Chapter XXXI Kike
To reach Peterborough Kike had to go through Morton’s great diocese of Jenkinsville Circuit. He could not ride far. Even so intemperate a zealot as Kike admitted so much economy of force into his calculations. He must save his strength in journeying or he could not reach his circuit, much less preach when he got there. At the close of his second day he inquired for a Methodist house at which to stop, and was directed to the double-cabin of a “located” preacher—one who had been a “travelling” preacher, but, having married, was under the necessity of entangling himself with the things of this world that he might get bread for his children. As he rode up to the house Kike gladly noted the horses hitched to the fence as an evidence that there must be a meeting in progress. He was in Morton’s circuit; who could tell that he should not meet him here?
When Kike entered the house, Morton stood in the door between the two rooms preaching, with the back of a “split-bottomed” chair for a pulpit. For a moment the pale face of Kike, so evidently smitten with death, appalled him; then it inspired him, and Morton never spoke better on that favorite theme of the early Methodist evangelist—the rest in heaven—than while drawing his inspiration from the pallid countenance of his comrade.
“Ah! Kike!” he said, when the meeting was dismissed, “I wish you had my body.”
“What do you want to keep me out of heaven for, Mort? Let God have his way,” said Kike, smiling contentedly.
But long after Kike slept that night Morton lay awake. He could not let the poor fellow go off alone. So in the morning he arranged with the located brother to take his appointments for awhile and let him ride one day with Kike.
“Ride ten or twenty if you want to,” said the ex-preacher. “The corn’s laid by and I’ve got nothing to do, and I’m spoiling for a preach.”
Peterborough circuit lay off to the southeast of Hickory Ridge, and Morton, persuaded that Kike was unfit to preach, endeavored to induce him to turn aside and rest at Dr. Morgan’s, only ten miles out of his road.
“I tell you, Morton, I’ve got very little strength left. I cannot spend it better than in trying to save souls. There’s Peterborough vacant three months since Brother Jones was first taken sick. I want to make one or two rounds at least, preaching with all the heart I have. Then I’ll cease at once to work and live, and who knows but that I may slay more in my death than in my life?”
But Morton feared that he would not be able to make one round. He thought he had an overestimate of his strength, and that the final break-down might come at any moment. So, on the morning of the second day he refused to yield to Kike’s entreaties to return. He would see him safe among the members on Peterborough circuit, anyhow.
Now it happened that they missed the trail and wandered far out of their way. It rained all the afternoon, and Kike got drenched in crossing a stream. Then a chill came on, and Morton sought shelter. He stopped at a cabin.
“Come in, come in, brethren,” said the settler, as soon as he saw them. “I ’low ye’re preachers. Brother Goodwin I know. Heerd him down at camp-meetin’ last fall,—time conference met on the Ridge. And this brother looks mis’rable. Got the shakes, I ’low? Your name, brother, is—”
“Brother Lumsden,” said Morton.
“Lumsden? Wy, that air’s the very name of our school-miss, and she’s stayin’ here jes’ now. I kinder recolleck that you was sick up at Dr. Morgan’s, conference time. Hey?”
Morton looked bewildered.
“How far is Dr. Morgan’s from here?”
“Nigh onto three quarter ’round the road, I ’low. Ain’t it, Sister Lumsden?” This last to Patty, who at that moment appeared from the bedroom, and without answering the question, greeted Morton and Kike with a cry of joy. Patty was “boarding round,” and it was her time to stay here.
“How did we get here? We aimed at Lanham’s Ferry,” said Morton, bewildered.
“Tuck the wrong trail ten mile back, I ’low. You should’ve gone by Hanks’s Mills.”
Despite all protestations from the Methodist brother, Morton was determined to take Kike to Dr. Morgan’s. Kike was just sick enough to be passive, and he suffered himself to be put back into the saddle to ride to the doctor’s. Patty, meanwhile, ran across the fields and gave warning, so that Kike was summarily stowed away in the bed he had occupied before. Thus do men try to run away from fate, and rush into her arms in spite of themselves.
It did not require very great medical skill to understand what must be the result of Kike’s sickness.
“What is the matter with him, Doctor?” asked Morton, next morning.
“Absolute physical bankruptcy, sir,” answered the physician, in his abrupt manner. “There’s not water enough left in the branch to run the mill seven days. Wasted life, sir, wasted life. It is a pity but you Methodists had a little moderation in your zeal.”
Kike uneasily watched the door, hoping every minute that he might see Nettie come in. But she did not come. He had wished to avoid her father’s house for fear of seeing her, but he could not bear to be thus near her and not see her. Toward evening he called Patty to him.
“Lean down here!” he said.
Patty put her ear down that nobody might hear.
“Where’s Nettie?” asked Kike.
“About the house, somewhere,” said Patty.
“Why don’t she come in to see me?”
“Not because she doesn’t care for you,” said Patty; “she seems to be crying half the time.”
Kike watched the door uneasily all that evening. But Nettie did not come. To have come into Kike’s room would have been to have revealed her love for one who had never declared his love for her. The mobile face of Nettie disclosed every emotion. No wonder she was fain to keep away. And yet the desire to see him almost overcame her fear of seeing him.
When the doctor came in to see Kike after breakfast the next morning, the patient looked at him wistfully.
“Doctor Morgan, tell me the truth. Will I ever get up?”
“You can never get up, my dear boy,” said the physician, huskily.
A smile of relief spread over Kike’s face. At that word the awful burden of his morbid sense of responsibility for the world’s salvation, the awful burden of a self-sacrifice that was terrible and that must be life-long, slipped from his weary soul. There was then nothing more to be done but to wait for the Master’s release. He shut his eyes, murmured a “Thank God!” and lay for minutes, motionless. As the doctor made a movement to leave him, Kike opened his eyes and looked at him eagerly.
“What is it, my boy?” said Morgan, stroking the straight black hair off Kike’s forehead, and petting him as though he were a child. “What do you want?”
“Doctor——” said Kike, and then closed his eyes again.
“Don’t be afraid to tell me what is in your heart, dear boy.” The tears were in the doctor’s eyes.
“If you think it best—if you think it best, mind—I would like to see Nettie.”
“Of course it is best. I am glad you mentioned it. It will do her good, poor soul.”
“If you think it best——”
“Well?” said the doctor, seeing that Kike hesitated. “Speak out.”
“All alone.”
“Yes, you shall see her alone. That is best.” The doctor’s utterance was choked as he hastened out.
Kike lay with eyes fixed on the door. It seemed a long time after the doctor went before Nettie came in. It was only three minutes—three minutes in which Nettie vainly strove to wipe away tears that flowed faster than she could remove them. At last her hand was on the latch. She gained a momentary self-control. But when she opened the door and saw his emaciated face, and his black eyes looking so eagerly for her, it was too much for the poor little heart. The next moment she was on her knees by his bed, sobbing violently. And Kike put out his feeble hands and drew the golden head up close to his bosom, and spoke tenderer words than he had ever heard spoken in his life. And then he closed his eyes, and for a long time nothing was said. It came about after Nettie’s tears were spent that they talked of all that they had felt; of the life past and of the immortal life to come. Hours went by and none intruded upon this betrothal for eternity. Patty had waited without, expecting to be called to take her place again by her cousin’s bedside. But she did not like to remain in conversation with Morton. It could bring nothing but pain to them both. It occurred to her that she had not seen her patient in Higgins’s Hollow since Kike came. She started immediately, glad to escape from the regrets excited by the presence of Morton, and touched with remorse that she had so long neglected a man on whose heart she thought she had been able to make some religious impression.