Susanna had found Sue in the upper chamber at the Office Building, and
began to make the simple preparations for her homeward journey. It was
the very hour when John Hathaway was saying:--
“Set her place at hearth and board
As it used to be.”
Sue interfered with the packing somewhat by darting to and fro, bringing
her mother sacred souvenirs given her by the Shaker sisters and
the children--needle-books, pin-balls, thimble-cases, packets of
flower-seeds, polished pebbles, bottles of flavoring extract.
“This is for Fardie,” she would say, “and this for Jack and this for
Ellen and this for Aunt Louisa--the needle-book, 'cause she's so useful.
Oh, I'm glad we're going home, Mardie, though I do love it here, and I
was most ready to be a truly Shaker. It's kind of pityish to have your
hair shingled and your stocking half-knitted and know how to say 'yee'
and then have it all wasted.”
Susanna dropped a tear on the dress she was folding. The child was going
home, as she had come away from it, gay, irresponsible, and merry; it
was only the mothers who hoped and feared and dreaded. The very universe
was working toward Susanna's desire at that moment, but she was all
unaware of the happiness that lay so near. She could not see the
freshness of the house in Farnham, the new bits of furniture here and
there; the autumn leaves in her own bedroom; her worktable full of
the records of John's sorrowful summer; Jack handsomer and taller, and
softer, also, in his welcoming mood; Ellen rosy and excited. She did not
know that Joel Atterbury had said to John that day, “I take it all back,
old man, and I hope you'll stay on in the firm!” nor that Aunt Louisa,
who was putting stiff, short-stemmed chrysanthemums in cups and tumblers
here and there through the house, was much more flexible and human than
was natural to her; nor that John, alternating between hope and despair,
was forever humming:
“Set her place at hearth and board
As it used to be:
Higher are the hills of home,
Bluer is the sea!”
It is often so. They who go weeping to look for the dead body of a
sorrow, find a vision of angels where the body has lain.
“I hope Fardie 'll be glad to see us and Ellen will have gingerbread,”
Sue chattered; then, pausing at the window, she added, “I'm sorry to
leave the hills, 'cause I 'specially like them, don't you, Mardie?”
“We are leaving the Shaker hills, but we are going to the hills of
home,” her mother answered cheerily. “Don't you remember the Farnham
hills, dear?”
“Yes, I remember,” and Sue looked thoughtful; “they were farther off and
covered with woods; these are smooth and gentle. And we shall miss the
lake, Mardie.”
“Yes; but we can look at the blue sea from your bedroom window, Sue!”
“And we'll tell Fardie about Polly Reed and the little quail bird, won't
we?”
“Yes; but he and Jack will have a great deal to say to us, and we must
n't talk all the time about the dear, kind Shakers, you know!”
“You're all '_buts_,' Mardie!” at which Susanna smiled through her
tears.
Twilight deepened into dusk, and dusk into dark, and then the moon rose
over the poplar trees outside the window where Susanna and Sue were
sleeping. The Shaker Brethren and Sisters were resting serenely after
their day of confession. It was the aged Tabitha's last Sabbath on
earth, but had she known, it would have made no difference; if ever a
soul was ready for heaven, it was Tabitha's.
There was an Irish family at the foot of the long hill that lay between
the Settlement and the village of Albion; father, mother, and children
had prayed to the Virgin before they went to bed; and the gray-haired
minister in the low-roofed parsonage was writing his communion sermon on
a text sacred to the orthodox Christian world. The same moon shone over
all, and over millions of others worshiping strange idols and holding
strange beliefs in strange far lands, yet none of them owned the whole
of heaven; for as Elder Gray said, “It is a big place and belongs to
God.”
Susanna Hathaway went back to John thinking it her plain duty, and to me
it seems beautiful that she found waiting for her at the journey's end a
new love that was better than the old; found a husband to whom she could
say in that first sacred hour when they were alone together, “Never
mind, John! Let's forget, and begin all over again.”
When Susanna and Sue alighted at the little railway station at Farnham,
and started to walk through the narrow streets that led to the suburbs,
the mother's heart beat more and more tumultuously as she realized that
the issues of four lives would be settled before nightfall.
Little did Sue reck of life issues, skipping like a young roe from one
side of the road to the other. “There are the hills, not a bit changed,
Mardie!” she cried; “and the sea is just where it was!... Here's the
house with the parrot, do you remember? Now the place where the dog
barks and snarls is coming next... P'raps he'll be dead.., or p'raps
he'll be nicer... Keep close to me till we get past the gate... He did
n't come out, so p'raps he is dead or gone a-visiting.... There's that
'specially lazy cow that's always lying down in the Buxtons' field....
I don't b'lieve she's moved since we came away.... Do you s'pose she
stands up to be milked, Mardie? There's the old bridge over the brook,
just the same, only the woodbine's red.... There's... There's... Oh,
Mardie, look, look!... I do b'lieve it's our Jacky!”
Sue flew over the ground like a swallow, calling “Jack-y! Jack-y! It's
me and Mardie come home!”
Jack extricated himself from his sister's strangling hug and settled his
collar. “I'm awful glad to see you, Sukey,” he said, “but I'm getting
too big to be kissed. Besides, my pockets are full of angleworms and
fishhooks.”
“Are you too big to be kissed even by mother?” called Susanna, hurrying
to her boy, who submitted to her embrace with better grace. “O Jack,
Jack! say you're glad to see mother! Say it, say it; I can't wait,
Jack!”
“'Course I'm glad! Why would n't I be? I tell you I'm tired of Aunt
Louisa, though she's easier than she was. Time and again I've packed my
lunch basket and started to run away, but I always made it a picnic and
went back again, thinking they'd make such a row over me.”
“Aunt Louisa is always kind when you're obedient,” Susanna urged, “She
ain't so stiff as she was. Ellen is real worried about her and thinks
she's losing her strength, she's so easy to get along with.”
“How's... father...?”
“Better'n he was.”
“Has n't he been well?”
“Not so very; always quiet and won't eat, nor play, nor anything. I'm
home with him since Sunday.”
“What is the matter with your clothes?” asked Susanna, casting a
maternal eye over him while she pulled him down here and up there, with
anxious disapproving glances. “You look so patched, and wrinkled, and
grubby.”
“Aunt Louisa and father make me keep my best to put on for you, if you
should come. I clean up and dress every afternoon at train time, only I
forgot today and came fishing.”
“It's too cold to fish, sonny.”
“It ain't too cold to fish, but it's too cold for 'em to bite,”
corrected Jack.
“Why were you expecting us just now?” asked Susanna. “I did n't write
because... because, I thought... perhaps... it would be better to
surprise you.”
“Father's expecting you every day, not just this one,” said Jack.
Susanna sank down on a stone at the end of the bridge, and leaning her
head against the railing, burst into tears. In that moment the worst of
her fears rolled away from her heart like the stone from the mouth of a
sepulcher. If her husband had looked for her return, he must have missed
her, regretted her, needed her, just a little. His disposition was
sweet, even if it were thoughtless, and he might not meet her with
reproaches after all. There might not be the cold greeting she had often
feared--“_Well, you've concluded to come back, have you_? _It was about
time_!” If only John were a little penitent, a little anxious to meet
her on some common ground, she felt her task would be an easier one.
“Have you got a pain, Mardie?” cried Sue, anxiously bending over her
mother.
“No, dear,” she answered, smiling through her tears and stretching a
hand to both children to help her to her feet. “No, dear, I've lost
one!”
“I cry when anything aches, not when it stops,” remarked Jack, as the
three started again on their walk. “Say, Sukey, you look bigger and
fatter than you did when you went away, and you've got short curls
'stead of long ones. Do you see how I've grown? Two inches!”
“I'm inches and inches bigger and taller,” Sue boasted, standing on
tiptoe and stretching herself proudly. “And I can knit, and pull maple
candy, and say Yee, and sing 'O Virgin Church, how great thy light.'”
“Pooh,” said Jack, “I can sing 'A sailor's life's the life for me, Yo
ho, yo ho!' Step along faster, mummy dear; it's 'most supper time. Aunt
Louisa won't scold if you're with me. There's the house, see? Father 'll
be working in the garden covering up the asters, so they won't freeze
before you come.”
“There is no garden, Jack. What do you mean?” “Wait till you see if
there's no garden! Hurrah! there's father at the window, side of Aunt
Louisa. Won't he be pleased I met you halfway and brought you home!”
Oh! it was beautiful, the autumn twilight, the smoke of her own
hearth-side rising through the brick chimneys! She thought she had left
the way of peace behind her, but no, the way of peace was here, where
her duty was, and her husband and children.
The sea was deep blue; the home hills rolled softly along the horizon;
the little gate that Susanna had closed behind her in anger and misery
stood wide open; shrubs, borders, young hedgerows, beds of late autumn
flowers greeted her eyes and touched her heart. A foot sounded on the
threshold; the home door opened and smiled a greeting; and then a voice
choked with feeling, glad with welcome, called her name.
Light-footed Sue ran with a cry of joy into her father's outstretched
arms, and then leaping down darted to Ellen, chattering like a magpie.
Husband and wife looked at each other for one quivering moment, and then
clasped each other close.
“Forgive! O Susanna, forgive!”
John's eyes and lips and arms made mute appeals, and it was then Susanna
said, “Never mind, John! Let's forget, and begin all over again!”