She is a terrible care for him, and like to spoil his life, said Patty.
There are cares that swell the heart and make it bigger and warmer, Patty, just as there are cares that shrivel it and leave it tired and cold. Love lightens Ivorys afflictions but that is something you and I have to do without, so it seems.
I suppose little Rodman is some comfort to the Boyntons, even if he is only ten. Patty suggested.
No doubt. Hes a good little fellow, and though its rather hard for Ivory to be burdened for these last five years with the support of a child whos no nearer kin than a cousin, still hes of use, minding Mrs. Boynton and the house when Ivorys away. The school-teacher says he is wonderful at his books and likely to be a great credit to the Boyntons some day or other.
Youve forgot to name our one great blessing, Waity, and I believe, anyway, youre talking to keep my mind off the earrings!
You mean weve each other? No, Patty, I never forget that, day or night. Tis that makes me willing to bear any burden father chooses to put upon us.Now the bread is set, but I dont believe I have the courage to put a needle into your tender flesh, Patty; I really dont.
Nonsense! Ive got the waxed silk all ready and chosen the right-sized needle and Ill promise not to jump or screech more than I can help. Well make a tiny lead-pencil dot right in the middle of the lobe, then you place the needle on it, shut your eyes, and JAB HARD! I expect to faint, but when I come to, we can decide which of us will pull the needle through to the other side. Probably it will be you, Im such a coward. If it hurts dreadfully, Ill have only one pierced to-day and take the other to-morrow; and if it hurts very dreadfully, perhaps Ill go through life with one ear-ring. Aunt Abby Cole will say its just odd enough to suit me!
Youll never go through life with one tongue at the rate you use it now, chided Waitstill, for it will never last you. Come, well take the work-basket and go out in the barn where no one will see or hear us.
Goody, goody! Come along! and Patty clapped her hands in triumph. Have you got the pencil and the needle and the waxed silk? Then bring the camphor bottle to revive me, and the coral pendants, too, just to give me courage. Hurry up! Its ten oclock. I was born at sun-rise, so Im going on eighteen and cant waste any time!
III. DEACON BAXTERS WIVES
FOXWELL BAXTER was ordinarily called Old Foxy by the boys of the district, and also, it is to be feared, by the men gathered for evening conference at the various taverns, or at one of the rival village stores.
He had a small farm of fifteen or twenty acres, with a pasture, a wood lot, and a hay-field, but the principal source of his income came from trading. His sign bore the usual legend: WEST INDIA GOODS AND GROCERIES, and probably the most profitable articles in his stock were rum, molasses, sugar, and tobacco; but there were chests of rice, tea, coffee, and spices, barrels of pork in brine, as well as piles of cotton and woolen cloth on the shelves above the counters. His shop window, seldom dusted or set in order, held a few clay pipes, some glass jars of peppermint or sassafras lozenges, black licorice, stick-candy, and sugar gooseberries. These dainties were seldom renewed, for it was only a very bold child, or one with an ungovernable appetite for sweets, who would have spent his penny at Foxy Baxters store.
He was thought a sharp and shrewd trader, but his honesty was never questioned; indeed, the only trait in his character that ever came up for general discussion was his extraordinary, unbelievable, colossal meanness. This so eclipsed every other passion in the man, and loomed so bulkily and insistently in the foreground, that had he cherished a second vice no one would have observed it, and if he really did possess a casual virtue, it could scarcely have reared its head in such ugly company.
It might be said, to defend the fair name of the Church, that Mr. Baxters deaconhood did not include very active service in the courts of the Lord. He had experienced religion at fifteen and made profession of his faith, but all well-brought-up boys and girls did the same in those days; their parents saw to that! If change of conviction or backsliding occurred later on, that was not their business! At the ripe age of twenty-five he was selected to fill a vacancy and became a deacon, thinking it might be good for trade, as it was, for some years. He was very active at the time of the Cochrane craze, since any defence of the creed that included lively detective work and incessant spying on his neighbors was particularly in his line; but for many years now, though he had been regular in attendance at church, he had never officiated at communion, and his diaconal services had gradually lapsed into the passing of the contribution-box, a task of which he never wearied; it was such a keen pleasure to make other people yield their pennies for a good cause, without adding any of his own!
Deacon Baxter had now been a widower for some years and the community had almost relinquished the idea of his seeking a fourth wife. This was a matter of some regret, for there was a general feeling that it would be a good thing for the Baxter girls to have some one to help with the housework and act as a buffer between them and their grim and irascible parent. As for the women of the village, they were mortified that the Deacon had been able to secure three wives, and refused to believe that the universe held anywhere a creature benighted enough to become his fourth.
The first, be it said, was a mere ignorant girl, and he a beardless youth of twenty, who may not have shown his true qualities so early in life. She bore him two sons, and it was a matter of comment at the time that she called them, respectively, Job and Moses, hoping that the endurance and meekness connected with these names might somehow help them in their future relations with their father. Pneumonia, coupled with profound discouragement, carried her off in a few years to make room for the second wife, Waitstills mother, who was of different fibre and greatly his superior. She was a fine, handsome girl, the orphan daughter of up-country gentle-folks, who had died when she was eighteen, leaving her alone in the world and penniless.
Baxter, after a few days acquaintance, drove into the dooryard of the house where she was a visitor and, showing her his two curly-headed boys, suddenly asked her to come and be their stepmother. She assented, partly because she had nothing else to do with her existence, so far as she could see, and also because she fell in love with the children at first sight and forgot, as girls will, that it was their father whom she was marrying.
She was as plucky and clever and spirited as she was handsome, and she made a brave fight of it with Foxy; long enough to bring a daughter into the world, to name her Waitstill, and start her a little way on her life journey,then she, too, gave up the struggle and died. Typhoid fever it was, combined with complete loss of illusions, and a kind of despairing rage at having made so complete a failure of her existence.
The next year, Mr. Baxter, being unusually busy, offered a man a good young heifer if he would jog about the country a little and pick him up a housekeeper; a likely woman who would, if she proved energetic, economical, and amiable, be eventually raised to the proud position of his wife. If she was young, healthy, smart, tidy, capable, and a good manager, able to milk the cows, harness the horse, and make good butter, he would give a dollar and a half a week. The woman was found, and, incredible as it may seem, she said yes when the Deacon (whose ardor was kindled at having paid three months wages) proposed a speedy marriage. The two boys by this time had reached the age of discretion, and one of them evinced the fact by promptly running away to parts unknown, never to be heard from afterwards; while the other, a reckless and unhappy lad, was drowned while running on the logs in the river. Old Foxy showed little outward sign of his loss, though he had brought the boys into the world solely with the view of having one of them work on the farm and the other in the store.
His third wife, the one originally secured for a housekeeper, bore him a girl, very much to his disgust, a girl named Patience, and great was Waitstills delight at this addition to the dull household. The mother was a timid, colorless, docile creature, but Patience nevertheless was a sparkling, bright-eyed baby, who speedily became the very centre of the universe to the older child. So the months and years wore on, drearily enough, until, when Patience was nine, the third Mrs. Baxter succumbed after the manner of her predecessors, and slipped away from a life that had grown intolerable. The trouble was diagnosed as liver complaint, but scarcity of proper food, no new frocks or kind words, hard work, and continual bullying may possibly have been contributory causes. Dr. Perry thought so, for he had witnessed three most contented deaths in the Baxter house. The ladies were all members of the church and had presumably made their peace with God, but the good doctor fancied that their pleasure in joining the angels was mild compared with their relief at parting with the Deacon.
I know I hadnt ought to put the care on you, Waitstill, and you only thirteen, poor Mrs. Baxter sighed, as the young girl was watching with her one night when the end seemed drawing near. Ive made out to live till now when Patience is old enough to dress herself and help round, but Im all beat out and cant try any more.
Do you mean Im to take your place, be a mother to Patience, and keep house, and everything? asked Waitstill quaveringly.
I dont see but youll have to, unless your father marries again. Hell never hire help, you know that!
I wont have another mother in this house, flashed the girl. Theres been three here and thats enough! If he brings anybody home, Ill take Patience and run away, as Job did; or if he leaves me alone, Ill wash and iron and scrub and cook till Patience grows up, and then well go off together and hide somewhere. Im fourteen; oh, mother, how soon could I be married and take Patience to live with me? Do you think anybody will ever want me?
Dont marry for a home, Waitstill! Your own mother did that, and so did I, and we were both punished for it! Youve been a great help and Ive had a sight of comfort out of the baby, but I wouldnt go through it again, not even for her! Youre real smart and capable for your age and youve done your full share of the work every day, even when you were at school. You can get along all right.
I dont know how Im going to do everything alone, said the girl, forcing back her tears. Youve always made the brown bread, and mine will never suit father. I suppose I can wash, but dont know how to iron starched clothes, nor make pickles, and oh! I can never kill a rooster, mother, its no use to ask me to! Im not big enough to be the head of the family.
Mrs. Baxter turned her pale, tired face away from Waitstills appealing eyes.
I know, she said faintly. I hate to leave you to bear the brunt alone, but I must! Take good care of Patience and dont let her get into trouble.... You wont, will you?
Ill be careful, promised Waitstill, sobbing quietly; Ill do my best.
Youve got more courage than ever I had; dont you spose you can stiffen up and defend yourself a little mite? Your fatherd ought to be opposed, for his own good but Ive never seen anybody that dared do it. Then, after a pause, she said with a flash of spirit,Anyhow, Waitstill, hes your father after all. Hes no blood relation of mine, and I cant stand him another day; thats the reason Im willing to die.
IV. SOMETHING OF A HERO
IVORY BOYNTON lifted the bars that divided his land from the highroad and walked slowly toward the house. It was April, but there were still patches of snow here and there, fast melting under a drizzling rain. It was a gray world, a bleak, black-and-brown world, above and below. The sky was leaden; the road and the footpath were deep in a muddy ooze flecked with white. The tree-trunks, black, with bare branches, were lined against the gray sky; nevertheless, spring had been on the way for a week, and a few sunny days would bring the yearly miracle for which all hearts were longing.
Ivory was season-wise and his quick eye had caught many a sign as he walked through the woods from his schoolhouse. A new and different color haunted the tree-tops, and one had only to look closely at the elm buds to see that they were beginning to swell. Some fat robins had been sunning about in the school-yard at noon, and sparrows had been chirping and twittering on the fence-rails. Yes, the winter was over, and Ivory was glad, for it had meant no coasting and skating and sleighing for him, but long walks in deep snow or slush; long evenings, good for study, but short days, and greater loneliness for his mother. He could see her now as he neared the house, standing in the open doorway, her hand shading her eyes, watching, always watching, for some one who never came.
Spring is on the way, mother, but it isnt here yet, so dont stand there in the rain, he called. Look at the nosegay I gathered for you as I came through the woods. Here are pussy willows and red maple blossoms and Mayflowers, would you believe it?
Lois Boynton took the handful of budding things and sniffed their fragrance.
Youre late to-night, Ivory, she said. Rod wanted his supper early so that he could go off to singing-school, but I kept something warm for you, and Ill make you a fresh cup of tea.
Ivory went into the little shed room off the kitchen, changed his muddy boots for slippers, and made himself generally tidy; then he came back to the living-room bringing a pine knot which he flung on the fire, waking it to a brilliant flame.
We can be as lavish as we like with the stumps now, mother, for spring is coming, he said, as he sat down to his meal.
Ive been looking out more than usual this afternoon, she replied. Theres hardly any snow left, and though the walking is so bad Ive been rather expecting your father before night. You remember he said, when he went away in January, that he should be back before the Mayflowers bloomed?
It did not do any good to say: Yes, mother, but the Mayflowers have bloomed ten times since father went away. He had tried that, gently and persistently when first her mind began to be confused from long grief and hurt love, stricken pride and sick suspense.
Instead of that, Ivory turned the subject cheerily, saying, Well, were sure of a good season, I think. Theres been a grand snow-fall, and that, they say, is the poor mans manure. Rod and I will put in more corn and potatoes this year. I shant have to work single-handed very long, for he is growing to be quite a farmer.
Your father was very fond of green corn, but he never cared for potatoes, Mrs. Boynton said, vaguely, taking up her knitting. I always had great pride in my cooking, but I could never get your father to relish my potatoes.
Well, his son does, anyway, Ivory replied, helping himself plentifully from a dish that held one of his mothers best concoctions, potatoes minced fine and put together into the spider with thin bits of pork and all browned together.
I saw the Baxter girls to-day, mother, he continued, not because he hoped she would give any heed to what he said, but from the sheer longing for companionship. The Deacon drove off with Lawyer Wilson, who wanted him to give testimony in some case or other down in Milltown. The minute Patty saw him going up Saco Hill, she harnessed the old starved Baxter mare and the girls started over to the Lower Corner to see some friends. It seems its Pattys birthday and they were celebrating. I met them just as they were coming back and helped them lift the rickety wagon out of the mud; they were stuck in it up to the hubs of the wheels. I advised them to walk up the Town-House Hill if they ever expected to get the horse home.