Sweetapple Cove

by George Van Schaick

  CHAPTER XXI

  _From Miss Helen Jelliffe to Miss Jane Van Zandt_

  _Aunt Jennie_, _darling_:

  Isn't the world just the most wonderful place? No one knows it at alluntil after it has played battledore and shuttlecock with them, and theyhave been tossed to and fro for a long time. Weren't those old Persianswonderful people? Of course they had no means of knowing the real truthbut it surely was the next thing to it to worship the dear sun. It goesaway and leaves things dark and dismal, and there may be hail and sleetand rain, and the outlook is all dark, but presently the clouds move andthe fog blows away and the path of light twinkles over the big ocean andthe very grasses of the hillsides perk up and the birds try to splittheir little throats with song. They are all sun-worshippers.

  Of course you want to know at once how it all came about. I am stillshaky and uncertain, as if I had just been awakened. Sometimes I hardlybelieve that it is the real truth that I behold, but merely some visionthat must pass away like the gold and the crimson of the fading day.

  John is getting well! I feel that I want to shout it farther than thevoice of man ever carried before. I wish that wonderful Marconi could setall these little waves he makes in the air to vibrating at once and carryover the whole world the tidings that my John is going to live! Of coursethere were a few very dreadful days, and some nights that were agony, andthat nice little doctor lost his red cheeks and looked pale and wan, andof course I was very, very tired. That dear Mrs. Barnett or her husbandwere always with me, and no one could ever make Frenchy leave the placefor a minute, and old Sammy hovered around constantly. The people walkedabout the tiny village as if it had been a town smitten by a greatpestilence, as used to happen in those old dark ages. There have been nomore cases, because the doctor has injected some of that stuff in thearms of all who had been in the slightest degree exposed, and it doesn'thurt very much, Aunt Jennie.

  But the amazing day was the one upon which I arose, before dawn, becausethey had just forced me to go to bed the night before, and I hurried downto Frenchy's, in the keen cold air, and met Dr. Johnson who was quietlypacing the road and smoking his pipe, which must have been very bad forhim so early in the morning. But then I think we have all lost count ofhours. When he heard my steps he turned quickly, and his cheeks lookedquite pink again, perhaps owing to the cold, and his eyes were just asbright as bright could be, and he just ran towards me. I think my handsbegan to shake, for I had lost all memory of what a happy face lookedlike, I think, and the sight of his was like something that strikes onefull in the chest and takes one's breath away.

  He just grabbed both my hands, because he is such a nice friendly boy.

  "Do you mean to tell me...." I began, but he interrupted me.

  "Indeed I certainly do," he answered, speaking ever so quickly. "You hadnot been gone for more than a couple of hours when he opened his eyes andlooked at me, very much puzzled, and made a little effort to rise, whichof course I checked at once, though his pulse and temperature had gonedown, and he looked a lot better.

  "'You just keep still, old man,' I told him. 'Now is just the time tolook out for sudden heart failure, so you must keep still, and have agood swig of this stuff, and try and have a nap. You've given us a properscare, I can tell you, but now you're right side up.'

  "And would you believe it, Miss Jelliffe, that big Frenchman jumped offhis bunk and stared at him, and then he grabbed me and kissed me on bothcheeks as if I'd been another blessed frog-eater, and I wanted to punchhis nose but compromised by shaking hands instead. I could just havedanced a hornpipe. And by this time Dr. Grant has taken a whole lot ofnourishment, and got a good deal of real sleep during the night, and nowhe's behaving first-rate. I left Frenchy sitting near him, a short timeago, and came out to smoke the pipe of peace with all the world."

  "You have saved him!" I cried.

  "Well, we've all helped," he said. "It really looks now as if he werequite out of danger, because there is an immense change for the better,and that's a whole lot. I'll just take a peep in now to see if he'sawake, because we mustn't disturb him if he isn't."

  He left me standing in front of the poor little building, within whosewalls we all had spent such terrible hours, and went in on tiptoe.Frenchy came out in his stocking-feet, the most disheveled man you eversaw, and suddenly I felt as if I were about to fall, in spite of the joyhis eyes betrayed, and I grasped his big, hairy arm. But I felt better ina moment. The immense newborn sun was rising out of the waters, a huge,great, blood-hued thing, and the sky was aflame at last--after the awful,somber days, and seemed to burst out with tidings of great joy, like thatwondrous star in the East.

  And then the little parson came trotting down the road, for he is themost active little man you ever saw, and when he looked into our faces hestretched out his hands, and we grasped them happily.

  "Oh! Mr. Barnett," I told him. "Indeed, it seems too good to be true."

  "Dear young lady," he said, "nothing is ever too good to be true."

  He was looking far away at the flaming sky, as if beyond it he had beenable to discern some wonderful vision. He surely believes in infinitegoodness, Aunt Jennie. His whole life is based upon his trust in it, andit is very beautiful. His words carried with them a world of hope, andsuddenly I felt as if some great blessing were perhaps hovering above,like the big, circling sea-birds, and might descend to me.

  Then Dr. Johnson came out and greeted the little parson, who has taken agreat liking to him. Despite the great, dark circles around his eyes,strained as they had been by so many weary hours of watching, the youngman's face was merry and boyish, for all that it gives promise ofsplendid manliness, and it was good to see. As he came to us his stepsshowed no signs of the fatigue he must have felt.

  "He's awake," he announced. "He must have a great deal of rest and quietjust now, but I am sure your presence would give him pleasure, MissJelliffe. You won't let him talk very much, will you?"

  "No," I promised, and could find no other words.

  I moved towards the door, slowly, expecting the others to follow me, butthey never stirred. It was as if by some common consent they hadacknowledged some right of mine to enter alone. Suddenly my limbs beganto drag under me, as if I had been a tottering, old woman. I wonderedwhat his first look would say to me, what the first word from his lipswould portend? It seemed as if I were going in there like one who soughtsome hidden treasure, knowing which door it lay behind but stricken withfear lest some unseen Cerberus might be crouching in wait for the rashseeker after happiness. Oh! Aunt Jennie! The tenseness of that moment!The feeling that, like the _Snowbird_ a few days ago, I was movingthrough a fog-hidden world of peril!

  My nails were dug into the palms of my hands as I entered the shack, andhis head turned slowly as I came in, and in his eyes I saw the confessionhis babbling had revealed to me. But then an expression of pain camealso, that made me involuntarily look at Frenchy's little crucifix on thewall.

  So I just kneeled down by him, and once more took that poor thin handwithin my own. I spoke very low, and in such a shaky voice, but veryquick, for fear I might not be able to continue.

  "Don't give up hope," I said. "We despaired for so many long days, andnow you are getting well again, and the dear sun is rising from themists, and the world is very beautiful, and I long to make it morebeautiful for you."

  I saw two big tears gathering in the corners of the poor sunken eyes, andthe long white hand pressed mine, weakly, and that mark of the pangs ofthe crucified passed away.

  "You must lie very still," I continued, "and let us make you well andstrong again, for you've made dear Sweetapple Cove now, after beingnearly 'ketched' by those dreadful seas, and I know that our little shipis coming safely to port."

  For a moment he could only close his eyes, as if the poor, little,dawning light that was beginning to come through the windows had been toobright for him, but his hand pressed mine again. Then he looked at meonce more, eagerly, as if he longed for other words of mine.


  "No," I said. "One mustn't talk too much to people who have been sodreadfully ill, and really I can say nothing more now. Indeed I have saidall I could, because a woman can't let her happiness fly away on accountof--of people who are too proud to speak, but--but you can whisper a wordor two."

  There were three of them that came from his lips, those three thrillingwords I had despaired of ever hearing from him.

  "And I also love you, John, with all my heart and soul," I answered.

  Then we were very still for some time, and presently some one coughedrather hard outside, and fumbled with the door, and the nice doctor boycame in.

  "I mustn't allow you people to talk too long," he said. "It is time hehad a good drink of milk, and after that he must have some more sleep,and we'll have him topside up in no time."

  Then Mr. Barnett came in too, but he never said a word. There was just aglance, a pressure of hands, and that was all, but it seemed to mean everso much to them.

  So after a short time I went away, and the bright sun was streaming downupon our poor, little, smelly Sweetapple Cove, that was really like acorner of Paradise.

  And now, Aunt Jennie, several more days have gone by, and John is gettingstronger and stronger every hour.

  Yesterday, for the first time, he sat up in a long deck chair that hadbeen brought up from the _Snowbird_, and I sat beside him, with myknitting, which was only a pretence, for it lay on my lap, idly. Itseemed to me that I had a million things to talk about, but when I spokehe answered in brief little weary words, so that I became afraid I mighttire him. There is no porch to the little house, so he sat indoors infront of the widely opened door, whence he could see the cove, glitteringin the sunshine, and the flakes covered with the silver-grey fish thatwere drying.

  We remained in silence for a long time, and my hand rested on his, thatwas stretched out on the arm of the chair. Then he turned to me.

  "Dearest," he said, "I am but sorry company for you, after all these daysof devoted attention on your part."

  "You are my own dear John," I answered. "I wish--I wish I knew that youwere as happy as I."

  "Listen, Helen," he said. "There is something that you must know."

  And then, slowly, he told me a tale that began with his boyhood. Therewas a little girl, and he was very fond of her, and many times he toldher she must be his little wife. And always she assented, so thatgradually, as the years went by, it had become a habit of his mind tothink of the days to come, when they would be married. Then he had goneaway to a little college. When he returned for the holidays he always sawher again, but when he spoke of marrying her she blushed, and was timid,for she was passing away from childhood. In later days he saw less ofher, but he always wrote long letters to his little comrade. After a fewyears he went abroad to study, but they corresponded often, telling oftheir plans and ambitions. One day he heard that she was going to NewYork to become a trained nurse, and he had finished his work abroad, sohe took a steamer and went there too. On the days when she was at libertyfor a few hours he met her, and those ideas of his boyhood becamestronger than ever, and he asked her to marry him. Her reply was thatthey were too young yet and that they must wait, for she had no idea ofbecoming married for the present, because there were many things shewanted to do, and while she was ever so fond of him as a friend she didnot think she loved him, though some day she might. But he had alwaysthought it would be just a matter of time, for he had considered it asettled thing. Then he had come to Sweetapple Cove, and written to heroften, for he expected her to return to Newfoundland soon. Her letterscame rather seldom, for she was working very hard.

  "And now, when she comes," he continued, "I shall have to tell her it wasall a ghastly mistake on my part. I shall have to tell her the truth,brutally, frankly. I will have to say that I really never loved her; thatit was a boy's idea that continued into a man's thoughts, until one dayhe realized that he loved another woman."

  "But she really never loved you, John," I exclaimed. "If she had shenever would have allowed you to go away."

  "I hope to God she never did!" he exclaimed. "But in those old days Iasked her to be my wife, and I told her I would wait for her. And shehas always been very fond of me, at least as a good friend, and--and--whoknows? I hate the idea that I must perhaps inflict pain upon her, someday."

  But I shook my head, obstinately.

  "No, she never loved you," I insisted. "I know now how people love. It isa desire to cling to one, to be ever with him, to share with him toil,and pain, and hunger, joyfully, happily, for all the days and days tocome. And when you have to leave me I shall be restless and nervous, likethat poor dear Mrs. Barnett, until you come back and I can be glad again.Oh! John! That girl never loved you!"

  Just then the little parson's wife came up, smilingly as ever.

  "Are you two having lover's quarrels already?" she asked.

  "No," I answered, "I was explaining to him that no other woman evercould--or--or ever would...."

  "Oh! My dear," she interrupted, "the explanation of obvious things is oneof the most delightful privileges of the engaged state, and I won'tinterrupt you any more. I'm going to see the new Burton baby, and, by theway, here is a lot of stuff for Dr. Grant, that has been accumulating.I suppose he may be allowed to show a faint interest in his mail, atleast after his nurse leaves him. Good-by, you dear children."

  She put a large bundle of papers and letters in John's lap, and wentaway, waving her hand cheerily. John didn't pay the slightest attentionto his correspondence at first, for we began to discuss some plans wewere making for a little house, but after a few moments he idly turnedover the medical papers, and the pamphlets and circulars, and suddenlyhis eyes fell on a letter, that was addressed in big bold characters.

  I knew at once that it was from that girl, and a little shudder came overme. I rose and walked away towards Frenchy's child, who was now well andplaying with a long-suffering woolly pup, and began to talk to him. Butall the time I was watching and listening. I suppose one can't help doingsuch things. Then I heard him calling me, and I hurried back.

  He held the letter out to me.

  "Read it, Helen?" he asked me.

  "Please," I said, "just tell me about it. It is her own letter, John, andmeant for you only."

  "She tells me I have been the best friend a girl ever had, and that ifshe gives me pain it will not be without a pang on her own part. She saysthat the object of her being on earth is now revealed to her."

  "Yes," I answered, "and then...."

  "Then she announces her coming marriage with Dr. Farquhar, the man whohas been in charge of the medical work of the Settlement."

  "You must write and tell her how happy you are to hear the good news,John, and you must tell her our plans. And I want to talk very seriouslyto you, John."

  "What is it, dear?" he asked.

  "Well," I said, "I want to say that you have been very bad, because youdidn't believe me, or you only believed a little bit, when I told you shedidn't love you. Now I expect you to have a great deal of respect for myopinions, in future."

  He promised, and said I was perfectly wonderful, and that he was thehappiest man in the world. And then, Aunt Jennie, we sat again ever solong without saying more than a few words. And the stillness was likebars of a wonderful music whose notes one can't remember but whichleaves in one's heart an impression of glorious melody. One can't writeof such things, for I am sure that ink never flowed from a pen ablereally to describe that which lies in the hearts of men and women at suchtimes.

  And then Daddy came, smiling all over, for he spoke the truth indeed whenhe said my happiness was his only concern. He's the dearest Daddy inall the world.

  CHAPTER XXII

  Dr. _Johnson to Mrs. Charlotte Johnson_

  _Dearest Mother_:

  You will rejoice to know that your son is now a happy man. At one timethe wrecking of the old _Chandernagore_ bade fair to make me despair ofever being able to justify the sacrifices you underwent to help me withmy educatio
n. And now things look so bright and splendid that I canscarcely believe the marvelous luck that has befallen me.

  Dr. Grant is strong and well again. He is a fine fellow who has beendoing great work in this place, and I have actually been chosen tocontinue it during his absence of a few months. Mr. Jelliffe and he sentfor me, a few days ago, after I returned from a trip to a near outport tosee a sick woman, and asked me if I were willing to undertake it. Theyalso said that they were about to build a small hospital here, and thatthere would doubtless be work enough for two men during most of the year.They offered me a steady compensation sufficient to mean surcease fromworry and an opportunity to take a little care of you at last. And thebest part of it all lies in the character of the work, which is a fineone, and in the delightful people I shall be associated with. Mrs.Barnett is a woman whom you would dearly love, and her husband is of thepick of men. Dr. Grant will spend the greater part of the year here, andSweetapple Cove is bustling with the changes that are taking place. A bigschooner-load of lumber has just arrived, with a few workmen, to begin atonce rearing the new hospital and the house the Grants are to build forthemselves.

  I am alone now, for the beautiful _Snowbird_ has gone away, followed byfervent wishes for her safe journey home.

  Very early yesterday little two-masted smacks began to arrive fromneighboring outports, and the tiny harbor was crowded with them. Theyfluttered out all their poor little bits of bunting, gaily, and thevisitors wore their best clothes. I doubt if so great a holiday ever tookplace before in this part of the island. The _Snowbird_, from bowsprit totopmasts, and down again to the end of the long main-boom, was brightwith waving signals and pennants.

  The people were crowding on the little road, to see the bride come forthon the arm of her father. Visions had come to me of her all in white, asall brides were clad whom I have ever seen before. But she appeared inher garments of every day, as if she needed no finery to make her morebeautiful in the eyes of all. You should have seen her, little mother! Awonderful woman indeed, straight and fairly tall, with frank, friendlyeyes that always look straight at one. Her voice has also notes that canbe of exquisite tenderness, as I heard them in that poor little hut ofFrenchy's. Her hair is a great, fine, chestnut mass in which are blendedthe most perfect hues of auburns and rich browns. And withal she isexquisitely simple in her manner, utterly unaffected, and her laughtercarries joy with it into the hearts of others. The people here simplyadore her, from the youngest child to the most tottering old dame. And Iam sure they love her not only for herself but also in gratitude for thehappiness she is bestowing upon a man who has long ago made his way intotheir hearts.

  She had insisted upon being married in this humble village, among thefishermen who had learnt to cherish her and her husband-to-be, and whenwe reached the little church it was already full to overflowing. Peoplestood on tiptoe at the open windows, and crowded at the door. We allstood when she arrived with Mr. Jelliffe, and she walked to the littlealtar with smiles and friendly nods to all.

  And then the service began, and Mr. Barnett was manifestly pale withemotion. At first his voice was just the least bit husky, but soon itcleared as the majestic words fell from his lips.

  I sat near Mrs. Barnett, who wept a little. I could understand this,mother, for there was something that moved one's heart in the beholdingof that man and that woman, who had never given others aught but the bestof themselves, preparing to continue hand in hand to make the world morebeautiful for others.

  It was over very soon and the two walked down the aisle. Old Sammy rushedout and waved his arms frantically towards the cove, whereupon the littlebrass gun boomed and the flag saluted, as if the _Snowbird_ also thrilledwith the general rejoicing.

  Dr. Grant and his wife stepped out into the road, which passes by thedoor of the little church. The wedding reception was held there, for theCove has no walls capable of holding all their friends. Mrs. Barnett, whohad come out upon my arm, was the first to kiss the bride, but otherwomen were thus favored, even poor decrepit old things in whose housesshe had carried the sunshine of her presence.

  Susie Sweetapple, worthy descendant of the earliest settler, stoodmodestly to one side, with a very red nose, for she had been weepingcopiously.

  "Are you not going to kiss me also, Susie?" asked her mistress.

  The little servant came forth, with shining red eyes showing utmostdelight, and was kissed affectionately. When she retired, to make roomfor others, I heard her speaking to her old mother.

  "Belike I'll not be washin' me face fer a month now. I'll not be wantin'ter scrub that kiss away."

  Then I noticed that the bride was searching the crowd, and appeared to bedisappointed because some one was missing! Finally she discovered thatFrenchman Yves, who watched so endlessly and devotedly for days and days,and beckoned to him.

  He came forward, timidly, and the glorious young woman stretched out herhands to him. His own trembled as he took them.

  "_La Sainte Vierge vous benisse_" he said.

  She thanked him, sweetly, as she does all things, and lifted his littleboy up in her arms, and kissed him, tenderly.

  "_Je vous aime_" declared the little chap.

  "What's th' laddie sayin'?" a man asked me.

  "He says he loves her," I answered.

  "We all does that," he cried. "We all loves every hair o' th' heads o'they."

  Finally the crowd moved down towards the cove. The flakes that had beendeserted, that morning, became tenanted again by an eager crowd, and onthe sharply slanted roofs of the little fish-houses some boys securedprecarious perches.

  The yacht had been warped to the little dock, and there was a gangplankover which our three dear friends went on board. There was a good dealmore of fervent handshaking, and the plank was withdrawn. The sirenshrieked its farewell as the ship began to move, and the little gunsaluted the Cove.

  She moved out, slowly increasing her speed, and her great white wingsbegan to unfold since, once outside, the breeze alone would carry them.On the rocks at the entrance stood men with heavy sealing guns, whosecrashing detonations thundered a farewell. The bits of bunting ran upand down the masts of the little schooners at anchor, and everywheregaily colored handkerchiefs were fluttering.

  And so she headed out into the open sea, growing dimmer in the haze ofthe glorious day, until she passed out of our vision, bearing away thelove and blessings of Sweetapple Cove.

  THE END