House Divided Read Free

When her brothers and sisters and Pa and Ma were all asleep in the narrow cabin, she rose from her pallet of husks to steal away; but before coming to the appointed meeting place, she paused by the deep hole in the creek to lay aside her torn work dress, to bathe in the soft waters of the stream, to braid her hair, to put on her other dress kept sweet and clean.
    Tony was here before her, waiting in the darkness, in the warm shadows. She sped to him, her bare feet soundless on the turf. In his arms, her arms around his neck tugging and tender, she felt him tremble; and she whispered: “Don’t be afeard, Tony. Pa’s asleep.”
    â€œHe might wake, come after you.”
    â€œLet him. I ain’t afeard of him—only for you!” Not till then did she have his kiss, so long desired. She murmured through many kisses: “Oh, Tony, Tony, seemed like you’d never come!” Her low voice sang.
    â€œThey’ll hear us talking,” he warned her. Around them light began to come, for the moon was almost risen above the lofty mountain wall.
    â€œIt’s too fur. Besides, Pa don’t hear nothing, ’less some critter comes around. He’ll sleep till first bird song.”
    They kissed and kissed till first hunger eased; they sat, he with his shoulders against the smooth bole of the sycamore, she drawing his arm around her, pressing his hand in both hers. “Tony, how’d you ever find us, ’way off here so fur?”
    â€œI asked along the way. Mr. Cavett brought your letter, and he told me where you’d be. I left my horse down the creek, hidden in the woods. I watched all day yesterday for a chance to speak to you; then all today, too, till you came into the corn. I didn’t want to go to the house.”
    â€œPa talks big, but I ain’t afeard of him, much.”
    He spoke in amused reminder: “‘Afraid,’ Lucy; not ‘afeard.’”
    She lifted her lips to kiss his cheek. “I’m learning fast’s I can, Tony. Mis’ Dodsworth teaches me. It was her wrote the letter I sent by Mr. Cavett. She’s going to teach me to read and write and all, so you won’t be ashamed of me.” Then, on sudden inspiration: “Tony, she lives up the crick three miles and she knows about you! You can go
there and stay long as you like. She’ll bed you and hide you and not tell Pa you’re there. That’s what you can do, Tony!”
    â€œI can’t stay long—two days, maybe three.”
    â€œDid you come to fetch me?”
    â€œI will, Lucy, as soon as I can make my father understand. He’s away now, so I could come without his knowing.”
    â€œCouldn’t you come before? It was hard doing, waiting and waiting.”
    â€œHe wouldn’t let me. I told him about you, Lucy, but he said I was a young fool, and he wouldn’t even talk about it. He said I’d thank him some day.”
    â€œPa was the same,” she confessed. “He heard about us some way, and he put it to me, and I told him it was so.”
    â€œTold him?”
    She felt his dismay. “Why, I wouldn’t lie about us, Tony! I’m not ashamed of loving you!”
    â€œI know. Neither am I. But—he wouldn’t understand.”
    â€œHe don’t have to, long as you and me feel the way we do.” Lips seeking his.
    â€œWas he—angry?”
    She laughed a little. “He near skinned me alive. He wore out a willow switch on me, but he couldn’t make me cry! I knowed you’d come back to me!”
    â€œI couldn’t come till now, Lucy. Father took me to Yorktown. He wanted to see General Lafayette. You know, my grandfather was French, but my grandmother—she was Irish—wouldn’t marry him till he changed his name to Currain. She said that sounded Irish enough to suit her.”
    Lucy laughed fondly. “I bet she was pretty!”
    â€œYes, she was. I never saw her, but