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Chapters 17 and 18 · The Golden Arrow

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Chapter seventeen and eighteen of The Golden Arrow by Mary Webb. This LibriVox recording
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is in the public domain. Read by Anne Ericson Toronto, Chapter seventeen.
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Under the White Cross on the hill sat Deborah and Stephen. He was voluble,
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she was silent. Well, if you won't, you won't, he
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was saying. But why you consider it wrong for me to kiss your arm
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when I've kissed your mouth? Lord only knows. He threw sticks crossly at
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a huge green caterpillar crowned with gold, that was crawling in the short grass.
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Dunna hurt it, Stephen. Stephen saw his chance. I'll stamp on
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it if you don't let me kiss your arm. Oh well, Deborah spoke
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wearily. Oh stop, there's Joe and lill. Hullo, Joe shouted Stephen.
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What's that about? The newly wed Joe sang out the rest of the
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couplet with enjoyment, to the discomfiture of deb and Lowly, they shook their
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way through the solitudes, where innumerable sheep tracks crossed and recrossed. Joe leading
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unerringly. The two girls dropped behind Well lil Well, deb sheep cried through
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the clear air. The two young men tramped in front, full of the
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pride of life, whistling mimicking the sheep quelled when they paused for the girls
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by a get along, do well, Lil said deb again. After a
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long silence. She said it pleadingly, insistently. She was like one that
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sets out on a long journey and waylays other travelers to ask for shortcuts.
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Well, echoed Lily, blandly, and with an aggravating pretense of denseness.
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She remembered Deb's quiet scorn of her carryings on. She was enjoying herself Debra's
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side, I thought, she said, sadly, as being friends and that,
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and me lending you my blue bonnet, and being Joe's sister, and
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all you'd have told me. Well, deb Lily replied, with icy superiority.
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I never thought, ye, you is one of them prying, curious
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girls. Oh no, cried Dab hurriedly. Only what you know I've thought
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time and again of being an old maid, Lily laughed. Well shall I
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or no? You're softy, But I want to decide, Lil, He'll
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decide, answered Lily concisely. Oh you needn't worry your head oh, all
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that'll be left to you is what. Let's sit down, lil, you'll
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know all in good time, said Lily. Are you two coming or are
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we to come and fetch you? Shouted Stephen, coming, cried two voices
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hastily. Now, then said Stephen, you old married folk trot on in
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front. I like that, chuckle Joe, and what about you? We'll
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follow at our leisure, replied Stephen, I bet you do. The interminable
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winding valleys lay beneath in broadening vistas. They're steep sides were clad in amethyst,
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blue, gold, amber, crimson, copper, infinite colors, overlaid
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by the violet gauze of cloud shadows. All down their way stood foxgloves,
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and Stephen fitted a flower on each of Deborah's fingers. With them went a
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stream, rocking on its swift waters, the yellow cradles of the mimulus,
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where tiny shadows slept. The hills closed in round them. The far prospect
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was gone, then the near view, then the ramparts in front. Finally
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nothing remained but their own narrow way, multi colored cricket, haunted with a
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roof of blue sky laid across the hills above like a sheet of paper,
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deb said, Stephen, let's sit down. I want to talk to you.
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The atmosphere of joy round Joe was too much for him. He pulled
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the mimulus to pieces. Deb I want to ask you a big thing.
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She shut her eyes, and the sun fell on her calm face as it
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falls on a field of ripe wheat. I want to ask you, deb
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he went on, his voice trembling a little with suspense and eagerness. If
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you'd live with me, he paused. The enormity of the thing in her
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eyes and in the eyes of her people suddenly appeared to him. But he
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was not of the kind to hesitate without marriage, he finished. Deborah lay
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back motionless. You see, he went on, very anxious to explain.
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It's such a mockery to me now, this last week, all that I
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don't believe in it, and it seemed such rot And I always did hate
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fuss and promises and to be tied down. His eyes took their restless look.
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Sooner than that, I'd shoot myself, he added, with the rash
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certainty of one who has never touched a gun. If you'll take me deab,
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I swear to you here and now that you'll never repent it. I'll
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love you far more than wives are loved, and be faithful to you forever
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and ever. What the hell's that? A loud, raucous, mocking laugh,
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rather like Eli's, had rung out far above them only the grouse,
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said Deborah, What a din It startled me. He was rather ashamed of
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his superstitious fear. Well, what do you say, Deborah? Oh,
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I dunna know. It's all dark, Stephen. But it's no different.
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Really. If people love each other, they stay together, whether they're married
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or not. If they don't, they don't. Deborah saw that clearly.
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What she did not see was his temperament, his way of shifting as the
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wind does before a storming night, of striking out wildly. Here there like
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a giant in the making, of dashing after every butterfly of a new idea,
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as a poet does in his crude youth, Oh, said deb hopelessly.
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It couldn't be. There's father and mother, What do they matter?
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If you've got me? He stood there in stately youth, like a sapling
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by the water. And Joe What does Joe matter? He's got his own
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boat to steer. He'd leave her see me dead. Why well about here?
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You see we set a lot of store by marriage wed and Gray's white.
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Dunnah, wed and White's black. Of course, if you think more
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of Joe than me, oh you know, I dunna. Well then it
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was his own incorrigible reasoning. And the neighbors missus shakeshaft and all we'll go
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off together and let them say they're silly, say and Eli. Her face
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grew quite rigid as she thought of his creaking voice upbraiding her, calling her
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a sinner. Damn Eli, and Deborah took her courage in both hands.
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And me you, he questioned, Ay me, I'm like other women,
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and I want what they want, a ring and to be missus. Her
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lip trembled. Well, he said, with young egotism. If I'm not
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enough to make up for that, I'm sorry. He turned away. Oh
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dunna go, Stephen, dunna, let me think a bit. I don't
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like half hearted givers, said Stephen coldly, for he was very eager,
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and her hesitation tortured him. I'm not I'm not, cried Deborah, deeply
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hurt, for generosity was her strongest instinct. She stood up very straight and
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gracious in the blue Delanne, The tower like hillsides became a mere background for
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her. The colors grouped themselves behind her, like meek waiting maids. She
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stood like the goddess of some rich land. Her eyes were tender, agonized,
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and haughty. Stephen, she said, as he looked at her with
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bent head and both hands out towards her. Stephen, I'm no niggard.
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If I give, I give way out stint and of the best I've got,
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But the heartbreaking, the sorrow as you're bringing on them, my love
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is almost more than I can bear. Do you love me, true,
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Stephen Southernwood. Yes, Deborah? Will you love me on to the last
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turning and the end of the road? Yes, he said, rather impatiently.
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Do you want me so bad that you're lost without me? There was
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a note of wistfulness in her voice. Of course, Oh, Deborah,
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say yes, Stephen, she said, with her father's unhurried utterance. Are
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you certain sure? Before God? I am? He cried with truth,
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for he was at that moment, But he did not realize that he was
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dynamic while she was static, and that the crash of such temperaments is wilder
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than the crash of worlds. Then, Stephen, she said, with a
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clear look at him, standing in a pool of shadow, Then you can
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ask me. He flung himself at her feet. Will you be my sweetheart,
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Deborah Ardan, and my mate and the love of my life? She
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put out a hesitating hand and touched his hair damp on his forehead. What
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a lad you are, she murmured motherly. Answer deb he said passionately.
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Ay, I'll be your sweetheart, she said softly, and your mate till
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I lie in the daisies, and the love of your life while life lasts.
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A wondering seat of thistledown drifted slowly across the coomb, very high,
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up from one steep to another, without descending, as if it walked on
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an airy bridge to an airy destiny. And now, Deborah said, let's
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go on to the others, for I've no more to give and no more
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to say for a while. But deb I was just going to kiss you,
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not now, not just after that. I'd just leave kiss in church.
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It's a new road we've started on, Stephen, she added, with
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a sense of desolation creeping over her again. A new road, and it
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may be a weighty one. Never lose my hand, lad Never not for
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all the old Devil's up yonder, said Stephen, nodding in the direction of
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the devil's chair, hidden from them now, but set high above the country,
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like a black pearl in a troubled sea of mist. For the thunder
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had come round and muttered in the west. The grouse laughed again. End
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of Chapter seventeen. Chapter eighteen. Yo, came Joe's voice from far down
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the path. Well, you lagguards, he bawled. As they came up
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the paths so twisty, said Stephen, The path straighty now. Joe looked
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at Stephen contemplatively. There's not wrong with the path, he added, but
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maybe you're a twisty walker. Southernwood, Debra sighed. As the last valley
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widened and the hills swung back, they heard the distant, plaintive music of
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the merry go round at shep Warden like a bee in a jam pot.
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They came down the quaint street by the old market, where fruit was set
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out so temptingly that Joe bought two enormous melons, which he carried under his
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arms. The street was full of country folk, interspersed with visitors who hoped
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to attain the peace of the countryside without its toil. Strings of hill ponies
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went by, droves of bullocks, sheep with red letters on their shorn bodies.
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Joe steered for the Merry Go Round, and Deborah saw above the crowd,
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above Joe, above everything in the world, she thought, Stephen's bright
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head and keen face, eager for joy. Good morning, missus arden,
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said Lucy Thruckton. Primly she was sitting on the grass with a bottle of
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ginger beer. Hullo, Joe shouted. Various friends, one irrepressible from beyond
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lost within, seeing the melons, called out, so you've brought the twins.
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If you be market Piert, Charlie Camlin, you needn't have blazon it
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be you coming, Lucy asked Deborah, as they took their seats on the
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Merry Go Round. No, I'm thinking it's a toil of a pleasure.
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Deborah thought that many pleasures were like that. Eli came up. He was
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here to look for a housekeeper and have been treated with contumely by two ladies.
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Upon stating his terms, he was annoyed. Turn ye, turn ye,
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he in toned, coming up to them, just as the hobby horses
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started. We be said Joe, amazed at his own wit, as fast
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as ever we can. There was a They began to move to the tune
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of Oh Where is My lad to night? Eli stumped off. Stephen's eyes
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were ablaze. He loved quick motion music, color. He had an arm
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around Deborah, and the more excited he was, the more like iron it
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grew. Oh Stephen, She pleaded, loose me go, but he was
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beside himself with excitement, the fulfillment of his emotional and poetic love of beauty
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and crude life. I won't, he said, Oh dooee, Stephen,
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you're hurting me. The merry go round was in full swing, racing madly,
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the music at its loudest and quickest. He bent down deb He shouted,
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with his mouth close to her ear, his eyes holding hers dominant flashing
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blue fire. Deb when you're hurting me, Stephen? Then say, oh,
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Stephen, and you said you were fond of me. I tell you
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it's because I'm fond of you. He spoke in a hard voice, holding
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her tighter. His logic seemed unanswerable to him. He was without Joe's dumb
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apology for the ways of nature. His arm never slackened, though the tune
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did. He had no idea where he was who was so intent on his
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desire say? When he repeated I dunna know what you mean. That's a
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lie, he jumped from the roundabout before it stopped and disappeared. Deborah felt
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faint. She had no compass to help her in this extraordinarily stormy sea,
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and she was frightened. Lily immediately alleged that she felt faint too. Dear
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sakes, what a gawk I am, said Joe. I never ought to
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have let you go on by the faintness of the young women, said the
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roundabout proprietor. With camaraderie, the chapels is filled. He nudged Joe in
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the ribs. Some folks have no manners, said Lily. Lucy Thruckton gaped
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in happy bepuzzlement. Lily was annoyed at her air of being above all these
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things, possessed of herself alone. Lucy, she asked, sweetly, should
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you like a lover I and a wedding ring, I and a veil,
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I and a cow to give you quarts and quarts of milk, I and
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children to do the work for you? I well, said Lily, with
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a foxlike snap of her small teeth. You won't never have none of them,
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So there, you fat thing. Deborah sat drearily with Lucy while Lily
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and Joe wandered about. At last she saw Stephen in the distance. He
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was coming towards her. Both his hands were full of roses, such roses
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as she had never possessed, for it was cold on the hills. He
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must have spent half a week's pay on them, she thought, horrified.
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He flung them crimson honey colored pink into her lap and himself on the ground.
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I'm a beast, he said, a frightful beast. I won't do
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it again, deb I'll be a good boy. He looked up, with
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humility in his eyes. She found the humility delicious. There there, she
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said, It's all right. Only do get up, she added, surveying
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him with almost jealous pride. Folks are staring. He got up, and
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now, he said, selecting a fat red rose and presenting it to Lucy
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with a kindly little smile. Here's one from miss Thruckton. He had noticed
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Lucy's clouded face. Perceptiveness was one of his gifts. He could not bear
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that anyone's joy should be dimmed. Joy was so fleeting, he felt so
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easily missed, And night came down so fast on the fair. They went
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home through the dusk. Before they reached the Little Wood, the sky was
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seated over with dim stars, light pearls. Stephen smoked, bit his pipe,
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stem, kicked at boulders, and was silent. He had constituted himself
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the jailer of his desires, and did not light the post. Deborah made
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little attempts at conversation, but they were both beyond such palliatives of a crisis.
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They had come to the point where emotions are crude and huge, like
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a naked land of beatling rock. They reached the place of Deborah's morning promise.
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Joe and Lily were ahead. Deborah looked up and smiled forgetting in her
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joy the pain that went with it. It's the secret coomb, she said,
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where the arrow was. The smile, so sweetly lavish in the faint
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light, was too much for Stephen. He caught her hands. I want
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that kiss. I'd leave her not well of all, But do you love
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me? I Stephen, I love you true well? Then I kissed you
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in the little Wood, didn't you like it, not all that it made
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me feel queer like. Stephen was exasperated. Look here, he said,
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we'll have this out. Do you know what marriage means? I'd leave her
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not talk of such things. Yet, Oh well I choose to, so
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I shall. Do you know what it means? I while living with me
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will be the same. I so if you can't even do with kissing?
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Was in despair. She had her code, She had summed up life.
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Marriage and all its cares, griefs and joys came into her some of things,
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but passion was new, terrible. She had not realized the feelings involved
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in it. She had thought of herself as a wife, with the same
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emotions, the same poise as she had in her maidenhood. To many women,
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marriage is only this. It is merely a physical change impinging on their
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ordinary nature, leaving their mentality untouched, their self possession intact. They are
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not burnt by even the red fire of physical passion, far less by the
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white fire of love. For this last, Deborah was prepared. She had
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felt its touch without shrinking. But when Stephen kissed her in the wood,
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a new self awoken her. She was horrified. She needed time to fuse
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the two fires, to realize that in unity they were both pure. She
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gazed into the dusk with averted head. Stephen still had her hands. How
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did you feel when I kissed you? Can I we go on? Stephen?
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Not till you say how you felt? Faintie? Like what else?
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The merciless catechism went on, And as if I was no better than I
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should be, she whispered, too honest to prevaricate, too genuinely simple to
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realize the provocativeness of her words. Stephen bit his lip, and yet you
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didn't like it? No, Well, it's time you learnt to. So
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I'll take what I've a right to. She held herself stiffly under his kisses,
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then drooped in spite of herself with the sweetness of them. Now he
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said, you shall go on, He walked with his arm round her.
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When can I come and fetch you? He asked, with the wooer's instinct
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to seize the moment of weakness. Oh, Stephen, dunna ask me,
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yet, leave me a bit? Why to get them used to it at
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home and to get used to it for myself. Suddenly indignation awoke in her.
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She disengaged his arm and confronted him, dignified and determined. If you
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dunna do as I ask, I do it quick and eager. You dunna
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love me, Stephen, And if you dunna love me beyond kissing and that
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there's no right road for us but the parted road, I'll do without a
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ringing a bell. I'll bear with the black looks of all, and the
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trouble of them at home. I she gave a little sob I'll give up
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the name of wife for you, Stephen, if you say so. But
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a scarlet flush surged over her. Go to an unhallowed bed. I won't.
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I'd leave or die. Love hallows all, she added softly, the
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kind of love that gives and asks notut. Stephen looked at her ashamedly.
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But I can't give up. I can't go against nature, he said helplessly.
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I know you, Canna, said Deborah. She was slowly but surely
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attaining the new balance which she needed, the larger wisdom. I know you,
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Canna, she repeated. I'm not the woman to wed a man that
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could. Only she sought about for an illustration. Only you ought to feel
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like mother and father feel to me, and like the flockmaster would feel to
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the lambs as well as what you feel as my man, Stephen laughed to
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hide his awkwardness. A regular family party, he said. Deborah frowned.
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Then she forgave his flippancy and smiled. Ay, she said, and when
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you feel like all of them, well what I'll maybe give in about kissing?
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I feel like them all now, said Stephen. And more. Then
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you'll do what I ask you, replied Deborah composedly. And leave me be
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all right, But I want my answer. When can I come and fetch
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you? Will you tell me on Sunday when we go to the Devil's Chair,
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Deborah pondered, As she promised, come Sunday, I'll say. They
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went on up the coomb, parting at the sign post. The Devil's Chair
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loomed across the valley, blotting Hesperus from the glimmering sky. End of Chapter eighteen