We could see now that there were different footpaths from along shore and across country. In all these there were straggling processions walking in single file, like old illustrations of the Pilgrim’s Progress. There was a crowd about the house as if huge bees were swarming in the lilac bushes. Beyond the fields and cove a higher point of land ran out into the bay, covered with woods which must have kept away much of the northwest wind in winter. Now there was a pleasant look of shade and shelter there for the great family meeting.
We hurried on our way, beginning to feel as if we were very late, and it was a great satisfaction at last to turn out of the stony high road into a green lane shaded with old apple-trees. Mrs. Todd encouraged the horse until he fairly pranced with gayety as we drove round to the front of the house on the soft turf. There was an instant cry of rejoicing, and two or three persons ran toward us from the busy group.
“Why, dear Mis’ Blackett!—here’s Mis’ Blackett!” I heard them say, as if it were pleasure enough for one day to have a sight of her. Mrs. Todd turned to me with a lovely look of triumph and self-forgetfulness. An elderly man who wore the look of a prosperous sea-captain put up both arms and lifted Mrs. Blackett down from the high wagon like a child, and kissed her with hearty affection. “I was master afraid she wouldn’t be here,” he said, looking at Mrs. Todd with a face like a happy sunburnt schoolboy, while everybody crowded round to give their welcome.
“Mother ’s always the queen,” said Mrs. Todd. “Yes, they’ll all make everything of mother; she’ll have a lovely time to-day. I wouldn’t have had her miss it, and there won’t be a thing she’ll ever regret, except to mourn because William wa’n’t here.”
Mrs. Blackett having been properly escorted to the house, Mrs. Todd received her own full share of honor, and some of the men, with a simple kindness that was the soul of chivalry, waited upon us and our baskets and led away the white horse. I already knew some of Mrs. Todd’s friends and kindred, and felt like an adopted Bowden in this happy moment. It seemed to be enough for any one to have arrived by the same conveyance as Mrs. Blackett, who presently had her court inside the house, while Mrs. Todd, large, hospitable, and preeminent, was the centre of a rapidly increasing crowd about the lilac bushes. Small companies were continually coming up the long green slope from the water, and nearly all the boats had come to shore. I counted three or four that were baffled by the light breeze, but before long all the Bowdens, small and great, seemed to have assembled, and we started to go up to the grove across the field.
Out of the chattering crowd of noisy children, and large-waisted women whose best black dresses fell straight to the ground in generous folds, and sunburnt men who looked as serious as if it were town-meeting day, there suddenly came silence and order. I saw the straight, soldierly little figure of a man who bore a fine resemblance to Mrs. Blackett, and who appeared to marshal us with perfect ease. He was imperative enough, but with a grand military sort of courtesy, and bore himself with solemn dignity of importance. We were sorted out according to some clear design of his own, and stood as speechless as a troop to await his orders. Even the children were ready to march together, a pretty flock, and at the last moment Mrs. Blackett and a few distinguished companions, the ministers and those who were very old, came out of the house together and took their places. We ranked by fours, and even then we made a long procession.
There was a wide path mowed for us across the field, and, as we moved along, the birds flew up out of the thick second crop of clover, and the bees hummed as if it still were June. There was a flashing of white gulls over the water where the fleet of boats rode the low waves together in the cove, swaying their small masts as if they kept time to our steps. The plash of the water could be heard faintly, yet still be heard; we might have been a company of ancient Greeks going to celebrate a victory, or to worship the god of harvests in the grove above. It was strangely moving to see this and to make part of it. The sky, the sea, have watched poor humanity at its rites so long; we were no more a New England family celebrating its own existence and simple progress; we carried the tokens and inheritance of all such households from which this had descended, and were only the latest of our line. We possessed the instincts of a far, forgotten childhood; I found myself thinking that we ought to be carrying green branches and singing as we went. So we came to the thick shaded grove still silent, and were set in our places by the straight trees that swayed together and let sunshine through here and there like a single golden leaf that flickered down, vanishing in the cool shade.
The grove was so large that the great family looked far smaller than it had in the open field; there was a thick growth of dark pines and firs with an occasional maple or oak that gave a gleam of color like a bright window in the great roof. On three sides we could see the water, shining behind the tree-trunks, and feel the cool salt breeze that began to come up with the tide just as the day reached its highest point of heat. We could see the green sunlit field we had just crossed as if we looked out at it from a dark room, and the old house and its lilacs standing placidly in the sun, and the great barn with a stockade of carriages from which two or three care-taking men who had lingered were coming across the field together. Mrs. Todd had taken off her warm gloves and looked the picture of content.
“There!” she exclaimed. “I’ve always meant to have you see this place, but I never looked for such a beautiful opportunity—weather an’ occasion both made to match. Yes, it suits me: I don’t ask no more. I want to know if you saw mother walkin’ at the head! It choked me right up to see mother at the head, walkin’ with the ministers,” and Mrs. Todd turned away to hide the feelings she could not instantly control.
“Who was the marshal?” I hastened to ask. “Was he an old soldier?”
“Don’t he do well?” answered Mrs. Todd with satisfaction.
“He don’t often have such a chance to show off his gifts,” said Mrs. Caplin, a friend from the Landing who had joined us. “That’s Sant Bowden; he always takes the lead, such days. Good for nothing else most o’ his time; trouble is, he”—
I turned with interest to hear the worst. Mrs. Caplin’s tone was both zealous and impressive.
“Stim’lates,” she explained scornfully.
“No, Santin never was in the war,” said Mrs. Todd with lofty indifference. “It was a cause of real distress to him. He kep’ enlistin’, and traveled far an’ wide about here, an’ even took the bo’t and went to Boston to volunteer; but he ain’t a sound man, an’ they wouldn’t have him. They say he knows all their tactics, an’ can tell all about the battle o’ Waterloo well ’s he can Bunker Hill. I told him once the country ’d lost a great general, an’ I meant it, too.”
“I expect you’re near right,” said Mrs. Caplin, a little crestfallen and apologetic.
“I be right,” insisted Mrs. Todd with much amiability. “ ’T was most too bad to cramp him down to his peaceful trade, but he’s a most excellent shoemaker at his best, an’ he always says it’s a trade that gives him time to think an’ plan his manœuvres. Over to the Port they always invite him to march Decoration Day, same as the rest, an’ he does look noble; he comes of soldier stock.”
I had been noticing with great interest the curiously French type of face which prevailed in this rustic company. I had said to myself before that Mrs. Blackett was plainly of French descent, in both her appearance and her charming gifts, but this is not surprising when one has learned how large a proportion of the early settlers on this northern coast of New England were of Huguenot blood, and that it is the Norman Englishman, not the Saxon, who goes adventuring to a new world.
“They used to say in old times,” said Mrs. Todd modestly, “that our family came of very high folks in France, and one of ’em was a great general in some o’ the old wars. I sometimes think that Santin’s ability has come ’way down from then. ’T ain’t nothin’ he’s ever acquired; ’t was born in him. I don’t know ’s he ever saw a fine parade, or met with those that studied up s
uch things. He’s figured it all out an’ got his papers so he knows how to aim a cannon right for William’s fish-house five miles out on Green Island, or up there on Burnt Island where the signal is. He had it all over to me one day, an’ I tried hard to appear interested. His life ’s all in it, but he will have those poor gloomy spells come over him now an’ then, an’ then he has to drink.”
Mrs. Caplin gave a heavy sigh.
“There ’s a great many such strayaway folks, just as there is plants,” continued Mrs. Todd, who was nothing if not botanical. “I know of just one sprig of laurel that grows over back here in a wild spot, an’ I never could hear of no other on this coast. I had a large bunch brought me once from Massachusetts way, so I know it. This piece grows in an open spot where you’d think ’t would do well, but it’s sort o’ poor-lookin’. I’ve visited it time an’ again, just to notice its poor blooms. ’T is a real Sant Bowden, out of its own place.”
Mrs. Caplin looked bewildered and blank. “Well, all I know is, last year he worked out some kind of a plan so ’s to parade the county conference in platoons, and got ’em all flustered up tryin’ to sense his ideas of a holler square,” she burst forth, “They was holler enough anyway after ridin’ ’way down from up country into the salt air, and they’d been treated to a sermon on faith an’ works from old Fayther Harlow that never knows when to cease. ’T wa’n’t no time for tactics then,—they wa’n’t a-thinkin’ of the church military. Sant, he couldn’t do nothin’ with ’em. All he thinks of, when he sees a crowd, is how to march ’em. ’T is all very well when he don’t ’tempt too much. He never did act like other folks.”
“Ain’t I just been maintainin’ that he ain’t like ’em?” urged Mrs. Todd decidedly. “Strange folks has got to have strange ways, for what I see.”
“Somebody observed once that you could pick out the likeness of ’most every sort of a foreigner when you looked about you in our parish,” said Sister Caplin, her face brightening with sudden illumination. “I didn’t see the bearin’ of it then quite so plain. I always did think Mari’ Harris resembled a Chinee.”
“Mari’ Harris was pretty as a child, I remember,” said the pleasant voice of Mrs. Blackett, who, after receiving the affectionate greetings of nearly the whole company, came to join us,—to see, as she insisted, that we were out of mischief.
“Yes, Mari’ was one o’ them pretty little lambs that make dreadful homely old sheep,” replied Mrs. Todd with energy. “Cap’n Littlepage never ’d look so disconsolate if she was any sort of a proper person to direct things. She might divert him; yes, she might divert the old gentleman, an’ let him think he had his own way, ’stead o’ arguing everything down to the bare bone. ’T wouldn’t hurt her to sit down an’ hear his great stories once in a while.”
“The stories are very interesting,” I ventured to say.
“Yes, you always catch yourself a-thinkin’ what if they was all true, and he had the right of it,” answered Mrs. Todd. “He’s a good sight better company, though dreamy, than such sordid creatur’s as Mari’ Harris.”
“Live and let live,” said dear old Mrs. Blackett gently. “I haven’t seen the captain for a good while, now that I ain’t so constant to meetin’,” she added wistfully. “We always have known each other.”
“Why, if it is a good pleasant day to-morrow, I’ll get William to call an’ invite the capt’in to dinner. William’ll be in early so’s to pass up the street without meetin’ anybody.”
“There, they’re callin’ out it’s time to set the tables,” said Mrs. Caplin, with great excitement.
“Here’s Cousin Sarah Jane Blackett! Well, I am pleased, certain!” exclaimed Mrs. Todd, with unaffected delight; and these kindred spirits met and parted with the promise of a good talk later on. After this there was no more time for conversation until we were seated in order at the long tables.
“I’m one that always dreads seeing some o’ the folks that I don’t like, at such a time as this,” announced Mrs. Todd privately to me after a season of reflection. We were just waiting for the feast to begin. “You wouldn’t think such a great creatur’ ’s I be could feel all over pins an’ needles. I remember, the day I promised to Nathan, how it come over me, just ’s I was feelin’ happy ’s I could, that I’d got to have an own cousin o’ his for my near relation all the rest o’ my life, an’ it seemed as if die I should. Poor Nathan saw somethin’ had crossed me,—he had very nice feelings,—and when he asked me what ’t was, I told him. ‘I never could like her myself, ’ said he. ‘You sha’n’t be bothered, dear,’ he says; an’ ’t was one o’ the things that made me set a good deal by Nathan, he didn’t make a habit of always opposin’, like some men. ‘Yes,’ says I, ‘but think o’ Thanks-givin’ times an’ funerals; she’s our relation, an’ we’ve got to own her.’ Young folks don’t think o’ those things. There she goes now, do let’s pray her by!” said Mrs. Todd, with an alarming transition from general opinions to particular animosities. “I hate her just the same as I always did; but she’s got on a real pretty dress. I do try to remember that she’s Nathan’s cousin. Oh dear, well; she’s gone by after all, an’ ain’t seen me. I expected she’d come pleasantin’ round just to show off an’ say afterwards she was acquainted.”
This was so different from Mrs. Todd’s usual largeness of mind that I had a moment’s uneasiness; but the cloud passed quickly over her spirit, and was gone with the offender.
There never was a more generous out-of-door feast along the coast than the Bowden family set forth that day. To call it a picnic would make it seem trivial. The great tables were edged with pretty oak-leaf trimming, which the boys and girls made. We brought flowers from the fence-thickets of the great field; and out of the disorder of flowers and provisions suddenly appeared as orderly a scheme for the feast as the marshal had shaped for the procession. I began to respect the Bowdens for their inheritance of good taste and skill and a certain pleasing gift of formality. Something made them do all these things in a finer way than most country people would have done them. As I looked up and down the tables there was a good cheer, a grave soberness that shone with pleasure, a humble dignity of bearing. There were some who should have sat below the salt for lack of this good breeding; but they were not many. So, I said to myself, their ancestors may have sat in the great hall of some old French house in the Middle Ages, when battles and sieges and processions and feasts were familiar things. The ministers and Mrs. Blackett, with a few of their rank and age, were put in places of honor, and for once that I looked any other way I looked twice at Mrs. Blackett’s face, serene and mindful of privilege and responsibility, the mistress by simple fitness of this great day.
Mrs. Todd looked up at the roof of green trees, and then carefully surveyed the company. “I see ’em better now they’re all settin’ down,” she said with satisfaction. “There’s old Mr. Gilbraith and his sister. I wish they were settin’ with us; they’re not among folks they can parley with, an’ they look disappointed.”
As the feast went on, the spirits of my companion steadily rose. The excitement of an unexpectedly great occasion was a subtle stimulant to her disposition, and I could see that sometimes when Mrs. Todd had seemed limited and heavily domestic, she had simply grown sluggish for lack of proper surroundings. She was not so much reminiscent now as expectant, and as alert and gay as a girl. We who were her neighbors were full of gayety, which was but the reflected light from her beaming countenance. It was not the first time that I was full of wonder at the waste of human ability in this world, as a botanist wonders at the wastefulness of nature, the thousand seeds that die, the unused provision of every sort. The reserve force of society grows more and more amazing to one’s thought. More than one face among the Bowdens showed that only opportunity and stimulus were lacking,—a narrow set of circumstances had caged a fine able character and held it captive. One sees exactly the same types in a country gathering as in the most brilliant city company. You are safe to be understood if the spir
it of your speech is the same for one neighbor as for the other.
19.
The Feast’s End.
THE FEAST WAS A noble feast, as has already been said. There was an elegant ingenuity displayed in the form of pies which delighted my heart. Once acknowledge that an American pie is far to be preferred to its humble ancestor, the English tart, and it is joyful to be reassured at a Bowden reunion that invention has not yet failed. Beside a delightful variety of material, the decorations went beyond all my former experience; dates and names were wrought in lines of pastry and frosting on the tops. There was even more elaborate reading matter on an excellent early-apple pie which we began to share and eat, precept upon precept. Mrs. Todd helped me generously to the whole word Bowden, and consumed Reunion herself, save an undecipherable fragment; but the most renowned essay in cookery on the tables was a model of the old Bowden house made of durable gingerbread, with all the windows and doors in the right places, and sprigs of genuine lilac set at the front. It must have been baked in sections, in one of the last of the great brick ovens, and fastened together on the morning of the day. There was a general sigh when this fell into ruin at the feast’s end, and it was shared by a great part of the assembly, not without seriousness, and as if it were a pledge and token of loyalty. I met the maker of the gingerbread house, which had called up lively remembrances of a childish story. She had the gleaming eye of an enthusiast and a look of high ideals.
The Country of the Pointed Firs and Selected Short Fiction Page 13