergeant. I’m the only girl you have probably seen for months. A dying man will grab at anything, you know. I understand. The dream would quickly fade when you are back in greener pastures.”

“Molly, that’s not right. You’re different. I’ve never seen a girl like you before,” Andy responded with a slight command in his voice.

Molly’s lip curled in a slight smile. She looked suspiciously at him.

“What do you know about me, Mr. Yates?” she asked, with a note of sarcasm in her voice. “Now listen and listen good. We’ve only spoken once before. You are either touched in the head, or you are deceitful. I think you’re devious. I’m only a mountain girl. But let me tell you, I know something of the other world. I’ve had a fairly good education. I’ve traveled a little and have a moderately good library. I know more about life than you give me credit for knowing, sir, and my legs don’t spread like butter.”

Molly’s words were cutting and the sergeant was deeply hurt, but he responded, “Before I leave here, Molly, I hope to have a chance to prove my sincerity. I-I-only wish—”

The sentence was not completed because of a sudden burst of gunfire from the direction of the turnpike and south of the old inn.

Swiftly Andy mounted, wheeled his horse, and galloped up the lane. As he passed the fence in front of the house, he faintly heard Molly call, “What’s that?”

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1

The cabin and buildings were still standing in 1933 when I last visited. They were not white anymore. They had weathered and rotted. Rachel and Rubin’s cabin had collapsed on one end. The outbuildings were falling down. The cabin, with its twin fireplaces and chimneys, was still livable. The springhouse and watering trough were gone. They carried water from the spring, which was still flowing, abundant and cool.