XIV. "For Remembrance"
The next day, while Ruth was busily gathering up her few belongings andpacking her trunk, Winfield appeared with a suggestion regarding theadvisability of outdoor exercise. Uncle James stood at the gate andwatched them as they went down hill. He was a pathetic old figure,predestined to loneliness under all circumstances.
"That's the way I'll look when we've been married a few years," saidCarl.
"Worse than that," returned Ruth, gravely. "I'm sorry for you, evennow."
"You needn't be proud and haughty just because you've had a wedding atyour house--we're going to have one at ours."
"At ours?"
"At the 'Widder's,' I mean, this very evening."
"That's nice," answered Ruth, refusing to ask the question.
"It's Joe and Hepsey," he continued, "and I thought perhaps you mightstoop low enough to assist me in selecting an appropriate wedding giftin yonder seething mart. I feel greatly indebted to them."
"Why, of course I will; it's quite sudden, isn't it?" "Far be it fromme to say so. However, it's the most reversed wedding I ever heard of.A marriage at the home of the groom, to say the least, is unusual.Moreover, the 'Widder' Pendleton is to take the bridal tour and leavethe happy couple at home. She's going to visit a relative who is distantin both position and relationship--all unknown to the relative, I fancy.She starts immediately after the ceremony and it seems to me that itwould be a pious notion to throw rice and old shoes after her."
"Why, Carl! You don't want to maim her, do you?"
"I wouldn't mind. If it hadn't been for my ostrich-like digestion, Iwouldn't have had anything to worry about by this time. However, if youinsist, I will throw the rice and let you heave the shoes. If you havethe precision of aim which distinguishes your sex, the 'Widder' willescape uninjured."
"Am I to be invited?"
"Certainly--haven't I already invited you?"
"They may not like it."
"That doesn't make any difference. Lots of people go to weddings whoaren't wanted."
"I'll go, then," announced Ruth, "and once again, I give you my graciouspermission to kiss the bride."
"Thank you, dear, but I'm not going to kiss any brides except my own.I've signed the pledge and sworn off."
They created a sensation in the village when they acquired the set ofchina which had been on exhibition over a year. During that time it hadfallen at least a third in price, though its value was unchanged. Ruthbought a hideous red table-cloth, which she knew would please Hepsey,greatly to Winfield's disgust.
"Why do you do that?" he demanded. "Don't you know that, in allprobability, I'll have to eat off of it? I much prefer the oilcloth, towhich I am now accustomed."
"You'll have to get used to table linen, dear," she returned teasingly;"it's my ambition to have one just like this for state occasions."
Joe appeared with the chariot just in time to receive and transportthe gift. "Here's your wedding present, Joe!" called Winfield, andthe innocent villagers formed a circle about them as the groom-electendeavoured to express his appreciation. Winfield helped him pack the"101 pieces" on the back seat and under it, and when Ruth, feeling likea fairy godmother, presented the red table-cloth, his cup of joy wasfull.
He started off proudly, with a soup tureen and two platters on the seatbeside him. The red table-cloth was slung over his arm, in toreadorfashion, and the normal creak of the conveyance was accentuated by anominous rattle of crockery. Then he circled back, motioning them towait.
"Here's sunthin' I most forgot," he said, giving Ruth a note. "I'd driveyou back fer nothin', only I've got sech a load."
The note was from Miss Ainslie, inviting Miss Thorne and her friend tocome at five o'clock and stay to tea. No answer was expected unless shecould not come.
The quaint, old-fashioned script was in some way familiar. A flashof memory took Ruth back to the note she had found in the dresserdrawer, beginning: "I thank you from my heart for understanding me." Soit was Miss Ainslie who had sent the mysterious message to Aunt Jane.
"You're not paying any attention to me," complained Winfield. "Isuppose, when we're married, I'll have to write out what I want to sayto you, and put it on file."
"You're a goose," laughed Ruth. "We're going to Miss Ainslie's to-nightfor tea. Aren't we getting gay?"
"Indeed we are! Weddings and teas follow one another like Regret on theheels of Pleasure."
"Pretty simile," commented Ruth. "If we go to the tea, we'll have tomiss the wedding."
"Well, we've been to a wedding quite recently, so I suppose it'sbetter to go to the tea. Perhaps, by arranging it, we might be givennourishment at both places--not that I pine for the 'Widder's' cooking.Anyhow, we've sent our gift, and they'd rather have that than to haveus, if they were permitted to choose."
"Do you suppose they'll give us anything?"
"Let us hope not."
"I don't believe we want any at all," she said. "Most of them would bein bad taste, and you'd have to bury them at night, one at a time, whileI held a lantern."
"The policeman on the beat would come and ask us what we were doing,"he objected; "and when we told him we were only burying our weddingpresents, he wouldn't believe us. We'd be dragged to the station andput into a noisome cell. Wouldn't it make a pretty story for the morningpapers! The people who gave us the things would enjoy it over theircoffee."
"It would be pathetic, wouldn't it?"
"It would, Miss Thorne. I think we'd better not tell anybody until itsall safely over, and then we can have a little card printed to gowith the announcement, saying that if anybody is inclined to give us apresent, we'd rather have the money."
"You're a very practical person, Carl. One would think you had beenmarried several times."
"We'll be married as often as you like, dear. Judging by your respectedaunt, one ceremony isn't 'rightfully bindin', and I want it done oftenenough to be sure that you can't get away from me."
As they entered the gate, Uncle James approached stealthily by aroundabout way and beckoned to them. "Excuse me," he began, as they camewithin speaking distance, "but has Mis' Ball give you furniture?"
"Yes," replied Ruth, in astonishment, "why?"
"There's clouds to starboard and she's repentin'. She's been admirin'of it the hull mornin' in the attic. I was sot in the kitchen withpertaters," he explained, "but the work is wearin' and a feller needsfresh air."
"Thank you for the tip, Uncle," said Winfield, heartily.
The old man glowed with gratification. "We men understand each other,"was plainly written on his expressive face, as he went noiselessly backto the kitchen.
"You'd better go home, dear," suggested Ruth.
"Delicate hint," replied Winfield. "It would take a social strategistto perceive your hidden meaning. Still, my finer sensibilities respondinstantly to your touch, and I will go. I flatter myself that I've neverhad to be put out yet, when I've been calling on a girl. Some subtlesuggestion like yours has always been sufficient."
"Don't be cross, dear--let's see how soon you can get to the bottom ofthe hill. You can come back at four o'clock."
He laughed and turned back to wave his hand at her. She wafted a kissfrom the tips of her fingers, which seemed momentarily to impede hisprogress, but she motioned him away and ran into the house.
Aunt Jane was nowhere to be seen, so she went on into the kitchen tohelp Uncle James with the potatoes. He had peeled almost a peck and thethick parings lay in a heap on the floor. "My goodness'" she exclaimed."You'd better throw those out, Uncle, and I'll put the potatoes on toboil."
He hastened out, with his arms full of peelings. "You're a real kindwoman, Niece Ruth," he said gratefully, when he came in. "You don'tfavour your aunt none--I think you're more like me."
Mrs. Ball entered the kitchen with a cloud upon her brow, and in one ofthose rare flashes of insight which are vouchsafed to plodding mortals,a plan of action presented itself to Ruth. "Aunty," she said, beforeMrs. Ball had time to s
peak, "you know I'm going back to the cityto-morrow, and I'd like to send you and Uncle James a weddingpresent--you've been so good to me. What shall it be?"
"Well, now, I don't know," she answered, visibly softening, "but I'llthink it over, and let you know."
"What would you like, Uncle James?"
"You needn't trouble him about it," explained his wife. "He'll likewhatever I do, won't you, James?"
"Yes'm, just as you say."
After dinner, when Ruth broached the subject of furniture, she wasgratified to find that Aunt Jane had no serious objections. "I kinderhate to part with it, Ruth," she said, "but in a way, as you may say,it's yours."
"'Tisn't like giving it away, Aunty--it's all in the family, and, as yousay, you're not using it."
"That's so, and then James and me are likely to come and make you a longvisit, so I'll get the good of it, too."
Ruth was momentarily stunned, but rallied enough to express greatpleasure at the prospect. As Aunt Jane began to clear up the dishes,Mr. Ball looked at his niece, with a certain quiet joy, and then,unmistakably, winked.
"When you decide about the wedding present, Aunty, let me know, won'tyou?" she asked, as Mrs. Ball came in after the rest of the dishes. "Mr.Winfield would like to send you a remembrance also." Then Ruth added, toher conscience, "I know he would."
"He seems like a pleasant-spoken feller," remarked Aunt Jane. "You canask him to supper to-night, if you like."
"Thank you, Aunty, but we're going to Miss Ainslie's."
"Huh!" snorted Mrs. Ball. "Mary Ainslie ain't got no sperrit!" With thisenigmatical statement, she sailed majestically out of the room.
During the afternoon, Ruth finished her packing, leaving out a whiteshirt-waist to wear to Miss Ainslie's. When she went down to the parlourto wait for Winfield, Aunt Jane appeared, with her husband in her wake.
"Ruth," she announced, "me and James have decided on a weddin' present.I would like a fine linen table-cloth and a dozen napkins."
"All right, Aunty."
"And if Mr. Winfield is disposed to it, he can give me a lemonadeset--one of them what has different coloured tumblers belongin' to it."
"He'll be pleased to send it, Aunty; I know he will."
"I'm a-layin' out to take part of them two hundred dollars what's sewedup in James's belt, and buy me a new black silk," she went on. "I've gotsome real lace to trim it with, whet dames give me in the early years ofour engagement. Don't you think a black silk is allers nice, Ruth?"
"Yes, it is, Aunty; and just now, it's very stylish."
"You appear to know about such things. I guess I'll let you get itfor me in the city when you buy the weddin' present. I'll give you themoney, and you can get the linin's too, while you're about it."
"I'll send you some samples, Aunty, and then you can take your choice."
"And--" began Mrs. Ball.
"Did you know Mrs. Pendleton was going away, Aunty?" asked Ruth,hastily.
"Do tell! Elmiry Peavey goin' travellin'?"
"Yes, she's going somewhere for a visit--I don't know just where."
"I had laid out to take James and call on Elmiry," she said, strokingher apron thoughtfully, while a shadow crossed Mr. Ball's expressiveface; "but I guess I'll wait now till I get my new black silk. I wanther to know I've done well."
A warning hiss from the kitchen and the odour of burning sugar impelledAunt Jane to a hasty exit just as Winfield came. Uncle James followedthem to the door.
"Niece Ruth," he said, hesitating and fumbling at his belt, "be yougoin' to get merried?"
"I hope so, Uncle," she replied kindly.
"Then--then--I wish you'd take this and buy you sunthin' to rememberyour pore old Uncle James by." He thrust a trembling hand toward her,and offered her a twenty dollar bill.
"Why, Uncle!" she exclaimed. "I mustn't take this! Thank you ever somuch, but it isn't right!"
"I'd be pleased," he said plaintively. "'Taint as if I wan's accustomedto money. My store was wuth five or six hundred dollars, and you've beenreal pleasant to me, Niece Ruth. Buy a hair wreath for the parlour, orsunthin' to remind you of your pore old Uncle."
Winfield pressed her arm warningly, and she tucked the bill into herchatelaine bag. "Thank you, Uncle!" she said; then, of her own accord,she stooped and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
A mist came into the old man's eyes, and he put his hand to his beltagain, but she hurriedly led Winfield away. "Ruth," he said, as theywent down the hill, "you're a sweet girl. That was real womanly kindnessto the poor devil."
"Shall I be equally kind to all 'poor devils'?"
"There's one more who needs you--if you attend to him properly, it willbe enough."
"I don't see how they're going to get Aunty's silk gown and a ring likemine and a haircloth parlour suit and publish a book with less than twohundred dollars, do you?"
"Hardly--Joe says that he gave Hepsey ten dollars. There's a greatdiscussion about the spending of it."
"I didn't know--I feel guilty."
"You needn't, darling. There was nothing else for you to do. How did yousucceed with your delicate mission?"
"I managed it," she said proudly. "I feel that I was originally destinedfor a diplomatic career." He laughed when she described the lemonade setwhich she had promised in his name.
"I'll see that the furniture is shipped tomorrow," he assured her; "andthen I'll go on a still hunt for the gaudy glassware. I'm blessed if Idon't give 'em a silver ice pitcher, too."
"I'm in for a table-cloth and a dozen napkins," laughed Ruth; "but Idon't mind. We won't bury Uncle's wedding present, will we?"
"I should say not! Behold the effect of the card, long before it'sprinted."
"I know," said Ruth, seriously, "I'll get a silver spoon or somethinglike that out of the twenty dollars, and then I'll spend the rest ofit on something nice for Uncle James. The poor soul isn't getting anywedding present, and he'll never know."
"There's a moral question involved in that," replied Winfield. "Is itright to use his money in that way and assume the credit yourself?"
"We'll have to think it over," Ruth answered. "It isn't so very simpleafter all."
Miss Ainslie was waiting for them in the garden and came to the gate tomeet them. She wore a gown of lavender taffeta, which rustled and shonein the sunlight. The skirt was slightly trained, with a dust ruffleunderneath, and the waist was made in surplice fashion, open at thethroat. A bertha of rarest Brussels lace was fastened at her neck withthe amethyst pin, inlaid with gold and surrounded by baroque pearls. Theends of the bertha hung loosely and under it she had tied an apron ofsheerest linen, edged with narrow Duchesse lace. Her hair was coiledsoftly on top of her head, with a string of amethysts and another ofpearls woven among the silvery strands.
"Welcome to my house," she said, smiling, Winfield at once became herslave. She talked easily, with that exquisite cadence which makes eachword seem like a gift, but there was a certain subtle excitement inher manner, which Ruth did not fail to perceive. When Winfield wasnot looking at Miss Ainslie, her eyes rested upon him with a wonderinghunger, mingled with tenderness and fear.
Midsummer lay upon the garden and the faint odour of mignonetteand lavender came with every wandering wind. White butterflies andthistledown floated in the air, bees hummed drowsily, and the statelyhollyhocks swayed slowly back and forth.
"Do you know why I asked you to come today?" She spoke to Ruth, butlooked at Winfield.
"Why, Miss Ainslie?"
"Because it is my birthday--I am fifty-five years old."
Ruth's face mirrored her astonishment. "You don't look any older than Ido," she said.
Except for the white hair, it was true. Her face was as fresh as a rosewith the morning dew upon it, and even on her neck, where the folds oflace revealed a dazzling whiteness, there were no lines.
"Teach us how to live, Miss Ainslie," said Winfield, softly, "that theend of half a century may find us young."
A delicate pink suffused her
cheeks and she turned her eyes to his."I've just been happy, that's all," she answered.
"It needs the alchemist's touch," he said, "to change our sordid worldto gold."
"We can all learn," she replied, "and even if we don't try, it comes tous once."
"What?" asked Ruth.
"Happiness--even if it isn't until the end. In every life there is aperfect moment, like a flash of sun. We can shape our days by that, ifwe will--before by faith, and afterward by memory."
The conversation drifted to less serious things. Ruth, rememberingthat Miss Ainslie did not hear the village gossip, described her aunt'shome-coming, the dismissal of Hepsey, and told her of the wedding whichwas to take place that evening. Winfield was delighted, for he hadnever heard her talk so well, but Miss Ainslie listened with gentledispleasure.
"I did not think Miss Hathaway would ever be married abroad," she said."I think she should have waited until she came home. It would have beenmore delicate to let him follow her. To seem to pursue a gentleman,however innocent one may be, is--is unmaidenly."
Winfield choked, then coughed violently.
"Understand me, dear," Miss Ainslie went on, "I do not mean to criticiseyour aunt--she is one of my dearest friends. Perhaps I should not havespoken at all," she concluded in genuine distress.
"It's all right, Miss Ainslie," Ruth assured her, "I know just how youfeel."
Winfield, having recovered his composure, asked a question about thegarden, and Miss Ainslie led them in triumph around her domain. Shegathered a little nosegay of sweet-williams for Ruth, who was over amongthe hollyhocks, then she said shyly: "What shall I pick for you?"
"Anything you like, Miss Ainslie. I am at a loss to choose."
She bent over and plucked a leaf of rosemary, looking at him long andsearchingly as she put it into his hand.
"For remembrance," she said, with the deep fire burning in her eyes.Then she added, with a pitiful hunger in her voice:
"Whatever happens, you won't forget me?"
"Never!" he answered, strangely stirred.
"Thank you," she whispered brokenly, drawing away from him. "You look somuch like--like some one I used to know."
At dusk they went into the house. Except for the hall, it was square,with two partitions dividing it. The two front rooms were separated byan arch, and the dining-room and kitchen were similarly situated at theback of the house, with a china closet and pantry between them.
Miss Ainslie's table, of solid mahogany, was covered only with finelinen doilies, after a modern fashion, and two quaint candlesticks, ofsolid silver, stood opposite each other. In the centre, in a silver vaseof foreign pattern, there was a great bunch of asters--white and pinkand blue.
The repast was simple--chicken fried to a golden brown, with creamedpotatoes, a salad made of fresh vegetables from the garden, hotbiscuits, deliciously light, and the fragrant Chinese tea, served in theRoyal Kaga cups, followed by pound cake, and pears preserved in a heavyred syrup.
The hostess sat at the head of the table, dispensing a gracefulhospitality. She made no apology, such as prefaced almost every meal atAunt Jane's. It was her best, and she was proud to give it--such was theimpression.
Afterward, when Ruth told her that she was going back to the city, MissAinslie's face grew sad.
"Why--why must you go?" she asked.
"I'm interrupting the honeymoon," Ruth answered, "and when I suggesteddeparture, Aunty agreed to it immediately. I can't very well stay now,can I?"
"My dear," said Miss Ainslie, laying her hand upon Ruth's, "if youcould, if you only would--won't you come and stay with me?"
"I'd love to," replied Ruth, impetuously, "but are you sure you wantme?"
"Believe me, my dear," said Miss Ainslie, simply, "it will give me greathappiness."
So it was arranged that the next day Ruth's trunk should be taken toMiss Ainslie's, and that she would stay until the first of October.Winfield was delighted, since it brought Ruth nearer to him and involvedno long separation.
They went outdoors again, where the crickets and katydids were chirpingin the grass, and the drowsy twitter of birds came from the maplesabove. The moon, at its full, swung slowly over the hill, and threads ofsilver light came into the fragrant dusk of the garden. Now and then themoonlight shone full upon Miss Ainslie's face, touching her hair as ifwith loving tenderness and giving her an unearthly beauty. It was theface of a saint.
Winfield, speaking reverently, told her of their betrothal. She leanedforward, into the light, and put one hand caressingly upon the arm ofeach.
"I am so glad," she said, with her face illumined. Through the music ofher voice ran lights and shadows, vague, womanly appeal, and a hauntingsweetness neither could ever forget.
That night, the gates of Youth turned on their silent hinges for MissAinslie. Forgetting the hoary frost that the years had laid upon herhair, she walked, hand in hand with them, through the clover fieldswhich lay fair before them and by the silvered reaches of the River ofDreams. Into their love came something sweet that they had not foundbefore--the absolute need of sharing life together, whether it should bejoy or pain. Unknowingly, they rose to that height which makes sacrificethe soul's dearest offering, as the chrysalis, brown and unbeautiful,gives the radiant creature within to the light and freedom of day.
When the whistle sounded for the ten o'clock train, Ruth said it waslate and they must go. Miss Ainslie went to the gate with them, herlavender scented gown rustling softly as she walked, and the moonlightmaking new beauty of the amethysts and pearls entwined in her hair.
Ruth, aglow with happiness, put her arms around Miss Ainslie's neck andkissed her tenderly. "May I, too?" asked Winfield.
He drew her toward him, without waiting for an answer, and Miss Ainslietrembled from head to foot as she lifted her face to his.
Across the way the wedding was in full blast, but neither of them caredto go. Ruth turned back for a last glimpse of the garden and its gentlemistress, but she was gone, and the light from her candle streamed outuntil it rested upon a white hollyhock, nodding drowsily.
To Ruth, walking in the starlight with her lover, it seemed as if theworld had been made new. The spell was upon Winfield for a long time,but at last he spoke.
"If I could have chosen my mother," he said, simply, "she would havebeen like Miss Ainslie."