Toward the Gulf Part 26

Why I made him a dozen s.h.i.+rts or more, And knitted him a lot of lovely socks, And made him neck-ties, and that trunk contained Everything that a man might need in absence A year from home. And yet they threw it away!"

"They might have done so."

"But they never did, Perhaps they threw your cabinet tools away?"

"They were too valuable."

"Too valuable, Fine socks and s.h.i.+rts are worthless are they, yes."

"Not worthless, but fine tools are valuable."

He turns to me: "I lost a box of tools Sent on to Jaffa, too. The scheme was this: To work at cabinet making while observing Conditions there in Palestine, and get ready To drive the Turks from Palestine."

What's this?

I rub my eyes and wake up to this story.

I'm here in Illinois, in a farmer's house Who boards stray fishermen, and takes me in.

And in a moment Turks and Palestine, And that old dream of Louis the Saint arise And show me how the world is small, and a man Native to Illinois may travel forth And mix his life with ancient things afar.

To-day be raising corn here and next month Walking the streets of Jaffa, in Mycenae, Digging for Grecian relics.

So I asked "Were you in Palestine?" And the wife spoke quick: "He didn't get there, that's the joke of it."

And the husband said: "It wasn't such a joke.

You see it was this way, myself and the bishop, He lived in Springfield, I in Pleasant Plains, Had planned to meet in Switzerland."

"Montreaux"

The wife broke in.

"Montreaux" the husband added.

"You said you two had planned it," she went on.

Now looking over specks and speaking louder: "The bishop came to him, he planned it out.

My husband didn't plan the trip at all.

He knows the bishop planned it."

Then the husband: "Oh for that matter he spoke of it first, And I acceded and we worked it out.

He was to go ahead of me, I was To come in later, soon as I could raise What funds my congregation could afford To spare for this adventure."

"Guess," she said, "How much it was."

I shook my head and she Said in a lowered and a tragic voice: "Four hundred dollars, and you can believe It strapped his church to raise so great a sum.

And if they hadn't thought that Christ would come Scarcely before the plan could be put through Of winning back the Holy Land, that sum Had never been made up and put in gold For him to carry in a chamois belt."

And then the husband said: "Mother, be still, I'll tell our friend the story if you'll let me."

"I'm done," she said. "I wanted to say that.

Go on," she said.

And so he started over: "The bishop came to me and said he thought The Advent would be June of seventy-six.

This was the winter of eighteen seventy-one.

He said he had a dream; and in this dream An angel stood beside him, told him so, And told him to get me and go to Jaffa, And live there, learn the people and the country, We were to live disguised the better to learn The people and the country. I was to work At my trade as a cabinet maker, he At carpentry, which was his trade, and so No one would know us, or suspect our plan.

And thus we could live undisturbed and work, And get all things in readiness, that in time The Lord would send us power, and do all things.

We were the messengers to go ahead And make the ways straight, so I told her of it."

"You told me, yes, but my trust was as great As yours was in the bishop, little the good To tell me of it."

"Well, I told you of it.

And she said, 'If the Lord commands you so You must obey.' And so she knit the socks And made that trunk of things, as she has said, And in six weeks I sailed from Philadelphia."

"'Twas nearer two months," said the wife.

"Perhaps, Somewhere between six weeks and that. The bishop Left Springfield in a month from our first talk.

I knew, for I went over when he left.

And I remember how his poor wife cried, And how the children cried. He had a family Of some eight children."

"Only seven then, The son named David died the year before."

"Mother, you're right, 'twas seven children then.

The oldest was not more than twelve, I think, And all the children cried, and at the train His congregation almost to a man Was there to see him off."

"Well, one was missing.

You know, you know," the wife said pregnantly.

"I'll come to that in time, if you'll be still.

Well, so the bishop left, and in six weeks, Or somewhere there, I started for Montreaux To meet the bishop. s.h.i.+pped ahead my trunk To Jaffa as the bishop did. But now I must tell you my dream. The night before I reached Montreaux I had a wondrous dream: I saw the bishop on the station platform His face with brandy blossoms splotched and wearing His gold head cane. And sure enough next day As I stepped from the train I saw the bishop His face with brandy blossoms splotched and wearing His gold head cane. And I thought something wrong, And still I didn't act upon the thought."

"I should say not," the wife broke in again.

"Oh, well what could I do, if I had thought More clearly than I did that things were wrong.

You can't uproot the confidence of years Because of dreams. And as to brandy blossoms I knew his face was red, but didn't know, Or think just then, that brandy made it red.

And so I went up to the house he lived in-- A mansion beautiful, and we sat down.

And he sat there bolt upright in a rocker, Hands spread upon his knees, his black eyes bigger Than I had ever seen them, eyeing me Silently for a moment, when he said: 'What money did you bring?' And so I told him.

And he said quickly 'let me have it.' So I took my belt off, counted out the gold And gave it to him. And he took it, thrust it With this hand in this pocket, that in that, And sat there and said nothing more, just looked!

And then before a word was spoke again I heard a step upon the stair, the stair Came down into this room where we were sitting.

And I looked up, and there--I rubbed my eyes-- I looked again, rose from my chair to see, And saw descending the most lovely woman, Who was"--

"A lovely woman," sneered the wife "Well, she was just affinity to the bishop, That's what she was."

"Affinity is right-- You see she was the leader in the choir, And she had run away with him, or rather Had gone abroad upon another boat And met him in Montreaux. Now from this time For forty hours or so all is a blank.

I just remember trying to speak and choking, And flying from the room, the bishop clutching At my coat sleeve to hold me. After that I can't recall a thing until I saw A little cottage way up in the Alps.

I was knocking at the door, was faint and sick, The door was opened and they took me in, And warmed me with a gla.s.s of wine, and tucked me In a good bed where I slept half a week.

It seems in my bewilderment I wandered, Ran, stumbled, climbed for forty hours or so By rocky chasms, up the piney slopes."

"He might have lost his life," the wife exclaimed.

"These were the kindest people in the world, A French family. They gave me splendid food, And when I left two francs to reach the place Where lived the English Consul, who arranged After some days for money for my pa.s.sage Back to America, and in six weeks I preached a sermon here in Pleasant Plains."

"Beware of false prophets was the text!" she said.

And I who heard this story through spoke up: "The thing about this that I fail to get Concerns this woman, the affinity.

If, as seems evident, she and the bishop Had planned this run-a-way and used the faith, And you, the congregation to get money To do it with, or used you in particular To get the money for themselves to live on After they had arrived there in Montreaux, If all this be" I said, "why did this woman Descend just at the moment when he asked you For the money that you had. You might have seen her Before you gave the money, if you had You might have held it back."

"I would indeed, You can be sure I should have held it back."

And then the old wife gasped and dropped her knitting.