Poppea of the Post-Office

by Mabel Osgood Wright

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE SCAR ON THE HAND

  Stephen Latimer, as soon as might be, communicated with the few peoplethat Poppea considered had a right to know of the solving of the mysteryof the name, and these were the Felton ladies, Satira and 'Lisha Potts,and Hugh Oldys. He wrote the details to Miss Felton and 'Lisha, butcalled upon Miss Emmy and Hugh the same evening.

  If there is aught in the saying that bad news spreads like fire in drygrass, while good news requires three kindlings, then the newsconcerning Poppea must have been considered very bad indeed. Owingprobably to the eavesdropping of the butler, accounts more or lessgarbled appeared within two days, not only in the local and countypapers, but in the New York journals as well. It was only in the latter,however, that anything was attempted like writing up the matter as astreak of good luck, upon which the heroine, as Poppea was called, wasto be congratulated; one paper adding optimistically that she would, thecoming season, open her father's house to those who had the past winterwelcomed and entertained her solely on account of her incomparable charmcoupled with her vocal ability.

  The way in which those nearest to her took the change was the greatestpossible proof of their single-hearted love for herself alone.

  'Lisha received an unexpected rating from Satira, who told him he'd havebetter let Beaver Brook wash out the whole railroad company than havefished out that box of misery. Miss Emmy took a more conventional viewof the matter, but ended by saying with a sigh, "As long as Poppea couldnot have grown up with the knowledge, it was better unknown."

  Hugh Oldys alone remained absolutely silent; finally, Poppea, who waswaiting with feverish eagerness for him to make some sign, receivedthese few lines from him.

  "I am glad for you if you are glad, little comrade. Yet oftentimes lately it has seemed to me that the positive knowledge of a thing is so much harder to bear than the vague lack of it, that I have ceased to ask, Why?

  "As ever your friend,

  "HUGH."

  Over these few words Poppea pondered long and sadly, seated in thewindow of her little bedroom with the warm air of late May againbringing the fragrance of apple blossoms with it. It was not yet a yearsince they two had walked home together and she had hidden her heartthat with the first lift of its wings was poised, ready to fly to Hugh,and at the same time she proffered him friendship. Her motives, surely,had been of the most unselfish, and, as she then thought, far-seeing,but now how insignificant they seemed compared to her loss that lay inHugh's acceptance of them. If she could have felt one pulse of the oldpressure in his hand-clasp when they met, or read the faintestinclination toward a need of her between the lines of the brief note,how quickly she would have revealed herself. Not only had she ceased tobe a necessity, but rather it seemed were their meetings becoming astrain upon him, where even his cordial outward friendship was forced.

  Ah, back, far back, her thoughts flew, no longer the strains of themotive of the Mystery of the Name sang to her brain; like Elsa, in thepursuit of the mystery, she had not gained but lost. Moreover, thoughshe was happy in the fact that she might now see Philip withoutrestraint or reproach, her joy must be pale compared to his, for to himshe was all.

  For a week or more John Angus had made no move other than to see that aproper statement of the facts of her birth was added to the villagerecord, writing tersely to Poppea that he had communicated with hisLondon solicitor to have all possible details traced out; then hewaited.

  The second week brought another note addressed to Miss Angus, asking herto fix the time of her coming home, as there were some necessarypreparations to be made.

  This note remained unanswered for several days, not because of anythingcontemptuous or insolent in Poppea's attitude, but for the reason thatshe did not know how to word her refusal in order to make it finalwithout first consulting Stephen Latimer, and yet if she did so, shefeared that he might, from his high impersonal standpoint, try todissuade her; until, as she was about to write, the New York lawyer ofJohn Angus called at the post-office house.

  He was a polished man of the world as well as a legal light, but all thesubtly drawn pictures of advantage presented with the intricacies of hiscalling were shattered upon the bare rock of her simple statement, "Thisis my home, and I shall not leave Daddy or drop this name that hassheltered me so long."

  Utterly baffled, the lawyer's admiration for the girl's firmness did notprevent his returning to Angus and imparting something of the bitter andsarcastic mood that opposition develops in legal temperaments. So thatwhile Angus ceased his attempts to bring Poppea to him, he brooded overthe matter to such an extent that he really came to believe that healone was wronged. If he had been physically able, he would have againclosed the house and gone away, but he could no longer hide hisincreasing feebleness even from himself; consequently he had lost thefirst field in his effort to conceal his condition from others. Besides,Philip, once more established at his work, was now to be reckonedwith,--Philip with a man's spiritual courage and his newly acquiredstrength of having kin, no longer bearing that brand of utterdesolation,--the being the last of one's race.

  All the other outlets being closed, John Angus fell back upon the lawfor solace, and with its advice constructed a will under which, outsideof the cautionary sum of one hundred dollars, Poppea was to benefit inno way by his estate. This was so tied up that Philip also would losehis rights if he attempted in any way to share with his sister, and thedocument being duly signed, sealed, was stowed away in the little safeinserted in the wall by his bed head. He would not be within hearing ofcriticism when the paper went into effect, so Angus, wearing his usualair of inscrutability, took up his life much as before, save that hesuddenly announced that, owing to Philip's love of the sea, he wouldbuild a midsummer home for him with a studio attached, on a strip ofland that he owned on the west side of Quality Hill, where the Moosatuckjoins the bay; and almost before the community had grasped the news thequaintly gabled house was under way.

  With Poppea the matter was not to be allowed to rest so soon. Letterscame to her from all quarters, congratulating her, giving invitationsfor visits, the sudden desire for her company all too evidently theresult of her supposedly changed condition. Gloria Hooper wrote morethan cordially, while Mrs. Hewlett, the well-meaning but very densemother of the two susceptible sons, ended her letter with this dubioussentence, "I take great credit to myself, dear child, for always havingbelieved that you were not what you seemed to be."

  Others yet asked her plans and prospects in the most direct language,with all their social training missing the fine reticence in this matterthat had marked the neighborhood people of Harley's Mills.

  In early June Poppea went up to visit Miss Emmy for a few days. Brave asthis little lady had been, the complete breaking up of the familyarrangements of years, and the lack of Miss Felton's strong personalityagainst which to lean, was telling upon her sadly. Her idea of a summerabroad, once abandoned, was now again under discussion. A summer of longperiods of rest rather than hasty travel, with Nora for maid and Poppeafor companion, was the doctor's advice, and at the same time he saidthat when the July heat came, it would be necessary for Miss Felton andher charge to leave the city, and where else could they be socomfortable as the great house on Quality Hill.

  Miss Emmy had been talking over the journey with Poppea, who at last hadconsented to go with her, the final inducement being that she couldvisit Hampshire, and in learning any possible facts concerning hermother's life and death there, bring her nearer as a reality.

  The third week in July was the time now set, and the _Normanic_, withits popular captain, the ship chosen, after much debate. That othertime, in the sixties, when Miss Emmy had been on the verge of breakingaway, the _Scotia_, with its ponderous side-wheels, had been the onlyvessel to which women of sensibility felt that they could trustthemselves.

  Jeanne Latimer had come up for afternoon tea, and the two sat upon thebroad piazza overlooking the rose garden, already showing the gold
enyellow of the scentless, old-fashioned, half-double brier rosescontrasting with the vivid crimson and rich perfume of the Jacqueminots.

  Each one of the three women was in a reflective mood, in which, strangeto say, the thought focussed about each other rather than aboutthemselves.

  "Where is Mr. Latimer?" asked Poppea. "This morning, when I met him onthe village road, he promised that he would surely come up thisafternoon to help us plan the English end of our journey; besides that,he was to explain to me the best way for Daddy to write to Washingtonconcerning the new post-office. He cannot, of course, resign from anoffice that will cease to exist the first of next January and he hopesto hold it to the end. But he wishes to write in such a way that it willbe clearly seen that he does not desire the new _West Harbor_ position.Not that they would give it to so old a man, but it satisfies his pridenot to allow himself to be merely dropped.

  "Think of it, Aunt Emmy, very soon Poppea of the Post-Office must giveup the name you gave her, not that she leaves it, but it will drop awayfrom her."

  "Why not take your mother's name, then?" said Jeanne Latimer. "Helen ismore fitting to the woman than Poppea, though of course to us you willbe Poppy for all time."

  "That also is one of the things about which I wanted to speak to Mr.Latimer. Do you think that he is coming?"

  "He started with me, but as we were waiting at the church to see the menwho are doing something to the water-power that works the organ, WillBurt, one of the young doctors from the Bridgeton Hospital, came past onhorseback, riding like mad. Stephen waved to him, for as a boy he hadbeen one of his music pupils, and he stopped short. It seems that he wason his way to the Rectory on an errand that he had undertaken for itsvery strangeness.

  "Late last night a short, thick-set man was brought into the hospital, abrakeman from one of the through freights, and apparently a new hand onthe road, for he did not know of the low bridge at Moosatuck Junction,or understand the signal lights. He was swept off and crushed againstthe pier. Though hurt to death, he had remained conscious, and earlythis afternoon, when rallied to the utmost by drugs, asked to speak toone of the physicians alone. Burt, chancing through the ward, wasappealed to. There was something about the man that struck him at once;past fifty, and bearing the signs of dissipation and recent neglect ofhis person, he did not come of the grade who keep to the road at hisage. When he spoke, his words confirmed the impression.

  "'What place am I in, Doctor?' he began.

  "'Bridgeton, Connecticut,' Burt answered.

  "The man repeated the name to himself several times, and then asked:--

  "'Would that be near a little place called Harley's Mills?'

  "'The next town to it.'

  "'Is there a clergyman hereabout who would, think you, do an errand fora man that, being already dead in his legs, cannot do it for himself, amatter of--well, we'll say _business_ rather than religion?'

  "Burt told him that there was a Roman Catholic priest always withincall, besides ministers of other denominations that could be had; butthe man sighed, hesitated, and finally said: 'I'm English born, thoughI've long ago sold out my birthright, yet there's that much left of itthat makes me want to say what I must to the one that's the nearest likehim that used to teach us our duty in the little church betwixt thewheat fields over there. I want the one that has the white robe, thebook, and the law behind him; but maybe, sir, you do not understand?'

  "Burt did understand, however, and remembering that the rector of St.John's in Bridgeton was ill, came galloping over for Stephen. Why he didit, or put Stephen to the trouble, he himself could not say, for maimedrailway men and similar requests are not uncommon in a hospital. Stephenborrowed a horse from Hugh Oldys and fully expected to be back again bysix; it is after five now. Shall I make the tea, Miss Emmy? He would bevexed to have you wait."

  How many odd moments as well as times of painful suspense the tea-trayhas bridged over. Many a time the period of waiting for the kettle toboil has given the necessary pause to think that has changed a wholelife, and the need of balancing a cup and saucer in the hand has made anexcuse for looking down when looking up would have betrayed the whole.

  As Jeanne pottered and poured, Poppea's wandering eyes caught upon amere speck in the distance on the lower Bridgeton road. As it reachedthe great span over Moosatuck it took the shape of horse and wheels.Before it reached the turn below the hill, she knew rather than saw thatit was Hugh Oldys's outfit with Stephen Latimer driving, and that he wasin great haste.

  Though she neither spoke of it nor betrayed the slightest interest, yether heart pounded so that the hand that held the cup pulsed in response,and she shifted it to the table, where she deliberately stirred thesugar. Then, feeling that she could no longer sit still, she said,looking toward the roses:--

  "What a superb flower that is on the third bush. May I have it, MissEmmy?" and she swung herself lightly over the rail at the end of theporch opposite the steps and arrived at the head of the walk with herrose at the same time that Latimer drove in the gate.

  Seeing her, he threw the reins over the dashboard and jumped out; he hadthe same pallor, coupled with the tension of suppressed excitement, thathe had worn the day after the fire. Coming directly toward Poppea, hesaid:--

  "Can you go through one more ordeal, the last?"

  "Yes," she answered quietly. "I knew that it was coming half an hourago. Is he dead? the man with the scar on his hand?"

  Latimer, startled in spite of himself at her words, merely nodded hishead for yes.

  "I felt that it was he when Jeanne told me you had been sent for. Won'tyou please come and tell us all together, Jeanne and Miss Emmy? I havenot the courage I once had; I cannot seem to bear things alone."

  While Latimer walked slowly up the steps, his wife had time to gauge, ina degree, the scene he had been through, before Poppea, who was inadvance of him, said, in answer to the questioning look upon the face ofboth women:--

  "The man whom he went to see was the one who brought me to Daddy; nowwe shall know how," and dropping to a stool by Miss Emmy's side, sherested her head upon the elder woman's knees, as she was used in the olddays of confidence before things began to happen.

  Latimer took the cup of tea that Jeanne brought to him, and thenanother, before he drew his chair closer to the group of women andbegan, trying to compress his narrative as much as possible for the sakeof all concerned, while he spoke as to Poppea alone.

  "The man brought to the Bridgeton Hospital was Peter Randal, the son ofBetty Randal, your grandfather Dudleigh's housekeeper and your mother'snurse. When your mother returned to Hampshire and you were born, Peterwas away at sea, but came back soon after her death and married an oldsweetheart, a pretty barmaid of the town. Betty Randal, though to allappearances in the prime of life and best of health, died suddenly a fewmonths after your mother, without having had time to carry out any ofher directions or safeguard you in any way, so that Peter and his wifefound themselves left with you on their hands and the temptation of asnug fortune before them, because your little sum of money had been atthe time entirely in Betty Randal's control.

  "Peter's wife had a sister in Canada, who made great representations ofthe fortunes to be made there in farming if one only had money in hand;so after much persuading, Peter yielded doggedly to the scheme ofkeeping your money, which it would have been really difficult to provedid not belong to Betty herself.

  "Peter, however, refused even to think of the plan of leaving you atsome foundling asylum instead of taking you to your father, and insistedupon going to Canada by way of Boston, bringing you with them, andleaving you with John Angus _en route_. He also had sufficient familyfeeling to take with you the papers your mother had left, upon which heknew Betty had set such store.

  "Knowing nothing of the country, they found upon their arrival thatBoston was far east of their destination, and so, going to New York,worked their way backward, getting off in the confusion of the warexcitement and the late train at Westboro, while the box, hastilyad
dressed to John Angus, Harley's Mills, and not checked, was droppedoff at this station, the tag evidently having been in some way mutilatedin transit so that the place of destination only remained.

  "On asking some chance loungers at the Westboro depot the direction ofJohn Angus's house at Harley's Mills, Randal was told 'the first abovethe post-office,' and to that they drove, not realizing that theirguides in this case considered the joined house and office as onebuilding. In the fury of the storm the Randals only waited to be surethat the door was opened, and going to Bridgeton, were lost among manyother travellers. For some time everything went well with the pair, andthen luck turned. Peter's wife left him after securing the farm toherself, and first the man took to the road, trying in some way toreturn to the old country, but in spite of all, a bit of deep-downremorse made him wish to know what had become of the baby Helen on hisway.--The rest you know."

  "What will they do with him?" asked Poppea, softly.

  "That which he asked of me," said Latimer.

  "I must have known you would have thought of it, and yet there must bean odd touch of the same race feeling in me too. Thief as he was, hispeople were once loyal to mine, also I wish I might have thanked him forhis mistake."

  "I did it for you, child, and for us all," and in the look that Poppeaturned on him he read a gratefulness beyond words.