Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 May 1884 — THE SHADOW RENT. [ARTICLE]

THE SHADOW RENT.

BY SARA B. ROSE.

It was in the days of log cabins and mighty forests, of red men and of wolves; when the women spun and wove their own linens and tlannels; when the block schoolhouses did duty for churches as well as schools; and when the paring bee and husking frolic were the social events of the season, that Prudence Harrington sent around her younger brother, George, to iniorm the young people of Smoky Settlement that she was to have a paring bee the next Thursday evening. • The young fellow mounted a large white ox, which had been trained for a saddle-ox, and took a large concli shell tinder his arm, which was an heirloom in the family, handed down from some seafaring ancestor, and departed, riding first to one log-cabin and then to another, and inviting all that were single, from 15 to 25 years of age; for in those days “trundle-bed trash” and “old maids” and “baches” were classes of people with but very few rights. George’s method of .invitation was rather original, and consisted in bring ing his ox to an abrupt stop in front of the cabin door, and blowing a loud blast on his trumpet, which brought all the people, young and old, to the door," and then the invitation would be given without the young courier alighting from his novel steed. Hope and Mercy Anderson were spinning, each upon her little flax-wheel, in the large living room of their father’s log cabin, when the sonorous sound of George’s trumpet was heard, and Mercy jumped quickly up, regardless of the snarl into which her thread was being tangled, and ran quickly out of the ■door where George was sitting upon his patient ox. Hope followed more slowly, aud Mr. Anderson also peered out of the open door: “Prudence wants you to come to a paring bee at our house next Thursday evening. ” “Oh, my 1 ” exclaimed the lighthearted Mercy, almost dancing a jig. “It’s the first one this fall; of course we will come.” “Daughter, daughter,” remonstrated old Jeremiah Anderson, smiling, “do not be so giddy.” “We will accept the invitation with pleasure,” said Hope, in a more formal manner. “Who is going to be there, George?” asked Mercy. “All the young folks in the settlement,” answered George. “Then Mr. Devine is also invited?” went on Mercy. “Mercy!” exclaimed Hope, in a shocked voice, “how could you ask such a question ?” “Because I w-onld not give a continental to go if there were not going to be some people there with some life in them.” “Simon Goodenough will be there undoubtedly,” said her father, gravely, ■with a quiet suggestion in his tones. “Yes, every one of ’em is asked, Miss Mercy,” said George, with a droll glance sideways toward the lovely young belle of Smoky Settlement; and then he gave his quaint steed a cut with his whip and went galloping off •upon liis journey. “Mercy,” said the elder sister, with rebuke in her soft eyes, “I hope, if we go to Prudence’s paring bee, that you will conduct yourself in such a manner as to provoke no jealousies, least of all in the heart of Simon Goodenough. ” “What is Simon Goodenough to me? All I ask of him is to let me entirely alone, then I could have some peace of my life.” “Simon Goodenough is a most exemplary young man, and a minister’s ■son, and would be your own true lover forever; while William Devine is a stranger, a great lover of gaudy dress, and has even been known to dance among those who care not for that which is pure and good,” said Hope, flushing and her eyes kindling. “Then why don’t vou take the pious Simon yourself? And what if Will Devine is a stranger? We were strangers when we came to Smoky Settlement. What if lie does love gaudy clothes? So do I; and, oh! wouldn’t I like to dance if I only could get a chance.” “Ah! my daughter,” said the old man, sighing, “I fear you do not sufficiently reverence things that are truly religious.” “Father,” said Mercy, playfully, “what if I should prove to you that in my liking for Will Devine I reverenced things more religious than I would if I adored Simon Goodenough. ” “Ah, my daughter, I fear you could not succeed in that” “But l can, father; for if I worshiped

Mr. Devine, my worship would be Devine worship, while if it was Sime Goodenough, it would be only Goodenough worship.” And with this wicked speech she ran laughing back to her wheel. Hope looked at her father with frightened eyes at this daring speech, and the kind-hearted and religious old man came forward and patted her head, saying; “You are a good girl, Hope, a good girl, and you must add your prayers to mine, that your sister, my youngest darling, may be brought into the fold before it be too late.” The night of Prudence’s apple bee was % fine one, and all the b’oys and girls assembled to pare the bright red and golden apples and to quarter and string them ready for the large rack by the side of the fireplace. First and foremost among the merry maidens was Mercy An erson, who entered into the work as well as the amusement of the evening with the most lively zest. The girls commenced paring at five o’clock in the afternoon, and at seven the young men began to come in by twos and threes, clad in their stout homespun clothing, and each with his gun upon his shoulder and his knife in his belt. Conspicuous among these was Will Devine, who wore clothing of a better cut and material than the others; and his dark eyes and gentlemanly bearing were very different from those of the tow-headed and untutored sons of Smoky Settlement. Soon after the young men were comfortably seated there arose a strife among them, for the one who could peel an apple without breaking the peeling was given the liberty of throwing it around the neck of the girl he liked best, and claiming a kiss as a reward. The rivalry ran high among the young swains. Many an apple was carefully peeled, only to break just as the owner was sure of victory; but at lasi two young men were almost simultaneously successful, and they were Simon Goodenough and Will Devine. “I declare, they both have one, and at the same time, too,” cried out Prudence. “Which shall claim his forfeit first?” “We will give Mr. Goodenough the first chance,” modestly replied Mr. Devine. Simon darted a triumphant glance at the speaker, and advanced to the corner where Mercy sat industriously stringing apples. “Don’t hinder me,” she cried, iiiprly“Wal, I swan to man I will,” answered Simon. “Before you’ll put that thing around my neck, I’ll break it all to pieces,” said Mercy, defiantly. Simon continued to advance, and Mercy sprang to her feet, dropping all her strings of, apples, while the log cabin rang with merriment. “Don’t you dare to,” she cried, angrily, “I will, though,” answered Sime. But Mercy sprang forward unexpectedly, and seizing the apple parjng broke it into half a dozen pieces and stamped them under her feet. Sime stood, with the remnants in his hands, looking stupidly silly, until the layigh subsided and some one said: “ Well, Sime, you’ve lost your chance, and now, Will Devine, try your luck.” “I am almost disheartened by the bad luck of Mr. Goodenough,” said he. But Mercy gave him such a roguish glance that he appeared to take courage, and advanced to a group of young ladies who sat near Mercy, and was seemingly undecided which to choose, when suddenly, with a dexterous move, he threw it around the not unwdling Beck of pretty Mercy. Sime looked on, green with jealousy, while Mercy put up her lips and received a rousing salute, amid general laughter and clapping of hands. This was too much for poor Sime, and he took his hat and left the house, while Hope rose energetically from her seat and sat down by Mercy as if to keep her in order the rest of the evening. But love laughs at locksmiths, they say, and willful little Mercy departed that night under the escort of Will Devine, and Hope was obliged to accompany her, as no other gallant offered himself who possessed the necessary religious qualifications. The aged father had sat up for his daughters, and a bright fire burned in the fire-place, wdiich he had kept up for their comfort, and, after bidding Mr. Devine good-night, the three sat discussing the events of the evening, and Mercy was as usual receiving an indulgent scolding, when there was a hurried knock at the door and Will Devine’s voice called: “Let me in, in God’s name!” Never was human being turned from that door who called in that name, and Mr. Anderson opened the door to see Will Devine, dripping with blood, and with a huge knife in his hand. “ What is the matter, my young friend?” he asked in alarm. “ Some person sprang at me as I was going through the wood, and I struck at him with my knife, and I think wounded him, but I’m afraid I’m hurt in return.” “ludians,” whispered the girls as their father assisted the young man to a couch, aud their faces grew whiter when it was found that Devine had received a bad cut in the side, but which had not penetrated deep enough to be fatal. The old man dressed the wound, and the young man remained in the cabin, and after a little time be so won the heart of the old man that he consented to a marriage between him and his daughter, Mercy. The young girl was as happy as the day, and Hope, too, forgot her prejudice and looked upon Will in the light of a brother. When the young man was able to go out the three young people walked to the spot where Will had been attacked; but no signs could be seen of any struggle, and even on the morning after but a few drops of blood could be found. Mercy declared it to be the happiest day of her life, and Devine was almost as joyful as she; but little they dreamed of the fearful cloud that was soon to envelop them into its folds. When they entered the house they found the minister, Mr. Goodenough, the father of Simon, sitting there, with a terrible look of anger in liis face. “Young man,” said the preacher,

looking Devine in the face in the sternest manner, “have yon murdered my son ?” The young man turned white at the fearful question, and stammered out: “ I have no knowledge of yonr son, sir.” “ And yet,” said Goodenough, se- ; verely, “my son left Harrington’s | house on that night of the apple bee, and has never been heard of since. And you dragged yourself wounded and bleeding to this house, and say you j know not who was your foe. Nay, ! nay, young man, you know with whom ; you fought. Was it my son? And, . oh, where have you lain him ?” “ Sir,” answered Devine, “as I said before, I have no knowledge of your i son. I certainly met some being out- ! side this door, who stabbed me cruelly. : I drew my knife and freed myself; this is all I know. If it was your sou, he attacked me; and I have no knowledge of his whereabouts.” This was all Devine could say about it; and so there was no proof, only suspicion. There was no action taken in the matter, only the country round about was searched for a new-made grave; and the report went out that the two men had met, had quarreled, and that Devine had killed Goodenough and buried him no one knew where. Deeper and deeper fell the murky cloud of suspicion, and Will Devine was marked as a social outcast, yet still he lingered m Smoky Settlement, and still the girl he loved clung to him, believing none of the foul story. Mr. Anderson took no part in the matter, only he would consent to no marriage until the mystery of Simon Goodenough should be cleared up; but no light upon it dawned, Three years after Prudence Harrington’s apple bee, Mercy had changed into a quiet, reserved girl, and Will Devine was as mudh a recluse as it was possible to be in a populated district like that of Smoky Settlement, when suddenly another sensation swept over the little liamlet. Old Jeremiah Anderson was said to be in a trance. For two weeks he had lain in an unconscious state, looking exactly like a dead man, but yet there was the slightest pulsation. Nourishment was given him, in the form of soup introduced into his stomach by means of a tube. Hope and Mercy were at their wit’s end and the doctors could do nothing for them, and the report spread far and near, and many an ox team was yoked and brought loads from a distance to see the strange sight of a living body fr<m which the soul had departed. The daughters kept their tearful watch until the beginning of the seventh week and one night Will Devine sat watching, with Mercy by his side, for the girl would not give up her lover, when the pale haud of the unconscious man was raised, the mild blue eyes opened, the wan lips moved and said: “Send for the minister.” Mercy cried aloud in lief joy for her sister to awaken, and Devine caught his hat and departed for the liev. Mr. Goodenough. The minister visibly shrank from the man he suspected, but asked quietly: “What would you with me, young man ?” “Mr. Anderson has revived and wishes to see you.” The minister was soon by the side of the sick man, and grasping the feeble hand, he said, nervously: “Brother Anderson, thanks he to God, you have passed through a most mysterious sickness.” “I have had no sickness, brother; but my soul has been in heaven.” “His mind wanders, ” gasped the minister. “No,” said the imjplid, rousing still more; “I never had the clearness of mind that I have enjoyed for the last seven weeks. I have had glimpses of my friends long dead, and almost enjoyed the bliss of heaven; this mortal body lying here was all that divided me from that blissful place. ” His awe-struck listeners looked at one another; and Mercy said, haft afraid of her own voice; “O-o-o-h, father! but was it anything like the earth ?” “Ab! more beautiful, more blissful, more peaceful; and still I did not see the inner courts, but I heard the most beautiful music, and one song they sung was; “When we ve been here ten thousand years. Bright shining as the sun. We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise Than when we lirst begun. That* was all the thing I ever heard upon the earth.” “And wliat else did you see or hear, father?” asked Mercy, when he paused. “I saw that which assures me that you are an innocent man, my son,” said lie, turning to Devine. The frightened hearers looked at each other with awe-struck countenances, and he went on: “Brother Gojdenough, if you will write to Austerne, Ohio, you will hear from your son.” The minister made no reply, and the sick man closed his eyes and fell into a natural sleep. “What a strange thing,” said Hope, breathlessly. “You will write immediately, Mr. Goodenough?” “And of what use? It is but the fancy of a sick man. And who ever heard of Austerne! And if it should be that there was such a place, my poor boy is not there. Ah, no, he lies not there,” and the austere man glanced suspiciously at Devine. “Then I will write, for I believe it,” said Hope, firmly, and the closed lips of the invalid murmured, “Write, my daughter. ” Now it was quite an undertaking in those days to send a letter to Ohio. %t Hope Anderson’s faith was firm, and the letter was written and addressed to the Postmaster of Austerne, asking for a man named Simon Goodenough, and saying informat on of him was wanted at his old home. Before the dawn broke it was finished. Will Devine sat by without saying anything, but his heart beat tumultuously, and Mercy whispered i» his ear: “Cheer up, d -ar. at; this dark cloud will be rent at last. ” Mr. Anderson improved rapidly, and the letter was sent. He grew reserved upo i the sub ect of liis bness, and disliked to be questioned about it. But there came no answer to Hope’s

letter. Spring, summer, I*ll passed away, when one day a stranger came into Smoky Settlement. He went to the house of Mr. Anderson, where Mr. Goodenough was sitting with his neighbor. The newcomer stretched out his hand to the minister, saying, “Father. ” “Simon, my son, is it you? And were you not murdered then ?” “No, father. It is true I attacked Devine, in my frenzy, and that he fought for his life; but I felt sure that I had wounded him unto death, and I escaped as I thought,far into the Western wilderness, and I should never have returned had it not been for Hope’s dear letter. ” “Then the Postmaster received it?” she asked, faintly. “Dear girl, I was the Postmaster,” said he. “And I have to thank you for the knowledge that I was not a Cain among men, and among the friends that you wrote wished to see me was the name of William Devine.” “Thank God,” said the aged father. And it was echoed by every heart in that humble cabin in the wilderness. And when the new year came it would have been difficult to decide which was the happiest of the two fair brides, Hope Goodenough or Mercy Devine, for Hope was going back with Simon to the far-off wilderness of the West.