Part 22 (1/2)
Then, for a peace-offering, Katharine handed her companion a beautiful fern, which the widow tossed aside contemptuously, with:
”Huh! What do I want with a brake? Eunice, she litters the house with 'em bad enough. I ain't a-goin' to add to the muss. Well, here we be, an' there's the key. I've come here alone time an' time again an' never felt the creeps a-doin' it afore to-day. But--my suz! I wouldn't ha'
come now without you to keep me comp'ny, not for anything.”
”That's flattering! Am I so brave, then?” asked the girl, giving the housekeeper a sudden little hug.
”Yes, you be. But, my suz! You needn't knock my bunnit off with your foolishness. Seems if this key's gettin' rusty, or else--can't be the door's unlocked, can it?”
”I'm sure I don't know. I was never here before.” Then, as the door opened, sniffing a little at the musty odor incident to a tightly closed apartment: ”Whew! It needs airing, anyway. Let's throw up all the sashes and set the blinds wide, then it will be the sweetest little cottage in the world.”
”Well, you may. And when you've done these down here, you might--you might go up attic and open that winder, too. It's there I've got my things stored that I've been layin' out to show you, soon's I could. Me an' Moses an' Eunice is all a-gettin' old. It's time somebody younger an' likelier to live longer should know. This walk to-day tells me 'at I ain't so spry as I used to be. No tellin', no tellin'. We're here now, an' there some other time, an' life's a shadder, a shadder,” ruminated the widow, sitting down on the door-step, and not anxious, apparently, to enter the cottage first.
Which fact Katharine was quick to observe and comment upon, with a laugh: ”Oh, you blessed old coward! You're afraid that tramp has shut himself up in your 'prope'ty,' and you'll come upon him unawares. You'd 'risk' me, just as Monty 'risked' Ned Clackett to climb the schoolhouse roof after a ball, not daring to go himself. Well, here goes! You keep watch without while I search within.”
Susanna laughed. She was afraid, and owned it frankly; but after Katharine had ransacked the few rooms thoroughly, peeped under the bed in the kitchen-bedroom, opened the few closet doors, and even examined the wall cupboard, she gathered courage to enter, and promptly led the way up-stairs.
The little home was plainly furnished, but represented the romance of her life to old Susanna. Memories of her youth came back and softened the asperity of age, her wrinkled face taking on gentler lines and her harsh voice a tenderer tone. But to-day she was in haste. She felt herself needed at The Maples, even with the capable Deacon Meakin left to ”hold the fort,” as he expressed it. Going to a chest of drawers she opened the top one and displayed a store of blankets, different from those Katharine had seen. They looked like very coa.r.s.e and heavy flannel, and were yellow with age. ”Them was part of my fittin' out. I spun an' wove 'em myself, whilst Sprigg an' me was walkin' out together,” she explained, carefully peering into the folds of the cloth, in search of any vagrant moth.
”Why, how in the world could you do that? I thought when one spun and wove they had to have wheels and looms and things. How could you carry such about with you, even with Sprigg, I mean Mr. Sprigg, to help?”
Susanna looked over her spectacles more hurt than angry. But she saw only honest surprise on the girl's face, and, after a pause, explained:
”'Walkin' out together' means keepin' comp'ny; as men an' women do who've promised to marry each other.”
”Oh, an engagement! I remember quite well, too well, when papa and Mrs.
s...o...b..ll 'walked out together.' It quite did away with the delightful 'walkin' out' I had always had with him before that time.”
”Well, Katy, be sure if Johnny picked her out she was the right one, an'
me an' Eunice hopes to see the pair of ye good friends yet. We're layin'
out to have all them little s...o...b..a.l.l.s down here, or up here, next summer, if we live to see another summer, an' make up our own minds as to how things is. We've settled that.”
Which shows that even strong-minded women like Susanna may sometimes change their minds; also lay claim to ideas not originally their own.
But the effect upon Katharine was to sober her completely, and, oddly enough, make her a bit homesick for the old life and the noisy little brothers. She fell to thinking about them so earnestly that she scarcely heard what else the widow was saying, until she was touched upon the arm, and bidden:
”Now, look sharp an' remember. Here 'tis, my shroud an' all goes with it.”
”Your--w-h-a-t?” gasped Katharine.
Susanna again looked her surprise, but she was perfectly calm, even cheerfully interested; and, to enlighten the other's ignorance, patiently explained.
”I said my shroud, that I am to be wropped in when I'm buried. I made it years ago, an' styles has changed some, I hear. But this is good, an'
'll be easy for 'em that does it to put on me. It's keepin' real well, nice an' white. Here's the suit of underclothes goes with it, all new, white stockin's--loose an' roomy, an' pins an' needles an' thread--not a thing wantin', so fur as I know. Why, child, what ails you? You look as if you had seen a ghost.”
Poor Katharine was so shocked by this revelation which the other made so calmly, that she had turned quite white, and found some difficulty to control her voice, as she returned:
”It's so--so horrible, so ghastly! Right here in all this glory of life to be antic.i.p.ating the grave! Give the dreadful things to me. I hate to touch them, but I'll make myself. I'll carry them right down into the kitchen and make a fire in the stove and burn them up, up, up! Oh, Susanna! how could you?”