CHAPTER XIX
THE VIGIL IN THE SWING
WHEN I look back on that hot July day it seems a week long; so much wascrowded into it. After the ceremony we took Tippy up home in the machinewith the children, and then went for a drive. I hadn't realized howtired I was till I sank back into the comfortable seat beside Richard.Nothing could have rested me more than that rapid spin toward Wellfleetwith the salt breeze in my face. As we started out of town Richardglanced at his watch.
"Only sixty-three hours more for this old burg," he announced. "I've gotit figured down to a fine point now. Even to the minutes."
"So anxious to get away?" I asked.
"Oh, it isn't that. I'm keen enough to get busy over there, but----" Hedid not finish but presently nodded toward the water where a great fleetof fishing boats was putting into port. They filled the harbor with aflashing of sails in the late afternoon sunshine, like a flock ofwhite-winged birds. "I'm wondering how long it will be before I see_that_ again."
I answered with a line from "Kathleen Mavourneen," humming it airily:"It may be for years and it may be forever."
"Don't you care?" he demanded almost crossly, with his eyes intent onthe triple curve just ahead.
"Of course I care," I answered. "If you were a truly own brother Icouldn't feel any worse about your going off into all that danger, and Icouldn't be any prouder of you. And I think that under the circumstanceswe might be allowed to put another star on our service flag, one for youas well as for Father. You belong to us more than anyone else now."
"_Will_ you do that?" he asked quickly, and with such eagerness that Isaw he was both touched and pleased. "It makes a tremendous differenceto a fellow to feel that he's got some sort of family ties--that heisn't just floating around in space like a stray balloon. It's a mightylonesome feeling to think that there's nobody left to miss you or carewhat becomes of you."
"Oh, we'll care all right," I promised him. "We'll be a really trulyfamily to you, and we'll miss you and write to you and _knit_ for you."
He was in the midst of the triple curve now, with a machine honkingsomewhere ahead, but he turned to flash a pleased smile at me and wecame very near to a collision. He had to veer to one side so suddenlythat we were nearly thrown out. For two years he has been so eager to gooverseas that I hadn't an idea he would have any homesick qualms whenthe time came, but to find that he was hanging on to each hour assomething precious made me twice as sorry to see him go as I would havebeen otherwise.
As we came back into town he glanced at his watch again but said nothinguntil I leaned over to look too.
"How many hours now?" I asked. "Only sixty-one and a half," he answered,"and they'll whiz by like a streak of lightning." From then on I begancounting them too.
There was a birthday letter from Barby waiting for me when I got home,such a dear one that I took it off to my room to read by myself. Thepackage she mentioned sending was evidently delayed. As I sat in frontof my mirror, brushing my hair before going down to supper, I thoughtwhat a very, very different birthday this was from the one we hadplanned for my eighteenth anniversary. Still it had been a happy day. Ifelt repaid for my wild rush every time I recalled Babe's face when shesaw herself for the first time in her wedding gown. Her delight waspathetic, and her gratitude will be something to remember always, thatand the fact that I was a bridesmaid for the first time--and a Maid ofHonor at that.
Suddenly I came to myself with a start to find myself with my hair downover my shoulders and my brush held in mid air, while I gazed atsomething in the depths of the mirror. Something that wasn't there. Thealtar and the bridal party before it, and the Best Man looking across atme with that grave, wistful expression that was like a leave-taking. Andthen his smile as our eyes met. It seems strange that just recalling alittle thing like that should make me glowingly happy, yet in someunaccountable way it did.
Judith and George Woodson came up after supper. I was almost sorry theydid, for Richard had asked me to play the "Reverie" that he always asksBarby for. He was stretched out on the leather couch with his handsclasped under his head, looking so comfortable and contented it seemed apity to disturb him. He'll think of that old couch and the times he'slain on it listening to Barby play, many a time when he's off there inrange of the enemy's guns.
They stayed till after ten o'clock, talking aeroplanes mostly, forGeorge got Richard started to describing nose dives and spirals and allthe wonderful somersault stunts they do above the clouds. He knows somuch about machines, having helped build them, that he could sketch thedifferent parts of them while he was talking, and he knows the record ofall the famous pilots, just as a baseball fan knows all about thepopular players. While he was up in Canada he met two of the most daringaces who ever flew, one from the French Escadrille, and one anEnglishman of the Royal Flying Corps. It was his acquaintance with theEnglishman which led to Richard's being assigned to the Royal Naval AirService. He's to learn the British methods of handling sea-planes, andhe's hoping with all his heart that he won't be brought home as aninstructor when he has learned it. He wants to stay right therepatrolling the Channel and making daring raids now and then over theenemy's lines.
It must have been torture for George to listen to his enthusiasticdescription of duels above the clouds and how it feels to whiz throughspace at a hundred and twenty-five miles an hour, because it was thedream of his life to get into that branch of the service. Hisdisappointment makes him awfully bitter. Still he persisted in talkingabout it, because he's so interested he can't keep off the subject. It'sa thousand times more thrilling than any of the old tales of knighterrantry, and I'm glad George kept on asking questions. Otherwise I'dnever have found out what an amazing lot Richard knows that I never evensuspected.
During the last few minutes of their visit I heard Tippy out in thehall, answering the telephone. She came in just as they were allleaving, to tell us it was a message from Belle. Aunt Elspeth wassinking rapidly. The end was very near now. Uncle Darcy had asked forBarby, forgetting she was away, and Belle thought it would be a comfortto him to feel that some of the family were in the house, keeping thevigil with him.
Tippy had intended to go down herself as soon as the children wereasleep, but little Judson kept waking up and crying at finding himselfin a strange bed. He seemed a bit feverish and she was afraid to leavehim. So Richard and I went. When Judith and George left we walked withthem part of the way.
I've seen many a moonlight night on the harbor before, when the waterwas turned to a glory of rippling silver, but never have I seen it sucha sea of splendor as it was that night we strolled along beside it. Itwas entrancingly beautiful--that luminous path through the water, andthe boats lifting up their white sails in the shining silence were likepearl-white moths spreading motionless wings.
None of us felt like talking, the beauty was so unearthly, so we wentalong with scarcely a word, until we reached the business part of thetown. There the buildings on the beach side of the street hid the viewof the water. Both picture-shows were just out, and the gay summercrowds surging up and down the narrow board walk and overflowing intothe middle of the street were as noisy as a flock of jaybirds. Georgeand Judith left us at the drug-store corner, going in for ice-creamsoda.
When we turned into Fishburn Court, there on the edge of the dunes, weseemed entering a different world. It was so still, shut in by the highwarehouses between it and town. We opened the gate noiselessly and wentup the path past the old wooden swing. The full moon shining highoverhead made the little doorway almost as bright as day, except for thecircle of shadow under the apple tree. Even there the light filteredthrough in patches. All the doors and windows stood open. A candleflickered on the high black mantel in the sitting-room. In the bedroombeyond the lamp on the bureau was turned low.
Belle met us at the door, motioning us toward the bedroom. Coming infrom the white radiance outside the light seemed dim at first, but itwas enough to show the big four-posted bed with Aunt Elspeth lyingmotionless on it. Such a f
rail little body she was, but her delicate,flower-like sort of beauty had lasted even into her silver-haired oldage. She did not seem to be breathing, but Uncle Darcy, sitting besideher holding her hand, was leaning over talking to her as if she couldstill hear. Just bits of sentences, but with a cadence of such infinitetenderness in the broken words that it hurt one to hear them.
"Dan'l's right here, lass.... He won't leave you.... No, no, my dear."
I drew back, but Belle's motioning hand insisted. "Just let him see thatyou're here to keep watch with him," she whispered. "It'll be a comfortto him."
So we went in. When I laid my hand on his shoulder he looked up with adazed expression till he saw who it was and who was with me. Then hesmiled at us both, and after that one welcoming glance turned back tothe bed.
We went back to the sitting room and stood there a moment, uncertainly.Then Richard opened the screen door, beckoning me to follow. He led theway to the swing, and we stepped in and sat down, facing each other. Itstood so close to the cottage that to sit there opposite the openwindow was almost like being in the room. The glow from the lampstreamed out across the grass towards us, dimly yellow. We could seeevery movement, hear every rustle. Belle and the nurse tiptoed back andforth. Danny went out and came in again. Then they settled back into theshadowy corners.
Somewhere away up in the town, a phonograph began playing "The Long,Long Trail." The notes came to us faintly a few moments, then stopped,and the silence grew deeper and deeper. Nothing broke it except acricket's chirp in the grass, and now and then a half-whispered word ofsoothing from Uncle Darcy. He crooned as he would to a sleepy child.
"There's naught to fear, lass.... All's well.... Dan'l's holding you."
Already she was beyond the comfort of his voice, but he kept onmurmuring reassuringly, as if the protecting care that had never failedher in a long half-century of devotion was great enough now in thisextreme hour to push aside even Death. He would go with her down intothe very Valley of the Shadow.
As I sat there listening, dozens of little scenes came crowding up outof the past like mute witnesses to their beautiful love for each other.There was the day Mrs. Saggs found a nightgown of Aunt Elspeth's in thework-basket with a bungling patch half-stitched on by Uncle Darcy'sstiff old fingers, and what she said about those old hands making abotch of patches, but never any botch in being kind. And the day Fatherand I, waiting in the kitchen, saw her cling to him and tell himquaveringly, "You're always so good to me, Dan'l. You're the best manthe Lord ever made."
I do not know how long we sat there, but there was time to review allthe many happy days I had spent with them in the little cottage. Thensome very new and startling thoughts came crowding up in theoverwhelming way they do when one is drowning. It seems to me I grewyears older in that time of waiting. I had always been afraid of Deathbefore, but suddenly the fear left me. It was no longer to be dreaded asthe strongest thing in the world, if Love could thrust it aside likethat and walk on past it, immortal and unafraid.
I didn't know I was crying till two tears splashed down on my hands,which were pressed tightly together in my lap. A little shiver ran overme. Richard leaned forward and took my white sweater from the back ofthe seat where I had thrown it, motioning for me to put it on. I shookmy head but he kept on holding it out for me to slip my arms into, inthat insistent, masterful way of his, till finally I did so. I hadn'tknown I was cold till I felt the warmth of it around me. Then I noticedthat a breeze had sprung up and was stirring the boughs of the appletree, and my hands were like ice from the long nervous strain.
But even more comforting than the wrap which enveloped me was the inwardwarmth that came from the sense of being watched over and taken care of.
The long vigil went on. Suddenly the nurse leaned over and saidsomething. And then--Belle pulled down the shade.
After a few moments Uncle Darcy came stumblingly out to the doorway andsat down on the step, burying his face in his hands. Richard and Ilooked at each other, uncertain what to do or to say, hesitating as thetwo children had done so long ago, when the old rifle gave up itssecret. But this time we did not run away.
This time we went up to him, each with a silent handclasp. Then puttingmy arm around the bent old shoulders I held him close for a moment. Heleaned against me and reaching up with his stiff, crooked fingers gentlypatted my hand.
"Aye," he said brokenly. "She's gone ... but--_her love abides_! Deathcouldn't take _that_ from me!"