CHAPTER XIII
THE OLD MEETING-HOUSE AGAIN
Reuben and I, with Dapple, skimmed along the country roads, and my hopeand spirits kindled, though I scarcely knew why. We were early at themeeting-house, and, to my joy, I gained my old seat, in which I hadwoven my June day-dream around the fair unknown Quakeress whose facewas now that of a loved sister. What ages, seemingly, had elapsed sincethat fateful day! What infinite advances in life's experiences I hadmade since I last sat there! How near I had come to the experiences ofanother life! The fact made me grave and thoughtful. And yet, if myfear and not my hope were realized, what a burden was imposed upon mewith the life that disease had spared! Had I even Mrs. Yocomb's faith,I knew it would be a weight under which I would often stagger and faint.
Before very long the great family rockaway unloaded its preciousfreight at the horse-block, and Adah and Miss Warren entered, followedby the little girls. In secret wonder I saw Adah pause before the samelong, straight-backed bench or pew, and Miss Warren take the placewhere I had first seen my "embodiment of June." Mrs. Yocomb wentquietly to her place on the high seat.
"The spell continues to work, but with an important change," I thought.
In a few moments Mr. Yocomb marshalled in Mr. Hearn, and placed him inthe end of the pew next to Miss Warren on the men's side, so that theymight have the satisfaction of sitting together, as if at church. Hethen looked around for me; but I shook my head, and would not go uphigher.
Soon all the simple, plainly apparelled folk who would attend that daywere in their places, and the old deep hush that I so well rememberedsettled down upon us. The sweet low monotone of the summer wind wasplaying still among the maples. I do believe that it was the same oldbumblebee that darted in, still unable to overcome its irate wonder ata people who could be so quiet and serene. The sunlight flickered inhere and there, and shadowy leaves moved noiselessly up and down thewhitewashed wall. Only the occasional song of a bird was wanting toreproduce the former hour, but at this later season the birds seemcontent with calls and chirpings, and in the July heat they were almostas silent as we were.
But how weak and fanciful my June day-dream now seemed. Then woman'sinfluence on my life was but a romantic sentiment. I had then conjuredup a pretty vista full of serene, quiet domestic joys, which were to bea solace merely of my real life of toil and ambition. I had thoughtmyself launched on a shining tide that would bear me smoothly to aquiet home anchorage; but almost the first word that Emily Warren spokebroke the spell of my complacent, indolent dream, and I awoke to thepresence of an earnest, large-souled woman, who was my peer, and inmany respects my superior; whom, so far from being a mere householdpet, could be counsellor and friend, and a daily inspiration. Insteadof shrinking from the world with which I must grapple, she alreadylooked out upon its tangled and cruel problems with clear, intelligent,courageous eyes; single-handed she had coped with it and won from it aplace and respect. And yet, with all her strength and fearlessness, shehad kept her woman's heart gentle and tender. Oh, who could have betterproof of this than I, who had seen her face bending over the littleunconscious Zillah, and who had heard her low sob when she feared Imight be dying.
The two maidens sat side by side, and I was not good enough to think ofanything better or purer than they. Adah, with her face composed to itsmeeting-house quiet, but softened and made more beautiful by passingshades of thought; still it seemed almost as young and childlike asthat of Zillah. Miss Warren's profile was less round and full, but itwas more finely chiselled, and was luminous with mind. The slightlyhigher forehead, the more delicately arched eyebrow, the deeper settingof her dark, changing eyes, that were placed wide apart beneath theoverhanging brow, the short, thin, tremulous upper lip, were allindications of the quick, informing spirit which made her face like atransparency through which her thoughts could often be guessed beforespoken; and since they were good, noble, genial thoughts, they enhancedher beauty. And yet it had occurred to me more than once that if MissWarren were a depraved woman she could give to evil a deadlyfascination.
"Are her thoughts wandering like mine?" I mused. With kindling hope Isaw her face grow sad, and I even imagined that her pallor increased.For a long time she looked quietly and fixedly before her, as did Adah,and then she stole a shy, hesitating glance at Mr. Hearn by her side;but the banker seemingly had found the silent meeting a trifle dull,for his eyes were heavy, and all life and animation had faded out ofhis full white face. Was it my imagination, or did she slightly shrinkfrom him? In an almost instantaneous flash she turned a little more andglanced at me, and I was caught in the act of almost breathlessscrutiny. A sudden red flamed in her cheeks, but not a Friend of themall was more motionless than she at once became.
My conscience smote me. Though I watched for her happiness as truly asmy own, the old meeting-house should have been a sanctuary even fromthe eyes of love. I knew from the expression of her face that she hadnot liked it; nor did I blame her.
I was glad to have the silence of the meeting broken; for a venerableman rose slowly from the high seat and reverently enunciated the words:
"'The Lord of Hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge.
"'He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth; He breaketh thebow and cutteth the spear in sunder; He burneth the chariot in the fire.
"'Be still, and know that I am God.'
"The quiet, reverent bowing of the heart to His will is often the mostacceptable worship that we can offer," he began, and if he had stoppedthere the effect would have been perfect; but he began to talk and toramble. With a sense of deep disappointment I dreaded lest the hourshould pass and that Mrs. Yocomb would not speak; but as the oldgentleman sat down, that rapt look was on her face that I rememberedseeing on the night of the storm. She rose, took off her deep Quakerbonnet, and laid it quietly on the seat beside her; but one saw thatshe was not thinking of it or of anything except the truth which filledher mind.
Clasping her hands before her she looked steadfastly toward heaven fora few moments, and then, in a low, sweet, penetrating monotone,repeated the words:
"'Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the worldgiveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let itbe afraid.'"
She paused a moment, and I gazed in wonder at her serene, upliftedface. She had spoken with such an utter absence of self-consciousnessor regard for externals as to give the strong impression that the wordshad come again from heaven through her lips, and were endowed with anew life and richer meaning; and now she seemed waiting for whateverelse might be given to her.
Could that inspired woman, who now looked as if she might have stoodunabashed on the Mount of Transfiguration, be my genial, untiringnurse, and the cheery matron of the farmhouse, whose deft hands hadmade the sweet, light bread we had eaten this morning? I had long lovedher; but now, as I realized as never before the grand compass of herwomanly nature, I began to reverence her. A swift glance at Miss Warrenrevealed that the text had awakened an interest so deep as to suggest agreat and present need, for the maiden was leaning slightly toward thespeaker and waiting with parted lips.
"As I sat here," Mrs. Yocomb began, looking down upon us with a grave,gentle aspect, "these words came to me as if spoken in my soul, and Iam constrained to repeat them unto you. I'm impressed with the truththat peace is the chief need of the world--the chief need of everyhuman heart. Beyond success, beyond prosperity, beyond happiness, isthe need of peace--the deep, assured rest of the soul that is akin tothe eternal calmness of Him who spake these words.
"The world at large is full of turmoil and trouble. The sounds of itswretched disquietude reach me even in this quiet place and at thisquiet hour. I seem to hear the fierce uproar of battle; for while weare turning our thoughts up to the God of peace, misguided men aredealing death-blows to their fellow men. I hear cries of rage, I hearthe groans of the dying. But sadder than these bloody fields of openstrife are the dark places of cruelty. I hear the clank of theprisoner's cha
in, and the crack of the slave-driver's whip. I seedesperate and despairing faces revealing tortured souls to whom thelight of each day brings more bitter wrongs, viler indignities, untilthey are ready to curse God for the burden of life. Sadder still, Ihear the dark whisperings of those who would destroy the innocent andcast down the simple. I hear the satanic laugh of such as are false tosacred trusts and holy obligations, who ruthlessly as swine are rendinghearts that have given all the pearls they had. From that sacred place,home, come to me hot words of strife, drunken, brutal blows, and thewailing of helpless women and children. Saddest of all earthly sounds,I hear the wild revelry of those who are not the victims of evil inothers, but who, while madly seeking happiness, are blotting out allhope of happiness, and who are committing that crime of crimes, thedestruction of their own immortal souls. Did I say the last was thesaddest of earthly sounds? There comes to me another, at which my heartsinks; it is the sound of proud arrogant voices, who are explainingthat faith is a delusion, that prayer is wasted breath, that the God ofthe Bible is a dream of old-time mystics, and that Christ died in vain.I hear the moan of Mary at the sepulchre repeated from thousands ofhearts, 'They have taken away my Lord.' O God, forgive those who wouldblot out the dearest hope which has ever sustained humanity. Can therebe peace in a world wherein we can never escape these sad, terrible,discordant sounds? The words that I have repeated were spoken in justsuch a world when the din of evil was at its worst, and to those whomust soon suffer all the wrong that the world could inflict."
After a brief pause of silent waiting she continued:
"But is the turmoil of the world a far-away sound, like the sullen roarof angry waves beating on a shore that rises high and enduring,securing us safety and rest? Beyond the deep disquietude of the worldat large is the deeper unrest of the human heart. No life can be sosecluded and sheltered but that anxieties, doubts, fears, andforeboding will come with all their disturbing power. Often sorrowsmore bitter than death are hidden by smiling faces, and in our quietcountry homes there are men and women carrying burdens that arecrushing out hope and life: mothers breaking their hearts over waywardsons and daughters; wives desperate because the men who wooed them asblushing maidens have forgotten their vows, and have become swinishsots; men disheartened because the sweet-faced girls that they thoughtwould give them a home have become vile slatterns, busybodies,shrill-tongued shrews, who banish the very thought of peace and rest,who waste their substance and eat out their hearts with care. Oh, theclouds of earth are not those which sweep across the sun, but thosewhich rise out of unhappy hearts and evil lives. These are the cloudsthat gather over too many in a leaden pall, and it seems as if no lightcould ever break through them. There are hearts to whom life seems topromise one long, hopeless struggle to endure an incurable pain. Canthere be peace for such unhappy ones? To just such human hearts werethe words spoken, 'Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you.'"
Then came one of those little pauses that were quite as impressive asthe preceding words. Although my interest was almost breathless, Iinvoluntarily looked toward one whom I now associated with everythought.
"O God!" I exclaimed mentally, "can that be the aspect of a maidenhappy in her love and hope?" Her face had become almost white, andacross the pallor of her cheeks tear followed tear, as from a full andbitter fountain.
"Never, in all this evil world," the speaker resumed, "was there suchcruel, bitter mockery as these words would be if they were not true--ifHe who spake them had no right to speak them. And what right would Hehave to speak them if He were merely a man among men--a part of theworld which never has and never can give peace to the troubled soul?How do we know these words are true? How do we know He had a right tospeak them? Thank God! I know, because He has kept His word to me.Thank God! Millions know, because He has proved His power to them. Thescourged, persecuted, crucified disciples found that He was with themalways, even unto the end. Oh, my friends, it is this living, loving,spiritual Presence that uplifts and sustains the sinking heart when thewhole great world could only stand helplessly by. 'Not as the worldgiveth, give I unto you.' Yes, thank thee, Lord, 'not as the world.' Inspite of the world and the worst it can do, in spite of our evil andthe worst it can do, in spite of our sorrows, our fears, our pains andlosses, our bitter disappointments, thou canst give peace; thou hastgiven peace. No storm can harm the soul that rests on the Rock of Ages,and by and by He will say to the storm, 'Peace, be still,' and thelight of heaven will come. Then there shall be no more night. 'Godshall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no moredeath, neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain;for the former things are passed away.'"
The light and gladness of that blessed future seemed to have come intoher sweet, womanly face. I looked out of the window to hide tears ofwhich I was fool enough to be ashamed.
When she spoke again her voice was low and pitiful, and her face fullof the divinest sympathy. "Dear friends," she said, "it was not merelypeace that he promised, but his peace. 'My peace I give unto you.'Remember, it was the man of sorrows who spoke; remember that he wasacquainted with grief; remember that years of toil and hardship werebehind him, and that Gethsemane and Calvary were before him; rememberthat one would betray him, and that all would desert him. When hespoke, the storm of the world's evil was breaking upon him more cruellyand remorselessly than it ever has on any tempted soul. He sufferedmore because more able to suffer. But beneath all was the sacred calmof one who is right, and who means to do right to the end, cost what itmay. The peace that he promises is not immunity from pain or loss, orthe gratification of the heart's earthly desires. His natural andearthly desires were not gratified; often ours cannot be. His peacecame from self-denial for the good of others, from the consciousnessthat he was doing his Father's will, and from the assurance that goodwould come out of the seeming evil. Suffer he must, because he washuman, and in a world of suffering; but he chose to suffer that wemight know that he understands us, and sympathizes with us when wesuffer. To each and to all he can say, I was tempted in all points likeunto thee. When we wander he goes out after us; when we fall he liftsus up; when we faint he takes us in his arms and carries us on hisbosom. O great heart of love! thy patience never tires, never wearies.Thou canst make good to us every earthly loss; thy touch can heal everywound of the soul. Even though life be one long martyrdom, yet throughthy Presence it may be a blessed life, full of peace.
"Because our Lord was a man of sorrows, was he in love with sorrows? ordoes he love to see storms gathering around his people? No. It was notwith _his_ sorrows, but with _our_ sorrows, that he was afflicted. Heso loved the world that he could not be glad when we were sad. It issaid that there is no record that Jesus ever smiled; but those littlechildren whom he took in his arms and blessed know that he smiled. Idoubt whether he ever saw a flower but that, no matter how weary fromthe hot day's long journey, he smiled back upon it. The flowers are buthis smiles, and the world is full of them. Still he is naturally andvery justly associated with sorrow; for when on earth he sought outthose in trouble, and the distressed and the suffering soon learned tofly to him. What was the result? Were the shadows deepened? Was thesuffering prolonged? Let the sisters of Bethany answer you; let thewidow of Nain answer you. Let the great host of the lame, blind,diseased, and leprous answer. Look into the gentle, serene eyes of MaryMagdalene, once so desperate and clouded by evil, and then know whetherhe brings sorrow or joy to the world. Just as the sun follows the nightthat it may bring the day, so the Sun of Righteousness seeks out allthat is dark in our lives that he may shine it away. Gladness, then,should be the rule of our lives. Nothing to him is so pleasing asgladness, if it comes from the heart of pilgrims truly homeward bound;but if sorrow comes, oh, turn not to the world, for the best thing init can give no peace, no rest. Simply do right, and leave the resultswith him who said, even under the shadow of his cross, 'My peace I giveunto you.' Accept this message, dear friends, and 'Let not your heartsbe troubled, and neither let them be afra
id.'" And she sat down quietlyand closed her eyes.
There was here and there a low sob from the women, and the eyes of someof the most rugged-featured men were moist. The hush that followed wasbroken by deep and frequent sighs. Mr. Yocomb sat with his face liftedheavenward, and I knew it was serene and thankful. The eyes of Reuben,who was beside me, rested on his mother in simple, loving devotion. Asyet she was his religion. Adah was looking a little wonderingly butsympathetically at Miss Warren, whose bowed head and fallen veil couldnot hide her deep emotion. The banker, too, looked at her even morewonderingly. At last the most venerable man on the high seat gave hishand to another white-haired Friend beside him, and the congregationbegan slowly and quietly to disperse.
"Come, Reuben," I said, in a whisper, "let us get away, quick."
He looked at me in surprise, but in a few moments the old meeting-housewas hidden behind us among the trees. Dapple's feet scarcely touchedthe ground; but I sat silent, absorbed, and almost overwhelmed.
"Didn't--didn't thee like what mother said?" Reuben asked, after awhile, a little hurt.
I felt at once that he misunderstood my silence, and I put my armaround his neck as I said, "Reuben, love and honor your mother thelongest day you live. She is one among a million. 'Liked!' It matteredlittle whether I liked it or not; she made it seem God's own truth."
"And to think, Richard, that if it hadn't been for thee--"
"Hush, Reuben. To think rather that she waited on me for days andnights together. Well, I could turn Catholic and worship one saint."
"I'm glad she's only mother," said the boy, with a low laugh; "and,Richard, she likes me to have a good time as much as I do myself. Shealways made me mind, but she's been jolly good to me. Oh, I love her;don't thee worry about that."
"Well, whatever happens," I said, with a deep breath, "I thank God forthe day that brought me to her home."
"So do I," said the boy; "so do we all; but confound Emily Warren'sgrandfather! I don't take to him. He thinks we're wonderfully simplefolks, just about good enough to board him and that black-eyed witch ofhis. I do kind of like her a little bit, she's so saucy-like sometimes.One day she commenced ordering me around, and I stood and stared at thelittle miss in a way that she won't forget."
"She'll learn to coax by and by, and then you'll do anything for her,Reuben."
"P'raps," he said, with a half smile on his ruddy face.
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