_ CHAPTER EIGHT. TAKING COUNSEL
It was one of those soft, bright days of early March that might beguile a new-comer to the country into a temporary belief that spring had come at last, and Elizabeth, tying her "cloud" over her head, followed her father out into the yard. To take a walk just for the sake of the walk was not likely to suit old Mr Holt, or to do him much good. But he and Elizabeth went about here and there, in the yard and up and down the well-swept walk from the gate to the door, where the snow lay still on either side as high as the squire's shoulder, and Elizabeth talked to him about the great wood-pile, and praised the industry and energy of Nathan Pell, the hired man, and of his team, Dick and Doll, that were making it longer every day. She spoke of the great drifts that must be cleared away before the thaw came, of the bough which last night's wind had brought down from the elm in the corner, of the broken bit of fence beyond the gate, of anything to lead his thoughts away from the theme which for the last hour had occupied and excited him.
She succeeded so well, that he went away by himself, to get a hammer and nails to mend the broken paling, and Elizabeth, leaning over the little white gate while she waited for him to return, had an unexpected pleasure--a little chat with Mrs Jacob. It was not the chat which gave her the pleasure, it was her own thought that amused her, and the knowledge of her sister-in-law's thoughts as well.
She knew that though Mrs Jacob declined to come in now at her invitation, she had come up the street with the full design of doing so, and she knew that she was saying to herself that Mr Maxwell could not be in the house, though Jacob had seen him going that way, or Lizzie would never be standing so long at the gate, looking down the street.
"I am waiting for father," said Elizabeth; "he has gone in for the hammer to drive some nails in the fence. I suppose Nathan must have driven against it last night in the dark." She was hoping that Mr Maxwell was enjoying "The Puritan" so well that he would not be tempted to look out of the window so as to be seen.
"Here is father; he will be glad to see you; it is a long time since you were here. Won't you change your mind and come in?"
"Well, no, not to-day. I am going in to see Miss Ball a minute about my bonnet, and I ought to hurry home."
Mrs Jacob knew that she would have to answer many questions about Jacob and the children. Probably the squire had seen them all to-day already, and would see them all again before the day was over.
"I think I'll go, and not hinder him about the fence, since he doesn't know I am here. Why don't you come up sometimes? Well, good-bye; I guess I'll go."
"Good-bye," said Elizabeth. "And now when she finds out that Mr Maxwell was here all the time, though I was standing at the gate, she will make herself and Jacob, too, believe that I am a deceitful girl; though why I should tell her, since she did not ask, I do not quite see."
She took the nail-box from her father's hand and followed him out of the gate, giving him each nail as he wanted it, making suggestions and praising his work as one might do with a child. It was soon finished to the old man's satisfaction, and by that time his excitement and his troubled thoughts were gone, and he was ready for his afternoon's rest.
"You have something to say to me, Miss Holt," said the minister, when she came again into the sitting-room.
"No--I am not sure that I have, though a little ago I thought I had."
"But, Miss Holt, I am almost sure you must have something to say," said Mr Maxwell, after a pause. "I have sometimes found that I have got a clearer view of vexed questions in village politics, and even in church matters, where there are no vexations as yet, after a little talk with you, than after many and long talks with other people."
Elizabeth laughed.
"Thank you. The reason is, that all the rest are on one side or the other of all vexed questions, and not being specially concerned in them, at least not personally concerned in them, I can see all sides: and usually there is little to see that might not as well be ignored."
"Well, does not that hold good in this case also?"
"But in this case I may be supposed to take a side."
The minister smiled.
"But not so as to prevent you from seeing clearly all sides. You are not going to tire of the task of keeping me right in village matters?"
Even when the sunshine is bright above the March air is keen and cold, and so Elizabeth, chilled with lingering so long at the gate, leaned toward the open fire, shading her face with her hand. She was silent for some time, thinking of several things.
"At least tell me that in this case, also, there is little to see, or I shall begin to fear that your father may be right when he says there may be danger of trouble arising out of this matter to us all."
"No. There need be no trouble, if people would only not talk," said Elizabeth, raising her head and turning so as to look at the minister. "I will tell you what I was thinking about before I went out; I was sorry that my father had spoken to you about Mr Fleming's affairs, or that he should have suggested the idea of your speaking to the old man about them; I wanted you not to promise to speak--I mean I do not think it would do any good were you to do so."
"Well, I did not promise."
"No; and I think my father may forget that he has spoken to you about it; he forgets many things now. And if you would forget all about it too, it would be all the better."
"I will be silent, and that will answer every purpose of forgetfulness, or ignorance, will it not?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "Not quite; and since I have said so much, I ought to say a little more. I can see all sides of this matter with sufficient clearness to be aware that trouble to a good many people, or at least discomfort and annoyance, might easily spring out of it. As to the church, I am not sure. But if everybody would keep silence, there need be no trouble. And to tell the truth, Mr Maxwell, I was not thinking of Mr Fleming or of Jacob, or of what my father was telling yon, except in its relation to you. It is a pity that you should have been told any of those old grievances."
Elizabeth rose and took the brush from its hook, and swept up the ashes and embers that had fallen upon the hearth. Then she seated herself in her own low chair by the window, and took up her work, but laid it down again, and folded her hands on her lap.
Mr Maxwell smiled. "I see I am not expected to stay much longer. But really, Miss Holt, I don't quite see 'the pity' of it. Why am I not to know all that is going on as well as the rest? Besides, if your father had not told me, some one else would have done so."
"True."
"And I might in such a case have committed myself to the doing or saying of something foolish at a first hearing, as I should have done to-day but that your face made me pause."
"Did it?" said Elizabeth, demurely.
"And if silence is the thing to be desired, I shall be all the more likely to keep silence to others, if you give me the right and true version of troubles past, and of troubles possible in the future, with regard to this matter. Will you take up your work again, and tell me all? Or shall I come another time, Miss Elizabeth?"
But Miss Elizabeth had little to add to the story which her father had told. Jacob was hard, she supposed, just as business men were obliged to be hard sometimes. But then Mr Fleming was not to be regarded just as another man in the same position might be regarded--especially he was not to be so regarded by her brother Jacob. In the sore troubles that had come into the old man's life. Jacob had had a part. What part Elizabeth did not know she did not even know the nature of the trouble, but she knew, though she had only learned it lately, that the very sight of her brother was like wormwood to Mr Fleming; that even Mrs Fleming, friendly and sweet to all the world, was cold and distant to Jacob. And all this seemed to Elizabeth a sufficient reason why he should be more gentle and forbearing with them than with others, that he should be willing to forego his just claims rather than to lay himself open to the charge of wishing or even seeming to be "hard on them."
"For what is a little land, more or less, to Jacob, who has so much? And why should he wish to take even a small part of what old Mr Fleming has worked so hard to improve--has put his life into, as one may say?"
"But does he want to take it? Have you ever spoken to your brother about this?"
"He is supposed to want it for the site of the new buildings to be put up for the manufacturing company--if it ever comes into existence. But he does not want it without a sufficient allowance to the old man for it. Only, I suppose, the debt would cover it all. But I have never spoken about it to Jacob. It is not easy to speak to him about business unless he wishes," said Elizabeth, hesitating. "But Clifton, who is quite inclined to be hard on Jacob, laughs at the idea of his doing unjustly or even severely by Mr Fleming."
"At least he has done nothing yet, it seems."
"No, Clifton says that Mr Fleming's dislike of Jacob has become a sort of mania with him, and that he would not yield to him even if it were for his own advantage--he has brooded over his trouble so long and so sadly, poor old man!"
"That is quite possible," said Mr Maxwell, gravely. "And you think I should not speak to him about his trouble?"
"Not about his trouble with Jacob. Indeed, it is said that he will not speak of it, nor hear of it. It would do no good. And then he likes you so much, Mr Maxwell, and comes to church as he did not always do, and seems to take such pleasure in hearing you. It would be a pity to risk disturbing these pleasant relations between you with so small a chance of any good being done by it. And besides," Elizabeth made a long pause before she added: "besides, if trouble is before us because of this, and if it should come to taking sides, as almost always happens in the vexing questions of Gershom life, it would be far better that you should know nothing about the matter--that at least you should not have seemed to commit yourself to any decided opinion with regard to it. I cannot bear to think that your comfort and usefulness may be endangered through the affairs of those who should be your chief supports. Not that I think this likely to happen," added Elizabeth, colouring with the fear of having spoken too earnestly; "I daresay, after all, I am 'making mountains of mole-hills.'"
Mr Maxwell rose and took his hat.
"Well, to sum up," said he.
"Oh, to sum up! I believe the whole of what I wanted to say was this, that I don't want you to be vexed or troubled about it," said Elizabeth, rising also.
"It is kind in you to say so."
"Yes, kind to ourselves. And I daresay I may have given you a wrong impression about the matter after all, and that it looks more serious to you than it needs do. I had much better have kept silent, as I would have other people do."
"Don't say that, Miss Elizabeth. What should I do without you to set me right, and to keep me right about so many matters? Be anything but silent, my friend."
There was a good deal more said about Mr Fleming's affairs, and about other affairs, though Mr Maxwell stood all the time with his hat in his hand. But enough has been told to give an idea of the way in which these young people talked to each other. Mr Maxwell never went from the house without congratulating himself on the friendship of Miss Holt. How much good she always did him! What a blessing it was for him that there was one person in his congregation to whom he might speak unreservedly, and who had sense and judgment to see and say just what was best for him to do or to refrain from doing.
This was putting it rather strongly. Elizabeth was far from assuming such a position in relation to the minister. But she had sense and judgment, and frankness and simplicity of manner, and no doubt she found it pleasant to be listened to, and deferred to, as Mr Maxwell was in the habit of doing. And she knew she could help him, and that she had helped him, many a time. He was inexperienced, to say nothing more, and she gave him many a hint with regard to some of the doubtful measures and crooked natures in Gershom society, which prevented some stumbles, and guided him safely past some difficult places on his first entrance into it. But she had done more and better than that for him though she herself hardly knew it.
Squire Holt's house was a pleasant house to visit, and during the first homesick and miserable days of his stay in Gershom, when he would gladly have turned his back on his vocation and his duties, the bright and cheerful welcome there that Elizabeth gave him on that first night when Clifton took him home with him, and ever after that night, was like a strengthening cordial to one who needed it surely. Miss Elizabeth was several years younger than he, but she felt a great deal older and wiser in some respects than the student whose experience of life had been so limited and so different, and so it came to pass that, at the very first, she had fallen into the way of advising him, and even of expostulating with him on small occasions, and he had not resented it, but had been grateful for it, and at last rather liked it. He had brightened under her influence, and now the thought of her was associated with all the agreeable and hopeful circumstances of his new life and work.
He said to himself often, and he wrote to his friend Miss Martha Langden, that the friendship of Miss Elizabeth Holt was one of his best helps in the faithful performance of his pastoral duties, and that excellent and venerable lady at once assigned to Mr Maxwell's friend the same place in his regard, and in his parish generally, that she herself had occupied in the regard of several successive pastors, and in her native parish for forty years at least. It never occurred to Miss Langden, and it certainly never occurred to Mr Maxwell, that this friendship could be in any danger of interfering with the wishes and plans of former years. That it might affect in any way his future relations with the pretty and amiable young person whom Miss Langden was educating to be his wife, and the model for all the ministers' wives of the generation, never came into the mind of either. Miss Elizabeth was a true and useful friend, and the satisfaction that this afforded him was not to his consciousness incompatible with a happy and just appreciation of his good fortune in having a claim on the affection of Miss Langden's niece.
Elizabeth did not know at this time of the existence of Miss Langden's niece. If she had known it, it is not at all likely that she would have allowed such knowledge to interfere with the friendly relations into which she had fallen with the minister. She would have liked him none the less had she known of his tacit engagement to that young lady, and would have manifested her friendliness none the less, but rather the more because of it. And, on the whole, it was a pity that she did not know it. _