"What is so rare as a day in June?"
The bright morning sun blessed us with a benison of light; the sweet,
cool, scented air laid its thousand tiny hands lightly upon our faces,
and the green stretches of country all around us spoke of an earthly
paradise. For a while we said nothing, for that sorceress, June, had
thrown her web about us, and we were moving as through the vistas of a
dream. Once I glanced at my companion, and I saw such a peaceful, happy,
yet thoroughly unconscious look upon her face that I stayed the casual
remark upon my tongue which I felt that courtesy required. Then it
dawned upon me with the suddenness of a revelation that her nature was
attuned to mine, and all at once I knew that the sylvan sounds and
scenes which were the delight of my soul were as manna to hers as well.
And I had shunned her!
"I fear you will think me a poor escort," she said at length, smiling at
me with a trace of sadness. "But I have been away so long, and all these
meadows, and trees, and brooks are friends--you don't know how I love
them. I have lived with them and in them since I could walk, and it is
like seeing dear ones in the flesh to come back and be with them, and
hold silent communion with them. Does this sound strange to you?"
"No." And yet I looked at her half perplexedly. My idols were being
shattered one by one. "No, it is not strange to me that such feelings
exist, for they are my own. That was why I sought this old-fashioned
Kentucky home. I lived in Louisville until I came here, and my soul was
being crushed out of me between four brick walls. I have been happy
here; I did not know what happiness was until I came here--except that
derived from books. But that sort of happiness you feel; this sort you
live, and your being is broadened by it. But you--I confess it sounds
strange to me to hear you say such things."
"Why should I not know them as well as you? My opportunities have been
greater."
"I don't know; I have no reason to give. In my ignorance and selfishness
I had thought that I was alone in this; that no one could listen to
Nature's secrets but myself. I have been wrong, and I am glad that I
have been undeceived."
The congeniality which became quickly established between us made our
seven-mile ride very short. Our horses were in good mettle, and the road
was fine. Before I knew where we were, we turned into a by-road bordered
by locust trees, and cantered down to St. Catherine's Academy. The lawn
before the three-story brick building was beautifully kept. I hitched
our horses, and as we strolled up the pavement towards the entrance, I
saw two or three figures moving about the premises, clad in the becoming
black-and-white garb of the order. Presently one sister espied us, and
immediately started our way. She was very old, and moved with slow,
short steps. Salome ran to her with a little cry of joy, bent down and
kissed the wrinkled face, and, as I came up, introduced me to Sister
Hyacintha. I shall never forget the patient, joyful, almost heavenly
look on the face of this good woman. She led us to the porch, and gave
us chairs, and she and Salome talked, while I listened. As it was
nearing the noon hour, we were prevailed upon to stay and take lunch. In
the afternoon we were shown through the building, and took a walk over
the grounds. Time slipped by stealthily, and the sun was hovering above
the western horizon when Salome remembered that St. Rose was yet to be
seen.
A short ride over a narrow dirt road winding through masses of verdure
brought us to the confines of the old church, which, perched upon a
hill, reared its turret aloft in the purple air. I fastened our horses
to some of the numerous hitching-posts placed along the roadside for the
use of worshippers, and we turned to the iron gate leading into the
premises. As this clanged behind us we both felt keenly the jar it
created, for everything was so still and peaceful that the slightest
noise was irrelevant, and we felt bound to talk in whispers. We found
ourselves upon a gravel walk bordered by cedars; to our left was the
road, to our right the white stones of a vast burying ground rose up
like spectral sentinels of the tomb.
Salome put her hand upon my arm. The path was steep, and I should have
offered her assistance, but I had not thought of it. Not a word was
spoken until we had reached the end of the path. Here the brow of the
hill curved around in the form of a semicircle, and was studded with
cedars, like emeralds in a crown. Before us, not a dozen steps away,
rose the ancient edifice we had come to view. It was made of solid
masonry, and seemed good for hundreds of years to come.
"Here we are."
Salome was panting a little as she said this, in a barely audible voice.
I looked at the gray pile in silent contemplation. Its style suggested
massiveness, although the building was not of any great size. The part
comprising the vestibule and bell-tower was octagon in shape, and the
turret was at least a hundred feet in air. Behind this were the
ivy-covered walls of the body of the church. It was at that time when
the earth grows still before drawing her night robes about her. In the
western sky the sun's last streamers flared out like a gorgeous fan, and
on their tips some shy diamonds glittered evasively. From the fields
around us came the sweet breath of the spring, smelling of the richer
fragrance of early summer. The birds were still; the stamping of our
horses in the road below was the only sound.
"Shall we go in?"
I started, although the tones were low and like the music of rippling
water. When I turned my head, the brown eyes looking into mine had a
mournful expression. The impressiveness of it all was upon her, too.
There must have been a certain look of inquiry upon my face, for she
went on, in the same wonderful voice:
"It's never locked, you know. I like that custom about a Catholic
church. So often the soul would enter into a holy place and be alone in
prayer. Shall we enter? I think there is enough light for us to see."
In reply, I drew closer to her, and held out my arm. She took it
lightly, and in the deepening twilight we walked to the broad, wooden
door. It yielded reluctantly to the pressure of my hand, on account of
its size and weight, and together we entered the shadows of the sacred
place.