The Yearling

Chapter XXVII

The Baxters stood at the river landing in the cold dawn, saying good-by to Grandma and Oliver and Twink and Fluff. Around the bend to the south, the north-bound steamboat whistled for the landing. Grandma and Ma Baxter embraced. Grandma caught Jody to her and held him tight.

“You learn to write, so you kin write to Grandma in Boston.”

Oliver shook hands with Penny.

Penny said, “Jody and me’ll miss you fearful.”

Oliver put out his hand to Jody.

“I thank you for stickin’ by me,” he said. “I’ll not forget you. Not even in the China Sea.”

Grandma’s chin was a flint arrowhead. Her mouth was tight.

Penny said, “If you folks ever change your minds and want to come back, there’s a welcome at the Island day or night.”

The steamboat rounded the bend and warped in to the landing. It carried a few lights, for the river between its banks was still dark.

Twink said, “We ‘bout to fergit what we got for Jody.”

Oliver fished in his pocket and handed her a round parcel.

She said, “This is for you, Jody, ‘cause you he’ped fight for Oliver.”

He was numb with the happenings of the day. He took it and stared stupidly. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. Her touch was strangely agreeable. Her lips were soft and her yellow hair was fragrant.

The gang-plank was thrown down. A bundle of freight was tossed to the dock. Grandma stooped and gathered Fluff in her arms. Penny took her soft wrinkled face between his hands and laid his cheek against hers.

He said, “I got a real love for you. I—”

His voice broke. The Huttos filed up the gang-plank. The paddle-wheels thrashed the water, the current sucked at the boat. It swung out into mid-stream. Grandma and Oliver stood at the rail and waved to them. The boat whistle blew again and the steamer moved down the river. Jody stirred in his numbness and waved violently.

“Good-by, Grandma! Good-by, Oliver! Good-by, Twink!”

“Good-by, Jody—”

Their voices trailed away. It seemed to Jody that they were moving away from him into another world. It was as though he saw them die. There were rosy streaks across the east but the daylight seemed even colder than the night had been. The ashes of the Hutto house glowed faintly.

The Baxters drove home toward the scrub. Penny was wracked with sorrow for his friends. His face was strained. Jody was swept with so contradictory a tumult of thoughts that he gave up trying to sort them and snuggled down on the wagon-seat between the warmth of his mother and father. He opened the package Twink had given him. It was a small pewter canister for his gunpowder. He hugged it to him. He remembered that Easy Ozell was on the east coast, and wondered if he would follow Grandma Hutto to Boston when he found her gone. The wagon jogged on to the clearing. The day would be cold but brilliant.

Ma Baxter said, “Now if ‘twas me, I’d not of left without havin’ the law on them baboons.”

Penny said, “Nobody couldn’t prove a thing. Them horse tracks? Why, the Forresters’d only say they seed the fire and come to watch it. They could say the county was full o’ horses and ‘twasn’t even them had been there.”

“Then I’d of let Oliver know the truth.”

“Yes, and what’d he of done then? Lit in and killed two-three of ‘em. Oliver’s hot-headed and why wouldn’t he be? Most ary man’d take out after fellers did sich as that to him. All right. Kill him a few Forresters and mebbe hang for it. Or else have the rest of ‘em pitch in and kill the bunch of ‘em, him and his Ma and his purty leetle wife.”

“Purty leetle wife!” she snorted. “Chipperdale!”

Jody felt a new loyalty surge up in him.

“She do be mighty purty, Ma,” he said.

“Men is all alike,” she said conclusively.

Baxter’s Island was at hand. A sense of safety, of well-being, came over Jody. Other people had catastrophe, but the clearing was beyond it. The cabin waited for him, and the smoke-house full of good meat, with old Slewfoot’s carcass added to it, and Flag. Above all, Flag. He could scarcely contain himself until he reached the shed. He had a tale to tell him.