CHAPTER XXV. THE LOVE STORY OF THE AWKWARD MAN
(Written by the Story Girl)
Jasper Dale lived alone in the old homestead which he had named GoldenMilestone. In Carlisle this giving one's farm a name was looked upon asa piece of affectation; but if a place must be named why not give ita sensible name with some meaning to it? Why Golden Milestone, whenPinewood or Hillslope or, if you wanted to be very fanciful, Ivy Lodge,might be had for the taking?
He had lived alone at Golden Milestone since his mother's death; he hadbeen twenty then and he was close upon forty now, though he did not lookit. But neither could it be said that he looked young; he had never atany time looked young with common youth; there had always been somethingin his appearance that stamped him as different from the ordinary runof men, and, apart from his shyness, built up an intangible, invisiblebarrier between him and his kind. He had lived all his life in Carlisle;and all the Carlisle people knew of or about him--although they thoughtthey knew everything--was that he was painfully, abnormally shy. Henever went anywhere except to church; he never took part in Carlisle'ssimple social life; even with most men he was distant and reserved; asfor women, he never spoke to or looked at them; if one spoke to him,even if she were a matronly old mother in Israel, he was at once in anagony of painful blushes. He had no friends in the sense of companions;to all outward appearance his life was solitary and devoid of any humaninterest.
He had no housekeeper; but his old house, furnished as it had been inhis mother's lifetime, was cleanly and daintily kept. The quaint roomswere as free from dust and disorder as a woman could have had them. Thiswas known, because Jasper Dale occasionally had his hired man's wife,Mrs. Griggs, in to scrub for him. On the morning she was expected hebetook himself to woods and fields, returning only at night-fall. Duringhis absence Mrs. Griggs was frankly wont to explore the house fromcellar to attic, and her report of its condition was always thesame--"neat as wax." To be sure, there was one room that was alwayslocked against her, the west gable, looking out on the garden and thehill of pines beyond. But Mrs. Griggs knew that in the lifetime ofJasper Dale's mother it had been unfurnished. She supposed it stillremained so, and felt no especial curiosity concerning it, though shealways tried the door.
Jasper Dale had a good farm, well cultivated; he had a large gardenwhere he worked most of his spare time in summer; it was supposed thathe read a great deal, since the postmistress declared that he was alwaysgetting books and magazines by mail. He seemed well contented with hisexistence and people let him alone, since that was the greatest kindnessthey could do him. It was unsupposable that he would ever marry; nobodyever had supposed it.
"Jasper Dale never so much as THOUGHT about a woman," Carlisle oraclesdeclared. Oracles, however, are not always to be trusted.
One day Mrs. Griggs went away from the Dale place with a very curiousstory, which she diligently spread far and wide. It made a good dealof talk, but people, although they listened eagerly, and wondered andquestioned, were rather incredulous about it. They thought Mrs. Griggsmust be drawing considerably upon her imagination; there were notlacking those who declared that she had invented the whole account,since her reputation for strict veracity was not wholly unquestioned.
Mrs. Griggs's story was as follows:--
One day she found the door of the west gable unlocked. She went in,expecting to see bare walls and a collection of odds and ends. Insteadshe found herself in a finely furnished room. Delicate lace curtainshung before the small, square, broad-silled windows. The walls wereadorned with pictures in much finer taste than Mrs. Griggs couldappreciate. There was a bookcase between the windows filled withchoicely bound books. Beside it stood a little table with a very daintywork-basket on it. By the basket Mrs. Griggs saw a pair of tiny scissorsand a silver thimble. A wicker rocker, comfortable with silk cushions,was near it. Above the bookcase a woman's picture hung--a water-colour,if Mrs. Griggs had but known it--representing a pale, very sweet face,with large, dark eyes and a wistful expression under loose masses ofblack, lustrous hair. Just beneath the picture, on the top shelf of thebookcase, was a vaseful of flowers. Another vaseful stood on the tablebeside the basket.
All this was astonishing enough. But what puzzled Mrs. Griggs completelywas the fact that a woman's dress was hanging over a chair before themirror--a pale blue, silken affair. And on the floor beside it were twolittle blue satin slippers!
Good Mrs. Griggs did not leave the room until she had thoroughlyexplored it, even to shaking out the blue dress and discovering it to bea tea-gown--wrapper, she called it. But she found nothing to throw anylight on the mystery. The fact that the simple name "Alice" was writtenon the fly-leaves of all the books only deepened it, for it was a nameunknown in the Dale family. In this puzzled state she was obliged todepart, nor did she ever find the door unlocked again; and, discoveringthat people thought she was romancing when she talked about themysterious west gable at Golden Milestone, she indignantly held herpeace concerning the whole affair.
But Mrs. Griggs had told no more than the simple truth. Jasper Dale,under all his shyness and aloofness, possessed a nature full of delicateromance and poesy, which, denied expression in the common ways of life,bloomed out in the realm of fancy and imagination. Left alone, just whenthe boy's nature was deepening into the man's, he turned to this idealkingdom for all he believed the real world could never give him. Love--astrange, almost mystical love--played its part here for him. He shadowedforth to himself the vision of a woman, loving and beloved; he cherishedit until it became almost as real to him as his own personality and hegave this dream woman the name he liked best--Alice. In fancy he walkedand talked with her, spoke words of love to her, and heard words of lovein return. When he came from work at the close of day she met him at histhreshold in the twilight--a strange, fair, starry shape, as elusive andspiritual as a blossom reflected in a pool by moonlight--with welcome onher lips and in her eyes.
One day, when he was in Charlottetown on business, he had been struck bya picture in the window of a store. It was strangely like the woman ofhis dream love. He went in, awkward and embarrassed, and bought it. Whenhe took it home he did not know where to put it. It was out of placeamong the dim old engravings of bewigged portraits and conventionallandscapes on the walls of Golden Milestone. As he pondered the matterin his garden that evening he had an inspiration. The sunset, flaming onthe windows of the west gable, kindled them into burning rose. Amid thesplendour he fancied Alice's fair face peeping archly down at him fromthe room. The inspiration came then. It should be her room; he would fitit up for her; and her picture should hang there.
He was all summer carrying out his plan. Nobody must know or suspect,so he must go slowly and secretly. One by one the furnishings werepurchased and brought home under cover of darkness. He arranged themwith his own hands. He bought the books he thought she would like bestand wrote her name in them; he got the little feminine knick-knacks ofbasket and thimble. Finally he saw in a store a pale blue tea-gown andthe satin slippers. He had always fancied her as dressed in blue. Hebought them and took them home to her room. Thereafter it was sacred toher; he always knocked on its door before he entered; he kept it sweetwith fresh flowers; he sat there in the purple summer evenings andtalked aloud to her or read his favourite books to her. In his fancy shesat opposite to him in her rocker, clad in the trailing blue gown, withher head leaning on one slender hand, as white as a twilight star.
But Carlisle people knew nothing of this--would have thought him tingedwith mild lunacy if they had known. To them, he was just the shy, simplefarmer he appeared. They never knew or guessed at the real Jasper Dale.
One spring Alice Reade came to teach music in Carlisle. Her pupilsworshipped her, but the grown people thought she was rather too distantand reserved. They had been used to merry, jolly girls who joinedeagerly in the social life of the place. Alice Reade held herself alooffrom it--not disdainfully, but as one to whom these things were of smallimportance. She was very fond of books and solitary ra
mbles; she wasnot at all shy but she was as sensitive as a flower; and after a timeCarlisle people were content to let her live her own life and no longerresented her unlikeness to themselves.
She boarded with the Armstrongs, who lived beyond Golden Milestonearound the hill of pines. Until the snow disappeared she went out to themain road by the long Armstrong lane; but when spring came she was wontto take a shorter way, down the pine hill, across the brook, past JasperDale's garden, and out through his lane. And one day, as she went by,Jasper Dale was working in his garden.
He was on his knees in a corner, setting out a bunch of roots--anunsightly little tangle of rainbow possibilities. It was a still springmorning; the world was green with young leaves; a little wind blew downfrom the pines and lost itself willingly among the budding delights ofthe garden. The grass opened eyes of blue violets. The sky was highand cloudless, turquoise-blue, shading off into milkiness on the farhorizons. Birds were singing along the brook valley. Rollicking robinswere whistling joyously in the pines. Jasper Dale's heart was filled toover-flowing with a realization of all the virgin loveliness around him;the feeling in his soul had the sacredness of a prayer. At this momenthe looked up and saw Alice Reade.
She was standing outside the garden fence, in the shadow of a great pinetree, looking not at him, for she was unaware of his presence, butat the virginal bloom of the plum trees in a far corner, with all herdelight in it outblossoming freely in her face. For a moment Jasper Dalebelieved that his dream love had taken visible form before him. She waslike--so like; not in feature, perhaps, but in grace and colouring--thegrace of a slender, lissome form and the colouring of cloudy hair andwistful, dark gray eyes, and curving red mouth; and more than all, shewas like her in expression--in the subtle revelation of personalityexhaling from her like perfume from a flower. It was as if his own hadcome to him at last and his whole soul suddenly leaped out to meet andwelcome her.
Then her eyes fell upon him and the spell was broken. Jasper remainedkneeling mutely there, shy man once more, crimson with blushes, astrange, almost pitiful creature in his abject confusion. A little smileflickered about the delicate corners of her mouth, but she turned andwalked swiftly away down the lane.
Jasper looked after her with a new, painful sense of loss andloveliness. It had been agony to feel her conscious eyes upon him, buthe realized now that there had been a strange sweetness in it, too. Itwas still greater pain to watch her going from him.
He thought she must be the new music teacher but he did not even knowher name. She had been dressed in blue, too--a pale, dainty blue; butthat was of course; he had known she must wear it; and he was sure hername must be Alice. When, later on, he discovered that it was, he feltno surprise.
He carried some mayflowers up to the west gable and put them under thepicture. But the charm had gone out of the tribute; and looking at thepicture, he thought how scant was the justice it did her. Her facewas so much sweeter, her eyes so much softer, her hair so much morelustrous. The soul of his love had gone from the room and from thepicture and from his dreams. When he tried to think of the Alice heloved he saw, not the shadowy spirit occupant of the west gable, but theyoung girl who had stood under the pine, beautiful with the beauty ofmoonlight, of starshine on still water, of white, wind-swayed flowersgrowing in silent, shadowy places. He did not then realize what thismeant: had he realized it he would have suffered bitterly; as it washe felt only a vague discomfort--a curious sense of loss and gaincommingled.
He saw her again that afternoon on her way home. She did not pause bythe garden but walked swiftly past. Thereafter, every day for a week hewatched unseen to see her pass his home. Once a little child was withher, clinging to her hand. No child had ever before had any part in theshy man's dream life. But that night in the twilight the vision ofthe rocking-chair was a girl in a blue print dress, with a little,golden-haired shape at her knee--a shape that lisped and prattled andcalled her "mother;" and both of them were his.
It was the next day that he failed for the first time to put flowersin the west gable. Instead, he cut a loose handful of daffodils and,looking furtively about him as if committing a crime, he laid themacross the footpath under the pine. She must pass that way; her feetwould crush them if she failed to see them. Then he slipped back intohis garden, half exultant, half repentant. From a safe retreat he sawher pass by and stoop to lift his flowers. Thereafter he put some in thesame place every day.
When Alice Reade saw the flowers she knew at once who had put themthere, and divined that they were for her. She lifted them tenderly inmuch surprise and pleasure. She had heard all about Jasper Dale and hisshyness; but before she had heard about him she had seen him in churchand liked him. She thought his face and his dark blue eyes beautiful;she even liked the long brown hair that Carlisle people laughed at. Thathe was quite different from other people she had understood at once, butshe thought the difference in his favour. Perhaps her sensitive naturedivined and responded to the beauty in his. At least, in her eyes JasperDale was never a ridiculous figure.
When she heard the story of the west gable, which most peopledisbelieved, she believed it, although she did not understand it. Itinvested the shy man with interest and romance. She felt that she wouldhave liked, out of no impertinent curiosity, to solve the mystery; shebelieved that it contained the key to his character.
Thereafter, every day she found flowers under the pine tree; she wishedto see Jasper to thank him, unaware that he watched her daily from thescreen of shrubbery in his garden; but it was some time before she foundthe opportunity. One evening she passed when he, not expecting her, wasleaning against his garden fence with a book in his hand. She stoppedunder the pine.
"Mr. Dale," she said softly, "I want to thank you for your flowers."
Jasper, startled, wished that he might sink into the ground. His anguishof embarrassment made her smile a little. He could not speak, so shewent on gently.
"It has been so good of you. They have given me so much pleasure--I wishyou could know how much."
"It was nothing--nothing," stammered Jasper. His book had fallen on theground at her feet, and she picked it up and held it out to him.
"So you like Ruskin," she said. "I do, too. But I haven't read this."
"If you--would care--to read it--you may have it," Jasper contrived tosay.
She carried the book away with her. He did not again hide when shepassed, and when she brought the book back they talked a little aboutit over the fence. He lent her others, and got some from her in return;they fell into the habit of discussing them. Jasper did not find it hardto talk to her now; it seemed as if he were talking to his dream Alice,and it came strangely natural to him. He did not talk volubly, butAlice thought what he did say was worth while. His words lingered in hermemory and made music. She always found his flowers under the pine, andshe always wore some of them, but she did not know if he noticed this ornot.
One evening Jasper walked shyly with her from his gate up the pine hill.After that he always walked that far with her. She would have missed himmuch if he had failed to do so; yet it did not occur to her that she waslearning to love him. She would have laughed with girlish scorn at theidea. She liked him very much; she thought his nature beautiful inits simplicity and purity; in spite of his shyness she felt moredelightfully at home in his society than in that of any other person shehad ever met. He was one of those rare souls whose friendship is at oncea pleasure and a benediction, showering light from their own crystalclearness into all the dark corners in the souls of others, until, forthe time being at least, they reflected his own nobility. But she neverthought of love. Like other girls she had her dreams of a possiblePrince Charming, young and handsome and debonair. It never occurredto her that he might be found in the shy, dreamy recluse of GoldenMilestone.
In August came a day of gold and blue. Alice Reade, coming through thetrees, with the wind blowing her little dark love-locks tricksily aboutunder her wide blue hat, found a fragrant heap of mignonette underthe pine. S
he lifted it and buried her face in it, drinking in thewholesome, modest perfume.
She had hoped Jasper would be in his garden, since she wished to ask himfor a book she greatly desired to read. But she saw him sitting on therustic seat at the further side. His back was towards her, and he waspartially screened by a copse of lilacs.
Alice, blushing slightly, unlatched the garden gate, and went down thepath. She had never been in the garden before, and she found her heartbeating in a strange fashion.
He did not hear her footsteps, and she was close behind him when sheheard his voice, and realized that he was talking to himself, in a low,dreamy tone. As the meaning of his words dawned on her consciousness shestarted and grew crimson. She could not move or speak; as one in adream she stood and listened to the shy man's reverie, guiltless of anythought of eavesdropping.
"How much I love you, Alice," Jasper Dale was saying, unafraid, with noshyness in voice or manner. "I wonder what you would say if you knew.You would laugh at me--sweet as you are, you would laugh in mockery. Ican never tell you. I can only dream of telling you. In my dream you arestanding here by me, dear. I can see you very plainly, my sweet lady, sotall and gracious, with your dark hair and your maiden eyes. I can dreamthat I tell you my love; that--maddest, sweetest dream of all--that youlove me in return. Everything is possible in dreams, you know, dear. Mydreams are all I have, so I go far in them, even to dreaming that youare my wife. I dream how I shall fix up my dull old house for you. Oneroom will need nothing more--it is your room, dear, and has been readyfor you a long time--long before that day I saw you under the pine. Yourbooks and your chair and your picture are there, dear--only the pictureis not half lovely enough. But the other rooms of the house must be madeto bloom out freshly for you. What a delight it is thus to dream ofwhat I would do for you! Then I would bring you home, dear, and leadyou through my garden and into my house as its mistress. I would see youstanding beside me in the old mirror at the end of the hall--a bride,in your pale blue dress, with a blush on your face. I would lead youthrough all the rooms made ready for your coming, and then to your own.I would see you sitting in your own chair and all my dreams wouldfind rich fulfilment in that royal moment. Oh, Alice, we would have abeautiful life together! It's sweet to make believe about it. You willsing to me in the twilight, and we will gather early flowers togetherin the spring days. When I come home from work, tired, you will putyour arms about me and lay your head on my shoulder. I will strokeit--so--that bonny, glossy head of yours. Alice, my Alice--all mine inmy dream--never to be mine in real life--how I love you!"
The Alice behind him could bear no more. She gave a little choking crythat betrayed her presence. Jasper Dale sprang up and gazed upon her. Hesaw her standing there, amid the languorous shadows of August, pale withfeeling, wide-eyed, trembling.
For a moment shyness wrung him. Then every trace of it was banished by asudden, strange, fierce anger that swept over him. He felt outraged andhurt to the death; he felt as if he had been cheated out of somethingincalculably precious--as if sacrilege had been done to his most holysanctuary of emotion. White, tense with his anger, he looked at her andspoke, his lips as pale as if his fiery words scathed them.
"How dare you? You have spied on me--you have crept in and listened! Howdare you? Do you know what you have done, girl? You have destroyed allthat made life worth while to me. My dream is dead. It could not livewhen it was betrayed. And it was all I had. Oh, laugh at me--mock me! Iknow that I am ridiculous! What of it? It never could have hurt you! Whymust you creep in like this to hear me and put me to shame? Oh, I loveyou--I will say it, laugh as you will. Is it such a strange thing that Ishould have a heart like other men? This will make sport for you! I, wholove you better than my life, better than any other man in the worldcan love you, will be a jest to you all your life. I love you--and yetI think I could hate you--you have destroyed my dream--you have done medeadly wrong."
"Jasper! Jasper!" cried Alice, finding her voice. His anger hurt herwith a pain she could not endure. It was unbearable that Jasper shouldbe angry with her. In that moment she realized that she loved him--thatthe words he had spoken when unconscious of her presence were thesweetest she had ever heard, or ever could hear. Nothing mattered atall, save that he loved her and was angry with her.
"Don't say such dreadful things to me," she stammered, "I did notmean to listen. I could not help it. I shall never laugh at you. Oh,Jasper"--she looked bravely at him and the fine soul of her shonethrough the flesh like an illuminating lamp--"I am glad that you loveme! and I am glad I chanced to overhear you, since you would never havehad the courage to tell me otherwise. Glad--glad! Do you understand,Jasper?"
Jasper looked at her with the eyes of one who, looking through pain,sees rapture beyond.
"Is it possible?" he said, wonderingly. "Alice--I am so much olderthan you--and they call me the Awkward Man--they say I am unlike otherpeople"--
"You ARE unlike other people," she said softly, "and that is why I loveyou. I know now that I must have loved you ever since I saw you."
"I loved you long before I saw you," said Jasper.
He came close to her and drew her into his arms, tenderly andreverently, all his shyness and awkwardness swallowed up in the graceof his great happiness. In the old garden he kissed her lips and Aliceentered into her own.