Читать книгу At the Crossroads - Harriet T. Comstock - Страница 7

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Mary-Clare met Noreen at the brook, smiling and calm. The child was trembling and pale, but the touch of her mother’s hand reassured her. It was like waking from a painful dream and finding everything safe and the dream gone.

“I was just coming down the path with Jan-an, Motherly, when I saw him going in the house.”

“Daddy, dear?”

“Yes, Motherly, Daddy. He left a bag in the house; looked all around and then came out. I was ’fraid he was coming to you, so I ran and ran, but Jan-an said she’d stay and fix him if he did.”

“Noreen!” The tone was stern and commanding.

“Well, Motherly, Jan-an said that, but maybe she was just funny.”

“Of course. Just funny. We must always remember, Noreen, that poor Jan-an is just funny.”

“Yes, Motherly.”

Things were reduced to normal by the time the little yellow house was reached. Jan-an was there, crouched by the fireplace, upon which she had kindled a welcoming fire after making sure Larry had not gone up the secret trail.

Rivers was not in evidence, though a weather-stained bag, flung hastily on the floor, was proof of his hurried call. He did not appear all day. As a matter of fact, he was at the mines. Failing to find his wife, he had availed himself of the opportunity of announcing his presence to his good friend Maclin, and getting from him much local gossip, and what approval Maclin vouchsafed.

All day, with Jan-an’s assistance, Mary-Clare prepared for the creature comforts of her husband; while Noreen 42 made nervous trips to door and window. At night Jan-an departed––she seemed glad to go away, but not sure that she ought to go; Mary-Clare laughed her into good humour.

“I jes don’t like the feelings I have,” the girl reiterated; “I’m creepy.”

Mary-Clare packed a bag of food for her and patted her shoulder.

“Come to-morrow,” she said, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, she kissed the yearning, vacant face. “You’re going to the Point, Jan-an?” she asked, and the girl nodded.

Noreen, too, had to be petted into a calmer state––her old aversion to her father sprang into renewed life with each return after an absence. In a few days the child would grow accustomed to his presence and accept him with indifference, at least, but there was always this struggle.

Mary-Clare herself wondered where Larry was; why he delayed, once having come back to the Forest; but she kept to her tasks of preparation and reassuring Noreen, and so the day passed.

At eight o’clock, having eaten supper and undressed the child, she sat in the deep wooden rocker with Noreen in her arms. There was always one story that had power to claim attention when all others failed, and Mary-Clare resorted to it now. Swaying back and forth she told the story of the haunt-wind.

“It was a wonderful wind, Noreen, quite magical. It came from between the south and the east––a wild little wind that ran away and did things on its own account; but it was a good little wind for all that foolish people said about it. It took hold of the bell rope in the belfry, and swung out and out; it swung far, and then it dropped and fluttered about quite dizzily.”

“Touching Jan-an?” Noreen suggested sleepily.

“Jan-an, of course. Making her beautiful and laughing. Waking her from her sad dream, poor Jan-an, and giving her strength to do really splendid things.”

“I love the wild wind!” Noreen pressed closer. “I’m not afraid of it. And it found Aunt Polly and Uncle Peter?”