CHAPTER 3

It was July when Asaph Holmes made Althea his wife and brought her home to Belleport. The marriage was a quiet one, taking place at Abington, the residence of her sister, and even Lemuel Gill did not attend it.

“’Course I’ll go, Asaph, if you say the word,” asserted the little man, “though it does seem kinder foolish for me to traipse way up there for a ten-minute ceremony. Nevertheless if there’s aught of comfort in havin’ me at hand I’m ready to stand by.”

“I know you are, Lemmy,” was the earnest reply. “But there wouldn’t be the least use in your goin’.”

“I ’magined there wouldn’t,” Lemuel answered with evident relief. “It’s one of them times, I guess, when only heaven can help you. So I reckon the best thing I can do is to stay behind an’ keep a weather eye on your belongin’s. There’ll be ice to get in against your return, an’ butter, too; an’ should the weather be dry the garden will need waterin’. You can’t leave the whole place to go to the dogs even if you are gettin’ married.”

The tart comment that concluded Lemuel’s words was the first he had uttered and his crony generously passed it by.

“It will be mighty reassurin’ to know somebody’s at this end of the route,” declared he. “A house gets musty when it’s shut up an’ though I don’t plan to be away mor’n a few days I’ll feel a lot easier with you on the spot. Of course there’ll be Hannah Dole. I had to send for her to come an’ straighten things up. There’s been so many odds an’ ends round lately owin’ to spring plantin’ an’ all that I’ve run into one of them crowded spells. However, this visit will be her last—thank the Lord for that!”

For the first time he smiled into the eyes of his colleague—one of his frank, whimsical smiles—and Lemuel smiled back.

“Under those conditions you may’s well give Hannah your blessin’ an’ let her do her darndest,” drawled he.

Each man drew a breath of relief that the delicate situation had been so amicably adjusted.

Lemuel never went on journeys now-a-days. In the past he had been a continual wanderer, cruising as cook on a freighter to almost every port under the sun and having no permanent abode. But now that he had abandoned the sea and had a domicil of his own he could not be coaxed away from it. For years he had not been out of Belleport. Having indulged himself in this stay-at-home habit he had become so unaccustomed to travel that its complexities terrified him until even a short detour from his own threshold assumed the nerve-racking proportions of a voyage round the globe.

In the particular instance of Asaph’s marriage, he not only dreaded going away but also shrank from braving through in the presence of strangers an event which at best could be nothing for him but an ordeal. Besides, he had nothing to wear—a feminine reason, he humorously conceded, but in his case a very real one. His wardrobe was not a thing that normally interested him. Indeed it was the last consideration in his budget (if he boasted a budget). So long as his garments could be coaxed to hang together he wore them regardless of their appearance, rating such accessories as shirt and collars of very slight importance when weighed against the possession of a Lafayette rose. It was calamity enough that so large a percentage of his meagre income must be expended for bread and butter; but he had long ago discovered one could exist with astonishingly few coats and trousers.

All these facts Asaph understood far better than Lemmy could have explained them and therefore was only too glad to spare his pal not alone the expense but also the exactions the Abington trip would entail. Moreover, everybody did not appreciate Lemuel and he had a premonition that perhaps Althea’s relatives might not. He was an unconventional creature. Too sincere for pretense, he made no effort to appear other than he was—a shabby, simple-minded, ingenuous fisherman into whose cheek was burned the brine of the deep and whose eyes were faded by the glitter of its dancing waters.

Asaph Holmes was not ashamed of Lemmy. On the contrary he was far too proud of him, too sensitive to his worth to place him where he might not be appraised in his true value. Abington was a bigger town than Belleport and the Tylers liable to be governed by more worldly standards than those that prevailed in his own village. But more weighty than any of these arguments was the fact that Althea had never yet seen Lemuel and he was eager the first impression she received of his friend should be under the most favorable of circumstances. Lemmy, awkward and ill at ease in city clothes and irritated by the unaccustomed restraints of collar and tie, would, he realized, present anything but an ingratiating appearance.

Even Asaph himself winced before the prospect of the approaching festivities and inwardly confessed he should be heartily glad when they were over and he and his bride safe at home. However, the tomfoolery had to be gone through with, and buoying up his courage by the philosophy that everything has an end he struggled not to betray to Lemuel his perturbation.

“Thank goodness I ain’t got to stay at Abington with them Tylers forever,” muttered he when alone. “I guess I can manage to stand ’em for a couple of days. Once I get Althea away from ’em I don’t plan to do much visitin’ in that quarter, nor mean she shall neither. Abington’s a good distance off. I’m almighty thankful it’s no nearer.”

Yet, in spite of this stoical point of view, when the moment for his departure came he was obviously nervous and so was Lemuel Gill who, fighting to conceal his emotion, bravely watched him out of sight down the road that edged the harbor.

Everything had been left in what the prospective groom termed apple-pie order. The key for Hannah Dole hung on its peg behind the blind; a saucer of fish had been put out for the cat; the annuals sending up delicate green shoots in the shelter of the hollyhocks had been carefully cultivated.

“The place is in the pink of condition, Lemmy,” he asserted as the two friends parted. “I’ve sprayed every rose an’ pulled up every durn weed. You won’t find a thing to do.”

Notwithstanding the declaration, however, no sooner was the owner of the establishment out of sight than Lemuel decided to investigate.

“He’s so addle-pated ’bout that woman he much as ever knows which way he’s goin’,” soliloquized he. “He ain’t been himself since first he clapped eyes on her. An’ tellin’ me his marryin’ warn’t goin’ to make no difference. Lord! Why, he’s changed a’ready. He’s begun to worry even now lest Althea won’t like this an’ won’t like that, an’ will go shiftin’ things around when she gets here. An’ she will, too—mark my words. She’ll start straight in reformin’ the premises before her hat’s off. See if she don’t. All women do. It’s in their blood.

“Look at Hannah Dole. Is she content to kinder dust off Asaph’s possessions an’ leave ’em where she finds ’em? Not she! Nothin’ will satisfy her but to heave round every article in the place an’ whisk a broom where ’twas standin’. Let a room just get so’st things are handy an’ easy of reach an’ in she comes an’ begins cartin’ off everything in sight till it’s a marvel Asaph ever finds ’em again. She relishes doin’ it, too, even if she does pretend the job is almost mor’n she can bear.”

There may have been an element of truth in Lemuel’s accusation.

Certainly when Mrs. Dole came hither on this, her final pilgrimage, the weathered cottage on the bluff received an extra overhauling. Her zeal was as the zeal of ten. She beat and brushed, mopped and scoured with a zest never before equalled.

“Poor Asaph!” lamented Lemuel, who had crept up to peep through the blinds at the unconscious toiler. “He’ll be a month locatin’ his tools an’ catalogues. The very devil seems to be at Hannah’s heels this time. Most likely she realizes it’s her last chance; or mebbe she has a notion to demonstrate to another woman what she can do in the cleanin’ line when once she puts every ounce of elbow grease she’s got into the job. Anyhow she’s scrubbin’ like a demon. Almost before light she was out emptyin’ all the sprayin’ mixtures into the glory-hole an’ rinsin’ out the cans. Asaph won’t thank her for that. He’ll just have to stir more together soon’s her back is turned. But there’s no use tellin’ her so. Once she sets out on a course there’s no stoppin’ her. Besides, Hannah ain’t one you’d dare meddle with. Were I to object to what she’s doin’ she might up an’ leave an’ then where’d I be? No, she better be left free rein to do her worst unmolested. The foundations of the house are firm an’ the roof’s nailed on.”

Hence Lemuel placed no restraining hand on Mrs. Dole’s efforts. But after her sweeping orgy was over and she had hung the key in its usual place he came to get it, and viewing with consternation the spotless stark interior she had left behind her, exclaimed:

“My eye! It looks more as if there’d been a funeral goin’ on here than a weddin’. It actually seems as if I’d oughter strew somethin’ round to make the place seem homelike. Still, I figger I’ll not tinker with Hannah’s handiwork; she might come back an’ discover it. Besides, ’tain’t as if the rooms were goin’ to stay this way. Once Asaph returns he’ll have ’em all easy an’ comfortable again in no time.”

But when Lemuel beheld Althea he did not feel so certain of this sanguine prophecy coming true.

He was at the gate to welcome the newly wedded couple on their arrival, having spent the entire morning in preparation for the event. Awake at sunrise, he resolved to offer on the altar of friendship his dearest treasure, and steeling himself to the sacrifice he cut an armful of his choicest peonies and delphinium and arranged the flowers in a vase beneath the red worsted motto: God Bless Our Home.

Then he aired the house; purchased ice, bread, butter and sufficient provisions to tide over the mistress of the domain until she should have opportunity to assume for herself these domestic cares. Afterward, having plucked the last straggling weed from Asaph’s garden, clipped from the rose bed the fading blooms, and watered the window boxes, he sat down to wait, turning his back on the house lest he yield to the persistent temptation to strew a few catalogues and clippings about the interior.

As the moment of meeting drew nearer misgivings assailed him. Suppose he did not like Althea? Or, what was more terrifying, suppose she did not like him. The latter was the possibility that alarmed him, for he was determined to vanquish the former contingency. Indeed, he would not give the thought of not liking Althea harborage. He was going to like her. Asaph did. Why should not he?

Nevertheless, stoutly as he maintained this attitude he realized full well that do what he might he could not control Althea’s preferences. What if she should regard him with animosity and make no effort to check the impulse?

That was the dread that weighed on his spirits and that was why he today donned collar and tie, put on fresh overalls, plastered his rebellious locks sleek to his forehead, and cut the spires of larkspur that it wrung his heart to sever from the stalks.

“I’ve got to expect to make some effort to please her,” reasoned he. “Then if I do my full part an’ fail to make a go of it, I’ll have nothin’ to cuss myself for. A lot depends on the three of us startin’ right.”

Apparently Asaph also realized this truth, for during the homeward journey, naturally as an April shower falls from the clouds, the name of his crony fell from his lips.

“You’re goin’ to like Lemmy, Althea,” he remarked as they drove along. And later he said:

“I’m bankin’, Althea, on you an’ Lemmy bein’ great friends.”

And when at last a curve of the shore was reached from which the silvery grey cottage could be seen, with an anxiety he could no longer conceal he ventured earnestly:

“I do hope you are goin’ to take to Lemmy for he’s the best friend I have on earth—that is, outside of you,” he amended with haste. “You won’t, mebbe, find him much at first. He ain’t great on appearances, Lemmy ain’t. But the heart inside him—” Emotion halted further utterance and to bridge his embarrassment Althea inquired kindly:

“Tell me about him.”

“Lord! I thought I had. Seems to me I’ve been talkin’ of him most of the time I’ve been away. You mean his looks? Wal, I ain’t sure’s I can. I’ve never thought much about ’em.”

“But you know whether he’s short or tall.”

“He’s short, I guess. Yes, he must be, ’cause I recollect he’s always havin’ to take a slice off the legs of his new overalls quick’s he buys ’em.”

The bride laughed. She had fine white teeth and was at her best when showing them. Asaph liked to see her laugh.

“He’s short, then; that’s settled. Now for his complexion. Surely after all these years you should know whether he is light or dark.”

“I reckon I should,” agreed her husband, “but I’m not certain I do. You see I’ve never picked Lemmy to pieces. I’ve just taken him as he was. Mebbe his eyes are blue. They’d oughter be ’cause his hair is sorter light—carroty, some folks call it; but I don’t consider it that color. It may be sandy an’ I reckon ’tis. But it ain’t carroty—it certainly ain’t that.”

“Does Mr. Gill—”

“Oh, for pity sakes don’t call him Mr. Gill, Althea. Nobody ever called him that in his life an’ should you begin doin’ it ’twould scare him so’st he’d most likely start runnin’ an’ never stop. Furthermore, he ain’t Mister. If you must put a handle before his name (which I pray you won’t) make it Captain.”

“Oh, he has commanded a ship, has he?”

Asaph looked disconcerted.

“Wal’, no—not quite that—at least, not exactly. But he was somethin’ important aboard a freighter once an’ so folks have dropped into speakin’ of him as Cap’n.”

It did not seem opportune just then to explain to his wife precisely the nature of the important post Lemuel had held aboard the Clara D.

“I hope he’s goin’ to like me,” mused Althea aloud.

“Like you! ’Course he is. Lemmy likes everybody.” Then, sensing the assurance contained no great compliment, he foundered on: “Furthermore, my likin’ you will be enough for Lemmy.”

“But I want him to like me for myself,” protested Althea prettily.

Here was a chance for a courtier’s tongue, and had Asaph been skilled in making graceful speeches he would doubtless have seized on the opportunity to bestow on the lady beside him a few words of delicate flattery; lacking this training he answered instead:

“Oh, he will; don’t you fret about that. Lemuel ain’t hard to please. Give him a little time. Folks can learn to like anything if they keep tryin’ long enough. I remember as a lad I never could abide turnips; but my mother fed ’em to me till now I’ve come to relish ’em most as much as any other vegetable.”

Althea drew in her chin. Then her sense of humor came to her aid, and reaching over she patted the hand of the big, clumsy man at her elbow.

There was time for no further demonstration for just at this juncture the stage drew up before Asaph’s door, and Lemuel Gill, hatless and smiling, came forward to greet the travelers.

His welcome carried something that would instantly have disarmed antagonism had Althea been armed with it. Good will spoke in his every gesture, and even a tender solicitude was evident in the care with which he helped her out of the grimy wagon and took her bag.

His eyes, as Asaph had surmised, were blue, and they shone now with bright, unwavering friendliness. But prejudiced indeed must one have been who failed to recognize his hair as carroty. Yet, notwithstanding the hue of his locks and the casualness of the garments that covered his loose, slouching figure, there was a buoyant youthfulness about him, a warmth and sincerity that charmed.

Althea gave him her hand and felt the color flood her face as with curiosity his artless gaze swept it.

Then Asaph put to rout the tension of the moment by exclaiming jovially:

“Bless my soul, Lemmy! If you ain’t all dolled out in a collar an’ necktie! Althea can’t say you ain’t paid her the highest honors.”

“I meant to,” was the grave retort.

What woman could resist such homage?

Certainly not Althea, who saw in the little man a quality all women love.

“I hope we’re goin’ to be friends—you an’ I,” she responded timidly.

“We’re goin’ to if it rests with me,” beamed Lemuel.

They had gone indoors and the bride turned to look about her.

“My, Asaph, how neat your house looks!” commented she. “I’m glad to find you such an orderly housekeeper. If there’s anything I can’t abide it’s dirt an’ untidiness.”

Lemuel cast a quick glance at his comrade, and seeing him on the brink of a confession interrupted with feverish haste:

“Asaph’s an all-right housekeeper in his way, marm; but his biggest talents show outdoors. Did you twig his garden as you came along?”

“Phoo, phoo, Lemmy—nonsense! Why, I ain’t ever raised a thing could compare with your lilies an’ delphinium.”

They were sauntering from the hall into the sitting room and a cry from Althea cut short the argument.

“Oh!” murmured she, pointing to the mass of bloom that all but concealed the motto opposite her.

“You didn’t cut down your larkspur, Lemmy,” gasped Asaph, aghast at the sight.

“I snipped some of it off,” answered Lemuel, lightly. “Folks ain’t married every day.”

“But your best hybrids—an’ the peonies!”

“They’re beautiful,” broke in Althea softly. “I couldn’t have had, Lemmy, a present that would have pleased me more.”

With feminine understanding she laid her hand shyly on the arm of the little man.

The Rubicon had been crossed. They were friends.

“I reckon ’twas worth it,” drawled Lemmy Gill, when, that evening, alone in his garden, he ruefully surveyed the naked stalks that towered into the gloom. “Flowers have a way of sayin’ for you things you can’t say yourself. Had I tried a lifetime I couldn’t ’a’ made clear to Althea what them delphiniums did.”