Luda, the occult girl : a romance

Chapter I A Stranger In A Strange Land

On a Sunday morning in the year of grace 1840, while the air rang with the mocking-bird’s triumphant tribute to awakening day, a timid knock was heard upon the galleried door of a cottage by the roadside in an out-of-the-way parish not many miles from New Orleans.

Within the cottage lived John Grey, a journeyman fruit-dryer, his wife and their infant son, Jack; as the knock was repeated, the sleeping child stirred.

''Hush !” said the mother, tiptoeing to the door.

A woman stood on the threshhold. "Puis-je entrer?” she asked feebly.

"Come in,” responded Temp^ Grey, drawing within the warmth and protection of southern hospitality the unknown guest whose sombre garment, dropping in graceful folds to the feet, served to emphasize the pallor of a beautiful face characterized by the majesty of some tragic experience.

The stranger was gently led to a seat. Her brown eyes turned pleadingly upward, the lids trembled, a brilliant flush o’erspread her wan cheek, as she half- whispered :

Mrs. Grey uttered a startled cry when, lifting the shawl, the woman disclosed a wasted, half-clothed infant

LUDA

In a moment the small household was bustling with excited interest. The fruit-dryer's ready proffers of aid as well as his wife's words, “Poor, dear lady!" fell upon almost deafened ears, so weary and heartsore was the young mother who, with closed eyes sobbed a prayer in her own tongue as she resigned her child to be fed and warmed near the great wood-fire over which hung a singing kettle.

From an old chest in the corner, as if by magic, came baby clothes, a soft, fluffy blanket with the odor of spearmint upon it and a pair of faded socks ; but no question disturbed the grief-stricken, woman, for the Greys knew well that in good time her story would be forthcoming.

A week or more passed. One evening, as twilight's hush fell upon that peaceful wayside home and both children were sleeping, the woman told her story in broken French of which Mrs. Grey caught here and there quite enough to realize it was a sad one, and it was told none too soon, for only a few days thereafter pneumonia, following the dreadful cold brought on by exposure, was too much for her already weakened strength, and the young mother, unknown, unloved, “a stranger in a strange land," passed to the Great Beyond. The Greys buried her in the yard of the parish church of which Mrs. Grey's father was the pastor, placing above her grave a simple stone bearing — with the date — the name found written in her little prayer-book, “Luda Eugenie."

Chapter II The Big Sandy Valley

Within a stone’s throw of the parsonage stood the Grey cottage, and the motherless child became the pet of both homes. The few keepsakes, including the mother’s prayer-book, a pendant and a wedding ring, were put safely away for the little Luda when she should become old enough to value them. Meanwhile no word was spoken to indicate that she was other than the daughter of John and Tempe Grey.

At the death of Pastor Reardon, the widow went to reside with her daughter. A few years thereafter John Grey felt obliged to move to some other locality that he might find greater remuneration for his labors. After careful planning they journeyed northward to Ohio where they left Luda with Mr. Grey’s sister. Having heard of opportunities for one of his calling in the Kentucky- Virginia country, the fruit-dryer crossed the Ohio River where the valley of the Big Sandy with its grand orchards, its fertile farms and evident prosperity broke upon his vision.

Jack had grown to be a stalwart, manly chap, to whose thoughtful mind, great were the possibilities of the rolling country in and adjacent to this lovely valley, and he enthusiastically encouraged his father in his plans and labors.

Luda remained in Ohio until the home was ready, and when at length she arrived, her eyes sparkled with wonder and delight. Arm in arm, exchanging those happy confidences so dear to the hearts of the young, the brother and sister strolled leisurely to the river. The leaves rustled and fell about them;

LUDA the yellow cowslip and ox-eye daisies looked up and smiled, and the stream with its silver waves murmuring over pebble and shell, flowed languidly on.

Jack dipped his sunburned hand in the crystal water and lifting a few drops, tossed them at his sister, exclaiming, ‘‘In the name of the song-birds of the Virginias, sister, I christen thee Luda of the Big Sandy.'’

Across the valley rose the great Cumberland Mountains, their majestic slopes in the smoky distance covered with holly and pine. At the foothills the winding river was shaded by teeming orchards. Manned by slaves, boats laden with fruit and vegetables passed down the ceaseless current, the rhythmic cadences of the crews lingering on the balmy air.

All was mellow beauty — mature greens changing into darker hues of pines and tri-colored oak ; sweetgum trees taking on a thousand tints, and maples glowing golden in the sun.

“How beautiful !" exclaimed Luda, as, awestricken, her eyes dwelt upon the wonderful scene so new to one reared in a flat, mountainless country.

In the newly-built, double log cabin of the Greys Luda took her part in the housekeeping — spun and wove, churned, sewed and cooked, as was the wont of country girls. In the homes of the wealthy whose plantations lay to the north and south, tutors and governesses were employed, but this luxury did not fall to the lot of the Grey household.

Harvest was at hand, the season for gathering and drying fruit, for garnering grain. The orchards blushed with downy peaches and rosy apples, the great fields were vested in cotton, flax and corn.

An adept in his profession, John Grey's services were sought the length and breadth of the valley, and he had been engaged to superintend the crops of Colonel Howard, whose acres stretched along both sides of the winding river.

Amid the rush and whir of modern machinery to-day, the interest taken in the old-time methods of fruit-drying, can scarcely be understood. Neighbors came miles to watch its progress, and all ate, drank and were merry.

For the Howard gathering and drying a section of the rail fence enclosing the orchards had been removed, and through the opening, big, broad-horned oxen drew the burdened wagons. Their white teeth shining, their eyes dancing, the blacks vied with each other as they bore away huge baskets of cured fruit upon the cushions of their turbaned heads, the harvesting to them being more sport than work.

'LUDA