September 18th, 1909. I have decided to accept a place at service (at
last!) on a farm in Canada, Province of Quebec, Seigniory of Lamoral
(?). Wages twenty-five dollars a month, besides room and board.
And underneath:
12 midnight. My last word in this book. Within the past six hours I
have experienced something of what I call "heaven and hell". I have
travelled a long road since I came to this city on November 4, 1902.
V
A few evenings afterwards Delia Beaseley came up to see me. She
brought the passage money and a note of instruction. It was directly
to the point: I was to take a sleeping car on the Montreal express;
then the day local boat down the St. Lawrence to Richelieu-en-Bas. At
the landing I was to enquire for Mrs. Macleod, and someone would be
there to meet me. A time-table was enclosed. The note was signed
"Janet Macleod ".
"This must be the 'elderly Scotchwoman,' Delia," I said after reading
the note twice.
"I'm thinking it's her--but then you never can tell."
"How did she send the passage money?"
"By post office order. It would n't have hurt her to send a bit of a
welcome word, to my thinking." She spoke rather grimly.
"I 'm not going for the welcome, you know; it's work and a change I
want--and right thankful I am to get the chance."
"Well you may be, my dear, in these times," she said, softening at once.
"I shall write you, Delia, all about everything; you know you want to
hear all about things."
"Would I own to being a woman if I did n't?" She laughed her hearty
laugh; then, with a little hesitancy: "And, my dear, I 'd think kindly
of you for writing me, and I 'd like to know that all is going well
with you, but you know there's Doctor Rugvie to reckon with, and he
won't hold to much correspondence, I 'm thinking, between me
and--what's the name of that place? I can't pronounce it--"
"Richelieu-en-Bas."
"Rich--I can't get the twist of it round my English tongue; say it
again, and may be I 'll catch it."
I repeated it twice for her, but her results were not equal to her
efforts. We both laughed.
"Never mind, Delia; and don't tell me Doctor Rugvie is going to say to
whom I shall write or to whom I shan't--especially if it's my friend,
Delia Beaseley."
"Well, I can't say, my dear; but I 'll speak to him about it when he
gets home--"
"Now, no nonsense from a sensible woman, Delia Beaseley; I should think
I was going into a land of mysteries to hear you talk."
She laughed again. "I don't say as it's a mystery, but I can't help
thinking he wants to keep the matter quiet like, you see."
"But I don't see--and I don't intend to," I said obstinately.
Delia changed the subject. "It's well you 've got your passage money.
It's quite dear travelling that way."
"Never was in a Pullman in my life, Delia, but you may believe I shall
enjoy it."
She beamed on me. "That's right, my dear, take all the pleasure you
can, and, of course, if Doctor Rugvie did n't mind--well, I must own up
to it that I 'd like to hear from you, and what you make of it up
there."
"So you shall, Delia; no secrets between you and me; there can't be; we
've known each other too long--ever since I was born into the world."
She looked a little mystified at my statement, but accepted it
evidently with appreciation.
"Jane or me 'll be down to the station to see you off," she said as she
bade me good night.
During the next two weeks and at odd times, I did a good bit of
reference work on my own account in looking up the histories of the
Canadian "Seigniories"; but at the end of that time I was ready to set
out for that other country only a little wiser for my research.
A week later, Delia Beaseley was at the Grand Central to see me start
on my journey northwards.
"I feel as if I were setting out on a real series of adventures,
Delia!" I exclaimed when I met her. I took both her hands in mine.
"If only I were a man I should take stick and knapsack and find my way
on foot. I 'd camp on the shore of the Tappan Zee, wander through the
Catskills, and stop over night at the old Dutch farmhouses, follow the
shores of Lake Champlain and cross the border high of heart, even if
footweary!"
Delia smiled indulgently upon me.
"Such fancies will help you out a good bit, my dear; it's well you have
a word or two of French to get along with. I used to hear it when I
was a girl in Cape Breton."
I caught the shadow of a memory settle in her eyes. We were at the
gate. The train was made up.
"I must say goodby here, my dear; they won't let me in to the train."
I took both her hands again. "Goodby, Delia Beaseley," I began; then
something choked me. I so wanted to thank her for all her goodness to
me. "I wish I knew what to say--how to thank--"
"There, there, my dear, I 'm the one to be thankful. I 've been
reaping a harvest just from one little seed I sowed near twenty-six
years ago--and I never thought to see so much as a blade of grass!
That's all. I 'm wonderful grateful it's been given me to see such a
harvest."
"Oh, Delia, if I only amounted to something, so that you could be proud
of your little harvest--"
"Now, don't, my dear, don't; don't say nothing more, but just go
straight forward with God's blessing, which is the same as mine this
time, and--don't forget me if ever you need a friend."
My eyes filled with unaccustomed tears. A curious thought: New York,
the Juggernaut, the fetich of millions, just when I was ridding myself
of the horror of its awful presence, was about to bind me to it through
this new-old friend!
I caught her rough toil-worn hand in both mine and pressed my lips to
it; then I dropped it, and walked rapidly down the platform to the
train. Not once did I look behind me.
For a little while after entering the luxurious sleeping car, I felt
awkward, uncomfortable; I had never been in one before. But when I was
settled in my ample, high-backed section, and the train began to move
slowly out of the station and through the tunnel, I felt more at ease.
After that, with every mile that the train, moving more and more
swiftly, put between me and the city's sights and sounds, I felt a
rising of spirits, an ease of mind and body I had never before
experienced.
Within an hour all depression had vanished; hopes and anticipations for
the new environment filled the foreground of my thoughts. Without
adequate reason, I believed that the change I was making was for my
good; that with new faces about me, with new and closer interests
which, alone as I was in the world, I must substitute for a home, I was
about to escape from all former associations and the memories they
fostered.
Only one thought troubled me, that was the connection by Delia Beaseley
of Doctor Rugvie's name with that of George Jackson--my mother's
husband. I had hoped never to hear that name again.
For an hour I peered at the dark Hudson, the shadowed hills; the night
fell, blotting out the landscape wholly and shutting me into the warm
brilliantly lighted car with a sense of cosy security.
I looked at the few people I could see over the high sections. Three
women were opposite to me, two of them young. I found myself
calculating the cost of their dresses and accessories, their furs and
hats. I reckoned the amount to be something like my wages on the farm
for six years. How easily and unconsciously they wore their good
clothes! One of the two younger held my attention. She was fair,
slender, long-throated, and carried herself with noticeable erectness.
I caught bits of their conversation carried on in low pleasing voices:
"It will be such a surprise to them."
"... the C. P. steamer--"
"Oh, fancy! They must have known--"
"... you know I am glad to be at home this winter..."
"Where is it? ..."
"Somewhere in Richelieu-en-Bas--"
I was all ears. Richelieu-en-Bas was my destination. Their voices
were so low I could catch but little more.
"Just fancy! But you would never know from him--"
"When is Mr. Ewart coming over?"
"Bess!" The fair one held up a warning finger; "your voice carries
so." She rose and reached for her furs from the hook. "Let's go into
the forward car and see the Ellwicks."
The others rose too; shook themselves out a little; patted hair rolls,
changed a hairpin, took down their furs and left the car--tall graceful
women, all of them.
Since my illness I had squeezed out from my earnings enough for the
passage money, fourteen dollars, and eight besides. I did n't want to
begin by being indebted to any one in the Seigniory of Lamoral for that
amount; and I did n't want it deducted from my first wages. I pleased
myself with the fancy that, soon after my arrival, I should give the
money into some one's hands with an appropriate word or two, to the
effect that I had chosen to pay my own travelling expenses. That
sounded better than passage money which was reminiscent of the steerage.
They should understand that if I were at service, I had a little
moneyed independence of my own--the pitiful eight dollars with which to
go out into the new country. Immigrants have come in with less than
this--nor been deported. Well, I ran no risk of being deported from
Canada.
I asked the porter to make my berth early. About nine I lay down,
tired and worn out with the excitement of the past three weeks. I drew
the curtains close to shut out the night, and lay there passively
content, listening to the steadily accented _clankity-clank-clank_ of
the Montreal night express.
I liked the sound; it soothed me. This swift on-rush into the night
towards Canada, the even motion, began to rest the long over-strained
nerves. During these hours, at least, I was care free. I slept.
For the first time for months that sleep was long, unbroken, dreamless.
I awoke refreshed, strengthened. Drawing the window curtains aside, I
looked out upon a world newly bathed in the early morning lights.
At the sight, my enthusiasm, which I thought quenched forever in the
overwhelming flood of adverse circumstance, was rekindled; my
imagination stimulated. Dawn was breaking clear and golden behind the
mountains across Lake Champlain. Green those mountains are in the
October sunlight, green and yellow and frost-wrought crimson; but now
they loomed dark against the horizon's deepening gold. A few small
dawn clouds of pure rose and one, gigantic, high-piled, of smoke gray,
hung motionless above the mist-veiled waters of the lake.
I watched the coming of this day with charmed eyes. The sun rose
clear, undimmed over the shadowed mountains. The lake mists felt its
beams; dispersed suddenly in silver flocculence; and the path across
the blue waters was free for the morning glory that was advancing apace.