Martin Pippin in the Apple Orchard (13 page)

Then in a trice the dancers all lost breath, and the dance parted as they staggered aside; and at the door of the shed Young Gerard stood, and gazed through the broken revel at little Thea, and she stood gazing at him. And behind and above him, along the walls of the hut, and over the doorway, and making lovely the very roof, she saw a cloud of snowwhite blossom.

Somebody cried, "Here's a boy. He shall dance too. Boy, is there drink within?"

The others took up the clamor. "Drink! bring us something to drink!"

"The red grape!" cried one.

"The yellow grape!" cried another.

"The sap of the apple!"

"The juice of the pear!"

"Nut-brown ale!"

"The spirit that burns!"

"Bring us drink!" they cried in a breath.

"Will you have milk?" said Young Gerard.

At this the company burst into a roar of laughter. They laughed till they rocked. But when they were silent little Thea spoke. She said in a faint clear voice:

"I would like a cup of milk."

Young Gerard went into the hut and came out with his wooden cup filled with milk, and brought it to her, and she drank. None spoke or moved while she drank, but when she gave him the cup again one of the crew said chuckling, "Now she has drunk, now she's merrier. Try her again, Rough, try her on milk!"

Again the night reeled with their laughter. They surrounded the wedded pair crying, "Kiss her! kiss her! kiss her!" Then the Rough Master of Coates pulled her round to him, dark with anger, and tried to kiss her. But she turned sharply in his arms, bending her head away. And despite his force, and though he was a man and she little more than a child, he could not make her mouth meet his. And the laughter of the guests rose higher, and infuriated him.

Then he who had spoken before said, "By Hymen, the bride should kiss something. If the lord's not good enough, let her kiss the churl!" At this the revelers, wild with delight, beat on their trenchers and shouted, "Ay, let her!"

And suddenly they surged in, parting Thea from the Rough; while some pulled him back others dragged Young Gerard forward, till he stood where the bridegroom had stood; and in that seething throng of mockery he felt her clinging helplessly to him, and his arm went round her.

"Kiss him! kiss him! kiss him!" cried the guests.

She looked up pitifully at him, and he bent his head. And she heard him whisper:

"My cherry-tree's in flower."

She whispered, "Yes."

And they kissed each other.

Then the tumult of laughter passed all bounds, so that it was a wonder if it was not heard at Combe Ivy; and the guests clashed their trenchers one against another, and whirled their torches till the sparks flew, yelling, "The bride's kiss! Ha, ha! the bride's kiss!"

But the Rough Master of Coates had had enough; snarling like a mad dog he thrust his way through the crowd on one side, as Old Gerard, seeing his purpose, thrust through on the other, and both at the same instant fell on the boy, the one with his scabbard, the other with his staff.

"Kisses, will ye?" cried the Rough Master of Coates, "here's kisses for ye!"

"Ha, ha!" cried the guests, "more kisses, more kisses for him that kissed the bride!"

And then they all struck him at once, kicking and beating him without mercy, till he lay prone on the earth. When he had fallen, the Rough shouted, "Away to the Wildbrooks, away!"

And he seized Thea in his arms, and rushed along the brow of the hill, and all the company followed in a confusion, and were swallowed up in the night.

But Young Gerard raised himself a little, and groaned, "The Wildbrooks--are they going to the Wildbrooks?"

"Ay, and over the Wildbrooks," said Old Gerard.

"But they're in flood," gasped Young Gerard. "They'll never cross it in the spring floods."

"They'll manage it somehow. The Rough--did you see his eyes when you--? ho, ho! he'll cross it somehow."

"He can't," the boy muttered. "The April tide's too strong. He will drown in the flood."

"And she," said Old Gerard.

"Perhaps she will swim on the flood," said Young Gerard faintly. And he sighed and sank back on the earth.

"Ay, you'll be sore," chuckled the old man. "You had your salve before you had your drubbing. Lie there. I must be gone on business."

He took up his staff and went down the hill for the last time to Combe Ivy, to purchase his freedom.

But Young Gerard lay with his face pressed to the turf. "And that was the bridegroom," he said, and shook where he lay.

"Young shepherd," said a voice beside him. He looked up and saw the hooded crone, come out of the hut. "Why do you water the earth?" said she. "Have not the rains done their work?"

"What work, dame?"

"You've as fine a cherry in flower," said she, "as ever blossomed in Gay Street in the season of singing and dancing."

"Singing and dancing!" he cried, his voice choking, and he sprang up despite his pains. "Don't speak to me, dame, of singing and dancing. You're old, like the withered branch of a tree, but did you not see with your old eyes, and hear with your old ears? Did you not see her come up the green hillside with singing and dancing? Oh, yes, my cherry's in flower, like a crown for a bride, and the spring is all in movement, and the birds are all in song, and she--she came up the hillside with singing and dancing."

"I saw," said the crone, "and I heard. I'm not so old, young shepherd, that I do not remember the curse of youth."

"What's that?" he said moodily.

"To bear the soul of a master in the body of a slave," said she; "to be a flower in a sealed bud, the moon in a cloud, water locked in ice, Spring in the womb of the year, love that does not know itself."

"But when it does know?" said Young Gerard slowly.

"Oh, when it knows!" said she. "Then the flower of the fruit will leap through the bud, and the moon will leap like a lamb on the hills of the sky, and April will leap in the veins of the year, and the river will leap with the fury of Spring, and the headlong heart will cry in the body of youth, I will not be a slave, but I will be the lord of life, because--"

"Because?" said Young Gerard.

"Because I will!"

Young Gerard said nothing, and they sat together in a long silence in the darkness, and time went by filling the sky with stars.

Now as they sat the hilltop once more began to waver with shadows and voices, but this time the shadows came on heavy feet and weary, and the voices were forlorn. One feebly cried, "Hola!" And round the belt of trees straggled the rout that had left them an hour or so earlier. But now they were sodden and dejected, draggled and woebegone, as sorry a spectacle as so many drowned rats.

"Fire!" moaned one. "Fire! fire!"

"Who's burning?" said Young Gerard, and got quickly on his feet; but he did not see the two he looked for.

"None's burning, fool, but many are drowning. Do we not look like drowned men? How shall we ever get back to Combe Ivy, and warmth and drink and comforts? Would we were burning!"

"What has happened?" the boy demanded.

"We went in search of the ferry," he said, "but the ferry was drowned too."

"We couldn't find the ferry," said a second.

"No," mumbled a third, "the river had drunk it up. Where there were paths there are brooks, and where there were meadows, lakes."

The miserable crew broke out into plaints and questions--"Have you no fire? have you no food? no coverings?"

"None," said Young Gerard. "Where is the bride?"

"Have you do drink?"

"Where is the bride?"

"The groom stumbled," said one. "Let us to Combe Ivy, in comfort's name. There'll be drink there."

He staggered down the hill, and his fellows made after him. But Young Gerard sprang upon one, and gripped him by the shoulder and shook him, and for the third time cried:

"Where is the bride?"

"In the water," he answered heavily, "because--there was--no wine."

Then he dragged himself out of the boy's grasp, and fell down the hill after his companions.

Young Gerard stood for one instant listening and holding his breath. Suddenly he said, "My lost lamb, crying on the hills." He ran into the shed and looked about, and snatched from the settle the green and cherry cloak, and from the wall the crystal and silver lantern. He struck a spark from a flint and lit the wick. It burned brightly and steadily. Then he ran out of the shed. The old woman rose up in his path.

"That's a good light," said she, "and a warm cloak."

"Don't stop me!" said Young Gerard, and ran on. She nodded, and as he vanished in one direction, she vanished in the other.

He had not run far when he saw one more shadow on the hills; and it came with faltering steps, and a trembling sobbing breath, and he held up his lantern and the light fell on Thea, shivering in her wet veil. As the flame struck her eyes she sighed, "Oh, I can't see the way--I can't see!"

Young Gerard hurried to her and said, "Come this way," and he took her hand; but she snatched it quickly from him.

"Go, man!" she said. "Don't touch me. Go!"

"Don't be frightened of me," said Young Gerard gently.

Then she looked at him and whispered, "Oh--it is you--shepherd. I was trying to find you. I'm cold."

Young Gerard wrapped the cloak about her, and said, "Come with me. I'll make you a fire."

He took her back to the shed. But she did not go in. She crouched on the ground under the cherry-tree. Young Gerard moved about collecting brushwood. They scarcely looked at each other; but once when he passed her he said, "You're shivering."

"It's because I'm so wet," said Thea.

"Did you fall in the water?"

She nodded. "The floods were so strong."

"It's a bad night for swimming," said Young Gerard.

"Yes, shepherd." She then said again, "Yes." He could tell by her voice that she was smiling faintly. He glanced at her and saw her looking at him; both smiled a little and glanced away again. He began to pile his brushwood for the fire.

After a short pause she said timidly, "Are you sore, shepherd?"

"No, I feel nothing," said he.

"They beat you very hard."

"I did not feel their blows."

"How could you not feel them?" she said in a low voice. He looked at her again, and again their eyes met, and again parted quickly.

"Now I'll strike a spark," said Young Gerard, "and you'll be warm soon."

He kindled his fire; the branches crackled and burned, and she knelt beside the blaze and held her hands to it.

"I was never here by night before," she said.

"Yes, once," said Young Gerard. "You often came, didn't you, to gather flowers in the morning and to swim in the river at noon. But once before you were here in the night."

"Was I?" said she.

He dropped a handful of cones into her lap, throwing the last on the fire. She threw another after it, and smiled as it crackled.

"I remember," she said. "Thank you, shepherd. You were always kind and found me the things I wanted, and gave me your cup to drink of. Who'll drink of it now?"

"No one," he said, "ever again."

He went and fetched the cup and gave it to her. "Burn that too," said Young Gerard. Thea put it into the fire and trembled. When it was burned she asked very low, "Will you be lonely?"

"I'll have my sheep and my thoughts."

"Yes," said Thea, "and stars when the sheep are folded. The stars are good to be with too."

"Good to see and not be seen by," he said.

"How do you know they don't see you?" she asked shyly.

"One shepherd on a hill isn't much for the eye of a star. He may watch them unwatched, while they come and go in their months. Sometimes there aren't any, and sometimes not more than one pricking the sky near the moon. But to-night, look! the sky's like a tree with full branches."

Thea looked up and said with a child's laugh, "Break me a branch!"

"I'd want Jacob's Ladder for that," smiled Young Gerard.

"Then shake the tree and bring them down!" she insisted.

"Here come your stars," said Young Gerard. Suddenly she was enveloped in a falling shower, white and heavenly.

"The stars--!" she cried. "Oh, what is it?"

"My cherry-tree--it's in flower--" said Young Gerard, and his voice trembled. She looked up quickly and saw that he was standing beside her, shaking the tree above her head. And now their eyes met and did not separate. He put out his hand and broke a branch from the tree and offered it to her. She took it from him slowly, as though she were in a dream, and laid it in her lap, and put her face in her hands and began to cry.

Young Gerard whispered, "Why are you crying?"

Thea said, "Oh, my wedding, my wedding! Only last year I thought of the night of my wedding and how it would be. It was not with torchlight and shouting and wine, but moonlight and silence and the scent of wild blossoms. And now I know that it was not the night of my wedding I dreamed of."

"What did you dream of?" asked Young Gerard.

"The night of my first love."

"Thea," said Young Gerard, and he knelt beside her.

"And my love's first kiss."

"Oh, Thea," said Young Gerard, and he took her hands.

"Why did you not feel their blows?" she said. "I felt them."

Their arms went round each other, and for the second time that night they kissed.

Young Gerard said, "I've always wondered if this would happen."

And Thea answered, "I didn't know it would be you."

"Didn't you? didn't you?" he whispered, stroking her head, wondering at himself doing what he had so often dreamed of doing.

"Oh," she faltered, "sometimes I thought--it might--be you, darling."

"Thea, Thea!"

"When I came over the Mount to swim in the river, and saw you in the distance among your sheep, there was a swifter river running through all my body. When I came every April to ask for your cherry-tree, what did it matter to me that it was not in bloom? for all my heart was wild with bloom, oh, Gerard, my--lover!"

"Oh, Thea, my love! What can I give you, Thea, I, a shepherd?"

"You were the lord of the earth, and you gave me its flowers and its birds and its secret waters. What more could you give me, you, a shepherd and my lord?"