Jan Vedder's Wife - Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr (historical books to read txt) 📗

much need of heaven's mercy. It will be a good thing for us to be merciful. I am willing to help and trust Jan again. Thou do so too. Now I will say 'good morning', for I see thou art angry at me."

Peter was angry, intensely angry. Under the guise of Christian charity, Tulloch had come into his store and insulted him. Peter would believe in no other motive. And yet he was scarcely just to Tulloch, for his intentions had first and mainly been sincerely kind ones; but the tares are ever among the wheat, and it was true enough that before the interview was over Tulloch had felt a personal pleasure in his plain speaking.

Very soon there was a little crowd in Fae's store. It was a cold, blustering day, and its warmth and company made it a favorite lounging place. Jan's misfortune was the sole topic of conversation, and Jan's absence was unfavorably criticised. Why did he not come among his fellows and tell them how it had happened? Here were good men and a good ship gone to the bottom, and he had not a word to say of the matter. They were all curious about the wreck, and would have liked to pass the long stormy day in talking it over. As it was, they had only conjectures. No one but Tulloch had seen Jan. They wondered where he was.

"At Torr's, doubtless," said Peter, harshly.

"It is likely. Jan ever flew to the brandy keg for comfort."

"It is like he had been there before he steered for the Quarr Rocks."

"It did not need brandy. He was ever careless."

"He was foolhardy more than careless."

"I never thought that he knew the currents and the coast, as a man should know it who has life and goods to carry safe."

"He had best be with his crew; every man of it was a better man than he is."

Snorro let them talk and wonder. He would not tell them where Jan was. One group succeeded another, and hour after hour Snorro stood listening to their conversation, with shut lips and blazing eyes. Peter looked at him with increasing irritability.

"Art thou still sick, Snorro?" he asked at length.

"Not I."

"Why, then, art thou idle?"

"I am thinking. But the thought is too much for me. I can make nothing of it."

Few noticed Snorro's remark, but old Jal Sinclair said, "Tell thy thought, Snorro. There are wise men here to read it for thee; very wise men, as thou must have noticed."

Snorro caught something in the old man's face, or in the inflection of his voice, which gave him an assurance of sympathy, so he said: "Well, then, it is this. Jan Vedder is evidently a very bad man, and a very bad sailor; yet when Donald Twatt's boat sunk in the Vor Ness, Jan took his bonnet in his hand, and he put his last sovereign in it, and he went up and down Lerwick till he had got L40 for Twatt. And he gave him a suit of his own clothes, and he would hear no word wrong of him, and he said, moreover, that nothing had happened Twatt but what might happen the best man and the best sailor that ever lived when it would be God's own time. I thought that was a good thing in Jan, but no one has spoke of it to-day."

"People have ever thought thee a fool, Snorro. When thou art eighty years old, as Jal Sinclair is, perhaps thou wilt know more. Jan Vedder should have left Twatt to his trouble; he should have said, 'Twatt is a drunken fellow, or a careless, foolhardy fellow; he is a bad sailor, a bad man, and he ought to have gone to the bottom.'" Then there was a minute's uncomfortable silence, and the men gradually scattered.

Peter was glad of it. He had no particular pleasure in any conversation having Jan for a topic, and he was burning and smarting at Tulloch's interference. It annoyed him also to see Snorro so boldly taking Jan's part. His indignant face and brooding laziness was a new element in the store, and it worried Peter far beyond its importance. He left unusually early, and then Snorro closed the doors, and built up the fire, and made some tea, and broiled mutton and bloaters, and set his few dishes on the box which served him for a table. Jan had slept heavily all day, but when Snorro brought the candle near, he opened his eyes and said, "I am hungry, Snorro."

"I have come to tell thee there is tea and meat waiting. All is closed, and we can eat and talk, and no one will trouble us."

A Shetlander loves his tea, and it pleased Snorro to see how eagerly Jan drank cup after cup. And soon his face began to lose its weary, indifferent look, and he ate with keen relish the simple food before him. In an hour Jan was nearly like himself once more. Then he remembered Margaret. In the extremity of his physical weakness and weariness, he had forgotten every thing in sleep, but now the delay troubled him. "I ought to have seen my wife to-day, Snorro; why did thou let me sleep?"

"Sleep was the first thing, and now we will see to thy clothes. They must be mended, Jan."

Jan looked down at the suit he wore. It was torn and shabby and weather-stained, and it was all he had. But Snorro was as clever as any woman with the needle and thread. The poor fellow, indeed, had never had any woman friend to use a needle for him, and he soon darned, and patched, and washed clean what the winds and waves had left of Jan's once handsome suit of blue.

As he worked they talked of the best means of securing an interview with Margaret, for Jan readily guessed that Peter would forbid it, and it was finally decided that Snorro should take her a letter, as soon as Peter was at the store next day. There was a little cave by the seaside half way between the town and Peter's house, and there Jan was to wait for Snorro's report.

In the meantime Peter had reached his home. In these days it was a very quiet, somber place. Thora was in ill health, in much worse health than any one but herself suspected, and Margaret was very unhappy. This evening Thora had gone early to bed, and Margaret sat with her baby in her arms. When her father entered she laid him in the cradle. Peter did not like to have it in any way forced upon his notice, and Margaret understood well enough that the child was only tolerated for her sake. So, without any of those little fond obtrusive ways so natural to a young mother, she put the child out of the way, and sat down to serve her father's tea.

His face was dark and angry, his heart felt hard to her at that hour. She had brought so much sorrow and shame on him. She had been the occasion of so many words and acts of which he was ashamed. In fact, his conscience was troubling him, and he was trying to lay the whole blame of his cruelty and injustice on her. For some time he did not speak, and she was too much occupied with her own thoughts to ask him any questions. At length he snapped out, "Jan Vedder came back to Lerwick yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

"I said yesterday. Did thou think he would run here to see thee the first moment? Not he. He was at Tulloch's last night. He will have been at Torr's all day, no doubt."

Margaret's eyes filled with tears, and Peter looked angrily at her.

"Art thou crying again? Now listen, thou art not like to see him at all. He has thrown thy L600 to the bottom of the sea--ship, cargo, and crew, all gone."

"Jan? Father, is Jan safe?"

"He is safe enough. The devil holds his own from water. Now, if he does come to see thee, thou shalt not speak with him. That is my command to thee."

Margaret answered not, but there was a look upon her face, which he understood to mean rebellion.

"Bring me the Bible here." Then as he turned to the place he wanted, he said: "Now, Margaret, if thou art thinking to disobey thy father, I want thee to hear in what kind of company thou wilt do so;" and he slowly read aloud:

"'Backbiters--haters of God--despiteful--proud--boasters--inventors of evil things--_disobedient to parents_;' dost thou hear, Margaret? '_disobedient to parents_--without understanding--covenant breakers--without natural affection--implacable--unmerciful.'"

"Let me see him once, father? Let me see him for half an hour."

"Not for one moment. Disobey me if thou dares."

"He is my husband."

"I am thy father. Thy obligation to me began with thy birth, twenty years before thou saw Jan Vedder. Between man and wife there may be a divorce, between father and daughter there can be no bill of separation. The tie of thy obedience is for life, unless thou wilt take the risk of disobeying thy God. Very well, then, I say to thee, thou shalt not speak to Jan Vedder again, until he has proved himself worthy to have the care of a good woman. That is all I say, but mind it! If thou disobey me, I will never speak to thee again. I will send thee and thy child from my sight, I will leave every penny I have to my two nephews, Magnus and Thorkel. That is enough. Where is thy mother?"

"She is in pain, and has gone to bed."

"It is a sick house, I think. First, thou wert like to die, and ever since thy mother hath been ill; that also is Jan Vedder's doing, since thou must needs fret thyself into a fever for him." Then he took his candle and went to his sick wife, for he thought it best not to weaken his commands by any discussion concerning them.

Margaret did what most mothers would have done, she lifted her child for consolation. It was a beautiful child, and she loved it with an idolatrous affection. It had already taught her some lessons strange enough to Margaret Vedder. For its sake she had become conciliating, humble, patient; had repressed her feelings of mother-pride, and for the future good of her boy, kept him in a corner as it were. She had never suffered him to be troublesome, never intruded him upon the notice of the grandfather whom some day doubtless he would completely conquer. Ah, if she had only been half as unselfish with Jan! Only half as prudent for Jan's welfare!

She lifted the boy and held him to her breast. As she watched him, her face grew lovely. "My child!" she whispered, "for thee I can thole every thing. For thy sake, I will be patient. Nothing shall tempt me to spoil thy life. Thou shalt be rich, little one, and some day thee and I will be happy together. Thy father robbed thee, but I will not injure thee; no, indeed, I will not!"

So, after all, Jan's child was to be the barrier between him and his wife. If Jan had chosen to go back to the class from which she had taken him, she would at least save her child from the suffering and contempt of poverty. What she would have done for his father, she would do for him. Yes, that night