Mistress Pat (24 page)

“And no wonder. I don’t hold with such goings-on in my house on Sunday.”

“Sure and who cud be hilping it?” protested Judy. “It was Just Dog’s doings intirely, going rat-hunting on Sunday. Before that the young fry were all quiet and sober-like. As for Tillytuck and his langwidge, iverybody do be knowing him. It’s well known he didn’t larn it at Silver Bush. Just Dog did be coming back later on wid no rat attached, rale meek and chastened-like. Lloyd hasn’t been back since and good riddance. The Shortreeds do be having no sinse av humour.”

“Lloyd’s a very decent fellow,” said Long Alec shortly.

“And that cliver wid his needle,” added Judy slyly. “He did be piecing a whole quilt whin he was but four years ould and he’s niver been able to live it down. His mother brings it out and shows it round whiniver company comes.”

Long Alec got up and went out. He knew he was no match for Judy.

They celebrated Rae’s home-coming by another party to which all Rae’s college friends came. Rae loved dancing. Her very slippers, if left to themselves, would have danced the whole night through. But Pat’s feet were not as light as they had been at the last party. Sid was not there. Sid was a very remote and unhappy boy. There had been a social sensation in North Glen early in the winter. Dorothy Milton, who had been engaged to Sid for two years, ran away with and married her cousin from Halifax, a dissipated, fascinating youth who “travelled” for a Halifax firm. Sid would have nothing of sympathy from his family. He would not talk of the matter at all. But he had been hard and bitter and defiant ever since and Pat felt hopelessly cut off from him. He worked feverishly but he came and went among his own like a stranger.

“Patience,” said mother. “It will wear away in time. Poor Dorothy! I’m sorrier for her than for Sid.”

“I’m not,” sobbed Pat fiercely. “I hate her … for breaking Sid’s heart.”

“Oh, oh, iverybody’s heart gets a bit av a crack at one time or another,” said Judy. “Siddy isn’t the first b’y to be jilted and he won’t be the last, as long as the poor girls haven’t got the sinse God gave geese.”

But Judy didn’t like to look at Sid’s eyes herself.

When the party was over Pat and Rae went by a mossy, velvety path to their tent in the bush, amid a growth of young white, wild cherry trees. They had achieved their long-cherished dream of sleeping out in the silver bush and the reality was more beautiful than the dream, even when the wind blew the tent down on them one night and Little Mary was half smothered before they could find her. There was another new baby at the Bay Shore and Little Mary had been committed to the care of Aunt Pat until her mother should be about. They all loved Little Mary but Aunt Pat adored and spoiled her. To see Little Mary running about the garden on her dear chubby legs, pausing now and then to lift a flower to her small nose, or following Judy out to feed the chickens, or chasing kittens in the old barns, where generations of furry things had frisked their little lives and ceased to be, gave Pat never-ending thrills. And the questions she would ask … “Aunt Pat, why weren’t ears made plain?” … “Aunt Pat, have flowers little souls?” … “Where do the days go, Aunt Pat. Dey mus’ go SOMEWHERE” … “Does God live in Judy’s blue chest, Aunt Pat?” Once or twice the thought came to Pat that to marry and have a dimpled question mark like this of your very own might even make up for the loss of Silver Bush.

Judy came through the scented darkness to see if they were all right and gossip a little about various things. Judy had been to a funeral that day … a very unusual dissipation for her. But old William Madison at the Bridge had died and Judy had worked a few months for his mother before coming to Silver Bush.

“Sure and iverything wint off very well. It was the grand funeral he had and he’d have been rale well plazed if he cud have seen it. He had great fun arranging it all, I’m told. Oh, oh, and he died very politely, asking thim all to ixcuse him for the bother he was putting thim to. His ould Aunt Polly was rale vexed because she didn’t be getting the sate at the funeral she thought she shud have but nobody else had inny fault to find wid the programme. It do be hard to plaze ivery one. Polly Madison is one av the Holy Christians … holier than inny av thim, I’m hearing.”

For the “go-preacher’s” disciples had formed themselves into a “Holy Christian church” and were cruelly referred to in the Glen as the Holy Christians.

“I hear they’re going to build a church,” said Pat.

“That they are … but they’re not calling it a church. It do be ‘a place av meeting.’ The same Aunt Polly do be giving the land for it. And Mr. Wheeler is coming back to be their minister … or their shepherd as they do be saying, not approving av ministers or av paying thim salaries ather. He’ll be living on air no doubt. Aunt Polly says he is very spiritual but I’m thinking it’s only the way he was av lifting his eyes and taffying her up. Innyway her husband don’t be houlding wid new-fangled religions. ‘Are ye prepared to die?’ the go-preacher asked him rale solemn-like, I’m tould. But ould Jim Polly was always a hard nut to crack. ‘Better be asking if I’m prepared to live,’ sez he. ‘Living comes first,’ sez he.”

Pat had detected a sudden movement of Rae’s when Judy mentioned Mr. Wheeler’s name, and felt her worry increase. Suppose he made up to Rae again!

Mr. Wheeler did return and did “make up to” Rae. That is, he fairly haunted Silver Bush and made himself quite agreeable socially … or tried to. The Gardiners no longer went to any of his services and the Holy Christians thought he might find more spiritual ways of spending his time than playing violin duets with Rae Gardiner and mooning about the garden with Pat until the very cats were bored. For Pat decidedly put herself forward to entertain him when he came and contrived to be present during most of the duets. To be sure, Rae laughed at and made constant fun of him. But she never seemed her usual saucy, indifferent self in his presence. She was quiet and subdued, with never a coquettish look, and Pat was not exactly easy. The creature WAS handsome in his way, with his dark eyes and crinkly sweep of hair, and his voice in which there were echoes of everything. Aunt Polly’s daughter, who taught in South Glen, was reputed to have said that he had a certain Byronic charm. Byronic charm or not Pat wasn’t going to have any nonsense and she played gooseberry with amiable persistence whenever he appeared. He looked a great deal at Rae and dropped his voice tenderly when he spoke to her: but he showed no aversion to talking with Pat … “currying favour,” Tillytuck said.

Judy teased Rae sometimes about him.

“Sure and he’d be easy to cook for, Cuddles darlint. They’re telling me he niver ates innything but nuts and bran biscuits. No wonder he’s not nading a salary. But how about kaping a wife?”

“You do say such ridiculous things,” said Rae rather snappishly. “What is it to me whether he can keep a wife or not?”

Tillytuck was not quite easy in his mind about it. He considered Mr. Wheeler a dangerous creature and wondered why Long Alec tolerated his presence at all. As he entirely disapproved of the Holy Christians he decided he would take up with church-going again as a token of his disapproval. He took several weeks to accumulate enough courage to go, being afraid, as he told Judy, of making too much of a sensation. But when he finally did go and nobody took any particular notice of it he was secretly furious.

“There wasn’t a good-looking woman in church,” he grumbled, “and no great shakes of a minister. He runs to words and I don’t believe his views on the devil are sound. Sort of flabby. I like a devil with some backbone.”

“Suppose you do be going to the Holy Christians,” said Judy disdainfully, as she sliced up her red cabbage for pickling. “I’m hearing they have wrestling matches wid That Person quite frequent.”

“The people of this place are having too much truck with Holy Christians as it is,” said Tillytuck sourly, “and the time will come when they’ll see it.”

“There’ll no harm come to Silver Bush from that poor lad,” said Judy. “And ye’ll all be getting a rale surprise some day.”

“You’ve got wheels in your head,” scoffed Tillytuck.

Pat, at that moment, was working in the garden, at peace with herself and all the world. Somehow, she always felt safe from change in that garden. Just now it seemed to be taking pleasure in itself. Its flowers were guests not prisoners … its blue delphiniums, its frail fleeting loveliness of poppies, its Canterbury bells, delicious mauve flecked with purple, its roses of gold and snow, its lilies of milk and wine.

Westward the sun was sinking low over a far land of shining hills. The air was sweet with a certain blended fragrance that only the Silver Bush garden knew. The whole lovesome place was full of soft amethyst shadows.

What fairy things the seeds of immortelles were! What a lovely name “bee balm” was! It was on evenings like this long ago she had listened for Joe’s whistle as he came home from work. There was never any whistle now … Sid never whistled. Poor Sid! Would he never get over fretting for that hateful Dorothy? He was running around, here, there and everywhere, with all kinds of girls, rumour said. They saw very little of him at Silver Bush. At work all day … and off in the evening till late. Mother’s eyes were very sad sometimes. Judy advised patience … he would come back to himself yet. Pat found it hard to be patient. At times she felt like shaking Sid. Why should he shut her out of his life as he did? That was always one of the little shadows in the background.

There was a hint of September coolness blowing across August’s languor … another summer almost gone. The years were certainly beginning to spin past rather quickly. Well, to grow old with Silver Bush would not be hard, Pat reflected, with the philosophy of one who is as yet very far from age.

Suddenly Pat scowled. There was that wretched Mr. Wheeler coming up the lane. Thank goodness, Rae had gone to Winnie’s. Now for another evening of boredom. When would he take the hint that his attentions to Rae weren’t welcome to her or anybody else? Her lovely garden evening would be quite spoiled. And he had been here only last night. Really, he was becoming an intolerable nuisance.

Would it be violating Silver Bush traditions too flagrantly to give him a hint of it?

Pat’s greeting was a trifle distant and she went on coolly snipping off delphinium seeds. Bold-and-Bad, who had been prowling among the shrubs, made a few spiteful remarks. You couldn’t hoodwink Bold-and-Bad.

Mr. Wheeler stood looking down at her. Pat had an old sunburned felt hat of Sid’s on her head which she would not have thought … if she had thought about it at all … likely to attract masculine admiration. And she wore an ancient brown crepe dress which burrs and stick-tights could no longer injure. She did not know how its warm hues brought out the creaminess of her skin … the gloss of her hair … the fire of her amber eyes. She was really looking her best and when, after a rather overlong silence, she raised her eyes to her caller’s she found his dark, soulful orbs … the adjectives were Aunt Polly’s daughter’s … gazing down at her with a strange expression in their depths. An incredible idea came to Pat … and was instantly dismissed. Nonsense! She wished he wouldn’t stand so close to her. She knew at once what he had for supper. How overfull his red lips were! And when had his finger-nails been cleaned last? WHY didn’t somebody come along? People were always somewhere else when you wanted them and when you didn’t you simply fell over them.

“You are smiling … you have such a fascinating smile. What are you thinking of, Patricia,” he said in a low, caressing tone.

Merciful goodness, suppose she told him what she was thinking! Pat had hard work to avert a grin. And then the bolt fell, straight out of the blue.

Mr. Wheeler helped himself to one of her hands and looked at it.

“Little white hand,” he murmured. “Little white hand that holds my heart.”

Pat’s hands were brown and not particularly little. She tried to pull it away. But he held on and put his arm around her. Worse and more of it, as Tillytuck would say. Suppose Judy were looking out of the kitchen window!

“Please, don’t be so … foolish,” said Pat coldly.

“I’m not foolish. I am wise … very wise … wise with the wisdom of countless ages.” His voice was getting lower and tenderer with every word. “I’ve been wanting this opportunity for weeks. It has been so hard to find you alone. Dearest, sweetest of angels, have you any idea how much I love you … have loved you for a thousand lives?”

“I never thought of such a thing … I always thought it was Rae,” was all poor Pat could gasp.

Mr. Wheeler smiled patronisingly.

“You couldn’t have thought that, my darling. Miss Rachel is a charming child. But it is you, my sweet … and always has been since the first moment I drowned my soul in your beautiful eyes. I think I must have dreamed you all my life … and now my dream has come true.” He tried to draw her closer. “You belong to me … you know you do. We will have such a wonderful life together, my queen.”

Pat recovered herself. She wrested her hand from his clasp, feeling quite furious over her ridiculous position.

“You must forget all this nonsense, Mr. Wheeler,” she said decisively. “I hadn’t the slightest idea you felt that way about me. And …” Pat was growing angry, “just how did you come to imagine that I would marry YOU?”

Mr. Wheeler dropped her hand and looked down at her, with something rather unpleasant in his eyes.

“You have encouraged me to think so.” His voice had lost a good deal of its smooth oiliness. “I cannot believe you do not care for me.”

“Please try,” said Pat in a dangerous tone. It flicked on the raw. A dark flush spread over Mr. Wheeler’s face. He seemed all at once to be quite a different person.

“You have shown me very plainly that you liked my society, Miss Gardiner … almost TOO plainly. I consider that I had every right to suppose that my proposal would be welcome … very welcome. You have flirted with me shamelessly … you have lured me on, for your own amusement I must now suppose. I should have known it … I was well warned … I was told what you were …”

Pat, looking into his angry eyes, felt as she had felt one day when she had turned over an old, beautiful mossy stone in the Whispering Lane and seen what was underneath.