CHAPTER XXII
Good News
People accustomed to waiting on themselves never feel so much at a loss in times of strain as those who have servants to command in a general way. Galena Gittins, summoned by the Irishman, came to the out-place, and started making coffee for all that big company with the ease and dispatch that came from long years of having to do all sorts of things at the shortest possible notice. She wondered why Pam had not spoken to her before about doing this particular bit of business, but she supposed something had turned up suddenly to call her away.
“Miss Gittins, where is Pam?” demanded Jack, dashing out from the big kitchen like a small tornado. The guests were all filing in and taking their places at the table, but there was no one to look after them, to act as hostess, or to do anything at all.
“I have not the ghost of a notion,” replied Galena, who was very hot, and very much occupied with the coffee. “If the folks are ready you had better start them at feeding, for this coffee is prime now, and some of the people must be fair tuckered out by this time.”
“I can’t sit at the head of the table, and—what do you call it?—dispense hospitality,” said Jack. “I will get Dr. Grierson to do it, and Mrs. Buckle can help him, but I want to know where Pam has got to. Is anything the matter, do you expect?”
“There will be in a minute, if this coffee boils over!” exclaimed Galena, as she hastily lifted two hissing pots from the stove. Jack darted away to see that Dr. Grierson and Mrs. Buckle were looking after the company, and then he came back to tell Galena that someone had seen Pam running across the paddock to the forest.
“What would she be going there for at a time like this?” demanded Galena in blank amazement.
“Perhaps she would be going for to find the ould man that was waiting to see her,” put in the Irishman, who had just come in from the wood pile with another armful of logs, which he proceeded to cram into the stove one by one.
“What old man?” asked Jack.
“Riley O’Sheen, why didn’t you tell me this before? You never said one word.” Galena stamped with impatience, and turned upon the unfortunate Irishman with so much wrath that he fairly cowered before her.
“Was it yourself then that was wanting to know? Sure an’ faith I’m sorry to have disappointed ye. It was an ould man that was after asking to see the young lady, and when I tould him that it was a wedding that she was seeing through in the next room, he said that he would wait until it was over. He went off to sit in the shade by reason that he was so very hot; and here he comes, but the young lady isn’t with him.”
Jack and Galena faced round in a great hurry at the Irishman’s last words, and then Galena cried out in a tone of disappointment:
“Why, it is only old Gilbert Pomroy, from Corner-Bottom. I expect he has come over to see Pam about the bees; he told her that he would let her know as soon as he had a swarm to spare.”
“When Pam heard it was an old man, I expect she said to herself that it was Grandfather come home, and she would set off hot-foot to find him. I know her!” Jack drew a long breath, and looked decidedly troubled. Their grandfather was a much less real person to him than to Pam, because he had not arrived at Ripple close upon the old man’s disappearance, as she had.
“I will talk to Gilbert; do you go and find Don Grierson, and he will hunt for Pam.” Galena had taken hold of the situation in her usually capable fashion, and sending Amanda to carry the coffee into the next room, she sailed out to talk bees with old Gilbert Pomroy, and finally induced the old man to come into the house and drink the health of the bride in a cup of coffee, which was the strongest beverage at Ripple that day.
Don started on a hasty search for Pam, shouting and calling, but getting no response. Then Jack set off in another direction. But the time passed, and as they did not return, Galena went into the room where the wedding feast was spread, and explained the situation in a few terse words.
“Has Mr. Peveril really come back?” demanded Sophy, going rather white, for she had lived with Pam long enough to know that the old man’s return was longed for and feared by her friend in about equal proportions.
“No,” snapped Galena, who was feeling decidedly cross by this time. Everything regarding the wedding had gone so smoothly before, and it was horrid to have a hitch at this crucial point; she had worked so hard beforehand that she was decidedly aggrieved that she could not be left in peace to enjoy herself now. “That silly idiot of an Irishman said that an old man was waiting to see her, and you know what Pam is! She thought the old man had come home, so she rushed off to find him, and she will run until she drops, unless someone catches up with her and tells her that it was a mistake, and that the old man is only Gilbert Pomroy from Corner-Bottom.”
Everyone rose from the table now. Food had lost its flavour, and appetite had gone. The men went here and there through the undergrowth searching and searching for Pam, while the women and the girls wandered up and down, calling to her and listening in vain for an answer to their shouts.
It was Don who found her. When he sprang over the log, and saw her lying among the fern and the willow scrub white and unconscious, with a streak of blood on her cheek, he thought she was dead, and cried out in dismay.
Pam opened her eyes at the sound of his voice, staring at him for a few minutes in a bewildered sort of way, as if she could not remember where she was, or what had happened; then she gasped out in a frightened sort of tone: “Oh, Don, Grandfather has come back, and I cannot find him. Whatever shall I do?”
“He has not come back!” burst out Don in an explosive fashion. “It was only old Gilbert Pomroy from Corner-Bottom, who had come up to know if you would have that swarm of bees that you talked about. The Irishman, being a stranger, and not too sharp, did not know him, and you jumped to the conclusion that it was your grandfather; you rushed off without letting anyone know, and now everybody is out searching for you, and we have been in a regular panic.”
“I am so sorry!” murmured Pam, and there were tears in her eyes because of the reproach in his tone.
“This constant expecting to see the old man is wearing you out, and spoiling your life,” said Don, as he helped Pam to her feet, and supported her until she was able to stand alone. “Look here, we have got the clergyman, and we have the company; let us be married when we get back to the house, and then I can stay here and take care of you!”
To poor Pam, sore of head, and still more sore of heart, the suggestion was about the fiercest temptation she had ever had to face. If only she might take the easy way out, and have Don between herself and the ever-present dread of the old man’s return. She was owning to herself now that she did fear his coming back more than anything else, and it was the constant apprehension of it that was spoiling her life. Oh, to have the mystery cleared, and to be done with the uncertainty!
“Say yes, Pam, and it shall be managed; I am quite sure that it can be done, because of the number of witnesses we have here. Or if a longer notice is really necessary, then I will get Mrs. Buckle to stay with you until we can be married,” he urged, and with his arm holding her up, his strength between her and the trouble which shadowed her days, Pam felt as if she must give way, and take the short cut out of the muddle. Then she remembered that she had come as the pioneer, to make the way easy for the others, and it was not herself that she should be thinking of at this time. Her head was aching so badly from the blow which had stunned her that it was difficult to think and act coherently. She felt bruised and battered, a perfect wreck; all the flavour had gone from the day’s festivity, and she was conscious only of a great weariness, and a longing to creep away out of sight, and to be done with it all.
“I can’t do it, Don, really, I can’t!” she faltered, and her eyes were wistful in their pleading when she raised them to his face. “I must go on as I am doing now, until I know where Grandfather is, or until he comes back again.”
“He may be dead; just think how easy it is for anyone to drop out without other people knowing it,” urged Don. But there was something in the resolute set of Pam’s white face that warned him he would not find it easy to turn her from the course on which she had set her mind.
“That is what I tell myself,” she said, and her tone was deeply troubled. “All the same, we have no proof, and so we are bound to go on as usual. Oh, I am sorry to have been so silly, and to have spoiled everyone’s pleasure in such a fashion. I can walk now, thank you, and I am not hurt at all, except that my head is so sore where I banged it into the tree-trunk when I caught my foot and fell.”
Don urged her no further, seeing the uselessness of it. He helped her back to the house, explained the situation to the others, and made it easy for her to slip away to her room to lie down for a rest. Then he got the fun started in good earnest, and with the help of Jack succeeded in keeping the whole company in a state of bubbling satisfaction. The bride and bridegroom were driven to Hunt’s Crossing for the down-river boat and the first stage of the long journey to the far west, and then by twos and threes, in wagons, in carts, and on foot, the company dispersed. Most of them would have “chores” to do when they reached home, and all would need to go to bed with the sun, since the next day’s work would call them from their rest at dawn.
Don drove his father home, for the Doctor was glad to rest his horse when he could, and his son mostly drove good cattle, which got over the ground in fine style. They took the corners rather more smartly than the older man approved, but young things have a tendency to be reckless, and so far Don had always contrived to keep clear of accidents.
To-night Don had only secondary attention for his horses, for he was telling his father of Pam’s state of mind regarding the possible return of the old grandfather, and he was insisting that the Doctor should write to Mrs. Walsh, and tell her it was her plain duty to come back to her old home.
“It will be some time yet before the law will permit the old man’s death to be assumed, especially as he was seen at the lumber camp,” said Don.
“It is not clear to my mind that he was seen at that camp,” replied the Doctor. “When I wrote to the foreman of the camp, he said they had had no one of the name of Wrack Peveril there, nor did he remember anyone who answered to the description I gave him of the old man.”
“The trouble is that we can’t prove he was not there.” Don shook his head with a bothered air, then went on: “In any case, it should be Mrs. Walsh who is in command at Ripple. She is the old man’s daughter, and her duty is here. You will write, Father, and you will put it strongly, please. Pam is at the point where every nerve is strained almost to breaking point. She has got Jack, I know; but he is younger than she is, and she needs someone older.”
“Yourself, for instance?” suggested the Doctor slyly, and he laughed in his hearty, genial fashion. Having got rid of his eldest daughter to-day, he was thinking it would be uncommonly pleasant to feel that he had another daughter to take her place.
Don shook his head with a rueful air.
“Pam won’t have me until the mystery is cleared up. If it is never cleared, then I suppose we shall remain single until the end of our lives. It is not a cheerful prospect, and that is another reason why I shall be glad to see Mrs. Walsh and the rest of the family.”
The Doctor nodded in complete comprehension, and promised that the letter should be ready for the next mail. Then he began to talk of other things, and so the journey ended.
The next three weeks slipped by in such a whirl of work that Pam could keep no count of their going. She and Jack were out of doors from morning until night. When Sunday came they managed to get to meeting once in the day, when they saw their neighbours, who were all as busy as they were themselves. The weather was glorious, and all that could be desired from the farmer’s point of view. The crops were looking well, and life was jogging on with only a normal amount of friction. Then one evening Amanda Higgins arrived with a letter for Pam, which she said Nathan Gittins had left at Mrs. Buckle’s on his way home from the post office.
Not finding anyone but the dog at home at Ripple, Amanda walked into the house, and laying the letter on the table, where the uncleared breakfast crockery was still standing, she went out again, closing the door behind her, to keep the poultry from wandering into the house. She met Pam and Jack toiling home from the woods with a great heap of timothy grass piled on the hand truck. There were parts of the forest near Ripple where timothy grass grew in profusion, and they were harvesting some of the patches as provision for the winter, when they hoped to have more cattle.
“There is a letter for you in the house, I left it on the table,” called Amanda, when she came within shouting distance; and then she volunteered the additional information: “It has come from England.”
“A letter from Mother!” cried Pam, with positive ecstasy in her tone. “Oh, how truly delightful! Thank you for bringing it over, Amanda. I had just been dreading going indoors this evening, for the breakfast things are still unwashed, the beds are not made, and we must cook supper, or go without. It was not a rosy prospect, but this has made all the difference.”
“I saw you were a bit behind with things when I went into your house, and I would have stopped and slicked things up a bit for you if I could,” said Amanda, who had a kindly disposition, albeit she was more than a trifle feckless. “But Mrs. Buckle told me to make haste back because we are going to make butter to-night. It is so much firmer this hot weather when it is done in the evening.”
Pam thanked her for the friendly thought, then hurried on her way, putting quite double energy into her task. She had been so tired only the minute before, and almost inclined to tell Jack that if he wanted any supper he would have to cook it himself. Now things looked quite different, and, with the thought of the letter to cheer her, she began to plan a really nice supper that would cook itself while she washed the breakfast dishes and made the beds. It was not often that she left these necessary household tasks undone when she went to work in the fields, but she had slept later than usual, and could not get through her work before Jack was ready and waiting for her help.
When they reached the house Jack went off to do the evening “chores”, while Pam prepared to rush round indoors. She fairly yearned for time to wash her face and do her hair, but a glance at the clock and the keenness of her appetite warned her that she had better get forward with preparations for the evening meal. They had had no dinner that day, there had been no time; and a hunch of harvest-cake had been the only food for which they had stayed during the long hot hours. No wonder Pam felt tired! A year ago she would have thought of such a life with horror; but ideals change as one grows older, and Pam felt that her highest joy now lay in keeping the old home ready for her mother and the children.
The breakfast things were washed and spread for supper, the beds were made, and supper was smelling really good by the time Jack came into the house. Pam had washed her hands and face, she had even put her hair tidy, and she was feeling that she had earned a rest.
“What is the letter about?” asked Jack as he came to the supper-table. He was very damp about face and head, for he had been stuffing his head into a bucket of water, as that was the quickest way of getting clean, and being very anxious for his supper he had not stayed for much towel work.
“As if I should dream of opening the letter until you were here to share it with me!” cried Pam in fine scorn. “Oh, I do wonder how they are getting on with both of us away! Of course it may be good for the boys and Muriel to learn to help themselves, but it seems to me that they need us as much as ever they did.”
“I need my supper!” sighed Jack, and he reached for the saucepan of “stirabout” which was simmering on the stove.
“We will have a proper midday meal to-morrow,” said Pam. “I do not think it pays to go so long without meals, one feels so tired out; but oh, I do begrudge the time spent in coming indoors to cook it, especially now that there is so much to do.”
“Mother is coming!” yelled Jack, who had opened the letter because his portion of stirabout was too hot to eat. “She and the children are already on their way. Read the letter, Pam; they will be here next week! My word, she has hustled this business, and no mistake!”
“Mother coming!” cried Pam, who had snatched the letter and was eagerly devouring it. “It sounds too good to be true! You won’t get any dinner to-morrow, Jack; we dare not spend time in fussing about ourselves when there is so much to be done to get ready for her. You see what she says—that she has had such a good offer for the house and the furniture that it seemed better to take it, and come off straight away, especially as Dr. Grierson had written to her that for my sake she ought to come at any sacrifice. Oh, how could he write to her in such a fashion?”
“I am very glad that he did, because, don’t you see, his letter got there at the very moment it was needed to help Mother to make up her mind. Now she will come and she will settle down; and if Grandfather comes back she will be able to manage him—at least, we will hope so—or if he does not turn up, then she will be on the spot to claim the property as heir-at-law as soon as we are allowed to assume that he is dead. To my way of thinking there is a great deal in being on hand at a time like this.”
“So I think. But I can’t grasp it yet that Mother is really coming!” cried Pam, who had jumped up from the supper-table, and was rushing round frantically trying to do two or three things all at once. “Jack, I must clean the house down again from top to bottom, for I could not have Mother come and find the place dirty. What would she think of me?”
“She would think you had other things to do, and she would be about right,” replied Jack, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his limbs with an air of luxurious enjoyment. “Leave off fussing round, Pam, and sit down for two minutes while we let this bit of news soak in. I don’t seem able to believe it yet, but I expect it is true. As for the house, if it is not clean enough to suit Mother, she will start at turning it inside out herself, and by the time she has done it she will feel quite at home, and she will wonder why she didn’t come back sooner. There is nothing like work for making people contented with their surroundings. That is why folks butter a cat’s toes when they take pussy to a fresh home; she has to be so busy at licking her feet clean, and it is such a pleasant occupation, that she forgets she ever lived anywhere else.”
Pam laughed. She was shrewd enough to see that Jack’s arguments were unanswerable. The house had been thoroughly cleaned for the wedding, but it had hardly been touched since, for every available minute had been spent out-of-doors. It was necessary to be always at work on the growing crops, pulling out the fern and grubbing up the willow shoots. Ripple had been a cleared farm for more than forty years, but if it had been left to lie without attention for six months of summer it would have lapsed back to forest again. The roots were there, and the seeds, and it was only the most careful and vigilant care and attention that kept the wilderness growth in check.
“It will be lovely to have Mother here.” Pam heaved a big sigh of pure happiness as she came to sit down in the rocking-chair near the open door. “We shall have a home again, Jack.”
“And a dinner every day, which is still more to the point!” he exclaimed, smacking his lips loudly, and screwing his face into such an aspect of absolute enjoyment that Pam had to laugh at him.
“Think of the berries the children will be able to gather! Why, there is enough fruit getting ripe on the bushes down by the creek to keep half a dozen families in pies and puddings. We can have jam made, and heaps of things. I have felt very bad because it was so impossible to get time to do things. When I am in the fields all day I have no energy left to gather fruit in the evening. But, Jack, if we leave the house dirty, we must have that field of potatoes weeded before Mother comes. The fern in some places is smothering the potatoes, and it looks so untidy, too.”
“I am going to bed,” said Jack, stumbling to his feet. “Perhaps when morning comes I may want to hoe potatoes; just now I don’t seem to care whether they are full of weeds or not.”
Jack had slept upstairs since the wedding, because it was less lonely for Pam to have him within call at night. She was ten minutes later than he was in coming upstairs, but as she passed his open door on her way to her room she heard his deep breathing. He was already asleep!
It was long before slumber came to her; she was too happy even to remember that she was tired. Her mother was coming, and her heavy responsibility would be at end. But how good it was to think she had been able to achieve so much!