CHAPTER XXIII.
_"Through the shadows of the globe we sweep into the younger day."_
Tennyson
"When the war is over and the boys all get home," Griffith was fond ofsaying, as he sat and talked with Katherine, "how good it will seem justto live! I've seen all the suffering and shadows of tragedy I want tosee for my whole life. The boys and I will make it up to you, Katherine,and these gray hairs that have come," he touched the wavy hair withtender fingers, "these gray hairs that have come since we went away,shall be only memoranda of the past, not heralds of the future."
It was such infinite relief to have him at home and well that Katherinealmost forgot for a time to feel troubled about her sons. News had comedaily from the first about Roy; but now that he was so much improved theletters gradually grew a little less frequent. Sometimes Emma West wrotethem, and then the letters were very minute indeed, and full of anxioushopefulness. Her praise of Roy's fortitude, her descriptions of hiswonderful courage and the insistence with which she assured Katherinethat no duty of all their lives--her father's and mother's--had everbeen done with half so hearty a good-will as was the nursing ofthe young Captain, had in it all a spirit of devotion and a guardedtenderness that Katherine thought she understood. Although it is truethat no girl is ever quite good enough to marry any mother's son,Katherine tried to adjust herself with reasonable fortitude to the ideaof what she thought she saw in the future. Of course it would be manyyears in the future before the finality must be faced, and Katherine waslearning to live in the present and to push aside that which threatenedor even promised, as too uncertain to dwell upon. At last short notes,and then longer ones, from Roy himself began to come, and the timeseemed not far off when the invalid would arrive. It was whollyunlikely, he said, that he would be fit for service again during thewar, unless the war should last much longer than his original term ofenlistment and he should enlist again. Of his final recovery he feltcertain. The crushed side was doing well, and he would be only slightlylame, the doctor said. To get him out of the army by even so heroic aprocess gave his mother comfort, and she felt that she could keep himout now even should he recover before his enlistment period were over,she would, if need be, appeal to Mr. Lincoln, and she felt sure,from all Griffith had told her, that the President would give Roy anhonorable discharge. Two of her _brood_ were safe again, she arguedwith herself, and meantime news from Howard and Beverly was frequent andassuring. Life seemed about to drop into less tragic lines in the littlehousehold. Griffith fell to humming his favorite hymns once more, andsometimes as he sat on the porch and watched or greeted the passers-byor read his paper, he would stop to tell Katherine stories of his recentadventures, where they did not trench too closely upon the sorrowfulmemories of the cold faces and bitter feelings of his one-time friends.To no one else did he speak of where he had been. His townsmen knew thathe had been away, of course. The Bishop and the college trustees aloneknew why. To all others his few months' absence was no more significantthan many another trip he had taken since he came among them. The dutyhe had felt forced to do had been too painful in its nature to make himwilling to discuss it even after it was over. Most of those about himwere bitter toward the South with a bitterness born of ignorance ofconditions and of the times of excitement. To this man, who had passedthrough the fire before the general conflagration was kindled, there wasno bitterness. He understood. His sympathy was still with those who werecaught on the under side of the wheel of progress as it had revolved.His beliefs and convictions had long ago traveled with the advance line;but he left all sense of unkindness and revenge to those who were lesscompetent to see the conflict from the side of understanding, and whojudged it through the abundance of their ignorance and prejudice. ToGriffith it was like watching the tide rise on the sea. It wasunavoidable, and those who were caught out beyond the safety line werebound to go down. He did not blame the sea. He only deplored theinevitable loss, the sorrow, the suffering, and the mistakes which madeit all possible. That his own part of it was in and of the pastlightened his heart. One day as he sat listlessly on the side porchreading his Gazette, he noticed vaguely the half-witted girl, now almostgrown to womanhood, circling about the gate and making aimless passestoward the end of the house. He watched her covertly over his paper fora moment and went on humming, "He leadeth me, oh, blessed thought!" Themovements of the demented creature seemed to take on more definiteness.Griffith arose and stepped to the end of the porch. There sat aunt Judy,smoking her pipe, and swaying her body in time with his humming, "Owords with heavenly comfort fraught! Where'er I go, whate'er Ibe,"--Griffith's step had attracted the old woman and she opened hereyes and looked up at him. "Still 'tis His hand that leadeth me,"Griffith finished, smiling at her.
"Lawd amassy, honey, I des been a settin' heah wid my po' ole eyes shet,a listenin' to dat dar song er yoahrn! Hit sholy do seem des lack oletimes come back agin t' heah yoh sing dat a way! Hit sholy do! Lawsy,honey, dey want no singin' 'roun' heah whilse you wus gone all datlongtime. Dey want dat! Hit wus des dat gloomysome dat hit seem lacksomebody daid _all_ de time. Hit sholy do go good t' set heah an' listenter yoh singin' agin! Hit sholy do, Mos' Grif." She suddenly lookedtoward the street. "Mos' Grif, what dat dare fool gal doin'? She des dolike dat a way _all_ de time. I hain't nebberseed her when she don't dodes dat er way. I ax her wat she want, an I ax er wat ails'er, an' shedon't say nothin' 'tall. She des keep on doin' dat way."
"She's afflicted, aunt Judy. She's a poor afflicted creature and--"
"Lawsy, honey, anybody kin see dat she's 'flicted; but wat I axes yohis, what fer she do dat away at me? She ain' do dat a way at yoh, an'she ain' do dat a way at Mis' Kate--an' she ain' do dat a way at Mis'Marg 'et, needer. Des at me. She tryin' ter witch me. Dat's what!"
Griffith laughed. The point of view was so unexpected and yet so whollycharacteristic that it struck him as humorous beyond the average of auntJudy's mental processes. His laugh rang out loud and clear. His broadshoulders shook. He had grown quite portly, and his face was the pictureof health and fine vigor.
"What fer yoh laugh dat a way, Mos' Grif? Dat dar fool gal would awitched me long time ago if hit hadn't a been fer dat." She took fromher bosom, where it hung from a string, the rabbit foot: "Dat's so. Desas sho' as yo' bawn, honey; dey ain' no two ways 'bout dat!"
The fascination of the strange black face for this clouded intellectseemed never to lose its power. Whenever and wherever Judy had crossedher path all else faded from the half vacant brain, and such mind andattention as there was, fixed itself upon the old colored woman. Judyhad tried every art she possessed to engage the girl in conversation,but with no results. She would continue to circle about and make herpasses of indirection with one hand outstretched and the other hungaimlessly pen dent at her side in that helpless fashion which defiessimulation. Judy had even tried threatening the girl with her cane;but no threat, no coaxing and no cajolery served to free her from thisadmirer who seemed transfixed as a bird is fascinated by a snake--withthe fascination of perplexity and fear--in so far as the vacant soulcould know such lively and definite sensations. Judy had finally--longago--taken refuge in her rabbit foot, and made up her mind that incompetition in the black art, only, was safety. She shook the foot atthe girl, who responded in the usual fashion. How long the contest mighthave lasted it would be difficult to say, had not Griffith walked towardthe gate. The instant the bulk of his body hid the old black woman fromher eyes, nature did the rest. The vacant mind, no longer stimulatedby the sight of the uncanny face, lost all interest and continuity ofthought and wandered aimlessly on; forgetful alike of her recent objectof attention and equally unguided by future intent, her steps followedeach other as a succession of physical movements only, and had no objectand no destination. Aimlessly, listlessly, walking; going no one knewwhere; thinking no one knew what--if, indeed, her poor vague mentaloperations might be classified as thought--living, no one knew why;following the path of least resistance, as how many of her betters havedone and will do to t
he end of time; looking no farther than the scopeof present vision; remembering nothing; learning nothing; an object ofpity, of persecution, of fear or of aversion according as she crossedthe path of civilized or savage, of intelligent and pitiful or ofpitiless ignorance. Griffith watched her as she wove her devious wayand wondered where, in the economy of Nature, such as she could finda useful place, and why, in the providence of God, she had beencast adrift to cumber the earth, to suffer, to endure and at last todie--where and why and how? He was not laughing as he returned to thehouse, and aunt Judy scanned his face narrowly, and then carefullyreplaced the rabbit foot in its resting-place in her bosom.
"Druv' er off. She know! _She_ know a preacher o' de gospil o' de LawdJesus Chris' w'en she see'um! Dey ain't no two ways 'bout dat--'flictedor no 'flicted. Dat dar gal's 'flicted o' course, but she know 'nufter know _dat!_ She been tryin ter witch me, _dat_ she is; but Lawd GodA'mighty, she hain't got no sense, ter try ter witch _dis_ house widMos' Grif an' dat rabbit foot _bofe_ in hit! Dat dar gal's a plum bawnfool ter try dat kine er tricks. She is dat. She's wus dan 'flicted.She's a plum bawn ejiot ter try dat kine er tricks aroun' dese heahdiggins. She is dat! Lawsy, Lawsy, she ain' got no sense worf talkin''bout I Mos' Grif an' dat rabbit foot bofe t' match up wid! Lawsy,Lawsy, dat dar pore 'flicted gal's a plum bawn fool!" And poor old auntJudy, still talking to herself, hobbled into the house, satisfied withher estimate of all parties concerned and content with the world as shefound it, so long as that world contained for her both a Mos' Grif andher precious rabbit foot.
White or black, bond or free, war or peace, were all one to old auntJudy; nothing mattered in all this infinite puzzle called life, ifbut there remained to her these two strongholds of her faith and herdependence! And who shall say that aunt Judy was not wise in her day andgeneration? So wise was she that sorrow, anxiety, and care had passedher lightly by to the end that her eighty years sat upon her shoulderslike a pleasant mantle, adjusted, comfortable to a summer breeze.
CHAPTER XXIV.
_"And what are words? How little these the silence of the soul oppress!
Mere froth,--the foam and flower of seas whose hungering waters heaveand press Against the planets and the sides of night,--mute, yearning,mystic tides!"_
Bulwer.
"I am coming home next month," wrote Roy, "with my wife--the verydearest, sweetest, most lovable and beautiful girl in the whole world.We have decided not to wait, but to be married at once--as soon as shecan get ready, and I a bit stronger--and go home for our bridal trip.The winter at home with you will finish up my recovery (and if anythingon earth could facilitate it, Emma's nursing and care and love will,)and then if the war is not over, of course I'll go back if I amneeded--enlist again. My time is out now; but I hope and believe thatthe war will be over, or, at least, on its last legs by that time,and then I can begin business at once. My own idea is to take thestock-farm, if father is willing, instead of leaving it to those Martinswho don't know the first thing about stock-breeding, and go in forfine horses and a few fine cows, too. I got hold of some books on thosesubjects here. Emma's father used to have a fancy that way, and I'veread up and talked a lot with him on the subject in these four months.Don't you think we could fix the house out there on the place so itwould do very well, indeed, for a couple of young folks who won't careso very much about anything at all but each other?"
Griffith stopped reading the letter to laugh. "Tut, tut, tut! Here'smore love in a cottage business for you. Well, well, I _am_ surprised,Katherine! I am----"
"I am not. I've been expecting it all along--only--I did hope--I didn'tthink it would be quite so _soon_. Roy is only twen----"
"Well, well,'pon my soul, it looks as if you didn't get out of one kindof a frying-pan in this world until you got into another. I was justbuilding all sorts of castles about the future and--and to tell themortal truth, Katherine, I never once thought of making a place for adaughter-in-law! Never once! Why----"
There was a long pause. Griffith finished the letter in silence andhanded it to his wife. As she read--she began back at the beginning--hegazed straight before him with unseeing eyes and a low hum ran alongwith unsteady and broken measure. "'How tedious--mmmm--mm--the hours,Mmmmm--no longer mmm mm; Sweet pros--mmm, swee--et mmm mm mm, mmmm,Ha--ave all mm mm mm mm to me.' But we'll have to expand the castle,Katherine--build on an addition for a daughter-in-law," he said as ifthere had been no break in the conversation, albeit almost half anhour had passed during which each had been wrapped in thought, and thesinging--if Griffith's natural state of vocalization may be called bythat name--was wholly unnoticed by both.
"Yes," said Katherine in a tired voice; "yes, but I had hoped for areunion of--of just ourselves first; but--but--we will try to feel thatshe _is_ one of ourselves--and surely we ought to be very gratefulfor the way they have nursed Roy and--His letter--" Katherine fell todiscussing his letter and the new plans and needs, and how short a timeit would be until they would come.
Little Margaret hailed with delight the idea of a new sister. Theyall remembered the pretty face of the school-girl Emma. Letters ofcongratulation and welcome were written and posted, and it seemed toKatherine that nothing in the whole world could ever either surprise orstartle her any more. She felt sure that whatever should come to her inthe future would find her ready. She would take the outstretched hand ofany new experience and say, "I was expecting you." Her powers seemedto her to have taken up their position upon a level surface and to havelost all ability to rise or fall. The fires had burned too close tohave left material to ever flare up again. There was nothing left, shethought, to kindle a sudden or brilliant blaze. She had accepted thethought of a new daughter with a placidity which shocked herself, whenshe thought of it, until she analyzed her sensations or her lack ofthem.
The month passed. When the happy young creatures came, the very beautyof their faces and forms about the house gave warmth and color. Roy wasstill limping a little and his lung needed care, but he was as handsomeas a young fellow could be, and as proud and bright in his newhappiness as if the earth were his. "Is she not beautiful?" he wouldask twenty-times a day, holding the laughing young wife at arm's length."_Isn't_ she beautiful, father?" and Griffith would pretend to turncritical eyes upon her and tease the son with an assumption that itwas necessary to look for a beauty which was both rare and graciously,brilliantly endowed.
"Well, let me see! L-e-t--me s-e-e! Turn around, daughter--No, notso far--M-mm. Well--it--seems--to--me--she is r-a-t-h-e-r fair!" andGriffith's eyes would twinkle with pleasure when Emma tweaked his earsor drowned his pretense in a dash of music. The old piano gave place toa new one, and the home was once more filled with laughter and musicand a happiness that not even the shadow cast by the thought of the twoabsent ones could make dark enough to veil the spirits of the two whohad come. With the others it had also its infection. So true is it thatafter long and terrible strains we hail partial relief with such peansof joy that the shadows that remain seem only to temper the light thathas burst upon our long darkened vision and to render us only the betterable to bear the relief. Griffith sang the old hymns daily now, and evenessayed to add his uncertain voice to the gay music that Emma and Royflung forth.
"And the nights shall be filled with music, And the thoughts that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away."
Emma's voice rang out clear and sweet, and it seemed to Katherine that,after all, it was very delightful to have a new daughter like this one,and if Roy _must_ marry, why----
Good news continued to come from the front. Howard and Beverly were welland unhurt. In their different ways they wrote cheerful and cheeringletters. Emma grew more radiant every day as she watched the returningcolor come to Roy's cheeks, and one day Griffith took her by both armsas she was flashing past him. He held her at arm's length and laughed.
"Trying to see if I'm pretty, father?" she said saucily, lifting hermouth for a kiss.
"Pretty! pretty! Why, dau
ghter of Babylon, the lilies of the field arenot half so lovely--and Solomon, in all his glory--" He stepped back andfolded his arms. Emma flung both little hands up to his cheeks in glee."Kiss me! oh, you dear old father! Solomon in all his glory never knewyou--didn't have you for a father--and so that is where I have got thebest of Solomon! Poor old Solomon, I wouldn't trade with him!" She ranlaughing down the hall, and Katherine smiled up at her husband.
"What a dear girl she is! I am so glad for Roy--for all of us;"she said. "It is easy and a pleasure to build on an addition to ourair-castles for her."
Griffith bent over to kiss her. "Yes, God has been very good to us allthe days of our lives, Katherine. The struggles have all been outsideof the most sacred--of----" He hesitated as he recalled some of thestruggles, and touched his lips to her hair where the gray was growingdistinct. "But all those seem to be about over, now, and for us the dawnis here and the brilliant day is only just ahead. Ah, little wife, thesun will rise for us to-morrow on a day which shall have no conflict ofsoul before us. How happy we shall be when the other boys get home! Itmakes me feel young again only to think of it I I am going over to theCollege now. A business meeting of the trustees." He smiled back at herand went humming down the lawn: "Joy to the world, the Lord is come!"
Two hours later in the twilight, there was a confused scuffle of feetand babble of muffled voices on the front porch. Katherine, ever on thealert for news from her absent sons, opened the door. A dark, repellentface--the face of an ascetic, cast in the mold of sorrow and soured bythe action of time, was before her. She recognized the pastor of thechurch near by. "Sister Davenport," he said, "you had better step back.We have sad news. We------ He is dead."
"Which one? Which one?" cried Katherine, "Howard or Beverly?" She wasstruggling to push by them out on to the porch. Roy rushed from thehallway and past the group.
"Great God! It is father! It is father!" he cried, and turned to shieldhis mother from the sight. "Come back! Come back!" he said grasping herby the waist and trying to force her into a chair. He had, as we allhave at such times, a vague idea of somehow saving her by gaining time.The little group was staggering into the room and its load was laid uponthe couch. Griffith Davenport was dead. The smile on the face was therestill, but the poor brave heart would beat no more forever.
"Heart failure," some one said, "in the trustees' room."
"In the midst of life we are in death--" began the stem-faced asceticas he took his place near Katherine. Roy had pushed her into a chairand stood holding her about the shoulders. Emma knelt before her withstreaming eyes, looking into the set face. Little Margaret was weepingwith fear. She had never before seen the face of death. She did notunderstand. She only knew that some terrible blow had fallen, and sheclung to aunt Judy and wept.
"In the midst of life we are in death. The Lord giveth, and----"
"Oh, go away, go away!" moaned Katherine, as the monotonous voice andthe tall form of the clergyman forced itself into her consciousnessagain. "Go away and leave me with my dead!" She was dry-eyed andstaring. She sat like one in a dream. She had not reckoned upon_this_ when she had felt that she was ready for anything that shouldcome--anything that could come to her in the future. She was too dazedto grasp or adjust anything now. She only knew that she must be alone."Go away! go away," she said looking up at Roy. He motioned the men andthe minister out and closed and locked the door. When he returned to hismother's side her eyes were shut and her head was thrown back againstthe chair. There were no tears. He beckoned Judy to bring littleMargaret, and he took his mother's arms and put them about the child,and his own were around both. His own eyes were streaming but hers weredry still.
"Mother," he said softly, "mother," She did not answer. Presently sheopened her eyes and they fell upon the child in her arms.
"Poor fatherless child! Poor fatherless child!" she moaned, and thetears gushed forth, but her arms dropped slowly from Margaret's form,and she did not seem to want the child there. The streaming eyestraveled toward the couch and its silent occupant whose trials andstruggles were indeed over at last. Oh, the irony of fate! No conflictof soul was before him, the dawn he had heralded--the brilliant daywas come, was it not? Who was there to say? He was out of bondage atlast--bondage to a conscience and a condition that tortured his brave,sensitive soul. The end of the sacrifice had come, but for what? ToKatherine, as she gazed at him lying there in the gloom, it was deadsea-fruit indeed. She could not think. She only sat and stared, and wasconscious of the dull dead pain--the worthlessness of all things.
Roy bent down and stroked her hair and kissed her. She did not seem toknow. "Shall we go away, too? _All_ of us, mother? Would you rather bealone--with father?"
"Yes," she said feebly. "I will be alone always, alone now, alwaysalone--alone!"
"No, no, mother, you will have _all_ of us--all--all--but him. Wewill----"
"Go away! go away, for a while," she said, and flung herself on herknees beside the couch. "Oh, Griffith, Griffith! What was it all for?All our suffering and trials and hopes and life? What was it all for atlast?" she moaned with her arms about his lifeless form. "What didit all mean? What was it all for, if _this_ is the end? Oh, Griffith,Griffith! what was the use? What was the use--with _this_ for the end! Ifelt so safe about you, darling, now that you were here! I did not eventhink of you! I did not fear it was you! Oh, Griffith, Griffith! this isthe end of all things! This is the end! This is the end! I do not carewhat else comes--I do not care--I do not care! What is a country? Whatare sons to _me_ now? I do not care! I do not care! This is the end!"
Roy had heard her voice and her sobs. He opened the door softly and sawher with her head on the breast of her dead and the long sobbing sighscoming with the silences between.
He closed the door noiselessly again, and took his young wife in hisarms. His voice was choked and broken.
"Emma, my darling, perhaps if you were to go to her--perhaps she wouldknow that _you_ can understand--perhaps you could comfort her, if--"
"No, no, Roy, she would hate me if I were to go in there now--I who haveyou! I who am so happy and so blest! I know! I know, darling. Let heralone--for awhile. Oh, Roy. If it were you! If--if--it were I in there,with--with _you_ dead! Oh, Roy!"
They clung to each other in silence. Both understood. At last he said,holding his wife to his heaving breast: "And we cannot help her! Noteven God can help her now--if there be a God--not even He can help hernow! He would be too late to undo His own cruelty! Ah, love and death!Love and death! how could a good God make both!"
The young wife shuddered and was silent. Her faith could not compassthat situation. Love was too new and too strong. Doubt entered thedoor Love had swung open for these two, and took up his seat at theirfireside forever.
An hour later, as they talked in whispers, Roy said: "To think that weall escaped in battle--and he from worse danger--and now!"
"Mos' Roy, honey, I wisht yoh'd take dis heah rabbit foot in dar t' Mis'Kate! Lawsy, Mos' Roy, she gwine ter go outen her mine if she don'look out. Aunt Judy don' need dis heah foot lack what Mis' Kate do now,honey. You des go in dar an' des kinder put hit inter Mis' Kate's pocketer somewheres. Hit ain't gwine ter do her no harhm--an' mebby hit moutdo'er some kine er good, kase I gwine ter _gib_ hit to her tor keep ferall de time now."
Roy took the proffered gift quite gravely. "Thank you, aunt Judy, youwere always good to us--always. I will take it in there after a while;"he said, and the heroic old soul hobbled away, happy in her supremesacrifice.
It was night.... To Katherine it seemed that the darkness must beeternal. Yet the sun rose on the morrow, and Life took up its threadsand wove on another loom.
THE END.
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