The Tides of Barnegat

  CHAPTER VIII

  AN ARRIVAL

  With the departure of Jane and Lucy the old homestead took on thatdesolate, abandoned look which comes to most homes when all the lifeand joyousness have gone from them. Weeds grew in the roadway betweenthe lilacs, dandelions flaunted themselves over the grass-plots; theshutters of the porch side of the house were closed, and the main gatealways thrown wide day and night in ungoverned welcome, was seldomopened except to a few intimate friends of the old nurse.

  At first Pastor Dellenbaugh had been considerate enough to mount thelong path to inquire for news of the travelers and to see how Marthawas getting along, but after the receipt of the earlier letters fromJane telling of their safe arrival and their sojourn in a littlevillage but a short distance out of Paris, convenient to the greatcity, even his visits ceased. Captain Holt never darkened the door; nordid he ever willingly stop to talk to Martha when he met her on theroad. She felt the slight, and avoided him when she could. Thisresulted in their seldom speaking to each other, and then only in themost casual way. She fancied he might think she wanted news of Bart,and so gave him no opportunity to discuss him or his whereabouts; butshe was mistaken. The captain never mentioned his name to friend orstranger. To him the boy was dead for all time. Nor had anyone of hiscompanions heard from him since that stormy night on the beach.

  Doctor John's struggle had lasted for months, but he had come throughit chastened and determined. For the first few days he went about hiswork as one in a dream, his mind on the woman he loved, his handmechanically doing its duty. Jane had so woven herself into his lifethat her sudden departure had been like the upwrenching of a plant,tearing out the fibres twisted about his heart, cutting off all hissustenance and strength. The inconsistencies of her conduct especiallytroubled him. If she loved him--and she had told him that she did, andwith their cheeks touching--how could she leave him in order to indulgea mere whim of her sister's? And if she loved him well enough to tellhim so, why had she refused to plight him her troth? Such a course wasunnatural, and out of his own and everyone else's experience. Women wholoved men with a great, strong, healthy love, the love he could giveher, and the love he knew she could give him, never permitted suchtrifles to come between them and their life's happiness. What, he askedhimself a thousand times, had brought this change?

  As the months went by these doubts and speculations one by one passedout of his mind, and only the image of the woman he adored, with allher qualities--loyalty to her trust, tenderness over Lucy andunquestioned love for himself--rose clear. No, he would believe in herto the end! She was still all he had in life. If she would not be hiswife she should be his friend. That happiness was worth all else to himin the world. His was not to criticise, but to help. Help as SHE wantedit; preserving her standard of personal honor, her devotion to herideals, her loyalty, her blind obedience to her trust.

  Mrs. Cavendish had seen the change in her son's demeanor and hadwatched him closely through his varying moods, but though she divinedtheir cause she had not sought to probe his secret.

  His greatest comfort was in his visits to Martha. He always dropped into see her when he made his rounds in the neighborhood; sometimes everyday, sometimes once a week, depending on his patients and theircondition--visits which were always prolonged when a letter came fromeither of the girls, for at first Lucy wrote to the old nurse as oftenas did Jane. Apart from this the doctor loved the patient caretaker,both for her loyalty and for her gentleness. And she loved him inreturn; clinging to him as an older woman clings to a strong man,following his advice (he never gave orders) to the minutest detail whensomething in the management or care of house or grounds exceeded hergrasp. Consulting him, too, and this at Jane's specialrequest--regarding any financial complications which needed promptattention, and which, but for his services, might have required Jane'simmediate return to disentangle. She loved, too, to talk of Lucy and ofMiss Jane's goodness to her bairn, saying she had been both a sisterand a mother to her, to which the doctor would invariably add sometribute of his own which only bound the friendship the closer.

  His main relief, however, lay in his work, and in this he became eachday more engrossed. He seemed never to be out of his gig unless at thebedside of some patient. So long and wearing had the routesbecome--often beyond Barnegat and as far as Westfield--that the sorrelgave out, and he was obliged to add another horse to his stable. Hispatients saw the weary look in his eyes--as of one who had often lookedon sorrow--and thought it was the hard work and anxiety over them thathad caused it. But the old nurse knew better.

  "His heart's breakin' for love of her," she would say to Meg, lookingdown into his sleepy eyes--she cuddled him more than ever thesedays--"and I don't wonder. God knows how it'll all end."

  Jane wrote to him but seldom; only half a dozen letters in all duringthe first year of her absence among them one to tell him of their safearrival, another to thank him for his kindness to Martha, and a thirdto acknowledge the receipt of a letter of introduction to a studentfriend of his who was now a prominent physician in Paris, and who mightbe useful in case either of them fell ill. He had written to his friendat the same time, giving the address of the two girls, but thephysician had answered that he had called at the street and number, butno one knew of them. The doctor reported this to Jane in his nextletter, asking her to write to his friend so that he might know oftheir whereabouts should they need his services, for which Jane, in asubsequent letter, thanked him, but made no mention of sending to hisfriend should occasion require. These subsequent letters said verylittle about their plans and carefully avoided all reference to theirdaily life or to Lucy's advancement in her studies, and never once setany time for their coming home. He wondered at her neglect of him, andwhen no answer came to his continued letters, except at long intervals,he could contain himself no longer, and laid the whole matter beforeMartha.

  "She means nothing, doctor, dear," she had answered, taking his handand looking up into his troubled face. "Her heart is all right; she'sgoin' through deep waters, bein' away from everybody she loves--youmost of all. Don't worry; keep on lovin' her, ye'll never have cause torepent it."

  That same night Martha wrote to Jane, giving her every detail of theinterview, and in due course of time handed the doctor a letter inwhich Jane wrote: "He MUST NOT stop writing to me; his letters are allthe comfort I have"--a line not intended for the doctor's eyes, butwhich the good soul could not keep from him, so eager was she torelieve his pain.

  Jane's letter to him in answer to his own expressing his unhappinessover her neglect was less direct, but none the less comforting to him."I am constantly moving about," the letter ran, "and have much to doand cannot always answer your letters, so please do not expect them toooften. But I am always thinking of you and your kindness to dearMartha. You do for me when you do for her."

  After this it became a settled habit between them, he writing by theweekly steamer, telling her every thought of his life, and she replyingat long intervals. In these no word of love was spoken on her side; norwas any reference made to their last interview. But this fact did notcool the warmth of his affection nor weaken his faith. She had told himshe loved him, and with her own lips. That was enough--enough from awoman like Jane. He would lose faith when she denied it in the sameway. In the meantime she was his very breath and being.

  One morning two years after Jane's departure, while the doctor and hismother sat at breakfast, Mrs. Cavendish filling the tea-cups, thespring sunshine lighting up the snow-white cloth and polished silver,the mail arrived and two letters were laid at their respective plates,one for the doctor and the other for his mother.

  As Doctor John glanced at the handwriting his face flushed, and hiseyes danced with pleasure. With eager, trembling fingers he broke theseal and ran his eyes hungrily over the contents. It had been his habitto turn to the bottom of the last page before he read the precedingones, so that he might see the signature and note the final words ofaffection or friendship, such as "Ever your friend," or "A
ffectionatelyyours," or simply "Your friend," written above Jane's name. These wereto him the thermometric readings of the warmth of her heart.

  Half way down the first page--before he had time to turn the leaf--hecaught his breath in an effort to smother a sudden outburst of joy.Then with a supreme effort he regained his self-control and read theletter to the end. (He rarely mentioned Jane's name to his mother, andhe did not want his delight over the contents of the letter to be madethe basis of comment.)

  Mrs. Cavendish's outburst over the contents of her own envelope brokethe silence and relieved his tension.

  "Oh, how fortunate!" she exclaimed. "Listen, John; now I really havegood news for you. You remember I told you that I met old Dr. Pencoydthe last time I was in Philadelphia, and had a long talk with him. Itold him how you were buried here and how hard you worked and howanxious I was that you should leave Barnegat, and he promised to writeto me, and he has. Here's his letter. He says he is getting too old tocontinue his practice alone, that his assistant has fallen ill, andthat if you will come to him at once he will take you into partnershipand give you half his practice. I always knew something good would comeout of my last visit to Philadelphia. Aren't you delighted, my son?"

  "Yes, perfectly overjoyed," answered the doctor, laughing. He was morethan delighted--brimming over with happiness, in fact--but not over hismother's news; it was the letter held tight in his grasp that wassending electric thrills through him. "A fine old fellow is Dr.Pencoyd--known him for years," he continued; "I attended his lecturesbefore I went abroad. Lives in a musty old house on Chestnut Street,stuffed full of family portraits and old mahogany furniture, and not acomfortable chair or sofa in the place; wears yellow Nankeenwaist-coats, takes snuff, and carries a fob. Oh, yes, same old fellow.Very kind of him, mother, but wouldn't you rather have the sunlightdance in upon you as it does here and catch a glimpse of the seathrough the window than to look across at your neighbors' back wallsand white marble steps?" It was across that same sea that Jane wascoming, and the sunshine would come with her!

  "Yes; but, John, surely you are not going to refuse this withoutlooking into it?" she argued, eyeing him through her gold-rimmedglasses. "Go and see him, and then you can judge. It's his practice youwant, not his house."

  "No; that's just what I don't want. I've got too much practice now.Somehow I can't keep my people well. No, mother, dear, don't botheryour dear head over the old doctor and his wants. Write him that I ammost grateful, but that the fact is I need an assistant myself, and ifhe will be good enough to send someone down here, I'll keep him busyevery hour of the day and night. Then, again," he continued, a moreserious tone in his voice, "I couldn't possibly leave here now, even ifI wished to, which I do not."

  Mrs. Cavendish eyed him intently. She had expected just such a refusalNothing that she ever planned for his advancement did he agree to.

  "Why not?" she asked, with some impatience.

  "The new hospital is about finished, and I am going to take charge ofit."

  "Do they pay you for it?" she continued, in an incisive tone.

  "No, I don't think they will, nor can. It's not, that kind of ahospital," answered the doctor gravely.

  "And you will look after these people just as you do after Fogarty andthe Branscombs, and everybody else up and down the shore, and nevertake a penny in pay!" she retorted with some indignation.

  "I am afraid I will, mother. A disappointing son, am I not? But there'sno one to blame but yourself, old lady," and with a laugh he rose fromhis seat, Jane's letter in his hand, and kissed his mother on the cheek.

  "But, John, dear," she exclaimed in a pleading petulance as she lookedinto his face, still holding on to the sleeve of his coat to detain himthe longer, "just think of this letter of Pencoyd's; nothing has everbeen offered you better than this. He has the very best people inPhiladelphia on his list, and you would get--"

  The doctor slipped his hand under his mother's chin, as he would havedone to a child, and said with a twinkle in his eye--he was very happythis morning:

  "That's precisely my case--I've got the very best people in threecounties on my list. That's much better than the old doctor."

  "Who are they, pray?" She was softening under her son's caress.

  "Well, let me think. There's the distinguished Mr. Tatham, who attendsto the transportation of the cities of Warehold and Barnegat; and theRight Honorable Mr. Tipple, and Mrs. and Miss Gossaway, renowned fortheir toilets--"

  Mrs. Cavendish bit her lip. When her son was in one of these moods itwas all she could do to keep her temper.

  "And the wonderful Mrs. Malmsley, and--"

  Mrs. Cavendish looked up. The name had an aristocratic sound, but itwas unknown to her.

  "Who is she?"

  "Why, don't you know the wonderful Mrs. Malmsley?" inquired the doctor,with a quizzical smile.

  "No, I never heard of her."

  "Well, she's just moved into Warehold. Poor woman, she hasn't been outof bed for years! She's the wife of the new butcher, and--"

  "The butcher's wife?"

  "The butcher's wife, my dear mother, a most delightful old person, whohas brought up three sons, and each one a credit to her."

  Mrs. Cavendish let go her hold on the doctor's sleeve and settled backin her chair.

  "And you won't even write to Dr. Pencoyd?" she asked in a disheartenedway, as if she knew he would refuse.

  "Oh, with pleasure, and thank him most kindly, but I couldn't leaveBarnegat; not now. Not at any time, so far as I can see."

  "And I suppose when Jane Cobden comes home in a year or so she willwork with you in the hospital. She wanted to turn nurse the last time Italked to her." This special arrow in her maternal quiver, poisonedwith her jealousy, was always ready.

  "I hope so," he replied, with a smile that lighted up his whole face;"only it will not be a year. Miss Jane will be here on the nextsteamer."

  Mrs. Cavendish put down her tea-cup and looked at her son inastonishment. The doctor still kept his eyes on her face.

  "Be here by the next steamer! How do you know?"

  The doctor held up the letter.

  "Lucy will remain," he added. "She is going to Germany to continue herstudies."

  "And Jane is coming home alone?"

  "No, she brings a little child with her, the son of a friend, shewrites. She asks that I arrange to have Martha meet them at the dock."

  "Somebody, I suppose, she has picked up out of the streets. She isalways doing these wild, unpractical things. Whose child is it?"

  "She doesn't say, but I quite agree with you that it was helpless, orshe wouldn't have protected it."

  "Why don't Lucy come with her?"

  The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

  "And I suppose you will go to the ship to meet her?"

  The doctor drew himself up, clicked his heels together with the air ofan officer saluting his superior--really to hide his joy--and said withmock gravity, his hand on his heart:

  "I shall, most honorable mother, be the first to take her ladyship'shand as she walks down the gangplank." Then he added, with a tone ofmild reproof in his voice: "What a funny, queer old mother you are!Always worrying yourself over the unimportant and the impossible," andstooping down, he kissed her again on the cheek and passed out of theroom on the way to his office.

  "That woman always comes up at the wrong moment," Mrs. Cavendish saidto herself in a bitter tone. "I knew he had received some word fromher, I saw it in his face. He would have gone to Philadelphia but forJane Cobden."