IN WHICH KEZIAH ASSUMES A GUARDIANSHIP
Didama would have given her eyeteeth--and, for that matter, the entire
upper set--to have been present in that parsonage sitting room when the
Rev. John Ellery made his appearance. But the fates were against Didama
that day and it was months afterwards before she, or any of what
Captain Zeb Mayo called the “Trumet Daily Advertisers,” picked up a hint
concerning it. Keziah and Grace, acquainted with the possibilities of
these volunteer news gatherers, were silent, and the Reverend John,
being in some respects a discreet young man with a brand-new ministerial
dignity to sustain, refrained from boasting of the sensation he had
caused. He thought of it very often, usually at most inconvenient times,
and when, by all the requirements of his high calling, his thought
should have been busy with different and much less worldly matters.
“I declare!” said Mrs. Thankful Payne, after the new minister's first
call at her residence, a week after his arrival at Trumet, “if Mr.
Ellery ain't the most sympathetic man. I was readin' out loud to him
the poem my cousin Huldy B.--her that married Hannibal Ellis over to
Denboro--made up when my second husband was lost to sea, and I'd just
got to the p'int in the ninth verse where it says:
'The cruel billows crash and roar,
And the frail craft is tempest-tossed,
But the bold mariner thinks not of life, but says,
“It is the fust schooner ever I lost.”'
And 'twas, too, and the last, poor thing! Well, I just got fur as this
when I looked up and there was the minister lookin' out of the window
and his face was just as red, and he kept scowlin' and bitin' his
lips. I do believe he was all but sheddin' tears. Sympathy like that I
appreciate.”
As a matter of fact, Mr. Ellery had just seen Grace Van Horne pass that
window. She had not seen him, but for the moment he was back in that
disgusting study, making a frenzied toilet in the dusk and obliged to
overhear remarks pointedly personal to himself.
Grace left the parsonage soon after the supposed tramp disclosed
his identity. Her farewells were hurried and she firmly refused Mrs.
Coffin's not too-insistent appeal to return to the house “up street”
and have supper. She said she was glad to meet Mr. Ellery. The young
minister affirmed his delight in meeting her. Then she disappeared in
the misty twilight and John Ellery surreptitiously wiped his perspiring
forehead with his cuff, having in his late desire for the primal
necessities forgotten such a trifling incidental as a handkerchief.
“Well, Mr. Ellery,” observed Keziah, turning to her guest, or employer,
or incumbrance--at present she was more inclined to consider him the
latter--“well, Mr. Ellery, this has been kind of unexpected for all
hands, ain't it? If I'd known you was comin' to-day, I'd have done my
best to have things ready, but Cap'n Elkanah said not before day after
to-morrow and--but there, what's the use of talkin' that way? I didn't
know I was goin' to keep house for you till this very forenoon. Mercy
me, what a day this has been!”
The minister smiled rather one-sidedly.
“It's been something of a day for me,” he admitted. “I am ahead of time
and I've made a lot of trouble, I'm afraid. But yesterday afternoon I
was ready and, to tell the truth, I was eager to come and see my new
home and get at my work. So I started on the morning train. Then the
stage broke down and I began to think I was stranded at Bayport.
But this kind-hearted chap from Wellmouth--I believe that's where he
lived--happened to pull up to watch us wrestling with the smashed wheel,
and when he found I was in a hurry to get to Trumet, offered to give me
a lift. His name was--was Bird. No, that wasn't it, but it was something
like Bird, or some kind of a bird.”
“Bird?” repeated Keziah thoughtfully. “There's no Birds that I know of
in Wellmouth. Hum! Hey? 'Twa'n't Sparrow, was it?”
“That was it--Sparrow.”
“Good land! Emulous Sparrow. Run consider'ble to whiskers and tongue,
didn't he?”
“Why, yes; he did wear a beard. As for tongue--well, he was
conversational, if that's what you mean.”
“That's what I mean. If you rode twelve mile with Emulous, you must have
had an earache for the last six. Did he ask a question or two about your
personal affairs, here and there between times?”
Mr. Ellery laughed.
“Yes, one or two, between times,” he admitted.
“I shan't die of surprise. Did you tell him who you was?”
“No-o, to be honest, I didn't. He was so very anxious to find out,
that--well, I dodged. I think he believed I was going to visit Captain
Daniels.”
“Good enough! If I was governor of this state I wouldn't send any
Thanksgivin' proclamations down this way. I'd just write Em Peters and
Didama Rogers and a couple more like them and save myself the trouble.
They'd have all I wanted to proclaim spread from one end of the county
to the other in less'n a day, and a peck or two of extrys pitched in
for good measure. I'm awful glad you didn't tell Emulous you was the
minister. You see, Trumet's Trumet, and, considerin' everything, maybe
it's just as well nobody knows about your bein' shut up in that study.
Not but what 'twas all right, you know, but--”
“I understand. I'm not proud of it. Still, some one may have seen me
come here.”
“No, no, they didn't. This fog is as thick as Injun-meal puddin'. Nobody
saw you.”
“Well,” with some hesitation, “the young lady who was here with you--”
“Oh, Grace Van Horne! She's all right. She won't tell. She ain't that
kind.”
“Van Horne? That doesn't sound like a New England name.”
“'Tisn't. Her folks come from Jersey somewheres. But she was adopted
by old Cap'n Hammond, who keeps the tavern down on the bay shore by the
packet wharf, and she's lived in Trumet since she was six years old. Her
father was Teunis Van Horne, and he was mate on Cap'n Eben's coastin'
schooner and was drowned off Hatteras. Eben was saved just by the skin
of his teeth and got a broken hip and religion while it happened. His
hip's better except that he's some lame; but his religion's been more
and more feverish ever since. He's one of the head Come-Outers, and
built their chapel with his own money. You mustn't think I'm speakin'
lightly of religion, nor of Cap'n Eben, either. He's a dear good soul as
ever was, but he is the narrowest kind of Come-Outer. His creed is
just about as wide as the chapel door, and that's as narrow as the way
leadin' to salvation; it IS the way, too, so the Come-Outers think.”
“What are Come-Outers? Some new sect?”
“Sakes alive! Haven't you heard of Come-Outers? Cat's foot! Well, you'll
hear of 'em often enough from now on. They're folks who used to go to
our church, the Regular, but left because the services was too worldly,
with organs and choir singin', and the road to paradise too easy. No
need for me to tell you any more. You'll learn.”
Mr. Ellery was interested. He had been in Trumet but once before, on the
occasion when he preached his trial sermon, and of that memorable
visit remembered little except the sermon itself, the pews filled
with captains and their families, and the awe-inspiring personality of
Captain Elkanah Daniels, who had been his host. To a young man, the ink
upon his diploma from the theological school still fresh, a trial sermon
is a weighty matter, and the preaching of it weightier still. He had
rehearsed it over and over in private, had delivered it almost through
clinched teeth, and had returned to his room in the Boston boarding
house with the conviction that it was an utter failure. Captain Elkanah
and the gracious Miss Annabel, his daughter, had been kind enough to
express gratification, and their praise alone saved him from despair.
Then, to his amazement, the call had come. Of casual conversation at the
church and about the Daniels's table he could recall nothing. So there
was another religious organization in town and that made up of seceders
from his own church. He was surprised.
“Er--this Miss Van Horne?” he asked. “Is she a--Come-Outer?”
Mrs. Coffin nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “She's one. Couldn't be anything else and live with her
Uncle Eben, as she calls him.”
The minister experienced a curious feeling of disappointment and
chagrin. This young person, already predisposed to regard a clergyman of
his denomination with disapproval, had seen him for the first time under
most humiliating circumstances. And he should never have the opportunity
to regain her favor, or his own self-respect, by his efforts in the
pulpit. No matter how well he might preach she would never hear him.
“Has this Captain Hammond no children of his own?” he asked.
Keziah's answer was short for her.
“Yes,” she said. “One.”
“Ah! another daughter?”
“No, a son. Name's Nathaniel, and he's a sea captain. He's on his way
from Surinam to New York now. They expect him to make port most any
time, I believe. Now, Mr. Ellery, I s'pose we've got to arrange for your
supper and stayin' overnight; and with this house the way 'tis and all,
I don't see--”
But the minister was still interested in the Hammond household.
“This Nathaniel Hammond?” he asked. “You don't seem enthusiastic over
him. Is he a black sheep?”
This reply also was short, but emphatic.
“No,” said Keziah. “He's a fine man.”
Then she resumed her semisoliloquy concerning her companion's
entertainment.
“I guess,” she said, “that the best thing for you to do will be to go to
Cap'n Elkanah's. They'll be real glad to see you, I know, and you'll
be in time for supper, for Elkanah and Annabel have been to Denboro and
they'll be late home. They can keep you overnight, too, for it's a big
house with lots of rooms. Then, after breakfast to-morrow you come right
here. I'll have things somewhere near shipshape by then, I guess, though
the cleanin'll have to be mainly a lick and a promise until I can really
get at it. Your trunk'll be here on the coach, I s'pose, and that'll be
through early in the forenoon. Get on your hat and coat and I'll go with
you to Elkanah's.”
The young man demurred a little at thrusting himself upon the
hospitality of the Daniels's home, but Keziah assured him that his
unexpected coming would cause no trouble. So he entered the now dark
study and came out wearing his coat and carrying his hat and valise in
his hand.
“I'm sure I'm ever so much obliged to you,” he said. “And, as we are
going to be more or less together--or at least I guess as much from what
you say--would you mind if I suggest a mutual introduction. I'm John
Ellery; you know that already. And you--”
Keziah stopped short on her way to the door.
“Well, I declare!” she exclaimed. “If I ain't the very worst! Fact is,
you dropped in so ahead of time and in such a irregular sort of way,
that I never once thought of introducin' anybody; and I'm sure Grace
didn't. I'm Keziah Coffin, and Cap'n Elkanah and I signed articles, so
to speak, this mornin', and I'm goin' to keep house for you.”
She explained the reason upsetting the former arrangement by which
Lurania Phelps was to have had the position.
“So I'm to keep house for you,” she concluded. Adding: “For a spell,
anyhow.”
“Why do you say that?” asked the minister.
“Well, you might not like me. You may be particular, you know.”
“I think I can run that risk.”
“Yes; well, you can't tell. Or I might not like you. You see, I'm pretty
particular myself,” she added with a laugh.
At the Daniels's door Keziah turned her new charge over to Matilda Snow,
the hired girl. It was an indication of the family's social position
that they kept “hired help.” This was unusual in Trumet in those days,
even among the well to do.
“Good night,” said the young man, extending his hand. “Good night,
Miss--or is it Mrs.--Coffin?”
“Mrs. Good night.”
“She's a widow,” explained Matilda. “Husband died 'fore she come back
here to live. Guess he didn't amount to much; she never mentions his
name.”
“There was one thing I meant to tell her,” mused the minister,
hesitating on the threshold. “I meant to tell her not to attempt any
cleaning up at the parsonage to-night. To-morrow will do just as well.”
“Heavens to Betsy!” sniffed the “hired help,” speaking from the depths
of personal conviction, “nobody but a born fool would clean house in the
night, 'specially after the cleanin' she's been doin' at her own place.
I guess you needn't worry.”
So Mr. Ellery did not worry. And yet, until three o'clock of the
following morning, the dull light of a whale-oil lantern illuminated the
rooms of the parsonage as Keziah scrubbed and swept and washed, giving
to the musty place the “lick and promise” she had prophesied. If the
spiders had prepared those ascension robes, they could have used them
that night.
After breakfast the wagons belonging to the Wellmouth furniture dealer
drove in at the gate of the little house opposite Captain Elkanah's, and
Keziah saw, with a feeling of homesickness which she hid beneath smiles
and a rattle of conversation, the worn household treasures which had
been hers, and her brother's before her, carried away out of her life.
Then her trunks were loaded on the tailboards of the wagons, to be left
at the parsonage, and with a sigh and a quick brush of her hand across
her eyes, she locked the door for the last time and walked briskly down
the road. Soon afterwards John Ellery, under the eminently respectable
escort of Captain Elkanah and Miss Annabel, emerged from the Daniels's
gate and followed her. Mrs. Didama Rogers, thankful for a clear
atmosphere and an unobstructed view, saw them pass and recognized the
stranger. And, within a quarter of an hour, she, arrayed in a hurried
calling costume, was spreading the news along the main road. The “Trumet
Daily Advertiser” had, so to speak, issued an extra.
Thus the new minister came to Trumet and thus Keziah Coffin became his
housekeeper. She entered upon her duties with the whole-hearted energy
peculiar to her. She was used to hard work, and, as she would have said,
felt lonesome without it. She cleaned that parsonage from top to bottom.
Every blind was thrown open and the spring sunshine poured in upon the
braided mats and the rag carpets. Dust flew in clouds for the first
day or two, but it flew out of windows and doors and was not allowed to
settle within. The old black walnut furniture glistened with oil. The
mirrors and the crockery sparkled from baths of hot water and soap. Even
St. Stephen, in the engravings on the dining-room wall, was forced to a
martyrdom of the fullest publicity, because the spots and smears on the
glass covering his sufferings were violently removed. In the sleeping
rooms upstairs the feather beds were beaten and aired, the sheets and
blankets and patchwork comforters exposed to the light, and the window
curtains dragged down and left to flap on the clothesline. The smell of
musty dampness disappeared from the dining room and the wholesome odors
of outdoors and of good things cooking took its place.
Keziah, in the midst of her labors, found time to coach her employer
and companion in Trumet ways, and particularly in the ways which Trumet
expected its clergymen to travel. On the morning following his first
night in the parsonage, he expressed himself as feeling the need of
exercise. He thought he should take a walk.
“Well,” said his housekeeper from her station opposite him at the
breakfast table, “if I was you I wouldn't take too long a one. You'd
better be back here by ten, anyhow. Where was you thinkin' of goin'?”
Mr. Ellery had no particular destination in mind. He would like to see
something of the village and, perhaps, if she could give him the names
of a few of his parishioners, he might make a few calls. Keziah shook
her head.
“Gracious goodness!” she exclaimed. “I wouldn't advise you to do that.
You ain't been here long enough to make forenoon calls. If you should
catch some of the women in this town with aprons and calico on, they'd
never forgive you in this world. Wait till afternoon; they'll be
expectin' you then and they'll be rigged out in their best bibs and
tuckers. S'pose you found Annabel Daniels with her hair done up in
curl papers; what do you think would happen? Mornin's are no time
for ministers' calls. Even old Mr. Langley never made calls in the
forenoon--and he'd been here thirty-odd years.”
“All right, you know best. Much obliged for the advice. Then I'll simply
take my walk and leave the calls until later.”
“I'd be back by ten, though. Folks'll begin callin' on you by that
time.”
“They will? Doesn't the rule work both ways?”
“Not with new ministers it don't. Cat's foot! You don't s'pose Didama
Rogers and Laviny Pepper and their kind'll wait any longer'n they can
help afore they come to see what you look like, do you?”
“Well, they must have seen me when I preached here before. I remember--”
“Mercy on us! that was in meetin'. Meetin's diff'rent. All they could
say to you then was how much they liked your sermon. They say that to
every minister that comes, no matter how they may pick him to pieces
afterwards. But here they can ask you questions; about how you came to
come here and what you think of it far's you've got, and what your views
are on certain points in the creed. Likewise, who your folks were and
whether they was well off, and a few things like that. Then they'll want
to see what kind of clothes you wear and--”
“Whew!” Ellery whistled. “You're unfolding a pleasant prospect for me, I
must say. Am I supposed to be catechized on all of my private affairs?”
“Of course! A minister hasn't got any private affairs; he's a public
character. There!” she laughed, as she poured the coffee, “I mustn't
discourage you. But don't you see that every mother's son--and, for that
matter, every daughter and children's child unto the third and fourth
generation--feel that, so long as they pay pew rent or put a cent in the
collection, they own a share in you. And we always keep a watch on our
investments down this way. That's the Yankee shrewdness you read so much
about, I guess.”
The minister absently played with his spoon.
“I'm afraid you're a cynic,” he said.
“No, no, I ain't. Though sometimes, considerin' everything, I feel as
though I had excuse enough if I wanted to belong to that tribe. But
you're young. You mustn't mind my sayin' that; if you was old, of
course, I wouldn't talk about ages. But you are young and this is your
first church. So you must start right. I'm no cynic, bless you. I've got
trust in human nature left--most kinds of human nature. If I hadn't, I'd
have more money, I s'pose. Perhaps you've noticed that those who trust a
good deal are usually poor. It's all right, Mr. Ellery; you go and take
your walk. And I'll walk into that pantry closet. It'll be a good deal
like walkin' into the Slough of Despond, but Christian came out on the
other side and I guess likely I will, if the supply of soapsuds holds
out.”
When, promptly at ten o'clock, the minister returned from his walk,
he found Mrs. Rogers waiting in the sitting room. It is a prime
qualification of an alert reporter to be first on the scene of
sensation. Didama was seldom beaten. Mr. Ellery's catechism began.
Before it was over Keziah opened the door to admit Miss Pepper and
her brother. “Kyan” was nervous and embarrassed in the housekeeper's
presence. Lavinia was a glacier, moving majestically and freezing as it
moved. Keziah, however, was not even touched by the frost; she greeted
the pair cordially, and begged them to “take off their things.”
It was dinner time before the catechizers departed. The catechized came
to the table with an impaired appetite. He looked troubled.
“Don't let it worry you, Mr. Ellery,” observed Keziah calmly. “I think
I can satisfy you. Honest and true, I ain't half as bad as you might
think.”
The minister looked more troubled than before; also surprised.
“Why, Mrs. Coffin!” he cried. “Could you hear--”
“No, no! I couldn't hear nothin' in that closet except my own opinion
on dirt and dust. But if I was as deaf as the man that set on the
powder keg and dropped his pipe ashes into it, it wouldn't have made any
difference. The man said after they picked him up that they needn't have
been so rough, he'd have moved without bein' pushed if they'd have made
signs they wanted to use the keg. And if I was out in the next lot I'd
have known what you was listenin' to in that sittin' room. They hinted
that they were real sorry for you, but 'twasn't any of THEIR doin's. The
parish committee, bein' just men, was apt to make mistakes in certain
matters. Of course everything MIGHT be well enough, and if you wa'n't
TOO particular about cookin' and so on, why--Anyhow, you mustn't think
that THEY were criticisin'. 'Twas only that they took an interest
and--That was about it, wasn't it?”
“Mrs. Coffin, I--I hope you don't think I paid any attention to their
remarks--of that kind, I mean. Honestly, I did my best to stop them. I
said--”
“Man alive! I'm not worried. Why should you be? We were talkin' about
trust just now--or I was. Well, you and I'll have to take each other on
trust for a while, until we see whether we're goin' to suit. If you see
anything that I'm goin' wrong in, I wish you'd tell me. And I'll do the
same by you, if that's agreeable. You'll hear a lot of things said about
me, but if they're very bad I give you my word they ain't true. And, to
be real frank, I'll probably hear some about you, which I'll take for
what they're worth and considerin' who said 'em. That's a good wholesome
agreement, I think, for both of us. What do you think?”
John Ellery said, with emphasis, that he thought well of it. He began to
realize that this woman, with her blunt common sense, was likely to be
a pilot worth having in the difficult waters which he must navigate as
skipper of the Regular church in Trumet. Also, he began to realize that,
as such a skipper, he was most inexperienced. And Captain Daniels
had spoken highly--condescendingly but highly--of his housekeeper's
qualifications and personality. So the agreement was ratified, with
relief on his part.
The first Sunday came and with it the first sermon. He read that sermon
to Keziah on Saturday evening and she approved of it as a whole, though
she criticised some of its details.
“Don't be afraid to put in plenty of salt,” she said. “Where you've
got the Christian life and spirit written down as bein' like a quiet,
peaceful home, free from all distrust, and like that, why don't you
change it to a good safe anchorage, where the soul can ride forever
without fear of breakers or no'theasters or the dangers besettin' the
mariner on a lee shore. They'll understand that; it gets right home to
'em. There's scarcely a man or a woman in your congregation that ain't
been out of sight of land for weeks on a stretch.”
The breakfast hour on Sunday would be at nine o'clock, instead of seven,
as on week days, she told him.
“Trumet lays to bed Sunday mornin's,” she explained. “It's almost a part
of its religion, as you might say, and lived up to more conscientious
than some other parts, I'm afraid. Six days shalt thou labor and wear
comfort'ble clothes; and on the seventh you must be lazy and dress up.
Likewise you must have baked beans Saturday for supper, as we're havin'
'em, and more beans with fish balls next mornin'. That is, if you want
to be orthodox.”
The service began at eleven o'clock. At half past ten the sexton,
old Mr. Jubal Knowles, rang the “first bell,” a clanging five-minute
reminder. Twenty minutes later he began on the second and final call.
Mr. Ellery was ready--and nervous--before the first bell had finished
ringing. But Keziah, entering the sitting room dressed in black alpaca
and carrying the hymn book with her name in gilt letters on the cover,
forbade his leaving the parsonage thus early.
“I shall go pretty soon,” she said, “but you mustn't. The minister ain't
expected until the last bell's 'most done. Parson Langley used to wait
until the Winslows went in. Gaius Winslow is a widower man who lives up
to the west end of the town and he's got nine children, all boys. You'll
know 'em because they always drive down to meetin' in one carryall with
a white horse. Gaius is as punctual as a boardin'-house dinner. The
old parson used to wait until the last Winslow had toddled up the
meetin'-house steps and then he'd come out of this side door with
his sermon in his hand. It's a pretty good rule to remember and saves
watchin' the clock. Besides, it's what we've been used to, and that goes
a good ways with some folks. Good-by, Mr. Ellery. You'll see me in the
third pew from the back, on the right side, wishin' you luck just as
hard as I can.”
So, as in couples or family groups, afoot or in all sorts of vehicles,
the members of Trumet's Regular society came to the church to hear their
new minister, that functionary peeped under the parlor window shade of
the parsonage and waited, fidgetting and apprehensive, for the
Winslows. They arrived at last, and were not hard to recognize, for ten
individuals packed into one carriage are hard to overlook anywhere. As
Gaius, with the youngest in his arms, passed in at the church door, John
Ellery passed out of the parsonage gate. The last bell clanged its final
stroke, the vibrations ceased, the rustle of skirts and the sounds of
decorous coughing subsided and were succeeded by the dry rattle of the
hymn-book pages, the organ, presented by Captain Elkanah and played by
his daughter, uttered its preliminary groan, the service began.
Outside the spring breeze stirred the budding silver-leafs, the distant
breakers grumbled, the crows in the pines near Captain Eben Hammond's
tavern cawed ribald answers to the screaming gulls perched along the top
of the breakwater. And seated on one of the hard benches of the little
Come-Outer chapel, Grace Van Horne heard her “Uncle Eben,” who, as
usual, was conducting the meeting, speak of “them who, in purple and
fine linen, with organs and trumpets and vain shows, are gathered
elsewhere in this community to hear a hired priest make a mock of the
gospel.” (A-MEN!)
But John Ellery, the “hired priest,” knew nothing of this. He did know,
however, that he was the center of interest for his own congregation,
the people among whom he had been called to labor. Their praise or
criticism meant everything to him; therefore he preached for dear life.
And Keziah Coffin, in the third pew from the back, watched him intently,
her mind working in sympathetic unison with his. She was not one to
be greatly influenced by first impressions, but she had been favorably
impressed by this young fellow, and had already begun to feel that sense
of guardianship and personal responsibility which, later on, was to make
Captain Zebedee Mayo nickname the minister “Keziah's Parson.”
The sermon was a success.