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"The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Secret of the Storm Country, by Grace Miller White. Project Gutenberg’s The Secret of the Storm Country, by Grace Miller White This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Secret of the Storm Country Author: Grace Miller White Illustrator: Lucius W. Hitchcock Release Date: February 8, 2007 [EBook #20548] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET OF THE STORM COUNTRY *** Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net "I CAST THE FIRST STONE," HE SAID SWIFTLY -1- The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Secret of the Storm Country, by Grace Miller White. THE SECRET OF THE STORM COUNTRY BY GRACE MILLER WHITE AUTHOR OF TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY, ROSE O’ PARADISE, ETC. ILLUSTRATED BY LUCIUS W. HITCHCOCK NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS Made in the United States of America Copyright, 1916, by Woman’s World. Copyright, 1917, by Woman’s World. Copyright, 1917, by The H. K. Fly Company. I Lovingly Dedicate this Book to LIL and ARTHUR MILLER -2- The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Secret of the Storm Country, by Grace Miller White. Contents Chapter I The Squatter Folk II The Coming of Andy Bishop III Tessibel Meets Waldstricker IV Tess and Frederick V A Gossip With "Satisfied" VI Waldstricker Makes a Proposal VII Waldstricker and Mother Moll VIII Tessibel’s Marriage IX The Musicale X A Victim of Circumstances XI Frederick Intimidated XII Making Ready for the Warden XIII Sandy Proposes to Tess XIV The Warden’s Coming XV The Search XVI Tessibel’s Secret XVII Tessibel’s Prayer XVIII A Letter XIX Its Answer XX Madelene Complains to Ebenezer XXI The End of the Honeymoon XXII The Repudiation XXIII The Quarrel XXIV Waldstricker Interferes XXV The Summons XXVI The Churching XXVII Daddy Skinner’s Death XXVIII Young Discovers Andy XXIX The Vigil XXX Sandy Comes to Grief XXXI Waldstricker’s Threat XXXII Helen’s Message XXXIII Hands Stronger Than Waldstricker’s Page 9 16 25 33 38 44 53 58 64 72 80 86 94 99 105 112 124 131 137 144 149 152 159 164 168 171 182 189 195 202 207 211 215 -3- The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Secret of the Storm Country, by Grace Miller White. XXXIV Love Air Everywhere the Hull Time XXXV Boy Skinner XXXVI Deforrest Decides XXXVII The New Home XXXVIII Dinner at Waldstricker’s XXXIX Father and Son XL Husband and Wife XLI Tessibel’s Discovery XLII A Man’s Arm at the Window XLIII Sandy’s Job XLIV Sandy’s Visit XLV Andy Vindicated XLVI Sandy’s Courting XLVII. Waldstricker’s Anger XLVIII. The Sins of the Parents XLIX Tessibel and Elsie L Tessibel’s Vision LI The Christmas Guest LII The Storm LIII The Happy Day 222 227 232 238 244 250 256 261 266 271 276 279 286 294 302 311 321 328 334 339 Illustrations "I cast the first stone," he said swiftly "I will!" gritted Waldstricker through his teeth, in spite of himself, intensely interested in the old woman’s revelations "I was wonderin’, little one, when you say your prayers, if you’d pipe one for me" "Hush!" he cried, "haven’t you any heart?" Frontispiece 32 112 160 9 CHAPTER I -4- The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Secret of the Storm Country, by Grace Miller White. The Squatter Folk The lazy warmth of a May afternoon, the spring following Orn Skinner’s release from Auburn Prison, was reflected in the attitudes of three men lounging on the shore in front of "Satisfied" Longman’s shack. At their feet, the waters of Cayuga Lake dimpled under the rays of the western sun. Like a strip of burnished silver, the inlet wound its way through the swamp from the elevators and railroad stations near the foot of south hill. Across the lake rose the precipitous slopes of East Hill, tapestried in green, etched here and there by stretches of winding white road, and crowned by the buildings on the campus of Cornell University. Stretched from the foot of State Street on either side of the Lehigh Valley track lay the Silent City, its northern end spreading several miles up the west shore of the Lake. Its inhabitants were canalers, fishermen and hunters, uneducated, rough and superstitious. They built their little huts in the simplest manner out of packing boxes and rough lumber and roofed them with pieces of tin and sheet iron. Squatters they were appropriately named, because they paid no attention to land titles, but stuck their shacks wherever fancy indicated or convenience dictated. The people of the Silent City slept by day and went very quietly about their work under the cover of darkness, for the game laws compelled the fishermen to pull their nets at night, and the farmers’ chickens were more easily caught, his fruit more easily picked when the sun was warming China. Summers, their lives were comparatively free from hardships. Fish were plentiful and easy to take; the10 squatter women picked flowers and berries in the woods and sold them in the city and the men worked occasionally, as the fit struck them. But the winters were bitter and cruel. The countryside, buried deep in snow, made travel difficult. When the mercury shrank timidly into the bulb and fierce winds howled down the lake, the Silent City seemed, indeed, the Storm Country. "I were up to the Graves’ place yesterday, helpin’ Professor Young," said Jake Brewer, the youngest and most active of the three men. "Never had no use fer that duffer, Dominie Graves, myself," answered Longman. The speaker turned a serious face to the third member of the party. "Ner you nuther, eh, Orn?" Orn Skinner was an enormous man, some six and a half feet tall. Two great humps on his shoulders accentuated the breadth and thickness of his chest while they tended to conceal the length of his arms. A few months before he’d been in the death house at Auburn. Through the efforts of Deforrest Young, the dean of the Law College at Cornell, he’d been pardoned and sent home. The gigantic squatter removed his pipe from his mouth and smoothed the thready white beard, straggling over his chin. "Nope, I hated ’im," he muttered. "He done me dirt ’nough. If it hadn’t been fer Tess an’ Lawyer Young, he’d a hung me sure." "Ye didn’t git the deed to yer shack land afore he died, did ye, Orn?" interrupted "Satisfied" Longman. "Tessibel told ma the preacher promised it to ye." -5- The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Secret of the Storm Country, by Grace Miller White. A moody expression settled in Skinner’s eyes. "So he did promise it," he explained. "He writ Tess a letter. He said as how he were sorry for his meanness an’ would give me the deed. But he didn’t!" A shrill voice calling his name brought "Satisfied" Longman to his feet, and he hobbled away toward the shack. "’Pears like ’Satisfied’ ain’t got much strength any more," said Skinner. "He ain’t been worth much of anythin’ sence I got back." "Him an’ Ma Longman’ve failed a lot sence Myry11 an’ Ezry died," agreed Jake. "An’ no wonder! Them two didn’t amount to much to my way o’ thinkin’, but their pa an’ ma set considerable store by ’em ... Ben Letts were a bad ’un, too. It used to make me plumb ugly to see ’im botherin’ Tess when ye was shet up, Orn, an’ him all the time the daddy of Myry’s brat." "Yep, Ben were bad," agreed Skinner. "I were sure he done the shootin’, but ’tweren’t till Ezry swore he saw ’im that the lawyer could prove I didn’t do it. But Tess says Myry loved Ben. Women air queer critters, ain’t they?" "Myry sure was," assented Brewer, thoughtfully. "In spite of Ezry’s tellin’ her, Ben’d most drowned him, an’ done the killin’ they was goin’ to hang you fer, up she gits an’ takes the brat an’ goes off with Ben. It were the worst storm of the year. No wonder him, Myry an’ their brat all was drowned." Longman, coming out of the shack, overheard the last remark. The other two fell silent. After he’d sat down again, he dissipated their embarrassment by saying, "But Tess says Myry air happy now ’cause she air got Ben. Fer myself, I dunno, though. But, if Myry air satisfied, me an’ ma air satisfied, too." The other two nodded in solemn sympathy. After a moment, Jake took out his pipe and filled it. Holding the lighted match above the bowl, he glanced at Skinner. "Where air Tess?" he asked. "She air up to Young’s. He air learnin’ her book stuff, an’ his sister air helpin’ the brat sing. It air astonishin’ how the brat takes to it. Jest like a duck to water." "Tess air awful smart," sighed Longman, "an’ she air awful good, too. She sings fer ma ’most every day. I heard her only yesterday, somethin’ ’bout New Jerusylem. Ma loves Tessibel’s singin’." Then, for perhaps the space of three minutes, they lapsed into silence. At length, Jake Brewer spoke, "Be ye goin’ to let her marry the Student Graves, Orn?" he asked.12 "I dunno," Skinner muttered, "but I know this much, I don’t like high born pups like him hangin’ ’round my girl. ’Tain’t fittin’ an’ I told Tess so!" -6- The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Secret of the Storm Country, by Grace Miller White. Orn knocked the ashes out of his pipe and rose slowly. "Guess I’ll be moseyin’ ’long, pals," he smiled. "The brat’ll be back ’fore long." "Wait a minute, Orn," Longman broke in. "Ma’s got some pork an’ beans she wants to send up to Mother Moll. She thought, mebbe, Tess’d take ’em to ’er." "Sure, ’Satisfied,’ I’ll take ’em home an’ the brat’ll take ’em up the ravine next time she goes to the professor’s." "Mother Moll were the only one of us all," Jake told Skinner, while Longman was in the shack, "what stood by Tess. She allers says Tess air a goin’ to surprise us all. She says as how the brat’ll be rich an’ have a fine home. I dunno—but old Moll do tell the future right good when she looks in the pot." "She told the brat I were comin’ home from Auburn," added Skinner, "when it looked certain I were goin’ to hang." Longman came out of the shack with a pan in his hands. "Yep," he corroborated. "An’ she told ma years ago she’d lose her brats in a storm. Old Moll air a wise woman, all right." The dish of beans in his hand, the Bible-backed fisherman directed his steps toward his own home, some distance away beyond the ragged rocks. The old squatter walked slowly. His health had broken in prison and his strength seemed hardly sufficient to move the big body. The path, an outcropping ledge of the precipitous cliff, was very narrow because of the unusually high level of the water in the lake. Picking his way slowly, he considered reminiscently the events which had almost destroyed him. He recalled the long years of monotonous existence in the shack, the hard nights pulling the nets and the varied scrapes Tess had tumbled into. Then, suddenly, came the shooting of the game keeper, his own arrest, trial and conviction. The white glare of hateful13 publicity had been thrown, without warning, upon him and his motherless brat. He’d been torn away from his quiet haunts at the lake side and shut up in the narrow confines of a fetid cell. The enforced separation from his daughter, at the critical period between girl and womanhood, had left her alone in the shanty and exposed her to countless perils and hardships. Unmitigated calamities, especially the long imprisonment, they had seemed at the time, but the event proved otherwise. Friends had arisen and helped him establish his innocence and win his pardon. The responsibilities thrown upon the squatter girl had been met with love and courage and had disciplined her high temper and awakened her ambition. The dirt and disorder that had formerly obtained in the shack had disappeared. Her housewifely arts had transformed the hut into a comfortable home, rough to be sure, small and inadequate, but immaculate and satisfactory. The shanty stood on a little point of land projecting into the lake. Huge weeping willows shrouded it from the sun in summer. They mourned and murmured of the past, when the breezes of morning and evening stirred their whispering leaves. Their bare limbs thrashed and pounded the tin roof -7- The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Secret of the Storm Country, by Grace Miller White. when the storm winds tore down the lake. In front and to one side, Tessibel’s new privet hedge shone a dark, dusky green, and the flower beds were beginning to show orderly life through the blackish mold. The shack itself was rather more pretentious than most of the squatter shanties. It had two rooms and was thoroughly battened against the storms. Coming into the path, Orn met his daughter and went with her to the house. The greatest change the year had brought was in the girl herself. She had ripened into the early maturity common to the squatter woman. She was no longer the red-haired tatterdemalion who had romped over the rocks and quarreled with the boys of the Silent City. Her tom-boy days, amid the ceaseless struggles against the hardships of the Storm Country, gave to her slender body strength and lent to it poise and grace.14 Bright brown eyes lighted by loving intelligence illumined her face, tanned by sun and wind, but very sweet and winsome, especially when the curving red lips melted into a smile. A profusion of burnished red curls, falling about her shoulders almost to her hips, completed the vivid picture. Tess of the Storm Country, the animate expression of the joy and beauty of the lake side in spring, was the boast of the Silent City. Late that same night, Tessibel lay asleep in the front room of the shanty. Four miles to the south, Ithaca, too, slept,—the wholesome sleep of a small country town, while Cayuga Lake gleamed and glistened in the moonlight, as if fairies were tumbling it with powdered fingers. Above both town and span of water, Cornell University loomed darkly on the hill, the natural skyline sharply cut by its towers and spires. An unusual sound awakened her. She lifted her lids and glanced about drowsily, then propped herself on one elbow. Her sleep-laden eyes fell upon the white light slanting across the rough shanty floor. Suddenly, like a dark ghost, a shadow darted into it—the shadow of a human head. At the first glimpse at it, Tessibel looked cautiously toward the window, and there, as in a frame, was a face—a man’s face. Tess dropped on her pillow. For possibly two minutes, she lay quietly waiting, while the shadow moved curiously to and fro on the floor. Twice the head disappeared, and as suddenly returned, poised a moment, then, like an image moving across a screen, was gone. Instantly Tess sat straight up in bed. Perhaps one of the squatters needed her. She crept to the floor, yawning, tiptoed to the door, and unbarred it. Without pausing to cover her feet, she stepped outside, the fresh scent of May blossoms sweeping sweet to her nostrils. The warm night-wind, full of elusive odors, brushed her face like thready cobwebs, that broke at her touch, only to caress her anew. Midnight held no fear for Tessibel, for she loved every living creature, those traveling by day being no dearer than those flying by night. She felt no deeper thrills for the bright-winged birds singing in the sun15 than for yonder owl who screeched at her, now, from the weeping willow tree. After picking her way to the front of the shanty, she made a tour of the house and encircled the mud cellar, calling softly the while. No one appeared; no voice, either of friend or stranger, answered the persuasive importunity of Tessibel. But, after she was again in the doorway, she heard north of the shanty the crackling of twigs as if some stealthy animal were crawling over them. If there were an intruder, he’d gone, and the girl, satisfied, went back into the house and once more lay down to sleep. -8- The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Secret of the Storm Country, by Grace Miller White. When she woke again, Daddy Skinner was moving softly near the stove, kindling the fire, and Tessibel lay in languid silence. She watched him yearningly until he felt her gaze and looked at her. His twisted smile of greeting brought an exclamation of love from the girl. All the inhabitants of the Silent City knew this crippled old man could play on the emotions of his lovely young daughter as the morning sun plays upon the sensibilities of the lark. How she adored him, in spite of his great humps and his now hobbling legs! Soon, her father went to the lake for a pail of water, and she sprang from the cot and dressed hastily. 16 CHAPTER II The Coming of Andy Bishop Later in the forenoon, when Tessibel returned home from an errand to Kennedys’, she found Daddy Skinner on the bench at the side of the shanty, one horny hand clutching the bowl of a pipe in which the ashes were dead. It took but one sharp glance from the red-brown eyes for Tess to note that his face was white, almost grey; she saw, too, with a quiver of loving sympathy, that his lower lip hung away from his dark teeth as though he suffered. She sprang toward him, and dropped to her knees, at his side. "Daddy Skinner!" she exclaimed. "Daddy Skinner, ye’re sick! Ye’re sick, darlin’!... Tell me, Daddy, what air the matter? Tell Tessibel." She laid her hand tenderly on his chest. His heart was beating a heavy tattoo against the blue gingham shirt. "Ye hurt here?" she queried breathlessly. The pipe dropped to the soft sand, and Skinner’s crooked fingers fell upon the profusion of red curls. Then he slowly tilted up her face. "Yep, I hurt in there!" he muttered brokenly. And as ashen and more ashen grew the wrinkled old countenance, Tessibel cried out sharply in protest. "Why, Daddy, what d’ye mean by yer heart’s hurtin’ ye?... What do ye mean, Daddy?... I thought the doctor’d fixed yer heart so it wouldn’t pain ye no more." The man considered the appealing young face an instant. "I want to talk to ye about somethin’," said he, presently, "and I know ye’ll never tell anythin’ Daddy tells ye." -9- The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Secret of the Storm Country, by Grace Miller White. With a little shake of her head that set the tawny curls a-tremble, Tessibel squatted back on her feet.17 "’Course I won’t tell nobody, but if ye’ve got a pain in yer heart, daddy, the doctor—" "I don’t need no doctor, brat. I jest—jest got to talk to ye, that air all." A slender girlish figure cuddled between Daddy Skinner’s knees, and warm young lips met his. Never had Tess seen him look just that way, not even when he had been taken from her to prison. The expression on his face was hopeless, forlornly hopeless, and to wait until he began to speak took all the patience the eager girl-soul could muster. "Brat, dear," he sighed at length, "I ain’t needin’ to tell ye again what I went through in Auburn, hev I?" Brown eyes, frightened and fascinated, sought and found the faded greys. "’Course not, Daddy Skinner! But what fer air ye talkin’ about Auburn Prison?... Ye promised me, Daddy, ye’d forgit all about them days, an’ now what’re ye rememberin’ ’em fer?" Skinner’s face blanched, and drops of sweat formed in the spaces behind his ears and trickled in little streams down his neck. "I got to remember ’em, child," he groaned. "What fer I want to know? Ye’d best make a hustle an’ tell me or, in a minute, I’ll be gettin’ awful mad." The pleading, sorrowful face belied the threat, and a pair of red lips touched Skinner’s hand between almost every word. "Do ye bring to mind my tellin’ ye about any of the fellers up there, Tessibel?" came at length from the man’s shaking lips. Tess stroked his arm lovingly. "Sure, Dad..."

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