"Aye," said Jem hoarsely. "Aye; and she's made her bed. God help her."
Things began to stir in the big house. Noll Wing was in the back room
with Henry Ham, who had sailed with him three voyages, and would back
him in this new venture. Young Roy Kilcup had found them there.... Old
Jem had a demijohn of cherry rum, thirty years unopened. He sent it in
to Noll.... And Noll Wing smacked his lips over it cheerfully, and
became more amiable than was his custom. Roy Kilcup caught him in this
mood and took quick vantage of it. When the three came in where Jem and
Dr. Brant were waiting, Roy crossed and gripped his father's arm. "I'm
going," he whispered. "Cap'n Wing will take me, as ship's boy. He's
promised, dad."
Old Jem nodded. His children were leaving him; he was past protesting.
"I'm ready," Roy told his father. "I'm going to pack, right after
they're married." He saw Dr. Brant smile, and whispered: "Be quick as
you can, sir."
The minister touched the boy's shoulder reassuringly. "Quiet, Roy," he
said. "There's time...."
People were gathering in the living-room from the other parts of the
house. They came by twos and threes. The men were awkward and uneasy,
and strove to be jocular; the women smiled with tears in their eyes.
When one woman surrenders herself to one man, all women weep. Bess
Holt, alone, did not weep. She was to play the organ; she sat down upon
the stool and spread her pretty, soft skirts about her, and looked back
over her shoulder to where Jem stood, in the hall, at the stair foot. He
was to sign to her when Faith was ready. Dr. Brant crossed and stood
beside the fireplace where the logs were laid, ready for the match. Noll
Wing and Henry Ham took stand with him. Ham, the mate, was a big man,
and an awkward one. His high collar irked him; his perilously shaven
chin moved restlessly back and forth in the effort to ease his tortured
throat. He coughed sepulchrally; and a woman giggled in the stillness,
and wept quietly into her handkerchief.
Cap'n Noll Wing stood easily, squarely upon his spread legs. He, too,
was a big man; his chest swelled barrel-like; his arms stretched the
sleeves of his black coat. Cap'n Wing was seldom seen without a cap upon
his head. Some of those in that room discovered in this moment for the
first time that he was bald. The tight, white skin upon his skull
contrasted unpleasantly with the brown of his leather cheeks. The thick
hair about his ears was tinged with gray. Across his nose and his firm
cheeks, tiny veins drew lacy patterns of purple. Garnished in wedding
finery, he was nevertheless a man past middle life, and no mistaking. A
man almost as old as Jem Kilcup, and wedding Jem Kilcup's daughter. An
old man, but a man, for all that; stout, and strong, and full of sap. He
had the dignity of mastery; he had the bearing of a man accustomed to
command and be obeyed. Roy Kilcup watched this man with eyes of
worship.
Bess, watching over her shoulder, saw old Jem look up the stairs, then
turn and nod awkwardly to her. She pressed the keys, the organ breathed,
the tones swelled forth and filled the room. Still, over her shoulder,
she watched the door, as did every other eye. They saw Faith appear
there, by her father's side; they saw her hand drop lightly on his arm.
Jem moved; his broad shoulders brushed the sides of the door. He brought
his daughter in, and turned with her upon his arm toward where Noll Wing
was waiting.
Faith's eyes, as she came through the door, swept the room once before
they found the eyes of Cap'n Wing and rested there. That single glance
had shown her Dan'l Tobey, behind the others, near the window; and the
memory of Dan'l's face played before her as she moved toward where Noll
waited. Poor Dan'l. She pitied him as women do pity the lover they do
not love. She had been hard on Dan'l. Not her fault; but still the
truth. Hard on Dan'l Tobey.... And misery dwelt upon his countenance, so
that she could not forget, even while she went to meet Noll Wing before
the minister.
Janie Cox dropped her handkerchief and dove for it desperately, as Faith
and Jem passed where she stood. Janie's swift movement was outrageously
conspicuous in that still room. Faith looked toward her, and saw poor
Janie crimson with embarrassment, and smiled at her comfortingly.
When she looked forward again, she found herself at Noll Wing's side,
and Dr. Brant was already speaking....
When they made their responses, Noll in his heavy voice of a master, and
Faith in the level voice of a proud, sure woman, her eyes met his and
promised him things unutterable. It is this speaking of eyes to eyes
that is marriage; the words are of small account. Faith pledged herself
to Noll Wing when she opened her eyes to him and let him look into the
depths of her. A woman who loves wishes to give. Faith gave all herself
in that gift of her quiet, steady eyes. Cap'n Wing, before them, found
himself abashed. He was glad when the word was said, when the still room
stirred to life. He kissed Faith hurriedly; he was a little afraid of
her. Then the others pressed forward and separated them, and he was glad
enough to be thrust back, to be able to laugh, and jest, and grip the
hands of men.
The women, and some of the men, kissed Faith as she stood there, hanging
on her father's arm. Her eyes flickered now and then toward Noll, her
Noll Wing now. But she could not always be watching him. Too many others
came to speak with her. Dan'l Tobey came; Dan'l with his round
moon-face, and his freckles, and his sandy hair.... Dan'l was only a
little older than herself; a chubby, strong young man.... Little more
than a boy, but a man, too.... Two cruises behind him.... He was going
out as second mate with Cap'n Wing, this afternoon. Faith knew Dan'l
loved her. She was pleasantly sorry, and at the same time secretly
glad. No woman is completely sorry that she is beloved. Faith told
herself she must help Dan'l get over it, on this cruise that was to
come. She must.... She decided, while she spoke to him, that she must
find a wife for Dan'l. What married woman is not a matchmaker? Faith had
now been a married woman for seven minutes by the tall clock a-ticking
in the corner....
Dan'l gave way to others; and Bess Holt cried in dismay, "Faith, the
fire was never lighted!"
It was true. In the swift moments before Faith came downstairs, no one
had remembered to touch a match to the kindling under the smooth, white
birch logs in the great fireplace. When Faith saw this, she felt a
sudden, swift pang of disappointment at her heart. She loved a fire, an
open fire, merrily blazing.... She had always dreamed of being married
before this great fire in her father's home. She herself had chosen
these logs, and under her eye her brother Roy had borne them into the
house and laid them upon the small stuff and kindling she had prepared.
She had wanted that fire to spring to life as she and Noll were married;
she had thought of it as a symbol of the new life that was beginning for
Noll. She was terribly disappointed....
In that first pang, she looked helplessly about for Noll. She wanted
comfort pitifully.... But Noll was laughing in the doorway, talking with
old Jonathan Felt, the owner of his vessel. He had not heard, he did not
see her glance. Bess Holt cried:
"Somebody light it quick. Roy Kilcup, give me a match. I'll light it
myself. Don't look, Faith! Oh, what a shame...."
Roy knew how his sister had counted on that fire. "I'll bet Faith
doesn't feel as though she were really married," he laughed. "Not
without a fire going.... Do you, Faith? Better do it over, Dr.
Brant...."
Some one said it was bad luck; a dozen voices cried the some one down.
Then, while they were all talking about it, round-faced Dan'l Tobey went
down on his knees and lighted the fire that was to have illumined
Faith's wedding.
Faith, her hand at her throat, looked for Noll again; but he and old
Jonathan had gone out to that ancient demijohn of cherry rum.... Dan'l
was looking hungrily at her; hungry for thanks. She smiled at him. They
were all pressing around her again....
It was little Bess Holt who set them moving, at last, down to the wharf.
Bess was the stage manager that day; every one else was too busy with
his or her own concerns. She whisked Faith away upstairs to change her
dress, and scolded the others out of the house.... All save Jem Kilcup
and Roy. Roy had packing of his own to do; he was flying at it like a
terrier. Jem would stay as long as he might with Faith. Noll, and
Jonathan Felt, and Noll's officers went to play host at the wedding
supper on the decks of the _Sally Sims_....
Faith's luggage had already gone aboard. When she and Jem and Bess
reached the wharf, the others were at the tables, under the boathouse,
aft. They rose, and pledged Faith in lifted glasses.... Then Faith sat
down beside her husband, at the head of the board, and old Jem settled
morosely beside her. They ate and drank merrily.
Faith was very happy, dreamily happy. She felt the big presence of her
husband at her side; and she lifted her head with pride in him, and in
this ship which he commanded. He was a man.... Once or twice she marked
her father's silence; and once she touched his knee with her hand
lightly, in comfort.... Cap'n Wing made a speech. They called on Jem,
but Jem was in no mind for chatter. They called on Faith; she rose, and
smiled at them, and said how happy she was, and touched her husband's
shoulder proudly....
Roy came, running, after a time.... And a little later, the tug whistled
from the stream, and Cap'n Wing looked overside, and stood up, and
lifted his hands.
"Friends," he said jocosely, "I'd like to take you all along. Come if
you want. But--tide's in. Them as don't want to go along had best be
getting ashore."
Thus it was ended; that wedding supper on the deck, in the late
afternoon, while the flags floated overhead, and the gulls screamed
across the refuse-dotted waters of the Harbor, and the tide whirled and
eddied about the piles. Thus it was ended; their chairs scraped upon the
deck; the boards that had been set upon boxes and trestles to make
tables and seats were thrust aside or overturned. They swept about
Faith, where she stood at her husband's side, arm linked in his, against
the rail....
Old Jem kissed her first of all, kissed her roundly, crushing her to
his breast; and she whispered, in his close embrace: "It's all right,
dad. Don't worry.... All right.... I'll bring you home...."
He kissed her again, cutting short her promise. Kissed her, and thrust
her away, and stumped ashore, and went stockily off along the wharf and
out of sight, never looking back. A solitary figure; somewhat to be
pitied, for all his broad shoulders and his fine old head.
The others in their turn, little Bess Holt last of all. Bess, now that
her tasks were done, had her turn at tears. She wept happily in Faith's
arms. Faith did not weep. She was too happy for even the happiest of
tears. She patted Bess's brown head, and linked arms with the girl while
Bess climbed to the wharf, and they kissed again, there....
Then every one waited, calling, laughing, crying, while the _Sally Sims_
was torn loose from her moorings. Cap'n Wing was another man now; he was
never a man to leave his ship to another, Faith thought proudly. His
commands rang through the still air of late afternoon; his eye saw the
hawsers cast off, saw the tug take hold....
The _Sally Sims_ moved; she moved so slowly that at first one must watch
a fixed point upon the wharf to be sure she moved at all. Roy was
everywhere, afire with zeal in this new experience; his eyes were
dancing. Faith stood aft, a little way from her husband, calling to
those upon the wharf. The tug dragged the _Sally_ stern first into the
stream, headed her around....
Last calls, last cries.... The individual figures on the wharf's end
slowly merged into one mass, a mass variegated by the black garments of
the men, by the gayer fabrics which the women wore. This mass in turn,
as the _Sally_ slipped eastward toward the sea, became a dot of color
against the brown casks which piled the wharf. Faith took her eyes from
it to glance toward her husband; when she looked back it was hard to
discover the dot again. Presently it was gone....
Men were in the rigging, now, setting the big, square sails. The wind
began to tug at them. The voice of the mate, Mr. Ham, roared up to the
men in profane commands. Cap'n Wing stood stockily on wide-spread legs,
watching, joining his voice now and then to the uproar.
The sea, presently, opened out before them, inviting them, offering all
its wide expanses to the _Sally Sims'_ blunt bow. The _Sally_ began to
lift and tilt awkwardly. The tug had long since dropped behind; they
shaped their course for where the night came up ahead of them.... They
sailed steadily eastward, into the gathering gloom....
Cap'n Wing bawled: "Mr. Tobey." And Dan'l came aft to where Faith stood
with her husband. He did not look at her, so that Faith was faintly
disquieted. The captain pointed to the litter of planks and boxes and
dishes and food where the wedding supper had been laid. Faith watched
dreamily, happily.... She had loved that last gathering with her
friends.... There was something sacred to her, in this moment, even in
the ugly débris that remained....
But not to Cap'n Wing. He said harshly, in his voice of a master:
"Have that trash cleared up, Mr. Tobey. Sharp, now."
"Trash?" Faith was faintly unhappy at the word. Dan'l bawled to the men,
and half a dozen of them came shuffling aft. She touched her husband's
arm. "I'm going below, now, Noll," she whispered.