Elder Brown's Backslide

Elder Brown told his wife goodbye at the farmhouse door as mechanically as though his trip to Macon, ten miles away, was an everyday affair, though in truth many years had passed since he had last gone to the city alone. He did not kiss her. Many good men never kiss their wives, and small blame attaches to the elder for this omission, since his wife had long discouraged all amorous displays from her husband and at that moment was filling the parting moments with a rapid list of instructions about thread, buttons, hooks, needles, and all the various odds and ends of a busy housewife's basket. The elder was trying to memorize these last-minute commissions, knowing well that returning with any one neglected would cause trouble in the family.

Elder Brown mounted his patient donkey, which stood sleepily in the warm sunlight, its long pointed ears drooping to either side as if the beast had grown tired of life and, like an old soldier, was ready to give up the alertness of early training for the pleasure of rest.

"And, Elder, don't you forget those calico scraps, or you'll be wanting a cover soon and no cover will be coming."

Elder Brown did not turn his head but merely let the whip hand fall as he answered mechanically. The donkey responded with a whisk of its tail and a show of effort as it ambled down the sandy road, the rider's long legs nearly touching the ground.

But as the zigzag fence panels slipped behind him, the old man's stiff manner gave way to a mild cheerfulness. A weight seemed to lift from his mind with each panel, weed clump, persimmon sprout, and sassafras bush that fell behind, until by the time a mile lay between him and the partner of his joys and sorrows, he was in a contented mood and still improving.

It was a strange figure that crept along the road that cheerful May morning. It was tall and gaunt, as it had been for over thirty years. The long head, bald on top, was covered behind with iron-gray hair and in front with a short, tangled growth that curled in every direction. On top sat an old-fashioned stovepipe hat, worn and stained but still imposing. An old-fashioned Henry Clay coat, stained and threadbare, was draped across the donkey's back and dangled at its sides. This was all that remained of the elder's wedding suit of forty years ago; only constant care and limited use had preserved it so long. The trousers had long since worn out, and their substitutes were red jeans, which, while they didn't match his formal coat, were better able to withstand the old man's hard use. For if there was a man who liked to sit with his feet higher than his head, it was Elder Brown.

The morning brightened, and the old man brightened with it. Though a vigorous leader in his church, at home the elder was, it must be admitted, an uncomplaining slave. To the donkey's surprise, the whacks on its flanks grew more energetic, and the beast, astonished, broke into a brisker pace. Somewhere in the elder's expanding soul a tune began to ring. He hummed softly, then sang aloud in the quavering tones of an old country churchman: "I'm glad salvation's free."

During the singing, the elder's regular whip strokes varied. He raised the hickory stick on certain pauses and beat time on the donkey's sides. The chorus went:

"I'm glad salvation's free, I'm glad salvation's free, I'm glad salvation's free for all, I'm glad salvation's free."

Wherever the words were emphasized, the hickory came down, like a drumbeat in a funeral march. The donkey, though convinced something serious was happening, didn't think a funeral march appropriate. It protested with tail flicks and ear twitches, but finding these useless, and convinced that some urgent cause for haste had come over its master, it began to leap forward with frantic bounds that would have surprised the elder if he had noticed. But Elder Brown's eyes were half closed, and he was singing at the top of his voice. Lost in a trance of divine rapture, he was unaware that the donkey was hurrying.

Thus the ride went on until a pig, startled from its search for roots in a fence corner, darted into the road and stood staring stupidly at the travelers. The sudden sight made the donkey stop dead, bracing its front legs apart, returning the pig's stare with as much surprise. Over the animal's head went the elder, landing full length in the sand, just as he shouted "free" for the fourth time.

The pig, frightened, scurried away. The donkey, also startled, backed away but then wandered off to nibble at a scrub oak.

For a moment Elder Brown lay looking up at the sky, thinking the camp-meeting platform had given way. But as he realized the truth, he struggled to his feet and retrieved his hat. He was shocked to see how crushed it had become. Never before had it been so battered. Trying to straighten it out, he worked carefully, for the beaver hat was his crown of dignity. Though he pulled and pressed, the hat still looked misshapen, seeming to have been divided into sections and town lots. It looked so different that he felt a lump in his throat.

But Elder Brown was a man of action. Seeing the donkey calmly chewing leaves with green juice on its mouth, he grabbed a branch and thrashed the poor beast soundly. Exhausted, he climbed back onto the donkey and, chin on chest, continued on his way.

"Good morning, sir."

Elder Brown leaned over the pine railing dividing the bookkeepers' area of a Macon warehouse from the rest of the room and addressed a gentleman in fine clothes who was busily writing at a desk. The room was dusty and old, with advertisements for fertilizer on the walls. An old stove sat in a bed of sand, and cobwebs hung from the window frames. One window was open, showing a few bales of cotton outside. Elder Brown took note of these familiar sights, for the man at the desk hadn't replied yet.

"Good morning, sir," Elder Brown repeated in a dignified voice. "Is Mr. Thomas in?"

"Good morning," the man said. "I'll be with you in a minute." Several minutes passed before he turned around.

"Well, sir, what can I do for you?"

The elder was not in the best humor. "I thought I might make arrangements with you to get some money, but I guess I was mistaken."

The warehouse man came closer. "This is Mr. Brown, I believe? I didn't recognize you at first."

"No," said the elder. "My wife usually handles the town business, while I run the church and farm. Got a fall from my donkey this morning," he added, seeing the man's questioning look, "and landed square on my hat." He pretended to smooth it. The man had already lost interest.

"How much money do you need, Mr. Brown?"

"About seven hundred dollars," said the elder, replacing his hat and glancing furtively. The other tapped his pencil on the shelf.

"I can lend you five hundred."

"But I ought to have seven."

"Can't manage that much. Money is tight. How much cotton will you raise?"

"Well, I expect a hundred bales. Can't you spare the seven hundred?"

"I'd like to oblige you, but not just now. Later in the season, perhaps."

"Well," the elder said slowly, "let's draw up papers for five, and I'll make it go as far as possible."

They arranged it, with a note for some five hundred dollars, interest included, and a mortgage on ten mules. After the elder promised to send his cotton to be sold, the two parted.

Elder Brown now tried to remember the extra errands his wife had called out, meaning to do them first, then work through his list. But as he reached that point in his thoughts, something new troubled him. Passersby stared as he abruptly took off his hat and peered inside, then cursed under his breath, barely stopping himself from swearing aloud. He had remembered that he'd put his list in his hat, and now realized it must have fallen out during his morning tumble. What would his wife say?

Alas, Elder Brown knew only too well. He stood bareheaded, feeling utterly lost. Looking at Balaam patiently tied at the curb, he recalled the donkey's part in his misfortune and felt even gloomier.

There was no point in turning back to search. So the old church leader set about the town on his errands from memory, calling at grocery and dry goods stores, inspecting wares, buying various items, and paying immediately, insisting on having packages wrapped because he didn't trust himself to remember them. The clerks were kept busy.

Thus it was that near midday he arrived at a drugstore, laden with bundles under each arm and bulging from every pocket, perspiring heavily. Inside, he saw a marble soda fountain with a print of polar bears above it. A young man behind the counter asked, "What syrup, sir?" The elder hadn't thought about soda, but the suggestion was appealing. He put on his glasses and studied the list of syrups. The clerk, trying to suppress a smile, glanced at the odd customer and called his coworker's attention. The elder, bending over the list, said, "I guess I'll have sarsaparilla and a little strawberry. Sarsaparilla's good for the blood this season, and strawberry's good any time."

The clerk let the syrups flow into a glass, affably making a small joke about flies, to which the elder replied jovially, "Well, a fly now and then doesn't hurt anybody."

Now, the young man prided himself on his cleverness. Without a word, he turned aside, and when he brought the glass back, its color had deepened slightly and its amount increased. But the elder, watching the stream of water and the foam, noticed nothing. He sipped the cool drink contentedly.

After he paid, he felt at peace with the world. He would have forgiven the donkey everything right then.

But as he was about to leave, he saw a pretty schoolgirl sipping a creamy soda at the counter, and decided to have one more before the long ride home.

"Fix me another one, sonny," he said with a broad grin. The clerk followed the same routine, and Elder Brown drank it.

Up to this moment, Elder Brown had been entirely innocent of transgression. But with the old alcoholic fire rekindled in his veins, twenty years dropped away, and he felt as he had long ago. Indeed, had his wife been less strong-minded, he might have become a confirmed drunkard. When she took the reins, she had made sure he was kept away from liquor, until only rare slips occurred. She used to say, "The sugar turns to gall before his backslides end." People who knew her didn't doubt it.

But now, heading back to where Balaam slept in the sun, he felt no fatigue. There was a flush on his cheekbones and a tinge on his nose. He nodded to passersby, not noticing their amused looks. As he neared Balaam, he paused, thinking he might have missed some errand. Then a brilliant idea struck him: he would buy Hannah a bonnet to head off any scolding. What woman could resist a new bonnet?

Being a man of action, he entered a nearby store. A friendly merchant asked if he needed help. "Good morning," said the elder, piling his bundles on the counter, and shaking hands warmly. When asked what he needed, he said he was just leaving his packages for a moment. As he left, he didn't know what led him past a bar. Through the swinging door he glimpsed the bright glasses and polished counter, and in that instant, his twenty years of resolution crumbled. He walked in and laid a quarter on the bar. "A little whiskey and sugar." The bartender set out the glass and a decanter. Elder Brown poured a steady stream of whiskey into the glass and swallowed it as if he'd never stopped drinking. He pocketed the change and left, unaware that he'd done anything unusual.

He headed for a millinery shop. A pretty, black-eyed girl smiled as he entered, but he was so flustered that when he tried to bow, his packages dropped all over the floor. He laughed, and she could not help laughing too. Others joined in from behind the counters.

"Let me help you, sir," she said, but he waved her back.

"No, my dear, I can't allow it. You might dirty those pretty fingers. I've picked up bigger things. I picked myself up this morning when my donkey Balaam tossed me off into the sand. You see this old hat? I fell right into it, as clean as these packages fell out." He laughed heartily. "But I gave that donkey a good whaling."

"Oh, sir, how could you? The poor animal didn't know any better. I'm sure he's been a faithful friend." The girl spoke mischievously, but the elder took her seriously. His face turned sober. "Maybe you're right, my dear."

"Of course I am," she said. "Now, wouldn't you like a bonnet or a cloak to take home to your wife?"

"Well, you're singing my song now," he said. "Show me what you have. And I don't want a cheap one either."

"Here is a pink silk bonnet with blue feathers," she said. "Very elegant." Elder Brown held it out awkwardly and asked, "Will it suit a redheaded woman?" The girl had to stifle a laugh but said, "Perfectly, sir. It's an exact match."

The elder was pleased. "I think you're right. Nancy's hair is red as a woodpecker's. They'll go well together." He laughed until his cheeks were wet. When the girl wrapped the bonnet and gave him his change from a twenty-dollar bill, he hurried out, realizing he was quite drunk.

His steps grew unsteady. He swayed from side to side, and people gave him a wide berth. Balaam saw him coming and brayed loudly. The elder stared at the donkey in horror, but in his mind, the bray seemed to say, "Drunk, drunk, drunk." He stooped to pick up a stone to throw at his accuser, but only got a handful of sand. Drawing himself up, he shouted, "You're a liar, Balaam! And you can walk home by yourself, for I'll not ride you another step!" With that, he turned and staggered off, leaving Balaam to watch him go.

Mrs. Brown stood on the steps, anxiously awaiting her husband. She knew he had a sum of money, and she knew he wasn't familiar with business. She had long regretted sending him to town. When she saw his battered hat and disheveled appearance in the twilight, she stared in terror. "For the Lord's sake, Elder Brown, what's the matter? Why, as I live, the man's drunk! Elder Brown! Elder Brown! Can't you hear me? You crazy, dishonest old hypocrite, where have you been?"

The elder tried to wave her away.

"Woman, you forget yourself. I've been to town, and look what I brought you—the finest hat, old woman. See, it's red and you're redly complexed, so it's a perfect match." He was beginning to be shaken impatiently by his wife. "Where is what?" he demanded.

"The parcels! Where are the parcels?" She was already turning his pockets inside out, pulling out pills and change. Then she cried, "Heaven be praised, this is better luck than I hoped! Oh, Elder, what did you do it for? Where is Balaam?"

"Balaam?" said the elder groggily. "He's in town. He insulted me, so I left him to walk." His wife looked at him in disbelief. "You did that? Well, you'll go straight back and bring that donkey home, or you'll be sorry – I swear it, so sure as my name is Hannah Brown. Aleck! Aleck!"

A black boy came running. "Put a saddle on a mule. The elder's going back to town. And be quick about it."

"Yes ma'am." The boy disappeared.

Now the elder felt more sober than he had in hours. "Hannah, you don't mean it?"

"Yes, sir, I do. Back to town you go."

Elder Brown was silent. He knew that when his wife spoke with that oath, she would not relent. So, with Aleck's help, he mounted the mule, gave a last look towards the house, and rode off in the darkness, sorrowful and gloomy.

His journey back to Macon was painful. His body ached from the morning fall, and his empty stomach craved the meals he'd missed. When he reached the city, the electric lights glowed like jewels in the night. The better part of the town was asleep, but in some alleys there was still revelry. As the elder concentrated on his path, he heard a familiar plaintive bray: Balaam's call. His mule replied, and soon they were making quite a noise. A group of boisterous young men came out of a nearby saloon, curious at the clamor. They surrounded the elder as he dismounted, making jests about his appearance. Elder Brown, in no mood for humor, began shoving them, and a fight might have broken out had not a policeman arrived. The young men, impressed by the old man's spirit, intervened and led him laughingly into the saloon.

Inside, they offered him a drink. He hesitated, but then yielded, and soon he was telling stories to an appreciative audience.

They moved to a back room where there was a pool table and wine. The elder, by now thoroughly jovial, sang his favorite hymn while standing on a chair, with papers pinned to his coat tails and a chalk drawing of a donkey's head on his back. The crowd roared with laughter.

The fun ended when the chair tipped over and he fell, sprawling. He thought he saw Balaam and tried to hit him with a chair, but instead knocked one man under the table. Another man, who had been impersonating Hamlet, barely escaped by running into the street, with the elder chasing him.

When the elder returned, he found his way to Balaam, managed to climb onto the donkey's back, and held on as the weary animal carried him home.

Hannah Brown could not sleep that night. She tried everything, but anger and worry kept her awake. As dawn broke, she sat down with her old Bible, a treasured inheritance, and read until her anger softened. She realized she was not a hard woman by nature, but circumstances had made her stern.

As she sat thinking, her eyes fell on the pink bonnet with the blue feathers, the one the elder had brought. At first she wanted to laugh, but then she found herself crying softly, moved by the gift. When her tears were spent, she tenderly put the bonnet aside and went outside bareheaded to wait.

She waited at the end of the lane for nearly an hour.

Then, in the grey light, she saw the shapes of Balaam and its rider approaching. "William," she said gently, "where is the mule?"

The elder, half asleep, woke with a start. "What mule, Hannah?"

"The mule you rode to town."

For a moment he was silent, then he laughed weakly. "Well, I declare! I fetched Balaam back but forgot the mule!"

The woman burst into laughter, tears streaming from her eyes. "William," she said, "you are drunk."

"Hannah," he said meekly, "I know it. The truth is..."

"Never mind now," she interrupted softly. "You're tired and hungry. Come into the house." She took Balaam's reins and led the way.

When they entered the lit kitchen, she put her arms around her husband and lifted her face to his, ready to forgive everything.