by Emma Wolf
Chapter XIV
Beacham's lies in a dimple of the inner coast range, and is reachednowadays through one of the finest pieces of engineering skill in theState. The tortuous route through the mountains, over trestle-bridgesthat span what seem, from the car-windows, like bottomless chasms,needs must hold some compensation at the end to counterbalance the fearsengendered on the way. The higher one goes the more beautiful becomesthe scenery among the wild, marvellous redwoods that stand like mammothguides pointing heavenward; and Beacham's realizes expectation.
It is a quiet little place, with its one hotel and two attachedcottages, its old, disused saw-mill, its tiny schoolhouse beyond thefairy-like woods, its one general merchandise store, where cheeseand calico, hats and hoes, ham and hominy, are forthcoming uponsolicitation. It is by no means a fashionable resort; the Levices hadsearched for something as unlike the Del Monte and Coronado as milk isunlike champagne. They were looking for a pretty, healthful spot, withgood accommodations and few social attractions, and Beacham's offeredthis.
They were not disappointed. Ruth's anticipation was fulfilled when shesaw the river. Russian River is about as pretty a stream as one can viewupon a summer's day. Here at Beacham's it is very narrow and shallow,with low, shelving beaches on either bank; but in the tiny row-boatwhich she immediately secured, Ruth pushed her way into enchantment. Theriver winds in and out through exquisite coves entangled in a wildernessof brambles and lace-like ferns that are almost transparent as theybend and dip toward the silvery waters; while, climbing over the rockycliffs, run bracken and the fragrant yerba-buena, till, on high, theycreep as if in awe about the great redwoods and pines of the forest.
Morning and night Ruth, in her little boat, wooed the lisping waters.Often of a morning her mother was her companion; later on, her father orlittle Ethel Tyrrell; in the evening one of the Tyrrell boys, generallyWill, was her gallant chevalier. But it was always Ruth who rowed,--Ruthin her pretty sailor blouses, with her strong round arms and steadilybrowning hands; Ruth, whose creamy face and neck remained provokinglyunreddened, and took on only a little deeper tint, as if a dashof bistre had been softly applied. It was pleasant enough rowingdown-stream with Ruth; she always knew when to sing "Nancy Lee," andwhen "White Wings" sounded prettiest. There were numerous covestoo, where she loved to beach her boat,--here to fill a flask withhoney-sweet water from a rollicking little spring that came merrilydashing over the rocks, here to gather some delicate ferns ormaiden-hair with which to decorate the table, or the trailingyerba-buena for festooning the boat. But Ethel Tyrrell, aged three,thought they had the "dolliest" time when she and Ruth, having rowed aspace out of sight, jumped out, and taking off their shoes and stockingsand making other necessary preliminaries to wading, pattered alongover the pebbly bottom, screaming when a sharp stone came against theirtender feet, and laughing gleefully when the water rose a little higherthan they had bargained for; then, when quite tired, they would retireto the beach or the boat and dry themselves with the soft damask of thesun.
Ruth was happy. There were moments when the remembrance of herlast meeting with Louis came like a summer cloud over the ineffablebrightness of her sky, and she felt a sharp pang at her heart; still,she thought, it was different with Louis. His feeling for her could notbe so strong as to make him suffer poignantly over her refusal. Shewas almost convinced that he had asked her more from a whim ofgood-fellowship, a sudden desire, perhaps a preference for her closecompanionship when he did marry, than from any deeper emotion. Inconsequence of these reflections her musings were not so sad as theymight otherwise have been.
Her parents laughed to see how she revelled in the freedom of theold-fashioned little spot, which, though on the river, was decidedly"out of the swim." It was late in the season, and there were few guestsat the hotel. The Levices occupied one of the cottages, the other beingused by a pair of belated turtle-doves,--the wife a blushing dot of awoman, the husband an overgrown youth who bent over her in their walkslike a devoted weeping-willow; there was a young man with a consumptivecough, a natty little stenographer off on a solitary vacation, and thegolden-haired Tyrrell family, little and big, for Papa Tyrrell couldnot enjoy his hard-earned rest without one and all. They were such arefined, happy, sweet family, for all their pinched circumstances, thatthe Levices were attracted to them at once. To be with Mrs. Tyrrellone whole day, Mrs. Levice said was a liberal education,--so bright, souncomplaining, so ambitious for her children was she, and such a helpand inspiration to her hard-worked husband. Mr. Levice tramped aboutthe woods with Tyrrell and brier-wood pipes, and appreciated the moralbravery of a man who struggled on with a happy face and small hope forany earthly rest. But the children!--Floy with her dreamy face and busysketch-book, Will with his halo of golden hair, his manly figure andbroad, open ambitions, Boss with his busy step and fishing-tackle, andbaby Ethel, the wee darling, who ran after Ruth the first time she sawher and begged her to come and play with her; ever since, she formeda part of the drapery of Ruth's skirt or a rather cumbersome necklaceabout her neck. Every girl who has been debarred the blessing of babiesin the house loves them promiscuously and passionately. Ruth was noexception; it amused the ladies to watch her cuddle the child and wonderaloud at all her baby-talk.
Will was her next favorite satellite. A young girl with a winsome,sympathetic face, and hearty manner, can easily become the confidante ofa fine fellow of fourteen. Will, with his arm tucked through hers, wouldsaunter around after dusk and tell her all his ambitions.
The soft, starry evenings up in the mountains, where heaven seems sonear, are just the time for such talk.
They were walking thus one evening toward the river, Ruth in a creamygown and with a white burnous thrown over her head, Will holding his hatin his hand and letting the sweet air play through his hair, as he lovedto do.
"What do you think are the greatest professions, Miss Ruth?" asked theboy suddenly.
"Well, law is one--" she began.
"That's the way Papa begins," he interrupted impatiently; "but I'll tellyou what I think is the greatest. Guess, now."
"The ministry?" she ventured.
"Oh, of course; but I'm not good enough for that,--that takesexceptions. Guess again."
"Well, there are the fine arts, or soldiery,--that is it. You would be abrave soldier, Willikins, my man."
"No, sir," he replied, flinging back his head; "I don't want to takelives; I want to save them."
"You mean a physician, Will?"
"That's it--but not exactly--I mean a surgeon. Don't you think thattakes bravery? And it's a long sight better than being a soldier; hedraws blood to kill, we do it to save. What do you think, Miss Ruth?"
"Indeed, you are right," she answered dreamily, her thoughts wanderingbeyond the river. So they walked along; and as they were about todescent the slope, a man in overalls and carrying a leather bag camesuddenly upon them in the gloaming. He stood stock-still, his mouthgaping wide.
When Ruth saw it was Ben, the steward, she laughed.
"Why, Ben!" she exclaimed.
The man's mouth slowly closed, and his hand went up to his cap.
"Begging your pardon, Miss,--I mean Her pardon,--the Lord forgive me, Itook you for the Lady Madonna and the blessed Boy with the shining hair.Now, don't be telling of me, will you?"
"Indeed, we won't; we'll keep the pretty compliment to ourselves. Haveyou the mail? I wonder if there is a letter for me."
Ben immediately drew out his little pack, and handed her two. It wasstill light enough to read; and as Ben moved on, she stood and openedthem.
"This," she announced in a matter-of-course way, "is from Miss DorothyGwynne, who requests the pleasure of my company at a high-tea nextSaturday. That, or the hay-ride, Will? And this--this--"
It was a simple envelope addressed to
Miss RUTH LEVICE-- Beacham's-- ... County-- Cal.
It was the sight of the dashes that caused the hiatus in her
sentence,and made her heart give one great rushing bound. The enclosure was tothe point.
SAN FRANCISCO, Aug. 18, 188--.
MISS RUTH LEVICE:
MY DEAR FRIEND,--That you may not denounce me as too presumptuous, Ishall at once explain that I am writing this at Bob's urgent desire. Hehas at length got the position at the florist's, and tells me to tellyou that he is now happy. I dropped in there last night; and when hegave me this message, I told him that I feared you would take it as anadvertisement. He merely smiled, picked up a Marechal Niel that lay onthe counter, and said, "Drop this in. It's my mark; she'll understand."So here are Bob's rose and my apology.
HERBERT KEMP.
She was pale when she turned round to the courteously waiting boy. Itwas a very cold note, and she put it in her pocket to keep it warm. Therose she showed to Will, and told him the story of the sender.
"Didn't I tell you," he cried, when she had finished, "a doctor has thegreatest opportunity in the world to be great--and a surgeon comes nearit? I say, Miss Ruth, your Dr. Kemp must be a brick. Isn't he?"
"Boys would call him so," she answered, shivering slightly.
It was so like him, she thought, to fulfil Bob's request in his hearty,friendly way; she supposed he wanted her to understand that he wrote toher only as Bob's amanuensis,--it was plain enough. And yet, andyet, she thought passionately, it would have been no more than commonetiquette to send a friendly word from himself to her mother. Still thenote was not thrown away. Girls are so irrational; if they cannot havethe hand-shake, they will content themselves with a sight of the glove.
And Ruth in the warm, throbbing, summer days was happy. She was notalways active; there were long afternoons when mere existence wasintensely beautiful. To lie at full length upon the soft turf in thedepths of the small enchanted woods, and hear and feel the countlessspells of Nature, was unspeakable rapture.
"Ah, Floy," she cried one afternoon, as she lay with her face turned upto the great green boughs that seemed pencilled against the azure sky,"if one could paint what one feels! Look at these silent, living treesthat stand in all their grandeur under some mighty spell; see how thewonderful heaven steals through the leaves and throws its blue softnessupon the twilight gloom; here at our feet nestle the soft, green ferns,and over all is the indescribable fragrance of the redwoods. Turn there,to your right, little artist, high up on that mountain; can you seethrough the shimmering haze a great team moving as if through the air?It is like the vision of the Bethshemites in Dore's mystic work, when inthe valley they lifted up their eyes and beheld the ark returning. Oh,Floy, it is not Nature; it is God. And who can paint God?"
"No one. If one could paint Him, He would no longer be great," answeredthe girl, resting her sober eyes upon Ruth's enraptured countenance.
One afternoon Ruth took a book and Ethel over the tramway to this fairyspot. It was very warm and still. Mrs. Levice had swung herself to sleepin the hammock, and Mr. Levice was dozing and talking in snatches to theTyrrells, who were likewise resting on the Levices' veranda. All Naturewas drowsy, as Ruth wandered off with the little one, who chattered onas was her wont.
"Me and you's yunnin' away," she chatted; "we's goin' to a fowest, andby and by two 'ittle birdies will cover us up wid leaves. My! Won't mymamma be sorry? No darlin' 'ittle Ethel to pank and tiss no more. PoorMamma!"
"Does Ethel think Mamma likes to spank her?"
"Yes; Mamma does des what she likes."
"But it is only when Ethel is naughty that Mamma spanks her. Here,sweetheart, let me tie your sunbonnet tighter. Now Ruth is going to liehere and read, and you can play hide-and-seek all about these trees."
"Can I go wound and sit on dat log by a bwook?"
"Yes."
"Oh, I's afwaid. I's dweffully afwaid."
"Why, you can turn round and talk to me all the time."
"But nobody'll be sitting by me at all."
"I am here just where you can see me; besides, God will be right next toyou."
"Will He? Ven all yight."
Ruth took off her hat and prepared to enjoy herself. As her head touchedthe green earth, she saw the little maiden seat herself on the log, andturning her face sideways, say in her pleasant, piping voice,--
"How-de-do, Dod?" And having made her acknowledgments, all her fearsvanished.
Ruth laughed softly to herself, and straightway began to read. Theafternoon burned itself away. Ethel played and sang and danced abouther, quite oblivious of the heat, till, tired out, she threw herselfinto Ruth's arms.
"Sing by-low now," she demanded sleepily; "pay it's night, and you andme's in a yockin'-chair goin' to by-low land."
Ruth realized that the child was weary, and drawing her little head toher bosom, threw off the huge sunbonnet and ruffled up the damp, goldenlocks.
"What shall I sing, darling?" she mused: she was unused to singingbabies to sleep. Suddenly a little kindergarten melody she had heardcame to her, and she sang softly in her rich, tender contralto theswinging cradle-song:--
"In a cradle, on the treetop, Sleeps a tiny bird; Sweeter sound than mother's chirping Never yet was heard. See, the green leaves spread like curtains Round the tiny bed, While the mother's wings, outstretching, Shield--the--tiny--head?"
As her voice died slowly into silence, she found Ethel looking over hershoulder and nodding her head.
"No; I won't tell," she said loudly.
"Tell what?" asked Ruth, amused.
"Hush! He put his finger on his mouf--sh!"
"Who?" asked Ruth, turning her head hurriedly. Not being able to seethrough the tree, she started to her feet, still holding the child.Between two trees stood the stalwart figure of Dr. Kemp,--Dr. Kemp inloose, light gray tweeds and white flannel shirt; on the back of hishead was a small, soft felt hat, which he lifted as she turned,--a waveof color springing to his cheek with the action. As for Ruth,--a woman'sface dare not speak sometimes.
"Did I startle you?" he asked, coming slowly forward, hat in hand, thegolden shafts of the sun falling upon his head and figure.
"Yes," she answered, trying to speak calmly, and failing, dropped intosilence.
She made no movement toward him, but let the child glide softly downtill she stood at her side.
"I interrupted you," he continued; "will you shake hands with me,nevertheless?"
She put her hand in his proffered one, which lingered in the touch; andthen, without looking at her, he stooped and spoke to the child. In thatmoment she had time to compose herself.
"Do you often come up this way?" she questioned.
He turned from the child, straightened himself, and leaning one armagainst the tree, answered,--
"Once or twice every summer I run away from humanity for a few days,and generally find myself in this part of the country. This is one of myselect spots. I knew you would ferret it out."
"It is very lovely here. But we are going home now; the afternoon isgrowing old. Come, Ethel."
A shadow fell upon his dark eyes as she spoke, scarcely looking at him.Why should she hurry off at his coming?
"I am sorry my presence disturbs you," he said quietly; "But I caneasily go away again."
"Was I so rude?" she asked, looking up with a sudden smile. "I did notmean it so; but Ethel's mother will want her now."
"Ethel wants to be carried," begged the child.
"All right; Ruth will carry you," and she stooped to raise her; but asshe did so, Kemp's strong hand was laid upon her arm and held her back.
"Ethel will ride home on my shoulder," he said in the gay, winning voicehe knew how so well to use with children. The baby's blue eyes smiled inresponse to his as he swing her lightly to his broad shoulder. Thereis nothing prettier to a woman than to see the confidence that a littlechild reposes in a strong man.
So through the mellow, golden sunlight they strolled slowly homeward.