A Cry in the Wilderness Part 7

"Never was in a Pullman in my life, Delia, but you may believe I shall enjoy it."

She beamed on me. "That's right, my dear, take all the pleasure you can, and, of course, if Doctor Rugvie did n't mind--well, I must own up to it that I 'd like to hear from you, and what you make of it up there."

"So you shall, Delia; no secrets between you and me; there can't be; we 've known each other too long--ever since I was born into the world."

She looked a little mystified at my statement, but accepted it evidently with appreciation.

"Jane or me 'll be down to the station to see you off," she said as she bade me good night.

During the next two weeks and at odd times, I did a good bit of reference work on my own account in looking up the histories of the Canadian "Seigniories"; but at the end of that time I was ready to set out for that other country only a little wiser for my research.

A week later, Delia Beaseley was at the Grand Central to see me start on my journey northwards.

"I feel as if I were setting out on a real series of adventures, Delia!" I exclaimed when I met her. I took both her hands in mine.

"If only I were a man I should take stick and knapsack and find my way on foot. I 'd camp on the sh.o.r.e of the Tappan Zee, wander through the Catskills, and stop over night at the old Dutch farmhouses, follow the sh.o.r.es of Lake Champlain and cross the border high of heart, even if footweary!"

Delia smiled indulgently upon me.

"Such fancies will help you out a good bit, my dear; it's well you have a word or two of French to get along with. I used to hear it when I was a girl in Cape Breton."

I caught the shadow of a memory settle in her eyes. We were at the gate. The train was made up.

"I must say goodby here, my dear; they won't let me in to the train."

I took both her hands again. "Goodby, Delia Beaseley," I began; then something choked me. I so wanted to thank her for all her goodness to me. "I wish I knew what to say--how to thank--"

"There, there, my dear, I 'm the one to be thankful. I 've been reaping a harvest just from one little seed I sowed near twenty-six years ago--and I never thought to see so much as a blade of gra.s.s!

That's all. I 'm wonderful grateful it's been given me to see such a harvest."

"Oh, Delia, if I only amounted to something, so that you could be proud of your little harvest--"

"Now, don't, my dear, don't; don't say nothing more, but just go straight forward with G.o.d's blessing, which is the same as mine this time, and--don't forget me if ever you need a friend."

My eyes filled with unaccustomed tears. A curious thought: New York, the Juggernaut, the fetich of millions, just when I was ridding myself of the horror of its awful presence, was about to bind me to it through this new-old friend!

I caught her rough toil-worn hand in both mine and pressed my lips to it; then I dropped it, and walked rapidly down the platform to the train. Not once did I look behind me.

For a little while after entering the luxurious sleeping car, I felt awkward, uncomfortable; I had never been in one before. But when I was settled in my ample, high-backed section, and the train began to move slowly out of the station and through the tunnel, I felt more at ease.

After that, with every mile that the train, moving more and more swiftly, put between me and the city's sights and sounds, I felt a rising of spirits, an ease of mind and body I had never before experienced.

Within an hour all depression had vanished; hopes and antic.i.p.ations for the new environment filled the foreground of my thoughts. Without adequate reason, I believed that the change I was making was for my good; that with new faces about me, with new and closer interests which, alone as I was in the world, I must subst.i.tute for a home, I was about to escape from all former a.s.sociations and the memories they fostered.

Only one thought troubled me, that was the connection by Delia Beaseley of Doctor Rugvie's name with that of George Jackson--my mother's husband. I had hoped never to hear that name again.

For an hour I peered at the dark Hudson, the shadowed hills; the night fell, blotting out the landscape wholly and shutting me into the warm brilliantly lighted car with a sense of cosy security.

I looked at the few people I could see over the high sections. Three women were opposite to me, two of them young. I found myself calculating the cost of their dresses and accessories, their furs and hats. I reckoned the amount to be something like my wages on the farm for six years. How easily and unconsciously they wore their good clothes! One of the two younger held my attention. She was fair, slender, long-throated, and carried herself with noticeable erectness.

I caught bits of their conversation carried on in low pleasing voices:

"It will be such a surprise to them."

"... the C. P. steamer--"

"Oh, fancy! They must have known--"

"... you know I am glad to be at home this winter..."

"Where is it? ..."

"Somewhere in Richelieu-en-Bas--"

I was all ears. Richelieu-en-Bas was my destination. Their voices were so low I could catch but little more.

"Just fancy! But you would never know from him--"

"When is Mr. Ewart coming over?"

"Bess!" The fair one held up a warning finger; "your voice carries so." She rose and reached for her furs from the hook. "Let's go into the forward car and see the Ellwicks."

The others rose too; shook themselves out a little; patted hair rolls, changed a hairpin, took down their furs and left the car--tall graceful women, all of them.

Since my illness I had squeezed out from my earnings enough for the pa.s.sage money, fourteen dollars, and eight besides. I did n't want to begin by being indebted to any one in the Seigniory of Lamoral for that amount; and I did n't want it deducted from my first wages. I pleased myself with the fancy that, soon after my arrival, I should give the money into some one's hands with an appropriate word or two, to the effect that I had chosen to pay my own travelling expenses. That sounded better than pa.s.sage money which was reminiscent of the steerage.

They should understand that if I were at service, I had a little moneyed independence of my own--the pitiful eight dollars with which to go out into the new country. Immigrants have come in with less than this--nor been deported. Well, I ran no risk of being deported from Canada.

I asked the porter to make my berth early. About nine I lay down, tired and worn out with the excitement of the past three weeks. I drew the curtains close to shut out the night, and lay there pa.s.sively content, listening to the steadily accented _clankity-clank-clank_ of the Montreal night express.

I liked the sound; it soothed me. This swift on-rush into the night towards Canada, the even motion, began to rest the long over-strained nerves. During these hours, at least, I was care free. I slept.

For the first time for months that sleep was long, unbroken, dreamless.

I awoke refreshed, strengthened. Drawing the window curtains aside, I looked out upon a world newly bathed in the early morning lights.

At the sight, my enthusiasm, which I thought quenched forever in the overwhelming flood of adverse circ.u.mstance, was rekindled; my imagination stimulated. Dawn was breaking clear and golden behind the mountains across Lake Champlain. Green those mountains are in the October sunlight, green and yellow and frost-wrought crimson; but now they loomed dark against the horizon's deepening gold. A few small dawn clouds of pure rose and one, gigantic, high-piled, of smoke gray, hung motionless above the mist-veiled waters of the lake.

I watched the coming of this day with charmed eyes. The sun rose clear, undimmed over the shadowed mountains. The lake mists felt its beams; dispersed suddenly in silver flocculence; and the path across the blue waters was free for the morning glory that was advancing apace.

BOOK TWO

THE SEIGNIORY OF LAMORAL

I