The Daleham station was not very far out of the village, so that Miss Esther Porley put on her silk shawl and bonnet and everyday gloves just before four o’clock that afternoon, and went to meet her Country Week guest. Word had come the day before that the person for Miss Porley’s would start two days in advance of the little company of children and helpless women, and since this message had come from the parsonage Miss Esther had worked diligently, late and early, to have her house in proper order. Whatever her mother had liked was thought of and provided. There were going to be rye short-cakes for tea, and there were some sprigs of thyme and sweet-balm in an old-fashioned wine-glass on the keeping-room table; mother always said they were so freshening. And Miss Esther had taken out a little shoulder-shawl and folded it over the arm of the rocking-chair by the window that looked out into the small garden where the London-pride was in full bloom, and the morning-glories had just begun to climb. Miss Esther was sixty-four herself, but still looked upon age as well in the distance.
She was always a prompt person, and had some minutes to wait at the station; then the time passed and the train was late. At last she saw the smoke far in the distance, and her heart began to sink. Perhaps she would not find it easy to get on with the old lady, and—well it was only for a week, and she had thought it right and best to take such a step, and now it would soon be over.
The train stopped, and there was no old lady at all.
Miss Esther had stood far back to get away from the smoke and roar—she was always as afraid of the cars as she could be—but as they moved away she took a few steps forward to scan the platform. There was no black bonnet with a worn lace veil, and no old lady with a burden of bundles; there were only the station master and two or three men, and an idle boy or two, and one clean-faced, bent old man with a bird-cage in one hand and an old carpet-bag in the other. She thought of the rye short-cakes for supper and all that she had done to make her small home pleasant, and her fire of excitement suddenly fell into ashes.
The old man with the bird-cage suddenly turned toward her. “Can you direct me to Miss Esther Porley’s?” said he.
“I can,” replied Miss Esther, looking at him with curiosity.
“I was directed to her house,” said the pleasant old fellow, “by Mrs. Belton, of the Country Week Committee. My eyesight is poor. I should be glad if anybody would help me to find the place.”
“You step this way with me, sir,” said Miss Esther. She was afraid that the men on the platform heard every word they said, but nobody took particular notice, and off they walked down the road together. Miss Esther was enraged with the Country Week Committee.
“You were sent to—Miss Porley’s?” she asked grimly, turning to look at him.
“I was, indeed,” said Mr. Rill.
“I am Miss Porley, and I expected an old lady,” she managed to say, and they both stopped and looked at each other with apprehension.
“I do declare!” altered the old seal-cutter anxiously. “What had I better do, ma’am? They most certain give me your name. May be you could recommend me somewheres else, an’ I can get home to-morrow if ’t ain’t convenient.”
They were standing under a willow-tree in the shade; Mr. Rill took off his heavy hat—it was a silk hat of by-gone shape; a golden robin began to sing, high in the willow, and the old bullfinch twittered and chirped in the cage. Miss Esther heard some footsteps coming behind them along the road. She changed color; she tried to remember that she was a woman of mature years and considerable experience.
“’T ain’t a mite o’ matter, sir,” she said cheerfully. “I guess you’ll find everything comfortable for you”; and they turned, much relieved, and walked along together.
“That’s Lawyer Barstow’s house,” she said calmly, a minute afterward, “the handsomest place in town, we think ’t is,” and Mr. Rill answered politely that Daleham was a pretty place; he had not been out of the city for so many years that everything looked beautiful as a picture.
IV
Miss Porley rapidly recovered her composure, and bent her energies to the preparing of an early tea. She showed her guest to the snug bedroom under the low gambrel roof, and when she apologized for his having to go upstairs, he begged her to remember that it was nothing but a step to a man who was used to four long flights. They were both excited at finding a proper nail for the bird-cage outside the window, though Miss Esther said that she should love to have the pretty bird downstairs where they could see it and hear it sing. She said to herself over and over that if she could have her long-lost brother come home from sea, she should like to have him look and behave as gentle and kind as Mr. Rill. Somehow she found herself singing a cheerful hymn as she mixed and stirred the short-cakes. She could not help wishing that her mother were there to enjoy this surprise, but it did seem very odd, after so many years, to have a man in the house. It had not happened for fifteen years, at least, when they had entertained Deacon Sparks and wife, delegates from the neighboring town of East Wilby to the County Conference.
The neighbors did not laugh at Miss Esther openly or cause her to blush with self-consciousness, however much they may have discussed the situation and smiled behind her back. She took the presence of her guest with delighted simplicity, and the country week was extended to a fortnight, and then to a month. At last, one day Miss Esther and Mr. Rill were seen on their way to the railroad station, with a large bundle apiece beside the carpet-bag, though someone noticed that the bullfinch was left behind. Miss Esther came back alone, looking very woebegone and lonely, and if the truth must be known, she found her house too solitary. She looked into the woodhouse where there was a great store of kindlings, neatly piled, and her water-pail was filled to the brim, her garden-paths were clean of weeds and swept, and yet everywhere she looked it seemed more lonely than ever. She pinned on her shawl again and went along the street to the parsonage.
“My old lady’s just gone,” she said to the minister’s wife. “I was so lonesome I could not stay in the house.”
“You found him a very pleasant visitor, didn’t you, Miss Esther?” asked Mrs. Wayton, laughing a little.
“I did so; he wa’n’t like other men—kind and friendly and fatherly, and never stayed round when I was occupied, but entertained himself down street considerable, an’ was as industrious as a bee, always asking me if there wa’n’t something he could do about house. He and a sister some years older used to keep house together, and it was her long sickness used up what they’d saved, and yet he’s got a little somethin’, and there are friends he used to work for, jewelers, a big firm, that gives him somethin’ regular. He’s goin’ to see”—and Miss Esther blushed crimson—” he’s goin’ to see if they’d be willin’ to pay it just the same if he come to reside in Daleham. He thinks the air agrees with him here.”
“Does he indeed?” inquired the minister’s wife, with deep interest and a look of amusement.
“Yes ’m,” said Miss Esther simply; “but don’t you go an’ say nothin’ yet. I don’t want folks to make a joke of it. Seems to me if he does feel to come back, and remains of the same mind he went away, we might be judicious to take the step—”
“Why, Miss Esther!” exclaimed the listener.
“Not till fall—not till fall,” said Miss Esther hastily. “I ain’t going to count on it too much anyway. I expect we could get along; there’s considerable goodness left in me, and you can always work better when you’ve got somebody beside yourself to work for. There, now I’ve told you I feel as if I was blown away in a gale.”
“Why, I don’t know what to say at such a piece of news!” exclaimed Mrs. Wayton again.
“I don’t know’s there’s anything to say,” gravely answered Miss Esther. “But I did laugh just now coming in the gate to think what a twitter I got into the day I fetched you that piece of paper.”
“Why, I must go right and tell Mr. Wayton!” said the minister’s wife.
“Oh, don’t you, Mis’ Wayton; no, no!” begged
Miss Esther, looking quite coy and girlish. “I really don’t know’s it’s quite settled—it don’t seem’s if it could be. I’m going to hear from him in the course of a week. But I suppose he thinks it’s settled; he’s left the bird.”
The Guests of Mrs. Timms
MRS. PERSIS FLAGG stood in her front doorway taking leave of Miss Cynthia Pickett, who had been making a long call. They were not intimate friends. Miss Pickett always came formerly to the front door and rang when she paid her visits, but, the week before, they had met at the county conference, and happened to be sent to the same house for entertainment, and so had deepened and renewed the pleasures of acquaintance.
It was an afternoon in early June; the syringa-bushes were tall and green on each side of the stone doorsteps, and were covered with their lovely white and golden flowers. Miss Pickett broke off the nearest twig, and held it before her prim face as she talked. She had a pretty childlike smile that came and went suddenly, but her face was not one that bore the marks of many pleasures. Mrs. Flagg was a tall, commanding sort of person, with an air of satisfaction and authority.
“Oh, yes, gather all you want,” she said stiffly, as Miss Pickett took the syringa without having asked beforehand; but she had an amiable expression, and just now her large countenance was lighted up by pleasant anticipation.
“We can tell early what sort of a day it’s goin’ to be,” she said eagerly. “There ain’t a cloud in the sky now. I’ll stop for you as I come along, or if there should be anything unforeseen to detain me, I’ll send you word. I don’t expect you’d want to go if it wa’n’t so that I could?”
“Oh my sakes, no!” answered Miss Pickett discreetly, with a timid flush. “You feel certain that Mis’ Timms won’t be put out? I shouldn’t feel free to go unless I went ‘long o’ you.”
“Why, nothin’ could be plainer than her words,” said Mrs. Flagg in a tone of reproval. “You saw how she urged me, an’ had over all that talk about how we used to see each other often when we both lived to Longport, and told how she’d been thinkin’ of writin’, and askin’ if it wa’n’t so I should be able to come over and stop three or four days as soon as settled weather come, because she couldn’t make no fire in her best chamber on account of the chimbley smokin’ if the wind wa’n’t just right. You see how she felt toward me, kissin’ of me comin’ and goin’? Why, she even asked me who I employed to do over my bonnet, Miss Pickett, just as interested as if she was a sister; an’ she remarked she should look for us any pleasant day after we all got home, an’ were settled after the conference.”
Miss Pickett smiled, but did not speak, as if she expected more arguments still.
“An’ she seemed just about as much gratified to meet with you again. She seemed to desire to meet you again very particular,” continued Mrs. Flagg. “She really urged us to come together an’ have a real good day talkin’ over old times—there, don’t le’ ’s go all over it again! I’ve always heard she’d made that old house of her Aunt Bascoms’ where she lives look real handsome. I once heard her best parlor carpet described as being an elegant carpet, different from any there was round here. Why, nobody couldn’t be more cordial, Miss Pickett; you ain’t goin’ to give out just at the last?”
“Oh, no!” answered the visitor hastily; “no, ’m! I want to go full as much as you do, Mis’ Flagg, but you see I never was so well acquainted with Mis’ Cap’n Timms, an’ I always seem to dread putting myself for’ard. She certain was very urgent, an’ she said plain enough to come any day next week, an’ here ’t is Wednesday, though of course she wouldn’t look for us either Monday or Tuesday. ’T will be a real pleasant occasion, an’ now we’ve been to the conference it don’t seem near so much effort to start.”
“Why, I don’t think nothin’ of it,” said Mrs. Flagg proudly. “We shall have a grand good time, goin’ together an’ all, I feel sure.”
Miss Pickett still played with her syringa flower, tapping her thin cheek, and twirling the stem with her fingers. She looked as if she were going to say something more, but after a moment’s hesitation she turned away.
“Good-afternoon, Mis’ Flagg,” she said formally, looking up with a quick little smile; “I enjoyed my call; I hope I ain’t kep’ you too late; I don’t know but what it’s ‘most tea-time. Well, I shall look for you in the mornin’.”
“Good-afternoon, Miss Pickett; I’m glad I was in when you came. Call again, won’t you?” said Mrs. Flagg. “Yes; you may expect me in good season,” and so they parted. Miss Pickett went out at the neat clicking gate in the white fence, and Mrs. Flagg a moment later looked out of her sitting-room window to see if the gate were latched, and felt the least bit disappointed to find that it was. She sometimes went out after the departure of a guest, and fastened the gate herself with a loud, rebuking sound. Both of these Woodville women lived alone, and were very precise in their way of doing things.
The next morning dawned clear and bright, and Miss Pickett rose even earlier than usual. She found it most difficult to decide which of her dresses would be best to wear. Summer was still so young that the day had all the freshness of spring, but when the two friends walked away together along the shady street, with a chorus of golden robins singing high overhead in the elms, Miss Pickett decided that she had made a wise choice of her second-best black silk gown, which she had just turned again and freshened. It was neither too warm for the season nor too cool, nor did it look overdressed. She wore her large cameo pin, and this, with a long watch-chain, gave an air of proper mural decoration. She was a straight, flat little person, as if, when not in use, she kept herself, silk dress and all, between the leaves of a book. She carried a noticeable parasol with a fringe, and a small shawl, with a pretty border, neatly folded over her left arm. Mrs. Flagg always dressed in black cashmere, and looked, to hasty observers, much the same one day as another; but her companion recognized the fact that this was the best black cashmere of all, and for a moment quailed at the thought that Mrs. Flagg was paying such extreme deference to their prospective hostess. The visit turned for a moment into an unexpectedly solemn formality, and pleasure seemed to wane before Cynthia Pickett’s eyes, yet with great courage she never slackened a single step. Miss Flagg carried a somewhat worn black leather handbag, which Miss Pickett regretted; it did not give the visit that casual and unpremeditated air which she felt to be more elegant.
“Sha’n’t I carry your bag for you?” she asked timidly. Mrs. Flagg was the older and more important person.
“Oh, dear me, no,” answered Mrs. Flagg. “My pocket’s so remote, in case I should desire to sneeze or anything, that I thought’t would be convenient for carrying my handkerchief and pocket-book; an’ then I just tucked in a couple o’ glasses o’ my crab-apple jelly for Mis’ Timms. She used to be a great hand for preserves of every sort, an’ I thought’t would be a kind of an attention, an’ give rise to conversation. I know she used to make excellent drop-cakes when we was both residin’ to Longport; folks used to say she never would give the right receipt, but if I get a real good chance, I mean to ask her. Or why can’t you, if I start talkin’ about receipts—why can’t you say, sort of innocent, that I have always spoken frequently of her drop-cakes, an’ ask for the rule? She would be very sensible to the compliment, and could pass it off if she didn’t feel to indulge us. There, I do so wish you would!”
“Yes, ’m,” said Miss Pickett doubtfully; “I’ll try to make the opportunity. I’m very partial to drop-cakes. Was they flour or rye, Mis’ Flagg?”
“They was flour, dear,” replied Mrs. Flagg approvingly; “crisp an’ light as any you ever see.”
“I wish I had thought to carry somethin’ to make it pleasant,” said Miss Pickett, after they had walked a little farther; “but there, I don’t know’s ’t would look just right, this first visit, to offer anything to such a person as Mis’ Timms. In case I ever go over to Baxter again I won’t forget to make her some little present, as nice as I’ve got. ’T was certain very polite o
f her to urge me to come with you. I did feel very doubtful at first. I didn’t know but she thought it behooved her, because I was in your company at the conference, and she wanted to save my feelin’s, and yet expected I would decline. I never was well acquainted with her; our folks wasn’t well off when I first knew her; ’t was before uncle Cap’n Dyer passed away an’ remembered mother an’ me in his will. We couldn’t make no han’some companies in them days, so we didn’t go to none, an’ kep’ to ourselves; but in my grandmother’s time, mother always said, the families was very friendly. I shouldn’t feel like goin’ over to pass the day with Mis’ Timms if I didn’t mean to ask her to return the visit. Some don’t think o’ these things, but mother was very set about not bein’ done for when she couldn’t make no return.”
A White Heron and Other Stories Page 13