HER HEART’S DESIRE
It was, of course, weeks before Fergus Kennedy could take his place
among his fellow-men; there was still need for quiet, and he was spared
much excitement, so that only at intervals were his friends allowed
to see him. Joseph M’Clean, the minister, Jimmy O’Neill, one by one
were admitted to the sick room, and at last it was permitted that
the restored man should be allowed to go to church; it was the thing
he most desired to do. All around the settlement the news had flown:
Fergus Kennedy has his wits again, and the little log structure was
crowded to overflowing that Sabbath. It was the thirty-fourth psalm
which was lined out from Rouse’s version, the same psalm that had
come from the full heart of the wife who desired to give thanks. It
was a simple and touching service, but to none more so than to Henry
Flint, who sat for the first time under the roof of the little log
church. He was scarcely less observed than Fergus Kennedy, at whose
side he sat, and when the names of those who desired to unite with the
church by letter or by profession of faith were read out, there was a
perceptible stir among the congregation when Henry Flint’s was spoken.
No one knew the man’s intention except Mrs. Kennedy and the minister
himself. “It was a good woman’s prayers, her beautiful faith and trust,
which I had daily evidence of, that at last brought me light,” said
the doctor to the minister, and the good man returned, “Ay, many a
puir soul has been brought home by the gentle leadings of a woman, Dr.
Flint.”
It was such great joy to see her father regaining his old interest
in life, and to see her mother so beaming of countenance and light
of heart that it seemed to Agnes as if it would be ungrateful in her
to consider that she had any trouble. Time did not dim the image of
Parker, and there were days when the girl would go out into the deep
woods, and, throwing herself prone on the ground, would weep her heart
out. This was generally after news from home came to Carter, such
news as he was quick to retail to the Kennedys, at whose house he was
a daily visitor. Every one liked Carter, and his sunny presence was
cheering to Agnes. She dreaded, yet longed to know of those letters
from Virginia; they always brought news of Parker, and generally it was
told that every one wondered if he would marry Alicia Southall. She had
a string of beaux, Carter’s sister wrote, and no one could tell whom
she favored, though it was a well-known fact that she had taken pains
to lure Parker into rejoining her train.
Agnes remembered the pencil-sketch, and wondered if Parker regretted
its destruction. She inwardly exulted that he did not possess it. “She
cannot rob me of those precious hours,” sighed the girl, “even though I
am a maiden lorn the rest of my life.”
These thoughts were uppermost as she took her way one spring day to the
river’s brink to go over to Polly. She had never returned to the place
now known as O’Neill’s clearing, and Polly chid her for her neglect.
“You must go,” her mother said; “it is not treating Polly kindly. Come,
dear, it will do you good; the winter is over and there is no longer
any excuse. You are looking a little doucy.” She drew her close and
kissed her. “Is it still the old hurt, dear heart?”
Agnes gave a sigh. “I try, but I cannot forget, and the crumbs of
comfort that a little message sometimes brings me has been denied of
late, for it is a long time since Carter has heard from his cousin, and
it will soon be a year, a year in June since he went away.”
“Wait patiently on the Lord and he will give thee thy heart’s desire,”
said her mother.
“My heart’s desire. Oh, mother, if I could believe that!”
“If it is well for you to have it, and if you have faith, it will be
yours.”
“Ah, mother dear, I wish I had your faith and trust.”
“See what God has wrought for us in your father’s case. Ah, daughter,
when I think of that, I am uplifted on the very heights of faith. Go
on, dear lamb, and do not be cast down. Give my love to Polly.”
Agnes started on and was soon turning her steps toward familiar paths.
From Jimmy’s blacksmith shop came the sound of the hammer ringing on
the anvil; from farther on came the laughter of children and Polly’s
singing. Agnes stood still a moment and looked around. How natural
it did seem to be standing there on the hilltop looking toward the
little cabin. Would she ever forget that morning when she and Polly had
frolicked over the dye-kettle? She had not been so care-free since.
Down the hill she slowly walked, and when within a few rods of the
house Polly caught sight of her.
“Ay, ye’re come at last,” she cried. “I’d fain have ye to know that
I’ve a mind not to speak to ye. Bairns, here’s Nancy at last. Ah, ye
little rid-headed bawbee, I’ve a mind to shake ye for stayin’ away all
this while, an’ me wid me tongue achin’ with the gossip ’ats ready to
rin from it. But I says to mesel’, I’ll niver tell Nancy, not I, if I
niver go to see her; not till she comes to see her auld frind will she
hear it.”
“What gossip, Polly?”
“Then ye’ve not heerd? Good luck, I say.” Polly lifted her hands and
brought them down on her knees as she sat down on a three-legged stool
which she dragged forward. “Befoor I’d let a widdy woman cut me out!”
“What do you mean, Polly?”
Polly rocked herself back and forth in silent mirth. “It’s all over the
settlemint how Archie M’Clean’s at the beck an’ call o’ a rich widdy
from Pittsburg. His grandfether’s deid, did ye hear that?”
“Yes, I did hear that.”
“An’ lef’ Archie the half his estate, bein’ so pleased at his takin’ to
the meenistry, an’ Archie comin’ back from Carlisle after the funeral
meets the widdy, an’ she sets her cap fur him from the start, so the
first thing the lad knows he’s well in the meshes. They say she’s no so
ill favored, an’ that there’s sure to be a weddin’ when Archie gets his
Reverend tacked on. The M’Cleans were ill pleased at first, but they
are all but satisfied now, for though one can’t call them near, they’re
canny, an’ Archie no less so than his father. ‘It’s the fat pig ay’
gets the maist grease,’ an’ so, Nancy, what do ye think o’ me dish o’
gossip? Didn’t I promise ye fair?”
“You did, Polly. I am glad and--sorry; one doesn’t like to lose a
lover, though he be not the one who has won one’s heart. I’d never have
thought Archie would be leaving me to wear the willow.”
“It’ll be no willow you wear. Where’s Carter Ritchie?”
“Carter!” Agnes spoke in a tone of contempt. “Why, Polly, he’s but a
boy.”
“Where do ye get yer full-grown men? He’s six fut if he’s an inch.”
“Ah, but that’s all foolishness, Polly. I wonder Jeanie has not told me
of this.”
“She’s nane too ready to believe it. She thinks it will all blow over
and that Archie will be comin’ back to ye, an’ she’ll say no word to
ye aboot it. But I had it from Jimmy who had it from a man jist from
Canonsburg. They say Archie an’ the widdy will no jine in the bonds o’
matrimony till he’s ready for his blacks, but that there’s no doubt
she’s the tight holt o’ him. Weel, let him go. Ye’ll not fret, lass?”
Polly suddenly became anxious at sight of Agnes’s sober face.
“I’ll not be frettin’ at loss of Archie, but I hope he’ll get a good
wife.”
“Ay, there’s naught agin her as I can l’arn. She’s a bit older, but has
winnin’ ways, I’m told, an’ is a buxom, black-eyed body. Maybe when
he’s out o’ reach o’ her spell, he’ll be turnin’ to ye again as Jeanie
is hopin’ he’ll do.”
Agnes gave her head a toss. “I’d not have him, Polly; he’d never have
won me unless by his constancy and perseverance. Don’t fash yourself
about me; I’ll have no heartbreak over Archie M’Clean.”
“I would ha’ told annybody that long ago,” said Polly, knowingly.
“Ye’ll bide an’ have a sup wid us?”
“Yes, but I must get home before dark. Sandy will meet me the other
side at sundown.”
“An’ yer father’s improvin’?”
“Yes, and is enjoying the farm and the children and it’s all coming
right.”
After more exchanging of news, none of which was of half the interest
to the two as that which related to Archie, Agnes helped Polly with
the supper, then Jimmy came in and chaffed the girl about letting her
chances slip and letting a widow cut her out, making his clumsy jokes
and laughing loudly at them himself till Agnes arose to go.
She acknowledged to herself as she climbed the hill that she felt a
little sore over Archie’s disaffection; if he had proved inconstant,
where could she look for stability? But there was too much here to
remind her of happier days, and she repeated softly: “Thy heart’s
desire; He will give thee thy heart’s desire.” At the top of the hill
she stood still and looked back, then she turned toward the river bank.
As she came out of the shadows of the trees and glanced down at the
sands where her boat lay, she saw that some one else had moored a boat
alongside her own. “It must be Carter,” she said; “he has come over
instead of Sandy, for that looks like his boat; I’ll just wait here for
him.” She leaned against a tree, waiting till he should come up, and in
a moment she heard the springing step of some one climbing the steep
path, and then a glad voice said, “Agnes!”
Her heart stood still. She held out two trembling hands which were
closely clasped in Parker’s warm grasp. “Agnes,” he said. “Look at me,
little girl, I want to see those honest blue eyes. Are you glad to see
me?”
“Very glad. When did you come?”
“This morning; and as soon as I could I went to call on my neighbors,
but I found one missing. They told me where I should find you. And you
are not married? I heard you were going to be.”
“Carter told you that.”
“Yes. Is it true?”
“No, it is not true. I heard the same report of you. Is that true?”
“I don’t know whether it is or not.”
Agnes’s eyes fell, and she drew away her hands.
“Have you heard?” Parker said gravely. “Did you know that my dear
mother is at peace?”
“No, I had not heard. I am so sorry for you, but it must have been a
comfort to know that you could be with her all these last months of her
life.”
“It was my comfort and hers, too, I think.”
There was silence for a moment. The girl’s brain was in a whirl. He was
glad to see her, but ah, if he were to be married, she must not show
him how glad she was. “I have just heard a piece of news,” she said at
last.
“Yes? I hope it is good news. Where did you learn it?”
“From Polly. You know the blacksmith’s shop is only second to the store
in being a place for choice bits of gossip.”
“And your news?”
“I heard that Archie M’Clean is to marry a rich widow of Pittsburg.”
Parker started forward and grasped Agnes’s hands again. “Then you are
not going to marry him?”
“I cannot very well, it seems,” she laughed lightly. “Oh, don’t be
afraid for me, Mr. Willet; I am not heart-broken, nor even unhappy!”
“I am glad of that, yet--”
“I did not intend to marry him. I never intended to.”
“Yet you told me--”
“What did I tell you?”
“That you had promised.”
“With a proviso.”
“Yes, and it was that if neither saw any one more likable--ah, I see,
you have found some one more likable, and so it does not trouble you.
Ah, I see.” He dropped her hands. “But you said you were not going to
be married, then perhaps it is not settled yet.”
“And you said you didn’t know whether you were to be or not. I--is
it--is it--Alicia? I heard--”
“What did you hear?”
“That you were every day at her father’s house, and that every one
supposed--”
“Persons suppose a great deal. I was there every day, because Colonel
Southall is my very dear friend, and I went to take him news of my
mother. Besides, I found that I could go every day without fearing in
the least to meet Alicia. She is to marry some one else, and I am very
glad, for he is a good fellow and will make her happy.”
“Then it is some other; her sister, maybe. Carter says she is more
charming than Alicia, and if you are not certain--if you don’t know
whether you are--”
“I don’t know, little girl; it all depends upon you. No one else in the
wide world can tell me.”
“On me? It depends on me?”
“Yes, if you will not marry me, I shall be sorry I came back. Agnes,
Agnes, can it be that, after all, I misunderstood and that I am the
lucky other fellow, the more likable one? Am I, Agnes?”
“Ah, my heart’s desire,” breathed the girl, lifting true eyes to his.
“Why did you mislead me and send me away so utterly wretched?” Parker
asked, as they were rowing across stream.
“I didn’t send you away; you went, and I was wretched, too, but I could
not explain. I did not think you would misunderstand so entirely, and
I had promised, though I did find there was some one that I cared more
for than for Archie, but I couldn’t tell you so to your face. You
stayed away such a long time, that time, and I was telling myself that
if you loved me, you couldn’t do it, and so I tried to show you that I
didn’t care, for you know you had never said.”
“No, I had never said half that I ought. I know now that I should have
said nothing at all, or I should have told you at once how much I loved
you. You would have waited for me, Agnes?”
“You know I would,” she answered shyly.
“It has been a sad time, my darling little lass. I would never have
returned but for the faint hope, which somehow would not be downed,
that after all I might find you free, and then that mischievous Carter
told me you were to be married. I wonder why he dared to say so. I have
a crow to pick with him. Yet, sweetheart, out of our sorrow has come a
great joy, as we used to say long ago. Do you remember?”
Agnes was looking off at the sunset sky. “I remember. I am glad it was
on the hilltop that we met to-day,” she murmured.
“The dear hilltop. It has been in my mind many and many a time, when I
thought I had lost my dear little frontier lass. Many and many a time
I fancied I could see you standing there in your linsey-woolsey gown,
with your sunbonnet in your hand, and your little kerchief folded about
your neck. I told my mother about you, Agnes, and though my hope was
very faint, she bade me keep it alive and to come back here and try to
win you. ‘And if you do find that your little girl is free and that her
heart is yours, give her my blessing,’ she said, and my sister, too,
said, ‘Give Agnes my love.’”
The tears came to Agnes’s eyes. She was deeply touched. “How little I
deserve it,” she said. “They who are such dainty ladies, if they could
see me as you see me now.”
“As I see you now? Ah, dear child, they would see a lady in very truth,
gentle, sweet, and good, the queen of my heart and home, to whom I
shall delight to do homage as long as I am her humble subject.” He
bent his head and kissed the brown hand lying in his. “And when I take
you to your mother and ask you of her, will she give you to me, do you
think?”
“Yes, I am sure she will. And there is my father, too. You know about
my father?”
“I heard and was filled with rejoicing. It was from Henry Flint that I
heard. He wrote and told me of what his stay at your house had done for
him. I thought, maybe, Agnes, that he might be the ‘more likable one.’”
“Dr. Flint? Oh, no. He seems so very much older, and he is but our good
friend.”
“He worships your mother, and says she is his ideal woman, and--”
Parker leaned forward again,--“her daughter grows more and more like
her.”
It was dusk when they reached the house, but it was not too dark for
the mother to see the joyful light in her daughter’s eyes as she came
up and put her arms about her, whispering, “Oh, mother, my heart’s
desire, my heart’s desire!”
“My bonny lass, my little Agnes,” her mother murmured, her eyes filling.
“Will you give her to me, Mrs. Kennedy?” said Parker, watching the two.
“Ay, lad; she’s given herself, I see, and it’s not my hand that would
separate you.”
“I shall live your next neighbor,” said Agnes, lifting her head.
“Ah, my wean, so soon to be thinking of that,” her mother answered
sadly.
“I am going to find Mr. Kennedy,” Parker told them, and he went out
leaving the girl with her mother, to pour out her tale of happiness and
to tell of Polly’s gossip.
“So, mother dear,” the girl said, laughing, “I am very fortunate, you
see, for, as Polly says, I shall not be ‘left settin’, and though you
will not have the honor of being the mother-in-law to a meenister,
you’ll have me near you always and I shall have you, which to my mind
is much better.”
Presently the men folks came tramping in--Fergus Kennedy, Sandy, Parker
Willett, and Carter.
“What’s this I hear, you sly puss?” said Carter, making a dash for
Agnes, and taking her hands to shake them heartily.
She laughed confusedly, but she held up her head, for she had no cause
for shame. “How dared you tell that I was going to be married, you
naughty lad?” she asked.
“Well, aren’t you?” returned Carter, impudently. “However,” when the
laugh had subsided he went on, “I was thinking about that time that
I’d marry you myself, but I’ve concluded to wait for Margret,” which
in very truth he did. “Are you going to turn me out, Cousin Park?” he
asked ruefully.
“Not till you want to go.”
“I’ll buy my own land, then, and set up for myself as soon as my
lady-love is old enough,” he said soberly. And then he crossed the room
to where Margret sat covered with confusion.
The news of Parker’s return spread quickly through the neighborhood,
and the next day brought Polly and Jeanie to hear the truth of the
report which Carter had not been slow to scatter abroad. Polly fairly
hugged Parker in the exuberance of her joy at his return, and though
she maintained that there was no one good enough for Nancy, she was
mightily pleased when she was told of what she called Parker’s luck.
Jeanie was relieved to be free to give her news of Archie, though she
insisted that it was all Agnes’s fault, and that her brother had been
obliged to go elsewhere for consolation when Agnes jilted him. It was
plain to those who in years after met the Rev. and Mrs. Archie M’Clean,
that the good man had been unable to withstand the widow’s subtle
flattery, which she was well versed in using, but which was no part of
Agnes’s art of pleasing, though in all cases it will win a man whose
bump of self-esteem is a match for Archie’s.
It was in October that Parker and Agnes took possession of their little
home, and there was a great housewarming, which those for miles around
attended. They were all there, the friends who had stood shoulder to
shoulder with the young couple when they first started to win their way
in the wilderness--Dod Hunter and his strapping sons, the M’Cleans,
all but Archie, Jeanie and David Campbell, Dr. Flint, Jimmy O’Neill,
and last, but not least, Polly, who was the life of the occasion, and,
it is reported, nearly persuaded the minister to dance an Irish jig,
so “delutherin’” was she, but it was Carter who told this, and its
accuracy may be judged accordingly. Carter, be it said, vied with Polly
in his lively efforts to make every one have a good time.
And when the fun and feasting had become a thing of the past, one
evening Parker and Agnes climbed the hill that overlooked O’Neill’s
clearing. Hand in hand they stood looking at the sunset, Agnes very
serious, feeling a little the weight of her new responsibilities.
“What are you thinking of?” she asked her husband.
“I have been thinking of the years to come. We are pioneers, Agnes, but
we have a great future before us. We are soon to be a state; even now
the wilderness begins to blossom like the rose. Those dangers of the
early days will never be ours. We shall grow and enlarge our borders
and open the way for others, who will strike farther and farther west.
We have crossed our mountains, dear, and the way is plain before us.”
Such was the man’s thought. “And of what was my wife thinking?”
“Of our home; of whether I shall ever disappoint you, and whether I
shall learn to be like my mother, so strong, so helpful, so patient; if
I could but be to you what she is to my father.”
“You are now, my brave little lass,” said Parker, drawing her close.
“You are all that, strong, and helpful, and patient, and when we are an
old, old couple, I shall say to you, as your father so often says to
your mother, ‘Ye are my ain hand’s morrow.’”
* * * * *
Transcriber’s note
Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized where appropriate.
Other spelling has also been retained as originally published except
for the changes below.
Page 7: “_Frontispiece_ Page 10” “_Frontispiece_ Page 2”
Page 156: “ought to he married” “ought to be married”