noise as of someone going on tiptoes through the
trees in the
orchard. She was frightened and closed
the window quickly. For an hour she moved about
the room trembling with
excitement and when she
could not longer bear the
waiting, she crept into the
hall and down the stairs into a closet-like room that
opened off the
parlor.
Louise had
decided that she would perform the
courageous act that had for weeks been in her mind.
She was convinced that John Hardy had
concealed
himself in the
orchard beneath her window and she
was determined to find him and tell him that she
wanted him to come close to her, to hold her in his
arms, to tell her of his thoughts and dreams and to
listen while she told him her thoughts and dreams.
"In the darkness it will be easier to say things," she
whispered to herself, as she stood in the little room
groping for the door.
And then suddenly Louise realized that she was
not alone in the house. In the
parlor on the other
side of the door a man's voice spoke
softly and the
door opened. Louise just had time to
conceal herself
in a little
opening beneath the
stairway when Mary
Hardy, accompanied by her young man, came into
the little dark room.
For an hour Louise sat on the floor in the darkness
and listened. Without words Mary Hardy, with the
aid of the man who had come to spend the evening
with her, brought to the country girl a knowledge
of men and women. Putting her head down until
she was curled into a little ball she lay
perfectly still.
It seemed to her that by some strange
impulse of
the gods, a great gift had been brought to Mary
Hardy and she could not understand the older wom-
an's determined protest.
The young man took Mary Hardy into his arms
and kissed her. When she struggled and laughed,
he but held her the more
tightly. For an hour the
contest between them went on and then they went
back into the
parlor and Louise escaped up the
stairs. "I hope you were quiet out there. You must
not
disturb the little mouse at her studies," she
heard Harriet
saying to her sister as she stood by
her own door in the
hallway above.
Louise wrote a note to John Hardy and late that
night, when all in the house were asleep, she crept
downstairs and slipped it under his door. She was
afraid that if she did not do the thing at once her
courage would fail. In the note she tried to be quite
definite about what she wanted. "I want someone
to love me and I want to love someone," she wrote.
"If you are the one for me I want you to come into
the
orchard at night and make a noise under my
window. It will be easy for me to crawl down over
the shed and come to you. I am thinking about it
all the time, so if you are to come at all you must
come soon."
For a long time Louise did not know what would
be the
outcome of her bold attempt to secure for
herself a lover. In a way she still did not know
whether or not she wanted him to come. Sometimes
it seemed to her that to be held
tightly and kissed
was the whole secret of life, and then a new
impulsecame and she was
terribly afraid. The age-old wom-
an's desire to be possessed had taken possession of
her, but so vague was her notion of life that it
seemed to her just the touch of John Hardy's hand
upon her own hand would satisfy. She wondered if
he would understand that. At the table next day
while Albert Hardy talked and the two girls whis-
pered and laughed, she did not look at John but at
the table and as soon as possible escaped. In the
evening she went out of the house until she was
sure he had taken the wood to her room and gone
away. When after several evenings of
intense lis-
tening she heard no call from the darkness in the
orchard, she was half beside herself with grief and
decided that for her there was no way to break
through the wall that had shut her off from the joy
of life.
And then on a Monday evening two or three
weeks after the
writing of the note, John Hardy
came for her. Louise had so entirely given up the
thought of his coming that for a long time she did
not hear the call that came up from the
orchard. On
the Friday evening before, as she was being driven
back to the farm for the week-end by one of the
hired men, she had on an
impulse done a thing that
had startled her, and as John Hardy stood in the
darkness below and called her name
softly and insis-
tently, she walked about in her room and wondered
what new
impulse had led her to
commit so ridicu-
lous an act.
The farm hand, a young fellow with black curly
hair, had come for her somewhat late on that Friday
evening and they drove home in the darkness. Lou-
ise, whose mind was filled with thoughts of John
Hardy, tried to make talk but the country boy was
embarrassed and would say nothing. Her mind
began to
review the
loneliness of her
childhood and
she remembered with a pang the sharp new loneli-
ness that had just come to her. "I hate everyone,"
she cried suddenly, and then broke forth into a ti-
rade that frightened her
escort. "I hate father and
the old man Hardy, too," she declared vehemently.
"I get my lessons there in the school in town but I
hate that also."
Louise frightened the farm hand still more by
turning and putting her cheek down upon his shoul-
der. Vaguely she hoped that he like that young man
who had stood in the darkness with Mary would
put his arms about her and kiss her, but the country
boy was only alarmed. He struck the horse with the
whip and began to
whistle. "The road is rough, eh?"
he said loudly. Louise was so angry that reaching
up she snatched his hat from his head and threw it
into the road. When he jumped out of the buggy
and went to get it, she drove off and left him to
walk the rest of the way back to the farm.
Louise Bentley took John Hardy to be her lover.
That was not what she wanted but it was so the
young man had interpreted her approach to him,
and so
anxious was she to
achieve something else
that she made no
resistance. When after a few
months they were both afraid that she was about to
become a mother, they went one evening to the
county seat and were married. For a few months
they lived in the Hardy house and then took a house
of their own. All during the first year Louise tried
to make her husband understand the vague and in-
tangible
hunger that had led to the
writing of the
note and that was still unsatisfied. Again and again
she crept into his arms and tried to talk of it, but
always without success. Filled with his own notions
of love between men and women, he did not listen
but began to kiss her upon the lips. That confused
her so that in the end she did not want to be kissed.
She did not know what she wanted.
When the alarm that had tricked them into mar-
riage proved to be groundless, she was angry and
said bitter, hurtful things. Later when her son David
was born, she could not nurse him and did not
know whether she wanted him or not. Sometimes
she stayed in the room with him all day, walking
about and
occasionally creeping close to touch him
tenderly with her hands, and then other days came
when she did not want to see or be near the tiny
bit of
humanity that had come into the house. When
John Hardy reproached her for her
cruelty, she
laughed. "It is a man child and will get what it
wants anyway," she said
sharply. "Had it been a
woman child there is nothing in the world I would
not have done for it."
IV
Terror
WHEN DAVID HARDY was a tall boy of fifteen, he,
like his mother, had an ad
venture that changed the
whole current of his life and sent him out of his
quiet corner into the world. The shell of the circum-
stances of his life was broken and he was compelled
to start forth. He left Winesburg and no one there
ever saw him again. After his
disappearance, his
mother and
grandfather both died and his father be-
came very rich. He spent much money in
trying to
locate his son, but that is no part of this story.
It was in the late fall of an
unusual year on the
Bentley farms. Everywhere the crops had been
heavy. That spring, Jesse had bought part of a long
strip of black swamp land that lay in the
valley of
Wine Creek. He got the land at a low price but had
spent a large sum of money to improve it. Great
ditches had to be dug and thousands of tile laid.
Neighboring farmers shook their heads over the ex-
pense. Some of them laughed and hoped that Jesse
would lose heavily by the
venture, but the old man
went
silently on with the work and said nothing.
When the land was drained he planted it to cab-
bages and onions, and again the neighbors laughed.
The crop was, however,
enormous and brought high
prices. In the one year Jesse made enough money
to pay for all the cost of preparing the land and had
a
surplus that enabled him to buy two more farms.
He was exultant and could not
conceal his delight.
For the first time in all the history of his ownership
of the farms, he went among his men with a smiling
face.
Jesse bought a great many new machines for cut-
ting down the cost of labor and all of the remaining
acres in the strip of black
fertile swamp land. One
day he went into Winesburg and bought a bicycle
and a new suit of clothes for David and he gave his
two sisters money with which to go to a religious
convention at Cleveland, Ohio.
In the fall of that year when the frost came and
the trees in the forests along Wine Creek were
golden brown, David spent every moment when he
did not have to attend school, out in the open.
Alone or with other boys he went every afternoon
into the woods to gather nuts. The other boys of the
countryside, most of them sons of laborers on the
Bentley farms, had guns with which they went