The Song of the Blood-Red Flower Part 52

Yes, of course--it was always the heaviest item with us. My father ...

what was it mother told of him? And his father before him....

"Look back, you say? Back along the tracks I made long ago? Good--I look; you go about your business in the proper way, I see. If you had come with sermons, and talk of sin and heaven and h.e.l.l, I'd leave you to preach alone--none of that for me. I know ... that love is in our flesh and blood, drawing us like a magnet--in our day, none draws back a single step of his way for the fear of sin and h.e.l.l--there is always time to repent and be forgiven later on! But your book shows our acts on this side, and what comes of them on that--and we stand with bowed heads, seeing how all is written in our own blood."

He stared before him, as if at something tangible and real.

"Yes, there's the book, and there is my account. All these strokes and lines--what's that? Something I can't make out. Here's my road, there are my doings--that I understand. And here are all that I've had dealings with. But this mess of broken lines ... this way and that...?

Ah, consequences! Is that it? Well, well.... All these run together at one point--that's clear enough--myself, of course. But these others running out all ways, endlessly.... What's that you say? More consequences, but to others!

"No, no! Not all that! Something of the sort I was prepared for--but all that? Is it always so in your book--is everything set down?"

"All that leaves any trace behind--all acts that make for any consequence!"

"All? But man is a free agent--this does not look like freedom."

"Free to act, yes, but every act knits the fine threads of consequence--that can decide the fate of a life!"

"No--no! Close the book--I have seen enough! Who cares to think of a book with lines and threads of consequence, when fate is kind, and all seems easy going? I laughed at those who wasted their youth in prayer and fasting. And I laughed at the laws of life, for I could take Love, and enjoy it without fear of any tie--I was proud to feel myself free, to know that none had any claim on me--no child could call me father.

But now, after many years, come those who speak of ties I never dreamed of. Here was a mother showing me a child--I had never touched her that way, yet you come and tell me there are laws I know nothing of. And when I beg and pray of you to grant me a child for myself and for her to whom it is life and death, you turn your back, and cry scornfully: 'Laugh, and take Love, and enjoy--you have had your will!'"

Again the terrifying sense of physical distress--of something amiss with heart and pulse. He sat waiting for a new shock, wondering if, perhaps, it would be the last ... the end....

The door opened.

"Olof! Here I am at last--am I very late?... Why, what is the matter?...

Olof...!"

Kyllikki hurried over to him. With an effort he pulled himself together, and answered calmly, with a smile:

"Don't get so excited--you frightened me! It's nothing ... nothing....

I felt a little giddy for the moment, that was all. I've had it before --it's nothing to worry about. Pa.s.s off in a minute...."

She looked at him searchingly. "Olof...?"

"Honestly, it is nothing."

"It must be something to make you look like that. Olof, what is it? I have noticed it before--though you always tried to pa.s.s it off...."

"Well, and if it is," he answered impatiently, "it need not worry you."

"Olof, can you say that of anything between us two?"

He was silent for a moment. "Why not," he said at last, "if it is something that could only add needlessly to the other's burden?"

"Then more than ever," answered Kyllikki warmly.

She hurried into the next room and returned with a coverlet.

"You are tired out, Olof--lie down and rest." With tender firmness she forced him to lie down, and spread it over him.

"And now tell me all about it--it's no good trying to put it off with me. You know what I am." She sat down beside him and stroked his forehead tenderly.

Olof was silent for a moment. Then he decided. He would tell her all.

"Yes--I know you," he said softly, taking her hand in his.

It was growing dark when they sat up. Both were pale and shaken with emotion, but they looked at each other with a new light in their eyes, two human souls drawn closer together by hardship and sorrow.

"Stay where you are and rest a little, while I get the supper," said Kyllikki, as Olof would have risen. "And to-morrow--we can begin the new day," she added.

And, stooping down, she kissed him lightly on the brow.

WAITING

"THE EMPTY HOUSE, 6/9/1900."

"Your letter has just come--Kyllikki, you cannot think how I have been longing for it. I would have sent the girl to the station, only I knew you would not write till it was post day here.

"And you are well--that is the main thing; the only thing I care about these days. 'Strong enough to move mountains'--I can't say the same about myself. I have been having a miserable time. I am sorry I let you go--or, rather, that I sent you. I thought I should feel less anxious about you if you were there, but far from it. Why couldn't we have let it take place here? I am only now beginning to understand how completely we have grown together--I feel altogether helpless without you. If only it would come--and have it over, and you could be home again--you and the boy!

"And then I have something to tell you that I would rather not touch on at all, but we must have no secrets from each other now, not even a thought! It is the old uneasiness--it has been coming over me ever since you went away--as if I could not find rest when you are not near. I cannot get away from a feeling that all is not over yet--that things are only waiting for a favourable moment to break loose again.

Try to understand me. You know how I suffered those two years when we prayed in vain for that which is granted to the poorest. And you know how I was almost beyond myself with joy when at last our prayers were heard. But now, when it is only a matter of days before it comes in reality--now, I am all overcome with dread. It will go off all right, the thing itself, I know--you are strong and healthy enough. But there is an avenging G.o.d, an invisible hand, that writes its _mene tekel_ at the very hour when joy is at its height. Think, if the one we are waiting for--it is horrible to think of!--if it should be wrong somehow, in body or soul--what could I do then? Nothing, only bow my head and acknowledge that the arm of fate had reached me at last. You cannot think what a dreadful time I had all alone here last evening.

I cried and prayed that vengeance might not fall on you and him--the innocent--but on me alone--if all I have suffered up to now is not enough. And then a woodp.e.c.k.e.r came and sat outside under the window, with its eerie tapping. And a little after came a magpie croaking on the roof, like a chuckling fiend. It made me shudder all over. I dare say you will laugh at my weakness. But it might be one of those mysterious threads of fate. I have seen the like before--and you know how ill and nervous I was ... at the time.... Now I have read your letter I feel calmer, but I know I shall not get over it altogether till I have seen him with my own eyes. Forgive me for writing about this, but I had to tell you. And I know it will not hurt you.

"But then I have been happy as well. I have been getting everything ready in your room--yours and his! You will see it all when you come, but I must tell you a little about it now. I have put down cork matting all over the floor, to keep out the draught. But when I had done it, I had a sort of guilty feeling. Only a bit of matting--nothing much, after all--but it came into my mind that many children have to run about on bare floors where the cold can nip their feet through the cracks. And I felt almost as if I ought to pull it all up again. But, after all, it was for _him_--and what could be too good for him! I would lay it double in his room!

"I have some good news for you. The Perakorpi road is already begun.

And then some bad news--the drainage business looks like being given up altogether--just when everything was ready, and we were going to start. Just quarrelling and jealousy among the people round--real peasant obstinacy, and of course with Tapola Antti at the head. A miserable lot! I should like to knock some of them down. I have fought as hard as I could for it, thundering like Moses at Sinai, and sacrificing the golden calf. The thing must go through at any cost. If they will not back me up, then I will start the work alone. And there are not many of them, anyway--we are to have a meeting again to-morrow.

"And then, when you come home, I can set to work in earnest. If only _he_ may turn out as I hope--then perhaps one day we might work on it together. I wish I had wings--then I should not need to sit sweating over this wretched paper!

"Keep well and strong, and may all good angels watch over you both!--Your impatient....

"Write soon--at once!"

"8 _September_ 1900.

"DEAR,--Your letter was like a beating of your own heart. Yourself in every word--and it showed me a side of your nature that I care for more than I can tell.

"You are anxious--but there is nothing to be anxious about. How could there ever be anything wrong with _our_ child--in body or soul? Of course we must expect more troubles yet--but that has nothing to do with the child! I know you were in low spirits then, but body and soul were sound enough. And I feel so well and strong and happy now myself that it _must_ be pa.s.sed on to him--even if he were a stone! And then I am all overflowing with love for you and confidence in the future.

And I shall feed him with it too, and then he will be the same. All that about the magpie and the woodp.e.c.k.e.r--you read it wrongly, that is all. The magpie simply came to give you my love--poor thing, she can't help having an ugly voice! And then the woodp.e.c.k.e.r--don't you see, it was just pecking out the worms from the timber--there must be no worm-eaten timber in _his_ home! That's what it meant.

"But I am glad you wrote about it all the same. For it showed me that he will be as we hope. Now I understand how terribly you must have suffered these last years. You'd never make a criminal, Olof; even I, a woman, could commit a crime with colder courage. Oh, but I love you for it! And you don't know how glad I am to think my child's father is like that. A wakeful, tender conscience--that is the best thing you can give him, though you give him so much.