TWO HEARTS THAT BEAT AS ONE.
The Rev. John Westlock went away in the latter part of September, and
from that time to the day before Christmas, a period of three months, I
did not visit Fairview, as I dreaded the questions of the people, for
one thing, and was very busy for another, but Jo was to be married on
the 24th of December, and nothing would have kept me away. With the
exception that he wrote me a letter saying that he believed Barker was
pleased at the disappearance of his sister, I had not even heard
directly from him, much less seen his good, honest face, though I knew
the mill was steadily progressing, of which fact we made appropriate
mention in the columns of the “Union of States.”
We had a sort of understanding that, as we should both be very busy
during the summer, we would put off a meeting until his wedding, and
besides this I had a great desire to come upon the completed mill in
operation. Therefore, when the day came round, I was early on the road,
having arranged for an absence of several days, and to call at Theodore
Meek’s for Agnes, who was not going home for the holidays until after
Jo’s marriage.
As I passed Bragg’s apartments I noticed that the place was close shut
up, and presumed he had already left town on the same errand as that on
which I was bound; therefore I was not surprised when I came up with him
a few miles out, driving his vicious horse to a light buggy. Seeing my
approach, he allowed his horse to walk in the road ahead of me,
undoubtedly intended as an insult, but after submitting to it a few
minutes, I turned out and went by him, though he lashed his horse, and
tried to prevent me. His horse was no match for mine, as he very well
knew for the team I drove trotted so briskly as to scandalize the church
to which my father had belonged, but Bragg never admitted anything
without a struggle, as a dog has to be kicked out of your road every
day. For several miles I could see him vigorously following, whipping
his mean horse, but at last I went down into a low valley where ran a
creek and lost sight of him.
During all the time I had known him, we had never spoken, except on the
night of my arrival in Twin Mounds, and as I grew stronger I determined
to whip him for the many insolences he had practised upon me; I had half
a mind to stop where I was until he came up, and try it there, but the
uncertainty of the result, and the fact that my appearance would be too
much ruffled at best by the encounter to make myself presentable at a
wedding, induced me to give it up, and wait for a more favorable
opportunity.
When I drove up to The. Meek’s, Agnes was already waiting for me, and
coming out directly, we were soon on the way. Although she was always
neatly dressed, and had a very decided talent in that direction, her
apparel was so gorgeous that day as to cause me new surprise, but when I
looked at it attentively, I was certain it was inexpensive, and that it
was all the work of her own hands. I remember she was particularly gay,
and had I not known differently, I might of thought of her as some
favorite child of good fortune, whose paths were always pleasant. There
was nothing to mar her happiness, it seemed, except the misfortune of
others, which she frequently mentioned, and her sympathy for my mother
was so earnest and gentle that I worshipped her more than ever, though
I had never admitted to myself before that I did not already love her to
the greatest extent possible.
When we arrived at the Shepherds’, Jo met us at the gate, and, after
showing Agnes into the house, went with me out to the stables. For some
reason I became convinced at once that it would be a dreary day, for Jo
was not so glad to see me as I had expected, after the long separation,
and he seemed dissatisfied about something, although I do not believe he
really was. It was a pleasant day, though in December, and after the
horses were put away we walked about, attempting to renew our old
confidences and friendship, but we did not get on as we used to do. He
was the same Jo in most respects, but he had grown thoughtful and
careworn in the last few years, and I mentioned it, to which he replied
with some impatience:--
“You say that whenever we meet. You forget that we are both older, and
that it has been almost four years since we were constantly together. It
was always our ambition, when we were boys, to become men: we are
becoming men very rapidly, and while I am satisfied, you seem to
complain of it. But we never become so old that we do not have care and
responsibility, and I look like a thoughtful man to you only because in
the course of years I have grown to be a thoughtful man. Further than my
work there is nothing to make me thoughtful but the age I have
accumulated naturally, and I look older because I AM older. Let me
assure you once for all, my good old friend, that I am stout as a lion;
I am prosperous; I am to be married in a few hours to the woman of my
choice, and that there is no reason why I should not live to a ripe old
age in the greatest peace. There! Are you satisfied?”
“I enjoyed your friendship so much when you were a boy,” I answered,
“that perhaps it is only a fear that it will be less candid when we are
men. I have had no other confidant than you, and I dread to see you grow
old, for fear that a man’s cares will cause you to forget our boyish
friendship.”
“No fear of that,” he said, after he had studied awhile, as if turning
it all over in his mind. “No fear of that. I shall never grow too old to
confide my sorrows (if I have them) and successes to you. However poorly
a man is raised, he always has a pleasant recollection of his youth. It
may be only the hut in which he was born, but there is always something,
and you are the one pleasant recollection of my boyhood. If I had a
great trouble, I should come to you with it; not for help, perhaps, but
for your honest sympathy, and for the satisfaction of talking it over
freely. So long as I confess nothing to you, you may rest assured that I
am very happy. I don’t feel right just now, some way, and I can see that
you don’t; but I hope we shall get on better later in the day. I am very
sorry, but for some reason the occasion does not promise to be what I
expected. Probably one reason is that I have done a very mean thing
to-day, and when you discover it, as you are sure to do, remember that I
have confessed my humiliation, and say nothing about it.”
I had no idea what it was, but as he said I should discover it, I did
not press him further.
“It is very curious,” Jo said, in a confidential and perplexed way, “but
the nearer my marriage approaches, the less important it seems; I wonder
that I am so cool over it. You remember what I said to you once about
it--that I would sell myself to the Devil to be married to Mateel; THEN,
not to wait a minute. I felt what I said, but the years of waiting have
made a great change in me. Not that I am less fond of her, but I do not
feel now about it as I did the night we rode to Barker’s the first year
of my apprenticeship. It was never intended, perhaps, for anyone to be
as happy as I should have been had my marriage to Mateel that night been
possible. Somehow we always have to wait until the pleasure of an event
is blunted by familiarity. Imperceptibly, as she became a possibility, I
made the discovery that she is not an angel--she would be an angel, I
have no doubt, were such a thing possible--for angels do not live in the
woods, and they do not marry millers.”
He tried very hard to be cheerful, but he could not, and when he spoke I
thought it was an apology for his troubled face:--
“I am very tired of late, for I have worked almost night and day for
four years, and I hope you will excuse me if I do not seem glad to see
you, for I am; though just at present, for some unaccountable reason, I
am unable to show it. I am sure I shall perceptibly revive by reason of
your being here, but the mill undertaking was a big one, though I shall
speedily recover, now that I have more ease. I can’t just explain myself
how it is, but I hope you will believe I am still Jo Erring, and still
regard you as my best friend.”
I made some sort of an answer, and we went into the house soon after,
both of us more than ever convinced that something was wrong, though we
could not tell what it was. Jo immediately disappeared into another
room, leaving me alone until Mr. Shepherd came in, who, although he
seemed glad to see me, was in such great excitement that he had not time
to express it.
“You will excuse me if I am not myself,” he said, as he walked about,
putting his hands to his head as though it pained him, a habit I had
noticed before. “While I approve of this marriage, our only child leaves
us to-day, and we cannot feel very gay about it. She has hardly been out
of our sight since she was born, and so far from feeling gay, we are
uncomfortable, although we have no objection to her husband. It
distresses her poor mother more than it does me; I fear it will be like
a funeral. I hope Jo will not mind if she breaks down entirely. I had
been hoping we should be very happy to-day, but I have lost all hope of
it.”
As Mr. Shepherd walked rapidly round the room with his head down, he
almost ran into a door as it opened to admit his respectable wife,
followed by Agnes. Mrs. Shepherd bowed to me stiffly, and, walking
across the room, seated herself. I had a vague sort of notion that Mrs.
Shepherd, hearing of my arrival, had come in to pay her respects, and
such a long and awkward silence followed that I began to upbraid myself
that, as a young man of the world, I should say something suitable.
While debating between a joke and an observation on the weather,
however, the door opened again, and Jo and Mateel stood before me. Jo
wore the suit in which he had met me at the gate, with the addition of
gloves, and Mateel was arrayed as became a bride. Both looked brave and
handsome, and while admiring them, and wondering what I had better do (I
was impressed with my importance there, someway, but was not certain
how), Mr. Shepherd got up from his chair, and, standing before them,
pronounced the simple marriage ceremony common in that day, in a low and
faltering voice. Then we all knelt, and the good man earnestly and
tenderly invoked the blessing of God on the union. By the time Mr.
Shepherd had risen to his feet again, his wife was beside him, and,
throwing her arms about Mateel, kissed her over and over again, and
asked her not to cry, as she had shown evidences of doing. Somehow I
thought they had agreed, as though it were brave, not to humiliate my
worthy friend by creating a scene, and I wondered that they consented to
the marriage at all if they did not approve of it. I had never been
entirely cured of a dislike for Mrs. Shepherd, and it came upon me with
renewed force that day, for I thought she had every reason to feel
gratified at the marriage, instead of sorrowful, for Jo was much the
better one of the two; any unprejudiced person would have said so. She
paid not the slightest attention to Jo, and I was glad when Mr. Shepherd
came up and shook him by the hand, with appropriate words of
congratulation, after which Agnes touched me on the arm, and we went up
with our greetings. When I took Mateel by the hand Jo said for me to
kiss her (which I did very awkwardly, I am afraid); then Agnes kissed
Jo, and we were all very happy together. Some one brought up chairs, and
Jo and Mateel sat down, and when I looked around Mr. Shepherd and his
wife were gone.
After Jo and his bride had taken a long breath, and were themselves
again, we four spent a very uncomfortable half hour together, for each
one seemed to feel that the others were not at ease. I had thought Jo’s
wedding would be a merry event, but it was not, though I never knew
exactly why.
I noticed while we sat there that Mateel did not regain her accustomed
color, but remained very pale, from which I imagined her health was
failing, for she had always been delicate. The costly finery which she
wore, though in good taste, made her look ghastly, and I was compelled
to admit that she had never appeared to a worse advantage. Her cheeks
were sunken, and her form wasted, and she seemed entirely too old for
the fresh young man by her side. I imagined that Jo thought of this,
too, and regretted she was not more girlish.
When dinner was ready, I noticed that plates were laid for several
guests besides Agnes and myself, as if they expected that more of Jo’s
friends would be present, whereupon it occurred to me to apologize that
my mother was ill, and had sent her regrets.
“The regrets are accepted,” Jo said, as though others had been sent. “We
could not have a more cheerful company than this. So far as I am
concerned, the company is satisfactory.”
Mateel expressed some such sentiment, and so did we all.
“But I wonder Clinton Bragg is not here,” I said. “I met him on the
road, and I am certain he was dressed for a wedding.”
I immediately regretted saying it, for I thought that both Mateel and Jo
colored at the mention of his name, but after some hesitation, Mateel
said:
“He was not expected.”
At this moment Mr. Shepherd excused himself to answer a knock at the
door, and when he came back he said that it was Clinton Bragg, who had
stopped in on a trifling errand, and who had gone away again. I was not
surprised that the fellow appeared at the house on that day, for he was
always where he was not wanted, but I wondered he had not accepted the
invitation to dinner, which Mr. Shepherd said he had given. It would
have been a splendid opportunity to make himself disagreeable.
All of them seemed to be in a worse humor after this, and they had not
been merry before. Mateel got up from the table soon after, and insisted
on helping her mother, which example was followed by Agnes, and finally
by Mr. Shepherd, who went to do some sort of carving, leaving Jo and me
alone. The dinner was an elaborate one, and the table set for at least
twenty, so that we felt lost in the desert of dishes. Some of them
tried to be gay at the circumstance of our being alone at the table, and
they helped us very liberally, but it was a failure, and the time passed
very dismally. I believe that Jo felt guilty that more of his friends
were not present,--or rather that he had but two to invite,--and I knew
that I felt very awkward in being the groom’s only satellite, since he
had lived in the neighborhood all his life; and, though I attempted
pleasantries in great number, either they were not heard or not
appreciated, so that the dinner was very much of a failure, as Jo
whispered to me as we sat at one end of the long table together.
When I went into the other room, dinner being over at last, I found a
letter lying on the table addressed in a neat hand to Mr. and Mrs. Goode
Shepherd, and, knowing it was public, I opened and read a well-worded
note of regret from my grandmother. As she could not write I knew what
Jo meant when he said I would that day detect him in a mean action; he
had written it himself.
* * * * *
In order to avoid the leave-taking, and because I was uncomfortable at
the Shepherds’ house, I drove over to the mill with Agnes in the middle
of the afternoon, where we spent several hours in putting the house in
order for the coming of Jo and Mateel. I had not been in the house since
it was remodelled, and was pleasantly surprised at its arrangement. The
old house had but two rooms, but Jo had added two others, and furnished
them neatly and comfortably and in good taste. The room in front was
transformed into a pretty parlor, and opening off this was a sleeping
apartment. The old kitchen remained, but I would not have known it, so
great was the change, and adjoining it, and connecting with the parlor,
was a dining-room, which completed the number Agnes admired the house
as much as I did, and complimented Jo so much that I regretted I had not
expended my energies on one like it. I think I resolved to look about
when I returned to town for an old house, and fit it up by degrees, but
I have no doubt I forgot it entirely within an hour.
The mill had been completed a month before, and had been in successful
operation since. I can only remember now that it was a very good one for
that day, and that it was an improvement on the one belonging to Damon
Barker, for its machinery was of late and improved make. Jo had never
told me, but I believed he was greatly in debt, for in addition to the
amount due on the machinery he had rebuilt and furnished the house where
he was to live, therefore I was not surprised to find the mill in full
operation in charge of his assistant, as that was a busy season. Agnes
and I went through it after we had finished at the house, from the great
wheels in the cellar to the small ones in the roof, and complimented Jo
so much that his ears certainly tingled.
Jo and Mateel did not arrive until after dark, and we had the lights and
fires burning when they came in. After laying off her wraps Mateel
looked around the pleasant room, but did not say anything, seeming sick
and distressed, and when she went with us through the rooms, Agnes
carrying the light, she only said “Yes” when some one remarked that this
or that was pretty, or “No” when it was said that something else could
not be nicer. I thought that Jo was very much hurt at this, for she
seemed to take everything as a matter of course, and the only words she
spoke were as to what should have been done rather than as referring to
what had been done already, which was a great deal, for the house was
better furnished and more complete in every way than the one in which
she had lived. I thought at first that she was thinking the arrangements
for her comfort were no more than she deserved, if as much, but I
concluded later in the evening that she was not herself, and that the
parting with her mother had been a great trial, although I could not
understand why, for they were separated only by a few miles, and could
see each other every day.
We had been sitting about the fire for an hour or more, where we seemed
to get along better than at any other time during the day, when a rap
came at the door, and, on its being opened by Jo, Damon Barker walked
in. We were all very much delighted and surprised to see him, and after
saluting Jo and his wife with a polite word of congratulation, he took
the chair Agnes brought up, and sat down in the circle.
“I could not come over very well to-day,” he said, speaking to Mateel,
“so I came to-night. I thought I knew who would be here beside
yourselves,” looking at Agnes, and then at me, “and I find the company I
had expected. I wish you all a merry Christmas.”
We had not thought of it before, having been occupied with the events of
the day, but Barker suggested it by taking a number of packages from his
pockets, which he leaned against the legs of his chair. After we had
returned his compliment, he said:--
“I am not fond of ceremonies of any kind, but I am fond of a fire like
this on Christmas Eve, and a company like this, so I came unannounced. I
hope you are glad to see me.”
We all announced in a chorus that we were.
“It is very polite in you to say so,” Barker replied. “I lead a lonely
life over there,” pointing in the direction of his mill with the hand in
which he held another package from his pocket, looking very much like a
long bottle wrapped in brown paper, “though probably no lonelier than I
desire. Jo and I became very good friends when we were in solitude
together, and I think I could not have rested to-night had I not walked
over to congratulate him and his pretty bride.”
He settled down in his chair and looked around the room as if admiring
it.
“It has been a long time since I felt so much at home as I do at this
moment.” Having put down the package which looked like a bottle, he
picked up another one and commenced unwrapping it, but soon stopped, and
continued talking, leaving us to wonder what it contained. “I hope my
presence will not interfere with your enjoyment. Let me sit here in the
corner and look at you, without being in the way.” He began unwrapping
the package again, but forgot it as he became more interested. “I enjoy
looking at fresh young faces, and it is not often I have the
opportunity. I beg that you go on with the conversation--I warrant it
was a merry one--in progress when I disturbed you by rapping. Don’t mind
me at all, but if you should address me occasionally, and intimate that
I had added something to the occasion, I should enjoy myself very much
indeed.”
By this tune the package was unwrapped, and it turned out to be a
handsome jewel case, with a set of expensive jewelry on the inside. This
he handed to Mateel with a bow, and, picking up another package, went on
with his talking and unwrapping:--
“For twelve years I have been almost a hermit here in the woods, and
during all that time I have not met so pleasant a company as this. I
never felt more welcome in my life, whether I am or not, and I have an
idea that I feel very much as the rest of you do--comfortable and
happy.”
By this time the other package came out, and it was so much like the
first one that we could not tell them apart. This he gave to Agnes, who
was greatly surprised, and she hesitated in taking it, but he did not
notice her, and, diving down beside his chair, handed the bottle-looking
package to me, and its mate to Jo, retaining another one of the same
pattern for himself.
“These three contain liquor so old that I feel quite young in their
company,” he said, without noticing the surprise which his presents to
Mateel and Agnes had created, for they were very valuable, “and combined
and stirred with a little hot water, a little sugar, a few slices of
lemon, and nutmeg, they make a punch very fit and appropriate for a
party of five. If you have a bowl handy, I will stir them together.”
As he said this, he got up from his chair, and began preparations for
the punch by taking from the pockets of the coat he had laid off a bag
of lemons and a corkscrew. Jo and I went out and lighted the fire for
the hot water, and while we were waiting for it we heard Barker asking
as a favor that nothing more be said about the presents.
Conscious that the wedding was ending better than it had commenced, Jo
and I shook hands over the circumstance, and we soon had the kitchen
fire roaring, and the water hot, and taking it into the front room,
Barker had the bottles opened, and the lemons sliced, and, the sugar and
nutmeg being brought, the punch was soon ready, which I think was
composed of champagne, and a mixed liquor made for that purpose. It was
certainly very good, and Jo and I drank of it very liberally.
I had never seen Barker in good spirits before, and it was not long
before all of us caught the infection. We not only drank of the punch,
but we went into the kitchen and brought out something to eat, and after
this the good humor of every one increased so much that it was agreed
that if Barker would give a selection from a play with which he was
familiar (and which he did remarkably well), Jo and I would sing
camp-meeting songs, to be followed by a duet by Mateel and Agnes.
While these arrangements were in progress, I went to the door to see how
the weather was, as I had a long drive before me, and as I stood there I
saw a horseman pass in the road, who I was certain was Clinton Bragg.
Those on the inside were merrily laughing, and I purposely opened the
door that he might hear it, and know that Mateel and Jo were happy, and
surrounded by friends. I thought that he might come in with some kind of
a message for Mateel, but I resolved that if he attempted it I would
knock him down and beat him at the gate, for I felt the punch, and was
in a humor for that kind of business. But he rode slowly past, and I am
certain that he heard the gay laughter, and that no one knew of his
presence except myself.
Although Barker drank as freely as Jo and I, he was evidently more
accustomed to it, and did not mind it, though it had no other effect on
us than to increase our good spirits. Agnes and Mateel partook but
sparingly, but they were both in better humor than I had ever seen them,
and applauded whatever we did. Barker gave his selection from the play
(it was a tragedy, and he limped in from the kitchen saying something
about that being the winter of our discontent), after which Jo and I
started a camp-meeting, imitating the singing, preaching, and shouting
of the Fairview people, which performance was received with rounds of
applause. Mateel and Agnes then sang their duet, in appreciation of
which we clapped our hands until they sang another one; and thus the
time passed until after midnight.
During the evening Jo found opportunity to express his pleasure that
everything had turned out so well, and whenever we were alone I think
both of us had a good deal to say about an “Old Boy,” and the “Best
friend in the world,” for we lost all of the restraint which made us so
uncomfortable in the morning, and fully renewed our old friendship.
When we broke up, and had said our adieus over and over, I found my team
at the door, through the kindness of the assistant at the mill, and
after we had closed the door for positively the last time, we opened it
again for another kind word, and were very merry and gay.
There was a light fall of snow on the ground, and the night and the
roads being fine, I insisted on taking Barker in the buggy and driving
him home, knowing the horses would enjoy the dash along the level roads
in the woods. He at first objected, but Agnes adding her entreaty, he
finally consented, and after calling to Jo until he opened the door
again, we waved our hands once more, crossed the creek below the mill,
and dashed away.
I was proud of the speed of the team, and Barker was at first very
nervous at the pace at which I drove, but finding I was a careful
driver, he leaned contentedly back, and repeatedly said the drive was a
pleasant ending to the agreeable evening at Jo’s house. When we arrived
at the mill, he invited us in, and as Agnes had never been at his house,
and had often expressed a curiosity to see it, we accepted the
invitation, though it was two or three o’clock in the morning. As I
expected, there was still fire in the great box stove in his room, for
it seemed never to go out, and with a little stirring and fuel it was
soon roaring. We walked through all the rooms, Barker carrying the
light, and appearing to be pleased and contented. I told Agnes of the
delightful stories Barker had related to Jo and me in the big room with
the heavy shutters, and even insisted that he tell another one, to give
Agnes an idea of his talent in that direction, but he laughingly replied
that it was late, and that they would prove very dull, now that we were
older.
“I have another story to tell you, though,” he said, after some
reflection, “but it is not quite ready, and as it is a story for men, it
is fortunate that you are almost a man. In good time I will tell it to
you, and, if you choose, you may repeat it to Agnes.”
While we were warming ourselves at the fire for completing the ride, I
questioned him about it, but it seemed to be of no importance, for he
laughed gayly, and would only say that when he was ready he would remind
me of it.
After spending an hour there we started for Theodore Meek’s and although
I repeatedly informed Agnes that she was the best and prettiest girl in
the world, and that I was very much in love with her, she was not at all
serious, seeming to regard it as a part of the gayety of the night, and
after reaching the house, and having a laugh all around with the family
(who got up to hear about the wedding), we went to bed just as day began
to appear in the east.