It was a little past the turn of the half-year after the wedding that
the prophets of evil pricked up their ears hopefully--as there began to
go humming through Marken a soft buzz of talk about the carryings on
of Geert Thysen and Krelis Kess. It was only vague talk, to be sure;
but then when talk of that sort is vague there is the more seaway
for speculation and inference. All sorts of rumours went flashing
about--and carried the more weight, perhaps, because they could not
be traced to a starting-point and were disavowed by each person who
passed them on. The sum of them became quite amazing before long!
In the end, of course, this talk worked around to Marretje. Bit by
bit, one kind friend after another brought her variations of the same
budget of news, pleading their friendship for her as the excuse for
their chattering; and all of them were a good deal disconcerted by the
placid way, with scarcely a word of comment, in which she suffered them
to talk on. Only when they took to saying harsh things about Krelis
did they rouse her a little. Then she would stop them shortly, and
with a quiet insistence that put them in an awkward corner, by asking
them to remember that it was her husband whom they were talking about,
and that what they were saying was not fit for his wife to hear. This
line of rejoinder was disconcerting to her interlocutors. To be put
in the wrong, that way, while performing for conscience' sake a very
unpleasant duty, could not but arouse resentment. Presently it began
to be said that Marretje was a poor-spirited thing upon whom friendly
sympathy was thrown away.
Perhaps it was because Marretje was not feeling very strong just then
that she took matters so quietly. Certainly she had not much energy
to spare, and her days went slowly and heavily. Even on the Sunday
mornings when she had Krelis at home with her--and a good many of his
Sundays were spent away from the island, in order, as he explained,
that he might get off on the Mondays earlier to his fishing--she found
it hard to keep up the laughing talk and the light-hearted way with him
that he seemed to think always were his due. When she flagged a little
he told her not to be sulky--and that cut her sharply, for she thought
that he ought to feel in his own heart how very tenderly she was loving
him in those days, and how earnestly she was longing for a tender and
sustaining love in return.
It is uncertain how much of all this old Jaap understood, but a part
of it he certainly did understand. In some matters his clouded brain
seemed to work with a curious clearness, and especially had he a
strange faculty for getting close to troubled hearts. Many there were
in Marken, on whom sorrow had fallen, who had been comforted by his
sympathy; and who had found it the more soothing and helpful because
it was given with no more than a gentle look or a few gentle words.
In this same soft way, that asked for no answer and that needed none,
he comforted Marretje in that sad time of her loneliness. Many a day,
when the other fishermen kept the sea, he kept the land--letting his
boat go away to the fishing without him while he made company at home
for his granddaughter, and even helped her in the heavier part of her
house-work with his big clumsy old hands. These awkward efforts to
serve her touched Marretje's heart very keenly--yet also added a pang
to her sorrow because of her longing that Krelis might show his love
for her in the same way.
But old Jaap had his work to do at sea, and Marretje had to make the
best of many and many a weary and lonely day. Being in so poor a way
she could busy herself but little with her house-work--nor was there
much incentive to scour and polish since Krelis had ceased to commend
her housekeeping; and, indeed, was at home so little that he was
indifferent as to whether she kept her house well or ill.
And so she spent much of her time as she had spent that first lonely
Sunday afternoon--sitting on the steps above her scouring-shelf,
looking out sadly and dreamily across the marsh-land and the sea. Or
she would walk slowly to the end of the village, where rough steps
went down to a little-used canal, and there would lean against the
rail while she gazed steadfastly across the marshes seaward--trying to
fancy that she could see the fishing fleet, and trying to build in her
breast little hope-castles in which Krelis again was all her own. They
comforted her, these hope-castles: even though always, when the week
ended and the fleet was back again, they came crashing down. Sometimes
Krelis's boat did not return at all. Sometimes it returned without him.
When he did come back in it very little of his idle Sunday was passed
at home. The dark months of winter dragged on wearily. Grey chill
clouds hung over Marken, and grey chill clouds rested on this poor
Marretje's heart.