SORROW'S CROWN OF SORROW
Occasionally they went down to the warehouse, and while Chilian was busy
some of the captains or mates would speak to her. They knew about her
father and one sad fact she did not know. For she had settled in her
mind that Captain Corwin would bring him back and that it would take a
long, long while. So she tried to be content and if not teasing or
fretting was one of the ways of being good, she tried her utmost to keep
to that. She was too brave to tell falsehoods to shield herself from any
inadvertent wrongdoing, even if Cousin Elizabeth did sometimes say:
"You ought to be soundly whipped. To spare the rod is to spoil the
child."
She thought if anybody ever did whip her she should hate him all the
rest of her life. Servants and workmen were beaten in India, and it
seemed degrading. She did not know that Cousin Chilian had insisted that
she should never be struck. He was understanding more every day how her
father had loved her, and finding sweet traits in her unfolding.
She liked these rough bronzed men to touch their odd hats to her and
call her Missy. Some of them had seen her in Calcutta and knew her
father. And when she said, "It takes a long, long while to go there and
come back, but when Captain Corwin brings him he is going to live here
and will never go to sea any more"--"No, that he never will, missy;" and
the sailor drew his hand across his eyes.
Oh, how full the wharves were with shipping! Flags and pennons waved,
and white sails; others, gray with age and weather, flapped in the wind.
She liked to see them start out; she always sent a message by them in
the full faith of childhood. And there were the fishermen in the cove
lower down. Fishing was quite a great business.
Cousin Giles had made his visit and spent two whole days down in the
warehouse, when they had not taken her. But she helped Cousin Eunice cut
the stems of the sweet garden herbs for drying, and the others for
perfumery. There was lavender, the blossoms had been gathered long ago,
and sweet marjoram and sweet clover. She always gathered the full-blown
rose leaves and sewed them up in little bags and laid them among the
household stores. Everything was so fragrant. Cynthia thought she liked
it better than sandalwood and the pungent Oriental perfumes.
Then came the autumnal storms, when the vessels hugged the docks
securely at anchor. The house was chilly all through and fires were in
order. Some two or three miles below there was a wreck of an East
Indiaman, and for days fragments floated around. Some lives were lost,
and the little girl shuddered over the accounts.
All the foliage began to turn and fall. The late flowers hung their
heads. It had been a beautiful autumn, people said to pay up for the
late spring.
There had been a little discussion about a school again.
"She seems so small, and in some things diffident," Chilian said. "The
winters are long and cold, and she has not been used to them. Cousin
Giles thinks her very delicate."
"She isn't like children raised here, but she's quite as strong as
common. She oughtn't be pampered and made any more finicking than she
is. A girl almost ten. What is she going to be good for, I'd like to
know?"
Cousin Giles had not made much headway with her. He was large and strong
with an emphatic voice, and a head of thick, strong white hair, a rather
full face, and penetrating eyes. He had advised about investments,
though he thought no place had the outlook of Boston. But Salem was
ahead of her in foreign trade.
Chilian Leverett felt very careful of the little girl. For if she died a
large part of her fortune came to him. He really wished it had not been
left that way. There was an East India Marine Society that had many
curiosities--stored in rooms on the third floor of the Stearns building.
It had a wider scope than that and was to assist widows and orphans of
deceased members, who were all to be those "who had actually navigated
the seas beyond Cape of Good Hope, or Cape Horn, as masters or
supercargoes of vessels belonging to Salem." To this Anthony had
bequeathed many curiosities and a gift. There was talk of enlarging its
scope, which was begun shortly after this.
Matters had settled to an amicable basis in the Leverett house. Rachel
had won the respect of Elizabeth, who prayed daily for her conversion
from heathendom and that she might see the claims the Christian religion
had upon her. Eunice and she were more really friendly. She made some
acquaintances outside and most people thought she must be some relation
of the captain's. She had proved herself very efficient in several cases
of illness, for in those days neighbors were truly neighborly.
Cynthia did shrink from the cold, though there were good fires kept in
the house. This winter Chilian had a stove put up in the hall, very much
against Elizabeth's desires. Quite large logs could be slipped in and
they would lie there and smoulder, lasting sometimes all night. It was a
great innovation and extravagance, though wood seemed almost
inexhaustible in those days. And it was considered unhealthy to sleep in
warm rooms, though people would shut themselves up close and have no
fresh air.
Then the snow came, but it was a greater success in the inland towns,
and there were sledding and sleigh-riding. The boys and girls had great
times building forts and having snowballing contests. But the little
girl caught a cold and had a cough that alarmed her guardian a good deal
and made him more indulgent than ever, to Elizabeth's disgust.
She was not really ill, only pale and languid and seemed to grow
thinner. She was much fairer than any one could have supposed and her
eyes looked large and wistful. Chilian put some pillows in the big
rocking-chair and tilted it back so that she could almost lie down on
it.
"You are so good to me," she would say with her sweet, faint smile.
Bentley came in now and then of an evening, and she liked to hear what
they were doing at school. Polly, too, made visits; they had a
half-holiday on Saturday. She always brought some work, and Elizabeth
considered her a very industrious girl. She was going to a birthday
party of one of her mates.
"What do they do at parties?" inquired the little girl.
"Oh, they play games. There's stagecoach. Everybody but one has a seat.
He blows a horn and sings out, 'Stage for Boston,' or any place. Then
every one has to change seats. Such a scrambling and scurrying time! and
the one who gets left has to take the horn."
"It's something like puss in the corner."
"Only ever so many can play this. Then there's 'What's my thought like?'
That's rather hard, but funny. I like twirling the platter. If you
don't catch it when it comes near you, you must pay a forfeit. And
redeeming them is lots of fun, for you are told to do all sorts of
ridiculous things. Then there's some goodies and mottoes and you can
exchange with a boy. But Kate Saltonstall's big sister had a party where
they danced. Eliza wanted some dancing, but her mother said so many
people did not approve of it for children."
"And don't you have some one to come and dance for you?"
"Oh, what a queer idea! The fun is in dancing yourself with a real nice
boy. Some people think it awfully wrong. Do you, Miss Winn?"
"No, indeed. When I was a child in England we went out and danced on the
green. Everybody did. And when there were doings at the great
houses--like Christmas, and weddings, and coming of age--the ladies, in
their silks and satins and laces, came down in the servants' hall and
danced with the butler and the footmen, and my lord took out some of the
maids. I don't think dancing hurts any one."
"I'm glad to hear you say that, Miss Winn. They are talking of having a
dancing-class in school. I hope mother will let me join it."
"And they teach it in schools there."
"And why shouldn't they here?" said Polly.
To be sure. Cynthia was much interested and made Polly promise to come
again and tell her all about it. Old Salem was awakening rapidly from
her rigid torpor.
"I wonder if I could ever have a party," she said to Cousin Leverett
that evening. "When father comes home we might have what they did at the
Perkinses when they went in their new place--a house-warming. Is that
like a party?"
"About the same thing."
"Cousin Elizabeth thinks it wicked. Wouldn't she think dancing wicked?"
"I am afraid she would."
Cynthia sighed. No, she couldn't have a party here.
She waited quite eagerly for Polly's account. The little girl was in her
own room. Miss Winn had gone out to get some medicine. Cynthia tried to
be well sometimes, so she would not have to take the nauseous stuff. No
one had invented medicated sugar pills at that time. She liked Cousin
Elizabeth's cough syrup.
Polly was overflowing with spirits.
"Oh, I want to be big, right away. Bella Saltonstall was there and she's
going into company next winter, she says. And she showed us some of the
dancing steps and they just bewitch you. It's like this"--and Polly
picked up her frock in a dainty manner and whirled about the vacant
spaces in the room.
"But doesn't it tire you dreadfully? The girls in India stand still a
great deal more and just sway about. They come in and dance for you."
"Tire you! Oh, no. That's the great fun, to do it yourself. Bella said
it was--ex--something, and the word is in the spelling-book, but I never
can remember the long words. Oh, I just wish I was fifteen and wasn't
going to school any more. And then there's keeping company and getting
married, and having your setting out. School seems stupid. There were
two boys who wanted to come home with me, but mother said Ben must. Then
I wished--well, I wished he was in college. He wants to go. Father says
Mr. Leverett has infected him with the craze."
"If I was a boy, I'd like to go. Cousin Leverett is going to take me to
Harvard next summer when they have their grand closing time."
"I'd rather be a girl and have a nice beau."
Plainly Polly had been saturated with dissipation.
Spring was suggesting her advent. The days were longer. The snow was
disappearing.
"Oh, Cousin Leverett, look--there are some buds on the trees!" she
cried.
"Yes. You can see them at intervals through the winter. They are wise
little things, and swell and then shrink back in the cold."
"I'm so glad. I can soon go out. I get very tired some days. I like
summer best."
"Yes. I do hope we shall have an early spring."
She looked up with smiling gladness.
That afternoon she had fallen asleep in the big chair. How almost
transparent she was. The long lashes lay on the whiteness of her
cheek--yes, it was really white. And there was very little color in her
lips.
Abner Hayes came up from the warehouse with some papers the _Ulysses_
had just brought in.
"That the captain's poor little girl?"
"Yes; she's asleep. She hasn't been very well this winter, but the first
nice balmy day I shall take her out driving. I've been almost afraid to
have the air blow on her."
"Yes, she ought to live and enjoy all that big fortune. It's a thousand
pities the captain couldn't have come back and enjoyed it with her. But
we must all go when our time comes. You never hear a hard word said
about him, and sure's there's a heaven he is in it."
Chilian held up his finger. Then he signed a paper that had to go back,
and asked if the cargo of the _Ulysses_ was in good shape.
Elizabeth called him downstairs after that. There was a poor man wanting
some sort of a position and Chilian promised to look out for him. He had
been porter in a store, but the heavy lifting made him cough. He would
have to get something lighter.
When he returned Cynthia was standing by his table, white as a little
ghost. He almost dropped into the chair.
"Was I dreaming, or did that man say my father couldn't come back to
Salem, that he--that he was----"
She swayed almost as if she would fall. He drew her down on his knee and
her head sank on his shoulder. She was so still that he was startled.
How many times he had wondered how he would get her told. Perhaps it had
been wrong to wait.
"My little girl! My little Cynthia----"
"Wait," she breathed, and he held her closer. He had come to love her
very much, though he had taken her unwillingly.
"Is it true? But no one would say such a thing if it were not. I had
been asleep. I woke just as he said that. Perhaps I had been dreaming
about our being together. And it seemed at first as if my tongue was
stiff and I couldn't even make a sound. Did he go to heaven without me?"
Oh, what should he say to comfort her! She had so many feelings far
under the surface.
"My little dear," and his voice was infinitely fond, "I want to tell you
that he loved your mother tenderly. No one could have been better loved.
In the course of a few hours she was snatched away from him. You were so
little--five years ago. I doubt if there was ever a day in which he did
not think of her. When you are grown and come to love some one with the
strength of your whole heart, you will understand how great it is. And
when the summons came for him his first thought was that he should see
her, and with the next he must find a new home for his little girl, so
he gave you to me. It is very hard just now, but you must think how
happy they are together. Perhaps they both know you are here, where you
will be cared for and made happy, for we all love you. Every one has not
the same way of showing love, but Cousin Elizabeth has done everything
she could for you this winter. And we don't want to lose you. You won't
grudge them a few years together in that happy place?"
"Oh, are you quite sure there _is_ a heaven?"
Oh, Cynthia, you are not the first one who has asked to have it
certified.
"Yes, dear; very sure," in the tone of faith.
"He loved mother very much?"
"Yes."
There was a long silence. He felt the slow beating of her little heart.
"Then I ought to be content, since he gave me to you, when he knew he
was going away."
"It would have been very sad if you had been left alone there. Out of
his great love he planned it this way, thinking the tidings would not
come so hard after a while. And now you can always recall him as you saw
him last and just think, in a moment of time God called and he stepped
over the narrow space that seems such a mystery to us and met _her_. I
wish we didn't invest death with so much that is painful, for it is
God's way of calling us to a better land where there are no more
partings. Sometime you and I will go over to them."
"I shouldn't feel afraid with you," she commented simply.
When the tea bell rang she asked to be carried to her room and laid on
Rachel's little bed. He kissed her gently and turned away.
The next was his day in Boston. But late in the afternoon, after Miss
Eunice had been visiting her an hour or so, she went to the study and
sat by the window, where she could see him come. He glanced up and she
waved her hand daintily. All day he had been wondering how he should
find her.
"I haven't coughed but a very little to-day," she exclaimed. "Cousin
Elizabeth made some new syrup. And the doctor was in. He said I was a
little lazy, that I must be more energetic."
"I've been ordering a new carriage to-day. The old one was hardly worth
repairing. And when you are stronger I think I'll buy a gentle pony and
we can go out riding. You would not be afraid after a little?"
"Not with you."
Her confidence was very sweet.
"I'm going down to tea to-night. I was down at noon."
"Oh, you are improving. I hope there will come some warm weather and
balmy airs."
"It was beautiful last spring. You know I never saw a real spring
before."
She was bearing her loss and her sorrow beautifully. All day she had
been thinking of the joy of those two when they met on the confines of
that beautiful world. It made heaven seem so near, so real. Sometimes
the tears came to her eyes. She was Cousin Chilian's little girl, so why
should she feel lonely!
Once in a number of years spring comes early. It did this time, at the
close of the century. People shook their heads and talked about
"weather-breeders," and mentioned snow as late as May, when fruit trees
had been in bloom. But nature had turned over a bright, clear leaf, that
made the book of time fairly shine.
The carriage came and Cynthia was taken out. Miss Elizabeth wrapped her
up like a mummy, and would put a brick, swathed in coverings, in the
bottom for her feet. He had taken the ladies out occasionally, but of
late years the sisters had been so busy they had little time for
pleasure, they thought.
They crossed North Bridge and went up Danvers way. Oh, how lovely it was
with the trees in baby leaf, and some wild things blossoming. And even
then industry had planted itself. There on the farther bank of Waters
River was the iron mill, where Dr. Nathan Read invented his scheme for
cut nails. And he built a paddle-wheel steamboat that was a success
before Robert Fulton tried his. And they passed the Page house, where
General Gage had his office, and Madam Page had tea on the roof, because
they had promised not to use tea in the house.
That amused Cynthia and he also told her of the woman, when tea first
came to the country, who boiled the leaves and seasoned them, passing
them around to her guests, who didn't think they were anything much in
the vegetable line and too expensive ever to become general.
Birds sang about them, flocks of wild geese had started on their
northward journey. What a wonderful world it was! And her father had
been a boy here in Salem village, had lived in Cousin Chilian's house in
the father's time, and her mother had been married in the stately
parlor. Why, she could dream of their being real guests of the place.
How odd she should come to live here. The life in India would be the
dream presently.
She was very tired when Chilian lifted her out of the carriage and took
her upstairs. Rachel put her to bed for a while and gave her a cup of
hot tea--mint and catnip--which was a great restorer, or so considered,
in those days. She came down to supper and was quite bright.
Every day she improved a little. Eunice said she was getting 'climated.
Elizabeth wondered if she had any deep feeling. She had expected to see
her "take on" terribly. Chilian begged her not to disturb the child's
faith that both parents were in heaven.
"Letty Orne, that was, might have been one of the elect, but sea
captains are seldom considered safe in the fold, as children of grace. I
never heard that he had any evidence. And 'tisn't safe to count on
meeting them unless you've had some sign."
"We must leave a good many of these things to God. His ways are better
than our short-sighted wisdom."
Elizabeth was never quite sure of Chilian. So much study, and reading,
and college talk, and the new theories, and what they called
discoveries, were enough to unsettle one's faith, and she feared for
him. Younger children than Cynthia had gone through the throes of
conviction--she had herself, and she longed to see her in this state.
But the child was quite her olden self. What with the change of climate
and her illness she was many shades fairer, and her hair was losing its
queer sunburned color. Her thin frame began to fill out, her face grew
rounder, and her smile was sweetness itself.
"But she hasn't grown a mite since she came. Leverett people are all of
a fair size. I don't know a little runt among them," persisted
Elizabeth.
"I wish I could grow," she sighed in confidence to Chilian.
"Never mind. Then you will always be my little girl," he would answer
consolingly.