The Return of Peter Grimm Part 19

She looked all at once a woman. No longer the carefree, happy girl she had been but a few short weeks before. Standing thus, her beautiful face full of agony, she did not hear Marta as she came in from the dining-room to carry upstairs the dainty wedding clothes for the morrow--a ma.s.s of filmy, fluffy white, laid carefully over both arms.

At first Marta did not see her in the dim yellow gloom of the large room; but a moment later, in alarm, she dropped the clothes in a careful heap on a chair, and ran to Kathrien as fast as her stocky figure and many Dutch petticoats would allow.

"_Och_," she cried sympathetically. At her pitying touch, Kathrien suddenly buried her face on Marta's broad breast, and broke into convulsive sobs. Marta hushed her as she would a baby, with many sweet, caressing Dutch words.

"Sh! Sh! _Lievling_, Sh! Sh! Old Marta is here! Cry all you want to----'Twill do you good! A bride to cry on her wedding eve! Who ever heard such things! You should be happy--the good Mynheer Grimm would wish his child happy on her wedding eve! Sh! You will have a fine day to-morrow, for it storms to-night--a good sign! You must have a bright face to show your husband, and a face of happiness! Not a swollen little face--like this! What a face to take to a bridegroom! Marta has fixed the dress--'tis wonderful! See there over the chair, so filmy--like a cloud--you will be like a lily in a cloud of dew to-morrow. Think how beautiful! Do not spoil it all, _lievling_! Be happy, Kathrien, Kathrien _wees, bedard, kindje lievling_. Be happy among those who love you so!"

Comforted by Marta's soothing words, and relieved by a good cry, Kathrien wiped her eyes.

"There, there, Marta," she said, drawing a long, quivering breath, "others have troubles too, haven't they?"

Marta nodded her head vigorously.

"_Ach!_" she sighed. "_Gut--Ja!_ Others have their troubles!"

Kathrien kissed Marta gently, then said:

"I had hoped, Marta, that Anne Marie would have heard of uncle, and come back to us at this time--you are so brave--you never complain--Poor Marta!"

Once more Marta sighed.

"If it could have brought us all together once more--but no message--nothing--I cannot understand--my only child."

Nearer and nearer came the storm. The rain pounded on the shingles and pattered loudly against the windows. The wind howled around the eves, and the old house rattled and shook in spite of its solid foundation.

Marta, still brooding over Kathrien like a motherly hen over her chicken, shuddered at the rattling of the window blinds.

From the midst of the general tumult a new sound detached itself--a sharp double rap from the old-fashioned knocker.

"_Och!_" cried Marta. "It must be Pastor and the others! You don't feel much like seeing visitors, my lamb. Run away now before I let 'em in--and bathe your eyes in lavender water."

She hurried to the front door, and Kathrien, at once brought to herself, hastened upstairs to her room.

As Marta opened wide the door, Mr. Batholommey and Colonel Lawton (Peter Grimm's former lawyer) seemed fairly blown into the hall.

"Good-evening, Marta," boomed the clergyman's unctuous tones. "The elements are indeed at war to-night! I trust the household is well?"

Marta curtseyed bobbingly to both men as she said:

"Yes, sir, thank you, Mr. Batholommey, only poor little Willem, sir.

He's strange and not like himself, sir. The doctor was in and out through the day, and now he's here again--upstairs with Willem."

As Marta talked, Mr. Batholommey divested himself of his long black rainproof coat, and Colonel Lawton (who had not felt it necessary to reply to Marta's civil greeting) hastily took off his rubber poncho, giving it a vigorous shake that sent the raindrops flying. He was a tall, middle-aged man, loosely put together, who wore his clothes very badly. One somehow got the idea that they were never pressed.

"Brr!" he cried, taking off his overshoes. "What a storm for June! It's more like fall! Look at my rubbers--and yours are just as bad--mud-soaked! Get 'em off, quick. They're enough to give any one a chill!"

Marta had slipped out unnoticed, and now Frederik came in just in time to see the dripping coats hung up on the hat rack.

"Good-evening," he said in what he intended for a cordial tone.

"Ah, just in time," answered Colonel Lawton. "Gee Whillikins! What a day!"

Then turning again to Mr. Batholommey he went on jocularly:

"Great weather for baptisms--Parson."

Having successfully disentangled himself at last from all his water-soaked outer coverings, Mr. Batholommey turned and offered a damp and rainy hand to Frederik.

"Good-evening, good-evening, Frederik," he said impressively. "I'm glad to see you. We are pleased to be here, _in spite_ of the weather."

"Well, here we are, Frederik, my boy,----" put in Colonel Lawton. "At the time you set."

After shaking hands with both men, Frederik, perhaps unconsciously, wiped his own on his handkerchief. Then going to the desk, he took a paper from under the paperweight. After studying it a moment, he said (smiling a bit to himself and turning that the others might not see the smile):

"I sent for you to hear a memorandum left by my uncle. I came across it only this morning."

Both Mr. Batholommey and Colonel Lawton tried to conceal their excitement.

"I must have drawn up ten wills for the old gentleman," announced Colonel Lawton, "but he always tore 'em up."

Then, throwing back his head and peering at Frederik through his spectacles:

"May I have a drink of his plum brandy, Frederik?"

"Certainly," answered Frederik carelessly. "Help yourself. Pastor, will you have some?"

Colonel Lawton poured out a gla.s.s of brandy and offered it to Mr.

Batholommey, then helped himself with alacrity. In the roll of thunder which came at that moment, no one heard the footsteps of Mrs.

Batholommey, as she entered from the "front parlour."

The tableau that met her vision caused her to give a little shriek as she stopped short, and gazed with horror-struck eyes at her husband and his brandy gla.s.s.

"Why, _Henry_! _What_ are you doing? Are your feet wet?"

Mr. Batholommey did not get a drink every day, and this one was much too nearly his to be relinquished now. It was not a case for self-denial.

It was not a case where it was necessary to be a good example for any one. Therefore the pastor gave place to the husband for a moment, and when Mrs. Batholommey repeated:

"Are your feet wet, Henry?"

He answered with decision:

"No, Rose, they're _not_. I want a drink and I'm going to _take_ it.

It's a bad night."

Mrs. Batholommey said no more, but closing her mouth tightly, turned away with lifted eyebrows and downcast eyes, reproachful indignation bristling at every point.

Her husband, well pleased at his little victory, smacked his lips with enjoyment; returned the now empty gla.s.s to the Colonel and, rubbing his hands together, went toward the fireplace. Mrs. Batholommey, her indignation quickly forgotten, joined him there and sat down beside him.

Colonel Lawton, hastily replacing decanter and gla.s.ses on the table, also drew up a chair in front of the fire--and waited.