Part 2 (1/2)
Yocomb, looking around with an impressive nod.
”I trust she will,” I replied. ”I wanted to hear her preach. It was her kindly face that led to my blunder, for it so attracted me from my perch of observation on the wall that I acted on my impulse and followed her into the meeting-house, feeling in advance that I had found a friend.”
”Well, I guess thee has, one of the old school,” laughed her husband.
The daughter, Adah, turned and looked at me, while she smiled approvingly. Oh, blessed day of destiny! When did dream and reality so keep pace before? Was I not dreaming still, and imagining everything to suit my own fancy? When would the perverse world begin to a.s.sert itself?
Sitting just before me, on the next seat, so that I could often see the same perfect profile, was the maiden that I had already wooed and won in fancy. Though she was so near and in the full sunlight, I could detect no cloudiness in her exquisite complexion, nor discover a fault in her rounded form. The slope of her shoulders was grace itself. She did not lean back weakly or languidly, but sat erect, with a quiet, easy poise of vigor and health. Her smile was frank and friendly, and yet not as enchanting as I expected. It was an affair of facial muscles rather than the lighting up of the entire visage. Nor did her full face--now that my confusion had pa.s.sed away and I was capable of close observation--give the same vivid impression of beauty made by her profile. It was pretty, very pretty, but for some reasons disappointing. Then I smiled at my half-conscious criticism, and thought, ”You have imagined a creature of unearthly perfection, and expect your impossible ideal to be realized. Were she all that you have dreamed, she would be much too fine for an ordinary mortal like yourself. In her rich, unperverted womanly nature you will find the beauty that will outlast that of form and feature.”
”I fear thee found our silent meeting long and tedious,” said Mrs.
Yocomb, deprecatingly.
”I a.s.sure you I did not,” I replied, ”though I hoped you would have a message for us.”
”It was not given to me,” she said meekly. Then she added, ”Those not used to our ways are troubled, perhaps, with wandering thoughts during these silent hours.”
”I was not to-day,” I replied with bowed head; ”I found a subject that held mine.”
”I'm glad,” she said, her face kindling with pleasure. ”May I ask the nature of the truth that held thy meditations?”
”Perhaps I will tell you some time,” I answered hesitatingly; then added reverently, ”It was of a very sacred nature.”
”Thee's right,” she said, gravely. ”Far be it from me to wish to look curiously upon thy soul's communion.”
For a moment I felt guilty that I should have so misled her, but rea.s.sured myself with the thought, ”That which I dwelt upon was as sacred to me as my mother's memory.”
I changed the subject, and sought by every means in my power to lead her to talk, for thus, I thought, I shall learn the full source of womanly life from which the peerless daughter has drawn her nature.
The kind old lady needed but little incentive. Her thoughts flowed freely in a quaint, sweet vernacular that savored of the meeting-house.
I was both interested and charmed, and as we rode at a quiet jog through the June sunlight felt that I was in the hands of a kindly fate that, in accordance with the old fairy tales, was bent on giving one poor mortal all he desired.
At last, on a hillside sloping to the south, I saw the farmhouse of my dream. Two tall honey locusts stood like faithful guardians on each side of the porch. An elm drooped over the farther end of the piazza.
In the dooryard the foliage of two great silver poplar or aspen trees fluttered perpetually with its light sheen. A maple towered high behind the house, and a brook that ran not far away was shadowed by a weeping willow. Other trees were grouped here and there as if Nature had planted them, and up one a wild grape-vine clambered, its un.o.btrusive blossoms filling the air with a fragrance more delicious even than that of the old-fas.h.i.+oned roses which abounded everywhere.
”Was there ever a sweeter nook?” I thought as I stepped out on the wide horse-block and gave my hand to one who seemed the beautiful culmination of the scene.
Miss Adah needed but little a.s.sistance to alight, but she took my hand in hers, which she had ungloved as she approached her home. It was her mother's soft, plump hand, but unmarked, as yet, by years of toil. I forgot we were such entire strangers, and under the impulse of my fancy clasped it a trifle warmly, at which she gave me a look of slight surprise, thus suggesting that there was no occasion for the act.
”You are mistaken,” I mentally responded; ”there is more occasion than you imagine; more than I may dare to tell you for a long time to come.”
A lady who had been sitting on the piazza disappeared within the house, and Adah followed her.
”Now, mother,” said Mr. Yocomb, ”since thee did so little for friend Morton's spiritual man, see what thee can do for the temporal. I'll take the high seat this time, and can tell thee beforehand that there'll be no silent meeting.”
”Father may seem to thee a little irreverent, but he doesn't mean to be. It's his way,” said his wife, with a smile. ”If thee'll come with me I'll show thee to a room where thee can rest and prepare for dinner.”
I followed her through a wide hall to a stairway that changed its mind when half-way up and turned in an opposite direction. ”It suggests the freedom and unconventionality of this home,” I thought, yielding to my mood to idealize everything.