THE replies that Ivory had received from his letters of inquiry
concerning his father's movements since leaving Maine, and his possible
death in the West, left no reasonable room for doubt. Traces of Aaron
Boynton in New Hampshire, in Massachusetts, in New York, and finally
in Ohio, all pointed in one direction, and although there were gaps and
discrepancies in the account of his doings, the fact of his death seemed
to be established by two apparently reliable witnesses.
That he was not unaccompanied in his earliest migrations seemed clear,
but the woman mentioned as his wife disappeared suddenly from the
reports, and the story of his last days was the story of a broken-down,
melancholy, unfriended man, dependent for the last offices on strangers.
He left no messages and no papers, said Ivory's correspondent, and never
made mention of any family connections whatsoever. He had no property
and no means of defraying the expenses of his illness after he was
stricken with the fever. No letters were found among his poor effects
and no article that could prove his identity, unless it were a small
gold locket, which bore no initials or marks of any kind, but which
contained two locks of fair and brown hair, intertwined. The tiny
trinket was enclosed in the letter, as of no value, unless some one
recognized it as a keepsake. Ivory read the correspondence with a heavy
heart, inasmuch as it corroborated all his worst fears. He had sometimes
secretly hoped that his father might return and explain the reason of
his silence; or in lieu of that, that there might come to light
the story of a pilgrimage, fanatical, perhaps, but innocent of evil
intention, one that could be related to his wife and his former friends,
and then buried forever with the death that had ended it.
Neither of these hopes could now ever be realized, nor his father's
memory made other than a cause for endless regret, sorrow, and shame.
His father, who had begun life so handsomely, with rare gifts of mind
and personality, a wife of unusual beauty and intelligence, and while
still young in years, a considerable success in his chosen profession.
His poor father! What could have been the reasons for so complete a
downfall?
Ivory asked Dr. Perry's advice about showing one or two of the briefer
letters and the locket to his mother. After her fainting fit and the
exhaustion that followed it, Ivory begged her to see the old doctor, but
without avail. Finally, after days of pleading he took her hands in his
and said: “I do everything a mortal man can do to be a good son to you,
mother; won't you do this to please me, and trust that I know what is
best?” Whereupon she gave a trembling assent, as if she were agreeing
to something indescribably painful, and indeed this sight of a former
friend seemed to frighten her strangely.
After Dr. Perry had talked with her for a half-hour and examined her
sufficiently to make at least a reasonable guess as to her mental and
physical condition, he advised Ivory to break the news of her husband's
death to her.
“If you can get her to comprehend it,” he said, “it is bound to be a
relief from this terrible suspense.”
“Will there be any danger of making her worse? Mightn't the shock Cause
too violent emotion?” asked Ivory anxiously.
“I don't think she is any longer capable of violent emotion,” the doctor
answered. “Her mind is certainly clearer than it was three years ago, but
her body is nearly burned away by the mental conflict. There is scarcely
any part of her but is weary; weary unto death, poor soul. One cannot
look at her patient, lovely face without longing to lift some part of
her burden. Make a trial, Ivory; it's a justifiable experiment and
I think it will succeed. I must not come any oftener myself than is
absolutely necessary; she seemed afraid of me.”
The experiment did succeed. Lois Boynton listened breathlessly, with
parted lips, and with apparent comprehension, to the story Ivory told
her. Over and over again he told her gently the story of her husband's
death, trying to make it sink into her mind clearly, so that there
should be no consequent bewilderment She was calm and silent, though her
face showed that she was deeply moved. She broke down only when Ivory
showed her the locket.
“I gave it to my husband when you were born, my son!” she sobbed. “After
all, it seems no surprise to me that your father is dead. He said he
would come back when the Mayflowers bloomed, and when I saw the autumn
leaves I knew that six months must have gone and he would never stay
away from us for six months without writing. That is the reason I have
seldom watched for him these last weeks. I must have known that it was
no use!”
She rose from her rocking-chair and moved feebly towards her bedroom.
“Can you spare me the rest of the day, Ivory?” she faltered, as she
leaned on her son and made her slow progress from the kitchen. “I must
bury the body of my grief and I want to be alone at first... If only
I could see Waitstill! We have both thought this was coming: she has a
woman's instinct... she is younger and stronger than I am, and she said
it was braver not to watch and pine and fret as I have done... but to
have faith in God that He would send me a sign when He was ready.... She
said if I could manage to be braver you would be happier too... .”
Here she sank on to her bed exhausted, but still kept up her murmuring
faintly and feebly, between long intervals of silence.
“Do you think Waitstill could come to-morrow?” she asked. “I am so much
braver when she is here with me.... After supper I will put away your
father's cup and plate once and for all, Ivory, and your eyes need never
fill with tears again, as they have, sometimes, when you have seen me
watching.... You needn't worry about me; I am remembering better these
days, and the bells that ring in my ears are not so loud. If only the
pain in my side were less and I were not so pressed for breath, I should
be quite strong and could see everything clearly at last. ... There is
something else that remains to be remembered. I have almost caught it
once and it must come to me again before long.... Put the locket under
my pillow, Ivory; close the door, please, and leave me to myself.... I
can't make it quite clear, my feeling about it, but it seems just as if
I were going to bury your father and I want to be alone.”