CHAPTER VI
AUNT KATHARINE--CONTINUED
After supper that evening, as Ruel Saxon sat in his room in thetwilight, Esther came softly in and sat down beside him.
"Grandfather," she said, "what made Aunt Katharine so bitter against themen?"
She had been turning the question wonderingly in her thoughts ever sincethe interview of the afternoon. There was something in the lonely oldwoman, crabbed of manner and sharp of tongue as she was, which hadappealed to her strongly. That she was a unique personality, unlike anyone she had seen before, was no doubt a part of it, for Esther loved thestriking and picturesque; but there was more than this. She, too, hadfelt some touch of revolt against the limitations with which custom hadhedged the ordinary life of woman, and Aunt Katharine's fierce, uncaringchallenge of it all had not been wholly unpleasing to her.
"What made Katharine so bitter against the men?" repeated hergrandfather. He had started at the question, as one does sometimes whencalled upon suddenly to account for a familiar fact which everydayacquaintance has robbed of all its wonder. "Well, that's a long story,and I don't s'pose anybody but Katharine herself could tell the whole ofit; but there were some things all of us knew, and she did have hergrievances--there's no doubt but what she had her grievances."
He jerked off his spectacles, through which he had been trying to read achapter of Proverbs, settled himself in his chair, dropped his chin inhis hand, and began:--
"It started just about the time that Nancy came home with her children;Nancy was our sister, you know. There were three of us: Nancy andKatharine and me. Katharine was the youngest, and she was going to bemarried that spring to Levi Dodge. He was a likely young fellow, aseverybody thought, and they'd been keeping company for upward of a year.But when Nancy came home it changed everything. There were those sixchildren to be done for, and Nancy herself all wore out with work 'n'worry, and your grandmother--for I was married then, you know--had herhands more 'n full with the housework and her own children, and itlooked to Katharine as if she'd or' to put off getting married a whileand help things along here at home."
"We didn't ask her to, and we didn't so much as know she was thinking ofit, till she'd got her mind all made up; but I tell you we were awfulglad, and I never shall forget how Nancy and your grandmother cried andhugged her, when she told 'em what she was going to do, right here inthis room where you 'n' I be to-night."
He paused, and it seemed to Esther as if the shadows in the dusky roomtook momentary shape of those three women, young, loving, and in troubletogether, who had met there so long ago. Perhaps the old man felt theirpresence too, for there was a peculiar softness in his voice as he wenton:--
"We wouldn't 'a' let her do it, if we'd known how things were comingout, but you see we thought Nancy'd be in a home of her own again insidea year, and then the way'd be open for Katharine 'n' Levi, and of coursewe thought he'd be reasonable about it. But bless your heart, when shecame to talk it over with him he wouldn't give in an inch. He said she'dgiv' her promise to him, and she couldn't go back on it; he had moreclaim on her than John Proctor's family had. Well, of course, I don'tknow what passed between 'em,--Katharine never talked it over much,--butshe was always high strung, and I guess she gave it to him prettystraight that if he couldn't wait for her a little while under suchcircumstances he needn't count on having her at all. Anyhow, the upshotof it was he went away mad, and we were dreadful sorry, but we thoughthe'd get over it in a day or two. He didn't, though. In less 'n a weekhe was courting Sally Fry, and they two were married on the very daythat was set for Katharine's wedding."
"How perfectly abominable!" burst out Esther. "I don't wonder shedespises the men if that's the way she was treated."
"She needn't despise 'em all, need she?" said her grandfather, sharply."There _have_ been men that could wait as long as any woman. There wasJacob, for instance. He waited seven years for Rachel, working for ahard man all the time, and the Bible says they seemed like only a fewdays to him for the love he bore her. And then he worked for her sevenyears more."
Esther was silent. There was no answer to this case of Jacob, dear oldJacob, a prince indeed, with all his meanness, since he could love likethat!
"Do you suppose Aunt Katharine really cared for that man?" she askedafter a moment.
"I guess most likely she did," said her grandfather, nodding his headslowly. "She wasn't the kind to say she'd marry a man unless she lovedhim. But she never made a sound after he left her. She held her headhigher than ever, and the way she worked! You'd have thought she had thestrength of ten women in her."
He drew his hand reflectively across his chin for a moment, then added:"But somehow I never thought 'twas that affair with Levi that souredyour Aunt Katharine as much as it was the way John Proctor acted. It wasstrange about Proctor. You see, in those days they could put a man inprison for debt, and he had got in debt--not so very deep, only a matterof three or four hundred dollars; but the man he owed it to wasthreatening to have the law of him if he didn't pay, and there warn'tany way John could turn to get that money. There was nothing he could dobut get out of the country, and I'm free to confess now that I helpedhim go.
"You see, we thought if he could once get into Canada, and work at histrade--he was a first-rate carpenter--he could pay off that money in alittle while, and I agreed to do what I could for his family while hewas gone. We went over everything together, and he talked as fair as aman could, and then I drove with him one day 'n' night, and therelatives up New Hampshire way gave him a lift when he got there, andbetween us all he was over the border before folks round here knew hewas gone. I thought then that I was doing my duty, for it was an unjustlaw, and they did away with it pretty soon after that; but looking back_now_, and seeing how things turned out, I sometimes wish I'd let JohnProctor stay here, and take what came of it."
"Why, didn't he pay that money, after all?" asked Esther, as hergrandfather paused.
"Pay it!" he repeated. "Not a cent of it; and what's more we never sawhide or hair of him in this country again. For a while he wrote to hiswife, and now 'n' then sent her some money, but it got longer betweentimes, and by'm by the letters stopped for good, though we heard of himnow 'n' then, and knew he was alive and earning a good living. I nevercould figure it out why he acted that way, for Nancy was a good wife,and up to the time he went away John seemed to think as much of hisfamily as other men. There was such a thing in Bible times as folksbeing possessed with the devil," he added solemnly, "and I have mysuspicions that that was what ailed John Proctor."
He paused when he had made this not wholly unkind suggestion, then wenton: "It was terrible hard for all of us, but somehow it seemed as if itworked on Katharine more 'n anybody else. She hated the very name ofJohn Proctor, but she took up the cudgels for his wife 'n' children, andI always thought 'twas slaving for them, and seeing all they wentthrough with, that set her so against the men. Mebbe she might have gotover it some, when the children grew older, and times eased up a little,but then came that trouble to Ruth, the oldest of Nancy's girls, and theone Katharine thought the most of.
"We thought Ruth had made a good match, though the man was consider'bleolder 'n she was,--her mother hurried it on a little herself, for ofcourse she was anxious to get the girls into homes of their own,--but henever was good to her after they were married. He broke her down withhard work, and holding her in, and the poor little thing only lived ayear or two. After that if anybody said marriage to Katharine it waslike tinder in dry leaves. She took to studying about woman's rights andall that, till she got to be as--well, as you saw her this afternoon."
"Poor Aunt Katharine!" said Esther, softly. That she had suffered wrongmight surely bespeak in a generous mind some excuse for her bitterness,but that, after all, it was not her own wrongs, but those of otherswhich had burned that bitterness into her soul, made it seem even nobleto the girl who had heard her story.
"Yes, it was too bad. I've always been sorry for Katharine," said theold gentleman, a
nd then he added, with an asperity he could not quiterepress: "but the trouble is she got into the way of looking all thetime at the worst side of things, and by'm by it 'peared to her as ifthat side reached all the way round. She talks about folks having senseenough to put two 'n' two together, but I notice she always picks outthe partic'ler two she wants when _she_ adds things up."
A light step crossed the threshold at that moment, and Stella Saxon'sgraceful figure appeared behind her grandfather's chair. "Haven't youhad enough of Aunt Katharine for one day, Esther?" she demanded. "Leavegrandfather to think up some new arguments for the next time he goes tosee her, and come with me. I want you to see what a picture it is fromthe back of our old barn when the shadows creep over the hills."
She lighted the lamp that stood by the open Bible, then slipped her armthrough her cousin's and drew her away. "Thank you for telling me allthis," said Esther, lingering a moment by her grandfather's chair. "Ilove to hear stories of what happened here so long ago."
"There are plenty of 'em, and they'll keep," he replied, smiling; andthen he returned to the Proverbs again with unabated enjoyment.
"Do you know," said Esther, as the two walked away, "I believe I shouldreally love Aunt Katharine if I knew her."
Stella gave one of her shrugs. "There's no accounting for tastes," shesaid. Then, as she glanced in at the barn door, which they were passingat that moment, she added with a laugh: "I declare, if Kate hasn'tmanaged to make her way with my brother Tom! They're hobnobbing togetherlike two old cronies."
The truth was Kate Northmore had made up her mind to get acquainted withher cousin. Whether it was the barn or the boy that had brought her outthis evening is not certain. She had a liking for a good quality ofeach. This particular barn was of a larger sort than she was used to,and the boy--she half suspected that he was smaller. There was somethingwrong about a boy who would go whistling off across the fields when hischores were done without saying "boo" to a girl who was looking afterand longing to go with him. However, he might be only timid.
She had no thought of winning a place in his regard by the thing she didwhen she stepped into the barn to-night, but by chance she had done it.She had seen Dobbin standing in his stall with his harness on, as he hadbeen put there an hour before. There was a rush of work now, for thecows were in the barn, and Tom and the hired man were seated at themilking. She had taken in the situation; then, with a word to Dobbin anda good-natured slap on his flank, stepped in beside him and removed hisunnecessary burden.
It was a foolish thing to do, for she had on her pretty lawn, sash andall, but the fact that she had not minded her clothes, together with thesurprising fact that she could do the deed at all, had impressed Tomdeeply.
"Well," he said, "you're the first girl I ever saw who could do that."
"That!" repeated Kate, "why, I've helped about horses ever since I wasbig enough to reach up. Father's a doctor, you know, and the horses haveto be got out in a hurry sometimes. I can harness and unharness about asquick as any man he ever had on the place. I'm strong in my arms." Shemade a quick, free movement of her arms, from which the sleeves fellback, showing the firm round muscles, then added lightly: "I likeeverything about horses, specially driving. Dobbin's too fat to be anygood. What makes you feed him so much?"
"You'd better ask grandfather that question," said Tom. "He never comesinto the barn without piling his manger full of hay. He thinks the restof us abuse him."
They exchanged a good-natured laugh. Then Kate said: "I should think youwould want more than one horse on this place. I don't see how you canstand it to work behind oxen; they're so slow."
Tom's countenance grew a trifle rigid. "We like them well enough," hesaid stiffly.
"Oh, but you wouldn't," protested Kate, "if you'd ever worked withhorses. Out our way they do all the work with them, and you'll hardlysee a farmer driving into town with a one-horse team."
Tom would have scorned to appear at all impressed. "I shouldn't care forsuch a lot of horses," he said. "I like cows. There's more profit inthem."
"Well, when it comes to cows you can make a bigger showing than we can,"said Kate, "but that's because you raise milk and we raise crops." Andthen she added in a tone of candor, "I reckon that makes the differencein the way the work is done. You don't have big fields to plough andreap, and you can afford to spend time crawling round behind oxen whenwe can't."
Tom did not offer any reply to this interesting theory. "What makes yousay 'reckon' so much?" he asked abruptly.
Kate's eyes widened. "It's as good as 'guess,' isn't it?" she retorted."I'd as lief reckon as guess any time."
Tom poured his pail of milk into the big strainer and turned to go."I've got another cow to milk before I'm through," he said.
"I can milk, too," said Kate, "though I don't care much about it. AuntMilly taught me." And then she added, with a glance down the line ofstalls: "But if I were going to do it I shouldn't want the cows coopedup this way. I should want them out in the barn lot."
"What, loose in the yard?" repeated Tom. He positively had to stop now."And have them walking round all the time you're trying to milk them?Well, I should think that would be a pretty business!"
"Our cow doesn't walk round when we're milking her," said Kate. "Why, acow naturally wants to be milked when the time comes, and it's a greatdeal pleasanter being outdoors. We don't care so very much about themilking-stool, either," she added, laughing. "I _could_ do it on a pinchwithout any."
"What, squat on your feet, and the cow not even tied up!" ejaculatedTom. The accomplishments of his cousin Kate were certainly out of theordinary. He looked at her with a growing curiosity, then added loftily:"In this part of the country women don't milk. We don't think it's theirbusiness."
"Well, I'm glad you don't," said Kate; "but 'tisn't such a queer thingfor women to do as you seem to think. In most countries women generallydo it."
"I never heard of a woman milking before," said Tom, doggedly.
Kate's eyes grew big again. "Why, in stories they always do it," shecried.
Tom looked impervious to any memory of the sort, and she added, withinsistence: "You must have heard of the woman who counted her chickensbefore they were hatched. She had a pail of milk on her head at the verytime, you know; and in the 'House that Jack Built' it was the 'maidenall forlorn who milked the cow with the crumpled horn.' The man hadn't athing to do with it except bothering her."
Certainly Tom could not deny acquaintance with those classics. "I nevertook much stock in Mother Goose," he said, starting on with his pailagain.
"But you've _heard_ of them," Kate cried triumphantly. He did not lookback this time, but he was evidently meditating. As for Kate, she feltthat the acquaintance had begun in an auspicious manner, and perched onthe side of the cutting machine to wait for his return.
They were together preparing some cut-feed for Dobbin's evening mealwhen the girls looked in at the door, and the talk was evidently flowingwith the greatest ease.
"This is just like a cutting machine we used to have at home, and I havespecial reason to remember it," Kate was saying as she turned the wheel,"for I nearly lost the end of my thumb in it when I was a little tot.Father was at home, as good luck would have it, and he fixed it up soquick that no great harm came of it." She held up a pink thumb for Tom'sinspection, and added, "You wouldn't know it now by anything except thenail being a little thicker than common at one corner, and that's reallybeen an advantage to me, for I can open a jack-knife without asking aboy to do it for me."
Tom gave a grunt of approval. "And sharpen the pencil too?" he asked.Then, suddenly: "Are there many boys out your way? There are more girlshere."
"Oh, there are lots of boys," said Kate, and then she added: "but thenicest one of all has gone to college, and we don't see much of himnowadays. Are you going to college?"
He stirred the cut-feed for a minute without speaking, then shook hishead. "Stella wants me to go," he said, "and grandfather used to talkabout it, too, but he's so
rt of given it up lately. I guess he thinksI'm not scholar enough; and I'm not," he added frankly. "I don't take tostudying. I'd rather work with things that are outside of my own head."
Kate dropped the handle of the cutting machine. "Tom," she exclaimed, ina tone of heartfelt sympathy, "that's just the way I feel, too. I neverdid like school as Esther and Mort and some of the others do. I don'twant to be a stupid, of course--you have to know things or you're noaccount; but for my part, I'd never get them out of books if I could getthem any other way. I like people and affairs better."
There is nothing like downright honesty to prepare the way forfriendship. They had made a frank disclosure of feeling on an importantsubject, and Kate and Tom were comrades from that moment; comrades, inspite of the fact that certain other points of view were by no meansheld in common, and that each contended strenuously for his own. Theytalked for a long time of cousinly affairs. With his mother's quiet wayof looking at things, Tom had a considerable spice of his grandfather'sshrewdness, and Kate found his opinions on various matters interesting.
"Aunt Katharine must be a strange woman," she said, when they hadtouched on a variety of other subjects. "Do they always fight, she andgrandfather, as they did to-day?"
"Always," said Tom, promptly. "It's nip and tuck every time they cometogether. You'd think sometimes they fairly hated each other. But if oneof them gets sick you ought to see how the other frets. Grandfather getsinto a regular stew sometimes over her living off there by herself; butit's a good thing she does. We couldn't stand it if she lived here."
"What supports her?" asked Kate, with her quick instinct for practicaldetails.
"Supports her?" repeated Tom; "why, Aunt Katharine's rich. Didn't youknow that? She had some property left to her years ago,--it was cityland, I believe,--and it rose in value so it made a fortune. I heardgrandfather say once that she must have as much as forty thousanddollars of her own." The sum seemed unlimited wealth to the country boy."Nobody knows what she'll do with it," he added; "she'll want to fix itso the men can't get it. She says she'd leave it to one of her femalerelatives if she could find one who'd promise never to marry."
"She'd better propose that to Stella," said Kate; "she's so fond of herart."
Tom whistled. "She isn't so fond of it but she'd leave it quick enoughif the right one asked her," he said astutely.
And then they rose and walked together toward the house. Aunt Elsie, inthe kitchen door, was calling, with an anxious note in her voice:"Girls, girls, why don't you come in? You're staying out in the dew toolong."
Wheat and Huckleberries; Or, Dr. Northmore's Daughters Page 6
