Belleport experienced no slight shock in the whirlwind courtship and
marriage of Asaph Holmes, and immediately the romance became the chief
topic of interest in the town’s social calendar. Curiosity to see the
bride and hear about her obsessed old and young.
A few of the villagers had been fortunate enough to meet Althea at the
Brewsters, and these found themselves besieged with queries concerning
her. She must be a paragon indeed to have transformed a confirmed
bachelor like Asaph into a benedict. Why, nobody dreamed he would ever
marry. He wasn’t the marrying sort. Moreover, were not he and Lemuel
Gill almost twin souls?
What did poor Lemmy think of the affair? It must have been a staggering
blow to him.
Thus they whispered and speculated together.
It was not malicious gossip, merely the chatter of neighbors who
had known Asaph from boyhood and known his father and mother before
him. Not a twist of his character was there with which they were not
familiar. They knew of his veneration for Webster; his garden, his
clippings, his catalogues; knew, too, of the visitations of Hannah
Dole with an intimacy that would have appalled the shy man had he been
aware of their knowledge. Oh, there was little about him they did not
know. Hence when it came to checking him up there was no need for them
to give his personal history more than a cursory glance.
But the woman he had married, this outlander from down the Cape, who
was she and what was her ancestry? These were the burning questions.
The seal of friendship set upon her by the Brewsters counted, to
be sure, for something, for they were persons of standing whose
sanction carried weight. Sensing this and hopeful of wresting from
them more information, some of the more inquisitive Belleporters made
a pilgrimage to Wilton to glean from Zenas Henry and his wife such
facts as were procurable. Zeke Barker, in the meantime, outdid them in
enterprise and became the hero of the hour by driving to Provincetown
and acquiring from Althea’s neighbors additional data with which to
augment the common fund. By piecing these scattered fragments together,
and putting with them items contained in a letter Mattie Bearse
received from her Abington cousin, a fairly accurate idea of Althea
Holmes and her forebears was obtained, and, disappointed that the
investigation yielded such a meagre foothold for scandal, the populace
was obliged to concede there seemed to be nothing in the past of
Asaph’s bride for which she need blush.
Apparently she came of the same rugged Cape stock as did they
themselves, and her history paralleled that of the average New
Englander of sea-faring ancestry. This summary must content them until
such time as she should make her advent into the community and they be
granted a more intimate glimpse of her.
When, therefore, the happy pair arrived in town the waiting hamlet was
a-tiptoe with excitement, and immediately a stream of visitors began to
flow toward the silver cottage on the bluff. Some came to bear friendly
greetings; others to invite the wedded couple to supper or urge Althea
to join the Ladies’ Sewing Circle, the Eastern Star, or the Reading
Club.
To the master of the house this influx of guests was a novel and, it
must be owned, a not altogether welcome experience. Shy by nature and
having fostered the tendency by a hermit-like existence, he found the
rôle of jovial host a difficult one to portray. He had at his command
little talk that did not relate to his hobbies and it hardly seemed
worthwhile to offer this to the flitting herd that swarmed his doors.
Furthermore, years of solitary living had solidified the ruts in
which he moved until to be jolted out of them by intruders jarred and
irritated.
When at last he had been constantly interrupted until the weeds were
knee deep in his iris border and his roses showed signs of blackspot,
he felt it necessary to offer the suggestion of an apology to Lemuel
Gill.
“’Course I s’pose it’s to be expected folks will come troopin’ here at
first,” remarked he. “Likely they consider it polite. Their galavantin’
will soon be over, though, an’ their curiosity gratified, an’ then I’ll
have a chance to get to work. I’m about beat out with company an’ I
guess Althea is, too.”
Later he ventured to commiserate his bride on their common misfortune.
“It’s too bad you’ve been so pestered with folks comin’ to see you,”
he said sympathetically. “I reckon, though, there’s nothin’ to be
done about it but brave through the hurricane till it blows over. Our
marryin’ seems to have stirred up quite a tempest. But it’ll calm down
before long an’ the public will leave us alone.”
Althea glanced quickly into his face.
“I hope not,” answered she. “I like visitors. At home folks were always
droppin’ in to talk or borrow somethin’. It livened us up an’ kept us
from gettin’ lonesome.”
Her husband sobered.
“I hope you ain’t goin’ to be lonesome here, Althea,” he returned, a
note of anxiety in his voice.
“I don’t look to be,” was the grave response. “I’ve my housework, an’
plenty to do don’t leave a body leisure for mopin’. Besides, ain’t you
here to cheer me up?”
The great fellow colored with pleasure. Until lately Althea had
maintained toward him a piquing reserve that continually left him
speculating as to the heights and depths of her regard; but since
marriage, although still charmingly elusive, she had gradually lowered
the bars that held him in check, a fact that delighted her husband.
Had he been of more intuitive a nature he would have understood that
this change of demeanor was largely the result of his own attitude
toward her. Asaph Holmes had been brought up under the tutelage of a
good mother, who early in life had instilled into him both chivalry and
consideration for all womanhood. Hence, although his circle of feminine
acquaintances did not extend any great radius beyond his own doorsill,
he was much better versed in what constituted a happy marriage than
was many a man of wider experience. This Althea was learning, and in
proportion as the truth seeped in upon her she gave freer rein to her
affection, congratulating herself that her union with this silent,
awkward man had been no mistake. To marry was at best a venture, and to
embark on the experiment late in life was, her level head told her, a
madness to be matched by no other human undertaking. Yet in her sudden
romance there had been qualities that convinced her the affair could
not culminate in disaster.
Had Asaph Holmes been an ardent, hot-blooded wooer she would have
feared to trust his promises. But this man, earnest, pleading,
self-effacing, scorning to pledge himself to more than he knew he could
honestly perform, appealed to her truth-seeking heart. What mattered
it that his words were few; that he was studious, matter-of-fact, and
a good ten years her senior? He could be trusted, and experience told
her every man could not. Long ago, in girlhood, a lover dashing and
debonair had crossed her path, and the black shadow he had left behind
him caused her even yet to shrink from any repetition of his type.
But Sarah Tyler, more worldly-minded and eager for family advancement,
could see in the match little to commend it.
“I can’t for the life of me, Althea, understand why you should want to
go marryin’ that big, hulkin’ fisherman. Not only is he years older
than you but he’s dumb as an oyster. A whistlin’ buoy off the coast
would be cheerful company compared to him. With your looks and figger
you ought to be able to do better’n that.”
Althea did not vouchsafe to this criticism any of the several retorts
she might have been justified in offering. She did not, for example,
reply that Asaph Holmes had plenty to say to anyone who had the brains
to talk with him; neither did she utter the tart response that when it
came to husbands she did not see that Sarah herself had selected from
the myriad masculine varieties with which the universe was peopled, a
particularly flawless specimen of the sex. She did not even trouble to
lay bare for her sister’s inspection the heart that like a jewel lay
beneath Asaph’s prosaic exterior. Instead, she laughed off the comment
by declaring good-humoredly:
“After all, Sarah, it’s I and not you that’s got to live with him,” and
ruefully acknowledging the truth of the assertion, Mrs. Tyler said no
more.
In Belleport, however, where Asaph was known and universally respected,
judgment assumed precisely the opposite tack.
“A woman don’t half know how lucky she is to get a husband like Asaph
Holmes,” announced Marcia Snow to the assembled sewing circle. “He
may be deliberate and scant of talk, but he’s kindness itself an’ as
dependable as the sun. He won’t go whiskin’ round an’ start chasin’ off
in some other direction after he’s married. The wife that’s got him has
got him for life.
“But what’s he drawn, I’d like to know? Oh, I’ve seen her an’ I
don’t deny she’s pleasant to meet; good lookin’, too, with her curly
hair, red cheeks an’ all. But what kind of a wife is she goin’ to
make him--that’s the question I’m askin’? She must be younger than
he by a dozen years an’ is evidently one of those chatty, sociable
creatures that’ll drag him round a-visitin’ an’ break up all the
quiet of his home. She ain’t a-goin’ to be no person to live out on
that lonely point of sand with a bookworm like Asaph Holmes. She’ll
never be contented there in the world. Before a year’s out there’ll be
ructions--you see if there ain’t!”
The pair concerning whom this dubious prophecy was uttered were in
the meantime evidently oblivious to their impending fate, and not
anticipating any violent domestic upheaval Althea took possession of
her new home with interest. She hung ruffled curtains at the windows,
invested in additional china, put plants, table-covers, and bric-à-brac
about, made fresh sofa cushions.
With conflicting emotions her husband surveyed her innovations.
There was no disputing the fact that they rendered the cottage more
pretentious and up to date. But did they make it more homelike? Amid
the galaxy of objects that now adorned the rooms little space was to be
found for his catalogues and clippings. To be sure he still collected
them, tucking them into obscure corners, since he dared not weight them
down with Althea’s bridal ornaments. As a result they more frequently
took wing. For these literary cyclones he was always apologetic and
his wife forgiving. Nevertheless, beneath their courtesy simmered
mutual irritation.
Then there were the tools, the cans of insecticide, the boxes of
loam, the strings, wires, and markers that gradually stole beyond the
confines allotted them by Hannah Dole. Althea did not allude to their
presence at first, and mistaking tolerance for sanction her helpmate
gave his repressed impulses freer scope and proceeded to drag out
his entire array of agricultural paraphernalia. He splashed Bordeaux
and Pyrox about the shed until its floor was blue; he brewed bottle
after bottle of evil brown, yellow, or black liquids and whistled
with complete contentment as he stirred the deadly mixtures, thinking
all the while what a fortunate marital choice he had made and what a
blessing wedlock was under conditions such as these. Had a woman been
created purposely for him she could not have been a more perfect wife.
Occasional clouds, to be sure, blurred his sunshine. There was no
denying Lemuel Gill was sensitive, and Althea--well, perhaps all
women were jealous. Be that as it may, jars did occur and moments of
tension when he was compelled to flit solicitously between the opposing
factions, soothing Lemmy and comforting Althea. Gradually he realized
that this rôle of peacemaker was to be a more or less permanent one.
It was a taxing post, the office of interpreter between the two
individuals who loved him best; but since the friction rose because of
him, he granted he was preeminently the one to bear its annoyances.
Moreover, the strife never expanded into open warfare; it remained
petty and unacknowledged, taking vent in a toss of the head, an upward
tilt of the chin, or a whiffle out the front gate.
In the meantime, notwithstanding these rifts in the general serenity,
the months wore tranquilly along, and by the time winter came the trio
had learned to adapt themselves more amiably to one another’s crooks
and corners. This was indeed fortunate, for as the Holmeses and Lemuel
Gill were the sole residents of the bluff where their houses stood,
they had few outside resources and were continually thrown upon each
other’s society.
Asaph had never found cold weather irksome. Incontestably gales did
howl round his cottage, and a northeaster with the ocean lashed into
fury and sending the spray high in air was a sight not to be lightly
contemplated. Nevertheless, there was grandeur and exhilaration in the
spectacle as well as awe and terror. Besides, the sea was not always in
cruel humor. Often it was merely sullen, its leaden expanse flooding
out to meet a lowering sky. Or the sun shone on it from a cloudless
heaven flashing on waves that curled white and fretted with feathery
beauty the vast sweep of sapphire. Oh, there was many and many a
winter’s day when in spite of snow-buried dunes and tingling fingers it
was good to be alive!
These kaleidoscopic moods of the deep Asaph Holmes knew and loved, and
the season meant to him a warm kitchen; a high-backed rocker before
the fire; chowder steaming on the stove; and a well-thumbed volume of
Webster or one of his precious seed annuals before him. At such moments
Paradise had seemed very near, and now, with Althea and her knitting
added to the picture, it seemed nearer than ever.
Each morning Lemuel Gill dropped in to bring the mail and retail
the village gossip, and while the men talked, smoked, and built air
castles around their summer gardens, Althea baked, cleaned, and mended.
Sometimes she would join them; but more frequently she seized the
opportunity to steal off by herself and pursue interests of her own.
She always returned, however, in time to press Lemmy to remain to
dinner, which he usually did after having protested there were a
hundred reasons why he must immediately return to his shanty.
Thus the winter passed, and with spring all unforeseen came the
earthquake that turned peace into chaos and the grey cottage on the
Belleport sands into a maelstrom of activity.
Alas for Asaph! Alas, too, for Lemuel Gill!
Out of a sky placid as a noonday in June fell the bolt that left the
former man dazed and breathless and the latter murmuring to himself:
“Certainly marriage does lead folks into unexpected byways!”