The Old Gray Homestead

by Frances Parkinson Keyes

  CHAPTER XXI

  Uncle Mat, whose long-postponed visit was at last taking place, sattalking in front of the fire in Sylvia's living-room with the "newminister." The room was bright with many candles, and early fall flowersfrom her own garden stood about in clear glass vases. In the dining-roombeyond, they could see the two servants moving around the table, laid forsupper. A man's voice, whistling, and the sound of rapidly approachingfootsteps, came up the footpath from the Homestead. And at the samemoment, the door of Sylvia's own room opened and shut and there was therustle of silk and the scent of roses in the hall.

  A moment later she came in, her arm on Austin's. Her neck and arms werebare, as he loved to see them, and her white silk dress, brocaded in tinypink rosebuds, swept soft and full about her. A single string of greatpearls fell over the lace on her breast, and almost down to her waist,and there was a high, jewelled comb in her low-dressed hair. She leanedover her uncle's chair.

  "Austin says the others are on their way. Am I all right, do you think,Uncle Mat?"

  "You look to me as if you had stepped out of an old French painting," hesaid, pinching her rosy cheek; "I'm satisfied with you. But the questionarises, is Austin? He's so fussy."

  Austin laughed, straightening his tie. "I can't fuss about this dress,"he said, "for I chose it myself. But I'm not half the tyrant you all makeme out--I'm wearing white flannel to please her. Is there plenty ofsupper, Sylvia? I'm almost starved."

  "I know enough to expect a man to be hungry, even if he's going to behanged--or married," she retorted, "but I'll run out to the kitchen oncemore, just to make sure that everything is all right."

  The third of September had come at last. There was no question, thistime, of a wedding in St. Bartholomew's Church, with twelve bridesmaidsand a breakfast at Sherry's; no wonderful jewels, no press notices,almost no trousseau. Austin's family, Uncle Mat, and a few close friendscame to Sylvia's own little house, and when the small circle wascomplete, she took her uncle's arm and stood by Austin's side, while the"new minister" married them. Thomas was best man; Molly, for the secondtime that summer, maid-of-honor. Sadie and James were missing, but as "awedding present" came a telegram, announcing the safe arrival of anine-pound baby-girl. Edith was not there, either, and the date ofsailing for Holland had been postponed. She had gained less rapidly thanthey had hoped, and still lay, very pale and quiet, on the sofa betweenthe big windows in her room. But she was not left alone when the rest ofthe family departed for Sylvia's house; for Peter sat beside her in thetwilight, his big rough fingers clasping her thin white ones.

  There proved to be "plenty of supper," and soon after it was finished theguests began to leave, Uncle Mat with many imprecations at Sylvia's "lackof hospitality in turning them out, such a cold night." Even the twocapable servants, having removed all traces of the feast, came to herwith many expressions of good-will, and the assurance of "comin' backnext season if they was wanted," and departed to take the night trainfrom Wallacetown for New York. By ten o'clock the white-panelled frontdoor with its brass knocker had opened and shut for the last time, andAustin bolted it, and turned to Sylvia, smiling.

  "Well, _Mrs. Gray_," he said, "you're locked in now--far from all thesights and sounds that made your youth happy--shop-windows, and hoteldining-rooms, the slamming of limousine doors, and the clinking of ice incocktail-shakers. Your last chance of escape is gone--you've signed andsealed your own death-warrant."

  "Austin! don't joke--to-night!"

  "My dear," he asked, lifting her face in his hands, "did you never jokebecause you were afraid--to show how much you really felt?"

  "Yes," she replied, "very often. But there's nothing in the whole worldfor me to be afraid of now."

  "So you're really ready for me at last?" he whispered.

  * * * * *

  Whatever she answered--or even if she did not answer at all--to allappearances, Austin was satisfied. His mother, seeing him for the firsttime three days later, was almost startled at the radiance in his face.It was, perhaps, a strange honeymoon. But those who thought so had felt,and rightly, that it was a strange marriage. After the first few days,Austin spent every day at the farm, as usual, walking back to the littlebrick cottage for his noonday dinner, and leaving after the milking wasdone at night; and Sylvia, dressed in blue gingham, cooked and cleanedand sewed, and put her garden in shape for the winter. In spite of heryear's training at Mrs. Gray's capable hands, she made mistakes; sheburnt the grape jelly, and forgot to put the brown sugar into the sweetpickle, and took the varnish off the dining-room table by polishing itwith raw linseed oil, and boiled the color out of her sheerest chiffonblouse; and they laughed together over her blunders. Then, when eveningcame, she was all in white again, and there was the simple supper servedby candle-light in the little dining-room, and the quiet hours in frontof the glowing fire afterwards, and the long, still nights with the softstars shining in, and the cool air blowing through the open windows oftheir room.

  Then, when the Old Gray Homestead had settled down to the blessedpeacefulness and security which, the harvest safely in, the snows still along way off, comes to every New England farm in the late fall, theyclosed their white-panelled front door behind them, and sailed awaytogether, as Austin had wished to do. There were a few gay weeks inLondon and Paris, The Hague and Rome--"enough," wrote Sylvia, "so that wewon't forget there _is_ any one else in the world, and use the wrong forkwhen we go out to dine." There was a fortnight at the little Dutch housewhere by this time Peter and Edith were spending the winter with Peter'sparents--"where our bed," wrote Sylvia, "was a great big box built intothe wall, but, oh! so soft and comfortable; with another box for the verybest cow just around the corner from it, and the music of Peter'smother's scrubbing-brush for our morning hymn." And then there wereseveral months of wandering--"without undue haste, but otherwise justlike any other tourists," wrote Sylvia. They went leisurely from place toplace, as the weather dictated and their own inclinations advised. Partof the time Edith and Peter were with them, but even then they werenearly always alone, for Edith was not strong enough to keep up, evenwith their moderate pace. They revisited places dear to both of them,they sought out many new ones; early spring found them in Paris; and itwas here that there finally came an evening when Austin put his armsaround his wife's shoulders--they had made a longer day of sight-seeingthan usual, and she looked pale and tired, as having finished dressingearlier than he she sat in the window, looking down at the brilliantstreet beneath them, waiting for him to take her down to dinner--andspoke in the unmistakably firm tone that he so seldom used.

  "It's time you were at home, Sylvia--we're overstaying our holiday. I'llmake sailing arrangements to-morrow."

  So, by the end of May, they were back in the little brick cottage again,and the two capable servants were there, too, for there must be nodanger, now, of Sylvia's getting over-tired. Those were days when Austinseldom left his wife for long if he could help it; found it hard, indeed,not to watch her constantly, and to keep the expression of anxiety anddread from his eyes. He had not proved to be among those men, who, assome French cynic, more clever than wise, has expressed it, find "thechase the best part of the game." His engagement had been a periodcontaining much joy, it is true, but also, much doubt, muchself-adjusting and repression--his marriage had not held one imperfecthour. Sylvia, as his wife, with all the petty barriers which socialinequality and money and restraint had reared between them broken down bythe very weight of their love, was a being even much more desired andhallowed than the pale, black-robed, unattainable lady of his firstworship had been; that Sylvia should suffer, because of him, washorrible; that he might possibly lose her altogether was a fear whichgrew as the days went on. It fell to her to dispel that, as she had somany others.

  "Why do you look at me so?" she asked, very quietly, as, according totheir old custom, they sat by the riverbank watching the sun go down.

  "I don't mean to. But sometimes it seems as if I couldn't bear all
thisthat's coming. Nothing on earth can be worth it."

  "You don't know," said Sylvia softly. "You won't feel that way--afteryou've seen him. You'll know then--that whatever price we pay--our lifewouldn't have been complete without this."

  "I can't understand why men should have all the pleasure--and women allthe pain."

  "My darling boy, they don't! That's only an old false theory, thatexploded years ago, along with the one about everlasting damnation, andseveral other abominable ones of like ilk. Do you honestly believe--ifyou will think sanely for a moment--that you have had more joy than I? Orthat you are not suffering twice as much as I am, or ever shall?"

  "You say all that to comfort me, because you're twice as brave as I am."

  "I say it to make you realize the truth, because I'm honest."

  Molly and Katherine were busy at the Homestead in those days, Sally andRuth in their own little houses; but Edith was at the brick cottage agreat deal. In spite of all Peter's loving care, and the treatment of agreat doctor whom Sylvia had insisted she should see in London, she wasnot very strong, and found that she must still let the long days slip byquietly, while the white hands, that had once been so plump and brown,grew steadily whiter and slimmer. She came upon Sylvia one sultryafternoon, folding and sorting little clothes, arranging them in neat,tiny piles in the scented, silk-lined drawers of a new bureau, and aftershe had helped her put them all in order, with hardly a word, she leanedher head against Sylvia's and whispered:

  "I do wish there were some for me."

  "I know, dear; but you're very young yet. Many wives are glad when thisdoesn't happen right away. Sally is."

  "I know. But, you see, I feel that perhaps there never will be any forme--and that seems really only fair--doesn't it?"

  Sylvia was silent. Her sympathy would not allow her to tell all theLondon doctor had said to her about her young sister-in-law; neitherwould it allow her to be untruthful. But certain phrases he had used cameback to her with tragic intensity.

  "Many a woman who can recuperate almost miraculously from organic diseasefails to rally from shock--we've been overlooking that too long."--"Everysleepless night undoes the good that the sunshine during the daytime haswrought, and after many sleepless nights the days become simply horriblepreludes to more terrors."--"I can't drug a child like that to a longlife of uselessness--make her as happy as you can, but let her have itover with as quickly as Nature will allow it--or take her to some otherman--I can't in charity to her tell you anything else."

  So Sylvia and Peter made her "as happy as they could," and that theyhoped at times was very happy, indeed; but the look of dread never lefther eyes for long, and the tired smile which had replaced her ringinglaugh came less and less often to her pale lips.

  There was another faithful visitor at the brick cottage that summer, forafter the end of June, Thomas, who came home from college at that time,seemed to be on hand a good deal. He, as well as Austin, had proved falseto Uncle Mat's prophecy; for far from falling in love with another girlwithin a year, he showed not the slightest indication of doing so, butseemed to find perfect satisfaction in the society of his own family,especially that portion of it in which Sylvia was, for the moment, to befound. Austin at first marvelled at the ease with which he had acceptedher for a sister; but the boy's perfect transparency of behavior made itimpossible to feel that the new and totally different affection which henow felt for her was a pose. Gradually he grew to depend on Thomas to"look after Sylvia" when, for one reason or another, he was called away.His interests at the bank took him more and more frequently toWallacetown; there were cattle auctions, too important to neglect, aday's journey from home; there was even a tiny opening beginning to loomup on the political horizon. Austin was too bound by every tie of bloodand affection to the Homestead ever to build his hearth-fire permanentlyelsewhere; but he was also rapidly growing too big to be confined by itto the exclusion of the new opportunities which seemed to be offeringthemselves to him in such rapid succession in every direction.

  Coming in very late one evening in August after one of these necessaryabsences, he found Sylvia already in bed, their room dark. She had neverfailed to wait up for him before. He felt a sudden pang of anxiety andcontrition.

  "Are you ill, darling? I didn't mean to be so late."

  "No, not ill--just a little more tired than usual." She drew his headdown to her breast, and for some minutes they held each other so,silently, their hearts beating together. "But I think it would be betterif we sent for the doctor now--I didn't want to until you came home."

  She slipped out of bed, and walked over to the open window, his arm stillaround her. The river shone like a ribbon of silver in the moonlight; thegreen meadows lay in soft shadows for miles around it; in the distancethe Homestead stood silhouetted against the starlit sky.

  "What a year it's been!" she whispered, "for you and me alone together!And how many years there are before us--and our children--and theHomestead--and all that we stand for--as long as the New England farmsand the Great Glorious Spirit which watches over them shall endure!"

  A cloud passed over the moon dimming its brightness. It brought them tothe realization that the long, hard hours of the night were before themboth, to be faced and conquered. The New York doctor, whom Sylvia hadonce before refused to send for, and the fresh-faced, rosy nurse, whohad both been staying at the brick cottage for the last few days, werecalled, the servants roused to activity. There came a time when Austin,impotent to serve Sylvia, marvelling at her bravery, wrung by hersuffering, felt that such agony was beyond endurance, beyond hope, beyondanything in life worth gaining. But when the breathless, horrible nighthad dragged its interminable black length up to the skirts of the radiantdawn, the mist rose slowly from the quiet river and still more quietmountains, the first singing of the birds broke the heavy stillness, andAustin and Sylvia kissed each other and their first-born son in the gloryof the golden morning.

  THE END