"Well, that's hard to tell," he told her presently, looking out over the lake. "But if they've had good luck, I suppose the young people are quite well on their way to Paris by now. The ceremony, one of those hasty affairs, was performed yesterday. They took the night train to New York."
Tessibel's breath caught in her throat.... The heavens seemed to tumble into the lake.... An awful booming sounded in her ears. She grew limp, sick at heart, ... dizzy, but she made no outcry, only, unconscious of its pain, bit her lip until it bled. The hope she had nursed, that he would not do this awful thing was lost.
Pete stirred uneasily. Restrained by Tessibel's hand on his head, he laid down again making whining noises in his throat, inarticulate expressions of his love for the suffering girl.
"Didn't you know he was going to marry Miss Waldstricker?" asked Young.
"Yep,--I knew," whispered Tess, when she could breathe, "but--tell me--about it."
"There's not much to tell," explained the Professor, reluctant to distress her. "It seems the young lady didn't want a large wedding and did want to start abroad immediately, so they had a private affair--no one present but the relatives."
Tess made an effort to control herself.
"Graves won't go back to college any more," went on Young. "He's going into business with his brother-in-law, Mr. Waldstricker. I understand when they return from abroad they will live with my sister the rest of the winter."
There was no response from the drooping little figure at his side.
Tess was thinking of the winter without Frederick. She sickened as she pictured him away off in that foreign land. It seemed he must be at the very end of the world. It bewildered her to think of his being with another woman than herself. She could not think of them as married--He was her husband. She was silent so long that Young spoke to her softly.
"Shall I take you home, my dear?"
Numb and dazed, she sat dumbly enduring the hurt.
"Nope, I air goin' to stay here awhile." 'Twas only a trembling breath that wafted the man his answer.
Young hesitated. Then rising he walked away along the rocks, leaving Tess and the brindle dog amid the falling shadows.
Spent with emotion, the squatter girl heard the retreating footsteps of her friend die away in the twilight. Then she pushed the dog gently from her lap and laid herself down upon the rocks and pillowed her aching head upon his body.
Gradually the tender melancholy of the dying day touched her mood with subtle sympathy and soothed her troubled spirit. Rapt in rueful revery, she followed mechanically the flight of a flock of birds. Like swift shadows flitting over the water, they dipped and winged upward and away, out of her vision.
Frederick had gone from her life almost as completely and as suddenly as those birds had disappeared from her sight. How mercilessly short had been her days of happiness, those days threaded and inter-threaded with her husband's love.
The sun had set and the purples and reds were fading from the fleecy clouds in the eastern sky. The gloaming grew in caressing cadences up from the limpid lake to the ragged rocks. The night winds blew gently down the hill side, the swaying leaves were whispering "hush, hush," and the surface of the lake, shimmering in the mellow light of the rising moon, was flecked here and there into silvery sparkles. The airs of evening fluttered the ringlets upon her forehead and enveloped her hot body in cooling comfort. Responsive to the quiet beauty about her, the turmoil of her thoughts subsided. The sharp anguish which had at first stunned her was becoming but a dull ache, permitting her to think connectedly.
This place and this hour held the most vital associations of her young life. Here in the gathering gloom, Frederick had wooed and won her, and had spent with her many of the too few hours of her wedded bliss. Upon such another evening, she had made him the promises that had led to her only deceptions of Daddy Skinner, and here, four short days ago, her husband had murdered her joy.
Reflecting upon her plight, its hopelessness well nigh overwhelmed her.
Through the utter desolution of her life rang the haunting, words of the Cantata she'd heard sung last Eastertide in the Big Ithaca Church.
"Oh, was there ever loneliness like this?"
Over and over the melody repeated itself, insistently recalling the Master's agony in the garden, and lifting her thoughts slowly upward away from herself to His ultimate triumph and glory.
Betrayed and deserted by the man that loved her, she fixed her attention instinctively upon the Divine Love "with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning" and sought courage from the words of Him "who spake as never man spake." His command, "Love your enemies, do good to them that hate you and pray for them which despitefully use you," came to her tortured heart, a healing inspiration.
Immediately she got to her feet. The dog, tired of the enforced inactivity, jumped up and ran to and fro on the rocks, barking. She had given her husband up to another woman--he had said it was all she could do for him. But she loved him and her love rejoiced in giving. Pete, puzzled that the girl did not join him in his play as usual, came back and stood in front of her and looked up into her face. She turned to the old pine tree, her familiar friend, and extended her arms to the God of her exalted faith.
"Goddy, dear, goodest Goddy," she prayed, "bless my Frederick wherever he air--an'--help Tessibel to die--in--in the spring."
CHAPTER XVIII
A LETTER
A great deal had happened during the three weeks Frederick had been gone. Helen Young had married Ebenezer Waldstricker, and they had been away now nearly two weeks on their honeymoon. Deforrest Young, too, had spent most of the time out of Ithaca. Tessibel Skinner heard from him frequently, and through his good letters, she had been able to keep up her studies.
One Monday morning while Tess was doing the simple chores around the shack, she had the door open to admit the vagrant breezes of the summer day. Andy, as his custom was on such occasions, lay quietly upon the attic floor, secure from the observation of any chance passer-by.
Stepping to the door to shake her dust rag, Tess saw Jake Brewer coming up the path.
"Hello, Jake," she called, a little loudly to warn Andy, "how air ye?"
"Pretty tol'able, thank ye, Tess," Brewer answered politely, "how air you, and how's yer pa?"
"Daddy's pretty bad this mornin'," she told him, a reluctant smile appearing for a moment at the corners of her mouth.
"Pshaw! Tessie, ye don't tell me. It air the heat, ain't it? But Tess, I air got somethin' for you," he sniggered. "Bet ye can't guess what it air."
"Sure, I can't, Jake." The girl tried to match his cheerful manner.
She wished she might greet her squatter friends as of yore, but her heart was sad and lay stonelike in her breast. Of late, Jake had been very kind, running many errands for her. Daddy Skinner was a favorite with the inhabitants of the Silent City, and now that he was so ill, all the other squatters did what they could for his sorrowing daughter.
"Come in, Jake," invited Tess. "Mebbe Daddy'd like to see ye.... He ain't up yet.... Wait a minute.... I'll ask 'im!"
Jake stayed her with a chuckle and a beckoning motion of his forefinger.
"First I'll give ye what I brung ye, Tess," he said, while he fumbled in his pocket. "Here! Look! It air a letter with a big ship up in the corner of it.... Ain't it cute?"
Tessibel held out a trembling hand for the square envelope Brewer proffered her. How many times within the past weeks had she visualized a ship as it took its rapid way to the other side of the world! How many times had she seen her husband with Madelene Waldstricker on that pictured steamer! Now here it was before her very eyes, more stately even than her mind had portrayed it. She stared at the letter, her face going very white.
"Ye don't seem to be tickled, brat," said the squatter, grinning.
"I air, though, Jake," she replied, "awful tickled.... Come on in an'
see Daddy!"
She slipped the letter into her pocket and led the way to the back room.
She bent over the bed and roused her father.
"Jake air here to see ye, Daddy," she said. "Sit down, Jake! He can't talk very loud, but ye can see he air awful glad to have ye here....
Daddy dear, Jake Brewer air tryin' to shake hands with ye."
Orn's great hand lifted slowly.
"Glad to see ye, Jake," he mumbled. "I ain't the best this mornin'!"