The Wives of the Deacon

Front matter

Google to make the world's books discoverable online.

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject

to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books

Contents

PAGB

I The Deacon's First Wife Buys

THE PUTMAN HOME .... I

CHAPTER I THE deacon's first WIFE BUYS THE PUTMAN HOME

Life, at best, is an enigma. It is as obscure and doubtful of issue to those who win as it is to those who lose the battle.

For Taxaway Putman at present life was a panic; In fact, it had sufficed to bleach her hair a shade lighter as the sun played upon its raven gloss. The catastrophe of her father's house being sold, the prospect of strangers sitting in his chair, and ensconcing themselves at the hearthstone of a generation who had been among the first settlers upon the Hudson, terrified her heart and numbed her faculties.

If there is anything terrible to contemplate; if there exists a reality which surpasses a maid's dream of a calamitous future, it is this : To live in one's own home, to possess health and joy, to see the sun rise in its dazzling brightness on familiar scenes; to speak, to think, love and be loved by those around, and all at once, in incredible swiftness, to have this world sink into a dark and hopeless abyss and to be compelled to admit — "All is lost of my father's house."

Taxaway was sitting on the piazza, one knee crossed over the other, and her large, capable hands clasped around it. She was still of the age when hands and feet are a conundrum. Presently she loosened her hands, turned briskly around, and looked into the keen eyes which pierced hers, as she read their sadness and despair. A flushed smile dawned in her own; she waited a moment to make sure of Aunt Ann's meaning — ^then said quietly — "I see from your face that you have sad news ; I had hoped the next we had would be good."

The aunt wore an ancient straw hat, tied with black ribbon beneath her portly chin. A long, loose linen coat enveloped her motherly form, and her feet were thrust into a pair of "gouties." She seated herself with some difficulty upon the step, removed her hat, and smoothed her hair. "I'll tell you, so you will know everything," she said with some gusto. "First, this house of your father's, who was my brother's son, has been sold to a very rich Western man. You will remember your father predicted something like that."

"I know that. Auntie Moore, but why dwell upon the miseries of life?" exclaimed the girl, as though throwing off a disagreeable load. "The sun still shines."

"Yes, child, it does shine," continued the aunt. "I do not believe in chance — ^but I do believe in a Higher Control which makes and unmakes our plans. The question is this : Shall we go or wait and see if the new master and his mother will let us remain?"

"Oh, Auntie, we are too poor to leave; let us continue here as their servants ; they need us and we need them. We are forced to put aside our old ways, so why not begin in the house we have kept clean? You have taught me to work ; my father taught me to love and to wait; to keep my head when things went wrong, and never to breathe a word about my loss when it comes. Yes, let us remain and see what comes of the cross."

Aunt Ann sat for a few minutes in deep thought, gathering and ungathering* the lace of her handkerchief. "That is a good plan, girlie; but how can we manage it ? They will want to know who we are and what we do. The servants will give us away."

"Oh, no, we'll coach them; and as for ourselves, we —or rather you — are the housekeeper; I will not be known as anything. Just a part of the estate, as you might say. Leave that to me to explain. Now isn't that funny? You are used to it. Haven't you kept everything for me and my father? We will not make any changes. Just wait. Auntie."

"The phantom of poverty that your father was always looking for is now lying in wait for us, and yet you shed no tears."

"Oh, there's no need of my changing into a rain cloud so long as you are with me. When you turn me out of my father's home, then "

"I," cried Auntie in a burst of tears. "I won't ever leave you, you know that, Taxaway. My husband, your father and my children are all gone out into the silence; you are all that is left of a family who were once famous for their prominence and hospitality. Oh, Taxaway, though you have grown so big, to me you are still a little wee babe who needs me now more than when you were in your first clothes. Well, the new master and his mother will be here soon ; everything is clean, and the men are gone. All that we have to do is wait. A big part of life is waiting, my dear."

"You did not finish your sentiment. Auntie, as is your custom, 'wait and pray,' but we will let it stand. I do not wish to be seen by the new master and his mother in my father's home. Let them think I am a servant, if they wish ; there will be plenty of work for my hands. My pride is not the kind that is ashamed of labor; in fact I am longing to make my bread with the sweat of my brow. To them I am simply *Taxaway.' "

The good woman cast a penetrating glance upon her niece, but did not question her. She loved beyond words this last flower of her youth, that youth which she bore religiously in memory of the days when those long dead were her idols.

So long as we can go and come in our native surroundings, we fancy that those surroundings are a matter of indifference to us; that those windows, those doors, are nothing; that those walls, both inside and out, are strangers to us ; that those trees planted in our early youth are without any special significance; that the paths we tread are merely ground and stone. Later, when they are in danger of becoming the possession of another, and that other a stranger, we miss the trees and familiar paths, and feel that those walls are necessary to us — they at once become something loved and lost. We behold them with the melancholy of an apparition. Then the place takes on the aspect of holy land. We will not submit to any change ; the land is our father's; it is as sacred as the face of our mother.

THE DEACON'S FIRST WIPE S

Something of these thoughts flitted through the mind and heart of Anna Moore as she thought of Taxaway't plan. Her pride was stung, yet there was a strain of mirth in her make-up, which made the task part of a play which her real self was not in, and she entered into the new situation with zest.

Beneath the mortality of society the unperishableness of humanity is leftl The world does not die because here and there are to be found wounds in the shape of volcanoes which break out and scatter fires around. The diseases of the people do not kill the man 1 But still, some of those who follow the social ^'clinics" shake their heads at times, and the most logical minds have their hours of despondency.

Taxaway was not sorry for these last days of her stay in the big house, where she and her father had lived, practically on a crust physically, while mental food was lavished from books, as well as from the gods. Her father had been to her a trusted God in man. He, also, seemed always clinging to the hand of some one greater than himself; she thought she felt an invisible being leading her, though she had no settled idea, nor plan, nor project. This calmness was what at times drove to the very verge of insanity her beloved aunt and the household servants who were laboring without a head.

There is eminent authority for the statement that "Divinity shapes our ends, rough hew them how we will." But there is no denying the fact that Destiny works longer and with more skill in shaping the sometimes fantastic ends of most of us.

There certainly can be no doubt that "something"

was working over time when Mrs. Doris and her son Oscar were landed at the Putnam Mansion. They might have gone to some other place, to some other State, but they did not ! Instead, they went straight to "The Evergreens" and were given the keys.

When we heed Destiny she never deserts, but rather helps us to work out the plans in which we are placed.

The peaceful stillness of an autumnal afternoon brooded over the grounds, the vegetable garden and the orchard. The chickens and turkeys were cackling behind the fence, which led to the stables. The hush of domestic peace was heightened by the moving sunlight and lengthened shadows, giving a promise of refreshing coolness, which made the shade of the great trees a place to be desired. The old stone house, solid, substantial and unadorned, suggested unlimited spaciousness and comfort within, and was redeemed from positive ugliness without by the riotous vines which overspread it. The piazza was walled in by climbing roses, covering it with a mantle of soft green which, in summer, became a cascade of blossoms. Wide stone steps led down from the terrace on the left, to the soft spongy tuft of the lawn. Beyond the grounds of the immediate house were clumps of pines, haunted by birds and squirrels, and through them could be seen glimpses of the Hudson, a broad, silvery stream winding gracefully between two bluffs, so far apart that they became dwarfed when viewed from either bank.

The old sun dial, the one relic of gone generations, pointed to the hour of four. The little animals and birds were having their time of silence and rest. Not a thrill sounded from among the softly moving shadows. The stillness seemed almost oppressive ; and the one spot of color in the landscape of green was a very blue patch of sky, over which now and then passed a white cloud.

At last came the sound of an opening door. A quaint figure stepped out on the piazza, walked its entire length and disappeared into the rose garden. Auntie Moore had gone to cut roses for the dinner table. Her garb was that of the housekeeper, and she carried a chip basket and a pair of huge clipping scissors.

Taxaway Putnam was nearly at the end of her teens. She had once been described by one of the neighboring boys, who saw below the surface, as **A plain shell with something wonderful inside it." She had a glorious voice, but her face did not match it, and its sweetness was never suspected. Her life had been one of second place; the dead were always first with the good aunt, who often regarded her as an imposition for not having been born a boy, who, by some mysterious means, would redeem the home of the Putmans.

Had she but known it. Destiny was not asleep.

Taxaway's father was her only teacher and had made of her a lover of the old Masters and Prophets, who in time became the real heroes in her imaginative world. She talked of them when glad, or when sad, according as the actors played their drama before her visionary footlights. Strange indeed were the ways of love, battle and political intrigue, mixed with vanities of wealth and social position. She could see many other things that cause human beings to believe that they are lifted high and free, above the human condition, where lives the warm mother heart upon Nature's

C- bosom. Through her father's eyes, and her own perspective mind, she had seen much of the world's doings. He had taught her the measureless power of woman over man, both for good and evil. "They arc the magnet," he had said, *^and man the tempered steel, with which he crushes or holds sacred, those who cling." He also taught her the measureless power of man's imagination over himself. And she knew a man without imagination was never unsettled by a woman. Hit constant word to her was — "Courage, Taxaway, courage ever sits in high places ; it matters not from whence it springs."

Mrs. Doris and her son soon learned to love "The Evergreens." They sensed its sweet influence of hbme, and also that something else, which we have not yet learned to name, that seems to radiate from everywhere out of sight, yet is felt as one walks over the paths and through the house which has been a real home.

The day was Sunday, and about four o'clock in the afternoon. Oscar chanced to be passing along the brow of one of the many bluffs. With him for company was a big Newfoundland dog, named Manuel. The summer sun had doubled its violence, and filled the air with hot, reflected heat. Suddenly Manuel seemed set, attentively listening, and Oscar caught sight of a red dress coming towards them along the path. Manuel with a leap and peculiar bark of recognition, bounded forward. The girl stood still, her arms stretched out, a merry laugh rippling from her lips, as the dog was caught and hugged, almost upsetting her with his joy.

"Who the deuce is the girl? She must belong to the

THE DEACON'S FIRST WIPE 9

Evergreens. Manuel's actions tell me that. Perhaps she is one of the servants whom I have not met/' soliloquized Oscar as he waited for her to approach.

Taxaway felt her heart miss a beat or two, as she for the first time looked into the unflinching eyes of Oscar. She knew at once that she liked him — ^was it because Manuel took to him, he being one of the few men-folks he ever accepted as a friend — or was it that rare radium of sparkling light that shines when the wine of life is young?

Oscar viewed her plain face, and the plainer red dress which covered a form of perfect mould. ^*My name is Oscar Doris," he said simply.

**And mine is Taxaway."

"Pretty name, that; may I ask where is your home?"

"I belong to The Evergreen estate, the same as the trees, the house, and the sky above it."

"I guessed as much from Manuel's actions, for he seems to love you. Or is he just an old fraud, like some folks, who pretend when they are not in earnest?"

"He and I grew up together; I am four years his senior and we never have been separated; so I can vouch for his being the genuine article. Three times he has saved my life and will do so whenever I expose him to danger. I am glad he likes you; it is complimentary, both to you and your mother. If it had not been so, he would not have allowed you to stay at The Evergreens; then, as you are master you would have ordered him killed and my heart would be broken, for he is my best dog friend."

As she stood talking, Manud rubbed his head against her, showing thereby he understood.

They passed in the path, Oscar making his way down the steep bluff to the river's edge, while Taxaway and Manuel continued back to the servants' quarters, where she had been in hiding since the strangers had invaded her dead father's house.

As Oscar stood throwing stones into the river, he kept thinking of his meeting with the unusual girl, whose name was Taxaway. He thought how becoming was her dress of red, and how odd she looked in it. Then he recalled her athletic, strong and sinewy form, and said again, "Who the deuce is she?"

As is the case with persons who have suddenly experienced an unforeseen adventure, he kept repeating varied forms of the same query to himself, until the entire day seemed part of a dream. Mechanically, he continued to grasp the dead cold stones, and then splash them into the water. As he regained the top of the bluff he found himself stopping and again voicing the same question regarding the mysterious girl — "Who the deuce is she?" At last he thought it would be wise to profit by his mother's knowledge of the servants, so he returned home.

Night had almost closed in when he and his mother were left alone. As was usual, the mother read in his face a new story for her to unravel, so she said — "Well, my son, I see you have a question for me to answer. Let me have it," and her eyes lovingly surveyed him again.

"Have you become acquainted with all the servants here in The Evergreens?"

"I believe so, son; why do you ask?"

"Are you sure there is not one in our midst you Have, by chance or otherwise, overlooked?"

**^Quite sure. But why are you so anxious?"

The mother changed her position and smiled into his face, humming as she did so an old hymn which fitted well into the Sabbath sunset.

Meanwhile Oscar trembled, and it seemed impossible for him to answer.

"Foolish boy, I see from your confusion that you have met with a red dress, which is too short at the bottom, waist and sleeves for the girl woman inside it. I observed the same from a distance. Manuel, the big house dog, was with her, but when I reached the spot they had vanished. This morning after she had disappeared again like a red bird in a green hedge, I found on the ground a small leather-bound Bible, with the name Taxaway written in it. There was also writing all through it in some foreign language, which I could not read. I questioned the housekeeper, but learned nothing. So you see, I know no more than you."

"Taxaway was the name she gave me, as we met about three miles up the river, on the bluff path. Manuel refused my company for hers, and his desertion, as well as his movements, told me she belonged to our household; but Fm curious to know who she is."

"There is certainly an air of mystery about her, but if she were in hiding from wrong-doing, she would wear clothes of no color; for that reason I feel that she is at home and without sin. The tongue of gossip seemed hushed for once among the servants; but FU make inquiry into the matter."

Meanwhile, Taxaway and old Manuel had reached the servants' quarters and she related her adventure

Ifl OTHE WIVES OF THE DEACON

with the new matter. Her mirthful imitation of his questions, and his puzzled manner, caused Auntie Moore to mix laughter with her evening worship.

As Mrs. Doris climbed the wide oak stairs, the quiet of the great house brought calm to her tired souL There was a sweet scent of herbs, and in its atmoiphen was a subtle Puritan restraint and Christian purity. Have not our homes mute impressions, convejring the personality of those who in die past occupied them? The silent walls breathe messages, and she felt thmt sorrow and trouble had been there, while mirth lin» gered, and baby feet seemed racing along the hall to meet her. She was dazed by the discovery of the personal magnetism of the unseen influences of past generations, which they leave in their homes, to be miscalled ghosts, spirits and haunts, by those who from wrong education fear them. She passed into her own room, where her maid was waiting, but she dismissed the girl for the night, wishing to be alone with the mystery of the girl in red.

Oscar, up to this time solitary and inclined to soliloquy, both from habit and taste, was a little fluttered by the meeting with Taxaway and the desertion of die dog Manuel. He realized that the movements of the servants at times were not natural ; he had heard some of them talk of their dead master, of his philosophy, of literature, of art, of history, of religion, with unexpected familiarity. He caught ^Impses of strange aspects, which told they were learned in the science of their respective lines of work, but he could not place them in the proper perspective, for he did not have possession of the **key." There were moments when

'I WILL REMEHSER

Fj

TliE r'^*. >'.PK t r- t "'O T

«i

1! ■ he doubted if the girl were dream or reality. At laSt he dismissed the subject for the night with these words : '^Mother will solve the mystery, but who the deuce is she?"

Next morning The Evergreens were bathed in sunshine as Mrs. Doris emerged from the cool shade of the park. The sun dial proclaimed the hour as half past seven, and she did not hasten, knowing her son did not expect her until eight. Presently she passed beneath the rose vines, now in full blossom, into the piazza. From somewhere came the tremulous creeping tones of an organ, and with her ear as guide she pushed the heavy doors farther apart, in time to see a red dress disappear from view, much as a red bird does in a hedge after sounding his note of joy. Instantly a stillness entered into her soul and the sense of an unseen presence took possession of her. The old furniture, diie old hearthstone, where a race of Gansmen had lived, loved, and then passed into the might of mind beyond, aeons and cycles old, hushed the insistent beating of her heart. For the moment she bowed her head in reverence for those whom she seemed to know were still abiding in the house. But she was startled from her revery by the breakfast bell. Entering, she found her son waiting, and he drew her chair near his own.

''There," he said, and smiled as he looked down upon her, "is not this cosy, just you and I ?"

The mother smiled back into his radiant eyes, with equal contentment. "Sitting here with you, and looking out over the great Hudson, I seem to feel indeed the memories of dliose people past and gone, who have

14 THE WIVES OP THE DEACX)N

sat here as we, idly spinning their threads and twisting them in the years gone by."

Her son gazed upon her with all the love of his life in his eyes. Her abundant hair was yet untouched with silver ; her skin was as fair as when he first could remember her, but the greatest charm of her face was her eyes. They were violet, so deep a blue to seem almost black in certain lights, and behind them lay an indescribable something that made her son love her. She was not yet forty and was possessed of the beauty that never fades.

From the breakfast room they walked arm in arm around, and among the pines of this ancient home. Coming to a path over which the maples arched, she suddenly stopped and looked her son square in the eyes saying, '*This is too rich and grand for us alone, it is now time for you to find the one woman wKb is necessary to make this scene complete. What could be more perfect than a bunch of grandchildren playing in the sand and water of this river, — where many have played in days gone by? Perhaps it was here that the squaws with their papooses moored their canoes and cooked their evening meals of fish and venison for their hunter husbands, with berries in their season as an appetizer. Son, are you listening?"

"With all my heart, Mother mine, and the dream is one I love to entertain. But, until I find the author of my being and demand from him the penalty for casting his sin over you, my beautiful mother, until then I am all yours."

The ghost had followed them.

"Son, you are a man of honor, and I esteem you, but you exaggerate your father's fault. It is another's stain or stainlessness which concerns me alone. Oscar, you are worthy of rising rather than sinking; but I insist on your keeping yourself above the sin of your father."

Oscar looked at his mother with his bright eyes in which it seemed as if her pleadings were heeded, but his conscience could not see, and he said quietly: "Mother, I cannot allow it."

"I repeat," Mrs. Doris replied, "that the aflfair concerns myself — ^your father is "

"Unjust in not lifting the shadow from you. Perhaps he is now living with another woman, who is all unconscious of our existence. I will continue to seek until he is found."

He now bade her good-bye and hastened to his auto, which was waiting to bear him to the city.

If they could only have lifted the veil — could have peered beyond — ^they would have seen how the innumerable invisible minds were bringing to a culmination a sorrow and sin, which "The Master" found in His tangled web and which He desired to straighten. All must abide by the changes He brings about; for that invisible Power works out the hidden laws of the great plan of man's progression, regardless of human suffering or human joy.

The day proved to be an eventful one. After Oscar left for the city, the housekeeper, Auntie Moore, came and gossiped with Mrs. Doris concerning the family. The mistress inquired about the different servants, wishing to give them extra reward for their labor, but could get no clue to the girl-woman in red. Then she asked after the different families of the neighborhood, but with the same failure to locate a mysterious person who wandered over the river bluff paths, followed by a big Newfoundland dog. At last she ventured this question : "Who is the young woman in red, whom my son met yesterday, and whom I observed in the grounds ? Is she one of the servants also ?"

Auntie Moore stiffened, then relaxed as she remembered Taxaway's command : "The lady in red is no servant ; she belongs to the estate the same as I do. Big Manuel takes care of her, and a hard time of it he has, for she is venturesome and will go where she should not. Then Manuel has to fight the river-men and boys in her defense. Her father would not allow any interference with her will, which is like a whirlwind when crossed."

With these words she picked up her basket and went down the path leading to the vegetable garden.

Mrs. Doris soon forgot the girl in red to ponder on her son's words and their awful meaning. She was not a woman to hold in her heart bitterness and hate for the father of her son, who had deserted them. They each had a silent understanding of their sorrow, and its biting sting. It was only at intervals that they remembered and made mention of the veil they tried to keep closely drawn. While she was still wandering in memory's garden, steps were heard without, and the door opened. Taxaway entered, smiling and radiant, leading Manuel with one hand, while in the other was a basket of wild flowers. On seeing the mistress of her father's house, she stopped short, while Manuel wagged his tail, thereby sajang that he w^s at least friendly. Later, Mrs. Doris saw her in the music room arranging some flowers, which she placed upon an old-fashioned organ, and then passed on and out. Mrs. Doris followed, only to catch a glimpse of a red dress and the big dog racing over the path which she had learned ended at the family burying ground. The mystery was explained. Taxaway was strewing flowers over Z' new mound of earth, under which she knew the late owner of "The Evergreens" slept. Her woman's intuition leaped the chasm, and she knew the girl in red was his daughter. She found a seat near the path, and as the girl and her dog were passing homeward, after their labor of love for the dead, she called to her kindly, for her mother love was aroused and she was touched by the sorrow of the girl's situation, and was eager to provide for her.

Without hesitation Taxaway came to her with extended hands in hospitable greeting, as she exclaimed : ''At last you call me and I come. Manuel has accepted you and your son as friends. I now do the same, and welcome you among the hills, the trees, and flowers of The Evergreens, my late father's home. I am his love daughter, Taxaway Putman. There was no money left for us after all was settled. By us, I mean the housekeeper, Anna Moore, who is my aunt by marriage. It was my plan that we remain and become your servants, upon our own soil, rather than seek our fortunes among strange surroundings. We knew you would need us, as we need you, so here we are, the same as the house, the trees, the river, the sky, all essential in the perspective of the scene. Will you spoil the picture by sending us away, thereby making a daub, not in the landscape, but upon the heart?**