HOME AGAIN
It had pleaded for forgiveness and an early homecoming, that little
yellow slip that Nanny Ainslee treasured so. But the bluebirds were
darting through leafy bowers and the ploughed, furrowed fields lay
smoking in the spring sunshine before Nan came back.
A week after her arrival in Scranton the old aunt had been taken sick,
and it was months before the old soul was herself again. Nan stayed
through it all. But the day came when she was free to go back to the
little home town where the cloud shadows were rippling over low,
dimpling hills, already gay with the gold of wild mustard and the
tender blues and greens of a new glad spring.
She came home one evening when Green Valley lay wrapped in a warm,
thick, fragrant mist. So no one saw her step off the train straight
into the arms of Cynthia's son. And nobody heard the quivering joy of
his one cry at the sight of her.
"Nan!"
Slowly, as in a dream, they walked through their fragrant, misty world
to where, in a deep, old hearth, a fire sang of love and home, dreams
and eternal happiness; where an armchair waited with its mate and an
old clock ticked on the stairs.
Oh, that first perfect hour beside his fire! He had pleaded so hard
for it in all his letters. So she gave it to him, knowing that for
them both no hour could ever again be just like that.
She sat and listened to the wonder of his love; then, frightened at the
might of it, the lovely reverence of it, crept into his arms for sweet
comfort. And he held her in awe and wonder against his heart, kissed
the quivering lips and knew such joy as angels might envy. Then he
took her to her father.
The next day, in the shy sunshine of a perfect day, they went hand in
hand to their knoll to look once more upon their valley town and talk
over all of life from the first hour of meeting.
And when they had satisfied the hunger for understanding the miracle
that had befallen them he told her of all that had happened in the
months that she had been away. How Jim Tumley slipped beyond the love
and help of them all. How Mary Hoskins grew weaker and weaker. How
the Civic League struggled and the three good little men dreamed and
planned. How Fanny Foster came to pay the great price for Green
Valley's salvation. How in death gentle Mary Hoskins paid too. He
explained why Seth Curtis was a gentler man and why John Foster hurried
home each day to laugh and talk with his crippled wife. He told her of
that awful day that had crushed George Hoskins so that he went about a
broken, shrunken man, praying and searching for peace through service.
It was George who bought the beautiful new piano for the Community
House, who was paying for little Jim's cure.
And then because the girl he loved was sobbing over the sins and
sorrows of the little town that lay in the sunshine below them, he told
her about the baby boy that Hen Tomlins had gotten for Christmas and
how happy the little man was making toys for the toddler who followed
him about from morning till night. And because her eyes were still wet
with tears he laughed teasingly and said:
"And I never knew that I loved you until I saw David Allan kiss his
sweetheart."
Of course, at that she sat up very straight and wanted to know all
about it.
"I suppose you expect me to wait a whole proper year for my wedding
day," he sighed after a little.
"I think we ought to. And I couldn't possibly be ready before then."
"Do you mean to tell me that it takes a whole year to make a wedding
dress?"
And then the cruelty that lies in every woman made her shake her head
and say, "No--that isn't why nice folks wait a whole year. They wait
to give each other plenty of time to change their minds."
"Nan!"
And she saw then by his hurt white face that, man grown though he was,
with a genius for handling other men, he would always be a child in
some things. He never would or could understand trifling in any form,
having all a child's honesty and directness. And she knew that she,
more than any one else, would always have the power to hurt him.
"Nan," he asked slowly, "did you go to Scranton because you thought I
might ask before you were ready?"
She laughed tenderly.
"Oh--Dear Heart--no. I went to Scranton because I was afraid I might
propose before you were ready."
But he never quite understood that and she didn't expect him to.
However, if she thought she had won, she was mistaken. The persistency
in matters of love that is the heritage of all men made him say
carelessly a half hour later:
"Oh, well--I suppose waiting a year is the best, the wise thing to do.
But why must I be the only one to obey the law? Nobody else is waiting
a year. All the other men are marrying their sweethearts in June.
There's David and Jocelyn, Max Longman and Clara, Steve and Bonnie,
Dolly Beatty and Charlie Peters. And only last week Grandma Wentworth
got a letter from out West saying some chap is coming from the very
wilds to marry Carrie. He's hired the reception hall of the Community
House so that Carrie may have a proper wedding in case her folks refuse
to give their blessing. So I'm going to marry all those chaps and then
calmly go on just being engaged myself."
All of a sudden Nan saw why Seth Curtis gave in and joined the church,
why Hank Lolly forgot his fears and came to the services, why the
poolroom man gave up his business and was now a respected automobile
man and mechanic; why the former saloon keeper was the happy owner of a
stock farm; why Frank Burton no longer bragged about being an atheist
but went to church with Jennie; why Mrs. Rosenwinkle no longer argued
about the flatness of the earth.
He was always doing this to every one, this boy from India; always
making people see how ridiculous and petty were the man-made
conventions and human notions and stubbornness when looked at in the
light of common sense and sincerity.
"Oh, well," Nan gave in with a laugh that was half a sob, "I may as
well be a June bride with the rest. And now, John Roger Churchill
Knight, take me down to see my town. I want to see all the new
gardens, the new babies, the new spring hats and dress patterns.
"I want to see Ella Higgins' tulips and forget-me-nots and attend Uncle
Tony's open-air meeting. I want to have an ice-cream soda at Martin's
and wave my hand at John Gans while he's shaving a customer. I want to
see all the store windows, especially Joe Baldwin's. I want to shake
hands with Billy Evans and Hank Lolly and hug little Billy.
"I want to go to the post-office for my mail when everybody else is
getting theirs. I want to know if the bank is still there and if the
bluebirds and flickers are as thick as ever in Park Lane. I want to
hear Green Valley women calling to each other from their back yards and
see them leaning over the fences to visit--and giving each other clumps
of pansies, and golden glow and hollyhocks. I want to see Mrs. Jerry
Dustin's smile and ask her when I can see Uncle Tony's 'portraiture' at
the Art Institute. I want to see the boys' bare feet kicking up the
dust and their hands hitching up their overall straps and hear them
whistling to each other and giving their high signs. I'm longing to
know who's had their house repainted and where the new houses are going
up.
"But--oh--most of all, I want to hear Green Valley folks say with their
eyes and hands and voice--'Hello, Nanny Ainslee, when did _you_ get
back' and 'My, Nanny, it's good to see and have you home again.' So,
John Roger Churchill Knight, take me down to see my home town--Green
Valley at springtime."
They went down through Green Valley streets where the spring sunshine
lay warm and golden. They greeted Green Valley men and women and were
greeted as only Green Valley knows how to greet those it loves.
Though they said not a word, all Green Valley read their secret in
their eyes, heard it in the rich deep note of the boy's voice, in
Nanny's lilting laugh.
And having made the rounds the boy and girl naturally came to Grandma
Wentworth's gate. They walked through the gay front garden, followed
the little gravel path around the house, and found Grandma standing
among her fragrant herbs and healing grasses.
They came to her hand in hand and said not a word. And Grandma raised
her head and looked at them. Then her eyes filled and her lips
quivered tenderly and the two, both motherless, knew that they had a
mother's blessing.
It was so restful, that back yard of Grandma's, as the three sat there,
talking quietly and happily. And the world seemed strangely full of a
golden peace.