Some one has said that one never leaves a place, or arrives at one, until the next day! But on the second morning I woke with the familiar feeling of interest and ease, and the bright May sun was streaming in, while I could hear Mrs. Todd’s heavy footsteps pounding about in the other part of the house as if something were going to happen. There was the first golden robin singing somewhere close to the house, and a lovely aspect of spring now, and I looked at the garden to see that in the warm night some of its treasures had grown a hand’s breadth; the determined spikes of yellow daffies stood tall against the doorsteps, and the bloodroot was unfolding leaf and flower. The belated spring which I had left behind farther south had overtaken me on this northern coast. I even saw a presumptuous dandelion in the garden border.
It is difficult to report the great events of New England; expression is so slight, and those few words which escape us in moments of deep feeling look but meagre on the printed page. One has to assume too much of the dramatic fervor as one reads; but as I came out of my room at breakfast-time I met Mrs. Todd face to face, and when she said to me, “This weather’ll bring William in after her; ’tis their happy day!” I felt something take possession of me which ought to communicate itself to the least sympathetic reader of this cold page. It is written for those who have a Dunnet Landing of their own: who either kindly share this with the writer, or possess another.
“I ain’t seen his comin’ sail yet; he’ll be likely to dodge round among the islands so he’ll be the less observed,” continued Mrs. Todd. “You can get a dory up the bay, even a clean new painted one, if you know as how, keepin’ it against the high land.” She stepped to the door and looked off to sea as she spoke. I could see her eye follow the gray shores to and fro, and then a bright light spread over her calm face. “There he comes, and he’s strikin’ right in across the open bay like a man!” she said with splendid approval. “See, there he comes! Yes, there’s William, and he’s bent his new sail.”
I looked too, and saw the fleck of white no larger than a gull’s wing yet, but present to her eager vision.
I was going to France for the whole long summer that year, and the more I thought of such an absence from these simple scenes the more dear and delightful they became. Santa Teresa says that the true proficiency of the soul is not in much thinking, but in much loving, and sometimes I believed that I had never found love in its simplicity as I had found it at Dunnet Landing in the various hearts of Mrs. Blackett and Mrs. Todd and William. It is only because one came to know them, these three, loving and wise and true, in their own habitations. Their counterparts are in every village in the world, thank heaven, and the gift to one’s life is only in its discernment. I had only lived in Dunnet until the usual distractions and artifices of the world were no longer in control, and I saw these simple natures clear. “The happiness of life is in its recognitions. It seems that we are not ignorant of these truths, and even that we believe them; but we are so little accustomed to think of them, they are so strange to us—”
“Well now, deary me!” said Mrs. Todd, breaking into exclamation; “I’ve got to fly round—I thought he’d have to beat; he can’t sail far on that tack, and he won’t be in for a good hour yet—I expect he’s made every arrangement, but he said he shouldn’t go up after Esther unless the weather was good, and I declare it did look doubtful this morning.”
I remembered Esther’s weather-worn face. She was like a Frenchwoman who had spent her life in the fields. I remembered her pleasant look, her childlike eyes, and thought of the astonishment of joy she would feel now in being taken care of and tenderly sheltered from wind and weather after all these years. They were going to be young again now, she and William, to forget work and care in the spring weather. I could hardly wait for the boat to come to land, I was so eager to see his happy face.
“Cake an’ wine I’m goin’ to set ’em out!” said Mrs. Todd. “They won’t stop to set down for an ordered meal, they’ll want to get right out home quick’s they can. Yes, I’ll give ’em some cake an’ wine—I’ve got a rare plum-cake from my best receipt, and a bottle o’ wine that the old Cap’n Denton of all give me, one of two, the day I was married, one we had and one we saved, and I’ve never touched it till now. He said there wa’n’t none like it in the State o’ Maine.”
It was a day of waiting, that day of spring; the May weather was as expectant as our fond hearts, and one could see the grass grow green hour by hour. The warm air was full of birds, there was a glow of light on the sea instead of the cold shining of chilly weather which had lingered late. There was a look on Mrs. Todd’s face which I saw once and could not meet again. She was in her highest mood. Then I went out early for a walk, and when I came back we sat in different rooms for the most part. There was such a thrill in the air that our only conversation was in her most abrupt and incisive manner. She was knitting, I believe, and as for me I dallied with a book. I heard her walking to and fro, and, the door being wide open now, she went out and paced the front walk to the gate as if she walked a quarter-deck.
It is very solemn to sit waiting for the great events of life—most of us have done it again and again—to be expectant of life or expectant of death gives one the same feeling.