University of Virginia Library

6. VI.
THE WIDOW GARCEY.

At the bay-window of the pretty Gothic parsonage in
Longtrot sat the widow of the late pastor. She was
dressed in voluminous black, exceedingly becoming to her

still fresh complexion and to her full style of beauty. If
“sighing and grief” had not produced on her precisely the
effect of which Falstaff complained, it had not certainly
wasted her to a shadow. No wonder if the contemplation
of those generous proportions, of those cheeks still fair and
round, and of the serene temper that served to keep them
so, had persuaded Parson Dodd that there might be something
yet left for him in the future better than the lonely
life he was living.

There was a book in the fair hand that had embroidered
the white neckcloth “for her dear husband.” It was that
absorbing poem of Pollok's, “The Course of Time,” which
she justly deemed not too lively for Sunday reading. Her
serious large eyes were fixed on its pages, except when
ever and anon they glanced restlessly over it, out of the
window and down the pleasant, shady street, as if in expectation
of somebody quite as interesting as the poet
Pollok. Somebody who did not make his appearance,
driving down betwixt the overhanging elms, past the
church-green, and up to the gate of the parsonage, as in
fancy she saw him so plainly whenever her eyes were on
the book. Why did they look up at all, since it was only
to refute the pretty vision?

Poor Melissa sat there until she seemed living the
Course of Time, instead of reading it. Occasionally she
varied the direction of her glances by looking at her
watch; and she grew more and more troubled as she saw
the hour slipping irrevocably by which the husband's
friend should have given to comforting the fatherless and
widow that Sunday morning.

“What can have happened?” she asked herself. “He
must have taken offence at something! What have I said
or done? It must be the cravat! Why did I do so foolish
a thing as send it with a note?” She could have

said what she wished to say so much better than she could
write it!

The first bell rang. And now people were going to
church. The children were teasing to start. They were
tired of sitting still in the house. What was she waiting
for? Was that old Dodd coming again to-day?

“Levi! never let me hear you call him old Dodd again!
Mr. Dodd is still a young man, and he has been a good
friend to your poor mother. There!” she exclaimed, with
a little start, for her eyes, wandering down the street again,
saw the long-expected buggy coming at last.

It was a peculiar buggy, high in the springs, and with a
high and narrow top. She could not mistake it. She was
equally sure of the stylish hat and wavy brown locks and
ample shirt-frill of the driver. But in an instant the thrill
of hope the sight inspired changed to a chill of disappointment
and dismay. Parson Dodd did not drive on to the
parsonage, as he had always done before, when coming to
preach for Selwyn. The buggy turned up to the meeting-house,
and disappeared in the direction of the horse-sheds.

She waited awhile, in deep distress of mind, to see it
or its owner reappear; but in vain.

“Levi,” she said, “go right over to the church, and see
if Mr. Dodd has come. Go as quick as you can, but don't
let anybody know I sent you.”

It seemed to her that the boy was never so provokingly
slow in executing an errand.

At last she saw him returning leisurely, watching the
orioles in the elms, while her heart was bursting with impatience.
She signalled him from the window, and lifted
interrogating brows at him. Levi grinned and nodded
vivaciously in reply. Yes, the minister had come.

“Are you — are you very sure?” she tremblingly inquired,
meeting him at the door.

“A'n't I!” said the lad. “Did n't I first go and look at
his buggy under the shed? He 's got a new horse; but I
guess I ought to know that buggy, often as it 's been in our
barn. Then I peeked in through the door, and saw him
just going up into the desk.”

Poor Mrs. Garcey was now quite ready to go to church.
Since Dodd would not come to her, she must go to him;
she must see his face, and get one look from him, even if
across the space that separated pulpit from pew.

“How was he looking, Levi?” she asked.

“Kind o' queer. I always thought Dodd felt big enough,
but I never saw him carry his head quite so high. Looked
as if he was mad at something.”

“O, I must have offended him!” sighed the unhappy
Melissa, putting on her things.

With slow and decorous steps she marshalled forth her
little tribe from the gate of the parsonage across the green
to the church-porch. The bell was ringing again, its brown
back just visible in the high belfry, tumbling and rolling
like a porpoise in the waves of its own sound. Wagons
were arriving, and the usual throng of church-goers were
alighting on the platform or walking up the steps. In the
vestibule she found a group of friends inquiring seriously
concerning each other's health, and in suppressed voices
talking of the latest news. There seemed to be some excitement
with regard to an insane man who had that morning
escaped from the Asylum, whom nobody appeared to
have seen, though he had been heard of by several through
those who were out in pursuit of him. Somehow, Melissa
took not much interest in the greetings and the gossip of
these worthy people, and parting from them, she passed
on into the aisle.

“Poor dear! She can't forgit him,” whispered kind-hearted
Mrs. Allgood, with a tear of sympathy gathering

in the eye that followed the gloomily draped and pensive
figure.

“Huh! she 's thinkin' of another husband a'ready!”
answered sharp-tongued Miss Lynx, with a toss.

It cannot be denied that of the two, Miss Lynx had the
clearer perception of the hard fact in the case. Yet as she
set it forth, unclothed by grace and the warm tissues of
human sympathy, it was no more the truth than a skeleton
is a living body; and Mrs. Allgood's gentler judgment
was more just. Melissa had not forgotten that good man,
Garcey; and if now, in her loneliness and bereavement,
she cherished hope of other companionship, was it for
tart Miss Lynx to condemn her? Nay, who, without
knowledge of the human heart, and compassion for its sufferings
and its needs, had even a right to judge her?

She passed down the aisle, preceded by her little ones
(the elder of whom, by the way, were beginning to be not
so very little), and followed them into the pew in which she
had first sat when a bride. She would have been alone in
it then, but for the two or three poor persons to whom
she was always glad to give seats. But one after another
a little Garcey had appeared, first in her arms, perhaps,
then in the seat beside her, and thus, year by year, the
family row had increased, until now it almost filled the
cushioned slip. A mist of tender, regretful sentiment
seemed to suffuse the very atmosphere about her as she
listened to the tone of the bell, and thought what changes
had come over her dream of life since she first sat there
and looked up with pride to see the beloved, the eloquent
— her Garcey — in the desk! Now, here she was again,
looking with anxious eyes and a troubled heart for another.

There were the well-known wavy chestnut-brown locks,
and a shoulder of the blue-black coat, just visible from the

side-slip in which she sat. But the wearer did not once
deign to look at her. He held his head bowed behind the
desk, as if in devout contemplation, and thoughts in which
she, alas! had no share. She longed to see him lift it,
and turn toward her those gracious, sympathizing features,
the very sight of which was a comfort to her heart. And
it must be confessed she had a strong curiosity regarding
the embroidered cravat.

“I must speak with him after the service,” thought she.
“I will make him come to the house.” And she turned
and whispered to the topmost head of the little row.

“It has just occurred to me, Levi, you 'd better go and
put his horse in our barn. It will be too bad to have the
poor beast standing under the shed all day.”

“'T won't hurt anything; besides, he might have drove
over there himself, if he wanted his horse put out,” said
Levi, with a scowl.

“You can get into the buggy and ride over,” said his
mother, grown all at once wonderfully solicitous with regard
to the welfare of the poor beast.

The ride was an object, and Levi went.

The bell stopped ringing, the choir ceased singing, the
congregation was in its place, all hushed and expectant;
and still Levi did not return. His mother would have felt
anxious about him at any other time; but now a greater
trouble absorbed the less.

It was not like Parson Dodd to sit so long in that way
with his head down. A movement of the arm, and a rustle
of leaves heard in the stillness of the house, showed that
he was turning over the manuscript of his sermon, or selecting
hymns, or looking up chapter and verse. But all
that should have been done before. He ought not now to
keep the people waiting.

The silence was broken by a cough. This was followed

by several coughs, which appeared to have been hitherto
suppressed. Then entered four of the Five Sisters, uncommonly
late this morning, for some reason. In spite of
untoward circumstances, they had come to hear Mr. Dodd
— that dear, good man — preach. And now a buzz of
whispers began to run through the congregation; hushed,
however, as soon as the preacher rose.

Melissa, watching intently, saw the noble head of luxuriant
chestnut-brown hair slowly lifted. Then bloomed
the abundant shirt-ruffle over the desk, together with —
yes, the white neckerchief embroidered by her own hand!
But even while she recognized it, a thrill of amazement, a
chill of consternation, passed over her, as the wearer,
stretching forth his hands, cried out in a loud, strange
voice, —

“We will pray for the sins of the world!”