I haven"t studied much about what Polly Wiltse was like, welcoming him into the desrick on Yandro, after waiting inside for three quarters of a century. Anyway, I never heard of him following me down.
Maybe he"s been missed. But I"ll lay you anything you name he"s not been mourned.
Vandy, Vandy
That valley hadn"t any name. Such outside folks as knew about it just said "Back in yonder," and folks inside said, "Here." The mail truck dropped a few letters in a hollow tree next to a ridge where a trail went up and over and down. Three, four times a year bearded men in homemade clothes and shoes fetched out their makings-clay dishes and pots, mostly, for dealers to sell to tourists. They carried back coffee, salt, gunpowder, a few nails. Things like that.
It was a day"s scramble on that ridge trail, I vow, even with my long legs and no load but my silver-strung guitar. No lumberman had ever cut the thick, big old trees. I quenched my thirst at a stream and followed it down. Near sunset, I heard music jangling.
Fire shone out through an open cabin door, to where folks sat on a stoop log and frontyard rocks. One had a guitar, another fiddled, and hands slapped so a boy about ten or twelve could jig. Then they all spied me and fell quiet. They looked, and didn"t know me.
"That was pretty, ladies and gentlemen," I said, but n.o.body remarked.
A long-bearded old man with one suspender and no shoes held the fiddle on his knee. I reckoned he was the grandsire. A younger, shorter-bearded man with the guitar might be his son. There was a dry old mother, there was the son"s plump wife, there was a younger yellow-haired girl, and there was that dancing little grandboy.
"What can we do for you, young sir?" asked the old man. Not that he sounded like doing anything-mountain folks say that even to the government man who"s come hunting a still on their place.
"Why," I said, "I sort of want a place to sleep."
"Right much land to stretch out on yonder," said the guitar man.
I tried again. "I heard you all playing first part ofFire in the Mountains ."
"Is they two parts?" That was the boy, before anyone could silence him.
"Sure enough, son," I said. "Let me show you the second part."
The old man opened his beard, likely to say wait till I was asked, but I strummed my own guitar into second part, best I knew how. Then I played first part through, and, "You sure G.o.d can pick that," said the short-bearded one. "Do it again."
I did it again. When I reached second part, the old man sawed fiddle along with me. We went around Fire in the Mountains once more, and the ladyfolks clapped hands and the boy jigged. Still n.o.body smiled, but when we stopped the old man made me a nod.
"Sit on that rock," he said. "What might we call you?"
"My name"s John," I told him.
"I"m Tewk Millen. Mother, I reckon John"s a-tired, coming from outside. He might relish a gourd of cold water."
"We"re just before having a bite the old lady said to me. "Ain"t but just smoke meat and beans, but you"re welcome."
"I"m sure honored, Mrs. Millen," I said. "But it"s a trouble."
"No trouble," said Mr. Tewk Millen. "Let me make you known to my son Heber and his wife Jill, and this here is boy Calder."
"Proud to know you," they all said.
"And my girl Vandy " Mr. Tewk finished.
I looked at her hair like yellow corn silk and her eyes like purple violets. "Vandy?" I said after her father.
Shy, she dimpled at me. "I know it"s a scarce name, Mr. John, I never heard it anywhere but among my kinfolks."
"I have," I said, "and it"s what brought me here."
Mr. Tewk Millen looked funny above his whiskers. "Thought you said you was a young stranger man."
"I heard the name outside in a song, sir. Somebody allowed the song"s known here. I"m a singer. I go far after a good song." I looked around. "Do you all know that Vandy song, folks?"
"Yes, Sir," said little Calder, but the others studied a minute. Mr. Tewk rubbed up a leaf of tobacco into his pipe.
"Calder," he said, "go in and fetch me a chunk of fire to light up with. John, you certain you never met my daughter Vandy?"
"Certain sure," I made reply. "Only I can figure how ary young fellow might come a far piece to meet her."
She stared down at her hands where she sat. "We learnt the song from papa," she half-whispered, "and he learnt it from his papa-"
"And my papa learnt it from his," Mr. Tewk finished for her. "It goes a way back, that song, I figure."
I"d sure enough relish hearing it," I said.
"After you heard it," said Mr. Tewk. "After you learnt it, what would you do?"
"Why," I said, "I reckon I"d go back outside and sing it some,"
I could see that"s what he wanted to hear.
"Heber," he told his son, "you pick it out and I"ll sc.r.a.pe this fiddle, and Calder and Vandy can sing it for John."
They played the tune once without words. The notes were put together strangely, in what schooled folks call minors. But other folks, better schooled yet, say such tunes sound strange and lonesome because in old times folks had another note scale from our do-re-mi-fa today. And little Calder piped up, high and young but strong:
Vandy, Vandy, I"ve come to court you, Be you rich or be you poor, And if you"ll kindly entertain me, I will love you forever more.
Vandy, Vandy, I"ve gold and silver, Vandy, Vandy, I"ve a house and land, Vandy, Vandy, I"ve a world of pleasure, I would make you a handsome man.
He got that far, singing for the fellow come courting, and Vandy sang back the reply, sweet as a bird:
I love a man who"s in the army, He"s been there for seven long year, And if he"s there for seven year longer, I won"t court no other dear.
What care I for your gold and silver, What care I for-
She stopped, and the guitar and fiddle stopped, and was like the death of sound. The leaves didn"t rustle in the trees, nor the fire didn"t stir on the hearth inside. They all looked with their mouths half open, where somebody stood with his hands crossed on the gold k.n.o.b of a black cane and grinned all on one side of his toothy mouth.
Maybe he came up the down-valley trail, maybe he"d dropped from a tree like a possum. He was built spry and slim, with a long coat b.u.t.toned to his pointed chin, and brown pants tucked into elastic-sided boots, like what your grandsire had. His hands on the cane looked slim and strong. His face, bar its crooked smile, might be handsome. His dark brown hair curled like buffalo wool, and his eyes were the shiny pale gray of a new knife. Their gaze crawled all over the Millens and he laughed a slow, soft laugh.
"I thought I"d stop by," he crooned, "if I haven"t worn out my welcome."
"Oh, nosir! " said Mr. Tewk, standing up on his two bare feet, fiddle in hand. "No sir, Mr. Loden, we"re proud to have you, mighty proud," he jabber-squawked, like a rooster caught by the leg. "You sit down, sir, make yourself easy."
Mr. Loden sat down on the seat-rock Mr. Tewk had left and Mr. Tewk found a place on the stoop log by his wife, nervous as a boy stealing apples.
"Your servant, Mrs. Millen," said Mr. Loden. "Heber, you look well, and your good wife. Calder, I brought you candy."
His slim hand offered a bright striped stick, red and low. You"d think a country child would s.n.a.t.c.h it. But Calder took it slow and scared, as he"d take a poison snake. You"d think he"d decline if he dared.
"For you, Mr. Tewk," went on Mr. Loden, "I"ve fetched some of my tobacco. An excellent weed." He handed Mr. Tewk a pouch of soft brown leather. "Empty your pipe. Enjoy it, Sir."
"Thank you kindly," said Mr. Tewk, and sighed and began to do what he"d been ordered.
"And Miss Vandy." Mr. Loden"s croon petted her name. "I wouldn"t venture here without hoping you"d receive a trifle at my hands."
He dangled it from a chain, a gold thing the size of his pink thumbnail. In it shone a white jewel, that grabbed the firelight and twinkled red.
"Do me the honor, Miss Vandy, to let it rest on your heart, that I may envy it."
She took the jewel and sat with it between her soft little hands. Mr. Loden turned his eye-knives on me.
"Now," he said, "we come around to the stranger within your gates."
"Yes, we come around to me," I agreed, hugging my guitar on my knee. "My name"s John, Mr. Loden."
"Where are you from, John?" It was sudden, almost fierce, like a lawyer in a courtroom.
"From nowhere," I said.
"Meaning, from everywhere," he supplied me. "What do you do?"
"I wander," I said. "I sing songs. I mind my own business and watch my manners."
"Touche!" he cried in a foreign tongue, and smiled on that same side of his mouth. "You oblige me to remember how sometimes I err in my speech. My duties and apologies, John. I"m afraid my country ways seem rude at times, to world travellers. No offense."
"None taken," I said, and kept from adding on that real country ways were polite ways.
"Mr. Loden," put in Mr. Tewk again, "I make bold to offer you what poor rations my old woman"s made-"
"Sir," Mr. Loden broke him off, "they"re good enough for the best man living. I"ll help Mrs. Millen prepare them. After you, ma"am."
She walked in, and he followed, What he said there was what happened.
"Miss Vandy," he said next, "you might help us."
She went in, too. Dishes clattered. Through the open door I saw Mr. Loden put a tweak of powder in the skillet on the fire. The menfolks sat outside and said nothing. They might have been nailed down, with stones in their mouths. I studied about what could make a proud, honorable mountain family so scared of a guest and I knew there was only the one thing. And that one thing wouldn"t be just a natural thing. It would be a thing beyond nature or the world.
Finally little Calder said, "Maybe we can finish the song after a while," and his voice was a weak young voice now.
"I recollect about another song from here," I said. "About the fair and blooming wife."
Those closed mouths all snapped open, then shut again. Touching the guitar"s silver strings, I began:
There was a fair and blooming wife And of children she had three.
She sent them away to Northern school To study gramaree.
But the King"s men came upon that school, And when sword and rope had done, Of the children three she sent away, Returned to her but one. . . .
"Supper"s made," said Mrs. Millen from inside.
We all went in to where there was a trestle table and a clean homewoven cloth and clay dishes set out.
Mr. Loden, by the pots at the fire, waved for Mrs. Millen and Vandy to dish up the food.
It wasn"t smoke meat and beans I saw on my plate. Whatever it was, it wasn"t that. Everyone looked at their helps of food, but not even Calder took any till Mr. Loden sat down, half-smiling.
"Why," he said, "one would think you feared poison."
Then Mr. Tewk forked up a big bait and put it into his beard. Calder did likewise, and the others. I took a mouthful and it sure enough tasted good.
"Let me honor your cooking, sir," I told Mr. Loden. "It"s like witch magic."
His eyes came on me, as I knew they"d come after that word. He laughed, so short and sharp everybody jumped.
"John, you sang a song from this valley," he said. "About the blooming wife with three children who went north to study gramaree. John, do you know what gramaree means?"
"Grammar," spoke up Calder. "The right way to talk."
"Hush," whispered his father and he hushed.
"I"ve heard, sir," I replied to Mr. Loden; "gramaree is witch stuff, witch knowledge and magic and power. That Northern school could be only one place."
"What place, John?" he almost sang under his breath.
"A Ma.s.sachusetts Yankee town called Salem, sir. Around 300 years back-"