XXVIII
"TH' INEVITABLE YOKE"
Rebecca's heart beat high at this sweet praise from her hero's lips,but before she had found words to thank him, Mr. and Mrs. Cobb, who hadbeen modestly biding their time in a corner, approached her and sheintroduced them to Mr. Ladd.
"Where, where is aunt Jane?" she cried, holding aunt Sarah's hand onone side and uncle Jerry's on the other.
"I'm sorry, lovey, but we've got bad news for you."
"Is aunt Miranda worse? She is; I can see it by your looks;" andRebecca's color faded.
"She had a second stroke yesterday morning jest when she was helpin'Jane lay out her things to come here to-day. Jane said you wan't toknow anything about it till the exercises was all over, and we promisedto keep it secret till then."
"I will go right home with you, aunt Sarah. I must just run to tellMiss Maxwell, for after I had packed up to-morrow I was going toBrunswick with her. Poor aunt Miranda! And I have been so gay and happyall day, except that I was longing for mother and aunt Jane."
"There ain't no harm in bein' gay, lovey; that's what Jane wanted youto be. And Miranda's got her speech back, for your aunt has just sent aletter sayin' she's better; and I'm goin' to set up to-night, so youcan stay here and have a good sleep, and get your things togethercomfortably to-morrow."
"I'll pack your trunk for you, Becky dear, and attend to all our roomthings," said Emma Jane, who had come towards the group and heard thesorrowful news from the brick house.
They moved into one of the quiet side pews, where Hannah and herhusband and John joined them. From time to time some stragglingacquaintance or old schoolmate would come up to congratulate Rebeccaand ask why she had hidden herself in a corner. Then some member of theclass would call to her excitedly, reminding her not to be late at thepicnic luncheon, or begging her to be early at the class party in theevening. All this had an air of unreality to Rebecca. In the midst ofthe happy excitement of the last two days, when "blushing honors" hadbeen falling thick upon her, and behind the delicious exaltation of themorning, had been the feeling that the condition was a transient one,and that the burden, the struggle, the anxiety, would soon loom againon the horizon. She longed to steal away into the woods with dear oldJohn, grown so manly and handsome, and get some comfort from him.
Meantime Adam Ladd and Mr. Cobb had been having an animatedconversation.
"I s'pose up to Boston, girls like that one are as thick asblackb'ries?" uncle Jerry said, jerking his head interrogatively inRebecca's direction.
"They may be," smiled Adam, taking in the old man's mood; "only I don'thappen to know one."
"My eyesight bein' poor 's the reason she looked han'somest of any girlon the platform, I s'pose?"
"There's no failure in my eyes," responded Adam, "but that was how thething seemed to me!"
"What did you think of her voice? Anything extry about it?"
"Made the others sound poor and thin, I thought."
"Well, I'm glad to hear your opinion, you bein' a traveled man, formother says I'm foolish 'bout Rebecky and hev been sence the fust.Mother scolds me for spoilin' her, but I notice mother ain't fur behindwhen it comes to spoilin'. Land! it made me sick, thinkin' o' themparents travelin' miles to see their young ones graduate, and then whenthey got here hevin' to compare 'em with Rebecky. Good-by, Mr. Ladd,drop in some day when you come to Riverboro."
"I will," said Adam, shaking the old man's hand cordially; "perhapsto-morrow if I drive Rebecca home, as I shall offer to do. Do you thinkMiss Sawyer's condition is serious?"
"Well, the doctor don't seem to know; but anyhow she's paralyzed, andshe'll never walk fur again, poor soul! She ain't lost her speech;that'll be a comfort to her."
Adam left the church, and in crossing the common came upon Miss Maxwelldoing the honors of the institution, as she passed from group to groupof strangers and guests. Knowing that she was deeply interested in allRebecca's plans, he told her, as he drew her aside, that the girl wouldhave to leave Wareham for Riverboro the next day.
"That is almost more than I can bear!" exclaimed Miss Maxwell, sittingdown on a bench and stabbing the greensward with her parasol. "It seemsto me Rebecca never has any respite. I had so many plans for her thisnext month in fitting her for her position, and now she will settledown to housework again, and to the nursing of that poor, sick, crossold aunt."
"If it had not been for the cross old aunt, Rebecca would still havebeen at Sunnybrook; and from the standpoint of educational advantages,or indeed advantages of any sort, she might as well have been in thebackwoods," returned Adam.
"That is true; I was vexed when I spoke, for I thought an easier andhappier day was dawning for my prodigy and pearl."
"OUR prodigy and pearl," corrected Adam.
"Oh, yes!" she laughed. "I always forget that it pleases you to pretendyou discovered Rebecca."
"I believe, though, that happier days are dawning for her," continuedAdam. "It must be a secret for the present, but Mrs. Randall's farmwill be bought by the new railroad. We must have right of way throughthe land, and the station will be built on her property. She willreceive six thousand dollars, which, though not a fortune, will yieldher three or four hundred dollars a year, if she will allow me toinvest it for her. There is a mortgage on the land; that paid, andRebecca self-supporting, the mother ought to push the education of theoldest boy, who is a fine, ambitious fellow. He should be taken awayfrom farm work and settled at his studies."
"We might form ourselves into a Randall Protective Agency, Limited,"mused Miss Maxwell. "I confess I want Rebecca to have a career."
"I don't," said Adam promptly.
"Of course you don't. Men have no interest in the careers of women! ButI know Rebecca better than you."
"You understand her mind better, but not necessarily her heart. You areconsidering her for the moment as prodigy; I am thinking of her more aspearl."
"Well," sighed Miss Maxwell whimsically, "prodigy or pearl, the RandallProtective Agency may pull Rebecca in opposite directions, butnevertheless she will follow her saint."
"That will content me," said Adam gravely.
"Particularly if the saint beckons your way." And Miss Maxwell lookedup and smiled provokingly.
Rebecca did not see her aunt Miranda till she had been at the brickhouse for several days. Miranda steadily refused to have any one butJane in the room until her face had regained its natural look, but herdoor was always ajar, and Jane fancied she liked to hear Rebecca'squick, light step. Her mind was perfectly clear now, and, save that shecould not move, she was most of the time quite free from pain, andalert in every nerve to all that was going on within or without thehouse. "Were the windfall apples being picked up for sauce; were thepotatoes thick in the hills; was the corn tosselin' out; were theycuttin' the upper field; were they keepin' fly-paper laid outeverywheres; were there any ants in the dairy; was the kindlin' woodholdin' out; had the bank sent the cowpons?"
Poor Miranda Sawyer! Hovering on the verge of the great beyond,--herbody "struck" and no longer under control of her iron will,--no divinevisions floated across her tired brain; nothing but petty cares andsordid anxieties. Not all at once can the soul talk with God, be Heever so near. If the heavenly language never has been learned, quick asis the spiritual sense in seizing the facts it needs, then the poorsoul must use the words and phrases it has lived on and grown into dayby day. Poor Miss Miranda!--held fast within the prison walls of herown nature, blind in the presence of revelation because she had neverused the spiritual eye, deaf to angelic voices because she had not usedthe spiritual ear.
There came a morning when she asked for Rebecca. The door was openedinto the dim sick-room, and Rebecca stood there with the sunlightbehind her, her hands full of sweet peas. Miranda's pale, sharp face,framed in its nightcap, looked haggard on the pillow, and her body waspitifully still under the counterpane.
"Come in," she said; "I ain't dead yet. Don't mess up the bed with themflowers, will ye?"
"Oh, no!
They're going in a glass pitcher," said Rebecca, turning tothe washstand as she tried to control her voice and stop the tears thatsprang to her eyes.
"Let me look at ye; come closer. What dress are ye wearin'?" said theold aunt in her cracked, weak voice.
"My blue calico."
"Is your cashmere holdin' its color?"
"Yes, aunt Miranda."
"Do you keep it in a dark closet hung on the wrong side, as I told ye?"
"Always."
"Has your mother made her jelly?"
"She hasn't said."
"She always had the knack o' writin' letters with nothin' in 'em.What's Mark broke sence I've been sick?"
"Nothing at all, aunt Miranda."
"Why, what's the matter with him? Gittin' lazy, ain't he? How 's Johnturnin' out?"
"He's going to be the best of us all."
"I hope you don't slight things in the kitchen because I ain't there.Do you scald the coffee-pot and turn it upside down on the winder-sill?"
"Yes, aunt Miranda."
"It's always 'yes' with you, and 'yes' with Jane," groaned Miranda,trying to move her stiffened body; "but all the time I lay here knowin'there's things done the way I don't like 'em."
There was a long pause, during which Rebecca sat down by the bedsideand timidly touched her aunt's hand, her heart swelling with tenderpity at the gaunt face and closed eyes.
"I was dreadful ashamed to have you graduate in cheesecloth, Rebecca,but I couldn't help it no-how. You'll hear the reason some time, andknow I tried to make it up to ye. I'm afraid you was a laughin'-stock!"
"No," Rebecca answered. "Ever so many people said our dresses were thevery prettiest; they looked like soft lace. You're not to be anxiousabout anything. Here I am all grown up and graduated,--number three ina class of twenty-two, aunt Miranda,--and good positions offered mealready. Look at me, big and strong and young, all ready to go into theworld and show what you and aunt Jane have done for me. If you want menear, I'll take the Edgewood school, so that I can be here nights andSundays to help; and if you get better, then I'll go to Augusta,--forthat's a hundred dollars more, with music lessons and other thingsbeside."
"You listen to me," said Miranda quaveringly. "Take the best place,regardless o' my sickness. I'd like to live long enough to know you'dpaid off that mortgage, but I guess I shan't."
Here she ceased abruptly, having talked more than she had for weeks;and Rebecca stole out of the room, to cry by herself and wonder if oldage must be so grim, so hard, so unchastened and unsweetened, as itslipped into the valley of the shadow.
The days went on, and Miranda grew stronger and stronger; her willseemed unassailable, and before long she could be moved into a chair bythe window, her dominant thought being to arrive at such a condition ofimprovement that the doctor need not call more than once a week,instead of daily; thereby diminishing the bill, that was mounting tosuch a terrifying sum that it haunted her thoughts by day and dreams bynight.
Little by little hope stole back into Rebecca's young heart. Aunt Janebegan to "clear starch" her handkerchiefs and collars and purple muslindress, so that she might be ready to go to Brunswick at any moment whenthe doctor pronounced Miranda well on the road to recovery. Everythingbeautiful was to happen in Brunswick if she could be there byAugust,--everything that heart could wish or imagination conceive, forshe was to be Miss Emily's very own visitor, and sit at table withcollege professors and other great men.
At length the day dawned when the few clean, simple dresses were packedin the hair trunk, together with her beloved coral necklace, hercheesecloth graduating dress, her class pin, aunt Jane's lace cape, andthe one new hat, which she tried on every night before going to bed. Itwas of white chip with a wreath of cheap white roses and green leaves,and cost between two and three dollars, an unprecedented sum inRebecca's experience. The effect of its glories when worn with hernightdress was dazzling enough, but if ever it appeared in conjunctionwith the cheesecloth gown, Rebecca felt that even reverend professorsmight regard it with respect. It is probable indeed that anyprofessorial gaze lucky enough to meet a pair of dark eyes shiningunder that white rose garland would never have stopped at respect!
Then, when all was ready and Abijah Flagg at the door, came a telegramfrom Hannah: "Come at once. Mother has had bad accident."
In less than an hour Rebecca was started on her way to Sunnybrook, herheart palpitating with fear as to what might be awaiting her at herjourney's end.
Death, at all events, was not there to meet her; but something thatlooked at first only too much like it. Her mother had been standing onthe haymow superintending some changes in the barn, had been seizedwith giddiness, they thought, and slipped. The right knee was fracturedand the back strained and hurt, but she was conscious and in noimmediate danger, so Rebecca wrote, when she had a moment to send auntJane the particulars.
"I don' know how 'tis," grumbled Miranda, who was not able to sit upthat day; "but from a child I could never lay abed without Aurelia'sgettin' sick too. I don' know 's she could help fallin', though itain't anyplace for a woman,--a haymow; but if it hadn't been that, 'twould 'a' been somethin' else. Aurelia was born unfortunate. Now she'llprobably be a cripple, and Rebecca'll have to nurse her instead ofearning a good income somewheres else."
"Her first duty 's to her mother," said aunt Jane; "I hope she'llalways remember that."
"Nobody remembers anything they'd ought to,--at seventeen," respondedMiranda. "Now that I'm strong again, there's things I want to considerwith you, Jane, things that are on my mind night and day. We've talked'em over before; now we'll settle 'em. When I'm laid away, do you wantto take Aurelia and the children down here to the brick house? There'san awful passel of 'em,--Aurelia, Jenny, and Fanny; but I won't haveMark. Hannah can take him; I won't have a great boy stompin' out thecarpets and ruinin' the furniture, though I know when I'm dead I can'thinder ye, if you make up your mind to do anything."
"I shouldn't like to go against your feelings, especially in laying outyour money, Miranda," said Jane.
"Don't tell Rebecca I've willed her the brick house. She won't git ittill I'm gone, and I want to take my time 'bout dyin' and not behurried off by them that's goin' to profit by it; nor I don't want tobe thanked, neither. I s'pose she'll use the front stairs as common asthe back and like as not have water brought into the kitchen, but mebbewhen I've been dead a few years I shan't mind. She sets such store byyou, she'll want you to have your home here as long's you live, butanyway I've wrote it down that way; though Lawyer Burns's wills don'thold more'n half the time. He's cheaper, but I guess it comes out jestthe same in the end. I wan't goin' to have the fust man Rebecca picksup for a husband turnin' you ou'doors."
There was a long pause, during which Jane knit silently, wiping thetears from her eyes from time to time, as she looked at the pitifulfigure lying weakly on the pillows. Suddenly Miranda said slowly andfeebly:--
"I don' know after all but you might as well take Mark; I s'posethere's tame boys as well as wild ones. There ain't a mite o' sense inhavin' so many children, but it's a turrible risk splittin' up familiesand farmin' 'em out here 'n' there; they'd never come to no good, an'everybody would keep rememberin' their mother was a Sawyer. Now ifyou'll draw down the curtin, I'll try to sleep."