Then he closed his eyes, too weary to talk more, and was racked with a sudden fit of coughing.
That night Kinder died.
Rowan and Jason were with him to the last, hearing his last word, watching his radiant face.
“We’ll meet—over There!” he said, looking upward and trying to lift his weak hand to point.
“Dear friend,” said Rowan, “we may be there before long ourselves. There’s no telling what will happen on this ship. You said there were only two ways, down and up, but they may turn out to be one and the same for us. Perhaps we’ll go together into His presence!”
Kinder smiled, a rare sweet smile, but shook his head.
“I think He’s going to leave you behind for a while—to witness—” he said faintly. “I think that’s why He’s saved you! You must go home—to—live—for Him! Good-bye! See you in the Morning!” And he was gone!
The night came and many of the ship’s crew gathered with hard blanched faces for the burial. Dark water, dark sky overhead without a single star, dark faces in the light of the swinging lantern that would be put out as soon as this was over!
At the last some of the men had been almost gentle with Kinder, bringing him little things they hoped he could eat, offering to sit up with him, though Rowan and Jason kept that privilege for themselves, knowing that Kinder would rather have it so.
They wrapped their friend’s body in a piece of clean sailcloth that Rowan himself had washed, and they gathered to give him the last respect and consign him to the sea. But the captain had no service read and told Rowan he might do or say what he liked. So Rowan read some of Kinder’s favorite passages of scripture from Kinder’s Bible, and he and Jason sang a hymn the three used often to sing together, though their voices broke and they could scarcely finish it.
Rowan was about to pray when Jason put up his hand.
“Men!” he said, and his voice rang clear and young. “I want to say a word for the man who is gone. I know he would like you to know he prayed for every one of you by name every night, and he wanted you to know God as he knew Him. He wanted you to take Jesus Christ as your own Savior. He died for your sins and mine, you know—and I had plenty! Kinder told us he’d meet us in heaven, and I know he’d be glad if you were all there, too. It’s just since I’ve known Kinder that I’ve taken Jesus for my Savior, and now I’m beginning to get acquainted with Him. Oh, He’s wonderful! I wish you all knew Him, too! That’s all!” And Jason stepped back.
Then Rowan prayed, and here and there among the group a man brushed tears from his eyes.
They lowered the body into the sea, and Rowan was thinking of the verse that Kinder had read them about the time when the sea would give up its dead.
When it was over they all turned away and hurried off, leaving Rowan and Jason together alone, looking out on the dark waste of water. Would Kinder’s words come true? Would they be allowed to live and go home to testify?
That night a wild, fierce storm swooped down from the northeast and tossed the dirty old boat about as if it had been a toy. The boat that had weathered so many storms and gone on so many evil errands for wicked men, was beaten and wrenched and flung on an uncharted rock, its sails torn like bits of paper, its tall masts twisted and snapped like pipestems.
Rowan and Jason looked around on the wild waste and thought of their friend who had gone Home. Would they go, too, pretty soon?
Chapter 15
The rest of the winter had not been a happy time for Hannah, nor perhaps for anyone else concerned.
It was not just that she was grieving, for she was bearing her great grief royally, almost radiantly, but it was that she was so lonely and homesick.
She had hoped in coming to visit Myra that she would have a tender renewal of their other days together, and that a sweet companionship would grow between herself and her little granddaughter. But things did not turn out that way. Hannah began to realize that they could not turn out so in the house where Mark was dominant and kept up a continual tumult about everything that went on. She came to realize also that Myra was driven from morning to night by the whims of her husband, and was in constant terror of one of his overbearing outbreaks. Poor Myra! Her dear little girl! To think that they had let her marry into a life like this!
And yet Mark was not a bad man as morality goes. He was just mean, stubborn, conceited, determined to rule everything around him. He wouldn’t let his own little child even love her mother. He put thoughts into her mind like seeds, and wildly they grew, so that Myra had no ally anywhere, not even her own baby. And Hannah saw that she did not dare to turn to her mother. Indeed, Hannah presently perceived that her very presence in the home instead of being a comfort to Myra had become a distress. Mark was continually nagging and criticizing her, or telling her it was her fault that Myra was so silly and set in her way whenever he had a difference of opinion with his wife.
The only thing that she could possibly do for Myra was to relieve her of some of the heavy housework that Mark demanded, and even then he was never quite satisfied.
But she was at least able to give Myra a chance to go off with her husband in the car now and then, though she wondered sometimes when she saw the look on Myra’s unhappy face if that was, after all, such a good thing. It almost seemed as if Myra would have been glad of an excuse to stay at home.
And so as the spring came on Hannah began to plan to get away very soon. She mentioned it once or twice to Myra and brought on such a storm of pleading and sharp words combined with tears that she had put it off from week to week. But now things were really coming to a crisis.
They left Olive with her one day, with strict orders that the child must stay in the house because she had a bad cold, but Olive, as soon as their backs were turned, put on her hat and coat and started to go out to play with some of her little friends.
Hannah called her back, indeed drew her forcibly into the house and took off her coat and hat while Olive kicked her and screamed wildly.
“I don’t have to mind you, you—old—thing!” she said with a kick at every word, until Hannah’s ankles were smarting from the little heels. “You aren’t my father and mother! I don’t have to mind you! You’re old! You’re a mean old thing! I hate you!”
Of course, she was little more than a baby, but the words hurt Hannah more than the kicks had hurt her sensitive flesh. Olive, her own baby’s child, talking that way to her!
She was worn out, almost sick when at last she got the child somewhat subdued. She had tried giving her something nice to play with, a precious picture book of her mother’s that she had tucked in her suitcase hoping there would be a chance to give it to the child sometime and rouse a little interest in her mother’s childhood. But Olive turned the pages fiercely, and then suddenly tore the book from end to end, stamping on it and saying: “It’s a nasty book. I hate it!”
And suddenly Hannah was filled with a spirit of the past, and great and righteous wrath, and with almost superhuman strength she took the sturdy little girl in her arms, sat down with her wildly kicking and screaming and laid her firmly over her knee, administering a rare spanking.
The child was utterly astonished. No one had ever dared lay a chastising hand upon her person before, and when she discovered that neither kicks nor screams nor angry thumping little fists on whatever portions of Grandmother were available did no good to stop the punishment, she suddenly sank her sharp little teeth in her grandmother’s leg.
An hour later when Olive was at last lying in her little bed in her grandmother’s room, still shaking with the sobs of the first defeat of her life but sleeping the sleep of exhaustion, Hannah lay down upon her own bed, too exhausted to do another thing until she rested. She lay and looked at the ceiling and did some very thorough thinking.
Downstairs the pies that she had started to make did not get made. When Myra came in she gave a startled look of wonder at the table where the makings lay and then a questioning one at her mother.
“Olive was
very naughty,” Hannah explained in a low voice. “She was determined to go out and play in the wet with the children, and I had to spank her. I didn’t get much done.”
“You spanked her?” said Myra, aghast. “You really spanked her, Mother? Did she let you?”
“Did she let me?” said Hannah, lifting astonished eyes. “Yes, she let me!” she said, closing her lips firmly on any other revelations she might have offered. No need for Myra to be worried about the ugly swelling on her leg where Olive had left the marks of her sharp little teeth.
Myra looked at her mother with a strange expression of relief and triumph.
“Well, I’m glad,” she breathed with a little sigh. “She never would me. But—don’t tell Mark!”
“I won’t,” said Hannah, “but Olive will, I suppose.”
“Oh, I suppose so,” breathed the child’s mother. “And there’ll be a terrible time.”
“Well, we’ll have to weather it,” said Hannah grimly. “Now, let’s forget it while I hustle some supper on the table. You set the table.”
“Supper not ready yet?” Mark glared, coming into the kitchen just then and looking around. “Seems to me you’ve had enough time.”
The two women did not answer. They flew around and had a meal on the table in no time.
And strangely enough Olive didn’t say a word about her spanking. She came down to dinner all smiles.
“We had a nice time together, didn’t we, Grandmother?” she said sweetly, looking up into her grandmother’s face placatingly.
Myra just saved herself from gasping aloud in astonishment, and Hannah looked at her grandchild with authority in her eye and a distant smile that promised several different things.
“Very nice!” she said distantly, and Olive dropped her eyes in a strange new embarrassment. So it seemed that Olive was afraid of something. She was afraid that her grandmother would tell what she had done! So it seemed that Olive could be subdued if one had the courage, and the time and the strength.
Nevertheless, Hannah decided that it was about time for her to go home.
The next time Myra was out of the house for a little while Hannah packed most of her things, all except the working dress that she would need. When the time came she wanted to be able to go quickly. It wouldn’t be pleasant to have Myra weeping, of course. She must plan how to do it comfortably if possible so Myra wouldn’t feel so badly. Maybe she would get Joyce to write her a letter saying that things at the farm needed her attention, or something like that.
That night at dinner Mark came in in a most complacent mood. He joked with them all and was almost cheerful, for Mark.
After the dinner was well under way he said, “Well, Mother, I’ve at last succeeded in getting a purchaser for the farm. It’s taken some time to find the right man who was willing to give my price and be willing to pay cash. You know when I was up there at the funeral I went over everything carefully and set down just what everything was worth, implements and furniture and the like, so I was firm about how much I wanted. He’s ready to settle within two weeks, if he’s thoroughly satisfied after he sees the place. And I guess he will be. He says he knows the country ’round there and knew Father by reputation, and he’s pretty sure the farm is just what he wants. He stuck a little at the price, but he’s agreed to it at last, and I’m taking him down tomorrow morning to look everything over. Suppose you give me the key tonight, so we won’t forget it in the morning.”
Hannah paused to pray in her heart for quietness and strength before she spoke. “But I’m not going to sell the farm, Mark.”
“What? Oh yes you are! There’s no use your having illusions about that. We’re going to get every bit of money together for your old age, Mother, that we possibly can. It isn’t as if Myra and I were rich, you know. We can’t afford to keep you entirely.”
“No?” said Hannah quietly. “I wouldn’t think you could. Not the way I would care to be kept—that is, if I was willing to be kept by anyone.”
“Now, look here, Mother, that isn’t a very Christian way to talk. That’s not like you. Of course when one has to be kept they have to be kept, that’s all, and it’s best not to mince matters. Just have everything above board. Mother, suppose you go up now and get that key for me and then I won’t have to keep it on my mind.”
But Hannah rose and began to clear off the table. She answered not a word.
“Mother!” called Mark sharply. “Get me the key at once, won’t you? I want to have everything ready for morning. We’re going down in the man’s car and I’m not sure how early he’ll be coming for me. Eight or nine o’clock probably, and I want everything ready tonight. Just let Myra clear off that table tonight and you go up and get the key.”
Hannah turned mildly on her son-in-law and gave him the look that had finally quelled Olive. “Mark, I am not going to sell the farm. That is final. Charles did not want me to. He arranged everything for me. So if you don’t want to be embarrassed you’d better telephone that man tonight not to come. The farm is not for sale!”
Then Hannah took the vegetable dishes and walked calmly out into the kitchen.
But Mark followed her and put up a tremendous argument. He was quite calm and mealy mouthed at first. But Hannah just went calmly on working and presently he waxed hot and began to storm. Still Hannah went on washing the dishes. And as the storm continued she finally hung up her dishtowels and marched upstairs.
Mark hung around at the foot of the stairs for a few minutes, and then he went to Myra. “Hans your mother gone up for that key?”
“I don’t know, Mark. She didn’t say anything to me.”
“Well, go up and bring it down to me. I want it where I can get it at a moment’s notice.”
“Mark, I don’t think Mother wants to sell the farm. I don’t think you ought to spring it on her in this sudden way,” ventured Myra.
“You don’t think! You don’t think!” shouted mark so loud that every word reached upstairs to Hannah, right through the register that passed through the parlor near where Mark was standing. “What have you got to do with it? That farm is going to be sold whether she likes it or not. It’s ridiculous when I’ve got a perfectly good purchaser for it who is willing to pay my price. We’ll have enough in the bank to pay her board and keep for the rest of the time she lives and won’t have to worry. If you get into this, I’ll teach you where to get off, and I mean it! I guess you know I mean what I say!”
“Yes, I know,” said Myra excitedly. “Of course I know. Oh, God, why did I ever—” The rest of the words were drowned in tears, but Hannah’s heart was wrung.
The next words she heard were Myra’s again, pleading. “Mark, don’t bother Mother any more this winter. She hasn’t got over Father’s death yet. It hurts her to think of parting with the farm!”
“Sentimental twaddle!” shouted Mark.
“But you can’t bully Mother into selling it. She won’t be driven. I’ve told you that before.”
“Well, we’ll see whether she won’t be driven. She’ll find out who’s the head of her family! I’ve got her in my power and she can’t help herself.”
“Mark! You can’t sell her farm unless she signs the papers!”
“She’ll sign all righty!” boasted Mark. “I know how to make her sign. I’ll just tell her that we’ll put her in an asylum if she doesn’t do what I tell her.”
“Mark! You wouldn’t do that to my mother!”
“Wouldn’t I? You just watch! I’d do it so soon you wouldn’t know what was happening. We could, you know. Rowan isn’t here, and nobody knows but he’s dead. There’s only you and I, and I could certainly make you sign anything I told you to. You don’t think after all the trouble I’ve taken to get this buyer that I would be balked just by a little thing like that, do you?”
The conversation ended in more tears and cries and sobs, and amid it Mark stalked out of the house slamming the door behind him. But presently, just as Hannah had expected, a chastened Myra with scared as
sumed smiles stole up to her room and knocked at the door.
“Mother!” she called. “I want to talk to you.”
But Hannah lay still on her bed where she had laid herself when she first went upstairs and locked her door.
“Not tonight, dear. I’ve got a sort of headache, and I thought I’d lie down awhile and maybe snatch a bit of sleep. Good night, dear. Ollie’s all right, sleeping soundly, so you needn’t worry about her. Good night.”
She heard Myra give a soft sob and with a minute. Then she said, “All right, Mother!” and went slowly to her room.
By and by it was all still in the house and then Mark came stamping in. he came straight up to his room and woke up Myra and asked her if she had got that key yet.
“No,” said Myra. “Mother is asleep. She had a headache!”
“Well, she deserves to have one, the way she has acted up! And you coddling her! It wouldn’t have made her headache any worse to wake her up and ask for that key, would it? If you won’t do it, I’ll do it myself!” And he stalked across the hall to Hannah’s door and knocked good and loud, and then tried the door.
“Mother! Wake up and give me that key right away! I’m going early in the morning!” he called. But Hannah answered not a word.
“Mother! I say wake up!” shouted Mark, shaking the door. “What right has anybody got to lock a door in my house, I’d like to know!”
“Mark!” called Myra in distress. “You’ll wake Ollie up and you know how hard she is to get to sleep again!”
“Well, I don’t care!” shouted Mark. “I’m not going to be defied in my own house.”
But Hannah lay very still and did not answer, and presently Myra got her man stilled until morning. Poor Myra!
After the house was still again Hannah made her plans. In the silence of the night she took off her shoes and her working dress, and moving without a sound she hung up the dress in the closet and fumbling about found her traveling outfit and put it on, moving as lightly as if she were a leaf on a tree.
Sunrise Page 21
