Poppea of the Post-Office

by Mabel Osgood Wright

  CHAPTER XX

  ON THE WINGS OF THE MORNING

  During the remainder of the summer the village of Harley's Mills wentinto a sort of chrysalis state as befitted its coming change of name.The fact that the Felton house had ceased to exist as a social centreand that many of the Quality Hill folk had gone abroad addedconsiderably to its somnolence. Some of what are generally referred toby the local press as "leading citizens" had under construction a brickblock on the Westboro side of the blacksmith shop in which the chieftrade interests of the place were to be sheltered, including the newpost-office.

  Philip Angus continued with the Latimers, for his new house overlookingthe sea would not be ready before October, and if the rumor proved truethat Howell, the sculptor, was anxious to take Philip with him to winterin Rome, it was unlikely that it would be occupied before spring.

  Of course there was much speculation concerning the amount anddisposition of John Angus's property, especially his holdings in realestate, for he owned some of the most sightly tracts in the township inaddition to the house and home acres on Windy Hill. Early in the autumna definite statement was given out concerning the latter by no less anauthority than Stephen Latimer. Poppea and Philip, agreeing that underno circumstances could they live there, proposed to devote it to ahospital and home for crippled children from the city, and the necessaryalterations began soon after.

  It was almost Thanksgiving time when Miss Emmy and Poppea returned, MissEmmy going directly to the house on Quality Hill which she now calledhome, Miss Felton and Caleb having moved Mr. Esterbrook back to MadisonSquare at the beginning of cold weather. The village did not realize howmuch it had missed them both until Poppea was again seen walking dailyup the road to Quality Hill, and Miss Emmy resumed her morning marketingtrips, where she sat in the barouche (the lining was now a durablerusset leather) dressed in very suitable and becoming brown with awarming glint of color in the velvet rose on her bonnet, holding a sortof court, whereat the butcher extolled the quality of his sweetbreads,and the blacksmith's wife related the details of her rheumatism and herhusband's father's last seizure, with equal freedom.

  Immediately after her return, Philip took Poppea to see the new house,to which a music room with a place for an organ had been added to theoriginal plan by throwing out a wing to correspond with his studio. Withher arm about his shoulders they walked slowly through the rooms,stopping before the picture that each window offered, until they cameto one on the second floor, a bay from which one might not only look outto sea, but up the Moosatuck until it was lost in the hill-country.

  "This is your room," he said, laying a detaining hand upon her arm tomake her hear him out, "whenever you wish to come to it for an hour orforever, but I never shall ask you by so much as a word to leave Daddy,for I feel about it much as you do. What if he had not? Oh, Sister, whatif he had not? You would have still been yourself, but I, what should Ihave been without you to love?" and the rapt expression stole across hisface with which the devotee is pictured.

  Presently, sitting side by side on the steps of the wide porch in theearly winter sunshine, they talked over Philip's plans, the tidecreeping up the sand laden with pungent seaweed, and the gulls nowflying across with shrill cries, now dropping to rest upon the water.

  At last Philip, taking Poppea's hand and laying it against his cheek,told her of what was closest to his heart,--his desire to go to Romewith Howell for the winter, to do there with the master a piece of workhe could not hope yet to accomplish alone. Unrolling a paper he showedher the design for the group, the outcome of months of thought anddreaming. Two women, one taller than the other, with tender, radiantfaces, standing side by side, hands outstretched to aid a crippledchild, who, having dropped his crutch, was clinging to them. About thebase this legend ran _Amor Consolatrix_.

  "These are our mothers," he said softly, "yours and mine. When they aredone in marble, they shall stand by the gate up at the hospital towelcome the children who must go in alone."

  So Philip sailed away, and from the Christmas music at St. Luke's hissilver voice was missing.

  But if Philip's tones were silver, Poppea's now poured forth like rich,unalloyed gold. It seemed to her as though she had never fathomed thefull joy of singing until, lacking necessity, it had ceased to be apossible commercial profession, and become, as now she held it, afreewill gift to all who asked for or needed it, singing alike inchurch, hospital ward, the poor-house, or in the low farm-houses of theback hill-country, where she carried hope and music to those for whomall other doors were closed. Once even had she gone over the deeplydrifted roads on a wood sled with 'Lisha Potts to a revival meeting athis lumber camp, and in the rough faces of the wood-choppers read adeeper, truer appreciation than she had ever felt respond to her amongthe music-lovers of the drawing-room.

  Then, too, there were the Sunday evenings, she and Daddy sitting oneither side the fire in the foreroom,--Satira going invariably to themuscular type of prayer-meeting that would satisfy her soul's hunger forthe next seven days.--Then the heartstrings would quiver in vain for themagic thrill and the sound of the melody that only one may play for eachone of us, until to break the oppressive silence, she would lift thepiano lid and let her fingers feel their way a moment, until theold-time hymns and anthems made response. Gradually Daddy would join in,until at the end of half an hour he was singing with might and main,although often quite off the key and half a bar behind. As she paused,he would limp to and fro rubbing his hands together, and saying for thefortieth time:--

  "Pretty good music you and I can make, eh, Poppy? Forty years ago I wasthe loudest bass singer in this township, and 'twas when I was singingin First Church Choir that Mary, a stranger to me, sang the secondtreble, and it was the kind way she had of keeping me in line when I'dshied from the tuning-fork that made me take to her. Yes, it's true whatthe poet says, that Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast. Itsoothed mine, Poppy, who always had dreaded women."

  So the winter wore away. March, the tug of war between seasons,blustered out roaring defiance, and April, the capricious, in its lastweek had kept to one mood long enough to green the grass, draw red bloodto the maple tops, and gold sap to the willows.

  In two weeks more Philip would return. Poppea was entering the gate witha letter from him that had come in the last mail. She had walked slowlyup from the new post-office in the brick block, reading it as she came.How different all concerning the new order was, to be sure: _Entrance_and _Exit_ printed plainly on the doors; no little knots of men from thescattered back settlement exchanging news. Rather did these, aftergetting their mail, continue to come to their old haunt and talk toGilbert as he sat in his shop, sometimes idle but never listless, whilea large checkerboard put by Poppea's suggestion in the place of theboxes of the old beehive, filled the gap when the powers of conversationneeded rest.

  She stopped to look at a cluster of daffodils, whose jolly yellowflowers kept on beaming even through the dusk, and then went toward thehouse, when the wheels of a vehicle, coming rapidly up the road, stoppedshort, and Hugh Oldys's voice called:--

  "Poppea, wait a minute, please," and without pausing to fasten thehorse, he pushed through the gate and strode toward her.

  "What is it, Hugh?" she almost cried out, shocked by the ashiness of hisface and its nervous working. "Can I help you in any way?"

  "Yes, you can help me and only you, though I do not know that I ought tolet you undergo the strain even if you are willing.

  "Listen and judge, Poppea. Last night my mother became physically ill;until then her bodily health has been better than for years. Thisafternoon within two hours her mind has suddenly cleared, the doctorsexplain it by the moving of a clot. She called me to her and spoke asnaturally as before the blow fell; yet she remembers perfectly well thatfather is dead and that she has been very ill, though she has no senseof the length of time. Then she begged me not to leave her for so longagain, and asked for you, Poppea."

  "Why, Hugh, I will go to her at once. Could y
ou think that I would not?"

  "That--that is not all," he faltered, his shoulders drooping and hiswhole attitude broken and dejected. "She thinks that everything is asshe had believed it would be--two years--ago. She thinks that we aremarried--that you are in the house, but stay out of the room for fear ofdisturbing her. Oh, Poppea, could you--could you slip a loose shawl or asack over your shoulders and go in for a moment and speak to her oranswer her, so that she need not know? Will you do it for the sake ofall those years that we were comrades?"

  Only for a moment had Poppea drawn back, but it was so imperceptiblythat Hugh did not notice.

  "I will go," she said slowly, without looking at him, "and you need waitonly a minute."

  Going swiftly to her room, she made a wrapper and pair of slippers intoa hasty bundle and threw a light shawl about her head and shoulders.Saying a few words to Satira, who was in the kitchen kneading bread andso could not follow her to the gate for details other than she chose togive, she took her place silently by Hugh in the buggy.

  On the drive neither spoke, for it was one of the hours when the softestspoken word is too harsh and jarring. Up from the marsh meadows the cryof the rejuvenated "peepers" rose in what to Poppea's nerves, strainedto snapping, seemed a clamor that surrounded her head closely and dulledeven her powers of thought.

  At the threshold Mrs. Shandy was waiting, her eyes red from crying. Withfinger on her lips Poppea signalled that she wished to go to Mrs.Shandy's room. There she slipped on the wrapper she had brought, andloosing the pins, let her hair fall in a careless braid, as though shehad but just waked up.

  In the square upper hall Dr. Morewood sat in a deep easy-chair, readingby a shaded lamp. In answer to Poppea's questioning look he said in thelow tone, that yet is not a whisper, which the sensitive physicianacquires:--

  "Yes, the brain is clear, but the physical vitality in its finalflicker; at best it can hold its own but a few hours."

  When, steadying herself by an almost superhuman effort, Poppea reachedthe door of Mrs. Oldys's chamber, so familiar in every detail even inthe subdued light, Hugh was already there crouched by the bedside, oneof his mother's transparent hands clasping his, while with the other shewas striving to push back the heavy hair from his forehead.

  At the sight of Poppea the nurse drew back into the alcove shadows.Seating herself in a vacant chair on the opposite side from Hugh andwaiting a few seconds, the girl made a very slight motion that revealedher presence.

  "My dear daughter!" Mrs. Oldys formed the words rather than spoke them,dropping her other hand upon Poppea's so that she was held fast as itwere between them.

  "Why have you stayed away so long? I have thought that you were ill,"the voice was clearer now. "Did Hugh break your sleep to call you?"

  "No,--Mother,--I was quite awake when he said you wanted me."

  "And you will stay with me to-night?"

  "Yes, surely I will stay."

  "Now I am at peace, my two dear children--" the fluttering eyelidsclosed and for a while she seemed to sleep, except that the pressure ofher hands did not relax.

  Presently she looked up again.

  "I cannot seem to think by myself," she said, "I need something to leanupon--to carry me with it. Do you remember, Hugh, the music--the songthat you and Poppy used to sing sometimes without the organ? It broughtme close to the gate--perhaps it would carry me through with itto-night."

  Poppea, who was trembling like a leaf in the wind, looked toward Hugh,but his face was buried in his arm. Then a calm settled over her.Loosening the robe at her throat, she straightened herself, and from herlips the notes fell soft yet clear:--

  "Hark! hark, my soul; angelic songs are swelling."

  An expression of ineffable peace crossed Mrs. Oldys's face.

  "Yes, that is it," she whispered, smiling.

  Unfalteringly Poppea sang to the end, and it was not until the last notedied away in complete silence that Hugh raised his head.

  Presently the doctor looked in, the nurse came forward with somenourishment, and so the night wore on, but it was not until the dawnbegan to scatter darkness that the frail hands gradually relaxed theirloving clasp, and the nurse looking from the shadows beckoned thewatchers away.

  Through the passageway and down the stairs Hugh and Poppea passedtogether. Then Hugh left her for a moment, returning to say that Dr.Morewood would drive her home as she must have some rest as soon aspossible.

  Mrs. Shandy, coming out, begged her to wait and take a cup of coffee,but Poppea shook her head.

  Out on the porch in the fresh, yet mysterious air of coming day, theywaited for the doctor to bring his chaise. Below lay Moosatuck veiled inmist; beyond, the blue ridge of the hills; one bird called, thenanother, until half a hundred had picked up the anthem. Each moment itgrew lighter, the darkness huddled cornerwise down the west, while themorning star and the harbor beacon paled together.

  For a time neither spoke nor looked at each other, then Hugh broke thesilence.

  "In a few days, Poppea,--when I am no longer needed,--I shall be goingaway for a rest, a long rest, and perhaps it may be that afterward mylife will lie in other places." Then suddenly breaking down, he graspedher hands, and pressing them to his lips, said, with a half-suppressedcry:--

  "Little comrade! Little comrade! All that I can tell you, all that Imust tell you, is that God himself could not have done more for me thanyou have this night."

  Poppea, who had been looking off into the sunrise, turned her headquickly, and for the first time in months, found his eyes fixed fullupon her face before he could shift them.

  At last she knew! Leaving her hands in his, she leaned toward him,murmuring in a voice so full of joy that it quivered as though strungwith tears:--

  "Where is more rest than here? _I_ need you, Hugh!"

  Then to the one behind the closed door and to the two facing the dawn anew life came on the wings of the morning.

  THE END