Two months had gone by,--two months ofsteady, fagging work; of cooking, washing,ironing; of mending and caring forthe three children, although Jenny was fast becominga notable little housewife, quick, ready, andcapable. They were months in which there hadbeen many a weary night of watching by Aurelia'sbedside; of soothing and bandaging and rubbing;of reading and nursing, even of feeding and bathing.
The ceaseless care was growing less now, andthe family breathed more freely, for the mother'ssigh of pain no longer came from the stiflingbedroom, where, during a hot and humid August,Aurelia had lain, suffering with every breath shedrew. There would be no question of walking formany a month to come, but blessings seemed tomultiply when the blinds could be opened and thebed drawn near the window; when mother, withpillows behind her, could at least sit and watch thework going on, could smile at the past agony andforget the weary hours that had led to her presentcomparative ease and comfort.
No girl of seventeen can pass through such anordeal and come out unchanged; no girl of Re-becca's temperament could go through it withoutsome inward repining and rebellion. She was doingtasks in which she could not be fully happy,--heavyand trying tasks, which perhaps she could neverdo with complete success or satisfaction; and likepromise of nectar to thirsty lips was the vision ofjoys she had had to put aside for the performanceof dull daily duty. How brief, how fleeting,had been those splendid visions when the universeseemed open for her young strength to battleand triumph in! How soon they had faded intothe light of common day! At first, sympathy andgrief were so keen she thought of nothing buther mother's pain. No consciousness of self interposedbetween her and her filial service; then, asthe weeks passed, little blighted hopes began to stirand ache in her breast; defeated ambitions raisedtheir heads as if to sting her; unattainable delightsteased her by their very nearness; by the narrowline of separation that lay between her and theirrealization. It is easy, for the moment, to tread thenarrow way, looking neither to the right nor left,upborne by the sense of right doing; but that firstjoy of self-denial, the joy that is like fire in theblood, dies away; the path seems drearier and thefootsteps falter. Such a time came to Rebecca, andher bright spirit flagged when the letter wasreceived saying that her position in Augusta had beenfilled. There was a mutinous leap of the heart then,a beating of wings against the door of the cage, alonging for the freedom of the big world outside.
It was the stirring of the powers within her, thoughshe called it by no such grand name. She felt asif the wind of destiny were blowing her flamehither and thither, burning, consuming her, butkindling nothing. All this meant one stormy nightin her little room at Sunnybrook, but the cloudsblew over, the sun shone again, a rainbow stretchedacross the sky, while "hope clad in April green"smiled into her upturned face and beckoned her on,saying:--"Grow old along with me,The best is yet to be."Threads of joy ran in and out of the gray tangledweb of daily living. There was the attempt at oddmoments to make the bare little house less bare bybringing in out-of-doors, taking a leaf from Nature'sbook and noting how she conceals ugliness wherevershe finds it. Then there was the satisfaction of beingmistress of the poor domain; of planning, governing,deciding; of bringing order out of chaos; ofimplanting gayety in the place of inert resignation tothe inevitable. Another element of comfort was thechildren's love, for they turned to her as flowers tothe sun, drawing confidently on her fund of stories,serene in the conviction that there was no limit toRebecca's power of make-believe. In this, and inyet greater things, little as she realized it, the lawof compensation was working in her behalf, for inthose anxious days mother and daughter found andknew each other as never before. A new sense wasborn in Rebecca as she hung over her mother's bedof pain and unrest,--a sense that comes only ofministering, a sense that grows only when the strongbend toward the weak. As for Aurelia, words couldnever have expressed her dumb happiness when thereal revelation of motherhood was vouchsafed her.
In all the earlier years when her babies were young,carking cares and anxieties darkened the firesidewith their brooding wings. Then Rebecca had goneaway, and in the long months of absence her mindand soul had grown out of her mother's knowledge,so that now, when Aurelia had time and strengthto study her child, she was like some enchantingchangeling. Aurelia and Hannah had gone on inthe dull round and the common task, growing dullerand duller; but now, on a certain stage of life'sjourney, who should appear but this bewilderingbeing, who gave wings to thoughts that had onlycrept before; who brought color and grace andharmony into the dun brown texture of existence.
You might harness Rebecca to the heaviestplough, and while she had youth on her side, shewould always remember the green earth under herfeet and the blue sky over her head. Her physicaleye saw the cake she was stirring and the loaf shewas kneading; her physical ear heard the kitchenfire crackling and the teakettle singing, but everand anon her fancy mounted on pinions, resteditself, renewed its strength in the upper air. Thebare little farmhouse was a fixed fact, but she hadmany a palace into which she now and then withdrew;palaces peopled with stirring and gallant figuresbelonging to the world of romance; palacesnot without their heavenly apparitions too, breathingcelestial counsel. Every time she retired to hercitadel of dreams she came forth radiant andrefreshed, as one who has seen the evening star, orheard sweet music, or smelled the rose of joy.
Aurelia could have understood the feeling ofa narrow-minded and conventional hen who hasbrought a strange, intrepid duckling into the world;but her situation was still more wonderful, for shecould only compare her sensations to those of somequiet brown Dorking who has brooded an ordinaryegg and hatched a bird of paradise. Such an ideahad crossed her mind more than once during thepast fortnight, and it flashed to and fro this mellowOctober morning when Rebecca came into the roomwith her arms full of goldenrod and flaming autumnleaves.
"Just a hint of the fall styles, mother," she said,slipping the stem of a gorgeous red and yellowsapling between the mattress and the foot of the bed.
"This was leaning over the pool, and I was afraidit would be vain if I left it there too long lookingat its beautiful reflection, so I took it away fromdanger; isn't it wonderful? How I wish I couldcarry one to poor aunt Miranda to-day! There'snever a flower in the brick house when I'maway."It was a marvelous morning. The sun had climbedinto a world that held in remembrance only asuccession of golden days and starlit nights. The airwas fragrant with ripening fruit, and there was amad little bird on a tree outside the door nearlybursting his throat with joy of living. He hadforgotten that summer was over, that winter must evercome; and who could think of cold winds, bareboughs, or frozen streams on such a day? A paintedmoth came in at the open window and settled onthe tuft of brilliant leaves. Aurelia heard the birdand looked from the beauty of the glowing bush toher tall, splendid daughter, standing like youngSpring with golden Autumn in her arms.
Then suddenly she covered her eyes and cried,"I can't bear it! Here I lie chained to this bed,interfering with everything you want to do. It's allwasted! All my saving and doing without; all yourhard study; all Mirandy's outlay; everything thatwe thought was going to be the making of you!""Mother, mother, don't talk so, don't thinkso!" exclaimed Rebecca, sitting down impetuouslyon the floor by the bed and dropping the goldenrodby her side. "Why, mother, I'm only a little pastseventeen! This person in a purple calico apronwith flour on her nose is only the beginnings of me!
Do you remember the young tree that John transplanted?
We had a dry summer and a cold winterand it didn't grow a bit, nor show anything of allwe did for it; then there was a good year and itmade up for lost time. This is just my little`rooting season,' mother, but don't go and believe myday is over, because it hasn't begun! The oldmaple by the well that's in its hundredth year hadnew leaves this summer, so there must be hope forme at seventeen!""You can put a brave face on it," sobbedAurelia, "but you can't deceive me. You've lost yourplace; you'll never see your friends here, andyou're nothing but a drudge!""I look like a drudge," said Rebecca mysteriously,with laughing eyes, "but I really am a princess;you mustn't tell, but this is only a disguise;I wear it for reasons of state. The king and queenwho are at present occupying my throne are veryold and tottering, and are going to abdicate shortlyin my favor. It's rather a small kingdom, I suppose,as kingdoms go, so there isn't much strugglefor it in royal circles, and you mustn't expect tosee a golden throne set with jewels. It will probablybe only of ivory with a nice screen of peacockfeathers for a background; but you shall have acomfortable chair very near it, with quantities ofslaves to do what they call in novels your `lightestbidding.'"Aurelia smiled in spite of herself, and though notperhaps wholly deceived, she was comforted.
"I only hope you won't have to wait too long foryour thrones and your kingdoms, Rebecca," shesaid, "and that I shall have a sight of them beforeI die; but life looks very hard and rough to me,what with your aunt Miranda a cripple at the brickhouse, me another here at the farm, you tied handand foot, first with one and then with the other,to say nothing of Jenny and Fanny and Mark!
You've got something of your father's happydisposition, or it would weigh on you as it does onme.""Why, mother!" cried Rebecca, clasping herknees with her hands; "why, mother, it's enoughjoy just to be here in the world on a day like this;to have the chance of seeing, feeling, doing, becoming!
When you were seventeen, mother, wasn't itgood just to be alive? You haven't forgotten?""No," said Aurelia, "but I wasn't so much aliveas you are, never in the world.""I often think," Rebecca continued, walking tothe window and looking out at the trees,--"I oftenthink how dreadful it would be if I were not hereat all. If Hannah had come, and then, instead ofme, John; John and Jenny and Fanny and theothers, but no Rebecca; never any Rebecca! Tobe alive makes up for everything; there ought tobe fears in my heart, but there aren't; somethingstronger sweeps them out, something like a wind.
Oh, see! There is Will driving up the lane,mother, and he ought to have a letter from thebrick house."