“And I shall be stronger then, and we must make the house pleasant for him. It will never be lonely any more when he is here. Why do you cry so, Hannah? It is not long to wait for him now.”
Hannah, trying to smother her choking sobs, slipped down on the floor with her face covered, and Miriam talked on and on of the happy times they would have when “Tommy” came back in the Spring.
She could be made to comprehend nothing of the dreadful tidings. He had promised her he would come back, and her faith never faltered. But there was a distinct change in her from that day. The quiet, reserved manner that had been with her always a marked characteristic, seldom volunteering a sentence to a stranger, was gone. She talked incessantly of her son. She would tell every person she met how much stronger she was getting, and how she meant to go and meet him at the wharf when the Nereid came in.
So months went by, and Miriam did get stronger every day. She had not been so well in years, not since long ago when poor Tom had first taken to following the sea. Bright and happy she seemed from morning till night, only Hannah noticed that sometimes when speaking most earnestly she would stop suddenly for a moment, and look at her in a bewildered way, with that same wavering light flickering up in her eyes.
All the villagers knew the sorrowful story of the Widow Aber’s waiting so trustfully for “Tommy,” her sailor son that could never come back, and they were good to Hannah that Winter. The girl had not cast her bread upon the waters in vain. When she found herself weak and faint a dozen hands were ready with some kind office, and there was little left for her to do about the house. Those bitter months as they waxed and waned were one long, mute agony, but the girl did not break down under the terrible strain. Trouble does not kill the young; thin and pale she grew, but strong in her youth, stronger in her love, for Miriam’s sake, and with something of Miriam’s early nature, she kept her grief crushed within her heart. She seldom went out of the house now. She staid always with her mother, as if fearful to leave her for an hour; and those who went to the house from the village, told how dreadful it was to see her sitting quietly, even sometimes forcing a smile to her trembling lips when the widow would say,—
“Do not look so sad, Hannah. I am strong and well, are you not glad? He said he liked to see me smile, and he must find us bright and cheerful when he comes in the Spring.”
The Spring! Hannah hardly dared to think what might happen then. Every day, as she watched her mother, the dread upon her grew stronger. She would have held back the coming of the Nereid, the beautiful Nereid, that now, with its white wings, might return only as the angel of death to Miriam. She would understand it all then, and the shock, the dreadful shock! It was the terror of this that haunted Hannah day and night.
The last winter month had gone by, and the chilly winds of March were whistling along the coast, when, one morning, old Steve came hurriedly up the hill to the house. He brought the news that Hannah had so long dreaded. The Nereid was even then heading round the cliff. She had asked him to let her know in time, that she might keep it from her mother, at least till after the boat had landed. But while he was in the very act of telling, he stopped suddenly, and a look of fright came over his face. Hannah turned to find the cause, and saw her mother standing in the open doorway. She had overheard it all. The girl’s heart sank in her breast like a stone.
Vainly she endeavored to dissuade her from going to the wharf, but Miriam, radiant as a child in her joy, nervous in her pitiful haste, paid no heed to her remonstrances, that it was cold, that it was too far, that she would go in her place, until Hannah, driven to desperation, told her mother again of the dreadful disaster, and how poor Tom could not be there to meet her. Then the widow stayed her trembling hands for a moment in their flurried effort to tie her bonnet, and looked at Hannah, looked at her long and steadily, as she had done before, with the same strange gaze in her eyes. It always seemed as if she was dimly conscious, for the instant, that something was wrong, but even as the shadow flitted over her face, it was gone.
“Come,” she said, her countenance all brilliant with eager excitement, “hurry, we must not be late. I feel young and strong, and it will be such a glad surprise for him!”