CHAPTER XIII
In the early days of May the Squire began to rebuild the parsonage, andnear by it a large room for Sunday school and town-meetings. Ann desiredto add a library-room for the town and would have set about this at oncehad not her husband resolutely set himself against any addition to thework with which she filled her usefully busy life. She yielded withreluctance, and the library plan was set aside to the regret of Rivers,who living in a spiritual atmosphere was slow to perceive what with theanxiety of a great love James Penhallow saw so clearly--the failure ofAnn Penhallow's health.
When at last Penhallow sat down with McGregor in his office, the doctorknew at once that something serious was troubling his friend.
"Well, Penhallow," he said, "what can I do for you?"
"I want you to see my wife. She sleeps badly, tires easily, and worst ofall is unwilling to consult you."
"Yes, that's serious. Of course, she does the work of two people, but hasit ever occurred to you, Penhallow, that in the isolated life you leadshe may be at times bored and want or need society, change?"
"My dear Doctor, if I propose to her to ask our friends from the citiesto visit us, she says that entertaining women would only add to herburdens. How could she amuse them?" The Squire had the helplessness of astrong man who has to deal with the case of a woman who, when a doctor isthought to be necessary, feels that she has a right to an opinion as towhether or not it is worth while. She did not believe it to be necessaryand felt that there was something unpleasant in this medical intrusionupon a life which had been one of unbroken health. To her husband'sannoyance she begged him to wait, and on one pretext or another put offthe consultation--it would do in a week, or 'she was better.' Herpostponement and lack of decision added to the Squire's distress, but itwas mid-June before she finally yielded and without a word to Penhallowwrote to ask McGregor to call.
In a week Leila would be at Grey Pine. The glad prospect of a summer'sleisure filled John with happy anticipations. He had his boat put inorder, looked after Lucy's condition, and had in mind a dozen plans fordistant long-desired rides into the mountains, rides which now his unclehad promised to take with them. He soon learned that the medicalprovidence which so often interferes with our plans in life had to beconsidered.
Mrs. Penhallow to John's surprise had of late gone to bed long before heraccustomed hour, and one evening in this June of 1857 Penhallow seeingher go upstairs at nine o'clock called John into the library.
"Mr. Rivers," he said, "has gone to see some one in Westways, and I havea chance to talk to you. Sit down."
John obeyed, missing half consciously the ever-ready smile of the Squire.
"I am troubled about your aunt. Dr. McGregor assures me that she has nodistinct ailment, but is simply so tired that she is sure to become illif she stays at home. No one can make her lessen her work if she stayshere. You are young, but you must have been aware of what she does forthis town and at the mills--oh, for every one who is in need or introuble. There is the every-day routine of the house, the sick in thevillage, the sewing class, the Sunday afternoon reading in the smallhospital at our mills, letters--no end of them. How she has stood it solong, I cannot see."
"But she seems to like it, sir," said John. He couldn't understand thatwhat was so plainly enjoyed could be hurtful.
"Yes, she likes it, but--well, she has a heavenly soul in an earthlybody, and now at last the body is in revolt against overuse, or that atleast is the way McGregor puts it. I ought to have stopped it long ago."John was faintly amused at the idea of any one controlling Ann Penhallowwhere her despotic beliefs concerning duties were concerned.
The Squire was silent for a little while, and then said, "It has got tostop, John. I have talked to McGregor and to her. Leila is to meet us inPhiladelphia. I shall take them to Cape May and leave them there for atleast the two months of summer. You may know what that means for me andfor her, and, I suppose, for you."
"Could I not go there for a while?"
"I think not. I really have not the courage to be left alone, John. Ithink of asking you to spend a part of the day at the mills this summer.You will have to learn the business, for as you know your own property,your aunt's and mine are largely invested in our works. I thought too ofan engineering school for you in the fall, and then of the School ofMines in Paris. It is a long look ahead, but it would fit you to relieveme of my work. Think it over, my son. How does it look to you, or haveyou thought of what you mean or want to do? Don't answer me now--think itover. And now I have some letters to write. Good-night."
John went upstairs to bed with much to think about, and above all else ofthe disappointing summer before him and the wish he had long cherished,but which his uncle's last words had made it necessary for him toreconsider.
Ann Penhallow had made a characteristic fight against the combined forcesof the doctor and her husband. She had declared she would give up thisand that, if only she could be left at home. She showed to the doctor anirritability quite new to his experience of her and which he accepted asadded evidence of need of change. Her bodily condition and her want ofcommon sense in a matter so clear to him troubled the Squire and drovehim to his usual resort when worried--long rides or hard tramps with hisgun. After luncheon and a decisive talk with Mrs. Ann, she had pleadedthat he ought to remain with them at the shore. She was sure he needed itand it would set her mind at ease. He told her what she knew well enough,how impossible it would be for him to leave the mills and be absent long.She who rarely manufactured difficulties now began to ask how this was tobe done and that, until Rivers said at last, "I can promise to read atthe hospital until I go away for my August holiday."
"You would not know the kind of things to read."
"No one could do it as well as you," said Rivers, "but I can try."
"Everything will be cared for, Ann," said Penhallow, "only don't worry."
"I never worry," she returned, rising. "You men think everything will runalong easily without a woman's attention."
"Oh, but Ann, my dear Ann!" exclaimed Penhallow, not knowing what more tosay, annoyed at the discussion and at her display of unnecessary temperand the entire loss of her usual common sense.
She said, with a laugh in which there was no mirth, "I presume one of youwill, of course, run my sewing-class?"
"Ann--Ann!" said the Squire.
Rivers understood her now in the comprehending sympathy of his own toofrequent moods of melancholy. "Ah!" he murmured, "if I could but teachher how to knit the ravelled sleeve of care."
"I presume," she added, "that I am to accept it as settled," and so wentout.
"Come, John," said Penhallow an hour later, "call the dogs--I must have agood hard tramp, and a talk with you!"
John kept pace with, the rapid stride of the Squire, taking note of thereddening buds of the maples, for this year in the hills the spring camelate.
"You must have seen your aunt's condition," said Penhallow. "I have seenit coming on ever since that miserable affair of Josiah. It troubled hergreatly."
John had the puzzled feeling of the inexperienced young in regard to thematter of illness and its influential effect on temper, and was wellpleased to converse on anything else, when his uncle asked, "Have youthought over what I said to you about your future?"
"Well?"
"I should like to go to West Point, Uncle Jim."
To his surprise Penhallow returned, pausing as he spoke, "I hadthought of that, but as I did not know you had ever considered it, Idid not mention it. It would in some ways please me. As a life-longcareer it would not. We are in no danger of war, and an idle existenceat army-posts is not a very desirable thing for an able man."
"I had the idea, uncle, that I would not remain in the service."
"But you would have to serve two years after you were graduated--andstill that was what I did, oh! and longer--much longer. As an educationin discipline and much else, it is good--very good. But tell me are youreally in earnest about it?"
"Yes,
sir."
"Well, it is better than college. I will think about it. If you go to thePoint, it should be this coming fall. I wonder what Ann will say."
Then John knew that the Squire favoured what had been for a long time onhis own mind. What had made him eager to go into the army was in partthat tendency towards adventure which had been a family trait and hisadmiration for the soldier-uncle; nor did the mere student life and thequiet years of managing the iron-mills as yet appeal to him as desirable.
"I wish, Uncle Jim, that you could settle the matter."
This was so like his own dislike of unsettled affairs that the Squirelaughed in his hearty way. "So far as I am concerned, you may regard itas decided; but securing a nomination to the Point is quite anothermatter. It may be difficult. I will see about it. Now we will let itdrop. That dog is pointing. Ah! the rascal. It is a hare."
They saw no more birds, nor did the Squire expect to find anything in thewoods except the peace of mind to be secured by violent exercise. He wenton talking about the horses and the mills.
When near to the house, Penhallow said, "Your aunt is to go awayto-morrow. Every day here seems to add to her difficulty in leaving home.I shall say nothing to her of West Point until it is settled one way oranother. I shall, of course, go to the Cape for a day, unless your aunt'sbrother Charles will take my place when he brings Leila to Philadelphiato meet us. I may be gone a week, and you and Rivers are to keepbachelor's hall and watch the work on the parsonage. I shall ask Leila towrite to you and to me about your aunt. Did I say that we go by the9:30 A.M. express?"
"No, sir."
"Well, we do."
James Penhallow was pleased and amazed when he discovered that Mrs. Annwas quietly submissive to the arrangements made for her comfort on thejourney. She appeared to have abruptly regained her good temper and,Penhallow thought, was unnaturally and excessively grateful for everysmall service. Being unused to the ways of sick women, he wondered as thetrain ran down the descent from the Allegheny Mountains how long a timewas required to know any human being entirely. He had been introducedwithin two weeks to two Ann Penhallows besides the Ann he had lived withthese many years. He concluded, as others have done, that people are hardto understand, and thus thinking he ran over in mind the group they lefton the platform at Westways Crossing.
There was Billy--apparently a simple character, abruptly capable ofdoing unexpected things; useful to-day, useless tomorrow. He calledup to mind the very competent doctor; John, and his friend--the moodyclergyman--beloved of all men. The doctor had said of him, "a man livingin the monastery of himself--in our world, but not of it."
"What amuses you, James?" asked his wife.
This good sign of return to her normal curiosity was familiarly pleasant."I was recalling, Ann, what McGregor said of Rivers after that horridtime of sickness at Westways. You may remember it."
"No, I do not."
"No! He said that Rivers was a round-shouldered angel."
"That does not seem to me amusing, James."
"Round-shouldered he is, Ann, and for the rest you at least ought torecognize your heavenly fellow-citizens when you meet them."
"Is that your poetry or your folly, James Penhallow?"
"Mine, my dear? No language is expansive enough for McGregor when hetalks about you."
"Nonsense, James. He knows how to please somebody. We were discussingMark Rivers."
"Were we? Then here is a nice little dose from the doctor for you. LastChristmas, after you had personally sat up with old Mrs. Lamb when shewas so ill, and until I made a row about it--"
"Yes--yes--I know." Her curiosity got the better of her dislike of beingpraised for what to her was a simple duty, and she added, "Well, what didhe say?"
"Oh, that you and Rivers were like angels gone astray in the strangecountry called earth; and then that imp of a boy, John, who says queerthings, said that it was like a bit of verse Rivers had read to him. Heknew it too. I liked it and got him to write it out. I have it in mypocket-book. Like to see it?"
"No," she returned--and then--"yes," as she reflected that it must haveoriginally applied to another than herself.
He was in the habit of storing in his pocket-book slips from thepapers--news, receipts for stable-medicine, and rarely verse. Now andthen he emptied them into the waste basket. He brought it out of hispocket-book and she read it:
As when two angel citizens of HeavenSwift winged on errands of the Master's loveMeet in some earthly guise.
"Is that all of it?"
"No, John could not remember the rest, and I did not ask Mark."
"I should suppose not. Thank you for believing it had any application tome. And, James, I have been a very cross angel of late."
"Oh, my dear Ann, Dr. McGregor said--"
"Never mind Dr. McGregor, James. Go and smoke your cigar. I am tired andI must not talk any more--talking on a train always tires me."
Two days after the departure of his aunt and uncle, John persuaded Riversto walk with him on the holiday morning of Saturday. The clergyman caringlittle for the spring charm of the maiden summer, but much for JohnPenhallow's youth of promise, wandered on slowly through the woods, withhead bent forward, stumbling now and then, lost to a world where hiscompanion was joyfully conscious of the prettiness of new-born andtranslucent foliage.
Always pleased to sit down, Rivers dropped his thin length of body uponthe brown pine-needles near the cabin and settling his back against afallen tree-trunk made himself comfortable. As usual, when at rest, hebegan to talk.
"John," he said, "you and Tom McGregor had a quarrel long ago--and afight."
"Yes, sir," returned John wondering.
"I saw it--I did not interfere at once--I was wrong."
This greatly amused John. "You stopped it just in time for me--I wasabout done for."
"Yes, but now, John, I have talked to Tom, and--I am afraid you havenever made it up."
"No, he was insolent to Leila and rude. But we had a talk about it--oh, agood while ago--before she went away."
"Oh, had you! Well, what then?"
"Oh, he told me you had talked to him and he had seen Leila and told herhe was sorry. She never said a word to me. I told him that he ought tohave apologized to me--too."
Rivers was amused. "Apologies are not much in fashion among Westwaysboys. What did he say?"
"Oh, just that he didn't see that at all--and then he said that he wasgoing away this fall to study medicine, and some day when he was a doctorhe would have a chance to get even with me, and wouldn't he dose me well.Then we both laughed, and--I shook hands with him. That's all, sir."
"Well, I am pleased. He is by no means a bad fellow, and as you know heis clever--and can beat you in mathematics."
"Yes, but I licked him well, and he knows it."
"For shame, John. I wish my Baptist friend's boy would do better--he isdull."
"But I like him," said John. "He is so plucky."
"There is another matter I want to talk about. I had a long conversationabout you with your uncle the night before he left. I heard with regretthat you want to go into the army."
"May I ask why?" said John, as he lay on the ground lazily fingering thepine-needles.
"Is it because the hideous business called war attracts you?"
"No, but I like what I hear of the Point from Uncle Jim. I prefer it toany college life. Besides this, I do not expect to spend my life in theservice, and after all it is simply a first rate training for anything Imay want to do later--care of the mills, I mean. Uncle Jim is pleased,and as for war, Mr. Rivers, if that is what you dislike, what chance ofwar is there?"
"You have very likely forgotten my talk with Mr. George Grey. The Northand the South will never put an end to their differences withoutbloodshed."
It seemed a strange opinion to John. He had thought so when he heardtheir talk, but now the clergyman's earnestness and some betterunderstanding of the half-century's bitter feeling made him thoughtful.Rising to his feet, he sai
d, "Uncle Jim does not agree with you, and AuntAnn and her brother, Henry Grey, think that Mr. Buchanan will bring allour troubles to an end. Of course, sir, I don't know, but"--and his voicerose--"if there ever should be such a war, I am on Uncle Jim's side, andbeing out of West Point would not keep me out of the fight."
Rivers shook his head. "It will come, John. Few men think as I do, andyour uncle considers me, I suspect, to be governed by my unhappy way ofseeing the dark side of things. He says that I am a bewildered pessimistabout politics. A pessimist I may be, but it is the habitually hopefulmeliorist who is just now perplexed past power to think straight."
John's interest was caught for the moment by the word, "meliorist." "Whatis a meliorist, sir?" he asked. "Oh, a wild insanity of hopefulness. Youall have it. I dislike to talk about the sad future, and I wonder men atthe North are so blind."
He fell again to mere musings, a self-absorbed man, while John, attractedby a squirrel's gambols and used to the rector's long silences, wanderednear by among the pines, with a vagabond mind on this or that, andwatching the alert little acrobat of the forest. As he moved about, herecalled his first walks to the cabin with Leila and the wild thing hehad said one day--and her reply. One ages fast, at seventeen, and now hewondered if he had been quite wise, and with the wisdom and authority ofa year and a half of mental growth punished his foolish boy-past withseverity of reproach. He had failed for a time to hear, or at least tohear with attention, the low-voiced soliloquies in which Mr. Riverssometimes indulged. McGregor, an observant man, said that Rivers's mindjumped from thought to thought, and that his talk had at times noconnective tissue and was hard to follow.
Now he spoke louder. "No one, John, no one sees that every new compromisecompromises principles and honour. Have you read any of the speeches of aman named Lincoln in Illinois? He got a considerable vote in thatnominating convention."
"No, sir."
"Then read it--read him. A prophet of disaster! He says, 'A house dividedagainst itself cannot stand. This government cannot endure permanentlyhalf slave, half free.' The man did not know that he was ignorantlyquoting George Washington's opinion. It is so, and so it will be. I wouldlet them go their way in peace, for the sin of man-owning is ours--wasours--and we are to suffer for it soon or late--a nation's debts haveto be paid, and some are paid in blood."
The young fellow listened but had no comment ready, and indeed knew toolittle of the terrible questions for which time alone would have ananswer to feel the full force of these awful texts. He did say, "I willread Mr. Lincoln's speeches. Uncle talks to me about Kansas and slaveryand compromises, but it is sometimes too much for me."
"Yes, he will not talk of these things to your aunt, and is not willingto talk to me. He thinks both of us are extremists. No, I won't walk anyfurther. Let us go home."
The natural light-mindedness of a healthy lad easily disposes of theproblems which disturb the older mind. John forgot it all for a time inthe pleasant interest of a letter from Leila, received a day before hisuncle's return.
"CAPE MAY, June 21st.
"MY DEAR JOHN: Here at last I am free to write to you when I please,and I have some rather strange news; but first of Aunt Ann. She is verywell pleased and is already much better. Uncle Jim left us to-day, and Iam to have Lucy here and one of the grooms. If only I could have you toride with me on this splendid beach and see the great blue waves roll uplike a vast army charging with white plumes and then rolling back indefeat."--
John paused. This was not like Leila. He felt in a vague way that shemust be changing, and remembered the rector's predictions. Then he readon--
"Now for my adventure: Aunt Ann wanted some hair-wash, and I went to thebarber's shop in the town to buy it. There was no one in but a black boy,because it was the bathing-time. He, I mean the boy, said he would callMr. Johnson. In a moment there came out of a back room who do you thinkbut our Josiah! He just stood still a moment--and then said, 'Good God!Miss Leila! Come into the back room--you did give me a turn.' I thoughthe seemed to be alarmed. Well, I went with him, and he asked me at oncewho was with me. I said, Aunt Ann, and that she was not well. Then I gotout of him that he had wandered a while, and at last chosen this as asafe place. No one had told me fully about Cousin George Grey and whyJosiah was scared and ran away, but now I got it all out of him--and howyou warned him--and I do think it was splendid of a boy like you. He wasdreadfully afraid of being taken back to be a slave. It seems he savedhis money, and after working here bought out the shop when his masterfell ill. I did not like it, but to quiet him I really had to say that Iwould not tell Aunt Ann, or he would have to run away again. I am sureaunt would not do anything to trouble him, but it was quite impossible tomake him believe me, and he got me at last to promise him. I supposethere is really no harm in it, but I never did keep anything from AuntAnn. I got the hair-wash and went away with his secret. Now, isn't that astory!
"I forgot one thing. As the Southern gentlemen come to be shaved and askwhere he was born, they hear--think of it--that 'Mr. Johnson' was born inConnecticut! His grandfather had been a slave. I shall see him again.
"This is the longest letter I ever wrote, and you are to feel dulycomplimented, Mr. Penhallow.
"Good-bye. Love from Aunt Ann.
"Yours truly,
"LEILA GREY.
"P.S. I am sure that I may trust you not to speak of Josiah."
Mr. John Penhallow, as they said at Westways, "going on seventeen,"gathered much of interest in reading and re-reading this letter from MissGrey. To own a secret with Leila was pleasant. To hear of Josiah as "Mr.Johnson" amused him. That he was prosperous he liked, and that he wasfearful with or without reason seemed strange. It was and had been hardfor the young freeman to realize the ever-present state of mind of a manin terror of arrest without any crime on his conscience. There wasperhaps a slight hint of doubt in Leila's request that he would becareful not to mention what she had said of Josiah, "as if I am really aboy and Leila older than I," murmured John. He knew, as he once more readher words, that he ought to tell his uncle, who could best decide what todo about Josiah and his terror of being reclaimed by his old owner.
During the early hours of a summer night Mark Rivers sat on the porch ina rocking-chair, which he declared gave him all the exercise he required.It was the only rocking-chair at Grey Pine, and nothing so disturbed theSquire as Mark Rivers rocking on that unpleasant piece of furniture andsmoking as if it were a locomotive. It was an indulgence of AnnPenhallow, who knew that there had been a half-dozen rockers in theburned rectory.
John sat on the steps and listened to the shrill katydids or watched thedevious lanterns of the fireflies. A bat darted over the head of Rivers,who ducked as it went by, watching its uncertain flight.
"I am terribly afraid of bats," said the rector. "Are you?"
"I--no. They're harmless."
"Yes, I know that, but I am without reason afraid of them. I think of thedemons as being like monstrous bats. But that is a silly use ofimagination."
"Uncle Jim doesn't like them, and you once told me that he had verylittle imagination."
"Yes. One can't explain these dislikes. Your uncle reasons well and has aclear logical mind, but he has neither creative nor receptiveimagination."
"Receptive?" asked John.
"Yes, that is why he has none of your aunt's joy in poetry. When I readto her Wordsworth's 'Brougham Castle,' he said that he had never heardmore silly nonsense."
"I remember it was that wonderful verse about the 'longing of theshield.'"
"Yes--I forgot you were there. Verse like that is a good test of aperson's capacity to feel poetry--that kind, I mean."
"I hear Uncle Jim's horse."
"Yes. I can't see, John, why a man should want to have a horse sent tomeet him instead of a comfortable wagon,"--and for emphasis, as usualwith Rivers, the rocking-chair was swinging to the limits of its arc ofsafe motion.
The Squire dismounted and came up the steps with "Good-evening,Rivers,"--and to
John, "I have good news for you--but order my supperat once, then we will talk." He was in his boyish mood of gaiety. "Howfar have you travelled on that rocker, Rivers?"
"Now, Squire--now, really--" It was a favourite subject of chaff.
"Why not have rocking-chairs in church, Mark? Think what a patientcongregation you would have! Come, John, I am hungry." He fled laughing.
While the Squire ate in silence, John waited until his uncle said, "Comeinto the library." Here he filled his pipe and took the match Johnoffered. "There are many curious varieties of man, John. There is the manwho prefers a rocking-chair to the saddle. It's queer--very queer; and heis as much afraid of a horse as I am--of--I don't know what."
The Squire's memory failed to answer the call. "What are you grinning at,you young scamp?"
"Oh, Mr. Rivers did say, Uncle Jim, something about bats."
"Yes, that's it--bats--and I do suppose every one has his especial fear.Ah! quite inexplicable nonsense!--fears like mine about bats, or youraunt's about dogs, but also fears that make a man afraid that he will notface a danger that is a duty. When we had smallpox at the mills, soonafter Rivers came here, he went to the mill-town and lived there a month,and nursed the sick and buried the dead. At last he took the diseaselightly, but it left a mark or two on his forehead. That I call--well,heroic. Confound that rocking-chair! How it squeaks!"
John was too intently listening to hear anything but the speaker whodeclared heroic the long lean man with the pale face and the eyes likesearch-lights. John waited; he wanted to hear something more.
"Did many die, uncle?"
"Oh, yes. The men had fought McGregor about vaccination. Many died. Therewas blindness too. Supplies failed--no one would come in from the farms."
John waited with the fear of defect in his ideal man. Then he ventured,"And Aunt Ann, was she here?"
"No, I sent her away when I went to Milltown."
"Oh! you were there too, sir?"
"Yes, damn it!" He rarely swore at all. "Where did you suppose I wouldbe? But I lived in terror for a month--oh, in deadly fear!"
"Thank you, sir."
"Thank me, what for? Some forms of sudden danger make me gay, with all myfaculties at their best, but not that. I had to nurse Rivers; that wasthe worst of it. You see, my son, I was a coward."
"I should like to be your kind of a coward, Uncle Jim."
"Well, it was awful. Let us talk of something else. I left your auntbetter, went to Washington, saw our Congressman, got your nomination toWest Point and a letter from Leila. Your aunt must be fast mending, forshe was making a long list of furniture for the new parsonage, and 'wouldI see Ellen Lamb and'--eleven other things, the Lord knows what else,and 'when could she return?' McGregor said in September, and I so wroteto her; she will hate it. And she dislikes your going to West Point. Ihad to tell her, of course."
"I have had a letter from Leila, uncle. Did she write you anything aboutJosiah?"
"About Josiah! No. What was that?"
"She said I was not to tell, but I think you ought to know--"
"Of course, I should know. Go on. Let me see the letter."
"It is upstairs, sir, but this is what she wrote," and he went on to tellthe story.
The Squire laughed. "I must let Mr. Johnson know, as Leila did not know,that it was Ann who really sent you to warn him. Poor fellow! I canunderstand his alarm, and how can I reassure him? George Grey is going toCape May, or so says your aunt, and I am sure if Josiah knows that he isrecognized, he will drop everything and run. I would run, John, andquickly too. Grey will be sure to write to Woodburn again."
"What then, sir?"
"Oh, he told your Aunt Ann and me that he would not go any further unlesshe chanced to know certainly where Josiah was. If he did, it would be hisduty, as he said, to reclaim him. It is not a pleasant business, and Iought to warn Josiah, which you may not know is against the law. However,I will think it over. Ann did not say when Grey was coming, and he isjust as apt not to go as to go. Confound him and all their ways."
John had nothing to say. The matter was in older and wiser handsthan his. His uncle rose, "I must go to bed, but I have a word to saynow about your examinations for admission. I must talk to Rivers.Good-night!"
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