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

of her grief and wrongs.

"Thou must have thy own home, Margaret, that is evident," he said; "and as for Suneva, I will see to her in the morning. Thou art innocent of thy husband's death, I will make her to know that. Alas! how many are there, who if they can not wound upon proof, will upon likelihood! Now there is a room ready for thee, and thou must stay here, until this matter is settled for thee."

It seemed a very haven of rest to Margaret. She went to it gratefully, and very soon fell into that deep slumber which in youth follows great emotions. When she awoke the fire had been re-built, and little Jan's bread and milk stood beside it. It was a dark, dripping morning; the rain smote the windows in sudden, gusts, and the wind wailed drearily around the house. But in spite of the depressing outside influences, her heart was lighter than it had been for many a day. She felt as those feel "who have escaped;" and she dressed and fed her child with a grateful heart.

When she went down stairs she found that, early as it was, the doctor had gone to her father's house; and she understood that this visit was made in order to see him where conversation would not be interrupted by the entrance of buyers and sellers.

Dr. Balloch found Peter sitting at breakfast with Suneva, in his usual cheerful, self-complacent mood. In fact, he knew nothing of Margaret's flight from his house. She rarely left her boy to join the tea-table; she never appeared at the early breakfast. Her absence was satisfactory to both parties, and had long ceased to call forth either protest or remark. So neither of them were aware of the step she had taken, and the minister's early visit did not connect itself with her, until he said gravely to Peter, "Dost thou know where thy daughter is?"

"She hath not left her room yet," answered Suneva; "she sleeps late for the child's sake."

"She hath left thy house, Peter. Last night I gave her and the child shelter from the storm."

Peter rose in a great passion: "Then she can stay away from my house. Here she comes back no more."

"I think that, too. It is better she should not come back. But now thou must see that her own home is got ready for her, and that quickly."

"What home?"

"The house thou gave her at her marriage."

"I gave her no house. She had the use of it. The title deeds never left my hands."

"Then more shame to thee. Did thou not boast to every one, that thou had given the house and the plenishing? No title deeds, no lawyer's paper, can make the house more Margaret Vedder's than thy own words have done. Thou wilt not dare to break thy promise, thou, who ate the Bread of Remembrance only last Sabbath Day. Begin this very hour to put the house in order, and then put the written right to it in her hands. Any hour thou may be called to give an account; leave the matter beyond disputing."

"It will take a week to glaze and clean it."

"It is glazed and cleaned. Michael Snorro brought the sashes one by one to the store, and glazed them, when he had done his work at night. He hath also mended the plaster, and kept a fire in the house to dry it; and he hath cleaned the yard and re-hung the gate. Begin thou at once to move back again the furniture. It never ought to have been removed, and I told thee that at the time. Thou knowest also what promises thou made me, and I will see that thou keep them every one, Peter Fae. Yes, indeed, I will!"

"It is too wet to move furniture."

"The rain will be over at the noon. Until then thy men can carry peats and groceries, and such store of dried meats as will be necessary."

"Peter," said Suneva indignantly, "I counsel thee to do nothing in a hurry."

Dr. Balloch answered her, "I counsel thee, Mistress Fae, to keep well the door of thy mouth. It is no light thing to make the charges thou hast made against an innocent woman."

"I asked her how Jan Vedder got his death? Let her tell that."

"I might ask thee how Paul Glumm got his death! Listen now, and I will show thee what a great thing may come from one foul suspicion. Thou married Paul Glumm, and it is well known he and thee were not always in the same mind, for thou loved company and he loved quiet. Then Glumm took thee to the Skoolfiord, where there were none at the station but thee and he. Thou knowest how thou rebelled at that, and how often thou could be found in thy father's house. Suddenly Glumm takes a sickness, and when a doctor sees him there is little hope, and after three days he dies. Then thou art back at Lerwick again, quick enough, and in a few weeks thou hast plenty of lovers. Now, then, how easy to say, 'Glumm's death was a very strange affair!' 'Such a strong young man!' 'Did his wife know any thing about it?' 'Did she send for a doctor as soon as might be?' 'Did she give him the medicine the doctor left?' 'Was she not very glad when she was free again?' Mistress Fae, I say not these things were so, or were even said, I am only trying to show thee how easy it is out of nothing at all to make up a very suspicious case. But come, Peter, there is duty to be done, and I know that thou wilt do it. And I am in haste about it, for it is not easy for Hamish to have a woman and child at the manse. Hamish has failed much lately."

"Send the woman with her child here."

"No, for it is easier to avoid quarrels than to mend them. Margaret shall stay at the manse till her own house is ready."

So they went away together, leaving Suneva crying with anger; partly because of the minister's lecture; partly because she thought Peter had not "stood up for her" as he ought to have done. As for Peter, though he did not think of disobeying the order given him, yet he resented the interference; and he was intensely angry at Margaret for having caused it. When he arrived at the store, he was made more so by Snorro's attitude. He sat upon a sailor's chest with his hands folded before him, though the nets were to be examined and a score of things to get for the fishers.

"Can thou find nothing for thy lazy hands to do?" he asked scornfully, "or are they weary of the work thou hast been doing at night?"

"My mind is not to lift a finger for thee again, Peter Fae; and as for what I do at night, that is my own affair. I robbed thee not, neither of time nor gear."

"From whence came the glass, and the nails, and the wood, and the hinges?"

"I bought them with my own money. If thou pays me the outlay it will be only just. The work I gave freely to the wife of Jan Vedder."

"Then since thou hast mended the house, thou may carry back the furniture into it."

"I will do that freely also. Thou never ought to have counseled its removal; for that reason, I blame thee for all that followed it." Snorro then hailed a passing fisherman, and they lifted his chest in order to go away.

"What art thou taking?"

"My own clothes, and my own books, and whatever is my own. Nothing of thine."

"But why?"

"For that I will come no more here."

"Yes, thou wilt."

"I will come no more."

Peter was much troubled. Angry as he was, grief at Snorro's defection was deeper than any other feeling. For nearly twenty years he had relied on him. Besides the inconvenience to the business, the loss of faith was bitter. But he said no more at that time. When Margaret was in her home, Snorro would be easier to manage. More as a conciliatory measure with him, than as kindness to his offending daughter, he said, "First of all, however, take a load of tea, and sugar and flour, and such things as will be needed; thou knowest them. Take what thou wishes, and all thou wishes; then, thou canst not say evil of me."

"When did I say evil of thee, only to thy face? Michael Snorro hath but one tongue. It knows not how to slander or to lie. Pay me my wages, and I will go, and speak to thee no more."

"Do what I said and come back to me in three days; then we will settle this trouble between us;" saying which, Peter went into his counting house, and Snorro went to work with all his will and strength to get Margaret's house ready for her.

But though he hired three men to help him, it was the evening of the second day before she could remove to it. It was a different homecoming from her previous one in that dwelling. Then all had been in exquisitely spotless order, and Jan had turned and kissed her at the open door. This night every thing was in confusion. Snorro had carried all her belongings into the house, but they were unpacked and unarranged. Still he had done a great deal. A large fire was burning, the kettle boiling on the hearth, and on the little round table before it he had put bread and milk and such things as would be necessary for a first meal. Then, with an innate delicacy he had gone away, fully understanding that at the first Margaret would wish to be quite alone.

She stood a minute and looked around. Then she opened the box in which her china and silver were packed. In half an hour the tea-table was spread. She even made a kind of festival of the occasion by giving little Jan the preserved fruit he loved with his bread. It seemed to her as if food had never tasted so good before. She was again at her own table; at her own fireside! Her own roof covered her! There was no one to gloom at her or make her feel uncomfortable. Work, poverty, all things, now seemed possible and bearable.

When Jan had chattered himself weary she laid him in his cot, and sat hour after hour in the dim light of the glowing peats, thinking, planning, praying, whispering Jan's name to her heart, feeling almost as if she were in his presence. When at length she rose and turned the key in her own house again, she was as proud and as happy as a queen who has just come into her kingdom, and who lifts for the first time the scepter of her authority.


CHAPTER XI.


SNORRO IS WANTED.

"Now the great heart
Leaps to new action and appointed toil
With steady hope, sure faith, and sober joy."

During the next two years, Margaret's life appeared to be monotonously without incident. In reality it deepened and broadened in a manner but slightly indicated by the stillness of its surface. Early in the morning following her