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Great Smoky Mountains - A Park for America
WCU - Great Smoky Mountains - A Park for America

Indian Fair in The High Road

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Item 1 - Indian Fair in The High Road
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Indian Fair in The High Road

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Item
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Item’s are ‘child’ level descriptions to ‘parent’ objects, (e.g. one page of a whole book).

  • -^HIZjHRAAL^ September 13, 1931 the wedding, and three weeks and a half since the bride and groom had returned from three days in Boston to find Jen harboring the young stranger. "This," Jen had said, closing the oven door, "is Barbara, Ed. Barbara Searles, you know. She came the day you went away. I told her it was too bad she hadn't let you know, or you could have planned to be at home, but, as it was, we've managed to comfort each other, haven't we, Barbara? There, go into the front room and leave your things where they won't get scented up with the cooking. You'll stay to-night with us, won't you?" T TSUALLY Jen was not one with much to say, but that night she had hardly been silent a minute unless some one else was speaking. Ed and Margaret, too, recovering their courage, had talked gallantly. Even Mark Shaw had searched his memory for stories to tell. Only Barbara had been uncommunicative, had sat for hours that night and rode between Ed and Margaret to their new home, the next day, her hands folded and her face cold and secretive. She had remained so ever since. Margaret knew her no better than when she had first met her, and was full of forebodings. It is queer business living on a farm with a stranger. The queerness of it loomed larger and larger between Ed and his wife. Jen noticed it. Even Mark Shaw noticed it. "It seems like Ed and Margaret can't hardly see each other for that Searles girl over there," Mark Shaw said one night at supper. "I know it," Jen answered. "They pay too much attention to her." "She'd get along better if she had more work to do," Mark Shaw observed. He believed in work. "She'll straighten out when she gets her mind made up to it," Jen said. "It's all new to her here, of course. They ought not to pay so much attention, but just go along about their business." TT was not as if Ed and Margaret had not tried to do this, but Barbara Searles was too vivid an element to be overlooked in their quiet lives. She was too strange, too beautiful, and too strong in her proud, silent way to be overlooked even in a farmer's springtime. Her presence filtered through everything. When she was present, they were acutely conscious of it. When she was absent, they talked about her. This was partly due to Barbara's personality, but even more to the fact that they had little else so specific about which to think. Farming, teaching, plans, memories, and wedded love are live coals; Barbara was a flame— silent, sullen, threatening, but still a flame. The day which Ed and Margaret spent at planting, as Jen had suggested, was almost a success. Down under the hill in the north field not even the chimney tops of the house were visible, nor the ridgepole of the barn. Violets grew all along the edges of the plowed field. Birds sang in the marshes. The air was sweet. Margaret walked first, dropping corn, and-Ed followed dropping beans. She could feel him, tall and steady, behind her. Sometimes he spoke. " There goes a blue bird!" After two rows, he set down his pail of beans and began covering what they had planted. Margaret liked the sound of the metal moving the soil. "Tired, puss?" Ed asked her. She smiled and shook her head, but he put his arm around her while they rested for a minute in the sun, and she leaned against him. "0, Ed," Margaret said, "I am happy!" Ed only grinned and did not speak, but he was happier than she. This was life as he liked it—everything simple and in its place; nothing standing apart and looking on. '"THEY ate their lunch in the shade of a big walnut tree on the side hill. There were biscuits with home- cured ham between, hard-boiled eggs, Jen's gingerbread, and lukewarm tea with milk in it but no sugar. When they had finished, Ed lay for a while with his head on Margaret's lap. "Sing me a tune, why don't you?" he asked. "O, I couldn't," Margaret told him. "Somebody might hear." "Say one of your poems, then." "0, I couldn't." He imprisoned her wrists. "Say one!" She said the first lines she could think of, pink from his gentle bullying. "The lark's on the wing, The snail's on the thorn, Morning's at seven; the hillside's dew-pearled. God's in his heaven— All's right with the world!" "I'm not quite sure that's right, Ed!" Margaret had not had much time for memorizing more than rules of grammar and arithmetical formulas. "It's good enough," Ed told her. "I know what it means all right. That's what poetry's written for as much as anything else, ain't it?" "I guess so," Margaret answered shyly. It was good to have Ed ask for and comment on poetry. They walked back to the plowed land and worked there all afternoon. It was a large piece but before sunset more than three quarters of it was seeded down. "I can finish it Monday, if the weather's fine," Ed said. They went up the hill side by side. Ed wheeled the hoe and left-over seed in wooden measures on a barrow ahead of him. The grass was tall enough to brush Margaret's ankles softly as she walked. Carefully they followed the same trail they had taken coming down, not to make two tracks. The sun set in a burst of color, as it had the night before, and would the next night. "O, Ed," Margaret said, becoming aware of windows and doors which lay ahead, "I wish to-day weren't over!" Ed did not answer. He had seen the house sooner than she. '"THEIR pace did not slacken. Margaret kept close to Ed's shoulder, realizing for the first time how tired she was. The sky had turned a quick gray, as spring skies do. [ Continued on page IS ]
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Object’s are ‘parent’ level descriptions to ‘children’ items, (e.g. a book with pages).

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Great Smoky Mountains - A Park for America

This digital collection was created to contribute to the public's understanding of the forces and ideas that led to the establishment of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park in 1934. The most vi...

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