The year was at its noon. Every rose-bush was glorious with bloom, and
even the old climbing rose which clung, in its decay, to Miss
Mehitable's porch railing had put forth a few fragrant blossoms.
Soon after Araminta had been carried back home, she discovered that she
had changed since she went away. Aunt Hitty no longer seemed
infallible. Indeed, Araminta had admitted to herself, though with the
pangs of a guilty conscience, that it was possible for Aunt Hitty to be
mistaken. It was probable that the entire knowledge of the world was
not concentrated in Aunt Hitty.
Outwardly, things went on as usual. Miss Mehitable issued orders to
Araminta as the commander in chief of an army issues instructions to
his subordinates, and Araminta obeyed as faithfully as before, yet with
a distinct difference. She did what she was told to do out of
gratitude for lifelong care, and not because she felt that she had to.
She went, frequently, to see Miss Evelina, having disposed of
objections by the evident fact that she could not neglect any one who
had been so kind to her as Miss Evelina had. Usually, however, the
faithful guardian went along, and the three sat in the garden, Evelina
with her frail hands listlessly folded, and the others stitching away
at the endless and monotonous patchwork.
Miss Mehitable had a secret fear that the bloom had been brushed from
her rose. Until the accident, Araminta had scarcely been out of her
sight since she brought her home, a toddling infant. Miss Mehitable's
mind had unerringly controlled two bodies until Araminta fell off the
ladder. Now, the other mind began to show distressing signs of
activity.
By dint of extra work, Araminta's eighth patchwork quilt was made for
quilting, and the Ladies' Aid Society was invited to Miss Mehitable's
for the usual Summer revelry of quilting and gossip. Miss Evelina was
invited, but refused to go.
After the festivity was over, Miss Mehitable made a fruitful excavation
into a huge chest in the attic, and emerged, flushed but happy, with
enough scraps for three quilts.
"This here next quilt, Minty," she said, with the air of one announcing
a pleasant surprise, "will be the Risin' Sun and Star pattern. It's
harder 'n the others, and that's why I've kep' it until now. You've
done all them other quilts real good," she added, grudgingly.
Araminta had her own surprise ready, but it was not of a pleasant
nature. "Thank you, Aunt Hitty," she replied, "but I'm not going to
make any more quilts, for a while, at any rate."
Miss Mehitable's lower jaw dropped in amazement. Never before had
Araminta failed to obey her suggestions. "Minty," she said, anxiously,
"don't you feel right? It was hot yesterday, and the excitement, and
all--I dunno but you may have had a stroke."
Araminta smiled--a lovable, winning smile. "No, I haven't had any
'stroke,' but I've made all the quilts I'm going to until I get to be
an old woman, and have nothing else to do."
"What are you layin' out to do, Minty?" demanded Miss Mehitable.
"I'm going to be outdoors all I want to, and I'm going up to Miss
Evelina's and play with my kitten, and help you with the housework, or
do anything else you want me to do, but--no more quilts," concluded the
girl, firmly.
"Araminta Lee!" cried Miss Mehitable, speech having returned. "If I
ain't ashamed of you! Here's your poor old aunt that's worked her
fingers to the bone, slaving for you almost ever since the day you was
born, and payin' a doctor's outrageous bill of four dollars and a
half--or goin' to pay," she corrected, her conscience reproaching her,
"and you refusin' to mind!
"Haven't I took good care of you all these eighteen years? Haven't I
set up with you when you was sick and never let you out of my sight for
a minute, and taught you to be as good a housekeeper as any in Rushton,
and made you into a first-class seamstress, and educated you myself,
and looked after your religious training, and made your clothes? Ain't
I been father and mother and sister and brother and teacher and
grandparents all rolled into one? And now you're refusin' to make
quilts!"
Araminta's heart reproached her, but the blood of some fighting
ancestor was in her pulses now. "I know, Aunt Hitty," she said,
kindly, "you've done all that and more, and I'm not in the least
ungrateful, though you may think so. But I'm not going to make any
more quilts!"
"Araminta Lee," said Miss Mehitable, warningly, "look careful where
you're steppin'. Hell is yawning in front of you this very minute!"
Araminta smiled sweetly. Since the day the minister had gone to see
her, she had had no fear of hell. "I don't see it, Aunt Hitty," she
said, "but if everybody who hasn't pieced more than eight quilts by
hand is in there, it must be pretty crowded."
"Araminta Lee," cried Miss Mehitable, "you're your mother all over
again. She got just as high-steppin' as you before her downfall, and
see where she ended at. She was married," concluded the accuser,
scornfully, "yes, actually married!"
"Aunt Hitty," said Araminta, her sweet mouth quivering ever so little,
"your mother was married, too, wasn't she?" With this parting shaft,
the girl went out of the room, her head held high.
Miss Mehitable stared after her, uncomprehending. Slowly it dawned
upon her that some one had been telling tales and undoing her careful
work. "Minty! Minty!" she cried, "how can you talk to me so!"
But 'Minty' was outdoors and on her way to Miss Evelina's, bareheaded,
this being strictly forbidden, so she did not hear. She was hoping
against hope that some day, at Miss Evelina's, she might meet Doctor
Ralph again and tell him she was sorry she had broken his heart.
Since the day he went away from her, Araminta had not had even a
glimpse of him. She had gone to his father's funeral, as everyone else
in the village did, and had wondered that he was not in the front seat,
where, in her brief experience of funerals, mourners usually sat.
She admitted, to herself, that she had gone to the funeral solely for
the sake of seeing Doctor Ralph. Araminta was wholly destitute of
curiosity regarding the dead, and she had not joined the interested
procession which wound itself around Anthony Dexter's coffin before
passing out, regretfully, at the front door. Neither had Miss
Mehitable. At the time, Araminta had thought it strange, for at all
previous occasions of the kind, within her remembrance. Aunt Hitty had
been well up among the mourners and had usually gone around the casket
twice.
At Miss Evelina's, she knocked in vain. There was white chiffon upon
the line, but all the doors were locked. Doctor Ralph was not there,
either, and even the kitten was not in sight, so, regretfully, Araminta
went home again.
Throughout the day, Miss Mehitable did not speak to her erring niece,
but Araminta felt it to be a relief, rather than a punishment. In the
afternoon, the emancipated young woman put on her best gown--a white,
cross-barred muslin which she had made herself. It was not Sunday, and
Araminta was forbidden to wear the glorified raiment save on occasions
of high state.
She added further to her sins by picking a pink rose--Miss Mehitable
did not think flowers were made to pick--and fastening it coquettishly
in her brown hair. Moreover, Araminta had put her hair up loosely,
instead of in the neat, tight wad which Miss Mehitable had forced upon
her the day she donned long skirts. When Miss Mehitable beheld her
transformed charge she would have broken her vow of silence had not the
words mercifully failed. Aunt Hitty's vocabulary was limited, and she
had no language in which to express her full opinion of the wayward
one, so she assumed, instead, the pose of a suffering martyr.
The atmosphere at the table, during supper, was icy, even though it was
the middle of June. Thorpe noticed it and endeavoured to talk, but was
not successful. Miss Mehitable's few words, which were invariably
addressed to him, were so acrid in quality that they made him nervous.
The Reverend Austin Thorpe, innocent as he was of all intentional
wrong, was made to feel like a criminal haled to the bar of justice.
But Araminta glowed and dimpled and smiled. Her eyes danced with
mischief, and the colour came and went upon her velvety cheeks. She
took pains to ask Aunt Hitty for the salt or the bread, and kept up a
continuous flow of high-spirited talk. Had it not been for Araminta,
the situation would have become openly strained.
Afterward, she began to clear up the dishes as usual, but Miss
Mehitable pushed her out of the room with a violence indicative of
suppressed passion. So, humming a hymn at an irreverent tempo,
Araminta went out and sat down on the front porch, spreading down the
best rug in the house that she might not soil her gown. This, also,
was forbidden.
When the dishes were washed and put away, Miss Mehitable came out, clad
in her rustling black silk and her best bonnet. "Miss Lee," she said
very coldly, "I am going out."
"All right, Aunt Hitty" returned Araminta, cheerfully. "As it happens,
I'm not."
Miss Mehitable repressed an exclamation of horror. Seemingly, then, it
had occurred to Araminta to go out in the evening--alone!
Miss Mehitable's feet moved swiftly away from the house. She was going
to the residence of the oldest and most orthodox deacon in Thorpe's
church, to ask for guidance in dealing with her wayward charge, but
Araminta never dreamed of this.
Dusk came, the sweet, June dusk, starred with fireflies and clouded
with great white moths. The roses and mignonette and honeysuckle made
the air delicately fragrant. To the emancipated one, it was, indeed, a
beautiful world.
Austin Thorpe came out, having found his room unbearably close. As the
near-sighted sometimes do, he saw more clearly at twilight than at
other times.
"You here, child?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm here," replied Araminta, happily. "Sit down, won't you?"
Having taken the first step, she found the others comparatively easy,
and was rejoicing in her new freedom. She felt sure, too, that some
day she should see Doctor Ralph once more and all would be made right
between them.
The minister sat down gladly, his old heart yearning toward Araminta as
toward a loved and only child. "Where is your aunt?" he asked, timidly.
"Goodness knows," laughed Araminta, irreverently. "She's gone out, in
all her best clothes. She didn't say whether she was coming back or
not."
Thorpe was startled, for he had never heard speech like this from
Araminta. He knew her only as a docile, timid child. Now, she seemed
suddenly to have grown up.
For her part, Araminta remembered how the minister had once helped her
out of a difficulty, and taken away from her forever the terrible,
haunting fear of hell. Here was a dazzling opportunity to acquire new
knowledge.
"Mr. Thorpe," she demanded, eagerly, "what is it to be married?"
"To be married," repeated Austin Thorpe, dreamily, his eyes fixed upon
a firefly that flitted, star-tike, near the rose, "is, I think, the
nearest this world can come to Heaven."
"Oh!" cried Araminta, in astonishment. "What does it mean?"
"It means," answered Thorpe, softly, "that a man and a woman whom God
meant to be mated have found each other at last. It means there is
nothing in the world that you have to face alone, that all your joys
are doubled and all your sorrows shared. It means that there is no
depth into which you can go alone, that one other hand is always in
yours; trusting, clinging, tender, to help you bear whatever comes.
"It means that the infinite love has been given, in part, to you, for
daily strength and comfort. It is a balm for every wound, a spur for
every lagging, a sure dependence in every weakness, a belief in every
doubt. The perfect being is neither man nor woman, but a merging of
dual natures into a united whole. To be married gives a man a woman's
tenderness; a woman, a man's courage. The long years stretch before
them, and what lies beyond no one can say, but they face it, smiling
and serene, because they are together."
"My mother was married," said Araminta, softly. All at once, the stain
of disgrace was wiped out.
"Yes, dear child, and, I hope, to the man she loved, as I hope that
some day you will be married to the man who loves you."
Araminta's whole heart yearned toward Ralph--yearned unspeakably. In
something else, surely, Aunt Hitty was wrong.
"Araminta," said Thorpe, his voice shaking; "dear child, come here."
She followed him into the house. His trembling old hands lighted a
candle and she saw that his eyes were full of tears. From an inner
pocket, he drew out a small case, wrapped in many thicknesses of worn
paper. He unwound it reverently, his face alight with a look she had
never seen there before.
"See!" he said. He opened the ornate case and showed her an old
daguerreotype. A sweet, girlish face looked out at her, a woman with
trusting, loving eyes, a sweet mouth, and dark, softly parted hair.
"Oh," whispered Araminta. "Were you married--to her?"
"No," answered Thorpe, hoarsely, shutting the case with a snap and
beginning to wrap it again in the many folds of paper. "I was to have
been married to her." His voice lingered with inexpressible fondness
upon the words. "She died," he said, his lips quivering.
"Oh," cried the girl, "I'm sorry!" A sharp pang pierced her through
and through.
"Child," said Thorpe, his wrinkled hand closing on hers, "to those who
love, there is no such thing as Death. Do you think that just because
she is dead, I have ceased to care? Death has made her mine as Life
could never do. She walks beside me daily, as though we were hand in
hand. Her tenderness makes me tender, her courage gives me strength,
her great charity makes me kind. Her belief has made my own faith more
sure, her steadfastness keeps me from faltering, and her patience
enables me to wait until the end, when I go, into the Unknown, to meet
her. Child, I do not know if there be a Heaven, but if God gives me
her, and her love, as I knew it once, I shall not ask for more."
Unable to say more, for the tears, Thorpe stumbled out of the room.
Araminta's own eyes were wet and her heart was strangely tender to all
the world. Miss Evelina, the kitten, Mr. Thorpe, Doctor Ralph--even
Aunt Hitty--were all included in a wave of unspeakable tenderness.
Never stopping to question, Araminta sped out of the house, her feet
following where her heart led. Past the crossroads, to the right, down
into the village, across the tracks, then sharply to the left, up to
Doctor Dexter's, where, only a few weeks before, she had gone in the
hope of seeing Doctor Ralph, Araminta ran like some young Atalanta,
across whose path no golden apples were thrown.
The door was open, and she rushed in, unthinking, turning by instinct
into the library, where Ralph sat alone, leaning his head upon his hand.
"Doctor Ralph!" she cried, "I've come!"
He looked up, then started forward. One look into her glorified face
told him all that he needed to know. "Undine," he said, huskily, "have
you found your soul?"
"I don't know what I've found," sobbed Araminta, from the shelter of
his arms, "but I've come, to stay with you always, if you'll let me!"
"If I'll let you," murmured Ralph, kissing away her happy tears. "You
little saint, it's what I want as I want nothing else in the world."
"I know what it is to be married," said Araminta, after a little, her
grave, sweet eyes on his. "I asked Mr. Thorpe to-night and he told me.
It's to be always with the one you love, and never to mind what anybody
else says or does. It's to help each other bear everything and be
twice as happy because you're together. It means that somebody will
always help you when things go wrong, and there'll always be something
you can lean on. You'll never be afraid of anything, because you're
together. My mother was married, your mother was married, and I've
found out that Aunt Hitty's mother was married, too.
"And Mr. Thorpe--he would have been married, but she died. He told me
and he showed me her picture, and he says that it doesn't make any
difference to be dead, when you love anybody, and that Heaven, for him,
will be where she waits for him and puts her hand in his again. He was
crying, and so was I, but it's because he has her and I have you!"
"Sweetheart! Darling!" cried Ralph, crushing her into his close
embrace. "It's God Himself who brought you to me now!"
"No," returned Araminta, missing the point, "I came all by myself. And
I ran all the way. Nobody brought me. But I've come, for always, and
I'll never leave you again. I'm sorry I broke your heart!"
"You've made it well again," he said, fondly, "and so we'll be
married--you and I."
"Yes," repeated Araminta, her beautiful face alight with love, "we'll
be married, you and I!"
"Sweet," he said, "do you think I deserve so much?"
"Being married is giving everything," she explained, "but I haven't
anything at all. Only eight quilts and me! Do you care for quilts?"
"Quilts be everlastingly condemned. I'm going to tell Aunt Hitty."
"No," said Araminta, "I'm going to tell her my own self, so now! And
I'll tell her to-morrow!"
It was after ten when Ralph took Araminta home. From the parlour
window Miss Mehitable was watching anxiously. She had divested herself
of the rustling black silk and was safely screened by the shutters.
She had been at home an hour or more, and though she had received
plenty of good advice, of a stern nature, from her orthodox counsellor,
her mind was far from at rest. Having conjured up all sorts of dire
happenings, she was relieved when she heard voices outside.
Miss Mehitable peered out eagerly from behind the shutters. Up the
road came Araminta--may the saints preserve us!--with a man! Miss
Mehitable quickly placed him as that blackmailing play-doctor who now
should never have his four dollars and a half unless he collected it by
law. Only in the last ditch would she surrender.
They were talking and laughing, and Ralph's black-coated arm was around
Araminta's white-robed waist. They came slowly to the gate, where they
stopped. Araminta laid her head confidingly upon Ralph's shoulder and
he held her tightly in his arms, kissing her repeatedly, as Miss
Mehitable guessed, though she could not see very well.
At last they parted and Araminta ran lightly into the house, saying, in
a low, tender voice: "To-morrow, dear, to-morrow!"
She went up-stairs, singing. Even then Miss Mehitable observed that it
was not a hymn, but some light and ungodly tune she had picked up,
Heaven knew where!
She went to her room, still humming, and presently her light was out,
but her guardian angel was too stiff with horror to move.
"O Lord," prayed Araminta, as she sank to sleep, "keep me from the
contamination of--not being married to him, for Thy sake, Amen."