# Rare Earth/Chapter 18

Chapter XVIII
How long they remained there neither knew. For the moment time had ceased to be. There was a strange kinship between them despite their difference in race and color.
But at last Samuel Gage returned from his walk about the unkempt garden. He had stayed away long enough, he supposed, for them to talk awhile together. Linda and Jethro had both been hit by the War. They both were in sympathy with the soil. They both liked simple things.
"'Ow'd you like to take a walk about the place," suggested Samuel Gage, "look over the fields and get some idea o' the size o' the farm." Then turning to Linda, he said, "Jethro Trent is a man to be trusted. 'E can 'elp you."
​"I'd certainly like to look the place over," said Jethro. But he did not reply at once. It was almost as though his thoughts had to be recalled from a far country.
So they walked out into the fields. Linda looked more tiny and wraithlike than ever with the tall, gaunt Jethro on one side of her and the ponderous form of Samuel Gage looming up on the other. They were a strangely assorted trio which through some queer whim of fate had been thrown together. If the cataclysm of War had not scarred the earth their paths may never have crossed. Was there not a western author who once wrote, "Our greatest friends we ofttimes never meet?"
Jethro was in a good mood. He liked the farm. The simplicity of the homestead appealed to him. But it was Linda herself who appealed to him most. She was a great mother in a great country. The soil must be made to keep her.
And he said, "Although the farm is a bit run down, it is excellent in many ways. The ​soil is good. I doubt if any farm around could be more productive. Owning such a strip of land you could never be poor. I tell you what I'll do. I'll run this farm for you on shares. It would be a fine thing for me. I've been looking for a spot like this. I have a farm of my own but I could easily run this as well. I've got plenty of time to give to it. What do you say? Shall we be partners?"
Linda's eyes were shining, glistening with tears and when she spoke her voice trembled. "Oh, what can I say?" She clasped and unclasped her hands. "You are so good to me. Yesterday I was so helpless. And now this. I don't have to go away. Now I can wait. Oh, if only you knew what this meant to me!"
"That's quite all right," Jethro hastened to assure her. "From my own point of view I'm rather pleased that you like the arrangements. You haven't anything to thank me for. I've suggested an excellent business deal for myself, one of the best I've ever made. What do you say, Gage, am I not right?"
"'E sure is," said Samuel Gage ​emphatically. "Why 'e'll make as much money out o' this as you do. I'd o' taken over the place myself if I could o' spared the time. There's a reg'lar gold mine right 'ere if it were properly looked after."
Of course Jethro had told Samuel Gage what sort of an attitude he wished him to assume. Jethro did not want thanks, nor did he wish Linda to think for a moment she was being helped. If she could be made to believe that she was not poor, that her farm was keeping her, things would not appear quite so gloomy.
"I tell you what I'll do," said Jethro abruptly. "I'll advance you a hundred dollars right now." As he spoke he drew a roll of bills from his pocket and counted out ten ten dollar notes. "This is an instalment. I haven't any idea what you'll eventually get as your share but anyway it'll be far more than this."
Linda took the money. Her emotion was so great she could not speak. It had been long since she had had any money to handle.
"Say," broke in Samuel Gage, "kin I make ​a suggestion? There's ten acres adjoin' 'ere that I own, that I was savin' so Enoch could buy 'em. Why don' you take 'em over? Give me thirty dollars an' I'll let the rest go till the first crops are in."
He turned to Jethro. "Don't you think it would be a good idea?"
"Fine," was the reply.
"An' Enoch's dream would come true," murmured Linda.
"Well 'en I'll 'ave a deed drawn up." "Right," said Jethro crisply. "It would be quite a help to me to have that extra field to work. And I'll get you a cow. It won't cost anything. I want it here because I like to have a glass of cold milk to drink now and then. I've also a couple of horses that I can spare. I'll keep them in your barn but they'll be part of my equipment to do the work. If a farmer uses modern methods, you know, the soil yields a much better return. And I want to get every last dollar out of these fields."
That night long after Jethro Trent and Samuel Gage had gone, Linda sat alone ​before the fire. Despite the fact that the night was not chilly she had kindled a bit of a fire in the grate because she did not want to be alone. The fire was always company to her. Sometimes she smiled as she remembered the happenings of that wonderful day. Occasionally she sang softly snatches of old songs. She was not sleepy. She felt so happy, she never needed to sleep again. Jethro Trent had known her boy. He had liked him immensely. Of course he would. Everyone liked Enoch. She was surprised that Enoch had never mentioned Jethro to her. He usually told her about those he met. But then Enoch knew so many people, almost everyone stopped to talk with him, it was hard to remember them all. It had seemed for awhile as though Enoch was back on the farm again.
She rose to her feet and commenced walking about the room fingering a beloved object now and then that brought back sweet memories. She was too excited to remain seated long. Here was a walking stick which Enoch had whittled from a broken tree branch. He ​had carved the head of the cane in the features of an old colored man with a bald head.
"This yere 's a white man's cane," he chuckled. "You see he pushes on the old slave-feller to keep in his high position. Colored man's hair's all worn off 'cause he's forced to carry de burden o' the white man."
He did not speak in malice. Enoch never did. He hardly ever got angry. His nature was easy-going, gentle. Once when someone commented on the fact that he had such an excellent disposition, he replied, "Too lazy, I 'spects, to get mad. Much easier to grin. My disposition is no worse than any other man's, but I sleep so much I don' seem to get around to gettin' mad."
Once in France when his comrades had teased him about his amiable manner, he had taken the chaffing good-naturedly.
"Might as well run dis yere war like we were genteel folks," he drawled. "Anyhow I'm goin' to be polite. I don't want to kill no man but if I has to, I'm goin' to walk up to him an say, 'Pardon me, sir, but my country is under ​the 'pression that your head should be removed an' I'm here to do it. Now no offense is meant, you know, an' so if you will excuse me I'll jus' fix it so from now on your head an' you will go yo' separate ways.'"
"But suppose," broke in one of his comrades, "de man has other plans? Maybe he'll be attached to his head an' not like to have it rollin' around loose, promiscuous like. Maybe he'll give you a argument."
"A gentleman," sniffed Enoch, "never argues."
Enoch hated the thought of killing or wounding anybody. It was repugnant to him. He was descended from slaves, not supposed to be over-brilliant or civilized. But it seemed to him that such a wholesale sacrifice of human life was a frightful thing. However he was not afraid. He was always willing to undertake the most hazardous scouting tours. He was always thinking of others but with his own life he was utterly careless. Naturally he did not come back. Many of the finest men of all remained in France.
​Linda continued walking about the room. There was the chair in which Enoch had loved to drowse before the fire. He had sat in it so much, she almost imagined that she could see him there now. And she wondered if the old chair ever missed him. It is the most ancient furniture that gives the home-feeling to a little house. A room must be lived in, must be used to be cozy. That is why old country houses wherein families have lived for generations are so delightful. They've been lived in so long the very beams and rafters breathe forth comfort.
Above the huge open-fireplace was a rough-hewn board mantel-shelf on which a few knick-knacks lay. A vase that her mother had given her on her wedding day, the vase in which she kept the fragrant herbs that brought such good luck when they were cast into the fire. An old jack-knife with a broken bone-handle which Enoch had used constantly in his whittling. Beside it was a tiny rustic country scene which Enoch had carved entirely out of wood.
​At last Linda felt as though she wanted to go outdoors. Her forehead was very warm. The fire had blazed more brightly than she had intended. She longed to feel the night breeze against her forehead.
Outside it was very clear. The air was fresh and although the moon had not yet risen into view the sky was very bright proclaiming its coming. Linda sighed. Perhaps far off in Carolina the remnants of her family were grouped outside the cabin door. Perhaps as of yore they were singing.
Linda was not unhappy. She felt a bit wistful, a bit sad. But now things were growing brighter. She had been afraid she might lose her home. But Jethro Trent had rekindled her courage. With such a man to lean upon, her tiny home was safe.