Читать книгу Shifting Sands - Sara Ware Bassett - Страница 6

Table of Contents

The village store, grandiloquently styled by a red sign the Wilton Emporium, was thronged with the usual noontime crowd.

It was a still, grey day, murky with fog and the odors of wet oilskins, steaming rubber coats, damp woolens blended with a mixture of tar, coffee and tobacco smoke, made its interior thick and stuffy. Long ago the air-tight stove had consumed such remnants of oxygen as the room contained. The windows reeked with moisture; the floor was gritty with sand.

These discomforts, however, failed to be of consequence to the knot of men who, rain or shine, congregated there at mail time. They were accustomed to them. Indeed, a drizzle, far from keeping the habitués away, rendered the meeting place unusually popular. Not but that plenty of work, capable of being performed as well in foul as in fair weather, could not have been found at home.

Zenas Henry Brewster's back stairs were at the very moment crying out for paint; the leg was off his hair-cloth sofa; the pantry window stuck; the bolt dangled from his side door and could have been wrenched off with a single pull.

Here was an ideal opportunity to make such repairs. Yet, why take today?

Nobody really saw the stairs. If the sofa pitched the brick tucked underneath, it at least prevented it from lurching dangerously. The pantry window was as well closed as open, anyway. And as for the side door—if it was not bolted at all, no great harm would result.

"Nobody's got in yet," Zenas Henry optimistically philosophized as, despite his wife's protests, he slipped into his sou'wester, "an' I see no cause to think thieves will pitch on today to come. Fur's that goes, Wilton ain't never had a burglary in all its history. We could leave all the bolts off the doors."

To this cheery observation he added over his shoulder a jaunty "Goodbye!" and, striding out through the shed, was off to join his cronies.

The argument with Abbie had not only delayed him, but had left him a bit irritated, and he was more nettled still to find, when he crossed the threshold of the post-office, that the daily conclave was in full swing. Nevertheless, the session had not become as interesting as it would after those who dropped in simply to call for mail or make purchases had thinned out. He had, to be sure, missed seeing the letters distributed, but the best yet remained.

Shuffling over to the counter where his friends were huddled, Zenas Henry unostentatiously joined them.

"Yes-siree, there'll be somethin' doin' in Wilton now," Enoch Morton, the fish-man, was saying. "That sand bar's goin' to be the centre of the town, if I don't miss my guess. There'll be more'n Charlie Eldridge fishin' in the channel."

A laugh greeted the prediction.

"Who's seen her?" Captain Benjamin Todd inquired.

"I have," came the piping voice of Lemuel Gill. "Me and 'Becca rowed over from Belleport Saturday. We went a-purpose, takin' some jelly to Marcia as an excuse. The girl's Jason's niece all right, same's folks say, though she looks no more like him than chalk like cheese. A prettier little critter 'twould be hard to find. It 'pears that at the outset Marcia invited her for no more'n a short visit. Inside the week, though, the two of 'em have got so friendly, Sylvia's sent home for her trunk, an' is plannin' to stay all summer. She's head over heels in love with the place. I'm almighty glad she's come, too, for it's goin' to be grand for Marcia, who must be lonely enough out there with only the setter for company."

"It's her own fault. She could have other companions was she so minded," declared Captain Phineas Taylor, significantly.

"Oh, we all know that, Phineas," agreed the gentle Lemuel Gill. "There's plenty of folks hankerin' to be comrades to Marcia. The only trouble is she doesn't want 'em."

"With this girl at her elbow, she'll want 'em even less, I reckon," Asaph Holmes interposed.

"Mebbe. Still, I figger that ain't a-goin' to discourage her admirers none. Why, within the week Sylvia's been here, I happen to know Marcia's had four buckets of clams, a catch of flounders, an' a couple of cuts of sword-fish presented to her," Ephraim Wise, the mail carrier announced.

"That stray blue-fish of Charlie Eldridge's must 'a' swelled the collection some, too," put in Lemuel. "When I asked Charlie what he done with it, he owned he left it over at the Homestead. He said he never wanted to see another fish long's he lived."

"That ain't all the gifts The Widder's had, neither," volunteered Silas Nickerson, the postmaster, who now joined the group. "Not by a long shot. I can see the whole of that spit of sand from my back porch, an' often after I've had my supper an' set out there smokin' an' sorter—"

"Sorter keepin' a weather eye out," chuckled a voice.

"Smokin' an' takin' the air," repeated Silas, firmly. "I look in that direction, 'cause it's a pleasant direction to look. That's how I come to know more'n one lobster's been sneaked to Marcia after dusk."

"I don't so much mind folks makin' Marcia friendly donations," Captain Jonas Baker declared with guilty haste. "In my opinion, it's right an' proper they should. But when it comes to Eleazer Crocker, who's head of the fire department an' undertaker as well, goin' over there for the entire evenin' with the keys to the engine house in his pocket, I think the town oughter take some action 'bout it. S'pose there was to be a fire an' him hemmed in by the tide t'other side the channel? The whole village might burn to the ground 'fore ever he could be fetched home."

"That certainly ain't right," Zenas Henry agreed. "Eleazer'd either oughter hang the keys on a bush near the shore or leave 'em with some responsible person when he goes a-courtin'."

"When you went courtin', would you 'a' wanted the whole town made aware of it?" queried Enoch Morton.

Chagrined, Zenas Henry colored.

"Well, anyhow, he's got no business goin' off the mainland. Even if there ain't a fire, somebody might die. He's a mighty important citizen, an' his place is at home."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that fur," soothed peace-loving Lemuel Gill. "Fires an' dyin' don't happen every day."

"No. But when they do come, they're liable to come sudden," maintained Zenas Henry stoutly.

"Not always. Besides, we've got to go a bit easy with Eleazer. Remember from the first he warn't anxious to be undertaker, anyway. He said so over an' over again," put in the gruff voice of Benjamin Todd. "He 'xplained he hadn't a mite of talent for the job an' no leanin's toward it. It was foisted on him 'gainst his will."

"Well, somebody had to be undertaker. I didn't hanker to be town sheriff, but I got hauled into bein'," rejoined Elisha Winslow. "In a place small as this honors sometimes go a-beggin' unless folks muster up their public spirit."

"I don't see, 'Lish, that the duties of sheriff have been so heavy here in Wilton that they've undermined your health," grinned Captain Phineas Taylor. "You ain't been what one could call over-worked by crime. Was you to need a pair of handcuffs in a hurry, it's my belief you wouldn't be able to find 'em. As for Eleazer—nobody's died for nigh onto a year; an' the only fire that's took place was a brush one that we put out 'most an hour 'fore the key to the engine-house could be found, the door unlocked, an' the chemical coaxed into workin'."

"That's true enough," conceded Captain Benjamin. "Still, I'll bet you a nickel was you to come down hard on Eleazer, an' tell him that in future he'd have to choose 'twixt undertakin' an' courtin', he'd pick the courtin'. He's human. You can't press a man too hard. Besides, you've no right to blame that mix-up 'bout the engine-house key on him, Cap'n Phineas. Give the devil his due. Eleazer warn't responsible for that. His sister borrowed the brass polish for her candle-sticks an' afterward slipped the key into her pocket by mistake. Remember that? At the minute the fire broke out she was leadin' a women's missionary meetin' at the church an' was in the act of prayin' for the heathens out in China. It didn't seem decent to interrupt either her or the Lord. Unluckily the prayer turned out to be an uncommon long one an' in consequence the chemical got delayed."

"Well, anyhow, I'm glad this niece of Marcia's come," broke in Lemuel Gill, shifting the subject. "She's a pleasant little critter an' will kinder stir things up."

"Oh, there's no danger but she'll do that all right, Lemmy," Zenas Henry drawled. "You can generally depend on a pretty girl to raise a rumpus. Give her a month in town an' she'll most likely have all the male population cuttin' one another's throats."

Fortunately both Marcia and Sylvia were at the moment too far out of ear-shot for this menacing prediction to reach them. Cut off by curtains of fog and a tide that foamed through the channel, they were standing in the homestead kitchen.

The builder of it would have laughed to scorn the present day apology for an interior so delightful.

Here was a room boasting space enough for an old-fashioned brick oven; an oil stove; two sand-scrubbed tables, snow white and smooth as satin; a high-backed rocker cushioned in red calico; braided rugs and shelves for plants. A regal kitchen truly—one that bespoke both comfort and hospitality.

The copper tea kettle, singing softly and sending up a genial spiral of steam, gleamed bright as sunshine; and the two big pantries, through which one glimpsed rows of shining tins and papered shelves laden with china, contributed to the general atmosphere of homeliness.

Fog might shroud the outer world in its blanket of unreality, but it was powerless to banish from Marcia's kitchen the cheer which perpetually reigned there.

Before the fire, stretched upon his side, lay Prince Hal, his body relaxed, his eyes drowsy with sleep; while from her vantage-ground on the rocking-chair above, the tiger kitten, Winkie-Wee, gazed watchfully down upon his slumbers.

It was Sylvia, however, who, in a smock of flowered chintz, lent the room its supreme touch of color. She looked as if all the blossoms in all the world had suddenly burst into bloom and twined themselves about her slender body.

Out of their midst rose her head, golden with curls and her blue eyes, large and child-like.

With her coming, a new world had opened to Marcia.

The girl's lightness of touch on life; her irrepressible gaiety; her sense of humor and unique point of view all bespoke a newer generation and one far removed from her aunt's environment. Not that she was without moral standards. She had them, but they were kept far in the background and were not the strained and anxious creeds which the woman of New England ancestry had inherited.

To see Sylvia jauntily sweep aside old conventions; to behold the different emphasis she put upon familiar problems; to witness her audacious belittling of issues her elders had been wont to grapple with was an experience that continually shocked, stimulated, challenged and amused.

Yet, there was something big and wholesome in it withal; something refreshingly sincere and free from morbidity; a high courage that took things as they came and never anticipated calamity.

Marcia found herself half reluctantly admiring this splendidly normal outlook; this mixture of sophistication and naïveté; her niece's novel and definitely formed opinions.

For, youthful though Sylvia was, she had personality, character, stratums of wisdom far in advance of her years. A very intriguing companion, Marcia admitted, one of whose many-sidedness she would not soon tire.

"Now what shall our menu be, Marcia, dear?" she was asking. "Remember, according to our compact, it is my turn to get the dinner."

"Anything but fish!" Marcia answered with a groan. "I'm so tired of salt-water products it seems as if never again could I touch another."

"But my dear, if you will have a stag line of nautical admirers, what can you expect? You must pay the penalty. Besides, I think you're ungrateful," Sylvia pouted. "I love clams and other sea foods."

"You've not had so many of them in your lifetime as I have. Besides, I suspect you are not telling the truth. Come, confess. Aren't you a wee bit fed up on clams? Clam chowder Monday night, steamed clams Tuesday noon; clam fritters Tuesday night. And then that blue-fish. Why, it was big as a shark! I almost lost my courage when the sword-fish and the flounders came, but fortunately with the aid of Prince Hal and the kitten, we disposed of them fairly well. The lobsters, alas, yet remain. I used to think it would be romantic to be a Lorelei and live deep down beneath the waves; but this avalanche of fish—!" Despairingly she shrugged her shoulders.

Sylvia laughed.

"I don't feel at all like that. I've had a feast of fish and enjoyed it. But if I were to express a preference it would be for the hard-shelled suitors. Do select one of those for a husband, Marcia," begged she, whimsically. "The others are all very well. Indeed, that blue-fish swain was magnificent in his way, but me for the crustaceans."

"Sylvia! You absurd child!"

"Just consider the clam character for a moment—so silent, so close-mouthed; never stirring up trouble or wanting to be out nights. In my opinion, he would be an ideal helpmate. Not sensitive, either; nor jealous. Marcia, do marry one of the clams!

"I'm not so sure," went on the girl reflectively, "whether he would be affectionate. He seems somewhat undemonstrative. Still, contrast him with the lobster. Oh, I realize the lobster has more style, originality, and is more pretentious in every way. However, say what you will, he is grasping by nature and has a much less gentle disposition. Besides, he is restless and always eager to be on the move.

"Yes, all things taken together, I lean strongly toward a nice, peaceable clam husband for you, Marcia. He'd be twice as domestic in his tastes. I acknowledge the blue-fish has more back-bone, but you do not need that. You have plenty yourself. Most women, I suppose, would be carried away by his dash, his daring, his persistence. He has a certain sporty quality that appeals; but he is so outrageously stubborn! He never gives in until he has to. He'd be dreadful to live with."

"Sylvia, you are ridiculous!" Marcia protested. "You forget I am your aunt."

"My mistake. I did forget it, I'll confess; and what's more I probably always shall. To me you are just a girl I'd be head-over-heels in love with if I were a man. I don't blame all the clams, lobsters, and flounders for flocking over here to make love to you."

"Stop talking nonsense."

"But it isn't nonsense. It's the truth. Isn't that precisely what they're doing? You certainly are not deluding yourself into thinking these men come gallivanting out here over the flats with the mere philanthropic purpose of seeing you don't starve to death, do you?" Sylvia demanded.

"Perhaps they come to see you," hedged Marcia feebly.

"Me! Now Marcia, pray do not resort to deceit and attempt to poke this legion of mermen off on me. As a relative, I insist on having a truthful, respectable aunt. Consider my youth. Isn't it your Christian duty to set me a good example? Whether you wed any of these nautical worshippers or not is your own affair. But at least honesty compels you to acknowledge they're your property."

A shadow, fleet as the rift in a summer cloud, passed over Marcia's face, but transient as it was Sylvia, sensitively attuned and alert to changes of mood in others, noticed it.

"What a little beast I am, Marcia," she cried, throwing her arm impulsively about the other woman. "Forgive my thoughtlessness. I wouldn't have hurt you for the world. You know I never saw Uncle Jason. He left home when I was a child and is no reality to me. Even mother remembered him only as he was when a boy. She kept a little picture of him on her bureau, and on his birthdays always placed flowers beside it. She was fond of him, because he was only six when Grandmother died. After that, Mother took care of him and brought him up. She worried a good deal about him, I'm afraid, for it was a great responsibility and she herself was nothing but a girl. However, she did the best she could."

Sylvia stole a look at Marcia who had stiffened and now stood with eyes fixed on the misty world outside.

"Mother felt sorry, hurt, that Uncle Jason should have left home as he did, and never came back to see her. He was an impulsive, hot-headed boy and she said he resented her watchfulness and authority. But even though he ran away in a moment of anger, one would think years of absence would have smoothed away his resentment.

"For a little while he wrote to her; then gradually even his letters stopped. She never knew what sort of a man he became. Once she told me she supposed there must be lots of mothers in the world who merely sowed and never reaped—never saw the results of their care and sacrifice."

"Jason—Jason loved your mother," Marcia murmured in a voice scarcely audible. "I am sure of that."

"But if he loved her, why didn't he come to see her? I know it was a long journey, but if he could only have come once—just once. It would have meant so much!"

"Men are selfish—unfeeling. They forget," replied Marcia, bitterly. "You give your life to them and they toss aside your love and devotion as if it were so much rubbish."

The outburst, sharp with pain, burst from her involuntarily, awing Sylvia into silence.

What did she know of Jason, that dim heritage of her childhood? Of Marcia? Of their life together, she suddenly asked herself.

Dismayed, she stole a glance at her companion.

It was as if idly treading a flower-strewn path she had without warning come upon the unplumbed depths of a volcano's crater.

To cover the awkwardness of the moment, she bent to caress Prince Hal who had risen and stood, alert and listening beside her.

Only an instant passed before Marcia spoke again—this time with visible effort to recapture her customary manner.

"Suppose we have lobster Newburg this noon," suggested she. "I'll get the chafing-dish. What's the matter, Hal, old man? You look worried. Don't tell me you hear more fish swimming our way?"