CHIEFLY CONCERNING A LETTER
"Sunday," said Mrs. Trapes sententiously, "Sunday is a holy day t' some
folks an' a holiday for other folks, but t' folks like me an' Hermy it
sure ain't no day of rest an' gladness--like the hymn book says."
"Isn't it?" said Ravenslee, pushing away his coffee cup and glancing
toward the loud-ticking clock upon the sideboard.
"It sure ain't!" nodded Mrs. Trapes, quick to note the look. "Hermy an'
me ain't much given to Sunday observance, Mr. Geoffrey. Y' see, there's
always meals t' be cooked an' washin' up t' be done, an' clo'es t' be
mended p'raps. I've darned many a 'eartfelt prayer into a wore-out pair
o' stockin's before now an' offered up many a petition t' the Throne o'
grace with my scrubbin' brush sloshin' over the floor. Anyway, Hermy 'n'
me ain't never had much time for church-goin' or prayer meetin's or
mindin' our souls in our best frocks an' bonnets--no, sir! We jest have
t' get on with our work--sewin' an' cookin' an' washin'--mindin' the
welfare of other folks' bodies. So while them as has time an'
inclination sing their praises t' the Lord on their knees, Hermy an' me
take out our praises in work, an' have t' leave our souls t' God
an'--oh, well, I guess he'll take care of 'em all right--don't y'
think?"
"I certainly do!" nodded Ravenslee.
"O' course, my soul ain't all it should be--a bit stained here
an' there, p'raps--a bit th' worse for wear, Mr. Geoffrey, but
Hermy's--well, there, I guess it's jest as sweet as a flower still, an'
white--as white as that tablecloth. An' talkin' about her soul--what
about her body, Mr. Geoffrey?"
Ravenslee started. "Her body?" said he, staring. "Well, since you ask,
I should say it is like her soul--very sweet and white and--"
"Sure!" nodded Mrs. Trapes, "but, bein' only flesh an' blood after
all--bein' only miserable clay like yours an' mine, Mr. Geoffrey, it'll
always need food t' nourish it, clo'es t' keep it warm, an' a roof t'
shelter it. Well, if she was t' be s' mad as t' marry a peanut man, what
about food an' clo'es an' a roof?"
"I think they could be managed, Mrs. Trapes."
"What--out o' peanuts?"
"No--er--the fact is, I've given 'em up."
Mrs. Trapes sniffed. "Y' don't say!" she remarked drily. "Think o' that,
now!"
"The fact is, Mrs. Trapes, I--well, suppose I were to confess to you
that I'm not quite so poor as I seem--what should you say?"
"Why, I should say as I knew that about three weeks ago, Mr. Geoffrey."
"Oh, did you?" said Ravenslee, staring. "How in the world did you find
out?"
"Why, Mr. Geoffrey, I'll tell ye how. I got eyes an' I got ears, an'
sometimes I can see a bit with my eyes an' hear with my ears--that's
how! Oh, I've watched ye, Mr. Geoffrey--I've watched ye careful
because--well, because I sure love Hermy, an' 't would jest break my
'eart t' see her fallin' in love with a rogue!"
"So you think--that she is--falling in love, then?" enquired Ravenslee
slowly.
"Well, Hermy's Hermy, an' she's wrote you two letters to my knowin'--"
"No, only one, Mrs. Trapes."
"Now Hermy ain't the kind o' girl t' write twice to a man unless--"
"But she has only written me one letter, Mrs. Trapes--the one she left
with you last week."
"Oh, well--here's the other!" said Mrs. Trapes, laying before him an
envelope addressed in the handwriting he had come to know so well.
"Why didn't you give it to me before?" he enquired.
"Her orders, Mr. Geoffrey."
"Orders?"
"Orders!" nodded Mrs. Trapes. "She come in here last night an' give it
me after you was gone t' bed. 'Ann dear,' she says, 'don't let him have
it till half after ten t' morrer,' she says. An' it's nearly eleven
now--so there's y'r letter!"
"But," said Ravenslee, "why on earth--"
"P'raps th' letter'll tell you, Mr. Geoffrey; s'pose you read it while I
clear away your breakfast things!"
Hereupon Ravenslee opened the letter and read these words:
My dear,
It would be my joy to trust myself to you utterly, to go with you to the
world's end if you would have it so. Only I'm afraid that I am not quite
what you would have me. I'm afraid that I might sometimes do things that
would remind you that I had been only a scrubwoman. I'm afraid that some
day you might regret. Were I to answer you now, I should answer you
selfishly--so, please, you must give me time to think, for both our
sakes. Love has never come near me before, and now I am a little afraid,
for love is not little and tender and babyish, but great and strong and
very fierce and masterful--that is why I am afraid of it. So I must go
away from you, from the sound of your voice, the touch of your hand--to
think it all out. My work will take me to Englewood to-morrow, and I want
you to wait for your answer until I come back, for then I shall have
decided one way or the other. But in Englewood the memory of your words
will be with me still--oh, did you mean all, quite all you said, and did
you say quite all you meant to say--did you? Did you? For indeed it has
seemed to me that if you really meant all you said you might have said a
little more--just a little more. This is a dreadfully long letter and
very badly expressed, I know, but I dare not read it through. But what
I have written is written from my heart.
Hermione.
P.S. I shall be in Englewood three whole days.
"Will strawberry jam an' angel cake an' a bunch or so o' water cress be
enough, Mr. Geoffrey?"
Ravenslee sat staring down at the letter, rubbing his square,
fresh-shaven chin as one very much at a loss.
"'Might have said a little more--just a little more,'" he muttered, his
gaze focussed upon a certain line.
"Will water cress an' angel cake an' a pot o' strawberry jam soot, Mr.
Geoffrey?"
"Now I wonder what the dickens she can mean?" mused Ravenslee.
"She means jest strawberry jam an' angel cake an' water cress, fer
tea--fer your visitors," said Mrs. Trapes, with a patient sigh.
"Visitors!" repeated Ravenslee, glancing up. "Why, yes, they'll be here
about four o'clock."
"An' will water cress an' angel cake an'--"
"Quite enough! Certainly! Admirable!" exclaimed Ravenslee. "But what
beats me," he continued, staring down at the letter again, "is what she
can mean by writing this."
"Not knowin' what she's wrote, I can't say."
"Mrs. Trapes, I know you are Hermione's best and staunchest friend, and
lately I have ventured to hope you are mine too. As such, I want you to
read this letter--see if you can explain it!"
So Mrs. Trapes took the letter; and when she had read it through, folded
it together with hands very gentle and reverent and stood awhile staring
out into the sunlit court.
"My land!" she said at last, her harsh voice grown almost soft, "love's
a wonderful thing, I reckon. No wonder your eyes shine so. Yes, love's
a great an' wonderful thing--my land!"
"But can you explain," said Ravenslee, as he took back the letter, "can
you tell me what she means by--"
"Shucks, Mr. Geoffrey! That sure don't want no explainin'. When you said
all you did say to her, did y' say anything about 'wife' or 'marriage'?"
"Why, of course I did!"
"Sure?"
"Yes--er--that is--I think so."
"Not sure then?"
"Well, I may have done so--I must have done so, but really
I--er--forget--"
"Forget!" Mrs. Trapes snorted. "Now look-a-here, Mr. Geoffrey, what d'
ye want with Hermy; is it a wife you're after or only--"
"Mrs. Trapes!" Ravenslee was upon his feet, and before the sudden glare
in his eyes Mrs. Trapes gaped and for once fell silent. "Mrs. Trapes,"
said he, still frowning a little, "really you--you almost--made me
angry."
"My land!" said she, "I'm kind o' glad I didn't--quite!" and her sniff
was eloquent.
"You see," he went on, glancing down at the letter again, "I've learned
to love and reverence her so much that your suggestion--hurt rather!"
"Why, then, Mr. Geoffrey, I'm sorry. But if your love is so big an' true
as all that--if you want her t' be a wife t' you--why in the 'tarnal
didn't ye speak out an' tell her so?"
"I'll go and tell her so this minute."
"Y' can't! She's gone t' Bronx Park with that b'y, 'n' won't be back
all day."
"Damn!" exclaimed Ravenslee.
"Sure!" nodded Mrs. Trapes. "Keep on, it'll do ye good. But anyway, what
y' got t' say'll keep, I guess--it'll gush out all the stronger fer
bein' bottled up a day or two."
"I can write!" he suggested.
"You can--but you won't--you'll tell her with your two lips--a woman
likes it better spoke--if spoke proper--I should! With arms entwined an'
eyes lookin' into eyes an'--oh, shucks! Will angel cake an' strawberry
jam--"
"They'll be ample, and--thank you, dear Mrs. Trapes!"