An Orkney Maid, Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr [year 2 reading books .txt] 📗

in any degree, the sense of utter helplessness which oppressed him.

"I want to go to the Crimea!" he said, "I would gladly go there. It would give me a chance to die happily. It would repay me for all my miserable life. I want to go, Thora. You want me to go, Thora! Yes, you do, dear one!"

"No, I do not want you to go. I want you here. Oh, what a selfish coward I am. Go, Ian, if you wish--if you feel it right to go, then go."

This subject was sufficient to induce a long and strange conversation during which Thora was led to understand that some great and cruel circumstances had ruined and in some measure yet controlled her lover's life. She was begging him to go and talk to her father and tell him all that troubled him so cruelly when Rahal entered the room again.

"Dear ones," she said, "the house is cold and the lamps nearly out. Say good night, now. Ian must be up early--and tomorrow we shall have a busy day collecting all the old linen we can." She was yet as white as the long dressing gown she wore but there was a smile on her face that made it lovely as she recited slowly:


"Watching, wondering, yearning, knowing
Whence the stream, and where 'tis going
Seems all mystery--by and by
He will speak, and tell us why."


And the simple words had a charm in them, and though they said "Good night," in a mist of tears, the sunshine of hope turned them into that wonderful bow which God 'bended with his hands' and placed in the heavens as a token of His covenant with man, that He would always remember man's weakness and give him help in time of trouble. Now let every good man and woman say "I'll warrant it! I never yet found a deluge of any kind but I found also that God had provided an ark for my refuge and my comfort."


CHAPTER VIII


THORA'S PROBLEM

There is a tear for all who die,
A mourner o'er the humblest grave;
But nations swell the funeral cry,
And triumph weeps above the brave.
For them is Sorrow's purest sigh,
O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent
In vain their bones unburied lie,
All earth becomes their monument.

Born to the War of 1854 on October 21, 1854,
a Daughter, called Red Cross.

The next night Vedder went away. His purposes were necessarily rather vague, but it was certain he would go to the front if he thought he could do any good there. He talked earnestly and long with Ragnor but when it came to parting, both men were strangely silent. They clasped hands and looked long and steadily into each other's eyes. No words could interpret that look. It was a conversation for eternity.

In the meantime, the whole town was eager to do something but what could they do that would give the immediate relief that was needed? There were no sewing machines then, women's fingers and needles could not cope with the difficulty, even regarding the Orkney men who were suffering. To gather from every one the very necessary old linen seemed to be the very extent of their usefulness.

In these first days of the trouble, Rahal and Thora were serious and quiet. A dull, inexplicable melancholy shrouded the girl like a garment. The pretty home preparing for Ian and herself lost its interest. She refused to look forward and lived only in the unhappy present. The few words Ian has said about some wrong or trouble in the past years of his life overshadowed her. She was naturally very prescient and her higher self dwelt much in


... that finer atmosphere,
Where footfalls of appointed things,
Reverberent of days to be,
Are heard in forecast echoings,
Like wave beats from a viewless sea.


However, if trouble lasts through the night, joy, or at least hope and expectation, comes in the morning; and certainly the first shock of grief settled down into patient hoping and waiting. Vedder and Ian were both good correspondents and the silence and loneliness were constantly broken by their interesting letters. And joyful or sorrowful, Time goes by.

Sunna wrote occasionally but she said she found Edinburgh dull, and that she would gladly return to Kirkwall if it was not for the Pentland Firth and its winter tempers and tantrums.

The war [she added] has stopped all balls and even house parties.
There is no dancing and no sports of any kind, and I believe
skating and golf have been forbidden. Love-making is the only
recreation allowed and I am not tempted to sin in this direction.
The churches are always open and their bells clatter all day long.
I have no lovers. Every man will talk of the war, and then they
get offended if you ask them why they are not gone. I have had the
pleasure of saying a few painful truths to these feather-bed
patriots, and they tell each other, no doubt, that I am impossible
and impertinent. One of them said to me, myself: "Wait a wee, Miss
Vedder, I wouldna wonder but some crippled war lad will fa' to
your lot, when the puir fellows come marching home again." The
Edinburgh men are just city flunkeys, they would do fine to wait
on our Norse men. I would like well to see a little dandy advocate
I know here, trotting after Boris.

So days came and went, and the passion of shame and sorrow died down and people did not talk of the war. But the doors of St. Magnus stood open all day long and there were always women praying there. They had begun to carry their anxieties and griefs to God; and that was well for God did not weary of their complaining. Women have the very heart of sympathy for a man's griefs. God is the only refuge for a sorrowful woman.

Steadily the preparations for Thora's marriage went on, but the spirit that animated their first beginnings had cooled down into that calm necessity, which always has to attend to all "finishings off." Early in December, Thora's future home was quite finished, and this last word expresses its beauty and completeness. Then Ragnor kissed his daughter, and put into her hand the key of the house and the deed of gift which made it her own forever. And in this same hour they decided that the first day of the New Year should be the wedding day; for Bishop Hedley would then be in Kirkwall and who else could marry the little Thora whom he had baptised and confirmed and welcomed into the fold of the church.

Nothing is more remarkable than the variety of moods in which women take the solemn initiatory rite ushering them into their real life and their great and honourable duties. Thora was joyful as a bird in spring and never weary of examining the lovely home, the perfect wardrobe, and the great variety of beautiful presents that had been given her.

Very soon it was the twentieth of December, and Ian was expected on the twenty-third. Christmas preparations had now taken the place of marriage preparations for every item was ready for the latter event. There had been a little anxiety about the dress and veil, but they arrived on the morning of the twentieth and were beautiful and fitting in every respect. The dress was of the orthodox white satin and the veil fell from a wreath of orange flowers and myrtle leaves. And oh, how proud and happy Thora was in their possession. Several times that wonderful day she had run secretly to her room to examine and admire them.

On the morning of the twenty-first she reminded herself that in two days Ian would be with her and that in nine days she would be his wife. She was genuine and happy about the event. She made no pretences or reluctances. She loved Ian with all her heart, she was glad she was going to be always with him. Life would then be full and she would be the happiest woman in the world. She asked her father at the breakfast table to send her, at once, any letters that might come for her in his mail. "I am sure there will be one from Ian," she said, "and, dear Father, it hurts me to keep it waiting."

About ten o'clock, Mrs. Beaton called and brought Thora a very handsome ring from Maximus Grant and a bracelet from herself. She stayed to lunch with the Ragnors and after the meal was over, they went upstairs to look at the wedding dress. "I want to see it on you, Thora," said Mrs. Beaton, "I shall have a wedding dress to buy for my niece soon and I would like to know what kind of a fit Mrs. Scott achieves." So Thora put on the dress, and Mrs. Beaton admitted that it "fit like a glove" and that she should insist on her niece Helen going to Mrs. Scott.

With many scattering, delaying remarks and good wishes, the lady finally bid Thora good-bye and Mrs. Ragnor went downstairs with her. Then Thora eagerly lifted two letters that had come in her father's mail and been sent home to her. One was from Ian. "The last he will write to Thora Ragnor," she said with a smile. "I will put it with his first letter and keep them all my life long. So loving is he, so good, so handsome! There is no one like my Ian." Twice over she read his loving letter and then laid it down and lifted the one which had come with it.

"Jean Hay," she repeated, "who is Jean Hay?" Then she remembered the writer--an orphan girl living with a married brother who did not always treat her as kindly as he should have done. Hearing and believing this story, Rahal Ragnor hired the girl, taught her how to sew, how to mend and darn and in many ways use her needle. Then discovering that she had a genius for dressmaking, she placed her with a first-class modiste in Edinburgh to be properly instructed and liberally attended to all financial requisites; for Rahal Ragnor could not do anything unless it was wholly and perfectly done. Then Thora had dressed Jean from her own wardrobe and asked her father to send their protegee to Edinburgh on one of the vessels he controlled. And Jean had been heartily grateful, had done well, and risen to a place of trust in her employer's business; and a few times every year she wrote to Mrs. Ragnor or Thora. All these circumstances were remembered by Thora in a moment. "Jean Hay!" she exclaimed. "Well, Jean, you must wait a few minutes, until I have taken off my wedding dress. I am sorry I had to put it on--it was not very kind or thoughtful of Mrs. Beaton to ask me--I don't believe mother liked her doing so--mother has a superstition or fret about everything. Well, then, it is no way spoiled----" and she lifted it and the white silk petticoat belonging to the dress and carefully put them in