Mr. Haydon owned one of the last old-fashioned two-wheeled chaises, a
select few of which still survived in the retired region of Atfield.
It would not have suited him to go to church in a wagon like his
neighbors, any more than he could have bought a rough working-suit of
new clothes for every day. The chaise-top had always framed the faces
of Mr. Haydon and Martha, his first wife, in a fitting manner not
unlike a Friend's plain bonnet on a larger scale; it had belonged to
their placid appearance of old-time respectability. Now that Maria,
the second wife, had taken the vacant seat by the driver's side, her
fresher color and eager enjoyment of the comfort and dignity of the
situation were remarked with pleasure. She had not been forward about
keeping Mr. Haydon company before their marriage; for some reason she
was not a constant church-goer, and usually had some excuse for
staying at home, both on Sundays and when there was any expedition on
business to one of the neighboring towns. But after the wedding these
invitations were accepted as a matter of course.
One Sunday afternoon they were bobbing home from meeting in their
usual sedate and placid fashion. There had been a very good sermon,
and two or three strangers in the congregation, old acquaintances who
had left Atfield for the West, stopped to speak with their friends
after the service was over. It was a lovely day, and there was the
peacefulness of Sunday over the landscape, the wide untenanted fields,
the woods near and far, and the distant hills. The old pacing horse
jogged steadily along.
"I was thinking how your wife would have enjoyed seeing the folks;
wouldn't she?" said Maria, with gentle sympathy.
"The thought was just dwelling in my mind," said the old man, turning
toward her, a little surprised.
"I was sorry I was stand in' right there; they didn't feel so free to
speak, you know," said Maria, who had accepted her place as substitute
with a touching self-forgetfulness and devotion, following as best she
could the humblest by-paths of the first Mrs. Haydon's career.
"Marthy and Mis' Chellis that you saw to-day was always the best of
friends; they was girls together," said Mr. Haydon, swaying his
whip-lash. "They was second cousins on the father's side."
"Don't you expect Mis' Chellis'd like to come an' take tea with you
some afternoon? I always feel as if 't would be sad for you, such an
occasion, but I'll have everything real nice. Folks seem to be paying
her a good deal of attention," suggested Maria.
"And when anybody has been away a good while, they like to go all
round and see all the places that's familiar, if they do feel the
changes."
"Yes, I guess we'd better invite her to spend the afternoon," said the
old man, and they jogged on together in silence.
"Have you got everything you want to do with?", asked Mr. Haydon
kindly.
"Certain," answered Maria, with satisfaction. "I never was acquainted
with such a good provider as you be in all the houses I've ever
stopped in; I can say that. You've remembered a number o' things this
past week that I should have forgot myself. I've seen what other women
folks has to go through with, being obliged to screw every way an'
make up things out o' nothing, afraid to say the flour's gone or the
sugar's out. Them very husbands is the ones that'll find most fault if
their tables ain't spread with what they want. I know now what made
your wife always look so pleased an' contented."
"She was very saving an' judicious by natur'," said Mr. Haydon, as if
he did not wish to take so much praise entirely to himself. "I call
you a very saving woman too, Maria," he added, looking away over the
fields, as if he had made some remark about the grass.
The bright color rushed to Maria's face, but she could not say
anything. There was something very pleasant in the air; the fields
appeared new to her and most beautiful; it was a moment of great
happiness.
"I tell you I felt it dreadfully when I was alone all that time. I
enjoy having somebody to speak with now about poor Martha," said the
old man, with great feeling.
"It was dreadful lonely for you, wa'n't it?" said Maria, in her
sensible, pleasant, compassionate tone.
"People meant well enough with their advice, but I was set so
cross-wise that it all seemed like interference. I'd got to wait till
the right thing came round--an' it come at last," announced Mr. Haydon
handsomely. "I feel to be very grateful. Yes, I want to have Mis'
Chellis come an' take tea, just as she used to. We'll look over what's
left o' poor Marthy's little things, an' select something to give her
for a remembrance. 'T ain't very likely she'll come 'way East again at
her time o' life. She's havin' a grand time; it acts to me just like a
last visit."
"I'll make some nice pound-cake to-morrow, and we'll ask her next
day," said Maria cheerfully, as they turned into the lane.
Maria Haydon's life had been spent in trying to make other people
comfortable, and so she succeeded, oftener than she knew, in making
them happy. Every day she seemed to forget herself, and to think of
others more; and so, though old Mrs. Chellis missed her friend when
she came to tea the next day but one, she soon forgot the sadness of
the first few minutes, and began to enjoy the kind welcome of
Mr. Haydon and his present companion.
A little later Mr. Haydon was coming back from one of his fields to
look after some men whom he and his son had set to work at ditching.
Most of the talk that afternoon had naturally been connected with his
first wife, but now everything along his path reminded him of Maria.
Her prosperous flock of young turkeys were heading northward at a
little distance out across the high grass land; and below, along the
brook, went the geese and goslings in a sedate procession. The young
pear-trees which she had urged him to set out looked thrifty and
strong as he passed, and there were some lengths of linen bleaching on
a knoll, that she had found yellowing in one of the garret chests. She
took care of everything, and, best of all, she took great care of him.
He had left the good creature devoting herself to their guest as if
she were an old friend instead of a stranger--just for his sake and
his wife's sake. Maria always said "your wife" when she spoke of her
predecessor.
"Marthy always said that Maria Durrant was as kind and capable a woman
as she ever set eyes on, an' poor Marthy was one that knew," said
Mr. Haydon to himself as he went along, and his heart grew very
tender. He was not exactly satisfied with himself, but he could not
have told why. As he came near, the house looked cheerful and
pleasant; the front door was wide open, and the best-room blinds. The
little garden was in full bloom, and there was a sound of friendly
voices. Conversation was flowing on with a deep and steady current.
Somehow the old man felt young again in the midst of his sober
satisfaction and renewed prosperity. He lingered near the door, and
looked back over his fields as if he were facing life with a sense of
great security; but presently his ears caught at something that the
two women were saying in the house.
Maria was speaking to Mrs. Chellis, who was a little deaf.
"Yes'm, he does look well," she said. "I think his health's a good
sight better than it was a year ago. I don't know's you ever saw
anybody so pitiful as he was for a good while after he lost his wife.
He took it harder than some o' those do that make more talk. Yes, she
certain was a lovely woman, and one that knew how to take the lead for
him just where a man don't want to be bothered--about house matters
and little things. He's a dear, good, kind man, Mr. Haydon is. I feel
very grateful for all his kindness. I've got a lovely home, Mis'
Chellis," said Maria impulsively; "an' I try to do everything I can,
the way he an' Mis' Haydon always had it."
"I guess you do," agreed the guest. "I never see him look better since
he was a young man. I hope he knows how well off he is!"
They both laughed a little, and Mr. Haydon could not help smiling in
sympathy.
"There, I do enjoy spending with him," said the younger woman
wistfully; "but I can't help wishin' sometimes that I could have been
the one to help him save. I envy Mis' Haydon all that part of it, and
I can't help it."
"Why, you must set a sight by him!" exclaimed Mrs. Chellis, with mild
surprise. "I didn't know but what marryin' for love had all gone out
of fashion in Atfield."
"You can tell 'em it ain't," said Maria. At that moment Israel Haydon
turned and walked away slowly up the yard. His thin black figure
straightened itself gallantly, and he wore the look of a younger man.
Later that evening, when the guests were gone, after a most cheerful
and hospitable occasion, and the company tea things were all put away,
Maria was sitting in the kitchen for a few minutes to rest, and
Mr. Haydon had taken his own old chair near the stove, and sat there
tapping his finger-ends together. They had congratulated each other
handsomely, because everything had gone off so well; but suddenly they
both felt as if there were a third person present; their feeling
toward one another seemed to change. Something seemed to prompt them
to new confidence and affection, to speak the affectionate thoughts
that were in their hearts; it was no rebuking, injured presence, for a
sense of great contentment filled their minds. Israel Haydon tapped
his fingers less regularly than usual, and Maria found herself unable
to meet his eyes.
The silence between them grew more and more embarrassing, and at last
Mr. Haydon remembered that he had not locked the barn, and rose at
once, crossing the kitchen with quicker steps than usual. Maria looked
up at him as he passed.
"Yes, everything went off beautifully," she repeated. "Mis' Chellis is
real good company. I enjoyed hearing her talk about old times. She set
everything by Mis' Haydon, didn't she? You had a good wife,
Mr. Haydon, certain," said Maria, wistfully, as he hesitated a moment
at the door.
Israel Haydon did not answer a word, but went his way and shut the
door behind him. It was a cool evening after the pleasant day; the air
felt a little chilly. He did not go beyond the doorsteps, for
something seemed to draw him back, so he lifted the clinking latch and
stepped bravely into the kitchen again, and stood there a moment in
the bright light.
Maria Haydon turned toward him as she stood at the cupboard with a
little lamp in her hand. "Why Mr. Haydon! what's the matter?" She
looked startled at first, but her face began to shine. "Now don't you
go and be foolish, Isr'el!" she said.
"Maria," said he, "I want to say to you that I feel to be very
thankful. I've got a good wife _now_."