A Cry in the Wilderness

by Mary E. Waller

XI

I was up betimes the next morning, but Cale had been before me and taken up the offending rag carpet from the passageway. When I went into the kitchen, Angélique told me that the seignior—she persisted in calling him that—and the Doctor had had their coffee and early doughnuts and were off in the pung, the seignior driving; that they said they would be at home for dinner. I found Cale and Pierre, acting under orders in the early morning, taking the trunks up to the bedrooms, placing the guns in the racks, removing the various sporting implements to a room behind the kitchen, and the chests to a storeroom. At breakfast we three were alone together as usual. The four dogs were absent.

Mrs. Macleod and I spent the entire forenoon bringing order again into the various rooms. In the meantime, Jamie was dreaming and reading in the living-room. I had been there just a month and a day, and could not help wondering who would pay me! I needed the money for some heavier clothing.

The two friends appeared promptly for dinner and brought with them appetites sharpened by the increasing cold. They had been in Richelieu-en-Bas and arranged for a telephone for the manor, called on some English friends visiting at the new manor house in the village, and stopped at some of the seigniory farmhouses on the way home. I found Mère Guillardeau had been remembered at this early date.

"Are you busy this afternoon, Miss Farrell?" said the Doctor, as we rose from our first meal together and went into the living-room.

"Not unless Mrs. Macleod needs me?" I looked at her inquiringly.

"No, there is nothing more, Marcia; you did a good day's work in a few hours this morning," she replied in answer to my look.

"Can I be helpful to you in any way?" I said, turning again to the Doctor.

"Yes—I think you can." He smiled quizzically, looking down upon me from his substantial height. "You may not know—of course you don't, how could you know, never having heard much of an old fellow like me—"

"Oh, have n't I?"

"Have you? Then the Boy here has been giving me away. Has he ever told you I am something of a whip?"

"No, not that."

"Well, then, I am going to prove it to you. I propose to show the two French coach horses how to draw a pung,—Ewart does n't yet own a sleigh, you know in Canada,—and I wish you would lend me your company for an hour or so."

If the Doctor expected an enthusiastic response he must have been disappointed. Not that I did n't want the ride in the pung, but it occurred to me that here was my opportunity, offered without my seeking it, to ask of him all that I had been planning to ask during many weeks. As this door of opportunity was so suddenly opened to me, I felt the chill of the unknown creeping towards me over its threshold. I answered almost with hesitation:

"Certainly, I will go, unless Mrs. Macleod—"

"Mrs. Macleod says she does n't need you." He spoke quickly, his keen eyes holding mine for a moment.

"I say, that's a jolly cool way you have at times, Marcia!" Jamie exploded in his usual fashion when he is ruffled. "But you 'll get used to it, Doctor—I have."

"A martyr, eh, Boy?" The Doctor looked amused.

"Well, rather—at times."

"Don't mind Jamie's martyrdoms, Doctor Rugvie; tell me when you want me to be ready."

"In half an hour. I don't want to start too late; be sure to take enough wraps."

I left them to go upstairs, wondering on the way what wraps I should take—I, who possessed only sufficient clothing to help out a New York winter, but no furs, no fur coat, no warm moccasins, no mittens, only an unlined gray tweed ulster that with a grey sweater had done duty for four years.

"I want my pay more than I want a pung ride," I growled, as I was trying to make the one thick veil I owned do double duty for head and ears protector. I folded a square of newspaper and laid it over my chest under my sweater; I put on two pairs of stockings. Thus fortified against the Canadian cold, I went downstairs promptly on time.

Mr. Ewart came out into the passageway; the Doctor was talking with Mrs. Macleod in the living-room.

"Why, Miss Farrell," he exclaimed, "I see you don't realize our climate; you can't go without more wraps—"

He hesitated, grew visibly embarrassed. I knew by his manner he had unwittingly probed my poverty to the quick, and I crimsoned with shame; yes, I was ashamed that my lack should thus be made known to him—ashamed as when Delia Beaseley's keen eyes read my need of money.

"Oh, I don't need to bundle up—I have been accustomed to go without such heavy clothing," I said, with ready lie to cover my confusion.

The Doctor came out and took his fur-lined coat from a wooden peg under the staircase. Mr. Ewart turned abruptly and reached for something on an adjoining peg; it was a fur coat of Canadian fox, soft and fine and warm.

"You are to wear this, otherwise the Doctor won't let you go," he said quickly, decidedly, shaking it down and holding it ready for me to slip in my arms.

For a second, a second only, I hesitated, searching for some excuse to give up the drive and so avoid acceptance of this favor; then I slipped into it, much to Jamie's delight who, appearing at the living-room door, cried out:

"My, Marcia, but you 're smart in Ewart's togs! We 'll have some of our own if this is the kind of weather they treat us to in Canada. I 've been hugging the fire all the morning."

He saved the situation for me and I was grateful to him; but Mr. Ewart looked at him, almost anxiously, saying:

"I should have been getting the heater put up this forenoon, instead of rushing off the first thing this morning. A poor host thus far, Jamie, but I 'll make good hereafter."

The Doctor looked me over carefully.

"You 're safeguarded with that; the sleeves are so long and ample they are as good as a modern muff—go back, Boy,"—he spoke brusquely, as he opened the outer door,—"this is no place for you."

Cale vacated the pung, and the Doctor and I filled it. He took the reins; the beautiful creatures rose as one in the exuberance of life; shook their heads, and the bells with them, as they poised a moment on their hind feet; then they planted their hoofs in the crisping snow, and we were off.

"Your ears must have burned more than a little this forenoon, Miss Farrell," he said, after driving in silence for ten minutes during which time he proved conclusively to the French horses that he was a "whip" of the first order, and to be respected henceforth as such. It was a pleasure to see his management of the high-lifed animals.

"Mine? I was n't conscious of anything unusual about them."

"We were speaking of you and your evident executive ability, and we took the time on our drive to try to settle a little business matter that concerns you. ("Ah, wages," I thought with satisfaction.) We tried to agree but we failed; and although we did not come to blows over the question, it was not settled to my satisfaction, at least. You don't mind my speaking very frankly?"

"No, indeed; I wish you would." I looked up at him over the turned-up fur collar of Mr. Ewart's fox skins—"pelts" is our name for them in New England—and smiled merrily. I was right glad to get down, at last, to some business basis and know where I stood. Again I saw the perplexed look in his eyes.

"Why?"

"Because, naturally, you know, I look for pay day to help out."

"Naturally," he repeated gravely; then laughed out, a hearty, good-comrade laugh. "Just how long have you been here?"

"A month yesterday."

"And wages overdue!"

I nodded emphatically. I felt as if I could tell this man beside me, with his wide experience of humankind, about the pitiful sum of twenty-two dollars I had saved from my wreck of life in New York; about my scrimpings; even of the two pair of stockings, and the square of newspaper reposing at that very minute on my chest and crackling audibly when I drew a deeper breath. There was no feeling of soul-shame on account of my poverty with him, any more than I should have felt physical shame at the nakedness of my body if subject to one of his famous surgical operations. Had not this man helped to bring me into the world? Should I have been here but for him? Had he not known me as an entity before I knew anything of the fact of life? This idea of him disarmed my pride.

"H'm," he said at last, thoughtfully, "I must live up to my reputation of owing no man or woman over night. You shall have it so soon as we get back to the house—and well earned too," he added; "I had no idea an advertisement could bring about such a satisfactory result."

"Do you mean me or the refurbished house?"

"I mean you. And now that we 're alone, do you mind telling me something of how it came about? I 'll own to asking you to come with me that we might have a preliminary chat together."

"I thought so."

"Oh, you did! Well, commend me to one of my compatriots to ferret out my intentions. I heard Cale say you were born in New York."

"Yes, twenty-six years ago, but I have lived most of my life in the country, in northern New England."

"Wh—?" he caught himself up in his question, and I ignored it.

"That climate is really just as severe as the Canadian, so I feel quite at home in this."

"May I ask if your parents are living?"

"No, they 're not living; my mother died when I was born. I told Delia Beaseley so when I applied for this place."

("Now is my time; courage!" I exhorted myself in thought.)

"I 'm glad you know Delia Beaseley, she 's a fine woman."

"A noble one," I said, heartily.

"Yes, noble—and good."

"And good," I repeated.

"I think I 'll tell you a little how good."

"I think I know."

"You do?" He looked surprised.

"Yes, she told me something of her life." He turned squarely to me then.

"How came she to?" He asked bluntly.

"Now, courage, Marcia Farrell, out with it," I said to myself, but aloud:

"She said I resembled some one whom she knew years ago—some one who, she said, had 'missed her footing'."

"She said that?"

I nodded. "Then she spoke of her own life and what came of it—how she had tried to save others; and one thing led on to another until I felt I had always known her."

He turned again to look at me, and it was given me to read his very thought:—Have you ever come near missing your footing? Did Delia Beaseley save you from any pitfall?

I answered his unspoken thought:

"Oh, you may take my word for it I am wholly respectable—always have been. I could n't have answered your advertisement if I had n't been."

"The deuce you are! Well, young lady, I 'll ask you not to answer a man's thoughts again before he has given them expression; it's uncanny." He was growling a little.

I laughed aloud, for it delighted me to puzzle him a bit, especially with the revelation of my identity in prospect. I was enjoying the pung ride too. We were on the river road. The black tree trunks, standing out against the white snow-covered expanse of the St. Lawrence, seemed to speed past us. The sharp bits of ice-snow flew from the fleet horses' hoofs, and now and then one stung my cheek.

"Cale informed me that you worked in the New York Library; may I ask how you happened to answer the advertisement?"

"I wanted to get away from the city—far away."

"Tired of it—like the rest of us?"

"Yes—and I was ill." He gave me a look that was suddenly wholly professional.

"Long?"

"Ten weeks."

"What was it?"

"Typhoid pneumonia with pleuri—"

"And you were going to come out with me for a spin in that ulster!"

He roared so at me that the horses, taking fright at the sound of his voice, plunged suddenly and gave him plenty to do to calm them into a trot again. I enjoyed the equine gymnastics so promptly provided for his diversion.

"I was at St. Luke's." I volunteered this information when he was free to receive it.

"St. Luke's, eh? That's where you heard of this old curmudgeon."

"Yes, there; and from Delia Beaseley, and Jamie, and Mrs. Macleod."

"By the way, you and Jamie seem to be great friends."

"I love him," I said emphatically.

"H'm, lucky dog; better not tell him so."

"Why not?" I asked, at once on the defensive.

The Doctor compressed his lips in a fashion that said as plainly as if he had spoken, "Unsophisticated at twenty-six; I don't believe her!"

"I love Cale, too, and he is my own kind."

"Cale 's all right; I 'm going to know him better before the week is out. And how about Mrs. Macleod?"

"Mrs. Macleod is Jamie's mother, and I like her and respect her—but she 's not easy to love."

"That's true—she is not easy to love. About the salary," he said changing the subject; "I intended to pay it myself until you were installed on the farm; it is a favor to me to be allowed to help out Mrs. Macleod. I knew from private sources that she needed someone to cheer her here in this Canadian country; it's a great change from her home in Crieff, and then she carries Jamie on her heart all the time. I insisted this morning on taking charge of the whole business, you included," he smiled ruefully, "but Ewart would n't hear to it. He argues that so long as you are in his house, and your work is—well, we 'll call it home-making, he, being the beneficiary has the sole right to pay for his benefits."

"That's just what I told Mrs. Macleod and Jamie I would try to make of you and him—"

"The dickens you did! A beneficiary of me, eh?"

"Yes, and I shall try to," I said earnestly. The Doctor grew serious at once.

"It will not be a hard task, Miss Farrell; I begin to dream of what the farm will be like with you to help make it a home for me and, in time, many others, as I hope."

"Doctor Rugvie, would you mind calling me by my first name?"

"Yes, I should mind very much, because it's exactly what I have wanted to do, but did not feel at liberty to."

"In my position it is better that all in the house should call me Marcia."

"Your position?" He looked around at me with a queer twist of his upper lip. "What is your position?"

"According to the advertisement it was for service on a farm in Canada."

"And now you find yourself in an anomalous one? Is that the trouble?"

"Yes, just it. I don't know what is to be required of me—I really don't see how I am to earn my salt."

"Don't bother yourself about that." He frowned slightly. "I confess this insistence on Ewart's part to pay you, complicates matters a little. I wanted to be boss this time."

"And I hoped you would be mine, anyway," I said mutinously. "I am far from satisfied to have my business dealings with Mr. Ewart, a stranger and an alien."

"It will be only for a time; I am going to tell you, all of you, about my farm plans this evening. I have n't spoken yet to Ewart very freely about them."

The horses were turned homewards, and I felt that little time was left me to ask any intimate questions of the Doctor concerning myself. I could not find the right word—and I knew I was not trying with any degree of earnestness. "I 'll put it off till the last of the week," I said to myself; then I began to speak of that self, for I knew the Doctor was waiting for this and, wisely, was biding my time. I was grateful to him.

I told him of my hard-worked young years and my longing to get away to independence. I entered into no family details; it was not necessary. I told him something of my struggle in New York and of my place in the Branch Library; of my long illness and how it had left me: tired out, listless, practically homeless and in need of immediate money. I told him how I sought Delia Beaseley on the strength of the advertisement; how she helped me; how I felt I had found release from the city and its burden of livelihood, and how happy I was with my new duties in the old manor house; how the fact that it was an old manor fed the vein of romance in me which neither hard work nor illness had been able to work out; how I enjoyed Jamie and Mrs. Macleod, Angélique, and Pierre and all the household—and how I had dreaded his coming, yet longed for it, because it would unsettle my future which was not to be in the manor house of Lamoral.

I told him all this, freely; but to speak of my mother, of my birth, of the papers, and of what I wanted them for, was beyond me. The secret of the Past, projected on the possible Future, loomed gigantic, threatening. I would let well enough alone.

"You poor child," he said, when I finished. That was all; but I knew that henceforth I should have a friend in Doctor Rugvie. He drove the rest of the way in silence.