 Chapter 1 of THE EYE OF DREAD This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. THE EYE OF DREAD by Paine Erskine Chapter 1. Betty Two whipped poor wills were uttering their insistent note, hidden somewhere among the thick foliage of the maple and basewood trees that towered above the spring down behind the house where the ballards lived. The sky in the west still glowed with amber light, and the crescent moon floated like a golden boat above the horizon's edge. The day had been unusually warm, and the family were all gathered on the front porch in the dusk. The lamps within were unlighted, and the evening wind blew the white muslin curtains out and in through the open windows. The porch was low, only a step from the ground, and the grass of the dooryard felt soft and cool to the bare feet of the children. In front and all around lay the garden, flowers and fruit quaintly intermingled. Down the long path to the gate, where three roads met, great bunches of peonies lifted white blossoms, luminously white in the moonlight, and on either side rows of current bushes cast low, dark shadows, and here and there dwarf crab apple trees tossed pale, scented flowers above them. In the dusky evening light, the Irish flowers showed frail and iridescent against the dark shadows under the bushes. The children chattered quietly at their play, as if they felt a mystery around them, and small Betty was sure she saw fairies dancing on the Irish flowers when the light breeze stirred them. But of this she said nothing, lest her practical older sister should drop a scornful word of unbelief, a thing Betty shrank from and instinctively avoided. Why should she be told that there were no such things as fairies and goblins and pig-widgens, when one might be at that fairy moment dancing in her elbow and here at all? So Betty waggled her curly golden head, wise with the wisdom of childhood, and went her own ways and thought her own thoughts. As for the strange creatures of wondrous power that peopled the earth and the sky and the streams, she knew they were there. She could almost see them, she could almost feel them and hear them, even though they were hidden from mortal sight. Did she not often go when the sun was setting and climbed the fence behind the barn under the great locust and silver leaf poplar trees, where none could see her and watch the fiery griffons in the west? Could she not see them flame and flash, their wings spreading far out across the sky in fantastic flight, or drawn close and folded about them in hues of purple and crimson gold? Could she not see the flying mist woman flinging their floating robes of softest pink and palest green around their splendor limbs and trailing them delicately across the deepening sky? Had she not heard the giants, they seen them, driving their terrible steeds over the tumbled clouds and rolling them smooth with noise of thunder under huge rolling machines a thousand times bigger than that farmer Hopkins used to crush the clods in his wheat field in the spring? Had she not seen the flashes of fire dart through the heavens, struck by the hooves of the giants huge beasts? Ah, she knew, if Martha would only listen to her, she could show her some of these true things and stop her scoffing. Lured by these mysteries, Betty made short excursions into the garden away from the others, peering among the shadows and gazing wide-eyed into the clusters of iris flowers above which Night Moss fluttered softly and silently. Maybe there were fairies there? Three could ride at once on the back of a devil's riding horse, she knew, and in the daytime they rode the dragonflies, two at a time. They were so light it was nothing for the great green and gold big-eyed dragonflies to carry too. Betty knew a place below the spring where the maiden-hair fern grew thick and spread out wide, perfect fronds on slender brown stems, shadowing fairy-bowers, and where taller ferns grew high and leaned over like a delicate fairy forest, and where the wild violets grew so thick you could not see the ground beneath them, and the grass was lush and long like fine green hair, and crept up the hillside and over the roots of the maple and basewood trees. Here lived the elves. She knew them well, and often lay with her head among the violets, listening for the thin sound of their elfin fiddles. Often she had drowsed the summer noon in the coolness, unheeding the dinner call, until busy Martha roused her with the sisterly scolding she knew she deserved and took in good part. Now as Betty crept cautiously about, peering and hoping with a half-fearing expectation, a sweet, thread-like wail trembled out toward her across the moonlit and shadowed space. Her father was tuning his violin. Her mother sat at his side, hushing Bobby in her arms. Betty could hear the sound of her rockers on the porch front. Now the plaintive call of the violin came stronger, and she hastened back to curl up at her father's feet and listen. She closed her vision-seeing eyes and leaned against her father's knee. He felt the gentle pressure of his little daughter's head and liked it. All the long summer day, Betty's small feet had carried her on numberless errands for young and old, and as the season advanced, she would be busier still. This Betty knew well, for she was old enough to remember other summers, several of them, each bringing an advancing crescendo of work. But oh, the happy days! For Betty lived in a world all her own, wherein her play was as real as her work, and labor was turned by her imaginative little mind into new forms of play. And although night often found her weary, too tired to lie quietly in her bed sometimes, the line between the two was never in her thoughts distinctly drawn. Tonight, Betty's conscious was troubling her a little. She had done two naughty things, and the pathetic quality of her father's music made her wish with all the intensity of her sensitive soul that she might confess to someone what she had done. But it was all too peaceful and sweet now to tell her mother of naughty things, and, anyway, she could not confess before the whole family. So she tried to repent very hard and tell God all about it. Somehow it was always easier to tell God about things. For she reasoned, if God was everywhere and knew everything, then he knew she had been bad, and had seen her all the time, and all she needed to do was own up to it, without explaining everything in words, that she would have to do to her mother. Brother Bobby's bare feet swung close to her cheek, and they dangled from her mother's knee, and she turned and kissed them, first one and then the other, with eager kisses. He stirred and kicked at her fretfully. Don't wake him, dear, said her mother. Then Betty drew up her knees and clasped them about her with her arms, and hit her face on them while she repented very hard. Mother had said that very day that she never felt troubled about the baby when Betty had cared of him, and that very day she had recklessly taken him up to the barn loft, climbing behind him and guiding his little feet from one rung of the perpendicular ladder to the nether, teaching him to cling with quenched hands to the rounds until she had landed him in the loft. There she had persuaded him he was a swallow in his nest, while she had taken her fill of the delight of leaping from the loft down into the bay, where she had first tossed enough hay to make a soft lightning place for the twelve-foot leap. Oh, the joy of it flying through the air, if she could only fly up instead of down. Every time she climbed back into the loft, she would stop and cuddle the little brother, and toss hay over him and tell him he was a baby bird, and she was a mother bird, and must fly away and bring him nice worms. She bade him look up into the rafters above and see the mother birds flying out and in while the little birds just sat there in their nests and opened their mouths. So Bobby sat still, and when she returned, obediently opened his mouth. But alas, he wearied of his role in the play, and at last he crept to the very edge of the loft at a place where there was no hay spread beneath to break his fall. When Betty looked up and saw his sweet baby face peering down at her over the edge, her heart stopped beating. How wildly she called for him to wait for her to come to him. She promised him all the dearest of her treasures if he would wait until sister got there. Now, as she sat clasping her knees, her little body grew all trembling and weak again as she lived over the terrible moment when she had reached him just in time to drag him back from the edge and to cuddle and caress him until he lifted up his voice and wept, not because he was in the least troubled or hurt, but because it seemed the right thing to do. Then she gave him the pretty round comb that held back her hair, and he promptly straightened it and broke it, and when she reluctantly brought him back to dinner, how she had succeeded in getting him down from the loft would make a chapter of diplomacy. Her mother reproved her for allowing him to take it and lapped the two pieces and wound them about with thread and told her she must wear the broken comb after this. She was glad. Glad it was broken, and she had treasured it so, and glad that her mother had scolded her. She wished she had scolded her harder and instead of speaking words of praise to the heart, oh, oh, oh, if he had fallen over, he would be dead now and she would have killed him. Thus she tortured herself and repented very hard. The other sin she had that day committed, she felt to be a doubleson because she knew all the time it was wrong and did it deliberately. When she went out with the cornmeal to feed the little chicks and fetchin' the new laid eggs, she carried concealed under her skirt a small squat book of Robert Burden's poems, these poems she loved, not that she understood them, but that the rhythm pleased her and the odd words and half-comprehended phrases stirred her imagination. So, after feeding the chicks and gathering the eggs, she did not return to the house, but climbed instead up into the top of the silver leaf poplar tree behind the barn, swaying with the swaying treetop and reading the lines that most fascinated her and stirred her soul until she forgot that she must help Martha with the breakfast dishes, forgot she must carry milk to the neighbors, forgot she must mine the baby it was so delightful to sway and swing and chant the rhythmic lines over and over that she almost forgot she was being bad and Martha had done the things she ought to have done and the baby cried himself to sleep without her and lay with the pathetic tear mark still on his cheeks but her tired mother had only looked reproachfully at her and not said one word oh dear, she could only be a good girl if only she might pass one day being good all day long with nothing to regret now with the wailing of the violin her soul grew hungry and sad strange, unchilded fear crept over her a fear of the years to come so long and endless they would be always coming, coming one after another, and here she was never to stop living and every day doing something that she ought not and every evening repenting it and her father might stop loving her and her sister might stop loving her and her little brother might stop loving her and Bobby might die and even her mother might die or stop loving her and she might grow up a merry man who forgot after a while to love her and she might be very poor, even poorer than they were now and have to wash dishes every day and no one to help her until at last she could bear the sadness no longer and could not repent as hard as she ought there was she could not go down on her knees and just cry and cry so she slipped away and crept in the darkness to her own room where her mother found her half an hour later on her knees beside the bed fast asleep she longingly undressed the limp weary girl lifted her tenderly and laid her curly head to her pillow kissed her cheek with a repentant sigh of her own regretting that she must lay so many tasks on so small a child End of Chapter 1 Recording by Chelsea Baker Chapter 2 of The Eye of Dread This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org The Eye of Dread by Payne Erskine Chapter 2 The Eye of Dread Father Ballard walks slowly up the path from the garden, wiping his brow for the heat was oppressive Mary, my dear, I see signs of swarming Bees are hanging out on that hive under the tolemn suite. Where's Betty? She's down on the cellar, churning but she can leave Bobby's getting fretful anyway and she can take him under the trees and watch the bees to amuse him Betty Mary Ballard went to the short flight of steps leading to the paved basement dark and cool Betty, father wants you to watch the bees, dear Find Bobby He's so still I'm afraid he's out at the current bushes again and he'll make himself sick Keep an eye on the hive under the tolemn suite particularly, dear Gladly, Betty bounded up the steps and darted away to find the baby who is still called the baby by reason of his being the last arrival although he was nearly three and an active little tyrant at that Watching the bees was Betty's delight Minding the baby, lolling under the trees reading her books, gazing up into the great branches and all the time keeping an eye on the hives scattered about in the garden nothing could be pleasin'er Naturally, Betty could not understand all she read in the book she carried out from the library for purely children's books were very few in those days The children of the present day would be dismayed where they asked to read what Betty pondered over with avidity and loved Her father's library was his one extravagance even though the purchase of books was always a serious matter each volume being discussed and debated about and only obtained after due preparation by sundry small economies As for worldly possessions the ballards had started out with nothing at all but their own two hands and, as assets well-equipped brains, their love for each other a fair amount of theft and a large share of what Mary Ballard's old granny Sherman used to designate as gumption exactly what she intended should be understood by the word it would be hard to say unless it might be the faculty with which when one thing proved to be no longer feasible as a shift toward progress in the making of a living for an increasing family they were unable to discover other means and work them out to a productive conclusion thus when times grew hard into the stress of the civil war and the works of art representing many hours of Bertrand Ballard's keenest effort lay in his studio and purchased and even carefully created portraits ordered and painstakingly painted were left on his hands, unclaimed and unpaid for he quietly turned his attention to his garden saying people can live without pictures but they must eat so he obtained a few of the choicest of the quickly produced small fruits and vegetables and flowers and soon had rare and beautiful things to sell, his clever hands which before had made his own stretches for his canvases and had fashioned and gilded with gold leaf the frames for his own paintings now made trellises for his vines and boxes for his fruits and when the price of sugar climbed to the very top of the gamut he created beehives on new models and bought a book on bee culture ere long he had combs of delicious honey to tempt the lovers of sweets but how came Bertrand Ballard a way out in Wisconsin in a country home painting pictures for people who knew little or nothing of art and cared not to know more raising fruits and keeping bees for the means to live ah that is another story and to tell it would make another book suffice it to say that for love of a beautiful woman strong and wise and sweet he had followed her farmer father in the old New York state there, frail in health and delicate in choice in his taste but brave in spirit he took up the battle of the week with life and fought it like a strongman valiantly and well and where he got his strength how were the week ever made strong through strength of love the inward fire that makes great the soul while consuming the dross of false values and foolish estimates from the merry heart that could laugh through any failure with a gentle hand supple and workful and gentle and forceful but lay in his but this is not the story of Bertrand Ballard except incidentally as he and his family play their part in the drama that centers in the lives of two lads one of whom, Peter Craigmill Jr comes now swinging up the path from the front gate where three roads meet brave in his new uniform of blue with lifted head and eyes graven shining with a kind of solemn elation Bertrand, here comes Peter Jr in his uniform, Mary Ballard called to her husband who was working at a box in which he meant to fit glass sides for an aquarium for the edification of the little ones he came quickly out of his work room and Mary rose from her seat and pushed her mending basket one side and together they walked down the path to meet the youth Peter Jr, have you done it? oh I'm sorry why Mary, why Mary? I'm astonished, not sorry Bertrand took the boy's hand in both his own and pushed up in his eyes for the lad was tall, much taller than his friend I would go myself if I only had the strength and were not nearsighted thank the Lord, said his wife fervently why Mary, Mary, I'm astonished he said again, our country yes, our country is being bled to death she said taking the boy's hand in hers for a moment and turning they walked back to the house with the young volunteer between them no, I'm not reconciled to having our young men and die by the thousands from disease and bullets and in prisons, it's wrong I say war is iniquitous and the issues north or south are not worth it Peter, I had hoped you were too young why did you? I couldn't help it Mrs. Ballard the call for 50,000 more came and father gave his consent and anyway, they are taking a younger set now than at first yes, and soon they'll take an older set and then they'll take the small and frail and nearsighted ones and then she stopped suddenly with a contrite glance at her husband's face he aided to be small and frail and nearsighted she stepped round to his side and put her hand in his I'm thankful you are Bertrand she said quietly you'll stay to tea with us won't you Peter we'll have it out of doors yes, I'll stay, thank you it may be the last time and mother, I came to see if you'd go up home and see mother Mrs. Ballard I kind of thought you'd think as father and Mr. Ballard do about it and I thought you might be able to help mother see it that way too you see mother, she I always thought you were kind of strong and would see things sort of, well big you know, more, as we men do he held his head high and looked off as he spoke she exchanged a half smile and glanced with her husband and their hands clasped tighter maybe though, if you don't feel this way you can't help mother but what shall I do? the big boy looked wistfully down at her and was able to help her to see things you want Peter Junior maybe she would be happier in seeing things her own way but I can sympathize with her perhaps I can help her to hope for the best and anyway, we can just talk it over thank you Mrs. Ballard thank you, I don't care how she sees it if she'll only be happier and give her consent I can't bear to go away without that but if she won't give it, I must go anyway you know yes, she said smiling we men have to be forced sometimes but we would never allow some things to be done you almost did first and then went to her for her consent yes, you were a man Peter Junior but I tell you, if you were my son I would never give my consent nor have it forced from me still, I would love you better for doing this my love, your inconsistency is my joy said her husband as she passed into the house and left them together the sun still shone hotly down the shadows were growing longer she was asleep under the harvest apple tree where she had been staying patiently during the long warm hours and sat at her father's feet on the edge of the porch where apparently she was wholly occupied in tracing patterns with her bare toes in the sand of the path now and then she ran out to the harvest apple tree and back, her golden head darting among the green charbray like a sunbeam she wished to do her full duty by the bees and the baby and at the same time hear all the talk of the older ones and watch her so fascinating young soldier in his new uniform as bright as the sunbeam and as silent she watched and listened her heart beat fast with excitement as it often did these days when she heard them talk of the war and the men who went away perhaps never to return or return with great glory now here was Peter jr. going he already had his beautiful new uniform and he would march and drill and carry a gun and halt and present arms along with the older men she had seen in the great camp out on the high bluffs which overlooked the wide sweeping rushing of her well if only she were a man and as old as peter jr she would go with him but it was very grand to know him even why was she a girl if god had only asked her what she would rather be when he had made her out of dust she would have told him to make her a man so she might be a soldier it was not fair there was bobby, he would be a man someday and he could ride on a large black horse like the knights of old and go to wars and rescue people what deeds of arms were she little knew but it was something very strong and wonderful that only knights and soldiers did bet he heaved a deep sigh and put out her hand and softly touched peter jr's trousers he thought it was the kitten purring about no god had not treated her fairly now she must grow up and be only a woman and wash dishes and sweep in dust and get very tired and wear dresses and oh dear but then perhaps god had had to do it that way for if he had given everybody a choice everybody would choose to be men and there would be no women to mind home and take care of the little children and it would be a very sad kind of world that she had often heard her father say perhaps god had to do with them as peter jr had done with his mother when he enlisted first and asked her consent afterwards just make them girls and try to convince them afterwards that it was a fine thing to be a girl she wished she were bobby instead of betty but then bobby might not have liked that she glanced wistfully at the sleeping child and him tossed his arms about and knew she ought to be there to sway a green branch over him to keep the little gnats and flies from bothering him and waking him and the bees might swarm and no one see them father is it three o'clock yet yes dearie why goodie the bees won't swarm now will they will you bring bobby in father he is very well there we won't disturb him peter jr looked down on the little girl so full of vitality and life and inspiration he was certain with enthusiasm and saw her vaguely as a slightly disturbing element but otherwise a little moment in the world's economy his thoughts were on greater things betty accepted her father's decision without protest as she accepted most things finality to be endured and made the best of so she continued to run back and forth between the sleeping child and the porch thereby losing much interesting dialogue all about camps and fighting and scout duty until it last her mother returned and with a glance at her small daughter's face said father will you bring in the baby now and put him in his cradle betty has had him nearly all day and father went oh beautiful mother how did she know then betty settled herself at peter jr's feet and looked up in his eyes gravely what will you be now you are a soldier she asked why a soldier no i mean will you be a general or a flag carrier or will you drum i'd be a general if i were you i'd be a drummer i think you would be very handsome for a general peter jr threw back his head and laughed it was the first time he had laughed that day and yet he was both proud and happy would you like to be a soldier yes but you might be killed or have your leg shot off or i know so might you but you would go anyway wouldn't you certainly well then you understand how i feel i'd like to be a man and go to war what's that what's that mary do you hear that such a father resuming his seat at peter's side and hearing her remark why father wouldn't you you know you'd like to go to war i heard what he said to mother and anyway i'd just like to be a man and have a part to tear a cat in the way men have birch and ballard looked down and patted his little daughter's head and then caught her up and placed her on his knee he realized suddenly that his child was an entity and fathoms separate from himself working out her own individuality almost without guidance except such as he and his marry were unconsciously giving to her by their daily acts and words what books are those you have there don't you know you mustn't take father's shakespeare out and leave it on the grass but he laughed how did you know i had shakespeare didn't you say would like a part to tear a cat in oh have you read midsummer night's dream she lifted her head from his bosom and eyed him gravely for a moment and snuggled comfortably down again but then i suppose you have read everything her father and peter both laughed were you reading a midsummer night's dream out there no i've read that lots of times long ago i'm reading the mary wives of windsor now mary mary do you hear this i think it's time our betty had a little supervision in her reading mary ballard came to the door from the tea table where she had been arranging her little set of delicate china her one rare treasure and inheritance yes i knew she was reading whatever she fancied but i thought it wouldn't end her fear not yet i have so little time for one thing and anyway i thought she might browse a bit she's like a calf and rare pastures and i don't think she understands enough to do her harm or much good either those things slide off her like water off a ducks back betty looked anxiously up at her mother but things was she missing she must read them all over again what else have you out there betty asked her father betty dropped her head shamefully she never knew when she was in the right and went wrong sometimes the very things which seem most right to her most wrong that's paradise lost it was an old book father there was a tear in the back when i took it down i like to read about satan i like to read about the mighty host and the angels in the burning lake is that hell i was pretending if the bees swarmed that they would be the mighty host of bad angels falling out of heaven again peter flung back his head and laughed he looked at the child with new interest betty did not smile back at him she did not like being laughed at it's true she said they did fall out of heaven and swarm and it was like over at high knob on the riverbank only a million times higher because they were so long falling from more until noon they fell from noon until dewey eve betty looked off into space with half caused eyes she was seeing them fall it was a long time to be in suspense wasn't it father then everyone laughed even mother joined in she was putting the last touches to the tea table mary my dear i think we had better take a little supervision of the child's reading i do really the gate at the end of the long path to the house clicked and another lad came swinging up the walk slightly taller than peter jr but otherwise enough like him in appearance to be his own brother he was not as grave as peter but he smiled as he hailed them waving his cap above his head he also wore the blue uniform and it was new hello peter you here of course i'm here i thought you were never coming you did betty sprang from her father's lap and ran to meet him she slipped her hand in his and hopped along at his side oh rich are you going to i wish i were you he lifted the child to a level with his face and kissed her and set her on her feet again never wish that betty it would spoil a nice little girl i'm not such a nice little girl i love satan and they're going to supervise my reading she clung to his hand and nodded her head with finality he swung her along making her take long leaps as they walked you love satan i thought you loved me it's the same thing rich said peter jr with a grin bertrand had gone to the kitchen door mary my love here's richard killedine she entered the living room carrying a plate of light hot biscuit and hurried out to richard greeting him warmly even lovingly bertrand once you and the boys carried the table out to the garden she suggested open both doors and take it carefully it will be pleasanter here in the shade the young men sprang to her bidding and the small table was borne out under the trees the lads enumerating with joy the articles of mary ballard's simple menu hot biscuits my golly won't we wish for this in about two months from now said richard cream and caraway cookies shouted peter jr turning back to the porch to help bertrand carry the chairs and of course we'll be wishing for this before long but that's part of soldiering we're not looking forward to a well-fed easy time of it so we'll just make the best of this tonight and eat everything in sight said richard bertrand preferred to change his subject this is some of our new white clover honey he said i took it from that hive over there last evening and they've been working all days if they had a new life given to them albie's one is a lot of empty space for storing honey richard followed mrs. ballard into the kitchen for the tea where are the other children he asked martha and jamie are spending a week with my mother and father they love to go there and mother and father also seem never to have enough of them baby is still asleep and i must wake in him too where he won't sleep tonight i hung a pail of milk over the spring to keep it cool and the butter is there also and the dutch cheese in a tin box can you wait i'd better go with you we'll leave the tea to steep a minute they passed through the house and down toward the spring house under the maple and basewood trees at the back walking between rows of current bushes where the fruit hung red i hate to leave all this, maybe forever so the boy the corners of his mouth drooped a little and he looked down at marie ballard with a tender glint in his deep blue eyes his eyes were as blue as the lake on a summer's evening and they were shaded by heavy dark brown lashes almost black his brows and hair were the same deep brown peter juniors were a shade lighter and his hair more curling in the village as to which of the boys was the handsomer that they were both fine looking lads was always conceited marie ballard turned toward him impulsively why did you do this, richard? why? i can't feel that this fever for war is right, it is terrible you're losing the best blood in the land in a wicked war she took his two hands and hers and her eyes filled when we first came here your mother was my dearest friend you never knew her, but i loved her you loved me richard, why didn't you consult us? i hadn't anyone but you and your husband to care oh, and hester loves me, of course and is awfully good to me but the elder i always feel somehow as if he expects me to go to the bad he never had any use for my father, i guess was my father was he no good? don't mind telling me the truth i ought to know your father was not so well known here, but he was in Bertrand's estimation rich gentlemen, we both liked him, no one could help it never think hardly of him why has he never cared for me? why have i never known him? there was a quarrel or some unpleasantries between your uncle and him it is an old thing richard's lip quivered an instant and he drew himself up and smiled on her and he stooped and kissed her some of us must go, we can't let this nation be broken up, some of them must give their lives for it and i'm one of those who ought to go for i have no one to mourn me half the class is enlisted i've entered to say you suggested it too well, yes and peter junior is the first to follow you? well, yes, i'm sorry because of aunt hester but we always do pull together, you know see here, let's not think of it in this way there are other ways perhaps i'll come back with straps on my shoulders and marry baddie someday god grant you may that is, if you come back as you left us you understand me, the same boy? i do and i will you said gravely i was a happy hour they spent at the evening meal and many an evening afterwards when hardship and wariness had made the lad seem more rugged and years older they spoke of it and lived it over end of chapter 2 recording by chelsea baker chapter 3 of the eye of dread this is the liberbox recording all liberbox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit liberbox.org the eye of dread by pain urskine chapter 3 a mother's struggle come lady come you're slow this morning mary ballard drove a steady well-bred chestnut mare with whom she was on most friendly terms usually her carry-all was filled with children her she kept no help and when she went abroad she must perforce take the children with her or spend an unquiet hour or two while leaving them behind this morning she had left the children at home and carried in her stead a basket of fruit and flowers on the seat beside her come lady come just hurry a little she touched the mare with a whip a delicate reminder to haste which lady assumed to be a fly and treated as such with a switch of her tail the way seemed long to mary ballard this morning and the sun beating down on the parched fields made the air quiver with heat the unpaved road was heavy with dust and the mare seemed to drag her feet through it unnecessarily as she jogged along mary was anxious and dreaded the visit she must make she would be glad when it was over what could she say to the stricken woman who spent her time behind closed blinds presently she left the dust behind and drove along under the maple trees that lined the village street over cool roads that were kept well sprinkled the craig mills lived on the main street of the town and the most dignified of the well-built homes of cream-coloured brick with a wide front stoop and white columns of the entrance mary was shown into the parlor by a neat serving maid who stepped softly as if she were afraid of walking on someone the room was dark and cool but the air seemed heavy with a lingering musky odor the dark furniture was set stiffly back against the walls the floor was covered with a velvet carpet of rich dark colours and oil portraits were hung about in heavy gold frames mary looked up at two of these portraits with pride and rebelled that the light was so shut out that they must always be seen in the obscurity where Bertrand had painted them and she considered them her husband's best work in the painting of them and the long sittings required the intimacy between the two families had begun really it had begun before that for there were other paintings in that home portraits old and fine which elder craig mills father had bought over from scotland when he came to the new world to establish a new home these paintings were the pride of elder craig mills heart and the delight of Bertrand ballard's artist soul to Bertrand they were discovery an oasis in a desert one day the banker had called them in to look at a canvas that was falling to pieces with age and the hope that the artist might have the skill to restore it from that day the intimacy began and a warm friendship sprang between the two families founded on Bertrand's love for the old works of art wherein the ancestors of peter craig mills senior looked out from their frames with a dignity and warmth and grace rarely to be met with in this new western land Bertrand's heart leaped with joy as he gazed on one of them the one he had been called on to save if possible this must be a genuine reynolds ah they could paint those old fellows he cried genuine reynolds why man it is it is you're a true artist you knew it in a moment peter senior's heart was immediately filled with admiration for the younger man yes they were a good family the craig mills of Aberdeen my father brought all the old portraits coming to this country to keep the family traditions alive it's a good thing a good thing she was a beautiful woman the original of that portrait she was a great beauty indeed her husband took her to london to have it done by the great painter ah the scotch glasses were fine look at that color you don't see that here no our american women are too pale for the most part but then again your men are too red ah beef and red wine beef and red wine with us in scotland it was the good oak cakes and homebrew and the air the air of the scotch hills in the sea you don't have such air here I've often heard my father say I've spent the greater part of my life here so it's mostly the traditions I have they in the portraits thus it came about that owing to his desire to keep up the line of family portraits peter craig mill engaged the artist to paint the picture of his gentle sweet-faced life she was painted seated a little sun on either side of her and now in the dimna she looked out from the heavy gold frame a half smile playing about her lips on her lap an open book and about the low cut crimson velvet and bodice rare old lace pinned at the bosom of a large brooch of rock gold framing a delicately cut cameo as mary ballard sat in the parlor waiting she looked up in the dusky light at this picture ah yes her brooch and also was a great painter if only he could be where he might become known and appreciated she sighed for another reason also as she regarded it because the two little sons clasped by the mother's arms were both gone sunny-haired scotch laddies they were with fair wide brows each in kilt and plaid with bare knees and ruddy cheeks what delight her husband to take in and painting it and now the mother mourned unceaselessly the loss of those little sons and of one another whom mary had never seen and of whom they had no likeness it was indeed hard the one son left them their first born their hope and pride should now be going away to leave them going perhaps to his death the door opened and a shadow swept slowly across the room always pale and unblack wrapped in her morning the shadow of sorrow never left this mother now it seemed to envelop even mary ballard bright and warm nature as she was hester craig mill barely smiled as she held out her slender blue veined hand it was very good of you to come to me mary ballard but you can't make me think i should be reconciled to this no it is hard enough to be reconciled to the blows god has dealt me without accepting what my husband and son see fit to give me in this her hand was cold and passive and her voice was restrained in the low mary ballard's hands were warm and her tones were rich and full she took the pro offered hand in both her own and drew the shadow down to sit at her side no no i'm not going to try to make you reconciled or anything i've just come to tell you that i understand and that i think you are justified in withholding your consent to peter juniors going off this way if you were killed i should feel as if i had consented to his death of course you would i should feel just the same naturally you can't forbid his going now for it's too late and he would have to go with the feeling of disobedience in his heart and that would be cruel to him and worse for you i know his father has consented they think i am wrong my son thinks i am wrong but i can't, i can't and her suppressed tone sounded the ancient wail of women mothers crying for sons sacrificed in war for few moments neither of them spoke it was hard for mary to break the silence her friends sat at her side withdrawn and still her eyes to the picture of herself and the children and spoke again only breathing the words peter juniors my beautiful oldest boy he is the last the others are all gone three of them peter juniors is splendid i thought so last evening as i saw him coming up the path i took it home to myself what i should feel and what i would think if you were my son somehow we women are so inconsistent and foolish i know if you were my son i could never give my consent to his going never in the world but there i would be so proud of him for doing just what your boy has done i would look up to him in admiration and be so glad that he was just that kind of a man hester kregmel turned and looked steadily in her friends eyes but did not open her lips and after a moment mary continued to have one son taken like these is different we know they are safe with the one who loves little children we know they are safe and waiting for us but to have a boy grow into a young man like peter junior so straight and fine and beautiful and then to have him come and say i'm going to help save our country and i will die for it if i must when my heart would grow big with thanksgiving that i had brought such a one into the world and reared him i what would i do i couldn't tell him he might go, no but i just take him in my arms and bless him and love him a thousand times more for it so he could go away with that warm feeling all about his heart and then i just pray and hope the war might end soon and that he might come back to me rewarded and still good that's it if you would i don't distrust my son but there are always things to tempt and if you were changed in that way or if he never came back i would die i know we can't help thinking about ourselves and how we are left to feel mary hesitated and was loosed to go on with that train of thought but her friend caught her meeting and rose in silence and paced the room a moment then returned it is easy to talk in that way when one has not lost as she said i know it seems so but it is not easy hester craigmo it is hard so hard that i came near staying at home this morning it seemed as if i could not could not yes what i said was bitter you were good to come to me and what you have said is true it has helped me i think it will help me then goodbye i'll go now but i'll come again soon she left the shadows sitting there with the basket of fruit and flowers at her side unnoticed and forgotten and stepped quietly out of the darkened room into the sunlight and fresh air i do wish i could induce her to go out a little or open up her house i wish but shut her lips tightly on her thoughts untied the mare and drove slowly away hester craigmo stood for a moment gazing on the picture of her little sons then for an hour or more wandered up and down over her spacious home going from room to room mechanically arranging and rearranging the chairs and small articles on the mantles and tables nothing was out of place no duster disorder anywhere and there was the pity of it only a boy's cap could be found lying about were books left carelessly were they ought not to be one closed door she passed again and again once she laid her hand on the knob she passed on leaving it unopened at last she turned and walking swiftly down the hall entered the room there the blinds were closed and the curtains drawn and everything set in as perfect order as the parlor below she sat down in a chair placed back against the wall and folded her hands in her lap no it was not so hard for mary ballard it would not be even if she had a son old enough to go mary had work to do on the wall above hester's head was one of the portraits which helped to establish the family dignity of the craig mills if the blinds had been open one could have seen it in sharp contrast to the pale moth of the woman who sat beneath it the painting warm and rich in tone was of a dame in the long bodice dress she held a fan in her hand and wore feathers in her powdered hair her eyes gave straight across the room and to those of a red coated soldier who wore a sword at his side and gold on his shoulders yes there had been soldiers in the family before peter jr's time this was peter jr's room but the boy was there no longer he had come home from college one day and had entered into a boy and then he came out of it and down to his mother dressed in his new uniform a man now he entered it no more and for he stayed at the camp over on the high bluff of the wisconsin river he was wholly taken up with his new duties there and his room had been set in order and closed as if he were dead sitting there hester heard the church clock peel out the hour of 12 and started soon she would hear the front door open and shut and a heavy tread along the lower hall and she wouldn't go down and sit silently at the table opposite her husband they two alone there would be silence because there would be nothing to say he loved her and was tender of her but his word was law because he was dictated lawmaker and judge and from his decisions there was no appeal never occurred to him that there ever need be so hester craig mill reserved an intent closed her lips on her own thoughts which it seemed to her to be useless to utter and let them eat her heart out in silence at the moment expected she heard the step on the floor of the vestibule and the door opened but it was not her husband's step alone that she heard surely it was peter jr's and his cousins were they coming to dinner who know where it had been sent hester stepped out of the room and stood at the head of the stairs waiting she did not wish to go down and meet her son before the others and if he did not find her below he would know where to look for her peter senior was an elder in the presbyterian church and he was always addressed as elder even by his wife and son on the street he was always elder craig mill she heard the men enter the dining room and the door closed after them and they waited the maid would have to be told to put two more places at the table but hester did not move the elder might attend to that presently she heard quick steps returning and knew her son was coming she went to meet him and was clasping his arms closing hard you were waiting for me here come mother come he stroked her smooth dark hair and put his cheek to hers it was what she needed what her heart was breaking for she even let him go easier after this sometimes her husband kissed her but only when he went a journey or when he returned a grave kiss of farewell or greeting but in her son's class there is something of her own souls pent up longing you'll come down mother rich came home with me yes I heard his voice I'm glad he came see here mother I know what you're doing this won't do everyone who goes to war doesn't get killed look at that old red coat up in my room he wasn't killed but where would I be now? I'm coming back just as he did we were born to fight we cragged most and father feels it or he would never have given his consent slowly they went down the long winding flight of stairs the flight with a smooth banister down which had once been peter juniors delight to slide when there was no one nigh to propose now he went down with his arm around his slender mother's waist one then he kissed her cheek like a lover the elder looked up as they entered with a slight wince of disapproval the only demonstration of reproof he ever gave his wife which changed instantly to a slight smile as he noticed the faint color in her cheeks and a brighter light in her eyes than there was at breakfast he and richard were both seated as they entered but they rose instantly and the elder placed your chair with all the manner of his forefathers a courtesy he never neglected hester kragmel forced herself to converse and tried to smile as if there were no impending gloom who was here mary ballad's influence was felt by them all she had helped her friend more than she knew i'm glad to see you richard i was afraid i might not oh no and hester i'd never leave without seeing you i went into the bank and the elder asked me to dinner and i jumped at the chance this is your home always you know and it's good to think of too and hester she looked at her son and then her nephew you are so alike in your uniforms i would not know you apart on the street in the dark she said richard shot a merry glance in his uncle's eyes then only smiled echerously with him and peter junior i wish you'd visit the camp and see us drill we go like clockwork peter and i they call us the twins there is a very good reason for that for your mother and i were twins and you resemble her while peter junior resembles me said the elder yes said hester peter junior looks like his father but as she glanced at her son she knew his soul was hers thus the male passed in quiet decorous talk touching on nothing vital but holding a smoldering fire underneath the young men said nothing about the fact that the regimen had been called so duty and soon the camp on the bluff would be breaking up they dare not touch on the past and they as little dared touch on the future indeed there might be no future they talked of indifferent things and hester parted with her nephew as if they were to meet again soon except that she called him back when he was half way down the steps and kissed him again as for her son she took him up to his room and there they stayed for an hour and then he came out and she was left in the house alone end of chapter 3 recording by chelsea baker chapter 4 of the eye of dread this is a liber box recording all liber box recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit liberbox.org the eye of dread by painter skin chapter 4 leave taking early in the morning while the earth was still a massive grey shadow and mist and the sky had only begun to show faint signs of the flush of dawn beddy, awake and alert crept softly out of bed not to awaken martha who slept the sleep of utter wariness at her side martha had returned only the day before from her visit to her grandfathers a long carriage ride away from leovite beddy bathed turdly giving a perfunctory brushing to the tangled massive curls and getting into her close swiftly and silently she had been cautioned the night before by her mother not to awaken her sister by getting up at too early an hour for she would be called in plenty of time to drive over with the rest to see the soldiers off but what if her mother should forget so she put on her new white dress and gathered a few small parcels which she had carefully tied up the night before in her little hat and little white linen cape taking her shoes in hand softly descended the stairs beddy, beddy her mother spoke in a sleepy voice from her own room as the child crept past her door why, my dear, it isn't time to get up yet we shan't start for hours i heard peter jr. say they were going to strike camp at daybreak and i want to see them strike it you don't need to get up i can go over there alone wait, no child mother couldn't let you do that they don't want little girls there go back to bed, dear, did you wake martha? oh, mother can't i go downstairs i don't want to go to bed again i'll be very still will you lie on the lounge and try to go to sleep again? yes, mother mary ballard turned with a sigh and presently fell asleep she continued her way and obediently lay down in the darkened room below but sleep she could not at last, having satisfied her conscience by lying quietly for a while she stole to the open door for in that peaceful spot the ballard slept with doors and windows wide open all through the warm nights oh, but the world was cool and mysterious and the air was sweet little wrestling noises made her feel as if strange beings were stirring above her head were soft chirpings and somewhere a bird was calling an undulating long drawn note low and sweet like a tone drawn from her father's violin betty sat on the edge of the porch and put on her shoes and then walked down the path to the gate the white peonies and the iris flowers were long since gone and on the harvest apple trees and the sweet boughs the fruit hung ripening all betty's long life she never forgot this wonderful moment of the breaking of day she listened for sounds to come to her from the camp far away on the river bluff but none were heard only the restless moving of her grandfather's team taking their early feed in the small pasture lot nearby how fresh everything smelled and the sky, surely it must be like this in heaven it must be heaven showing through while the world slept she was God she had awakened early so she might see it she and God and the angels and all the wild things of earth slowly everything around her grew plainer the rays of color, faintly pink streamed up into the sky from the eastern horizon then suddenly some pale gray floating clouds above her head blossomed into a wonderful rose laid upon a sea of gold then gradually turned shell pink then faded through changing shades to daytime clouds of white she wondered if the soldiers thought too they were breaking camp now surely for it was day still she swung on the gate and dreamed until a voice roused her Betty sleeps all night on the gate like a chicken on the fence a pair of long arms seized her and lifted her high in the air to a pair of strong shoulders then she was tossed about and her cheeks rubbed red against grandfather Clyde's stubby beard until she laughed aloud what are you doing here on the gate I was watching the sky I think God looked through and smiled for all at once it blossomed now the colors are gone grandfather Clyde set her gently on her feet striking gravely down on her for a moment so he said the soldiers are striking camp over there and then they're going to march to the square and then everyone is to see them form and salute and then they are to march to the station and and then and then I don't know what will be I think glory her grandfather shook his head his thoughtful face half smiling and half grave he took her hand come we'll see what Jack and Jill are up to he led her to the pasture lot and the horses came and thrust their heads over the fence and went see they want their outs then Betty was lifted to old Jack's bareback and grandfather led him by the forelock to the barn while Jill followed after did Jack ever fall down and break his crown grandfather no but he ran away once on a time oh did Jill come running after that she did the son had but just cast his first glance at High Knob where the camp was and Mary Ballard was hastily whipping up batter for pancakes the simplest thing she could get for breakfast as they were to go early enough to see the boys at the camp before they formed for their march to the town square the children were to ride over in the great carriage with grandfather and grandmother Clyde while father and mother would take Bobby with them in the carry-all it was an arrangement like equally by the three small children and the well-content grandparents Betty came to the house clinging to her grandfather's hand he drew the large rocking chair from the kitchen where winter and summer had occupied a place by the window the Bertrand and his moments of rest and leisure might sit and read the war news lad to his wife as she worked out to a cool grass plot by the door so that he might be near enough to chat with his daughter while enjoying the morning air Betty found tidy little Martha fresh and clean as a rosebud stepping busily about setting the table with extra places and putting the chairs around filled with self-condemnation at the side of her sister's helpfulness she dashed upstairs to do her part in getting all neat for the day first she cokes naughty little Jamie who, in his night-shirt, was out on the porch roof fishing, dangling his shoe over the edge by its strings tied to his father's cane to return and be hustled into his trousers fighting little garments that came almost to his shoe tops and to stand still while sister washed his face and brushed his curly red hair into a state of semi-orderliness then there was Bobby to be kissed and coaxed and washed and dressed and told marvelous tales to be giled him into listening submission mother, may I put Bobby's Sunday dress on him, called Betty from the head of the stairs yes, dear, anything you like, but hurry breakfast is almost ready then to Martha, leave the sweeping dairy and run down to the spring for the cream to her father, Mary explained the little girls are a great help Betty manages to do for the boys without irritating them now we'll eat while the cakes are hot come, Bertrand it was a grave mission on a sorrowful one that early morning ride to say goodbye to those youthful volunteers the breakfast conversation turned on the subject with subdued intensity Mary Ballard did not explain herself she was too busy serving but denounced the war in broad terms as unnecessary and iniquitous thus soliciting from her husband his usual exclamation when an asphorism of more than ordinary daring burst from her lips Mary, why Mary, I'm astonished everyone regards it from a different point of view, such as wife and this is my point it was conclusive grandfather Clyde turned sideways leaned one elbow on the table in a meditative way he had and spoke slowly Betty gazed at him in wide-eyed attention when Mary poured the coffee and Martha helped her mother by passing the cakes Bobby sat close to his comfortable grandmother who seemed to be giving him all her attention but who heard everything and was ready to drop a quiet word of significance when applicable if we bring the question down to its primal cause said grandfather if we bring it down to its primal cause Mary is right for the cause being iniquitous of course the war is the same what is primal cause grandfather asked Betty the thing that began at all said grandfather regarding her quizzically I don't agree with your conclusion said Bertrand pausing to put syrup on Jamie's cakes after repeated demands therefore if the cause be evil it follows that to annihilate the cause wipe it out of existence must be righteous in God's good time said grandmother Clyde quietly God's good time in my opinion seems to be when we are forced to a thing grandfather lifted one shaggy eyebrow in her direction at any rate at any rate and whatever happens said Bertrand the union must be preserved a nation whole and undivided my father left England for love of its magnificent ideals of government by the people here is to be the vast open ground where all nations may come together and realize their highest possibilities and consequently this nation must be held together and developed as a whole in all its resources and not cut up into small and effective quarrels and factions to allow that would mean the ruin of a colossal scheme for universal progress Mary brought her husband's coffee and put it beside his plate as he was too absorbed to take it and as she did so she placed her hand on his shoulder with gentle pressure and their eyes met for an instant then grandfather Clyde took up the thread speaking of your father makes me think of my father your old grandfather Clyde Mary he fought with his father in the Revolutionary War when he was lad no more than Peter june's age or less he came to be a judge of the Supreme Court of New York and helped to frame the constitution of that state too I used to hear him say when I was a mere boy and he would bring his fist down on the table with an emphasis that made the dishes rattle for all he averred that he never used justiculation to aid his oratory he used to say I remember his words as if it were about yesterday slavery is a crime which we the whole nation are accountable for and for which we will be held accountable if we as a nation will not do away with it by legislation or mutual compact justly then the Lord will take it into his own hands and wipe it out with blood he may be patient for a long while and give us a good chance but if we wait too long it may not be in my day it may not be in yours he will wipe it out with blood and here was where he used to make the dishes rattle maybe then this is the Lord's good time said grandmother I believe in preserving the union at any cost slavery or no slavery said Bertrand the bigger and grander the nation the more rottenness if it's rotten at heart I believe it better even at the cost of war to wipe out a national crime or let those who want slavery take themselves out of it Betty began to quiver through all her little system of high strong nerves and sympathies the talk was growing heated and she hated to listen to excited arguments yet she gazed and listened with fascinated attention Bertrand looked up at his father-in-law why father, why father I'm astonished I fail to see how permitting one tremendous evil can possibly further any good purpose to my mind the most tremendous evil that could be perpetrated on this globe the thing that would do more to set all progress back for hundreds of years maybe would be to break up this union here in this country now we are advancing at a pace that covers the centuries of the past in leaps of a hundred years in one now cut this land up into little coviling factions and where are we why the very motto of the Republic would be done away with and union there is strength I tell you slavery is the sword of Delilah and the nation, if it is divided will be like Samson with a zlock shorn well war is here and we must send off our young men to the shambles and later on fill up our country with the refuse of Europe and their stead and it will be the people bloodletting for both north and south and it will be the best blood on both sides I'm as sorry for the mothers down there as I am for ourselves did you get the apples Bertrand we'd better start to be there at eight I put them in the carry all my dear sweet bows and harvest apples the boys will have one more taste before they leave father we want to carry some put some in the carriage too said Martha white Jamie those are for the soldiers they're not for us cried Betty in horror teed even one it seemed to her would be greed and robbery in spite of the gravity of the hour till the older ones the occasion took on an air of festivity to the children and grandfathers dignified old family carriage Martha sat with demirrelation on the back seat at her grandmother's side marrying her white linen cape and a wide brimmed low crowned hat of new politics straw with a blue ribbon around the crown and a narrow one attached to the front the end of which was held in her hand to pull the brim down to shade her eyes as was the fashion for little girls of the day she felt well pleased with the hat and held the ribbon daintily in her shapely little hand at her feet was the basket of apples and with her other hand she guarded three small packages grandmother wore a grey changeable silk the round waist fitted her plump figure smoothly and the skirt was full and flowing her bonnet was made of the same silk sheared on ratten and was not perched on the top of her head but covered it well and framed her sweet face with a full white toe retching set close under the brim grandfather up in front drove Jack and Jill who, he said, were feeling their oats Betty did not wonder for oats are sharp and must prick their stomachs she sat with grandfather he had promised she should the night before and Jamie was tucked in between them he ought to have been in behind with grandmother but his scream of rebellion as he was lifted in brought instant yielding from Betty when grandfather interfered and took them both but when Jamie insisted on holding the reins grandfather grew firm and when screams again began his young majesty was lifted down and placed in the road to remain until instant obedience was promised after which he was restored to the coveted place in a way they went Betty's white linen cape blew up behind and her ribbons flew like blue butterflies all about her hat she forgot to hold down the brim as polite little girls did who knew how to wear their Sunday clothes she too held three small packages in her lap for days ever since Peter jr. Richard Kildine had taken tea with them in their new uniforms little girls had patiently sewed to make the articles which filled these packages Mary Ballard had planned them and each was a needle book filled with needles large enough to be used by clumsy fingers a pin ball a good sized iron thimble for mending buttons of various sizes and a bit of beeswax molded in Mary Ballard's thimble to wax their linen thread all were neatly packed in a case of bronze leather bound about with firm braid and tucked under the strap of the leather on the inside was a small pair of scissors it was all very compact and tied about with the braid the mother had done some of the hardest of the sewing but for the most part the stitches had been painstakingly put in by the children's own fingers the morning was cool the dust had been laid by a heavy shower in the night the horses held up their heads and went swiftly in spite of their long journey the day before soon they heard in the distance the sound of the drum and the merry note of the fife again a pang shot through Betty's heart that she had not been a boy of Peter jr's age that she might go to war she heaved a sigh and looked up in her grandfather's face it was a grizzled face with blue eyes that shot a kindly glance sideways at her as if he understood when they drew near the horses danced to the merry tune as if they would like to go too all the camp seemed alive how splendid the soldiers looked in their blue uniforms their guns flashing in the sun Betty watched how their legs with the stripes on them seemed to twinkle as they moved all together, marching in companies back and forth, back and forth they went and the orders came to the children short and abrupt as the men went through their maneuvers they saw the sentinel pacing up and down and wondered why he did it instead of marching with the other men all these questions were saved up to ask of grandfather when they got home they were too interested to do anything but watch now at last very suddenly it seemed the soldiers broke ranks and scattered over the greensward running hither and thither like ants Betty again drew a long breath now they were coming the soldiers in whom they were particularly interested can they do what they please now she asked her grandfather yes, for a while all along the sentry line carriages were drawn up for this hour from eight till nine was given to the boys to see their friends for the last time in many months maybe years maybe forever as they had come from all over the state some had no friends to meet them but guests were there in crowds and every man might receive a handshake whether he was known or not all were friends to these young volunteers Bertrand Ballard was known and loved by all the use some from the village and others from the country around coming to the Ballard homes simply because the place made an enjoyable centre for them some came to practice the violin and others to sing some came to try their hand at sketching and painting and some just to hear Bertrand talk all was done for them quite gratuitously on his part no laugh was merrier than his even the chore boy came in for a share of the Ballard's kindly help sitting at Mary Ballard's side in the long winter evenings and conning lessons to patch up an education snatched haphazard and hardly come by here comes one of them now head up smiling and happy go lucky Bertrand here comes Johnny give him the apples and let him distribute them poor boy I'm sorry he's going he's too easily led said Mary oh Johnny Johnny Cooper I've got something for you we made them mother helped us cried Martha now the children were out of the carriage and running about among their friends Johnny Cooper snatched Jamie from the ground and threw him up over his head and set him down again and took the parcel up and set her on his shoulder while he peered into the package stop Johnny set me down I'm too big now for you to toss me up her arms were crossed tightly under his chin as he held her by the feet slowly he led her slide to the ground and thrust the little case in his pocket and stooping kissed the child I'll think of you and your mother when I use this he said and you'll write to us won't you Johnny said Mary if you don't I shall think something has gone wrong with you and she knew he knew there are worse things than bullets Johnny never you worry for me Mrs. Ballard we're going down for business and you won't see me again until we've licked the Rebs he held her hand awkwardly for a minute then relieved the tension by carrying off the two baskets of apples I know the Treesies came from he said and soon a hundred boys in blue were needing Bertrand's choices to apples here come the twins said someone as Peter Jr. and Richard Kilding came toward them across the Sward Betty Moran to meet them and caught Richard by the hand she loved to have him swing her in long leaps from the ground as he walked see Richard I made this for you all myself almost I put a C in the corner so it wouldn't get mixed with the others because I made this especially for you did you? why didn't you put an R in the corner if you meant for me I think you meant this for Charlie Crab no I didn't Betty spoke most empathetically Martha has one for him I put C because you'll see when you open it everything's bound all round with my very best cherry colored hair ribbon to make it very special and that is what C is for all the rest are brown and this is prettier and it won't get mixed with Peter Jr.'s ah yes C is for cherry Betty's hair ribbon and the golden brown leather is for Betty's hair is that it? yep we made them just alike and you can sew on buttons and everything thus the children made the leave taking less lumber to the relief of everyone grandfather and grandmother Clyde had friends of their own whom they had come all the 40 miles to see neighbor boys from many of the farms are in their home and their daughter in law's own brother who is like a son to them there he stood lithe and strong and genial and alas too easy going to be safe among the temptations of the camp quickly the hour passed and then the call came to form ranks for the march to the town square where speeches were to be made and prayers were to be read before the march to the station a little party waited until the last company had left the campground and the excited children had seen them all and heard the sound of the fife and drum until their last note and beat as the boys in blue filed past them and off down the winding country road among the trees nothing was said by the older ones of what might be in the future for those gallant youths yes and for the few men of greater years with them as they wound out of sight it was better so bobby fell asleep in Mary Ballard's arm as they drove back and a bright tear fell from her wide open far seeing eyes down on his baby cheek it was no lack of love for a son that kept elder Craig mill away at the departure of the boys from their camp from the bluff he had virtually said his say and parted from his son when he gave his consent to his going off in the first place to him warm and sacrifice and the parting with sons at no matter what cost the dominant idea with him was ever the preservation of the union and nine o'clock as usual that morning he had entered the bank and few minutes later when the troops formed on the square he came out and took his appointed place on the platform as one of the speakers and offered a closing prayer for the confounding of the enemy after the manner of David of old then he descended and took his son's hand as he stood in the ranks with his arm across the boy's shoulder looked a moment in his eyes then without a word he turned and re-entered the bank end of chapter 4 recording by Chelsea Baker chapter 5 of the eye of dread this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org the eye of dread by Painerskin chapter 5 the passing of time it was winter the snow was blowing past the windows and blinding drifts and the road in front of the ballad's home was fast-filling to the tops of the fences a bright wood fire was burning in the great cook's stove which had been brought into the living-room for warmth and to economize steps as all the work of the household devolves on Mary and little Betty since Martha spent the weekdays in the village in order to attend the high school Mary gazed anxiously now and then through the fast-frosting window-pains on the opaque whiteness of the storm without where the trees tossed their bare branches weirdly like threatening gray phantoms grotesque and dimly seen through the driving snow it was Friday afternoon and still early and brave, busy little Martha always came home on Fridays after school to help her mother on Saturdays oh I hope Martha hasn't started said Mary look out Bertrand this is the wildest storm we've seen this year Mrs. Dean would never allow her to set out Miss Storm, I'm sure, said Bertrand I cautioned her yesterday when I was there never to start when the weather seemed like a blizzard Bertrand had painted in his studio above as long as the light remained and now he was washing his brushes carefully swishing the water out of them and drawing each one between his lips to shape it properly before laying it down Mary laid the babe in her arms in its crib and rocked at a moment while she and Bertrand chatted a long winter and summer had passed since the troops marched away from the leovite and now another winter was passing for a year and a bit more little Janie, the babe now being hushed to sleep had been a member of the family circle thus it was that Mary Ballard seldom went to the village and Betty learned her lessons at home as best she could and tended the baby and helped her mother but Bertrand and his wife had plenty to talk about for he went out and saw their friends in the village led the choir on Sunday and went to the village led the choir on Sundays topped the Bible class, heard all the news and talked it over with Mary thus, in one way or another all the new books found their way into the Ballard's home were read and commented on even though books were not written so much for commercial purposes then as now and the writers were looked up to with more respect than criticism The Atlantic Monthly and Little's Living Age Harper's Magazine and the New York Tribune also brought up a variety of subjects for discussion now and then a poem by Whittier or Bryant or some other of the small galaxy of poets who justly were becoming the nation's pride would appear and be read aloud to Mary as she prepared their meals or washed the dishes or ironed the small garments while Betty listened with intent eyes and ears as she helped her mother attended to the baby that afternoon, while the storm soared without, the cow and horse were comfortably quartered in their small stable which was banked with straw to keep out the cold indoors Jamie was whittling behind the warm cook's stove over a newspaper spread to catch the chips while Bobby played quietly in the corner with two gray kittens and a worsted ball Jamie was asleep in the crib which Betty jogged now and then while she knit on a sock for the soldiers Mary and the two little girls were always knitting socks for the soldiers these days in their spare moments and during the long winter evenings Mary was kneading white loaves of bread with flowery hands close beside the window to catch the last rays of daylight by which to read the war news Bertrand always read the war news first news of battles and lists of wounded and slain and imprisoned and sadists of all lists of the missing following closely the movements of their own company of boys from the elite Mary listened always with a thought of the shadow in the banker's home and the mother there watching and waiting for their turn for boys although their own home was safe their homes devastated in the morning weighed heavily upon Mary Ballard and she needed to listen to the stirring editorials of the Tribune which Bertrand read with dramatic intensity to bolster up her faith in the rightness of this war between men who ought to be brothers and their hopes and ambitions for the national life of their great country I suppose it is too great a thing to ask that such a tremendous and mixed nation as ours should be knit together for the good of all men in the spirit of brotherly love what a thing to ask for what a thing to try for if I were a man I would pray I might gain influence over my fellows just for that just for that said Mary replied her husband with fond optimism you need not say if I were a man for that it is the woman who have the influence don't you know that Mary Mary looked down at her work an incredulous smile playing about her lips well my dear well Bertrand men do like to talk about our sweet influence don't they then she laughed outright but Mary but Mary is just true women do more with their influence than men can do with their guns and Bertrand really meant what he said dusky shadows filled the room but if the light had been stronger he would have seen that little ironic smile still playing about his wife's lips did you see Judge Logan again about those pack of lots Bertrand wondered what the Watts had to do with the subject but he suffered the digression patiently for the feminine mind was not supposed to be coherent yes my love I saw him yesterday what did you do about them I hope you refused no my dear I thought best not he showed me very conclusively that in time it will be worth more much more than the debt then why did he offer them to you for the debt the portraits you painted for him will be worth more too in time than the debt you remember when you asked me what I thought I said we needed the money more now yes I remember but this plan is a looking toward the future I didn't think it wise to refuse Mary said nothing but went out returning presently with two lighted candles Bertrand was replenishing the fire had he been looking at her face with the light of the candles on it as she carried them he would have noticed that little smile about her lips I'm very glad we brought the bees in yesterday he said the storm would have made it impossible to do it today and we should have lost them how about those lectures dear the boys are all gone now and you won't have them to take up your time evenings so you can easily prepare them they will take you into the city now and then that will keep you in touch with the world outside this village Bertrand had been requested to give a series of lectures on art in one of the colleges in the city he had been well pleased and accepted but later had refused because of certain dictatorship exercised by the board which he felt infringed on his province of the suitable selection of subjects he was silent for a moment again Mary had irrevolently and abruptly changed his subject of the conversation where was the connection between bees and lecturers I really wish you would dear urged Mary you still wish it after the affront the board has given me but what do they know about art I would give the lectures if it was only to be able incidentally to teach something be a little conciliatory dear I will make no concessions if I give the lectures I must be allowed to select my courses it is my province did you see elder craig mill about it I did and what did he say he seemed to think the board was right I knew he would you remember I asked you not to go to him I thought about it and that was why why did you think so he assumes to be my friend because people who don't know anything about art always are satisfied with their own opinions they don't know anything to upset them he knows more than some of them but how much is that enough to know that he owns some fine paintings but you taught him their value now didn't you Bertrand smiled but said nothing and his wife continued prepare the lectures dear for my sake I love to know that you are doing such work I can't the action of the board is and insults my intelligence what are you smiling about about you dear Mary why Mary I but Mary only smiled the more you love my relevance and inconsistency you say I love any weakness that is yours Mary what are you keeping back from me the weakness that is mine dear again Mary laughed outright it would be useless to tell you or try to explain I love you isn't that enough Bertrand thought it ought to be but was not sure and said so then Mary laughed again and he kissed her shaking his head dubiously and took up his violin for solace thus an hour passed then Betty set the table for supper and the long evening followed like many another evening filled with the companionship only comfortably married people know while Bertrand read from the poets since with a man's helplessness in such matters he could not do the family mending or knit for the soldiers or remodel old garments into new it behaved him to render such task pleasant for the busy hand and brain that must devise and create and make much out of little for the economy's sake and this Bertrand did to Mary's complete satisfaction evenings like these were Betty's school and they seemed all the schooling she was likely to get for the family funds were barely sufficient to cover the expenses of one child at a time but as Mary said it's not so bad for Mary to be kept at home for she will read and study anyway because she likes it and it won't hurt her to learn to be practical as well and no doubt Mary was right Bertrand was himself a poet in his appreciation and fineness of choice and he read for Mary with all the effectiveness and warmth of color that he would put into a recitation for a large audience carried on solely by his one sympathetic listener and his love for what he read while Betty in her corner close to the lamp behind her father's chair listened unnoticed with eager soul wrapped and uplifted as Bertrand read he commented these men who are writing like this are doing for this country what the Lake poets did for England they are making true literature for the nation and saving it from banality they are going to live they will be classed someday with Wordsworth and all the rest of the best hear this from James Russell Lowell it's about a violin and it's called In the Twilight it's worthy of Shelley and Bertrand read the poem through more Mary letter limiting following her lap and listened he loved to see her listen that way read again that verse that begins oh my life I seem to like it best and he read over oh my life have we not had seasons live and rejoice but ask not for causes and reasons that made us all feeling in voice when we went with the winds and their blowing when nature and we were peers and we seem to share in the flowing of the inexhaustible years have we not from the earth drawn juices to find for earth sordid uses have I heard have I seen all I feel all I know doth my heart overween or could it have been long ago in the next Bertrand I love to hear them over again and he read sometimes a breath floats by me an odor from dream land sent that makes the ghost seem nigh me of a splendor that came and went of a life lived somewhere I know not in what divine a sphere of memories that stay not in go not like music heard once by an ear that cannot forget a reclaim it something so shy it would shame it to make it a show a something too vague could I name it for others to know as if I had lived it or dreamed it as if I had acted or schemed it long ago and the last verse father the last best cried Betty suddenly why my dear I thought you were gone to bed no mother lets me set up a little while longer when you're reading I like to hear you and he read them for her the last verse and yet could I live it over this life that stirs my brain could I be both maiden and lover moon and tide the enclover as I seem to have been once again could I but speak it and show it this pleasure more sharp than pain that baffles and lures me so the world should once more have a poet such as it had in the ages glad long ago then wishing to know more the secret springs of his little daughter's life he asked why do you love that stanza best Betty my dear Betty blushed crimson to the roots of her hair for what she carried in her heart was too precious to tell but she meant to be a poet even then in the pocket of her calico dress lay a little book and stub blood pencil and in the book was already the beginning of her great epic her father had said the epic was a thing of the past that in the future none would be written for that it was a form of expressions that belong to the world's youth and that the age brought philosophy and introspection but not epics she meant to surprise her father someday with this poem the great world full of mystery of seductive beauty and of terror and of strange enticing charm she sought and felt it always even now in the driving whirling storm without and the darkness of a chamber or when she looked through the frosted pains into the starry skies at midnight always it was there all about her as something unexpressed unseen but close close to her the mystery which throbbed through all her small being and which she was one day to find out and understand and put into her great epic she thought over her father's question hardly knowing why she liked that last stand the best she slowly wound up her bowel of yarn and thrust the needles through it and dropped it onto her mother's work basket before she replied then taking up her candle she looked shyly into her father's eyes because I like where it says this pleasure more sharp than pain the baffles and lures me so then she was gone hurrying away lest they should question her further and learn about the little book in her pocket thus time passed with the ballads many days swiftly flying laden with a fair share of sweetness and pleasure and much harassment and toil but in the main bringing happiness End of Chapter 5 Recording by Chelsea Baker Please visit LibriVox.org The Eye of Dread by Payne Erskine Chapter 6 The End of the War It was three years after the troops marched away from high-knob encampment before either Peter Jr. or Richard Kilding were again in Leovite. And then only Peter returned because he was wounded and not that he was unwilling to enlist again as did Richard and many of the boys when their first term of service was ended. He returned with the brevet of the captain for gallant conduct in the encounter in which he had received his wound but only a shadow of the healthy earnest boy who had stood in the ranks on the town square of Leovite three years before but this very fact brought life and hope to his waiting mother now that she had the blessed privilege of nursing him back of strength. It seemed as though her long period of mourning ended when Peter Jr., hallowed in his blue uniform, his hair darkened and matted with the dampness caused by weakness and pain, was born in between the white columns of his father's house when the news reached him that his son was lying wounded in a southern hospital the elder had for the first time in many many years, falled in impulse without pausing to consider his act beforehand. He left the bank on the instant and started for the scene of battles only hurrying home to break the news first to his wife. Yielding to a rare tenderness he touched her hair and kissed her and enjoined on her to remember that their son was not slain but by merciful providence was only wounded and might be spared to them. She must thank the Lord and be ready to nurse him back to life. Why providence should be thus merciful to their son rather than to many other son the good elder did not pause to consider. Possibly he thought it no more than just that the prayers of the righteous should be answered by a supernatural intervention between their sons and the bolts of their enemy. His ideas on this point were no doubt vague at the best but certain it is that he returned from his long and difficult journey to life after his boy with a clear notion of what war really was and did more human sympathy for those who go and suffer and as might be anticipated with those of his temperament and added bitterness against those who he felt were to blame for the conflict. When Peter Jr. left his home his father had enjoined on him to go not in the spirit of bitterness and enmity but as an act of duty to teach a needed lesson for surely the Lord was on the side of the right to teach this needed lesson to those laboring in error. Ah, it is a very different point of view we take when we suffer instead of merely moralizing on the suffering of others especially we who feel that we know what is right and lack in great part the imagination to comprehend the other man's viewpoint. To us of that cast of mind there is only one viewpoint and that is our own and only a bodily departure to the other man's hilltop or valley as the case may be will open the eyes and enlarge the understanding of even allowing our fellows to see things in another light from our own. In this instant while the elder's understanding had been decidedly enlarged it had been in but one direction and the effect had not been to a spiritual benefit. He had seen only the suffering of his own side and being deficient in power to imagine what might be he had taken no charitable thought for the other side instead of feeling of hatred had stirred within him a feeling he felt justified and therefore indulged and named righteous indignation. The elder's face was stern and hard as he directed the men who bore his son on the litter where to return and how to lift it above the banister and going up the stairs so not to jar the young man who was too weak after the long journey to do more than turn his eyes on his mother's face. But that mother's face it seemed to him he had never seen it so radiant and charming for all that her hair had grown silvery white in the three years since he had last kissed her he could not take his eyes from it and besought her not to leave his side even when the elder bade her go not excite him but allow him to rest no sooner was her son laid on his own bed in his old room when she began a series of gentle ministration most sweet to the boy and to herself but the elder had been told that all he needed now was rest in absolute quiet and the surgeon's orders must be carried out regardless of all else Hester Craigmill yielded as always to the elder's will and remained without he waited close beside her son's door her hands that ached to serve lying idly in her lap while the elder brought his warm milk and held it to his lips lifting his head to drink it and then left him with the command to sleep don't go in for an hour at least he enjoined on his wife as he passed her and took his way to the bank but was too early for closing there would still be time for him to look into his affairs a bit thus for the banker the usual routine began not so for Hester Craigmill Joy in life had begun for her she had her boy again quite to herself when the elder was away and the tears for very happiness came to her eyes and dropped on her hands unchecked had the elder been there he would have been joined upon her to be controlled and she would have obeyed and now there was no need and she wept deliciously for joy while she still sat outside the door and listened intense, eager it seemed almost as if she could hear him breathe Mother it was merely a breath but she heard it and went swiftly to him kneeling, she clasped him and her tears wet his cheek but at the same time they soothed him and he slept it was thus the elder found them when he returned from the bank both sweetly sleeping he did not take his wife away for fear of waking his son nevertheless he was displeased with her when they met at the table that evening she knew of it the whole order of the house was changed because of Peter Junior's return blinds, windows and doors were thrown open at the direction of the physician he might be given all the air in sunlight it was possible to admit else he would never gain strength for so long had he lived in the open air that he had need now of every help nature could give a bullet had struck him in the hip glanced off at a peculiar anger rendering his recovery precarious in long delay causing the old doctor to shake his head with the fear that he must pass the rest of his life a cripple still normal youth is buoyant and vigorous and mocks at physician's fears and after a time what with hard at rest with loving and unseasoned care on his mother's part and rigorous supervision on his father's Peter Junior did at length recover sufficiently to be taken out to drive and began to get back the good red blood in his veins during this long period of convalescence Peter Junior's one anxiety was for his cousin Richard rumors had reached him that his comrade had been wounded and taken prisoner but nothing definite had been heard until at last after much writing he learned Richard's whereabouts and later that he had been exchanged then too ill and prison-worn to go back to his regiment he appeared one day slowly walking up the village street toward the banker's house there he was welcomed and made much of and the two young men spent a while together happily the best of friends and comrades still filled with enthusiasm but with a wider knowledge of life and the meaning of war these weeks were few and short and soon Richard was back in the army Peter Junior envying him still lay convalescing and only able with much difficulty to crawl to the carriage for his daily drive his mother always accompanied him on these drives and the very first of them was into the home of the ballards it was early spring the air was biting and cool and Peter was unable to alight but Mary and her husband came to them where they waited at the gate and stood long walking happily Jamie and Bobby followed at their heels seriously at the wounded soldier but Betty was seized with a rare moment of shyness that held her back dear little Betty, she had grown taller since Peter Junior had taken that last tea at the ballards no longer carefree the oldest but one she had taken many of her mother's burdens upon her young shoulders albeit not knowing that they were burdens since they were wholly acts of love enjoyously done she was fully conscious of her advancing years and took them very seriously with a dissonance of their importance she had put back the wild hair that used to fly about her face until her father called her an owl and an ivy bush and her mother admonished her that her head was like a mop now, being in her teens she wore her dresses longer and never ran about barefoot paddling in the brook below the spring although she would like to do so she was still child enough to run when she should walk and to laugh when some would sigh her thoughts had been romantically active during Peter Junior how he would look and how splendid and great he was to have been a real soldier and come home moondid who have suffered in blood for his country and Richard too was brave and splendid he must have been in the very front of the battle to have been taken prisoner she wondered a little if he remembered her but not much for how could men with great work do like fighting and dying for their country stop to think of a little girl who was still in short dresses when they had seen her last when the war was ended at last there was Richard returned and stopping at his uncles in the few short visits he made at the ballards he greeted Bezdi as his subold as he would greet his sister of whom he was fond and she accepted his frank old-time brotherliness in the same spirit gaily and happily revealing but little of herself and holding his slight reserve in her manner which seemed to him quite delightful and mainly then all too suddenly he was gone again but in his heart he carried a memory with her that made a continual undercurrent in his thoughts and now Betty's father and mother were actually talking with Peter Junior at the very gate impulse would have sent her flying to meet him but that new self-conscious shyness stayed her feet for he was once be approached with reverence he was afflicted with no romantic shyness with regard to her however he quite forgot her indeed although he did ask in a general way after the children and even mentioned Martha in particular as being the eldest she was best remembered so Betty did not see Peter Junior this time but she stood where she could see the top of the carriage from her bedroom window whether she had fled and she could see the blue sleeve of his coat as he put out his arm to take her mother's hand at parting that was something and she listened with beating heart with the sound of his voice ah little he dreamed what a tumult and he had raised in the heart of that young being whose imagination had been so stirred by all that she had read and heard of war and the part taken in it by their own young men of Leovite the Peter Junior had come home breveted a captain for his bravery crowned him with glory all that day Betty went about with dreams in her head and coursing through them was the voice of a wounded young soldier at last with a slow march of time came with a proclamation of peace and the nation so long held prostrate a giant struggling against fetters of its own forging blinded and strangling in its own blood reared its head and cried out for their turn of hope groping on all sides to gather the divine youth to its arms when as a last blow dealt by a wanton hand came the death of Lincoln then it was the nation recoiled and bowed itself for a time beaten and crushed both north and south and vultures gathered at the seat of conflict and tore at its vitals and wrangled over the spoils then it was they who had so discord stooped to reap the devil's own harvest a woeful bitter desperate time when more enmity and deep rancor was bred and treasured up for the sorrow then during all the years of the honest and active strife of the war in the very beginning that first news of the firing on Fort Sumpner flew through the north like a tragic cry and men felt a sense of doom hanging over the nation Bertrand Ballard heard it and walked sorrowfully home to his wife and sat long with bowed head brooding in silent while Wilcox heard it and leaving his business entered his home and called his household together with the servants and held family worship a service which it was custom to hold only on the Sabbath and earnestly prayed for the salvation of the country and that wisdom might be granted its rulers after which he sent his eldest son to fight for the cause Elder Craigmill heard it and consented that his last and only son should enter the ranks and give his life if need be for the saving of the nation tempering all this sorrow and anxiety was a chance for action and the hope of victory but now, in this later time when the strength of the nation had been wasted and victory itself was dark with mourning for sons slain loss of one wise leader to whom all turned with uplifted hearts seemed the signal for annihilation and then, indeed it appeared that the prophecy of Mary Ballard's old grandfather had been filled and the curse of slavery had not only been wiped out with blood but that the greater course of anarchy and misrule had taken its place to still further scourge the nation Mary Ballard's mother while scarcely past her prime was taken ill with fever and died and immediately upon this blow the dear old father who is not yet old enough by many years to be beyond his usefulness those who loved and depended on him came the tragic death of Lincoln whom he revered and in whom all his hopes for the right adjustment of the nation's affairs rested under the weight of the double calamity he gave up hope and left the world where all looked so dark to him almost before the touch of his wife's hand had grown cold in his father died of a broken heart said Mary and turned to her husband and children with even more intensity of devotion for, she said after all the only thing in life of which we can be perfectly sure is our love for each other a grave may open on our feet anywhere at any time our love oversteps it with such an animating spirit as this no family can be wholly sad and though poverty pinched them at times and sorrow had bitterly visited them with years and thrift things changed Bertrand painted more pictures and sold them the children were gay and vigorous and brought life and good times to the home and the girls grew up to be womanly when some lasses light-hearted and good to look upon enough of the war and the evils thereof animosity is dead and brotherhood and mutual service between the two opposing factions of one great family have taken the place of strife unless now to say what might have been or how otherwise that terrible time of devastation and sorrow could have been avoided enough to know that at last as a nation whole and divided we may pull together in the tremendous force of our united strength and we may now take up the white man's burden and bear it to its magnificent conclusion to the service of all mankind in the glory of God End of Chapter 6 Recording by Chelsea Baker