THE HARVEST HOME FESTIVAL
It was not that Sheila Macklin had no graver moments. There were
nights when, in spite of her healthful weariness of body, arising
from the work of the household, she lay awake for long hours of
restless, anxious thought. And sometimes her pillow was wet with
tears. Yet she was not of a lachrymose disposition. She could not
invent imaginary troubles or build in her mind gibbets on which
remorse and sorrow might hang in chains.
Indeed, how could she be sorrowful? Why should she feel remorse? She
had taken another girl's name and claim of parentage, and she filled
a place which the other girl might have had. But the rightful owner
of the name had scorned this refuge. The real Ida May Bostwick had
no appreciation of what the Balls had to offer, and she had been
unwilling even to open communication with her relatives down on the
Cape.
Besides, Tunis Latham always cheered the girl who was playing an
imposter's part with the declaration that she had done just
right--that without her presence on Wreckers' Head Cap'n Ira and his
wife would be in a very bad way, indeed.
She could see that this was so. Her coming to them had been as great
a blessing in their lives as it had been in her own.
She fully realized that Cap'n Ira and his wife would not have
admitted her to their home and to their hearts had she come in her
own person and identity. This was not so much because of their
strict morality as because of their strict Puritanism. For a puritan
may not be moral always, but he must be just. And justice of that
character is seldom tempered by mercy. What they might have forgiven
the real Ida May they could scarcely be expected to forgive a
stranger.
In spite of this situation, the Balls were being blessed by the
presence of a girl in their household who had been tainted with a
sentence to a reformatory. Even now, when she knew they loved her
and could scarcely imagine what they would do without her, Sheila
Macklin was quite convinced that a whisper about these hidden
miseries would turn Cap'n Ball, and even Prudence, against her.
Therefore she was careful, putting a guard upon her tongue and
almost keeping watch upon her secret thoughts. She never allowed
herself to lapse into reverie in their presence for fear the old
people might suspect that she had a past that would not endure open
discussion.
And, deliberately and with forethought, the intelligent girl went
about strengthening her position with the Balls and making her
identity as Ida May Bostwick unassailable. She had a retentive
memory. Nothing Aunt Prudence ever said in her hearing about Sarah
Honey, her ways when she was young, or what the old woman knew or
surmised about her dead niece's marriage and her life thereafter,
escaped the girl. She treasured it all.
When visitors were by--especially the neighboring women who likewise
remembered Sarah Honey--the masquerader often spoke in a way to
reduce to a minimum any suspicion that she was not the rightful Ida
May. Even a visit from Annabell Coffin--"she who was a Cuttle"--went
off without a remark being made which would yield a grain of doubt.
Mrs. Coffin had heard of Ida May while she visited "his folks" in
Boston, in a most roundabout way. She did say to the girl, however:
"Let's see, Ida May, didn't they tell me that you worked for a spell
in one of them great stores? I wish you could see 'em, Aunt Prue!
The Marshall & Denham department store on Washington Street covers
acres--_acres_! Was it there that you worked, Ida May?"
"No," replied Ida May calmly.
"What store did you work in?"
"Hoskin & Marl's," said the girl, still unruffled.
"To be sure. That's what Esther Coffin said she heard, I remember.
But I never got to that store. Couldn't go to all of 'em. It tired
me to death, just going around Marshall & Denham's."
This and similar incidents were building blocks in the structure
which she was raising. Nor did she consider it a structure of
deceit. The foundation only was of doubtful veracity. These people
had accepted her as somebody she was not, it was true; but she
gained nothing thereby that the real Ida May would not have had to
win for herself.
With Tunis approving and encouraging her, how could the girl spend
much time in doubt or any at all in despair? She felt that she was a
much better girl--morally as well as physically--in this environment
than she had been for many, many months. Instead of being conscience
wrung in playing the part of impostor and living under an assumed
name and identity, she felt a sense of self-congratulation.
And when in the company of the captain of the _Seamew_ she felt
almost exalted. There was a pact between them that made their tie
more than that of sister and brother. Yet, of love they never
spoke--not during those first weeks on Wreckers' Head. He never
failed to talk with Sheila as he came up from the town when the
schooner lay at her moorings in the cove or was docked ready to
discharge or take aboard freight. Business remained good, but all
was not plain sailing for the young shipmaster. He confided in the
girl many of his perplexities. When he went away again, rain or
shine, the girl did not fail to be up and about when he passed the
Ball homestead. He knew that she did this purposely--that she was on
the watch for him. Her reason for doing so was not so clear to the
young man, but he appreciated her interest.
Was he overmodest? Perhaps. He might have gained courage regarding
the girl's attitude toward him had he known that, on the nights he
was at home, she sat in her darkened, upper room and watched the
lamp he burned until it was extinguished. On the other hand, Tunis
Latham's brotherly manner and cheerful kindness were a puzzle to
Sheila. She knew that he had been kinder to her than any other man
she had ever met. But what was the root of that kindness?
There were many pleasant thoughts in Sheila's heart just now; nor
did she allow the secret of her past to leave its acid scars upon
her soul. She was the life and joy of the old house on the Head; she
was the center of amusement when she went into company at the church
or elsewhere. She managed, too, to be that marvelous specimen of
beautiful womankind who can attract other girls as well as men.
For one thing, the girl played no favorites. She treated them all
alike. None of the young men of Big Wreck Cove could honestly crow
because Ida May Bostwick had showed him any special favor.
And none of them suspected that Tunis Latham had the inside track
with the girl from the city. At least, this was unsuspected by all
before the occasion of the "harvest-home festival"--that important
affair held yearly by the ladies' aid of the Big Wreck Cove church.
For the first time in more than a year, Cap'n Ira and Prudence
ventured to town in the evening. Church socials, in the past, and
while Cap'n Ira was so much at sea, had been Prudence Ball's chief
relaxation. She was naturally of a social disposition, and the
simple pleasure of being with and of a party of other matrons of the
church was almost the height of Prudence's mundane desire.
When Cap'n Ira heard her express the wish to go to the harvest-home
festival he took an extra pinch of snuff.
"I swan!" he said. "If we take that Queen of Sheby out at night,
she'll near have a conniption. She'll think the world's come to an
end. She ain't been out o' her stable at night since Hector was a
pup--and Hector is a big dog now! How can you think of such a thing,
Prudence?"
"Queenie won't mind, I guess," said his wife calmly. "I shouldn't be
surprised if you was saying one word for her and a good many more'n
one for yourself, Ira."
However, they went to the harvest-home festival. It was bound to be
a very gay and enjoyable occasion, and Queenie did not stumble more
than three times going down the hill into the port.
"That old critter would be the death of us, if she could do it
without being the death of herself, too," fumed Cap'n Ira.
There were half a dozen young men almost fighting for the privilege
of taking Queenie around to the sheds and blanketing her, the winner
hopeful of a special smile and word from Sheila.
The decorated church was well filled when the trio from Wreckers'
Head entered, and most delicious odors rose from the basement, where
the tables were laid.
Sheila was immediately surrounded by her own little coterie of young
people and was enjoying herself quietly when a newcomer, whose
appearance created some little surprise at the door, approached the
group of which the girl was the center.
"Why, here's Orion Latham!" exclaimed one girl. "I didn't know the
_Seamew_ was in."
"We just made it by the skin of our teeth," Orion said, making it a
point to shake hands with Sheila. "How are you, Miss Bostwick? I
never did see such a Jonah of an old tub as that dratted schooner! I
thought she never would get back this trip."
"I cal'late you wouldn't think she was Jonahed if the _Seamew_ was
yours, 'Rion," snickered Andrew Roby.
"I wouldn't even take her as a gift," snarled Orion.
"Guess you won't get her that way--if any," chuckled Joshua Jones.
"Tunis, he knows which side o' the bread his butter's on. He's doin'
well. We cal'late--pa and me--to have all our freight come down from
Boston on the _Seamew_."
Orion glowered at him.
"You'd better have a care, Josh," he growled. "That schooner is
hoodooed, as sure as sure! She'll stub her nose some night on
Lighthouse Point Reef, if she don't do worse. You can't scurcely
steer her proper."
"Nonsense, 'Rion!" spoke up Zebedee Pauling. "I'd like to sail on
her myself."
"Perhaps," Sheila interposed, rather flushed, and looking at Orion
with unmistakable displeasure, "Orion will give up his berth to you,
Zebedee. He seems so very sure that the schooner is unlucky. I came
down from Boston in her, and I saw nothing about her save to
admire."
"And if you found her all right, Miss Bostwick," struck in the
gallant Joshua, "she's good enough for me. Of course, I heard tell
some thought the _Seamew_ had a bad reputation--that she run under
a fishing boat once and was haunted. But I cal'late that's all
bosh."
"Yah!" growled Orion. "Have it your own way. But after the dratted
schooner is sunk and you lose a mess of freight, Josh Jones, I guess
you'll sing small."
"I've heard," said Andrew Roby gravely, "that it's mighty bad
manners to bite the hand that feeds you. You never was overpolite,
'Rion Latham."
"Not only that, but he's clean reckless with his own livelihood,"
added Zebedee Pauling.