Kentucky folks and some others

Front matter

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

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V

Contents

Page.

How Mrs. Grafton Built Up the Plainville Church. 36 Old Memories ----- 52

A Summer’s Idyl - - - 65

CHAPTER I. “The tie so firmiy bound

Is torn asunder now;

How deep that sudden wrench may wound It recks not to avow.”

The season of blossoms had lingered in all its blushing beauty and fragrance, and now it was slowly “passing out the gates of May.” The warm south wind’s breath had long since come on the wings of the golden sunshine and stolen silently up the sloping sides of the Cumberland Mountains. It had kissed the violets and they had awakened from their winter’s sleep. The icy fetters of the turbid mountain streams had melted away, and on their moss-fringed margins, golden-crowned dandelions sprang into life and beauty. Star-eyed daisies, forgetful that the wooing breath of spring is sometimes treacherous, ventured forth and unfolded their snowy petals. The perfume of the May-flower, grape vine, crab-apple blossoms, and the trailing arbutus lingered in the air and was borne by the rambling zephyr over hill and dale. The grand laurel grew upon, the lofty mountain heights and in its branches sang the birds, allured thither by the approach of summer; or, in the cedar boughs they formed an orchestra, in which were mingled the joyous song of the mocking bird, the full, fresh notes of the thrush and the shrill whistle of the cardinal grosbeak, while from the dusky distance came distinctly clear the pathetic wail of the whip-poorwill, and all commingling made the rock-ribbed mountains echo with melody. Deep gorges, not unlike the canons of the far West, lay between precipitous mountains, and not infrequently a wild cat or a panther was found lurking among the cliffs and caverns.

To add to the weirdness of the scene, the low, sad music of the pines reverberated like a mournful chant over departed hopes.

Down in the valley, nestling close to the banks of the Cumberland river, lay the booming mountain town of Plantville. This young city, with its numerous church spires gleaming in the sunlight, its splendid system of waterworks, electric lights, and all modern improvements, had sprung up as by the touch of the magician’s wand, and, like a diamond set in emeralds, it lay surrounded on allsides by towering mountains.

The country around Plantville was a rugged part of the State, inhabited by a class of people whose manners and customs were in keeping with the general character of their native laud. They cultivated such things as their small farms on the mountain sides would produce. They raised chickens and vegetables and by means of small marketing managed to eke out a miserable existence at best. They were honest in their way, but firm believers in natural liberty, unhampered by the restrictions of law and were strongly set on the opinion that a man had a right to make and sell what he pleased; and this opinion, practically applied, not unfrequently resulted in the rout or apprehension of some illicit distiller of ^death’s beverage, better known as “mountain dew.”

Eastern capitalists had found this remote mountain town, and ere long, the great iron horse, with its shrill whistle, was awakening echoes from the mountain side and valleys. Treasures from depths were unearthed, rich ore found, mines put into operation and in a short time a steady flow of emigration poured into the valley, and Plantville was aroused from her lethargic existence into a booming town.

It was when Plantville was in the zenith of its glory that Senator Carlton, of New York, a capitalist deeply interested in the future of this thriving town, sent out his son, a youth of eighteen, as his agent. Hope Carlton was the only child of doting parents, and this separation was a great trial to both father and mother. But he had never been very strong and they believed the change from the city to the pure mountain air would bring him back to them robust and vigorous. Believing this, they were willing to undergo any deprivation to see their idol restored.

It was a bright morning, and the sun shone with dazzling splendor, as if heralding with joy the approaching month of roses. On the side of one of the less precipitous mountains stood a primitive log cabin with a little farm extending in the rear. The vine-clad porch and blooming roses told of culture and refinement.

Charity Parton had put the finishing touches to the arrangement of their little domicile and now she stood in the doorway ’neath the clambering vines. She was studying the landscape that spread out before her admiring eyes in a picture of more exquisite coloring than any artist could have given it. Far below, lay the youthful city so full of busy life; beyond, at the mountain’s base, winding in and out like a liquid band of silver, rolled the Cumberland river, and nearer, the great engine with its long train of heavily laden cars steamed onward; while over the river, over the mountains, hung the great cloud of mist, seeming at times to almost envelope Plantville in its folds.

But the mist w T as melting away before the sun’s ardent rays and ere long would be a thing of the past, only to gather again and hang like a mantle over the mountain peaks on the following morning. So often had she watched this cloud of mist that it seemed interwovtn in her life. So often had she seen it come and go, sometimes rosy with the morning sun, then silvery like a bridal veil , and again dark and lowering. So many fancies had she interwoven with this cloud that it seemed to her a story. She was wholly unconscious, this mountain girl, “worshiping nature through nature’s God,” of the artistic picture she was making, and her voice burst out in the wildest, most joyous melody.

Hope Carlton, who had been out for a morning ramble, stood at the gate enjoying in all its loveliness the picture framed in such a net-work of beauty. The same voice he had heard echoing among the rocks and hills in his prospecting tours. Sometimes it seemed so near, then again far away and so soft and sweet. But when this outburst of melody greeted him in the words he had listened to so often, he knew that the voice he had learned to love and this were one and the same. “My mountain sprite, at last,” he thought; “and how lovely! She is as beautiful as the voice that has haunted my night and day dreams.”

But her quick ear had caught the click of the gatelatch, and the song died on her lips as she saw a stranger standing before her. A tall, fair-faced, sunny-haired youth it was whose laughing, blue eyes greeted her as he deferentially raised his hat and said :

“Whom have I the honor of meeting? The goddess of the mountain mists, or the weird mountain nymph, who by her siren voice casts a spell over all who come within its sound?”

“Neither, sir! I am simply Charity Parton, the mountain girl, as the new-comers call me in Plantville. And you are — ?”

“Hope Carlton, one of the‘boomers, ’ you might say, of that same town,” he laughingly replied. “I called to get a drink of water, and, with your permission, will rest awhile. I am not very athletic, having lived all my life in the city, and it will take me sometime to get used to roughing it.”

“Oh, certainly; come in and rest as long as you like. We are not often honored by so distinguished a visitor, especially a ‘boomer;’ ” and she laughed at the idea of that delicate form and effeminate face being characterized as a “boomer.” “I will go at once,” she said, “and not keep you waiting. Our spring water is very cool, and, perhaps, will refresh you.”

She went for the water and, on returning, found that the stranger had thrown himself down on a rustic seat and was enjoying the freshness and balminess of the morning. He arose, and, taking the proffered gourd, which he handled with care, having never seen anything so quaint, drank the cooling beverage; but no prince, in fairy stories, sipping the nectar of the gods from a golden goblet, ever felt so highly favored as this young New Yorker in his romantic surroundings, and no society belle had ever thrilled him as did this simple mountain girl. Thanking her he said :

“It is so delightful here, I do not wonder that you sing so joyous and free.”

“Do you really like our home?” she asked. “I think it is the sweetest place on earth, if only sorrow had never drooped her wings over us.”

“Then you have known sorrow.”

“My mother — I have no mother, ”and her eyes filled with tears. “Do you see the marble yonder?” and she pointed towards a small enclosure. “My mother sleeps there. We are all alone now, my father and myself.”

“You have lonely hours sometimes then?”

“Yes, very often, but I go to my mother’s grave and she does not seem far away.”

“Will you allow me to come and join you in your walks to that sacred spot? Perhaps we could cheer each other. I am away from my mother, too.”

“Oh! I would enjoy and appreciate your calls very much if you think I could make it pleasant for you.”

“I assure you it will be a very sweet rest for me, away from my business cares,” and he arose to go.

“I fear you are not sufficiently rested to make the descent,” she said. “The nearer way is very steep.”

“Thank you, I am much refreshed and am provided with a staff, sol presume I will make it in safety, unless I am again charmed by a siren’s voice.”

He bade her adieu and went on his way bearing her image in his heart, while she returned to her work with a love-song on her lips that echoed and re-echoed throughout the humble cot.

Charity Parton was very beautiful, with her dark, gypsyish face, rich olive complexion, and purplish-black hair that clustered in curls about her face and hung below her waist. Her eyes were very dark with a world of expression in their liquid depth 3, and her cheeks were of a rich carmine tint. She was educated, too, far above those by whom she was surrounded. Her mother and father were Virginians by birth, and had once been very prosperous, but a stroke of adversity had come, and with it they came to Kentucky ; and, finding land cheap, they bought a small farm and settled where we find them. Mrs. Parton’s health was very delicate, and they hoped a few years residence in this healthful region would restore her. There hopes were realized for awhile, but, as the years went by, she began to decline, and, with deep grief, Charity and her father knew that their loved one was passing away. She was spared long enough, however, to instill her own noble principles into her daughter’s heart, and to see her educated by her own teaching, and ripening into beautiful womanhood. Then with her dying blessing lingering on her lips, one hand clasped in that of her husband, the other resting on Charity’s head, she sank sweetly to sleep. They laid her to rest on the mountain side, and the bereaved ones returned to their desolate home, feeling that one link of their life was broken.

Reverses and death had chilled Mr. Parton’s hopes and aspirations. Their life, so different here from the life he had known in Virginia, seemed now to fully satisfy him. But with Charity it was different. She was young; life had some claims on her, and often she stood wondering about the great w^orld beyond the long line of blue hills.

But Hope Carlton’s coming had awakened new hopes, new dreams. True to his promise, he came again and often, and love wove golden threads in the web of their lives and sang happy songs in their hearts. This was Hope’s first love, and no thought of deceiving Charity Parton ever entered his mind. He was eighteen, she only sixteen — so young, too, to have learned the sweet and bitter lessson of love’s young dream. Month’s had sped oh, and the two lover’s lived only in each other’s presence. It was heaven to be united, death to be parted. They had plighted their troth and were soon to be united in marriage. But one thing now prevented their perfect happiness, and Hope pondered day and night over what would be the best course to pursue. His mother was a proud, strong-willed woman. He had never gone against that iron will in all his life, and he very well knew that it would be death to his hopes should she know of his approaching marriage. If Charity knew of his mother’s great opposition to his marriage with a poor girl she would die sooner than marry him, for she, too, was proud and would enter no family in which she would not be received on equal footing, as a daughter. What was he to do? Here was a dilemma, either horn of which he took would be fatal to his desires. If his mother knew it, he would lose Charity, and he could not explain to Charity, for by so doing he would be doubly sure to lose her, so in anguish of spirit he resolved to be true to himself and to her whom he loved. So they were quietly married, Mr. Parton giving them his sanction and blessing.

Oh! the days and months of happiness in that peaceful mountain home. Together they wandered over hill and dale. Together they read and dreamed bright dreams of the future. Charity always met her young husband far down the mountain path, and, with her ;arm linked in his, together they would slowly wend their way homeward. A year of perfect happiness had gone by and not a cloud had dawned upon their horizon, and now their cup was filled to the brim and running over with happiness. A little girl babe nestled in Charity’s arms, with Hope’s eyes, Hope’s mouth and his sunny hair.

“We will call her Lourline, that was my mother’s name,” said Charity. So little Lourline, as she grew in beauty became the queen of the household. Mr. Parton, even, seemed to awake from his listless state into new hopefulness and cheer, for the sake of his bright little granddaughter.

Almost two years had gone by since Hope Carlton had left New York, and only once had he been home since he came to Plantville, and that was before his marriage. Lourline was now almost a year old and Hope seemed proud of his beautiful wife and child. He would often say that he wished his father could see little Lourline, but Charity did not ask why he never expressed any wish to take them to see his home folks. But she knew Hope loved them ; her life centered in him, and she cared for nothing else.

It was May again, just two years since she stood in the vine-covered porch singing glad anthems of praise and making a picture that won for her the idol of her life. She now stood at the gate with little Lourline clasped in her arms, watching her young husband go down the narrow path. His kisses were fresh on their lips and little Lourline caught his backward glances and threw out her little hand, crying “bye-bye.” Why did Charity’s mind go back to that May morning long ago, and why did she unconsciously look toward the cloud of mist that still hovered over the mountain peaks?

Oh! Charity Parton? Charity Parton! you may well gaze on the cloud of mist with awe, for ere another day dawns upon you a cloud darker than you have ever known, will, indeed, fall across your threshold and shut out your happy young life.

“Young love’s first dream,

A dream indeed unreal, shadowy, brief,

Is done and ended.”

CHAPTER II. “A most portentious trial awaits thee now.”

When Charity could no longer see her husband she retraced her steps, and, placing little Lourline in her chair, set about her duties.

Hope Carlton went down the mountain side whistling a merry tune, thinking of all men, he certainly was the happiest. Little did he dream of the cloud that was gathering, nor how soon it would overcast his life-sky. All day his heart seemed thrilled with happiness that was the outgrowth of perfect contentment. But just before the arrival of the evening train he was startled out of his peaceful self-composure. A telegram was handed him, and with great surprise he read :

“Coming to see you on the 7:30 train.

Mother.”

If a thunderbolt had burst from a cloudless sky upon him he could not have been more astonished. His mother was coming and all would be known now. What could he do? Nothing seemed clear to him but to brave it out like an honorable man. He had just time to thrust the despatch iato his pocket, for already the train had whistled, and on he hurried to the depot to meet his molher.

Mrs. Carlton seemed greatly rejoiced to meet her son, and complimented him on his good looks and healthful, robust appearance. He conducted her to the hotel, which was soon reached, and left her in the parlor. While they were making ready her room, he went to see after her baggage. No sooner had Hope’s footsteps died away than one of the lady boarders entered. “You are Mr. Hope Carlton’s mother?”she began.

“I have that honor,” replied Mrs. Carlton.

The lady boarder being very found of gossip, especially enjoyed being the bearer of startling news, and plunged at once into an animated conversation.

“Your first visit to Plantville, is it not?” she asked Mrs. Carlton.

“My very first, and quite a long trip it is, too, but I could wait no longer to see my boy ; he seems so happy here I was fearful he would forget us entirely.”

“I do not wonder he seems so happy here,” answered the lady, and continuing, “1 presume you had a great desire to see your son’s wife and child? They are both very beautiful.”

“My son’s wife and child!” said Mrs. Carlton, rising to her feet. “My son’s wife and child? My son is not married; you are mistaken, madam.”

“Indeed, I am not; he has been married quite two years, and Charity Parton, the mountain girl, is his wife.”

She could see what effect her words were having; could see how the proud woman paced the floor and clinched her hands in her anger, and secretly the gossiping woman was enjoying the scene she was causing, but she had politeness enough to retire when she heard Hope Carlton’s footsteps.

Hope entered the room in his own happy way, with some joyous expression on his lips, but one glance at his mother told him that he had been betrayed.

She sprang toward him with all the fierceness of an enraged tigress, and seizing his arms held them in a death-like grasp, while she hissed, rather than spoke :

“Say it is false! Say that you are not married to Charity Parton, the mountain girl? Say it is false, or I will still the very life-blood in your veins!”

Hope closed his eyes to shut out that terrible vision before him. And she was his mother, his mother whom he had not seen for many long months.

“Release me,” he finally said, “and I will tell you all about it.”

Her arms dropped to her side and he took a step back. Looking into her angry eyes he said: “Yes, mother, it is true. I am married to the truest, purest, sweetest woman on earth, and her name was Charity Parton. She is a mountain girl and as beautiful as a dream of heaven. She is educated, and her only sin, you would call it a sin, is that she was poor. We have a lovely little girl. Now, my mother,” and he knelt at her feet, “on bended knee I plead with you ; will you not receive my darlings into your family? Will you not let Charity be your daughter?”

“Charity! What a name!” and she laughed in scorn. “Typical of a mountain character, I suppose. What would we do with Charity Parton in New York circles? The idea is preposterous. Arise, my son; you are mine still and all the Charity Partons on earth shall not take you from me. You shall never see this low-born woman and her child again. Do you hear me ! My words are law; you shall return home with me to-morrow. Your father shall send out another agent, and your life in Plantville shall be a thing of the past.”

‘‘Oh, mother, mother! What are you doing? What do you mean? Would you break my heart, blight my life, destroy my hopes? I must see my wife and child again. You cannot, you shall not, keep me here,” and he started toward the door, but she intercepted him and locked it.

“You shall never see her again, I repeat it, I repeat it. You are mine, you are under my control, and I would leave for New York this moment if there was a train, but, unfortunately, I must wait till morning. You shall goto my room and spend the night,” she said as she answered a summons at the door.

“Your room is ready,” said the servant, “and I will show you to it.”

Hope preceded his mother to their room, and threw himself disconsolately on the couch. He could see Charity at the door watching for him, could see the long gray shadows gathering over the mountain path, and the smoke curling from the chimney of their mountain home. He could feel little Lourline’s arms about his neck and her kisses on his cheeks. Starting up wildly he cried:

“Mother for God’s sake let me go to my loved ones ! do not, I entreat you, if you love me as a mother ought to love her child, do not be so cruel.”

But she was deaf to his pleadings, and all night he paced the floor, guarded by that irate woman he called mother.

Charity, with little Lourline in her arms, watched for his coming at their trysting place down the mountain path. She watched and waited until the last sunbeam disappeared behind the mountain peaks, listening eagerly and starting up at every sound, hoping to be greeted by her husband. Twilight shadows gathered, the air became chill, and she shuddered at the thought of returning home without him she so loved. Even little baby Lourline seemed to feel the disappointment, and as they retraced their steps, she kept repeating “bye, bye.” How dismal it seemed around the fireside without him, and what had happened, she kept wondering, to detain him. He had never stayed from them this way before. But, surely, he would come ere long. Hours dragged slowly by, her father retired, and still she kept her lonely vigil, going to the door, to the gate, and listening, oh, so eagerly, for the footsteps that never came.

A presentiment of coming sorrow seemed to gather around her heart and sadly she lay down by the side of her sleeping babe, but sleep came not to those weary eyelids. When the first gray dawn of morning began to peep through the casement, she arose almost prostrated with the nervous dread of something going to happen.

Poor Hope, weary and heart-sick, just as daylight began to break over the town, threw himself on the bed that had been untouched all night and dropped into a deep sleep.

Mrs. Carlton, assuring herself that he was not likely to awaken very soon, stole silently out of the room, locked the door, and gave orders that her son was to be left undisturbed. She procured a carriage and driver and drove rapidly toward the mountain cabin.

Charity, still watching for her husband, heard the approaching wheels, and saw a carriage stop at the gate and an elegantly dressed lady alight. “Who could it be? Did she bring news of Hope?” were her thoughts. Her father had gone out on the farm to attend to something, and baby was asleep. The lady came toward the house, and stood in the door of the sacred, vine-clad porch.

•‘You are Charity Parton?” said the lady.

“Charity Carlton,” answered the girl, “and oh, tell me, do you bring me news of Hope?”

The woman entered the room where lay the sleeping child so beautiful in its innocence. For a moment a wave of tenderness seemed to sweep her heart-strings, and she gazed on the exquisite beauty of the mother and child, and the sanctuary seemed too holy to be desecrated. But the old, bitter hatred of poverty came back, jealousy that another should hold her son’s heart, jealous of the wee darling, perhaps then guarded by angels. Hatred shone in her eyes as she said:

“No, not Charity Carlton, if you please; Charity Parton, now and forever. I give you back your name, and do not dare to ever call yourself Charity Carlton again. Yes, I have news of Hope Carlton ; he is sleeping as sweetly at the hotel in Plantville as if he had never seen or heard of the low-born mountain girl who has ensnared him into her harem.”

Charity’s breath came quick and fast ; all the proud blood of centuries coursed through her veins and mantled her cheeks, and in scornful tones she asked :

“Who are you, woman, that you dare address Hope Carlton’s wife in such terms?”

“I am Hope Carlton’s proud, unrelenting mother, and I have come to sever the bonds between you. In his weakness he yielded to your charms, but he now sees in its true light, the enormity of such a degrading aliiance and returns with me to New York, to forget this one error of his young life. We leave on the first train this morning and you will never look on his face again. Go back to your true name, Charity Parton, and be content with your humble sphere, and never try to soar above your station again. To think that such a low-born creature would come between me and mine, would try to blast my fondest hopes. Oh! I want to break your heart piecemeal.”

“You have accomplished your purpose, madam, not piecemeal, but at one fatal stroke,” said Charity, staggering back. “You are taking from me my very life, but if he loves me no more you may take him and welcome, only tell him for me that Charity Parton sets him free ; he has broken her heart and she longs for nothing now but death.”

“Rest assured, miss, the love you basked in so long was only felt when under your baleful influence. The spell is broken now and you have no claims on him. Remember your are Charity Parton now and forever. Ah ! there is still a tie,” she said sneeringly, taking a step toward the sleeping child, “and I had best take that, too. Only a tie to bind my son to this hated life, if I take that every link will be broken.”

All the fierceness of Charity’s nature shone out in that supreme moment. Springing toward the bed, she took the child in her arms, clasped it to her bosom, and 6aid in tones wherein were blended, pathos, hopelessness, and scorn :

“You can take your child, madam, but you cannot take mine. Lourline is all that is left me now, and only with my life can she be taken. She is henceforth Lourline Parton. I would scorn to wear the name of a man who would desert his wife and child, and I am sure my beautiful darling shall never wear his name.” Oh! how proudly she drew herself up, and her velvety eyes, moist with unshed tears, shone like diamonds. “You have come,” she continued, “like a great wave of darkness, aud left me hopeless and aimless, but there is a God above who is the God, too, of Charity Parton, the poor mountain girl. I look to him ; he says, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay.’ ”

Mrs. Carlton quailed before the proud, defiant gaze of the peerless looking woman who stood before her, clasping the babe to her bosom, and she w T ent out of the house noiselessly, got into her carriage and drove away. Hope was still sleeping when his mother returned, but she aroused him to eat breakfast, and make ready for their journey. He got up in a dazed sort of wav, and, leaving his breakfast untouched, only did what she told him and nothing more. He made no remonstrance at anything she suggested, and said no more of his wife and child.

Soon the train was due and mother and son were on board, speeding on toward their destination. Only once did Hope seem to manifest any interest in anything, and that was when Plantville was disappearing from view. He looked toward the mountain where nestled the lowly cabin home of Charity Parton ; tears rolled down his cheeks and he bowed his head on the back of the seat while convulsive sobs broke his frame.

His mother sat by his side unmoved, and bearing on her cDuntenance only a cold, merciless expression. She thought his grief was only that of a child, poignant, indeed, at present, but that change of scene and the association with his former friends would soon cause him to forget those he was leaving. Yes, she even believed that in a short time he would see how utterly out of unison with their surroundings such a marriage was and that he would blush at the remembrance of his youthful indiscretion.