XII. Bride and Groom
Though Winfield had sternly determined to go back to town the followingday, he did not achieve departure until later. Ruth went to the stationwith him, and desolation came upon her when the train pulled out, inspite of the new happiness in her heart.
She had little time to miss him, however, for, at the end of the week,and in accordance with immemorial custom, the Unexpected happened.
She was sitting at her window one morning, trying to sew, when thevillage chariot stopped at the gate and a lady descended. Joe stirredlazily on the front seat, but she said, in a clear, high-pitched voice:"You needn't trouble yourself, Joe. He'll carry the things."
She came toward the house, fanning herself with a certain stateliness,and carrying her handkerchief primly, by the exact centre of it. In herwake was a little old gentleman, with a huge bundle, surrounded by ashawl-strap, a large valise, much the worse for wear, a telescope basketwhich was expanded to its full height, and two small parcels. A cane wastucked under one arm and an umbrella under the other. He could scarcelybe seen behind the mountain of baggage.
Hepsey was already at the door. "Why, Miss Hathaway!" she cried, inastonishment.
"'T ain't Miss Hathaway," rejoined the visitor, with some asperity,"it's Mrs. Ball, and this is my husband. Niece Ruth, I presume," sheadded, as Miss Thorne appeared. "Ruth, let me introduce you to yourUncle James."
The bride was of medium height and rather angular. Her eyes were small,dark, and so piercingly brilliant that they suggested jet beads.Her skin was dark and her lips had been habitually compressed into astraight line. None the less, it was the face that Ruth had seen in theambrotype at Miss Ainslie's, with the additional hardness that comes tothose who grow old without love. Her bearing was that of a brisk, activewoman, accustomed all her life to obedience and respect.
Mr. Ball was two or three inches shorter than his wife, and had a whitebeard, irregularly streaked with brown. He was baldheaded in front, hadscant, reddish hair in the back, and his faded blue eyes were tearful.He had very small feet and the unmistakable gait of a sailor. Thoughthere was no immediate resemblance, Ruth was sure that he was theman whose picture was in Aunt Jane's treasure chest in the attic. Thedaredevil look was gone, however, and he was merely a quiet, inoffensiveold gentleman, for whom life had been none too easy.
"Welcome to your new home, James," said his wife, in a crisp,businesslike tone, which but partially concealed a latent tenderness. Hesmiled, but made no reply.
Hepsey still stood in the parlour, in wide mouthed astonishment, and itwas Ruth's good fortune to see the glance which Mrs. Ball cast upon heroffending maid. There was no change of expression except in the eyes,but Hepsey instantly understood that she was out of her place, andretreated to the kitchen with a flush upon her cheeks, which wasaltogether foreign to Ruth's experience.
"You can set here, James," resumed Mrs. Ball, "until I have taken off mythings."
The cherries on her black straw bonnet were shaking on their stems in away which fascinated Ruth. "I'll take my things out of the south room,Aunty," she hastened to say.
"You won't, neither," was the unexpected answer; "that's the spare room,and, while you stay, you'll stay there."
Ruth was wondering what to say to her new uncle and sat in awkwardsilence as Aunt Jane ascended the stairs. Her step sounded lightlyoverhead and Mr. Ball twirled his thumbs absently. "You--you've come along way, haven't you?" she asked.
"Yes'm, a long way." Then, seemingly for the first time, he looked ather, and a benevolent expression came upon his face. "You've got awfulpretty hair, Niece Ruth," he observed, admiringly; "now Mis' Ball, shewears a false front."
The lady of the house returned at this juncture, with the false front alittle askew. "I was just a-sayin'," Mr. Ball continued, "that our nieceis a real pleasant lookin' woman."
"She's your niece by marriage," his wife replied, "but she ain't no realrelative."
"Niece by merriage is relative enough," said Mr.Ball, "and I say she's apleasant lookin' woman, ain't she, now?"
"She'll do, I reckon. She resembles her Ma." Aunt Jane looked at Ruth,as if pitying the sister who had blindly followed the leadings of herheart and had died unforgiven.
"Why didn't you let me know you were coming, Aunt Jane?" asked Ruth."I've been looking for a letter every day and I understood you weren'tcoming back until October."
"I trust I am not unwelcome in my own house," was the somewhat frigidresponse.
"No indeed, Aunty--I hope you've had a pleasant time."
"We've had a beautiful time, ain't we, James? We've been on ourhoneymoon."
"Yes'm, we hev been on our honeymoon, travellin' over strange lands an'furrin wastes of waters. Mis' Ball was terrible sea sick comin' here."
"In a way," said Aunt Jane, "we ain't completely married. We wasmarried by a heathen priest in a heathen country and it ain't rightfullybindin', but we thought it would do until we could get back here and bemarried by a minister of the gospel, didn't we, James?"
"It has held," he said, without emotion, "but I reckon we will hev to bemerried proper."
"Likewise I have my weddin' dress," Aunt Jane went on, "what ain't neverbeen worn. It's a beautiful dress--trimmed with pearl trimmin'"--hereRuth felt the pangs of a guilty conscience--"and I lay out to be marriedin it, quite private, with you and Hepsey for witnesses."
"Why, it's quite a romance, isn't it, Aunty?"
"'T is in a way," interjected Mr. Ball, "and in another way, 't ain't."
"Yes, Ruth," Aunt Jane continued, ignoring the interruption, "'t is aromance--a real romance," she repeated, with all the hard lines in herface softened. "We was engaged over thirty-five year. James went to seato make a fortin', so he could give me every luxury. It's all writ outin a letter I've got upstairs. They's beautiful letters, Ruth, and it'scome to me, as I've been settin' here, that you might make a book out'nthese letters of James's. You write, don't you?"
"Why, yes, Aunty, I write for the papers but I've never done a book."
"Well, you'll never write a book no earlier, and here's all thematerial, as you say, jest a-waitin' for you to copy it. I guess there'sover a hundred letters."
"But, Aunty," objected Ruth, struggling with inward emotion, "I couldn'tsign my name to it, you know, unless I had written the letters."
"Why not?"
"Because it wouldn't be honest," she answered, clutching at the straw,"the person who wrote the letters would be entitled to the credit--andthe money," she added hopefully.
"Why, yes, that's right. Do you hear James? It'll have to be your book,'The Love Letters of a Sailor,' by James, and dedicated in the front'to my dearly beloved wife, Jane Ball, as was Jane Hathaway.' It'll bebeautiful, won't it, James?"
"Yes'm, I hev no doubt but what it will."
"Do you remember, James, how you borrered a chisel from the tombstoneman over to the Ridge, and cut our names into endurin' granite?"
"I'd forgot that--how come you to remember it?"
"On account of your havin' lost the chisel and the tombstone mana-worryin' me about it to this day. I'll take you to the place. There'sclimbin' but it won't hurt us none, though we ain't as young as we mightbe. You says to me, you says: 'Jane, darlin', as long as them lettersstays cut into the everlastin' rock, just so long I'll love you,' yousays, and they's there still."
"Well, I'm here, too, ain't I?" replied Mr. Ball, seeming to detect acovert reproach. "I was allers a great hand fer cuttin'."
"There'll have to be a piece writ in the end, Ruth, explainin' the happyendin' of the romance. If you can't do it justice, James and me canhelp--James was allers a master hand at writin'. It'll have to tell howthrough the long years he has toiled, hopin' against hope, and for overthirty years not darin' to write a line to the object of his affections,not feelin' worthy, as you may say, and how after her waitin' faithfullyat home and turnin' away dozens of lovers what pleaded violent-like,she finally went travellin' in furrin parts and come upon her old lovera-kee
pin' a store in a heathen land, a-strugglin' to retrieve disasterafter disaster at sea, and constantly withstandin' the blandishments ofheathen women as endeavoured to wean him from his faith, and how, thoughvery humble and scarcely darin to speak, he learned that she was willin'and they come a sailin' home together and lived happily ever afterward.Ain't that as it was, James?"
"Yes'm, except that there wa'n't no particular disaster at sea and themheathen women didn't exert no blandishments. They was jest pleasant toan old feller, bless their little hearts."
By some subtle mental process, Mr. Ball became aware that he had madea mistake. "You ain't changed nothin' here, Jane," he continued,hurriedly, "there's the haircloth sofy that we used to set on Sundayevenins' after meetin', and the hair wreath with the red rose in it madeout of my hair and the white rose made out of your grandmother's hairon your father's side, and the yeller lily made out of the hair of yourUncle Jed's youngest boy. I disremember the rest, but time was when Icould say'm all. I never see your beat for makin' hair wreaths, Jane.There ain't nothin' gone but the melodeon that used to set by themantel. What's come of the melodeon?"
"The melodeon is set away in the attic. The mice et out the inside."
"Didn't you hev no cat?"
"There ain't no cat, James, that could get into a melodeon through amouse hole, more especially the big maltese you gave me. I kept thatcat, James, as you may say, all these weary years. When there waskittens, I kept the one that looked most like old Malty, but of lateyears, the cats has all been different, and the one I buried jest aforeI sailed away was yeller and white with black and brown spots--a kindertortoise shell--that didn't look nothin' like Malty. You'd never haveknowed they belonged to the same family, but I was sorry when she died,on account of her bein' the last cat."
Hepsey, half frightened, put her head into the room. "Dinner's ready,"she shouted, hurriedly shutting the door.
"Give me your arm, James," said Mrs. Ball, and Ruth followed them intothe dining-room.
The retired sailor ate heartily, casting occasional admiring glancesat Ruth and Hepsey. It was the innocent approval which age bestows uponyouth. "These be the finest biscuit," he said, "that I've had for many aday. I reckon you made 'em, didn't you, young woman?"
"Yes, sir," replied Hepsey, twisting her apron.
The bride was touched in a vulnerable spot.
"Hepsey," she said, decisively, "when your week is up, you will nolonger be in my service. I am a-goin'to make a change."
Mr. Ball's knife dropped with a sharp clatter. "Why, Mis' Ball," hesaid, reproachfully, "who air you goin' to hev to do your work?"
"Don't let that trouble you, James," she answered, serenely, "thewashin' can be put out to the Widder Pendleton, her as was ElmiryPeavey, and the rest ain't no particular trouble."
"Aunty," said Ruth, "now that you've come home and everything is goingon nicely, I think I'd better go back to the city. You see, if I stayhere, I'll be interrupting the honeymoon."
"No, no, Niece Ruth!" exclaimed Mr. Ball, "you ain't interruptin' nohoneymoon. It's a great pleasure to your aunt and me to hev you here--welikes pretty young things around us, and as long as we hev a home,you're welcome to stay in it; ain't she Jane?"
"She has sense enough to see, James, that she is interruptin' thehoneymoon," replied Aunt Jane, somewhat harshly. "On account of hermother havin' been a Hathaway before marriage, she knows things. Notbut what you can come some other time, Ruth," she added, with belatedhospitality.
"Thank you, Aunty, I will. I'll stay just a day or two longer, if youdon't mind--just until Mr. Winfield comes back. I don't know just whereto write to him."
"Mr.--who?" demanded Aunt Jane, looking at her narrowly.
"Mr. Carl Winfield," said Ruth, crimsoning--"the man I am going tomarry." The piercing eyes were still fixed upon her.
"Now about the letters, Aunty," she went on, in confusion, "you couldhelp Uncle James with the book much better than I could. Of course itwould have to be done under your supervision."
Mrs. Ball scrutinized her niece long and carefully. "You appear to betellin' the truth," she said. "Who would best print it?"
"I think it would be better for you to handle it yourself, Aunty, andthen you and Uncle James would have all the profits. If you let some oneelse publish it and sell it, you'd have only ten per cent, and eventhen, you might have to pay part of the expenses."
"How much does it cost to print a book?"
"That depends on the book. Of course it costs more to print a large onethan a small one."
"That needn't make no difference," said Aunt Jane, after longdeliberation. "James has two hundred dollars sewed up on the inside ofthe belt he insists on wearin', instead of Christian suspenders, ain'tyou, James?"
"Yes'm, two hundred and four dollars in my belt and seventy-six cents inmy pocket."
"It's from his store," Mrs. Ball explained. "He sold it to a relative ofone of them heathen women."
"It was worth more'n three hundred," he said regretfully.
"Now, James, you know a small store like that ain't worth no threehundred dollars. I wouldn't have let you took three hundred, 'cause itwouldn't be honest."
The arrival of a small and battered trunk created a welcome diversion."Where's your trunk, Uncle James?" asked Ruth.
"I ain't a needin' of no trunk," he answered, "what clothes I've gotis on me, and that there valise has more of my things in it. When myclothes wears out, I put on new ones and leave the others for some porecreeter what may need 'em worse'n me."
Aunt Jane followed Joe upstairs, issuing caution and direction at everystep. "You can set outside now, Joe Pendleton," she said, "and see thatthem hosses don't run away, and as soon as I get some of my things hungup so's they won't wrinkle no more, I'll come out and pay you."
Joe obeyed, casting longing eyes at a bit of blue gingham that wasfluttering among the currant bushes in the garden. Mr. Ball, longing forconversation with his kind, went out to the gate and stood looking up athim, blinking in the bright sunlight. "Young feller," he said, "I reckonthat starboard hoss is my old mare. Where'd you get it?"
"Over to the Ridge," answered Joe, "of a feller named Johnson."
"Jest so--I reckon 't was his father I give Nellie to when I went away.She was a frisky filly then--she don't look nothin' like that now."
"Mamie" turned, as if her former master's voice had stirred some oldmemory. "She's got the evil eye," Mr. Ball continued. "You wanter bekeerful."
"She's all right, I guess," Joe replied.
"Young feller," said Mr. Ball earnestly, "do you chew terbacker?"
"Yep, but I ain't got no more. I'm on the last hunk."
Mr. Ball stroked his stained beard. "I useter," he said, reminiscently,"afore I was merried."
Joe whistled idly, still watching for Hepsey.
"Young feller," said Mr. Ball, again, "there's a great deal of merryin'and givin' in merriage in this here settlement, ain't there?"
"Not so much as there might be."
"Say, was your mother's name Elmiry Peavey?"
"Yes sir," Joe answered, much surprised.
"Then you be keerful," cautioned Mr. Ball. "Your hoss has got theevil eye and your father, as might hev been, allers had a weak eye ferwomen." Joe's face was a picture of blank astonishment. "I was engagedto both of 'em," Mr. Ball explained, "each one a-keepin' of itsecret, and she--" here he pointed his thumb suggestively toward thehouse--"she's got me."
"I'm going to be married myself," volunteered Joe, proudly.
"Merriage is a fleetin' show--I wouldn't, if I was in your place.Merriage is a drag on a man's ambitions. I set out to own a schooner,but I can't never do it now, on account of bein' merried. I had a goodstart towards it--I had a little store all to myself, what was worththree or four hundred dollars, in a sunny country where the women folkshad soft voices and pretty ankles and wasn't above passin' jokes with anold feller to cheer 'im on 'is lonely way."
Mrs. Ball appeared at the upper window. "James," she
called, "you'dbetter come in and get your hat. Your bald spot will get all sunburned."
"I guess I won't wait no longer, Miss Hathaway," Joe shouted, and,suiting the action to the word, turned around and started down hill. Mr.Ball, half way up the gravelled walk, turned back to smile at Joe withfeeble jocularity.
Hearing the familiar voice, Hepsey hastened to the front of the house,and was about to retreat, when Mr. Ball stopped her.
"Pore little darlin'," he said, kindly, noting her tear stained face."Don't go--wait a minute." He fumbled at his belt and at last extracteda crisp, new ten dollar bill. "Here, take that and buy you a ribbon orsunthin' to remember your lovin' Uncle James by."
Hepsey's face brightened, and she hastily concealed the bill in herdress. "I ain't your niece," she said, hesitatingly, "it's Miss Thorne."
"That don't make no difference," rejoined Mr. Ball, generously, "I'mwillin' you should be my niece too. All pretty young things is mynieces and I loves 'em all. Won't you give your pore old uncle a kiss toremember you by?"
Ruth, who had heard the last words, came down to the gravelled walk."Aunt Jane is coming," she announced, and Hepsey fled.
When the lady of the house appeared, Uncle James was sitting at one endof the piazza and Ruth at the other, exchanging decorous commonplaces.