GODLINESS PART IV
Terror
When David Hardy was a tall boy of fifteen, he, like
his mother, had an adventure that changed the whole
current of his life and sent him out of his quiet
corner into the world. The shell of the circumstances
of his life was broken and he was compelled to start
forth. He left Winesburg and no one there ever saw him
again. After his disappearance, his mother and
grandfather both died and his father became very rich.
He spent much money in trying to locate his son, but
that is no part of this story.
It was in the late fall of an unusual year on the
Bentley farms. Everywhere the crops had been heavy.
That spring, Jesse had bought part of a long strip of
black swamp land that lay in the valley of Wine Creek.
He got the land at a low price but had spent a large
sum of money to improve it. Great ditches had to be dug
and thousands of tile laid. Neighboring farmers shook
their heads over the expense. Some of them laughed and
hoped that Jesse would lose heavily by the venture, but
the old man went silently on with the work and said
nothing.
When the land was drained he planted it to cabbages and
onions, and again the neighbors laughed. The crop was,
however, enormous and brought high prices. In the one
year Jesse made enough money to pay for all the cost of
preparing the land and had a surplus that enabled him
to buy two more farms. He was exultant and could not
conceal his delight. For the first time in all the
history of his ownership of the farms, he went among
his men with a smiling face.
Jesse bought a great many new machines for cutting down
the cost of labor and all of the remaining acres in the
strip of black fertile swamp land. One day he went into
Winesburg and bought a bicycle and a new suit of
clothes for David and he gave his two sisters money
with which to go to a religious convention at
Cleveland, Ohio.
In the fall of that year when the frost came and the
trees in the forests along Wine Creek were golden
brown, David spent every moment when he did not have to
attend school, out in the open. Alone or with other
boys he went every afternoon into the woods to gather
nuts. The other boys of the countryside, most of them
sons of laborers on the Bentley farms, had guns with
which they went hunting rabbits and squirrels, but
David did not go with them. He made himself a sling
with rubber bands and a forked stick and went off by
himself to gather nuts. As he went about thoughts came
to him. He realized that he was almost a man and
wondered what he would do in life, but before they came
to anything, the thoughts pa**ed and he was a boy
again. One day he k**ed a squirrel that sat on one of
the lower branches of a tree and chattered at him. Home
he ran with the squirrel in his hand. One of the
Bentley sisters cooked the little animal and he ate it
with great gusto. The skin he tacked on a board and
suspended the board by a string from his bedroom
window.
That gave his mind a new turn. After that he never
went into the woods without carrying the sling in his
pocket and he spent hours shooting at imaginary animals
concealed among the brown leaves in the trees. Thoughts
of his coming manhood pa**ed and he was content to be a
boy with a boy's impulses.
One Saturday morning when he was about to set off for
the woods with the sling in his pocket and a bag for
nuts on his shoulder, his grandfather stopped him. In
the eyes of the old man was the strained serious look
that always a little frightened David. At such times
Jesse Bentley's eyes did not look straight ahead but
wavered and seemed to be looking at nothing. Something
like an invisible curtain appeared to have come between
the man and all the rest of the world. "I want you to
come with me," he said briefly, and his eyes looked
over the boy's head into the sky. "We have something
important to do today. You may bring the bag for nuts
if you wish. It does not matter and anyway we will be
going into the woods."
Jesse and David set out from the Bentley farmhouse in
the old phaeton that was drawn by the white horse. When
they had gone along in silence for a long way they
stopped at the edge of a field where a flock of sheep
were grazing. Among the sheep was a lamb that had been
born out of season, and this David and his grandfather
caught and tied so tightly that it looked like a little
white ball. When they drove on again Jesse let David
hold the lamb in his arms. "I saw it yesterday and it
put me in mind of what I have long wanted to do," he
said, and again he looked away over the head of the boy
with the wavering, uncertain stare in his eyes.
After the feeling of exaltation that had come to the
farmer as a result of his successful year, another mood
had taken possession of him. For a long time he had
been going about feeling very humble and prayerful.
Again he walked alone at night thinking of God and as
he walked he again connected his own figure with the
figures of old days. Under the stars he knelt on the
wet gra** and raised up his voice in prayer. Now he had
decided that like the men whose stories filled the
pages of the Bible, he would make a sacrifice to God.
"I have been given these abundant crops and God has
also sent me a boy who is called David," he whispered
to himself. "Perhaps I should have done this thing long
ago." He was sorry the idea had not come into his mind
in the days before his daughter Louise had been born
and thought that surely now when he had erected a pile
of burning sticks in some lonely place in the woods and
had offered the body of a lamb as a burnt offering, God
would appear to him and give him a message.
More and more as he thought of the matter, he thought
also of David and his pa**ionate self-love was
partially forgotten. "It is time for the boy to begin
thinking of going out into the world and the message
will be one concerning him," he decided. "God will make
a pathway for him. He will tell me what place David is
to take in life and when he shall set out on his
journey. It is right that the boy should be there. If I
am fortunate and an angel of God should appear, David
will see the beauty and glory of God made manifest to
man. It will make a true man of God of him also."
In silence Jesse and David drove along the road until
they came to that place where Jesse had once before
appealed to God and had frightened his grandson. The
morning had been bright and cheerful, but a cold wind
now began to blow and clouds hid the sun. When David
saw the place to which they had come he began to
tremble with fright, and when they stopped by the
bridge where the creek came down from among the trees,
he wanted to spring out of the phaeton and run away.
A dozen plans for escape ran through David's head, but
when Jesse stopped the horse and climbed over the fence
into the wood, he followed. "It is foolish to be
afraid. Nothing will happen," he told himself as he
went along with the lamb in his arms. There was
something in the helplessness of the little animal held
so tightly in his arms that gave him courage. He could
feel the rapid beating of the beast's heart and that
made his own heart beat less rapidly. As he walked
swiftly along behind his grandfather, he untied the
string with which the four legs of the lamb were
fastened together. "If anything happens we will run
away together," he thought.
In the woods, after they had gone a long way from the
road, Jesse stopped in an opening among the trees where
a clearing, overgrown with small bushes, ran up from
the creek. He was still silent but began at once to
erect a heap of dry sticks which he presently set
afire. The boy sat on the ground with the lamb in his
arms. His imagination began to invest every movement of
the old man with significance and he became every
moment more afraid. "I must put the blood of the lamb
on the head of the boy," Jesse muttered when the sticks
had begun to blaze greedily, and taking a long knife
from his pocket he turned and walked rapidly across the
clearing toward David.
Terror seized upon the soul of the boy. He was sick
with it. For a moment he sat perfectly still and then
his body stiffened and he sprang to his feet. His face
became as white as the fleece of the lamb that, now
finding itself suddenly released, ran down the hill.
David ran also. Fear made his feet fly. Over the low
bushes and logs he leaped frantically. As he ran he put
his hand into his pocket and took out the branched
stick from which the sling for shooting squirrels was
suspended. When he came to the creek that was shallow
and splashed down over the stones, he dashed into the
water and turned to look back, and when he saw his
grandfather still running toward him with the long
knife held tightly in his hand he did not hesitate, but
reaching down, selected a stone and put it in the
sling. With all his strength he drew back the heavy
rubber bands and the stone whistled through the air. It
hit Jesse, who had entirely forgotten the boy and was
pursuing the lamb, squarely in the head. With a groan
he pitched forward and fell almost at the boy's feet.
When David saw that he lay still and that he was
apparently dead, his fright increased immeasurably. It
became an insane panic.
With a cry he turned and ran off through the woods
weeping convulsively. "I don't care--I k**ed him, but
I don't care," he sobbed. As he ran on and on he
decided suddenly that he would never go back again to
the Bentley farms or to the town of Winesburg. "I have
k**ed the man of God and now I will myself be a man
and go into the world," he said stoutly as he stopped
running and walked rapidly down a road that followed
the windings of Wine Creek as it ran through fields and
forests into the west.
On the ground by the creek Jesse Bentley moved uneasily
about. He groaned and opened his eyes. For a long time
he lay perfectly still and looked at the sky. When at
last he got to his feet, his mind was confused and he
was not surprised by the boy's disappearance. By the
roadside he sat down on a log and began to talk about
God. That is all they ever got out of him. Whenever
David's name was mentioned he looked vaguely at the sky
and said that a messenger from God had taken the boy.
"It happened because I was too greedy for glory," he
declared, and would have no more to say in the matter.