The Hearth and Eagle (63 page)

“Oh whip!” muttered Walt. “She going to serve a stinking hagdon stew, and send her guests out to the privy like the old days too?”

“Do as I say!” said Hesper sharply. “There’s little enough I ask you to do around here.”

Walt hunched his shoulders, gave her a bleary look, and as he turned he stumbled. She gazed after him with resigned pity knowing how painful must be the contrast now between the two he had fished out of the storm seven years ago. Carla’s happiness with one must increase the bitterness of his failure with Maria. Later she saw him shambling in from the wood shed with an armful of firewood, before she shut her eyes for a few minutes’ nap. The sense of foreboding very often accompanied a weakened heart, the doctor said, and had no more sinister basis. She might live for years with rest and medication. Nothing very wrong organically. Yet no amount of reasoning entirely vanquished the persistent quiver of apprehension. I’ve got the shogs, she thought, smiling back through the years to Susan. I’ll be hearing the screechin’ woman next. She slept for a little while and awoke refreshed.

The guests arrived at six, and the old house, all its rooms opened and cleansed and garnished, gave them a glowing welcome. A welcome of candlelight, and hearth fire. All the doors were decorated with holly wreaths and, inside, all the rooms were fragrant with pine boughs. Carla had hung mistletoe bunches from the center beams in the taproom and kitchen and from the chandelier in the parlor. Though her historical researches and Hesper’s memory had disclosed that Christmas trees were never part of the traditional ceremonies until after the Civil War, she had not been willing to forego one, and a seven-foot spruce stood near the spinet in the parlor, its dark branches sparkling with gold and silver filigree balls, festooned with ruby strings of cranberries, and the fluffy white of popcorn. Each branch was tipped with tiny candles.

The whole house was lit with candles, and the perfume of bayberry mingled with burning cedar on the hearths, the smell of the browning beans, and of the mammoth turkey. Golden brown and luscious, it still rotated on the spit, run by the old clockwork pulley Carla had several days ago persuaded Walt to set up. And the house greeted its guests with soft Christmas music, not from a squeaky fiddle or the cracked old spinet—Carla’s respect for the past had not gone that far. She had rented a small piano and hired a pianist from Lynn, establishing them in the taproom which was cleared now of tables for the dancing later.

The dozen or so young people from the Neck arrived first with their house guests. Carla had lent the girls some clothes from the attic, and they had enthusiastically adorned themselves in a medley of quilted skirts, brocade bodices, earrings, and poinsettias in the hair, for a picturesque if hardly authentic result. Of the young people invited from the town, Cloutmans and Bowens and Peaches, the girls had ransacked attic trunks as Carla had, and most of them wore their mothers’ or grandmothers’ wedding gowns. The young men were mostly Tony’s school friends, and he had rallied them for Carla’s sake into overcoming the normal male objection to dressing up, by a simple compromise. The result was a shock to Hesper.

She sat on the mohair sofa in the parlor next to Charity Trevercombe, and together they watched the arrival of the young people. As the Marblehead boys came up to pay their respects, Hesper gave a stifled exclamation. She did not see the polite young faces, bowing in front of her, she saw only the heavy leather pants, the red flannel shirts, black scarfs, and knitted “Gansey” jackets—the Sunday best clothes of the old Marblehead fishing fleet.

“Charity—do you remember?” she whispered.

Charity nodded. “Yes—it takes one back a long time!” And she put her puffy beringed hand for a second on Hesper’s. An unusual gesture and admission from Charity, whose philosophy permitted no mention of age. She had grown very fat, and still dressed as she pleased in youthful styles. She used rouge on her cheeks, and she tinted her white hair to a faint straw color. For all that, she had achieved a true serenity, born of the years’ determined practice of it. The warmth of shared memory helped Hesper to smile a little over the unexpected stab of nostalgia—for that other party the night the slave-catcher came, the night before Johnnie and the other young seamen sailed off for the spring fare. Only
those
young men had not been in costume.

“Fifty-eight years ago, Charity—” she said. “We were sixteen.”

But Charity was not prepared to go that far. “There is no age in eternal life, Hesper,” she said severely. “We’re no older than our thoughts.”

Hesper smiled, watching the young folks. Carla looked lovely in Zilpah Honeywood’s imported London gown of brocaded rose satin trimmed with lace ruffles. She had powdered her hair and the two little curls that hung down her neck. So delicate and porcelain-like did Carla look in the Watteau style of 1750, that it was astonishing that she could eat so much turkey and beans, thought Hesper with amusement. Astonishing too that later when she danced with Tony, the clumsy fisherman’s clothes did not seem incongruous next to the brocade. But the clothes suited the boy, or rather Tony’s personality would always eclipse his surroundings. Now that love had banished the truculence he had shown earlier, his intelligent face was extremely attractive. He was a doer, not a dreamer, but his sense of humor would always counterbalance the streak of rashness and stubborn pride. She watched him maneuver Carla under the mistletoe as they waltzed together, and saw the tenderness of the quick kiss they gave each other, and she felt in her own heart a warmth and gladness.

Charity continued to eat luxuriously of the moist black cake and little green mints, but Hesper watched the young people as they waltzed and one-stepped in the taproom, occasionally collapsing for breath in the parlor. And she heard snatches of their conversation. The Neckers talked of the sailing races they had won that summer, and of the yacht clubs, and they talked of their little boats, the “Brutal Beasts,” the special Marblehead class. They all talked of football games and college, and during an intermission in the dancing they talked a little of the old house. At least Carla started it, and the Neckers, raised in the new selfconscious worship of family lineage and the accompanying craze for antiques, demanded to be taken all over it. The Marbleheaders, most of them possessed of old houses themselves, were not so interested, until Carla to Hesper’s embarrassment told the story of the slave girl and her grandmother’s part in the rescue.

Then everyone begged to be shown the pirate’s hidey-hole.

“Please, Marnie—” cried Carla, her eyes shining. “Just tell me again how to find the pin.”

Hesper hesitated a moment and then complied. There was no longer any reason for secrecy about the hidey-hole, and no reason beyond a sentimental one for a shrinking wish to protect it from curiosity. Besides, the house would be Carla’s some day, and her love and respect for it might be trusted to shield it from any cheapening. It was Carla’s pride in it now that made her want to show it off in all its individual features. And the house, Hesper thought, as she listened to the squeals of laughter and heard the running footsteps of a game of hide and seek, had the strength to be tolerant of all youthful giddiness, looking upon it with the uncritical tenderness with which it had looked at so many human emotions.

When they all tired of dancing and hide and seek, they gathered around the piano and sang carols: “Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem,” “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” and the ever beloved “Holy Night” which produced in them all its magic of wondering awe, until Carla dispelled the mood with “snapdragon.” For this traditional Christmas game she had loaded the largest of the pewter platters with candied fruits swimming in blue brandy flames. And the party broke up at last in mock terror and gales of laughter while the guests snatched at the burning sugarplums.

Hesper accompanied Charity to the front entrance and watched her clamber into the livery-stable hack. The two old friends had kissed each other good-bye with unusual warmth. “Thanks, Hessie,” said Charity, “it was charming. A lovely Christmas party,” before she waddled down the path to the hack.

The only person left who calls me Hessie, thought Hesper, and once we despised each other. Dear Amos, she thought, remembering, but he seemed remote as the stars that twinkled in the ink-black sky. The air smelled of coming snow. It was turning cold and the wind was rising. In the darkness across Front Street she heard the suck and splash of the water amongst the rocks; then it was lost in the honking of two motor cars sent by parents over from the Neck to collect their youngsters.

Hesper turned back into the house to stand beside Carla and say good-bye. The Marbleheaders all walked home to their near-by houses.

Tony went last. “Thanks a lot, Mrs. Porterman. It was swell. I always was crazy about this place since the night Walt dropped me in here like a drowned rat.”

“And then see what happened!” said Carla. “He
never
should have done it.” She gave him a naughty and adoring look under her eyelashes, and Hesper smiled, leaving them alone. She walked through the kitchen, on the way to her room, giving it a desultory glance. After-party mess, but could be dealt with tomorrow. All buoyancy had drained out of her, leaving her to a dull exhaustion. She could scarcely drag one foot in front of the other. She undressed, took three of the white pills, and sank thankfully onto the bed. Through the ceiling she could hear the sound of heavy snoring. That was Walt, who had never appeared at the party, but had gone to his room in the afternoon and refused to come out.

She sighed and listened a few minutes to the sound of the wind and water outside. Then she slept.

At four o’clock she was awakened by a confusion of sound and someone yelling. She sat up dazed, clutching at the bedclothes. Then she realized that her room was stifling hot and filled with the acrid smell of smoke. She jumped from the bed and put on her wrapper and slippers; she heard Carla’s voice from outside calling frantically, “Marnie,” and then through the wall in back of the bed she heard the sharply remembered sinister crackling. “No,” she whispered under her breath over and over again. “No. No. No.” But she acted by instinct, without conscious thought. She took Evan’s picture from the wall, and held it tight against her side. She opened her door. The old kitchen was full of smoke. It was behind the chimney and between the old stairwell and the taproom that the fire was burning.

She dashed across the kitchen, slid the bolt on the back door, and ran outside. Carla was there, her horrified face dim in the dawn light; she had been beating at the door with her hands. “Marnie darling—” she cried. “Thank God you’re safe. It’s awful—I ran down the other stairs.... Thank God there are the fire engines!”

People were gathering, neighbors, the engine from the near-by firehouse. There was a tumult of shoutings and orders.

“Where’s Walt?” cried Hesper sharply. “Is he out?” Even as she spoke Walt appeared at the window of his room, someone ran with a ladder, and he wedged himself through the window and descended slowly.

“You all right, Ma?” he said, coming over to her where she stood by the barn. He was in his shirt and pants as he had fallen asleep. He did not look at the burning house.

There came the pound of hooves down Franklin Street, and another fire engine drew up.

“How could it have happened? I don’t see how it happened,” Carla moaned. “I was so careful with the candles. Tony and I put everything out.”

“It was the brick oven, I guess,” said Walt; his heavy face looked stupid and vacant.

“Didn’t you make it tight?” cried Hesper, watching the hissing streams of water and the running firemen.

He shook his head. “I didn’t think it mattered. I was fuddled. One of the embers must have fallen through to the wood and smouldered a while.” Suddenly he sat down on the ground and buried his face in his hands. Hesper stood frozen beside him. Then the paralysis of shock released her. She leaned down grabbing Walt’s shoulder, shaking it savagely. “Go and help!” she shouted. “What’s the matter with you!”

He muttered something, staring up at the tall, thin figure in the flannel wrapper, the terrifying eyes beneath the straight black brows and disordered gray hair. He jumped to his feet and ran toward the house. Carla and Hesper ran after him.

They reached the path by the open taproom door through which the hoses writhed. He plunged through the clouds of smoke where the two women would have followed him, but a fireman held them back. The women stood silent just beyond the bare horse-chestnut tree, watching. Carla was crying softly though she did not know it. In Hesper there were no tears; her soul was filled with a stony hatred.
This I will not stand!
she cried to the senseless blindfolded god. There was then no pity or indulgence in the universe if the shelter of ten generations might be consumed in an hour by simple carelessness. Fool, she cried into the relentless void, fool to have ever believed in soft, tender things, in help or comfort.

Once through the stony hatred she tried to pray, but she saw a little tongue of flame dart up through the roof and lick at the side of the great chimney, and the prayer froze hard within her. For what was there to pray to ? The little lick of flame disappeared. She watched the spot on the roof where it had been. The minutes passed and they heard shouts from within the house. Carla crept closer to her grandmother. "It’s spreading,” she whispered. “Marnie, I can’t stand it—I can’t.”

Hesper said nothing. Neighbors pressed near them, murmuring and sympathizing. She did not hear. Suddenly Walt stumbled out of the house; coughing and holding a handkerchief to his face. He ran toward them. “It’s okay now, Ma!” he shouted. “We’ve got it out! It just burned up the stairwell, and along the back of the chimney to the roof. The old shack’s tough all right!”

Hesper saw his eyes shining with a fierce exultation in his soot-blackened face, and she heard the ring in his voice. She gave a soft sigh, and Walt’s face and the murmuring voices and the lanterns and the pressure of Carla’s arm about her all merged into darkness.