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A Day Of Fate, a novel by Edward Payson Roe |
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Book 2 - Chapter 20. Thanksgiving Day |
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_ BOOK II CHAPTER XX. THANKSGIVING DAY On the day before Thanksgiving one of my associates clapped me on the shoulder, and said, laughing: "Morton, what's the matter? You are as nervous as a girl on her wedding-day. I've spoken to you twice, and you've not answered. Has one of the dragons got the best of you?" I woke up, and said quietly, "It isn't a dragon this time." Oh, how vividly that evening comes back to me, as I walked swiftly uptown! It would have been torture to have ridden in a lumbering stage or crawling street-car. I scarcely knew what I thrust into my travelling bag. I had no idea what I ate for dinner, and only remember that I scalded myself slightly with hot coffee. Calling a coupe, I dashed off to a late train that passed through the village nearest to the farmhouse. It had been arranged that I should come the following morning, and that Reuben should meet me, but I proposed to give them a surprise. I could not wait one moment longer than I must. I had horrible dreams in the stuffy little room at the village inn, but consoled myself with the thought that "dreams go by contraries." After a breakfast on which mine host cleared two hundred per cent, I secured a light wagon and driver, and started for the world's one Mecca for me. My mind was in a tumult of mingled hope and fear, and I experienced all a young soldier's trepidation when going into his first battle. If she had not come: if she would not listen to me. The cold perspiration would start out on my brow at the very thought. What a mockery Thanksgiving Day would ever become if my hopes were disappointed. Even now I cannot recall that interminable ride without a faint awakening of the old unrest. When within half a mile of the house I dismissed my driver, and started on at a tremendous pace; but my steps grew slower and slower, and when the turn of the road revealed the dear old place just before me, I leaned against a wall faint and trembling. I marked the spot on which I had stood when the fiery bolt descended, and some white shingles indicated the place on the mossy roof where it had burned its way into the home that even then enshrined my dearest treasures. I saw the window at which Emily Warren had directed the glance that had sustained my hope for months. I looked wistfully at the leafless, flowerless garden, where I had first recognized my Eve. "Will her manner be like the present aspect of that garden?" I groaned. I saw the arbor in which I had made my wretched blunder. I had about broken myself of profanity, but an ugly expression slipped out (I hope the good angel makes allowances for human nature). Recalling the vow I had made in that arbor, I snatched up my valise and did not stop till I had mounted the piazza. Further suspense was unendurable. My approach had been unnoted, nor had I seen any of the family. Noiselessly as possible I opened the door and stood within the hallway. I heard Mrs. Yocomb's voice in the kitchen. Reuben was whistling upstairs, and Zillah singing her doll to sleep in the dining-room. I took these sounds to be good omens. If she had not come there would not have been such cheerfulness. With silent tread I stole to the parlor door. At my old seat by the window was Emily Warren, writing on a portfolio in her lap. For a second a blur came over my vision, and then I devoured her with my eyes as the famishing would look at food. Had she changed? Yes, but only to become tenfold more beautiful, for her face now had that indescribable charm which suffering, nobly endured, imparts. I could have knelt to her like a Catholic to his patron saint. She felt my presence, for she looked up quickly. The portfolio dropped from her lap; she was greatly startled, and instinctively put her hand to her side; still I thought I saw welcome dawning in her eyes; but at this moment Zillah sprang into my arms and half smothered me with kisses. Her cries of delight brought Reuben tearing down the stairs, and Mrs. Yocomb, hastening from the kitchen, left the mark of her floury arm on the collar of my coat as she gave me a motherly salute. Their welcome was so warm, spontaneous, and real that tears came into my eyes, for I felt that I was no longer a lonely man without kindred. But after a moment or two I broke away from them and turned to Miss Warren, for after all my Thanksgiving Day depended upon her. She had become very pale, but her eyes were glistening at the honest feeling she had witnessed. I held out my hand, and asked, in a low voice, "May I stay?" "I could not send you away from such friends, Mr. Morton," she said gently, "even had I the right," and she held out her hand. I think I hurt it, for I grasped it as if I were drowning. Reuben had raced down to the barn to call his father, who now followed him back at a pace that scarcely became his age and Quaker tenets. "Richard," he called, as soon as he saw me, "welcome home! Thee's been a long time coming, and yet thee's stolen a march on us after all. Reuben was just going for thee. How did thee get here? There's no train so early." "Oh, I came last night. A ship's cable couldn't hold me the moment I could get away." "Mother, I think that's quite a compliment to us old people," he began, with the humorous twinkle that I so well remembered in his honest eyes. "Has thee seen Adah?" "Yes, indeed, and she sent more love than I could carry to you all. She looked just lovely, and I nearly forgot to go down town that morning." Miss Warren was about to leave the room, but the old gentleman caught her hand and asked: "Where is thee going, Emily?" "Pardon me; I thought you would all have much to say to Mr. Morton." "So we have, to be sure. We won't get half through to-day, but that's no reason for thy leaving us. We are all one family under this roof, thank God, and I'm going to thank Him to-day in good old style and no make-believe;" and he kept her hand as she sat down by him. "If you knew how homesick I've often been you would realize how much good your words do me," she replied gratefully. "So thee's been homesick, has thee? Well, thee didn't let us know." "What good would it have done? I couldn't come before." "Well, I am kind of glad thee was homesick. The missing wasn't all on our side. Why, Richard, thee never saw such a disconsolate household as we were after Emily left. I even lost my appetite--didn't I, mother?--and that's more than I've done for any lady since Ebenezer Holcomb cut me out of thy company at a picnic--let me see, how many years ago is it, mother?" "Thee doesn't think I remember such foolishness, I hope," said the old lady; but with a rising color almost pretty as the blush I had seen so recently on Adah's face. Mr. Yocomb leaned back and laughed. "See mother blush," he cried. "Poor Ebenezer!" "Thee'll want more than light nonsense for thy dinner by and by, so I must go back to the kitchen." As she turned away she gave a sweet suggestion of the blushing girl for whom Ebenezer had sighed in vain, and I said emphatically, "Yes, indeed, Mr. Yocomb, you may well say 'Poor Ebenezer!' How in the world did he ever survive it?" "Thee's very sympathetic, Richard." Miss Warren looked at him threateningly. I tried to laugh it off, and said, "Even if he had a millstone for a heart, it must have broken at such a loss." "Oh, don't thee worry. He's a hale and hearty grandfather to-day." Miss Warren broke into a laugh that set all my nerves tingling. "Yes," she cried, "I thought it would end in that way." "Why, Emily, bless thee!" said Mrs. Yocomb, running in, "I haven't heard thee laugh so since thee came." "She's at her old tricks," said her husband; "laughing at Richard and me." I found her merriment anything but reassuring, and I muttered under my breath: "Perdition on Ebenezer and his speedy comfort! I hope she don't class me with him." Very soon Mrs. Yocomb appeared again, and said: "Father, thee must take them all out to drive. I can't do anything straight while I hear you all talking and laughing, for my thoughts are with you. I've put salt into one pie already. A Thanksgiving dinner requires one's whole mind." "Bustle, bustle, all get ready. Mother's mistress of this house on Thanksgiving Day, if at no other time. We're commanded to obey the 'powers that be,' and if the woman who can get up such a dinner as mother can isn't a 'power,' I'd like to know where we'll find one. I'm very meek and respectful on Thanksgiving morning. Get on thy wraps, Emily. No mutiny before dinner." She seemed very ready to go, for I think she dreaded being left alone with me. I, too, was glad to gain time, for I was strangely unnerved and apprehensive. She avoided meeting my eyes, and was inscrutable. In a few moments we were in the family rockaway, bowling over the country at a grand pace. "Mother's shrewd," said Mr. Yocomb; "she knew that a ride like this in the frosty air would give us an appetite for any kind of a dinner, but it will make hers taste like the Feast of Tabernacles. Let 'em go, Reuben, let 'em go!" "Do you call this a Quaker pace?" asked Miss Warren, who sat with Zillah on the back seat. "Yes, I'm acting just as I feel moved. Thee's much too slow for a Friend, Emily. Now I'll wager thee a plum that Richard likes it. Doesn't thee, Richard?" "Suppose a wheel should come off," I suggested. "I'm awfully nervous to-day. I was sure the train would break down or run off the track last night; then I had horrible dreams at the hotel." "Why, Mr. Morton!" Miss Warren exclaimed, "what did you eat for supper?" "Bless me! I don't know. Come to think of it, I didn't have any." "Did thee have any breakfast?" asked Mr. Yocomb, who seemed greatly amused. "I believe so. I went through the motions." "Drive slow, Reuben; Richard's afraid he'll have his neck broken before dinner;" and they all had a great laugh at my expense. "I've won the plum this time," cried Miss Warren. "Thee has indeed, and thee deserves it sure enough." I looked around at her, but could not catch her eyes. My efforts to emulate Mr. Yocomb's spirit were superhuman, but my success was indifferent. I was too anxious, too doubtful concerning the girl who was so gentle and yet so strong. She had far more quietude and self- mastery than I, and with good reason, for she was mistress of the situation. Still, I gathered hope every hour, for I felt that her face would not be so happy, so full of brightness, if she proposed to send me away disappointed, or even put me off on further probation. Nevertheless, my Thanksgiving Day would not truly begin until my hope was confirmed. Dinner was smoking on the table when we returned, and it was so exceedingly tempting that I enjoyed its aroma with much of Mr. Yocomb's satisfaction, and I sat down at his right, feeling that if one question were settled I would be the most thankful man in the land. We bowed our heads in grace; but after a moment Mr. Yocomb arose, and with uplifted face repeated words that might have been written for the occasion, so wonderfully adapted to human life is the Book of God. "'Bless the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless His holy name. "'Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits: "'Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases; "'Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with loving kindness and tender mercies. "'Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's.'" Never was there a grace so full of grace before. If a kind earthly father looks with joy on his happy children, so surely the divine Father must have smiled upon us. In the depths of my heart I respected a faith that was so simple, genuine, and full of sunshine. Truly, it had come from heaven, and not from the dyspeptic creeds of cloistered theologians. "Father," cried Zillah, "thee looked like my picture of King David." "Well, I'm in a royal mood," replied her father, "and I don't believe King David ever had half so good a dinner as mother has provided. Such a dinner, Richard, is the result of genius. All the cookbooks in the world couldn't account for it, and I don't believe mother has read one of them." "Thee must give Cynthia part of the credit," protested his wife. "She's the woman who says 'Lord a massy,' and insists that I was struck with lightning, isn't she?" and I glanced toward Miss Warren, but she wouldn't meet my eye. Her deepening color told of a busy memory, however. Mr. Yocomb began to laugh so heartily that he dropped his knife and fork on the table and leaned back in his chair quite overcome. "Father, behave thyself," his wife remonstrated. At last the old gentleman set to work in good earnest. "Emily," he said, "this is that innocent young gobbler that thee so commiserated. Thee hasn't the heart to eat him, surely." "I'll take a piece of the breast, if you please." "Wouldn't thee like his heart?" "No, I thank you." "What part would thee like, Richard?" "Anything but his wings and legs. They would remind me how soon I must go back to awful New York." "Not before Second Day." "Yes, sir, to-morrow morning. An editor's play-spells are few and far between." "Well, Richard, thee thrives on work," said Mrs. Yocomb. "Yes. I've found it good for me." "And you have done good work, Mr. Morton," added Miss Warren. "I like your paper far better now." "But you stopped it." "Did you find that out?" "Indeed I did, and very quickly." "My cousin, Mrs. Vining, took the paper." "Yes, I know that, too." "Why, Mr. Morton! do you keep track of all your readers? The circulation of your paper cannot be large." "I looked after Mrs. Vining carefully, but no further." "I shall certainly tell her of your interest," she said, with her old mirthful gleam. "Please do. The people at the office would be agape with wonder if they knew of the influence resulting from Mrs. Vining's name being on the subscription list." "Not a disastrous influence, I trust?" "It has occasioned us some hot work. My chief says that nearly all the dragons in the country are stirred up." "And some of them have been sorely wounded-I've noted that too," said the girl, flushing with pleasure in spite of herself. "Yes, please tell Mrs. Vining that also. Credit should be given where it's due." Her laugh now rang out with its old-time genuineness. "Cousin Adelaide would be more agape than the people of your office. I think the dragons owe their tribulations to your disposition to fight them." "If you could see some words in illuminated text over my desk you would know better." "Mr. Yocomb, don't you think we are going to have an early winter?" she asked abruptly, with a fine color in her face. "I don't think it's going to be cold--not very cold, Emily. There are prospects of a thaw to-day;" and the old gentleman leaned back in his chair and shook with suppressed merriment. "Father, behave thyself. Was there ever such a man!" Mrs. Yocomb exclaimed reproachfully. "I know you think there never was and never will be, Mrs. Yocomb," I cried, controlling myself with difficulty, for the old gentleman's manner was irresistibly droll and instead of the pallor that used to make my heart ache, Miss Warren's face was like a carnation rose. My hope grew apace, for her threatening looks at Mr. Yocomb contained no trace of pain or deep annoyance, while the embarrassment she could not hide so enhanced her loveliness that it was a heavy cross to withhold my eager eyes. Reuben kindly came to our relief, for he said: "I tell thee what it is, mother: I feel as if we ought to have Dapple in here with us." "Emily, wouldn't thee rather have Old Plod?" Mr. Yocomb asked. "No!" she replied brusquely; and this set her kind tormentor off once more. But an earnest look soon came into his face, and he said, with eyes moist with feeling: "Well, this is a time of thanksgiving, and never before in all my life has my heart seemed so full of gladness and gratitude. Richard, I crept in this old home when I was a baby, and I whistled through the house just as Reuben does. In this very room my dear old father trimmed my jacket for me, God bless him! Oh, I deserved it richly; but mother's sorrowful looks cut deeper, I can tell thee. It was to this home I brought the prettiest lass in the county--what am I saying?-- the prettiest lass in the world. No offence to thee, Emily; thee wasn't alive then. If every man had such a home as thee has made for me and the children, mother, the millennium would begin before next Thanksgiving. In this house my children were born, and here they have played. I've seen their happy faces in every nook and corner, and with everything I have a dear association. In this home we bade good-by to our dear little Ruth; she's ours still, mother, and she is at home, too, as we are; but everything in this house that our little angel child touched has become sacred to me. Ah, Richard, there are some things in life that thee hasn't learned yet, and all the books couldn't teach thee; but what I have said to thee reveals a little of my love for this old home. How I love those whom God has given me, only He knows. Well, He directed thy random steps to us one day last June, and we welcomed thee as a stranger. But thee has a different welcome to-day, Richard--a very different welcome. Thee doesn't like to hear about it; but we never forget." "No, Richard, we never forget," Mrs. Yocomb breathed softly. "Do you think, sir, that I forget the unquestioning hospitality that brought me here? Can you think, Mrs. Yocomb, I ever forget the words you spoke to me in yonder parlor on the evening of my arrival? or that I should have died but for your devoted and merciful care? This day, with its hopes, teaches me how immeasurable would have been my loss, for my prospects then were not bright for either world. Rest assured, dear friends, I have my memories too. The service I rendered you any man would have given, and it was my unspeakable good-fortune to be here. But the favors which I have received have been royal; they are such as I could not receive from others, because others would be incapable of bestowing them." "You are right, Mr. Morton," Miss Warren began impetuously, her lovely eyes full of tears. "I, too, have received kindnesses that could not come from others, because others would not know how to confer them with your gentleness and mercy, Mrs. Yocomb. Oh! oh! I wish I could make you and your husband know how I thank you. I, too, never forget. But if we talk this way any more, I shall have to make a hasty retreat." "Well, I should say this _was_ a thanksgiving dinner," remarked Reuben sententiously. Since we couldn't cry, we all laughed, and I thanked the boy for letting us down so cleverly. The deep feeling that memories would evoke in spite of ourselves sank back into the depths of our hearts. The shadow on our faces passed like an April cloud, and the sunshine became all the sweeter and brighter. "If Adah were only here!" I cried. "I miss her more and more every moment, and the occasion seems wholly incomplete without her." "Yes, dear child, I miss her too, more than I can tell you," said Mrs. Yocomb, her eyes growing very tender and wistful. "She's thinking of us. Doesn't thee think she has improved? She used to read those magazines thee sent her till I had to take them away and send her to bed." "I can't tell you how proud I am of Adah. It was like a June day to see her fair sweet face in the city, and it would have had done your hearts good if you could have heard how she spoke of you all." "Adah is very proud of her big brother, too, I can tell thee. She quotes thy opinions on all occasions." "The one regret of my visit is that I shall not see her," Miss Warren said earnestly. "Mrs. Yocomb, I have those roses she gave me the day before I left you last summer, and I shall always keep them. I told Cousin Adelaide that they were given to me by the best and most beautiful girl in the world." "God bless the girl!" ejaculated Mr. Yocomb; "she has become a great comfort and joy to me;" and his wife smiled softly and tenderly. "Adah is so good to me," cried Zillah, "that if Emily hadn't come I wouldn't have half enjoyed the day." "What does thee think of that view of the occasion, Richard?" asked Mr. Yocomb. "Zillah and I always agreed well together," I said; "but I wish Adah knew how much we miss her." "She shall know," said her mother. "I truly wish we had all of our children with us to-day; for, Richard, we have adopted thee and Emily without asking your consent. I think the lightning fused us all together." I looked with a quick flash toward Miss Warren, but her eyes were on the mother, and they were full of a daughter's love. "Dear Mrs. Yocomb," I replied, in a voice not over-steady, "you know that as far as fusing was concerned I was the worst struck of you all, and this day proves that I am no longer without kindred." But how vain the effort to reproduce the light and shade that filled the quaint, simple room! How vain the attempt to make the myriad ripples of that hour flow and sparkle again, each one of us meanwhile conscious of the depths beneath them! _ |
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