Unsolicited Writings

His sister had died the year after she had given him the double text, and his
father the year after that. He was left thus, the sole support of his ailing
mother, who transferred to the silent, sullen boy the irresistible rule of
complaining weakness with which she had governed his father. it was thought she
could not live long, and the boy stood in terror of a sudden death brought on by
displeasure at some act of his. In the end, however, she died quietly in her bed,
an old woman of seventy-three, nursed by her daughter-in-law, the widow of
Jehiels only brother. Her place in the house was taken by Jehiels sister-in-law,
a sickly, helpless woman, alone in the world except for Jehiel, and all the
neighbors congratulated him on having a housekeeper ready to his hand. He said
nothing.
The last comers disappeared in the church and the sound of singing came faintly
to Jehiels ears.!
Although he was the sexton he rarely was in church for the service, using his
duties as an excuse for absence. He felt that it was not for him to take part in
prayer and thanksgiving. As a boy he had prayed for the one thing he wanted, and
what had it come to?
He looked up at the lofty crown of the pine tree, through which shone one or two
of the brightest stars, and felt a new comradeship with it. It was a great tree,
he thought, and they had grown up together. He laid his hardened palm on it, and
fancied that he caught a throb of the silent vitality under the bark. How many
kinds of life there were! Under its white shroud, how all the valley lived. The
tree stretching up its head to the stars, the river preparing to throw off the
icy armor which compressed its heart -- they were all awakening in their own way.
The river had been restless, like himself, the tree had been tranquil, but they
passed together through the resurrection into quiet life.
Before he w!
ent into the house after his evening chores were done, he stopped for
a moment and looked back at the cleft in the mountain wall through which the
railroad left the valley. He had been looking longingly toward that door of escape
all his life, and now he said good-by to it. Ah well, twant to be, he said, with an
accent of weary finality; but then, suddenly out of the chill which oppressed his
heart there sprang a last searing blast of astonished anguish. It was as if he
realized for the first time all that had befallen him since the morning. He was
racked by a horrified desolation that made his sturdy old body stagger as if under
an unexpected blow. As he reeled he flung his arm about the pine tree and so stood
for a time, shaking in a paroxysm which left him breathless when it passed.