Orson Scott Card - Alvin 1 - Seventh Son

VIP免费
2024-12-13 0 0 374.19KB 130 页 5.9玖币
侵权投诉
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tales%20of%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt
SEVENTH SON
The Tales of Alvin Maker, Volume 1
by Orson Scott Card
(c) 1987 by Orson Scott Card
v1.1 (Jan-24-1999)
If you find and correct errors in the text, please update the version number by 0.1 and
redistribute.
Contents
Chapter 1: Bloody Mary
Chapter 2: Wagon People
Chapter 3: Spring House
Chapter 4: Hatrack River
Chapter 5: Caul
Chapter 6: Ridgebeam
Chapter 7: Altar
Chapter 8: Visitor
Chapter 9: Taleswapper
Chapter 10: Visions
Chapter 11: Millstone
Chapter 12: Book
Chapter 13: Surgery
Chapter 14: Chastisement
Chapter 15: Promises
Chapter One -- Bloody Mary
Little Peggy was very careful with the eggs. She rooted her hand through the straw till her
fingers bumped something hard and heavy. She gave no never mind to the chicken drips. After all,
when folk with babies stayed at the roadhouse, Mama never even crinkled her face at their most
spetackler diapers. Even when the chicken drips were wet and stringy and made her fingers stick
together, little Peggy gave no never mind. She just pushed the straw apart, wrapped her hand
around the egg, and lifted it out of the brood box. All this while standing tiptoe on a wobbly
stool, reaching high above her head. Mama said she was too young for egging, but little Peggy
showed her. Every day she felt in every brood box and brought in every egg, every single one,
that's what she did.
Every one, she said in her mind, over and over. I got to reach into every one.
Then little Peggy looked back into the northeast corner, the darkest place in the whole coop,
and there sat Bloody Mary in her brood box, looking like the devil's own bad dream, hatefulness
shining out of her nasty eyes, saying come here little girl and give me nips. I want nips of
finger and nips of thumb and if you come real close and try to take my egg I'll get a nip of eye
from you.
Most animals didn't have much heartfire, but Bloody Mary's was strong and made a poison smoke.
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tal...f%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt (1 of 130) [1/14/03 10:15:02 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tales%20of%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt
Nobody else could see it, but little Peggy could. Bloody Mary dreamed of death for all folks, but
most specially for a certain little girl five years old, and little Peggy had the marks on her
fingers to prove it. At least one mark, anyway, and even if Papa said he couldn't see it, little
Peggy remembered how she got it and nobody could blame her none if she sometimes forgot to reach
under Bloody Mary who sat there like a bushwhacker waiting to kill the first folks that just tried
to come by. Nobody'd get mad if she just sometimes forgot to look there.
I forgot. I looked in every brood box, every one, and if one got missed then I forgot forgot
forgot.
Everybody knew Bloody Mary was a lowdown chicken and too mean to give any eggs that wasn't
rotten anyway.
I forgot.
She got the egg basket inside before Mama even had the fire het, and Mama was so pleased she let
little Peggy put the eggs one by one into the cold water. Then Mama put the pot on the hook and
swung it right on over the fire. Boiling eggs you didn't have to wait for the fire to slack, you
could do it smoke and all.
"Peg," said Papa.
That was Mama's name, but Papa didn't say it in his Mama voice. He said it in his little-Peggy-
you're-in-dutch voice, and little Peggy knew she was completely found out, and so she turned right
around and yelled what she'd been planning to say all along.
"I forgot, Papa!"
Mama turned and looked at little Peggy in surprise. Papa wasn't surprised though. He just raised
an eyebrow. He was holding his hand behind his back. Little Peggy knew there was an egg in that
hand. Bloody Mary's nasty egg.
"What did you forget, little Peggy?" asked Papa, talking soft.
Right that minute little Peggy reckoned she was the stupidest girl ever born on the face of the
earth. Here she was denying before anybody accused her of anything.
But she wasn't going to give up, not right off like that. She couldn't stand to have them mad at
her and she just wanted them to let her go away and live in England. So she put on her innocent
face and said, "I don't know, Papa." She figgered England was the best place to go live, cause
England had a Lord Protector. From the look in Papa's eye, a Lord Protector was pretty much what
she needed just now.
"What did you forget?" Papa asked again.
"Just say it and be done, Horace," said Mama. "If she's done wrong then she's done wrong."
"I forgot one time, Papa," said little Peggy. "She's a mean old chicken and she hates me."
Papa answered soft and slow. "One time," he said.
Then he took his hand from behind him. Only it wasn't no single egg he held, it was a whole
basket. And that basket was filled with a clot of straw-- most likely all the straw from Bloody
Mary's box-- and that straw was mashed together and glued tight with dried-up raw egg and shell
bits, mixed up with about three or four chewed-up baby chicken bodies.
"Did you have to bring that in the house before breakfast, Horace?" said Mama.
"I don't know what makes me madder," said Horace. "What she done wrong or her studying up to lie
about it."
"I didn't study and I didn't lie!" shouted little Peggy. Or anyways she meant to shout. What
came out sounded espiciously like crying even though little Peggy had decided only yesterday that
she was done with crying for the rest of her life.
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tal...f%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt (2 of 130) [1/14/03 10:15:02 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tales%20of%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt
"See?" said Mama. "She already feels bad."
"She feels bad being caught," said Horace. "You're too slack on her, Peg. She's got a lying
spirit. I don't want my daughter growing up wicked. I'd rather see her dead like her baby sisters
before I see her grow up wicked."
Little Peggy saw Mama's heartfire flare up with memory, and in front of her eyes she could see a
baby laid out pretty in a little box, and then another one only not so pretty cause it was the
second baby Missy, the one what died of pox so nobody'd touch her but her own mama, who was still
so feeble from the pox herself that she couldn't do much. Little Peggy saw that scene, and she
knew Papa had made a mistake to say what he said cause Mama's face went cold even though her
heartfire was hot.
"That's the wickedest thing anybody ever said in my presence," said Mama. Then she took up the
basket of corruption from the table and carried it outside.
"Bloody Mary bites my hand," said little Peggy.
"We'll see what bites," said Papa. "For leaving the eggs I give you one whack, because I reckon
that lunatic hen looks fearsome to a frog-size girl like you. But for telling lies I give you ten
whacks."
Little Peggy cried in earnest at that news. Papa gave an honest count and full measure in
everything, but most especially in whacks.
Papa took the hazel rod off the high shelf. He kept it up there ever since little Peggy put the
old one in the fire and burnt it right up.
"I'd rather hear a thousand hard and bitter truths from you, Daughter, than one soft and easy
lie," said he, and then he bent over and laid on with the rod across her thighs. Whick whick
whick, she counted every one, they stung her to the heart, each one of them, they were so full of
anger. Worst of all she knew it was all unfair because his heartfire raged for a different cause
altogether, and it always did. Papa's hate for wickedness always came from his most secret memory.
Little Peggy didn't understand it all, because it was twisted up and confused and Papa didn't
remember it right well himself. All little Peggy ever saw plain was that it was a lady and it
wasn't Mama. Papa thought of that lady whenever something went wrong. When baby Missy died of
nothing at all, and then the next baby also named Missy died of pox, and then the barn burnt down
once, and a cow died, everything that went wrong made him think of that lady and he began to talk
about how much he hated wickedness and at those times the hazel rod flew hard and sharp.
I'd rather hear a thousand hard and bitter truths, that's what he said, but little Peggy knew
that there was one truth he didn't ever want to hear, and so she kept it to herself. She'd never
shout it at him, even if it made him break the hazel rod, cause whenever she thought of saying
aught about that lady, she kept picturing her father dead, and that was a thing she never hoped to
see for real. Besides, the lady that haunted his heartfire, she didn't have no clothes on, and
little Peggy knew that she'd be whipped for sure if she talked about people being naked.
So she took the whacks and cried till she could taste that her nose was running. Papa left the
room right away, and Mama came back to fix up breakfast for the blacksmith and the visitors and
the hands, but neither one said boo to her, just as if they didn't even notice. She cried even
harder and louder for a minute, but it didn't help. Finally she picked up her Bugy from the sewing
basket and walked all stiff-legged out to Oldpappy's cabin and woke him right up.
He listened to her story like he always did.
"I know about Bloody Mary," he said, "and I told your papa fifty times if I told him once, wring
that chicken's neck and be done. She's a crazy bird. Every week or so she gets crazy and breaks
all her own eggs, even the ones ready to hatch. Kills her own chicks. It's a lunatic what kills
its own."
"Papa like to killed me," said little Peggy.
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tal...f%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt (3 of 130) [1/14/03 10:15:03 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tales%20of%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt
"I reckon if you can walk somewhat it ain't so bad altogether."
"I can't walk much."
"No, I can see you're nigh crippled forever," said Oldpappy. "But I tell you what, the way I see
it your mama and your papa's mostly mad at each other. So why don't you just disappear for a
couple of hours?"
"I wish I could turn into a bird and fly."
"Next best thing, though," said Pappy, "is to have a secret place where nobody knows to look for
you. Do you have a place like that? No, don't tell me-- it wrecks it if you tell even a single
other person. You just go to that place for a while. As long as it's a safe place, not out in the
woods where a Red might take your pretty hair, and not a high place where you might fall off, and
not a tiny place where you might get stuck."
"It's big and it's low and it ain't in the woods," said little Peggy.
"Then you go there, Maggie."
Little Peggy made the face she always made when Oldpappy called her that. And she held up Bugy
and in Bugy's squeaky high voice she said, "Her name is Peggy."
"You go there, Piggy, if you like that better--"
Little Peggy slapped Bugy right across Oldpappy's knee.
"Someday Bugy'll do that once too often and have a rupture and die," said Oldpappy.
But Bugy just danced right in his face and insisted, "Not piggy, Peggy!"
"That's right, Puggy, you go to that secret place and if anybody says, We got to go find that
girl, I'll say, I know where she is and she'll come back when she's good and ready."
Little Peggy ran for the cabin door and then stopped and turned. "Oldpappy, you're the nicest
grown-up in the whole world."
"Your papa has a different view of me, but that's all tied up with another hazel rod that I laid
hand on much too often. Now run along."
She stopped again right before she closed the door. "You're the only nice grown-up!" She shouted
it real loud, halfway hoping that they could hear it clear inside the house. Then she was gone,
right across the garden, out past the cow pasture, up the hill into the woods, and along the path
to the spring house.
Chapter Two -- Wagon People
They had one good wagon, these folks did, and two good horses pulling it. One might even suppose
they was prosperous, considering they had six big boys, from mansize on down to twins that had
wrestled each other into being a good deal stronger than their dozen years. Not to mention one big
daughter and a whole passel of little girls. A big family. Right prosperous if you didn't know
that not even a year ago they had owned a mill and lived in a big house on a streambank in west
New Hampshire. Come down far in the world, they had, and this wagon was all they had left of
everything. But they were hopeful, trekking west along the roads that crossed the Hio, heading for
open land that was free for the taking. If you were a family with plenty of strong backs and
clever hands, it'd be good land, too, as long as the weather was with them and the Reds didn't
raid them and all the lawyers and bankers stayed in New England.
The father was a big man, a little run to fat, which was no surprise since millers mostly stood
around all day. That softness in the belly wouldn't last a year on a deepwoods homestead. He
didn't care much about that, anyway-- he had no fear of hard work. What worried him today was his
wife, Faith. It was her time for that baby, he knew it. Not that she'd ever talk about it direct.
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tal...f%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt (4 of 130) [1/14/03 10:15:03 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tales%20of%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt
Women just don't speak about things like that with men. But he knew how big she was and how many
months it had been. Besides, at the noon stop she murmured to him, "Alvin Miller, if there's a
road house along this way, or even a little broken-down cabin, I reckon I could use a bit of
rest." A man didn't have to be a philosopher to understand her. And after six sons and six
daughters, he'd have to have the brains of a brick not to get the drift of how things stood with
her.
So he sent off the oldest boy, Vigor, to run ahead on the road and see the lay of the land.
You could tell they were from New England, cause the boy didn't take no gun. If there'd been a
bushwhacker the young man never would've made it back, and the fact he came back with all his hair
was proof no Red had spotted him-- the French up Detroit way were paying for English scalps with
liquor and if a Red saw a White man alone in the woods with no musket he'd own that White man's
scalp. So maybe a man could think that luck was with the family at last. But since these Yankees
had no notion that the road wasn't safe, Alvin Miller didn't think for a minute of his good luck.
Vigor's word was of a road house three miles on. That was good news, except that between them
and that road house was a river. Kind of a scrawny river, and the ford was shallow, but Alvin
Miller had learned never to trust water. No matter how peaceful it looks, it'll reach and try to
take you. He was halfway minded to tell Faith that they'd spend the night this side of the river,
but she gave just the tiniest groan and at that moment he knew that there was no chance of that.
Faith had borne him a dozen living children, but it was four years since the last one and a lot of
women took it bad, having a baby so late. A lot of women died. A good road house meant women to
help with the birthing, so they'd have to chance the river.
And Vigor did say the river wasn't much.
Chapter Three -- Spring House
The air in the spring house was cool and heavy, dark and wet. Sometimes when little Peggy caught
a nap here, she woke up gasping like as if the whole place was under water. She had dreams of
water even when she wasn't here-- that was one of the things that made some folks say she was a
seeper instead of a torch. But when she dreamed outside, she always knew she was dreaming. Here
the water was real.
Real in the drips that formed like sweat on the milkjars setting in the stream. Real in the cold
damp clay of the spring house floor. Real in the swallowing sound of the stream as it hurried
through the middle of the house.
Keeping it cool all summer long, cold water spilling right out of the hill and into this place,
shaded all the way by trees so old the moon made a point of passing through their branches just to
hear some good old tales. That was what little Peggy always came here for, even when Papa didn't
hate her. Not the wetness of the air, she could do just fine without that. It was the way the fire
went right out of her and she didn't have to be a torch. Didn't have to see into all the dark
places where folks hid theirselfs.
From her they hid theirselfs as if it would do some good. Whatever they didn't like most about
theirself they tried to tuck away in some dark corner but they didn't know how all them dark
places burned in little Peggy's eyes. Even when she was so little that she spit out her corn mash
cause she was still hoping for a suck, she knew all the stories that the folks around her kept all
hid. She saw the bits of their past that they most wished they could bury, and she saw the bits of
their future that they most feared.
And that was why she took to coming up here to the spring house. Here she didn't have to see
those things. Not even the lady in Papa's memory. There was nothing here but the heavy wet dark
cool air to quench the fire and dim the light so she could be-- just for a few minutes in the day--
a little five-year-old girl with a straw poppet named Bugy and not even have to think about any of
them grown-up secrets.
I'm not wicked, she told herself. Again and again, but it didn't work because she knew she was.
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tal...f%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt (5 of 130) [1/14/03 10:15:03 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tales%20of%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt
All right then, she said to herself, I am wicked. But I won't be wicked anymore. I'll tell the
truth like Papa says, or I'll say nothing at all.
Even at five years old, little Peggy knew that if she kept that vow, she'd be better off saying
nothing.
So she said nothing, not even to herself, just lay there on a mossy damp table with Bugy
clenched tight enough to strangle in her fist.
Ching ching ching.
Little Peggy woke up and got mad for just a minute.
Ching ching ching.
Made her mad because nobody said to her, Little Peggy, you don't mind if we talk this young
blacksmith feller into settling down here, do you? Not at all, Papa, she would've said if they'd
asked. She knew what it meant to have a smithy. It meant your village would thrive, and folks from
other places would come, and when they came there'd be trade, and where there was trade then her
father's big house could be a forest inn, and where there was a forest inn then all the roads
would kind of bend a little just to pass the place, if it wasn't too far out of the way-- little
Peggy knew all that, as sure as the children of farmers knew the rhythms of the farm. A road house
by a smithy was a road house that would prosper. So she would've said, Sure enough, let him stay,
deed him land, brick his chimney, feed him free, let him have my bed so I have to double up with
Cousin Peter who keeps trying to peek under my nightgown, I'll put up with all that-- just as long
as you don't put him near the spring house so that all the time, even when I want to be alone with
the water, there's that whack thump hiss roar, noise all the time, and a fire burning up the sky
to turn it black, and the smell of charcoal burning. It was enough to make a body wish to follow
the stream right back into the mountain just to get some peace.
Of course the stream was the smart place to put the blacksmith. Except for water, he could've
put his smithy anywheres at all. The iron came to him in the shipper's wagon clear from New
Netherland, and the charcoal-- well, there was plenty of farmers willing to trade charcoal for a
good shoe. But water, that's what the smith needed that nobody'd bring him, so of course they put
him right down the hill from the spring house where his ching ching ching could wake her up and
put the fire back into her in the one place where she had used to be able to let it burn low and
go almost to cold wet ash.
A roar of thunder.
She was at the door in a second. Had to see the lightning. Caught just the last shadow of the
light but she knew that there'd be more. It wasn't much after noon, surely, or had she slept all
day? What with all these blackbelly clouds she couldn't tell-- it might as well be the last
minutes of dusk. The air was all a-prickle with lightning just waiting to flash. She knew that
feeling, knew that it meant the lightning'd hit close.
She looked down to see if the blacksmith's stable was still full of horses. It was. The shoeing
wasn't done, the road would turn to muck, and so the farmer with his two sons from out West Fork
way was stuck here. Not a chance they'd head home in this, with lightning ready to put a fire in
the woods, or knock a tree down on them, or maybe just smack them a good one and lay them all out
dead in a circle like them five Quakers they still was talking about and here it happened back in
'90 when the first white folks came to settle here. People talked still about the Circle of Five
and all that, some people wondering if God up and smashed them flat so as to shut the Quakers up,
seeing how nothing else ever could, while other people was wondering if God took them up into
heaven like the first Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell who was smote by lightning at the age of
ninety-seven and just disappeared.
No, that farmer and his big old boys'd stay another night. Little Peggy was an innkeeper's
daughter, wasn't she? Papooses learnt to hunt, pickaninnies learnt to tote, farmer children learnt
the weather, and an innkeeper's daughter learnt which folks would stay the night, even before they
knew it right theirselfs.
Their horses were champing in the stable, snorting and warning each other about the storm. In
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tal...f%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt (6 of 130) [1/14/03 10:15:03 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tales%20of%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt
every group of horses, little Peggy figgered, there must be one that's remarkable dumb, so all the
others have to tell him what all's going on. Bad storm, they were saying. We're going to get a
soaking, if the lightning don't smack us first. And the dumb one kept nickering and saying, What's
that noise, what's that noise?
Then the sky just opened right up and dumped water on the earth. Stripped leaves right off the
trees, it came down so hard. Came down so thick, too, that little Peggy couldn't even see the
smithy for a minute and she thought maybe it got washed right away into the stream. Oldpappy told
her how that stream led right down to the Hatrack River, and the Hatrack poured right into the
Hio, and the Hio shoved itself on through the woods to the Mizzipy, which went on down into the
sea, and Oldpappy said how the sea drank so much water that it got indigestion and gave off the
biggest old belches you ever heard, and what came up was clouds. Belches from the sea, and now the
smithy would float all that way, get swallered up and belched out, and someday she'd just be
minding her own business and some cloud would break up and plop that smithy down as neat as you
please, old Makepeace Smith still ching ching chinging away.
Then the rain stacked off a mite and she looked down to see the smithy still there. But that
wasn't what she saw at all. No, what she saw was sparks of fire way off in the forest, downstream
toward the Hatrack, down where the ford was, only there wasn't a chance of taking the ford today,
with this rain. Sparks, lots of sparks, and she knew every one of them was folks. She didn't
hardly think of doing it anymore, she only had to see their heartfires and she was looking close.
Maybe future, maybe past, all the visions lived together in the heartfire.
What she saw right now was the same in all their hearts. A wagon in the middle of the Hatrack,
with the water rising and everything they owned in all the world in that wagon.
Little Peggy didn't talk much, but everybody knew she was a torch, so they listened whenever she
spoke up about trouble. Specially this kind of trouble. Sure the settlements in these parts were
pretty old now, a fair bit older than little Peggy herself, but they hadn't forgotten yet that
anybody's wagon caught in a flood is everybody's loss.
She fair to flew down that grassy hill, jumping gopher holes and sliding the steep places, so it
wasn't twenty seconds from seeing those far-off heartfires till she was speaking right up in the
smithy's shop. That farmer from West Fork at first wanted to make her wait till he was done with
telling stories about worse storms he'd seen. But Makepeace knew all about little Peggy. He just
listened right up and then told those boys to saddle them horses, shoes or no shoes, there was
folks caught in the Hatrack ford and there was no time for foolishness. Little Peggy didn't even
get a chance to see them go-- Makepeace already sent her off to the big house to fetch her father
and all the hands and visitors there. Wasn't a one of them who hadn't once put all they owned in
the world into a wagon and dragged it west across the mountain roads and down into this forest.
Wasn't a one of them who hadn't felt a river sucking at that wagon, wanting to steal it away. They
all got right to it. That's the way it was then, you see. Folks noticed other people's trouble
every bit as quick as if it was their own.
Chapter Four -- Hatrack River
Vigor led the boys in trying to push the wagon, while Eleanor hawed the horses. Alvin Miller
spent his time carrying the little girls one by one to safety on the far shore. The current was a
devil clawing at him, whispering, I'll have your babies, I'll have them all, but Alvin said no,
with every muscle in his body as he strained shoreward he said no to that whisper, till his girls
stood all bedraggled on the bank with rain streaming down their faces like the tears from all the
grief in the world.
He would have carried Faith, too, baby in her belly and all, but she wouldn't budge. Just sat
inside that wagon, bracing herself against the trunks and furniture as the wagon tipped and
rocked. Lightning crashed and branches broke; one of them tore the canvas and the water poured
into the wagon but Faith held on with white knuckles and her eyes staring out. Alvin knew from her
eyes there wasn't a thing he could say to make her let go. There was only one way to get Faith and
her unborn baby out of that river, and that was to get the wagon out.
"Horses can't get no purchase, Papa," Vigor shouted. "They're just stumbling and bound to break
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tal...f%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt (7 of 130) [1/14/03 10:15:03 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tales%20of%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt
a leg."
"Well we can't pull out without the horses!"
"The horses are something, Papa. We leave 'em in here and we'll lose wagon and horses too!"
"Your mama won't leave that wagon."
He saw understanding in Vigor's eyes. The things in the wagon weren't worth a risk of death to
save them. But Mama was.
"Still," Vigor said. "On shore the team could pull strong. Here in the water they can't do a
thing."
"Set the boys to unhitching them. But first tie a line to a tree to hold that wagon!"
It wasn't two minutes before the twins Wastenot and Wantnot were on the shore making the rope
fast to a stout tree. David and Measure made another line fast to the rig that held the horses,
while Calm cut the strands that held them to the wagon. Good boys, doing their work just right,
Vigor shouting directions while Alvin could only watch, helpless at the back of the wagon, looking
now at Faith who was trying not to have the baby, now at the Hatrack River that was trying to push
them all down to hell.
Not much of a river, Vigor had said, but then the clouds came up and the rain came down and the
Hatrack became something after all. Even so it looked passable when they got to it. The horses
strode in strong, and Alvin was just saying to Calm, who had the reins, "Well, we made it not a
minute to spare," when the river went insane. It doubled in speed and strength all in a moment,
and the horses got panicky and lost direction and started pulling against each other. The boys all
hopped into the river and tried to lead them to shore but by then the wagon's momentum had been
lost and the wheels were mired up and stuck fast. Almost as if the river knew they were coming and
saved up its worst fury till they were already in it and couldn't get away.
"Look out! Look out!" screamed Measure from the shore.
Alvin looked upstream to see what devilment the river had in mind, and there was a whole tree
floating down the river, endwise like a battering ram, the root end pointed at the center of the
wagon, straight at the place where Faith was sitting, her baby on the verge of birth. Alvin
couldn't think of anything to do, couldn't think at all, just screamed his wife's name with all
his strength. Maybe in his heart he thought that by holding her name on his lips he could keep her
alive, but there was no hope of that, no hope at all.
Except that Vigor didn't know there was no hope. Vigor leapt out when the tree was no more than
a rod away, his body failing against it just above the root. The momentum of his leap turned it a
little, then rolled it over, rolled it and turned it away from the wagon. Of course Vigor rolled
with it, pulled right under the water-- but it worked, the root end of the tree missed the wagon
entirely, and the shaft of the trunk struck it a sidewise blow.
The tree bounded across the stream and smashed up against a boulder on the bank. Alvin was five
rods off, but in his memory from then on, he always saw it like as if he'd been right there. The
tree crashing into the boulder, and Vigor between them. Just a split second that lasted a
lifetime, Vigor's eyes wide with surprise, blood already leaping out of his mouth, spattering out
onto the tree that killed him. Then the Hatrack River swept the tree out into the current. Vigor
slipped under the water, all except his arm, all tangled in the roots, which stuck up into the air
for all the world like a neighbor waving good-bye after a visit.
Alvin was so intent on watching his dying son that he didn't even notice what was happening to
his own self. The blow from the tree was enough to dislodge the mired wheels, and the current
picked up the wagon, carried it downstream, Alvin clinging to the tailgate, Faith weeping inside,
Eleanor screaming her lungs out from the driver's seat, and the boys on the bank shouting
something. Shouting, "Hold! Hold! Hold!"
The rope held, one end tied to a strong tree, the other end tied to the wagon, it held. The
river couldn't tumble the wagon downstream; instead it swung the wagon in to shore the way a boy
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tal...f%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt (8 of 130) [1/14/03 10:15:03 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tales%20of%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt
swings a rock on a string, and when it came to a shuddering stop it was right against the bank,
the front end facing upstream.
"It held!" cried the boys.
"Thank God!" shouted Eleanor.
"The baby's coming," whispered Faith.
But Alvin, all he could hear was the single faint cry that had been the last sound from the
throat of his firstborn son, all he could see was the way his boy clung to the tree as it rolled
and rolled in the water, and all he could say was a single word, a single command. "Live," he
murmured. Vigor had always obeyed him before. Hard worker, willing companion, more a friend or
brother than a son. But this time he knew his son would disobey. Still he whispered it. "Live."
"Are we safe?" said Faith, her voice trembling.
Alvin turned to face her, tried to strike the grief from his face. No sense her knowing the
price that Vigor paid to save her and the baby. Time enough to learn of that after the baby was
born. "Can you climb out of the wagon?"
"What's wrong?" asked Faith, looking at his face.
"I took a fright. Tree could have killed us. Can you climb out, now that we're up against the
bank?"
Eleanor leaned in from the front of the wagon. "David and Calm are on the bank, they can help
you up. The rope's holding, Mama, but who can say how long?"
"Go on, Mother, just a step," said Alvin. "We'll do better with the wagon if we know you're safe
on shore."
"The baby's coming," said Faith.
"Better on shore than here," said Alvin sharply. "Go now."
Faith stood up, clambered awkwardly to the front. Alvin climbed through the wagon behind her, to
help her if she should stumble. Even he could see how her belly had dropped. The baby must be
grabbing for air already.
On the bank it wasn't just David and Calm, now. There were strangers, big men, and several
horses. Even one small wagon, and that was a welcome sight. Alvin had no notion who these men
were, or how they knew to come and help, but there wasn't a moment to waste on introductions. "You
men! Is there a midwife in the road house?"
"Goody Guester does with birthing," said a man. A big man, with arms like ox-legs. A blacksmith,
surely.
"Can you take my wife in that wagon? There's not a moment to spare." Alvin knew it was a
shameful thing, for men to speak so openly of birthing, right in front of the woman who was set to
bear. But Faith was no fool-- she knew what mattered most, and getting her to a bed and a
competent midwife was more important than pussyfooting around about it.
David and Calm were careful as they helped their mother toward the waiting wagon. Faith was
staggering with pain. Women in labor shouldn't have to step from a wagon seat up onto a riverbank,
that was sure. Eleanor was right behind her, taking charge as if she wasn't younger than all the
boys except the twins. "Measure! Get the girls together. They're riding in the wagon with us. You
too, Wastenot and Wantnot! I know you can help the big boys but I need you to watch the girls
while I'm with Mother." Eleanor was never one to be trifled with, and the gravity of the situation
was such that they didn't even call her Eleanor of Aquitaine as they obeyed. Even the little girls
mostly gave over their squabbling and got right on.
Eleanor paused a moment on the bank and looked back to where her father stood on the wagon seat.
She glanced downstream, then looked back at him. Alvin understood the question, and he shook his
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tal...f%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt (9 of 130) [1/14/03 10:15:03 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tales%20of%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt
head no. Faith was not to know of Vigor's sacrifice. Tears came unwelcome to Alvin's eyes, but not
to Eleanor's. Eleanor was only fourteen, but when she didn't want to cry, she didn't cry.
Wastenot hawed the horse and the little wagon lurched forward, Faith wincing as the girls patted
her and the rain poured. Faith's gaze was somber as a cow's, and as mindless, looking back at her
husband, back at the river. At times like birthing, Alvin thought, a woman becomes a beast, slack-
minded as her body takes over and does its work. How else could she bear the pain? As if the soul
of the earth possessed her the way it owns the souls of animals, making her part of the life of
the whole world, unhitching her from family, from husband, from all the reins of the human race,
leading her into the valley of ripeness and harvest and reaping and bloody death.
"She'll be safe now," the blacksmith said. "And we have horses here to pull your wagon out."
"It's slacking off," said Measure. "The rain is less, and the current's not so strong."
"As soon as your wife stepped ashore, it eased up, said the farmer-looking feller. "The rain's
dying, that's sure."
"You took the worst of it in the water," said the blacksmith. "But you're all right now. Get
hold of yourself, man, there's work to do."
Only then did Alvin come to himself enough to realize that he was crying. Work to do, that's
right, get hold of yourself, Alvin Miller. You're no weakling, to bawl like a baby. Other men have
lost a dozen children and still live their lives. You've had twelve, and Vigor lived to be a man,
though he never did get to marry and have children of his own. Maybe Alvin had to weep because
Vigor died so nobly; maybe he cried because it was so sudden.
David touched the blacksmith's arm. "Leave him be for a minute," he said softly. "Our oldest
brother was carried off not ten minutes back. He got tangled in a tree floating down."
"It wasn't no tangle, " Alvin said sharply. "He jumped that tree and saved our wagon, and your
mother inside it! That river paid him back, that's what it did, it punished him."
Calm spoke quietly to the local men. "It run him up against that boulder there." They all
looked. There wasn't even a smear of blood on the rock, it seemed so innocent.
"The Hatrack has a mean streak in it," said the blacksmith, "but I never seen this river so
riled up before. I'm sorry about your boy. There's a slow, flat place downstream where he's bound
to fetch up. Everything the river catches ends up there. When the storm lets up, we can go down
and bring back the-- bring him back."
Alvin wiped his eyes on his sleeve, but since his sleeve was soaking wet it didn't do much good.
"Give me a minute more and I can pull my weight," said Alvin.
They hitched two more horses and the four beasts had no trouble pulling the wagon out against
the much weakened current. By the time the wagon was set to rights again on the road, the sun was
even breaking through.
"Wouldn't you know," said the blacksmith. "If you ever don't like the weather hereabouts, you
just set a spell, cause it'll change."
"Not this one," said Alvin. "This storm was laid in wait for us."
The blacksmith put his arm across Alvin's shoulder and spoke real gentle. "No offense, mister,
but that's crazy talk."
Alvin shrugged him off. "That storm and that river wanted us."
"Papa," said David, "you're tired and grieving. Best be still till we get to the road house and
see how Mama is."
"My baby is a boy," said Papa. "You'll see. He would have been the seventh son of a seventh
son."
file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Ta...%20Alvin%20Maker%201%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txt (10 of 130) [1/14/03 10:15:03 PM]
摘要：

file:///F|/rah/Orson%20Scott%20Card/The%20Tales%20of%20Alvin%20Maker%201\%20-%20Seventh%20Son.txtSEVENTHSONTheTalesofAlvinMaker,Volume1byOrsonScottCard(c)1987byOrsonScottCardv1.1(Jan-24-1999)Ifyoufindandcorrecterrorsinthetext,pleaseupdatetheversion umberby0.1andredistribute.ContentsChapter1:BloodyM...

展开>> 收起<<
Orson Scott Card - Alvin 1 - Seventh Son.pdf

共130页,预览26页

还剩页未读， 继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

相关推荐

更多
立即下载
分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：130 页 大小：374.19KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-13

开通VIP享超值会员特权

  • 多端同步记录
  • 高速下载文档
  • 免费文档工具
  • 分享文档赚钱
  • 每日登录抽奖
  • 优质衍生服务

作者详情

相关内容

更多

热门标签

人际关系 配电装置 动力学连接体 力的合成 高考理综 全宋诗作者索引 公务员考试
/ 130
评分 收藏
分享
立即下载 VIP免费下载
客服
关注