Sweetapple Cove

by George Van Schaick

  CHAPTER XVIII

  _From Miss Helen Jelliffe to Miss Jane Van Zandt_

  _Dearest Aunt Jennie_:

  It is very disturbing to think that one has, in some ways, been a verynaughty bad girl, and yet to be utterly unable to see how one could haveacted any differently.

  It is my fault that we are still here, though we were all ready to start,and were on our way to the yacht when we discovered that Dr. Grant hadjust returned from one of the outports and was dreadfully ill. He hasbeen so kind to us that it was utterly impossible for us to leave him atsuch a time and I just had to insist on delaying our departure, and ofcourse I made poor Daddy very miserable. The _Snowbird_ had to wing itsflight away without us, hastening to seek help. We needed succor ever sobadly, so very badly that if one of those strange vows of ancient dayscould have hastened her return by one little hour I would willingly haveundertaken to drag myself on my knees along scores of miles of thisrock-strewn shore. I begged Dad to send her, and he did, at once, for hewas only too glad to do anything he could for the doctor, but he has beenso dreadfully anxious on my account, and was so eager to take me away atonce to some big place where I could be treated if I fell ill. Youunderstand, of course, that I am not ill at all, and never was better inmy life, and that there is no reason at all to be afraid for me.

  Mr. Barnett and I left the house yesterday morning to go to theFrenchman's place, where the doctor has insisted on remaining. I wasquite surprised to see a number of people around the poor little shack.

  They all knew that Dr. Grant was very ill, and were gathered there withanxious faces. They simply looked worried to death. Isn't it wonderful,Aunt Jennie, how some people have the faculty of causing themselves to beloved by every one? Of course, his coming here has been such a greatthing for these poor fishermen that they have learned to regard him astheir best friend, one whose loss would be a frightful calamity. Hecertainly has never spared himself in their behalf.

  Mr. Barnett stopped to shake hands with a few of them, and I heard littlebits of their talk, which made me feel very unhappy.

  "I jist seen Frenchy little whiles ago," one of them was saying, "andthey wuz tears runnin' erlong the face o' he. Yes, man, he were cryin'like a young 'un, though some does say as his bye be better. Things mustsure be awful bad with th' doctor."

  The fisherman brandished his splitting knife as he spoke, and, with historn oilskins dripping with blood and slime he was a terrible-lookingfigure, until his arms fell to his side and he stood there, an abjectpicture of dejection.

  Then I heard a woman's voice. She is a poor thing whose husband and twosons were "ketched" last year, as they say, by these dreadful seas, andsome think that her brain is a little affected.

  "I mistrust as they is times when th' Lord 'Un's kept too busy ter betendin' ter all as needs Him bad," she cried.

  "Hush, woman!" an old man reproved her. "Ye'll be temptin' the wrath o'God on all of us wid sich talkin's."

  The poor creature stopped, awed by the dread possibilities of bringingdown further punishment upon the Cove, and began to weep in silence.

  The men had removed their sou'westers and their caps when we came up tothem. I believe that our arrival relieved them a little from their fears.They have such a touching faith in all who have been kind and friendly tothem. It looked as if our coming was something material that they couldlean upon, for, in their ignorance, they deem us capable of achievingwonderful things. I am certain that they firmly believe that their littleparson is able to intercede with higher powers far more effectively thanthey possibly can, with their humble prayers. So a few of them returnedto their fish-houses, and women and children hastened back to the flakes,since the sun was shining and the cod must be dried even if the heavensfall. I remember that when we entered the house I was very nervous andafraid. It is very natural, Aunt Jennie, for a girl to be frightened whenshe has never seen much sickness before, and one is lying helpless whohas always been such a kind friend.

  His little iron bed had been put up in a corner of the room, and thedoctor was lying upon it, with his face very red. His breathing came veryhard and rapidly, and it was horribly distressing to see a man brought tosuch a state, who, a few days ago, was so full of life and strength. Yetwhen he saw me he made an effort to rise to a sitting position, and hiseyes brightened, but he looked anxiously at me.

  "You haven't gone yet," he said, hoarsely. "And you, Barnett, have you noregard for your little chaps? You have no right to be here, and Frenchyis looking after me all right."

  "You keep your breath to cool your porridge, boy," said the littleparson. "I'm in charge now."

  What a queer sort of freemasonry there must be among strong men, AuntJennie, which allows them to say gruff things to one another in friendlytones. The sick man seemed to recognize the little parson's authority andlay back, exhausted and conquered.

  "I've done all I could," he said.

  I was so sorry to hear the tone of discouragement in his voice. He isjust a man, Aunt Jennie, with a man's weaknesses and a man's strength,and for the moment the latter had forsaken him. I suppose that some ofhis self-reliance had gone, for after a moment he smiled at us, anddoubtless was glad to have friends with him and was comforted by theirsympathy.

  I could not help marvelling at the efficiency of the little parson, who,before they had a doctor here, was compelled to do the best he could totake care of sick people, assisted by his wife. He questioned the doctor,who wearily told him of some things that might be done for him, butwithout appearing to care. Mr. Barnett ran out of the house and up toSammy's, returning with some bottles. He looked at labels ever socarefully and mixed some drugs with water, after which he wound somecotton on a stick to make a sort of a brush.

  "Now sit up a little and let me fix your throat," he said. "Yes, you'vegot to take some of your own medicine now, old fellow. Frenchy, you getbehind him and hold him up. The light is poor here; better bring yourcandle. Miss Jelliffe, hold it just this way for me. That's good. Nowopen your mouth, my boy."

  He swabbed the throat, in which there were ugly, white patches, soconscientiously that it brought on severe coughing, and after this hecompelled the doctor to swallow some medicine.

  "If keeping at it will do you any good, old man, you may depend on me.And now we'll have a look at that kiddie."

  I looked around the room, where there was an awful penury of all sorts ofthings, so that I went up to our house and brought back some provisions.I am afraid that I established a corner in milk, for I took nearly allthat the poor, lone, lean cow of Sweetapple Cove could provide.

  When Mr. Barrett finally sat down I noticed that he looked quite wearyand exhausted.

  "Now you must go to our house," I told him, "and get Susie to give yousomething to eat. I am sure that you have had nothing since last night,and I won't have you falling ill too. I have arranged it all, so pleasedon't say anything but just go, and don't hurry back. There is plenty oftime and poor Daddy would be so glad to see you. I am sure it would dohim a lot of good. I can watch both the patients perfectly well. And,Frenchy, you must go too and Susie will look after you. You lookperfectly starved, and I'm sure you've forgotten to have any breakfast.Make him go with you, Mr. Barnett!"

  They protested a little, but finally went out, reluctantly.

  Of course I have always looked after Daddy's comfort a good deal, butwhen you have plenty of servants it is very easy to do, especially whenone has also an Aunt Jennie to come around from time to time and put fearin their hearts, when they don't behave. But it seemed to me that thiswas really the first time that I had tried to take charge of things,although it didn't really amount to anything. I suppose it comes quitenaturally to a woman to boss things a little in a household.

  But now all I could do was to sit down by the bed, with my hands foldedin my lap. I have seen so many women do this for hours at a time, AuntJennie, and I could never understand how they did it without an awfulattack of the fidgets. But now I think I have found the solution. I ampersuaded
that these women just sit down quietly, and that the strengthflows back into them in some mysterious way, and presently they become asstrong as ever, just as happens with those storage batteries of theautomobile, which are all the time having to be recharged. I don'texactly know what the folded hands have to do with it, but they arecertainly an indispensable part of the process.

  Dr. Grant rested quietly enough, and sometimes, when he opened his eyes,I saw that he looked at me, in a strange, sad way. But he was exhaustedby the malady and the hard work of the previous days, and seemed tooutterly weary to be suffering much pain. At times the little boy wouldmoan, and I would go to him. It would only take a passing of my hand overthe little forehead, or a drink of water, to quiet him again. The poorwee man loves me, I think, and I hope he will never know what a tragedyhe is responsible for, but, indeed, I hope he will learn, some day, thatthis great, rough fisherman, Yves, has laid down all of his life for him.When the child was quiet I would return and sit again by the doctor.

  After a short time Mr. Barnett and Yves returned, and were soon followedby Daddy and Susie, whose sturdy arm supported him. Poor Dad! He waslooking aged and worried, and I felt ever so sorry for him.

  Susie's way of speaking to people is invariably to address them as ifthey were rather deaf, and as if no one else could possibly hear.

  "Yis, sor," she was saying, "it's jist as you says, a real crazy, foolishthing. But fur as I kin see them kind o' things is what makes up the mosto' folk's lives. They is some gits ketched all by theirselves, and othersgits ketched tryin' ter help others, and some niver gits ketched at allan' dies peaceful in the beds o' they. If there didn't no one takechances th' world wouldn't hardly be no fit place ter live in."

  I suppose that Daddy could find no reply to such philosophy. He wasdoubtless very angry on my account, and I am sure he had been givingSusie a piece of his mind, all the way down. He entered the shack,ordering Susie to remain outside.

  "Don't you dare come in," he said, quite exasperated. "I have no doubt atall that you will have to look after all the rest of us when we get ill.You can go back to your pots and pans or wait for me out of doors, justas you wish."

  Then he came in, closing the door behind him, and looked around the room,profoundly disgusted. Mr. Barnett was again engaged in swabbing throatswhile Frenchy supported the patients and I held a bottle in whose neck acandle had been planted. No one could pay much attention to him justthen. Poor old Dad! He thinks that because the first emigrant in ourfamily dates back a couple of hundred years or so we are something ratherspecial in the way of human beings, and I know very well that he thoughtit most degrading for a daughter of his to be in such a miserable place.Of course it is really very clean, Aunt Jennie, because Yves has beentrained on a man o' war, where the men spend nearly all of their timescrubbing things. I have seen them so often at Newport, where they washdown the decks even when it is pouring cats and dogs. The poor dear wasrather red in the face, by which I recognized the fact that he washolding himself in for fear of an explosion.

  But you know that there never was a better man than Dad, and he got allover this in a moment. Of course he had come with the firm intention ofexplaining to the poor doctor what a fine mess he had made of things, butas soon as he saw that poor, pinched face on the pillow he changedentirely. Quite a look of alarm came over his countenance, and he wascertainly awfully sorry. I have an idea that people who have never beenvery ill, and who have never seen many sick people possess a littleegotism which it takes experience to drive out of them. He had surelynever thought that poor Dr. Grant would look so ill, and his bit oftemper melted away at once. He forced himself to take the hand that wasnearest to him.

  "I hope you are doing very well," he said, with a queer accent oftimidity that was really very foreign to his nature.

  "They are taking splendid care of me," answered Dr. Grant, with an effortthat made him cough.

  Daddy smiled at him, in a puzzled sort of way, and then turned to thechild's couch, gazing at it curiously. Mr. Barnett stood at his side.

  "He doesn't look as ill as..."

  He whispered this as he pointed to the bed where the doctor was lying.

  "The boy is getting well," answered the parson, in a low voice. "He had alarge dose of antitoxine and it is beginning to show its effect."

  "Ah? Just so," said Daddy, weakly.

  Then he looked around the room again, quite helplessly.

  "Is there anything that I could do?" he asked in a general way.

  "Nothing, Daddy," I said. "Thank you ever so much for coming, but thereis nothing you can do now. I would go home if I were you. I promise thatI will return in time for supper."

  Then Daddy looked around again, as if all his habitual splendid assuranceand decisiveness of manner had forsaken him. After this he tiptoed hisway to the door, outside of which Susie was waiting. I followed him,because I knew he would feel better if I just put my hand on his arm fora moment and assured him that I was feeling perfectly well.

  The girl pointed out at sea.

  "It's a-comin' on dreadful foggy," she said, gloomily.

  Daddy and I looked at one another, and we stared at the dark pall thatwas sweeping in, raw and chilly. Of course we at once knew itssignificance. It must surely detain the _Snowbird_ on its return journey.

  Just then an old fisherman came up, touching his cap.

  "Beggin' yer pardon, sor," he said. "Is yer after findin' th' doctorgettin' any better?"

  "I can hardly tell you," answered Daddy, impatiently. "I know very littleabout such things, but he looks very badly to me."

  "Oh! The pity of it!" exclaimed the man. "I tells yer, sor, it's a sadday, a real sad day fer Sweetapple Cove."

  "Damn Sweetapple Cove!" Daddy shouted right in the poor fellow's facewith such energy that he leaped back in alarm.

  But Susie had taken hold of Daddy's arm.

  "Now you come erlong o' me, sor," she said, soothingly, as if she hadspoken to a child. "Don't yer be gettin' excited. Yer needs a good cup o'tea real bad, I'm a-thinkin', and a smoke. Yer ain't had a seegar to-day,and men folks is apt to get awful grumpy when they doesn't get ter smoke.Come erlong now, there's a good man."

  Strange to say, Daddy went with her, willingly enough, after I had kissedhim. He didn't resent Susie's manner at all. As I watched he stoppedafter going a few yards, and looked out at sea, beyond the entrance ofthe cove. Everything was disappearing in a dull greyness that wasbeginning to blot out the rocky cliffs, and he turned to the girl.

  "My boat will never get back to-night," he said, "and I suppose thatto-morrow will be worse. It always is. I wonder whether there is anothersuch beastly country in the world?"

  "I've heerd tell," remarked Susie, sagaciously, "as how they is someplaces as has been fixed so them as lives in 'em will sure know what agood place Heaven is when they gits to it."