Jan Vedder's Wife by Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr (i wanna iguana read aloud .txt) 📖

/> "To thee, I am always 'Jan.'"

"My heart shall call thee 'Jan,' but my lips shall always say 'my captain,' so glad are they to say it! Shall I not sail with thee as long as we two live?"

"We are mates for life, Snorro."

Jan sent his boy for bread and meat. "Thou art hungry I know," he said; "when did thou eat?"

"Not since morning. To-day I was not hungry, I thought only of seeing thee again."

At first neither spoke of the subject nearest to Jan's heart. There was much to tell of people long known to both men, but gradually the conversation became slower and more earnest, and then Snorro began to talk of Peter Fae and his marriage. "It hath been a good thing for Peter," he said; "he looks by ten years a younger man."

"And Suneva, is she happy?"

"Well, then, she dresses gayly, and gives many fine parties, and is what she likes best of all, the great lady of the town. But she hath not a bad heart, and I think it was not altogether her fault if thy wife was----"

"If my wife was what, Snorro?"

"If thy wife was unhappy in her house. The swan and the kittywake can not dwell in the same nest."

"What hast thou to tell me of my wife and son?"

"There is not such a boy as thy boy in all Scotland. He is handsomer than thou art. He is tall and strong, and lish and active as a fish. He can dive and swim like a seal, he can climb like a whaler's boy, he can fling a spear, and ride, and run, and read; and he was beginning to write his letters on a slate when I came away. Also, he was making a boat, for he loves the sea, as thou loves it. Oh, I tell thee, there is not another boy to marrow thy little Jan."

"Is he called Jan?"

"Yes, he is called Jan after thee."

"This is great good news, Snorro. What now of my wife?"

Snorro's voice changed, and all the light left his face. He spoke slowly, but with decision. "She is a very good woman. There is not a better woman to be found anywhere than Margaret Vedder. The minister said I was to tell thee how kind she is to all who are sick and in trouble, and to him she is as his right hand. Yes, I will tell thee truly, that he thinks she is worthy of thy love now."

"And what dost thou think?"

"I do not think she is worthy."

"Why dost thou not think so?"

"A woman may be an angel, and love thee not."

"Then thou thinks she loves me not? Why? Has she other lovers? Tell me truly, Snorro."

"The man lives not in Lerwick who would dare to speak a word of love to Margaret Vedder. She walks apart from all merry-making, and from all friends. As I have told thee she lives in her own house, and enters no other house but the manse, unless it be to see some one in pain or sorrow. She is a loving mother to thy son, but she loves not thee. I will tell thee why I think." Then Snorro recounted with accurate truthfulness his last interview with Margaret. He told Jan every thing, for he had noted every thing:--her dress, her attitude, her rising color, her interest in the locket's chain, her indifference as to his own hurried journey, its object, or its length.

Jan heard all in silence, but the impression made on him by Snorro's recital, was not what Snorro expected. Jan knew Margaret's slow, proud nature. He would have been astonished, perhaps even a little suspicious of any exaggeration of feeling, of tears, or of ejaculations. Her interest in the locket chain said a great deal to him. Sitting by his side, with her fair face almost against his own, she had drawn the pattern of the chain she wished. Evidently she had remembered it; he understood that it was her emotion at the recognition which had made her so silent, and so oblivious of Snorro's affairs. The minister's opinion had also great weight with him. Dr. Balloch knew the whole story of his wrong, knew just where he had failed, and where Margaret had failed. If he believed a reconciliation was now possible and desirable, then Jan also was sure of it.

Snorro saw the purpose in his face. Perhaps he had a moment's jealous pang, but it was instantly put down. He hastened to let Jan feel that, even in this matter, he must always be at one with him:

"Trust not to me," he said; "it is little I know or understand about women, and I may judge Margaret Vedder far wrong."

"I think thou does, Snorro. She was never one to make a great show of her grief or her regrets. But I will tell thee what she did when thou wert gone away. In her own room, she wept over that chain the whole night long."

"That may be. When little Jan had the croup she was still and calm until the boy was out of danger, and then she wept until my heart ached for her. Only once besides have I seen her weep; that was when Suneva accused her of thy murder; then she took her baby in her arms and came through the storm to me at the store. Yes, she wept sorely that night."

Jan sat with tightly-drawn lips.

"If it will make thee happy, send me back to Lerwick, and I will bring thy wife and child safely here. Thou would be proud indeed to see them. The boy is all I have told thee. His mother is ten times handsomer than when thou married her. She is the fairest and most beautiful of women. When she walks down the street at the minister's side, she is like no other woman. Even Peter Fae is now proud that she is his daughter, and he sends her of the finest that comes to his hand. Shall I then go for thee? Why not go thyself?"

"I will think about it, Snorro. I can not go myself. I received my promotion yesterday, and I asked to be transferred for immediate service. I may get my orders any day. If I send thee, I may have to sail without thee, and yet not see my wife and child. No, I will not part with thee, Snorro; thou art a certain gain, and about the rest, I will think well. Now we will say no more, for I am weary and weak; my head aches also, and I fear I have fever again."

The next day Jan was very ill, and it was soon evident that typhoid fever of a long and exhausting character had supervened on a condition enfeebled by African malaria. For many weeks he lay below the care of love or life, and indeed it was August when he was able to get on deck again. Then he longed for the open sea, and so urged his desire, that he received an immediate exchange to the ship Hydra, going out to Borneo with assistance for Rajah Brooke, who was waging an exterminating war against the pirates of the Chinese and Indian seas.

The new ship was a very fine one, and Jan was proud of his command. Snorro also had been assigned to duty on her, having special charge of a fine Lancaster gun which she carried, and no words could express his pride and joy in his position. She was to sail on the 15th day of August, one hour after noon, and early in the morning of that day, Jan went off the ship alone. He went direct to the Post Office, and with trembling hands, for he was still very weak, he dropped into it the following letter:

MY DEAR WIFE--MY FAIR DEAR MARGARET:

I have never ceased to love thee. Ask Dr. Balloch to tell thee
all. To-day I leave for the Chinese sea. If thou wilt forgive and
forget the past, and take me again for thy husband, have then a
letter waiting for me at the Admiralty Office, and when I return I
will come to Shetland for thee. Snorro is with me. He hath told me
all about thy goodness, and about our little Jan. Do what thy
heart tells thee to do, and nothing else. Then there will be
happiness. Thy loving husband,

JAN VEDDER.

A few hours after this letter had been posted Jan stood on his quarter deck with his face to the open sea, and Snorro, in his new uniform, elate with joy and pride, was issuing his first orders to the quarter-master, and feeling that even for him, life had really begun at last.


CHAPTER XIII.


LITTLE JAN'S TRIUMPH.

"I deemed thy garments, O my hope, were gray,
So far I viewed thee. Now the space between
Is passed at length; and garmented in green
Even as in days of yore thou stand'st to-day.
Ah God! and but for lingering dull dismay,
On all that road our footsteps erst had been
Even thus commingled, and our shadows seen
Blent on the hedgerows and the water way."

Margaret intended leaving Saturday, but on Thursday night something happened, the most unlooked-for thing that could have happened to her--she received Jan's letter. As she was standing beside her packed trunk, she heard Elga call:

"Here has come Sandy Bane with a letter, Mistress Vedder, and he will give it to none but thee."

It is not always that we have presentiments. That strange intelligence, that wraith of coming events, does not speak, except a prescient soul listens. Margaret attached no importance to the call. Dr. Balloch often sent letters, she supposed Sandy was waiting for a penny fee. With her usual neatness, she put away some trifles, locked her drawers, and then washed her hands and face. Sandy was in no hurry either; Elga had given him a cup of tea, and a toasted barley-cake, and he was telling her bits of gossip about the boats and fishers.

While they were talking, Margaret entered; she gave Sandy a penny, and then with that vague curiosity which is stirred by the sight of almost any letter, she stretched out her hand for the one he had brought. The moment she saw it, she understood that something wonderful had come to her. Quick as thought she took in the significance of the official blue paper and the scarlet seal. In those days, officers in the Admiralty used imposing stationery, and Jan had felt a certain pride in giving his few earnest words the sanction of his honor and office. Certainly it had a great effect upon Margaret, although only those very familiar with her, could have detected the storm of anxiety and love concealed beneath her calm face and her few common words.

But oh, when she stood alone with Jan's loving letter in her hand, then all barriers were swept away. The abandon of her slow, strong nature, had in it an intensity impossible to quicker and shallower affection. There was an hour in which she forgot her mortality, when her soul leaned and