Sweetapple Cove

by George Van Schaick

  CHAPTER XVII

  _From Mr. Walter B. Jelliffe to Miss Jane Van Zandt_

  _My dear Jennie_:

  You know I'm no great hand at letter writing when I have no stenographerat hand. It may not be courteous of me to say I am writing to you becauseI am the lonesomest old party you have seen in a half a century, but youhave your dear sister's sweet disposition, and I know you will forgiveme. I am all alone in this packing-box of a house, when I expected to beat sea and sailing for Newport to say how d'you do on my way to New York.I wanted to have the pleasure of seeing your kindly face and of havingyou take that niece of yours in hand for a time. The girl is gettingbeyond me, and when I want to bluster she looks at me just as her motherused to and I get so weak that you could knock me over with a feather.She looks so much like Dorothy that sometimes I have to pinch myself tomake sure it is not her mother sitting at the other end of the table.

  When a man is sixty, and begins to think he owns his fair share of theearth, or even a bit more, I daresay that it does him good to be humbleda little, but it's a hard thing to become used to. Hitherto when Helenwanted anything I always let her have it, for on the whole she has alwaysbeen sensible in her desires and requests, or maybe I have been an oldfool. Didn't some Frenchman say once that an old man is a fellow whothinks himself wise because he's been a fool longer than other people?Anyway, that's me! For the last few days I have been itching to scrapwith her, and I find she minds me about as much as the man in the moon.

  Of course, Jennie, it is a disgruntled old brother-in-law who writesthis, and you will have to make allowances.

  Would you believe that last night she went out and remained till aftermidnight in a sailor's house, watching a sick child, after I had objectedto her doing so, as forcibly as I could? I had to send the queer femalenative who looks after us to that shanty to bring her back, and the childreturned with swollen eyes and a drawn face that positively hurt me tosee. She has derived so much benefit from her stay here, and was lookingso splendidly just a few days ago, that I felt angry enough to havewhipped her, if a silly old chap like me could ever chastise a daughterlike Helen. At any rate I rushed her off to bed, and I know she neverwent there for a long time. I have no doubt that instead of sleeping shewas probably scribbling to you.

  This morning she was down before eight, and I will acknowledge that shelooked better than I had expected. Yet there were great dark rings underher eyes, and I tried to look as disagreeable as possible. But you womenare too smart for an old fellow like me. She simply cuddled up to me as Isat in the only armchair in Sweetapple Cove and put her arm around myneck, and I could only grumble a little like a decrepit idiot.

  Then she looked out of doors and rushed back again, and put on that crazywoollen cap you crocheted for her, and opened the door to the kitchen,where Susie was singing some hoarse ditty of her own, and told her thatshe was going out again to see that child, and that she would be back ina few minutes. That Susie showed her sense, and I'm going to give her abig tip.

  "Ye'll not be doin' no sich thing," shrieked our domestic. "They beplenty sickness already in th' Cove, an' Doctor not back yet. Ye'll jisttake yer coffee as is waitin' fer ye, an' not be goin' ter see illness ona empty stummick. An' Captain he've been round ter say they is stillquite a jobble of a sea outside but he can make it fine, and he've steamup. So it's good-by to th' Cove this fine marnin.'"

  "Yes," I said hurriedly. "We're off just as soon as we've had breakfastand the men have moved everything down to the yacht. It is a corking fineday, and as we're all proof against sea-sickness we've got nothing toworry over. Of course you're all played out after that nursing all night,and are a foolish girl, but I suppose one can't keep women away fromthose jobs. Sit right down and have your breakfast."

  "I'll have to see that child before we leave, Daddy," she said,"and--and--and then I will be all ready."

  She spoke in such a queer way that I was positively alarmed. I am sure Ihave never seen her look like that.

  "What's the matter?" I asked her. "You speak in such a weary, discouragedway that you must be getting ill. You have simply tired yourself to deathover that boy of Frenchy's. By George! But I'll be glad when we get awayfrom this place!"

  And then the minx looked at me, just as sweetly as ever, and her voicehad that little caressing tone of hers.

  "Don't worry, dear Daddy, I'll have plenty of rest at sea," she told me.

  So we had our breakfast, very pleasantly, and I was thanking my starsthat all our troubles would be over in no time, little thinking thatthey were just beginning. So I rose, and took my stout cane, very proudof showing the population how nicely I could walk, and went out on theporch, ready to go on board the yacht. The men were coming up to get ourbaggage and the furniture we had taken from the _Snowbird_, and Susiewas ready to boss them. Then Helen, who had run upstairs, came down andjoined me.

  "I'll help you down the road, Daddy," she said, "and after that I'll runback to Frenchy's. I hear that Mr. Barnett went off somewhere in themiddle of the night, so as to return in time to see us off. He will beback soon, and an hour or so won't matter, will it? The _Snowbird_doesn't run on a schedule, Dad."

  I looked at my watch, it was a quarter to nine.

  "We're off by ten," I said. "First thing I know we won't get away tillafternoon if I listen to you another minute."

  We had gone but a very little way down the road, which is nothing but adeplorable sort of goat-path or gutter running down the side of the hill,when we saw Dr. Grant coming down from Sammy's house, and the oldfisherman was remonstrating with him. My dear Jennie, it gave me theshock of my life! The young man was actually staggering, and Iimmediately decided that he was drunker than a whole batch of lords.

  "Yer isn't fit ter be goin'," the old fellow was objecting. "Ye jist comeback ter th' house an' git ter bed, where ye belongs. Ye'll get a miteo' sleep an' feel better. 'Tain't fair ter be goin' again right off. Youcan't hardly be a-holdin' of yerself up."

  Of course all this made me positive that the doctor had been hitting abottle pretty hard, and I was angry and sorry that Helen should see ittoo, because she's taken a huge liking to that chap, and hitherto I couldhardly blame her. When I turned to her she was staring at him, and lookedas if some one had hit her with a club.

  "It is too bad, daughter," I said. "I would never have thought that hewas that kind of a man."

  Then the poor girl grabbed my arm with a clutch which actually hurt.

  The doctor and the old man were coming very near. I saw the lad look upat us, and it was really pathetic to see how he tried to straightenhimself up and steady his gait as he took his cap off, with a shakinghand.

  "It's really too bad," I said again.

  And then Helen just stared at me for an instant, shaking her head.

  "I don't believe it," she cried. "I won't believe it."

  She let go my arm and dashed away from me. I could see that the poorchild was moved again by that instinct of helpfulness which you dearwomen have, and by the sense of loyalty to friends which girls like Helenalways show.

  "Oh! What is the matter?" she cried.

  Then I saw the doctor move back, and hold up his hand as if seeking torepel her.

  "Go back! Don't come near me," he said, hoarsely, and hurried on,unsteadily, while she stood there, dumbfounded, unable to understand.I saw her sense of helplessness grow into resentment and wounded pride.The poor little girl was hurt, Jennie, deeply hurt.

  Our men had already invaded the house and were carrying the things away,and the population of Sweetapple Cove was gathering, for our departurewas even a more wonderful event than our arrival. There was not a housein the Cove that Helen had not visited, and she has made friends withevery last Tom, Dick and Harry in the place, and their wives andchildren. I know that the women have appreciated her friendly interest intheir humble lives. Some little children were howling, possibly at theprospect of being henceforth deprived of the sweets she has distributedamong them. All the fish-houses and the fla
kes were deserted, though itwas a fine drying day. The men came towards us, with slightly embarrassedtimidity, and I shook hands all around as they grinned at us and wishedus a good journey. They actually wanted to carry me down to the yacht.

  So I took Helen's arm again, after declining their kind offers, and beganmy slow descent to the cove.

  My poor girl was walking very erect, and she often smiled at the peoplewho surrounded us. But I could see that it took the greatest effort onher part. I'm sure she was impatient to be gone and wanted to shutherself up in her stateroom. It was so hard, Jennie, to see the dearchild whose nature has ever been such a happy, cheery one, and who hasnever seemed to have a moment's suffering in her life, give such evidenceof pain and sorrow.

  It was at this moment, Jennie, that the suspicion entered my soul, that Ihad been wrong in letting her enjoy so much of the society of this youngman, who is certainly a fine, attractive fellow when in his right mind.Isn't it wonderful how young people become attracted by one another, andtheir heads and hearts get filled while we old people can only worry, forwhether they choose well or ill it always ends in our being left alone.

  I noticed that Frenchy and Sammy were not among the people who crowdedabout us to say good-by. I looked for them in vain, and was a bit hurtthat they should be absent, for we have become very fond of them. Helenwas also searching the friendly faces, and I knew that she missed them.

  Her head was held high up, and but for the little curling up of her lip,in which her teeth bit hard, she would have looked a picture of sereneindifference. We were nearing Frenchy's shack, in front of which the pathleads to the cove, and finally we were opposite the ramshackle place. Itmust be very dreadful to a girl, who has learned to admire a man, perhapseven to love him, to discover that her idol has feet of clay. She hadallowed the best of her nature, I could see it now, to be drawn inadmiration and regard towards a man she deemed unworthy. That odor of thefish-houses had always been bad enough before, but now it seemed to risein her nostrils and sicken her. And now, Jennie, I can only repeat Puck'swords, "What fools we mortals be!"

  That man Frenchy rushed out of the door as we were going by. His facelooked as if he had been suffering tortures.

  "Please, please!" he cried. "Come, vite, heem Docteur hawful seek. Me nocan stan' it no more! You so good in de las' night, mademoiselle, nowplease come in, for de lofe of _le bon Dieu_!"

  And then the strain that had been on the heart of my poor girl seemed togive way, suddenly. The tension was released, like a powerful spring,and the hardness went out of her face. She dropped my arm and dashed pastthe man who sought her help, and entered the place, where I followed asfast as my leg would let me.

  First she looked towards the child, which I suppose she expected to seeunder a sheet that would have just revealed the stark little form, butthe little thing was smiling at her, weakly.

  "_Je vous aime bien_" he said.

  Then her eyes filled with tears, and she turned towards the man who, witha gesture of his hand, had swept her from his path. He had arisen on herentrance, and leaned hard on the back of the chair. To my surprise hespoke quite composedly, and I realized I had made an awful mistake.

  "This is all wrong, Miss Jelliffe," he said. "I tried to prevent Yvesfrom calling you. The child has diphtheria and you must leave at once."

  The man's voice was frightfully hoarse, and he unconsciously put his handup to his throat. She looked at him without answering. Then she went upto the little table and picked up a small vial she had noticed.

  "Antitoxine, seven thousand units," she read. Then she took up a smallglass syringe armed with a bright steel needle, and stared at it.

  "You have given it to the child?" she asked.

  "Yes, just a few minutes ago," he answered. "We only left Edward's Bay atsunrise. The man is getting well. I was told of this case and went up toSammy's for the antitoxine."

  "But it was the last you had!" she cried, "and Atkins has only been ableto start this morning for more, and the wind is very bad for him. It maybe days before he returns."

  The man shrugged his shoulders, very slightly, and Helen went up to him,scrutinizing his face, silently. Then she put her fingers on the wristthat was supporting his hand on the back of the chair.

  "I am not well," he said, "and I wish you would leave. I think I willhave to let Mrs. Barnett into this mess. She's away at Goslett's house,where they expect a baby."

  "How long have you known that you had diphtheria too?" asked Helen, and Icould detect in her voice an intensity of reproof that was wonderful, forshe was scolding the man, just as excited mothers sometimes scold alittle one that has fallen down and hurt itself.

  "I was beginning to feel it last night," he answered, "but please go awaynow, for it is dangerous."

  Then he addressed me.

  "Mr. Jelliffe, do take her away. I hear that she was here last night andremained for hours. You will take her away to St. John's at once, andhave her given a preventive injection. Now please hurry off."

  I could see that the poor chap's voice rasped his throat painfully. Histwo hands dropped to his side, with the palms turned forward, in a feeblegesture of entreaty.

  "You knew this morning that you had it," said Helen again. "And you onlyhad that vial and used it all for the boy."

  He nodded, with another slight shrug of his shoulders.

  "I see that you have been playing the game!" she said quietly.

  Then she turned to me, seizing one of my arms.

  "Hurry!" she cried. "You must hurry, Daddy. Why don't you go on? He hasdiphtheria, and perhaps half the people here will have it now. Perhaps heis going to die! Come, Daddy, you must hurry. The _Snowbird_ will takeyou to St. John's and you must buy antitoxine, a lot of it, and come backwith it at once. And you should get a doctor, and a nurse or two, and Iwill stay here, and please don't look at me that way! Do hurry, Daddy!Oh! I was forgetting your poor leg. Never mind, take your time, Daddy,but as soon as you are on board make them hurry. Susie will stay with me.A few days won't matter, Daddy!"

  "Oh! Daughter. Please come," I implored her. "I promise that I will sendthe yacht back at once with a doctor and everything."

  She looked at me in amazed surprise.

  "But how can I leave now, Dad?" she asked. "Don't you understand that alot of people may die if you don't get help at once, and of course I muststay. You will do your best, won't you? Come, dear, and let me help youdown the path. You can be gone in a few minutes."

  "Leave you here!" I exclaimed, indignantly. "You are crazy, girl! I'llstay with you, of course. Here, some of you fellows, run down to the coveand tell my skipper to come here at once."

  So I stood there, just outside the door, watching a man scramble down theroad, who finally returned with Stefansson. Helen stood perfectly still,except for the toe of one of her boots, which was tapping a tattoo on theboards.

  "Get the _Snowbird_ under weigh at once," I shouted. "Run up to St.John's and buy all the antitoxine you can get hold of, any amount,barrels of it, if it comes that way. And bring a doctor back with you.Promise him all the money he wants. And get a nurse, or a couple of them,or a dozen. Regular trained nurses, you understand. Yes, it's antitoxineI want. Write it down. It's the stuff they use for diphtheria. Then getback here at once. Carry all the sail she'll bear and all the steamshe'll take. Look lively and don't waste a minute. Here, you Sammy! Goaboard too and help pilot her back if it's dark or foggy. Good luck toyou and jump her for all she's worth!"

  I suppose I spoke like a crazy man, but the two started down hill.Stefansson, who has long legs, only beat the old fellow by a skip and ajump. Then I saw the men casting off the hawsers, and the thin film ofsmoke became black, and the good old _Snowbird_ shook herself. I wastickled to see how a crew of chaps used to count seconds in racing werehandling her. She was moving, the smoke pouring thicker and thicker fromher funnel, and the screw began to churn hard. Then her sharp bowspritturned around a little, till it was aimed at that cleft between therocks. She gather
ed speed and struck the billowing seas outside andturned a bit. Then the big sails began to rise, as did the jibs, and Isaw a man run out to the end of the bowsprit as a thick white rope ran upto the fore topmast head and broke out into a fleecy white cloud of silk.Then, under the great balloon jib topsail my little ship flew off like ascared bird and disappeared behind the edges of the cliffs.

  "Byes, did yer ever see the like o' that?" shouted an old fisherman,enthusiastically. "My, but Sammy's a lucky dog ter be gettin' sich asail. I'd give a quintal fer the chance."

  I must say that I was pleased with this expert appreciation, and began tofeel better.

  "But why didn't we send the doctor on her?" I suddenly asked. "He wouldhave been attended to sooner. We could have taken him with us."

  "He wouldn't have gone," said Helen, whose cheeks had now become red withexcitement. "He would never leave until some one came to take his place.He thinks he can still help that child of Frenchy's."

  So after a time we returned to the house we had thought we were seeingthe last of, and it seemed very different, having been dismantled of manythings which were now lying on the dock.

  Helen sat down for a moment, putting her elbows on the table and restingher face on her hands. So of course I went to her, and stroked her head,and she looked at me with eyes that were full of tears.

  "I'm ashamed," she said. "At first I thought just as you did. I was surehe had been drinking. And he seemed so awfully rude when he motioned meaway. But he could hardly drag himself, the poor fellow, and he wastrying to keep me away from him, because he was afraid for me."

  She was utterly disconsolate, and I could only keep on stroking thechild's head as I used to, when she came to seek consolation for babyishsorrows. Of course I was worried about her, and realized how helpless Iwas. She hadn't grown over night, naturally, yet something appeared tohave been added to her stature. She was a woman now, full of theinstincts of womanhood, and she was escaping from my influence. Her lifewas shaping itself independently of me. It is pretty tough, Jennie, tosee one's ewe lamb slipping away. She loves me dearly, I know it, but sheis now flowering into something that will never be entirely mine again,and the realization of it is cutting my heart.

  After a moment she was restless again, and we went out on the porch. Wecould hear Susie Sweetapple messing about in her kitchen, whose destiniesshe again cheerfully controls, and presently some men came down the road,carrying a bed.

  "'Un says he've got ter have his bed at Frenchy's," one of them explainedto me.

  "'Un's scared to give the diphtherias ter Sammy's young 'uns."

  They started again, wiping their brows, for the late September day wasgrowing warm, and soon after we saw a small boat entering the cove andHelen, who seems to know everything about this place, declared that itwas not one of our boats, as she calls the fleet at Sweetapple Cove. Itreached the dock and a man jumped out while the sails were stillslatting.

  Susie had stuck her head out of the window.

  "'Un's parson comin'," she announced.

  Mr. Barnett hastened towards us as fast as his little legs would carryhim. He passed Frenchy's house, not knowing that the doctor was there,and stopped in surprise when he saw us.

  "I thought I was too late!" he exclaimed. "We saw the _Snowbird_ flying,miles away, and I thought I should never see you again."

  "The doctor is at Frenchy's!" cried Helen. "He is dreadfully ill. Pleasego and see what you can do for him."

  "I'll go at once," he replied. "We intercepted the mail-boat and I have aletter for you, Mr. Jelliffe, and one for the doctor. I hear he savedthat man's life, over to the Bay. Been up with him day and night. Youcan't understand what it means to us to have a man like him here, whopermeates us all with his own brave confidence. The blessing of it! Itwas a terrible storm that he went through when he walked over to the Bay.It is an awful country, and his steps were surely guided over pitfallsand rocks."

  The little man is quite admirable in the sturdiness of his faith, in thepower of his belief, that is the one supreme ideal always before him, andI shook hands with him.

  "But I fear he is very ill now. A boy just told me they had to carry himfrom his boat, when he returned this morning."

  "I'll go with you now to Frenchy's," said Helen.

  "Are you not afraid?" asked the little parson.

  "Are you?" she asked, just a little rudely, I fear.

  "With me it is a matter of duty and love, you know," he replied.

  "With me also," she said, with head bent down. Then she looked up again.

  "I don't think you have any better right to expose yourself than I," shesaid, with spirit. "You have children of your own, and a wife to thinkof. Your life is a full one, rounded out and devoted to a work that isvery great. Mine is only beginning; nothing has come from it yet; I havedone nothing. It all lies before me and I won't stand aloof as if I wereoutside of laboring humanity, while there is sickness to be fought. I'mgoing with you."

  She came to me.

  "I hope you don't think I'm very bad, Daddy?" she said. "I'm sorry togive you so much trouble, but something tells me I must go. I just haveto!"

  I looked at her, as she walked rapidly away with the parson, and then satdown on the steamer chair that had been brought up again, and for thefirst time I felt that age was creeping up on me. It looks as if all ofus, ill or hale, poor or rich, are but the playthings of nature, bits offlotsam on the ocean of human passions. Your poor dear sister, Jennie,died young, and I believe that her life with me was a happy one as longas she was spared. After a little while Helen began to fill some of theemptiness she had left, but now there come again to me memories of asweet face, uplifted lovingly to my own, and I am overcome with a senseof loss indescribable. And yet this is mingled with some pride. Mydaughter is no doll-like creature, no romantic, unpractical fool destinedto be nothing but a clog to the man who may join his life to hers. Shewill never lag behind and cry for help, and hers will be the power towalk side by side with him. She can never be a mere bauble, and will playher own part.

  Oh! Jennie. The pluck of the child, the readiness with which she wants togive the best of herself because she thinks it right and just, andbecause she refuses to concede to others a monopoly of helpful love!

  That young man, if he lives, will be a fit mate for any woman, but Iswear to you that if it comes to that I will insist upon paying thesalary of some man to take his place. I want my girl nearer to me than inSweetapple Cove!

  After a time I pulled out the letter Mr. Barnett had handed me. It wasfrom that young rascal Harry Lawrence. He says he's heard from you aboutthat caribou shooting, and wants to come up anyway and find out how Ilook after my tough summer in this neck of the woods, and he's neverbeen to Newfoundland anyway, etc., etc.

  Of course that boy cares as much for my looks as for those of theEgyptian Sphinx. At one time I really hoped that Helen and he, since shewould have to leave me some day, might grow fond of one another. I knowhow devoted he is to my girl, but I'm afraid she has made her own choice.I must write to Harry that we shall be leaving before long and that itwill be too late for him to come now,--as, indeed, it is. What puzzles meis that, on his own part, that doctor never has seemed to be anything buta good friend to Helen. I suppose I was an old fool, and never saw thingsthat went on under my nose. Poor Harry, he's such a splendid lad, and hisfather was my dearest friend, as you know.

  Helen has been gone for hours, and I'm going to send Susie after her. Inthe meanwhile I have sought to possess my soul in patience by writingto you.

  Affectionately yours,WALTER