“Now bless that ar gal,” said the Captain, when he saw her. “Our Sally here’s handsome, but she’s got the real New-Jerusalem look, she has — like them in the Revelations that wears the fine linen, clean and white.”
“Bless you, Captain Kittridge! don’t be a-makin’ a fool of yourself about no girl at your time o’ life,” said Mrs. Kittridge, speaking under her breath in a nipping, energetic tone, for they were coming too near the boat to speak very loud.
“Good mornin’, Mis’ Pennel; we’ve got a good day, and a mercy it is so. ‘Member when we launched the North Star, that it rained guns all the mornin’, and the water got into the baskets when we was a-fetchin’ the things over, and made a sight o’ pester.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pennel, with an air of placid satisfaction, “everything seems to be going right about this vessel.”
Mrs. Kittridge and Sally were soon accommodated with seats, and Zephaniah Pennel and the Captain began trimming sail. The day was one of those perfect gems of days which are to be found only in the jewel-casket of October, a day neither hot nor cold, with an air so clear that every distant pine-tree top stood out in vivid separateness, and every woody point and rocky island seemed cut out in crystalline clearness against the sky. There was so brisk a breeze that the boat slanted quite to the water’s edge on one side, and Mara leaned over and pensively drew her little pearly hand through the water, and thought of the days when she and Moses took this sail together — she in her pink sun-bonnet, and he in his round straw hat, with a tin dinner-pail between them; and now, to-day the ship of her childish dreams was to be launched. That launching was something she regarded almost with superstitious awe. The ship, built on one element, but designed to have its life in another, seemed an image of the soul, framed and fashioned with many a weary hammer-stroke in this life, but finding its true element only when it sails out into the ocean of eternity. Such was her thought as she looked down the clear, translucent depths; but would it have been of any use to try to utter it to anybody? — to Sally Kittridge, for example, who sat all in a cheerful rustle of bright ribbons beside her, and who would have shown her white teeth all round at such a suggestion, and said, “Now, Mara, who but you would have thought of that?”
But there are souls sent into this world who seem to have always mysterious affinities for the invisible and the unknown — who see the face of everything beautiful through a thin veil of mystery and sadness. The Germans call this yearning of spirit home-sickness — the dim remembrances of a spirit once affiliated to some higher sphere, of whose lost brightness all things fair are the vague reminders. As Mara looked pensively into the water, it seemed to her that every incident of life came up out of its depths to meet her. Her own face reflected in a wavering image, sometimes shaped itself to her gaze in the likeness of the pale lady of her childhood, who seemed to look up at her from the waters with dark, mysterious eyes of tender longing. Once or twice this dreamy effect grew so vivid that she shivered, and drawing herself up from the water, tried to take an interest in a very minute account which Mrs. Kittridge was giving of the way to make corn-fritters which should taste exactly like oysters. The closing direction about the quantity of mace Mrs. Kittridge felt was too sacred for common ears, and therefore whispered it into Mrs. Pennel’s bonnet with a knowing nod and a look from her black spectacles which would not have been bad for a priestess of Dodona in giving out an oracle. In this secret direction about the mace lay the whole mystery of corn-oysters; and who can say what consequences might ensue from casting it in an unguarded manner before the world?
And now the boat which has rounded Harpswell Point is skimming across to the head of Middle Bay, where the new ship can distinctly be discerned standing upon her ways, while moving clusters of people were walking up and down her decks or lining the shore in the vicinity. All sorts of gossiping and neighborly chit-chat is being interchanged in the little world assembling there.
“I hain’t seen the Pennels nor the Kittridges yet,” said Aunt Ruey, whose little roly-poly figure was made illustrious in her best cinnamon-colored dyed silk. “There’s Moses Pennel a-goin’ up that ar ladder. Dear me, what a beautiful feller he is! it’s a pity he ain’t a-goin’ to marry Mara Lincoln, after all.”
“Ruey, do hush up,” said Miss Roxy, frowning sternly down from under the shadow of a preternatural black straw bonnet, trimmed with huge bows of black ribbon, which head-piece sat above her curls like a helmet. “Don’t be a-gettin’ sentimental, Ruey, whatever else you get — and talkin’ like Miss Emily Sewell about match-makin’; I can’t stand it; it rises on my stomach, such talk does. As to that ar Moses Pennel, folks ain’t so certain as they thinks what he’ll do. Sally Kittridge may think he’s a-goin’ to have her, because he’s been a-foolin’ round with her all summer, and Sally Kittridge may jist find she’s mistaken, that’s all.”
“Yes,” said Miss Ruey, “I ‘member when I was a girl my old aunt, Jerushy Hopkins, used to be always a-dwellin’ on this Scripture, and I’ve been havin’ it brought up to me this mornin’: ‘There are three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four, which I know not: the way of an eagle in the air, the way of a serpent upon a rock, the way of a ship in the sea, and the way of a man with a maid.’ She used to say it as a kind o’ caution to me when she used to think Abram Peters was bein’ attentive to me. I’ve often reflected what a massy it was that ar never come to nothin’, for he’s a poor drunken critter now.”
“Well, for my part,” said Miss Roxy, fixing her eyes critically on the boat that was just at the landing, “I should say the ways of a maid with a man was full as particular as any of the rest of ‘em. Do look at Sally Kittridge now. There’s Tom Hiers a-helpin’ her out of the boat; and did you see the look she gin Moses Pennel as she went by him? Wal’, Moses has got Mara on his arm anyhow; there’s a gal worth six-and-twenty of the other. Do see them ribbins and scarfs, and the furbelows, and the way that ar Sally Kittridge handles her eyes. She’s one that one feller ain’t never enough for.”
Mara’s heart beat fast when the boat touched the shore, and Moses and one or two other young men came to assist in their landing. Never had he looked more beautiful than at this moment, when flushed with excitement and satisfaction he stood on the shore, his straw hat off, and his black curls blowing in the sea-breeze. He looked at Sally with a look of frank admiration as she stood there dropping her long black lashes over her bright cheeks, and coquettishly looking out from under them, but she stepped forward with a little energy of movement, and took the offered hand of Tom Hiers, who was gazing at her too with undisguised rapture, and Moses, stepping into the boat, helped Mrs. Pennel on shore, and then took Mara on his arm, looking her over as he did so with a glance far less assured and direct than he had given to Sally.
“You won’t be afraid to climb the ladders, Mara?” said he.
“Not if you help me,” she said.
Sally and Tom Hiers had already walked on toward the vessel, she ostentatiously chatting and laughing with him. Moses’s brow clouded a little, and Mara noticed it. Moses thought he did not care for Sally; he knew that the little hand that was now lying on his arm was the one he wanted, and yet he felt vexed when he saw Sally walk off triumphantly with another. It was the dog-in-the-manger feeling which possesses coquettes of both sexes. Sally, on all former occasions, had shown a marked preference for him, and professed supreme indifference to Tom Hiers.
“It’s all well enough,” he said to himself, and he helped Mara up the ladders with the greatest deference and tenderness. “This little woman is worth ten such girls as Sally, if one only could get her heart. Here we are on our ship, Mara,” he said, as he lifted her over the last barrier and set her down on the deck. “Look over there, do you see Eagle Island? Did you dream when we used to go over there and spend the day that you ever would be on my ship, as you are to-day? You won’t be afraid, will you, when the ship starts?”
“I am too much of a sea-girl to fear on anything that sails
in water,” said Mara with enthusiasm. “What a splendid ship! how nicely it all looks!”
“Come, let me take you over it,” said Moses, “and show you my cabin.”
Meanwhile the graceful little vessel was the subject of various comments by the crowd of spectators below, and the clatter of workmen’s hammers busy in some of the last preparations could yet be heard like a shower of hail-stones under her.
“I hope the ways are well greased,” said old Captain Eldritch. “‘Member how the John Peters stuck in her ways for want of their being greased?”
“Don’t you remember the Grand Turk, that keeled over five minutes after she was launched?” said the quavering voice of Miss Ruey; “there was jist such a company of thoughtless young creatures aboard as there is now.”
“Well, there wasn’t nobody hurt,” said Captain Kittridge. “If Mis’ Kittridge would let me, I’d be glad to go aboard this ‘ere, and be launched with ‘em.”
“I tell the Cap’n he’s too old to be climbin’ round and mixin’ with young folks’ frolics,” said Mrs. Kittridge.
“I suppose, Cap’n Pennel, you’ve seen that the ways is all right,” said Captain Broad, returning to the old subject.
“Oh yes, it’s all done as well as hands can do it,” said Zephaniah. “Moses has been here since starlight this morning, and Moses has pretty good faculty about such matters.”
“Where’s Mr. Sewell and Miss Emily?” said Miss Ruey. “Oh, there they are over on that pile of rocks; they get a pretty fair view there.”
Mr. Sewell and Miss Emily were sitting under a cedar-tree, with two or three others, on a projecting point whence they could have a clear view of the launching. They were so near that they could distinguish clearly the figures on deck, and see Moses standing with his hat off, the wind blowing his curls back, talking earnestly to the golden-haired little woman on his arm.
“It is a launch into life for him,” said Mr. Sewell, with suppressed feeling.
“Yes, and he has Mara on his arm,” said Miss Emily; “that’s as it should be. Who is that that Sally Kittridge is flirting with now? Oh, Tom Hiers. Well! he’s good enough for her. Why don’t she take him?” said Miss Emily, in her zeal jogging her brother’s elbow.
“I’m sure, Emily, I don’t know,” said Mr. Sewell dryly; “perhaps he won’t be taken.”
“Don’t you think Moses looks handsome?” said Miss Emily. “I declare there is something quite romantic and Spanish about him; don’t you think so, Theophilus?”
“Yes, I think so,” said her brother, quietly looking, externally, the meekest and most matter-of-fact of persons, but deep within him a voice sighed, “Poor Dolores, be comforted, your boy is beautiful and prosperous!”
“There, there!” said Miss Emily, “I believe she is starting.”
All eyes of the crowd were now fixed on the ship; the sound of hammers stopped; the workmen were seen flying in every direction to gain good positions to see her go, — that sight so often seen on those shores, yet to which use cannot dull the most insensible.
First came a slight, almost imperceptible, movement, then a swift exultant rush, a dash into the hissing water, and the air was rent with hurrahs as the beautiful ship went floating far out on the blue seas, where her fairer life was henceforth to be.
Mara was leaning on Moses’s arm at the instant the ship began to move, but in the moment of the last dizzy rush she felt his arm go tightly round her, holding her so close that she could hear the beating of his heart.
“Hurrah!” he said, letting go his hold the moment the ship floated free, and swinging his hat in answer to the hats, scarfs, and handkerchiefs, which fluttered from the crowd on the shore. His eyes sparkled with a proud light as he stretched himself upward, raising his head and throwing back his shoulders with a triumphant movement. He looked like a young sea-king just crowned; and the fact is the less wonderful, therefore, that Mara felt her heart throb as she looked at him, and that a treacherous throb of the same nature shook the breezy ribbons fluttering over the careless heart of Sally. A handsome young sea-captain, treading the deck of his own vessel, is, in his time and place, a prince.
Moses looked haughtily across at Sally, and then passed a half-laughing defiant flash of eyes between them. He looked at Mara, who could certainly not have known what was in her eyes at the moment, — an expression that made his heart give a great throb, and wonder if he saw aright: but it was gone a moment after, as all gathered around in a knot exchanging congratulations on the fortunate way in which the affair had gone off. Then came the launching in boats to go back to the collation on shore, where were high merry-makings for the space of one or two hours: and thus was fulfilled the first part of Moses Pennel’s Saturday afternoon prediction.
CHAPTER XXXI
GREEK MEETS GREEK
Moses was now within a day or two of the time of his sailing, and yet the distance between him and Mara seemed greater than ever. It is astonishing, when two people are once started on a wrong understanding with each other, how near they may live, how intimate they may be, how many things they may have in common, how many words they may speak, how closely they may seem to simulate intimacy, confidence, friendship, while yet there lies a gulf between them that neither crosses, — a reserve that neither explores.
Like most shy girls, Mara became more shy the more really she understood the nature of her own feelings. The conversation with Sally had opened her eyes to the secret of her own heart, and she had a guilty feeling as if what she had discovered must be discovered by every one else. Yes, it was clear she loved Moses in a way that made him, she thought, more necessary to her happiness than she could ever be to his, — in a way that made it impossible to think of him as wholly and for life devoted to another, without a constant inner conflict. In vain had been all her little stratagems practiced upon herself the whole summer long, to prove to herself that she was glad that the choice had fallen upon Sally. She saw clearly enough now that she was not glad, — that there was no woman or girl living, however dear, who could come for life between him and her, without casting on her heart the shuddering sorrow of a dim eclipse.
But now the truth was plain to herself, her whole force was directed toward the keeping of her secret. “I may suffer,” she thought, “but I will have strength not to be silly and weak. Nobody shall know, — nobody shall dream it, — and in the long, long time that he is away, I shall have strength given me to overcome.”
So Mara put on her most cheerful and matter-of-fact kind of face, and plunged into the making of shirts and knitting of stockings, and talked of the coming voyage with such a total absence of any concern, that Moses began to think, after all, there could be no depth to her feelings, or that the deeper ones were all absorbed by some one else.
“You really seem to enjoy the prospect of my going away,” said he to her, one morning, as she was energetically busying herself with her preparations.
“Well, of course; you know your career must begin. You must make your fortune; and it is pleasant to think how favorably everything is shaping for you.”
“One likes, however, to be a little regretted,” said Moses, in a tone of pique.
“A little regretted!” Mara’s heart beat at these words, but her hypocrisy was well practiced. She put down the rebellious throb, and assuming a look of open, sisterly friendliness, said, quite naturally, “Why, we shall all miss you, of course.”
“Of course,” said Moses,—”one would be glad to be missed some other way than of course.”
“Oh, as to that, make yourself easy,” said Mara. “We shall all be dull enough when you are gone to content the most exacting.” Still she spoke, not stopping her stitching, and raising her soft brown eyes with a frank, open look into Moses’s — no tremor, not even of an eyelid.
“You men must have everything,” she continued, gayly, “the enterprise, the adventure, the novelty, the pleasure of feeling that you are something, and can do something in the world; and besides all this,
you want the satisfaction of knowing that we women are following in chains behind your triumphal car!”
There was a dash of bitterness in this, which was a rare ingredient in Mara’s conversation.
Moses took the word. “And you women sit easy at home, sewing and singing, and forming romantic pictures of our life as like its homely reality as romances generally are to reality; and while we are off in the hard struggle for position and the means of life, you hold your hearts ready for the first rich man that offers a fortune ready made.”
“The first!” said Mara. “Oh, you naughty! sometimes we try two or three.”
“Well, then, I suppose this is from one of them,” said Moses, flapping down a letter from Boston, directed in a masculine hand, which he had got at the post-office that morning.
Now Mara knew that this letter was nothing in particular, but she was taken by surprise, and her skin was delicate as peach-blossom, and so she could not help a sudden blush, which rose even to her golden hair, vexed as she was to feel it coming. She put the letter quietly in her pocket, and for a moment seemed too discomposed to answer.
“You do well to keep your own counsel,” said Moses. “No friend so near as one’s self, is a good maxim. One does not expect young girls to learn it so early, but it seems they do.”
Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe Page 227