Elders and Betters (18 page)

“Perhaps it was not too long for it.”

“Well, have it like that, if you will. Let us say that it was just the right time.”

“Anna did well for her,” said Thomas. “There is often a place for a stranger in a familiar world. She gave what she had to give, without weariness or strain, and that was what was needed.”

“I had got a little beyond the stage of feeling a stranger,” said his niece.

“We had ceased to be able to do it,” went on Thomas. “We are not blind to the truth.”

“It is unusual to face a thing like that,” said Terence. “There is something strange about us as a family.”

“Anna would have come to feel as we did,” said Tullia.

“Well, I had not reached that stage,” said her cousin. “And I can't imagine either myself or my father coming near to it. You can't assume that people would always react as you do.”

“I have found it a safe assumption,” said Tullia, in a languid tone. “Making the necessary allowances, of course.”

“Then you must lack perception or comprehension or experience or something.”

Tullia laughed, as if she found it odd that Anna should respond in this equal manner.

“What is the joke?” said her cousin.

Tullia gave another little laugh.

“I am glad it is an occasion for amusement,” said Anna. “I should not have thought it was, myself.”

“My Tullia cannot be herself to-day,” said Thomas.

“No, poor thing, she had rough luck,” said Anna. “But we have not any of us done too well.”

“Her indifference to her aunt did not stand her in much stead,” said Thomas, stroking his daughter's hair.

“Well, I am prepared to believe it is assumed,” said Anna. “And I shall feel a good deal better towards her, if it is. I know people are supposed to disguise their feelings, but I never know why it is a natural ambition to be without them.”

“One is not without them, because they are one's own affair,” said Tullia.

“We should not think of them as different from other people's,” said Jessica. “They may be our own, but they are not peculiar to ourselves.”

“I hope that is true,” said Terence. “It seems to give us less reason to be ashamed.”

“Well, one life is over,” said Thomas. “Our own will come to the same pass. Things go from one generation to another. We cannot expect to check their course.”

“We are learning to leave Aunt Sukey's death behind,” said Terence. “Or anyhow Father is teaching us.”

“The children are coming downstairs,” said Anna. “Are they to know or not to know? Is it to be talked about before them, or not? I can hear that Reuben is with them. I will accept any decision.”

“Eventually it must strike them that Aunt Sukey is no longer amongst us,” said Terence.

Miss Lacy came forward in front of the children, her eyes fixed on Jessica's face in mute question.

“Yes, the simple truth, Miss Lacy,” said the latter, in a quiet tone.

Miss Lacy drew back to allow the mother the initiative, and Jessica was not at a loss.

“My little ones,” she said, stooping towards the children, “I must tell you something that is both sad and happy. Aunt Sukey has gone away from us, but she is near to us all the while. We grieve for ourselves, but we do not grieve for her.”

“Is she dead?” said Dora, at once.

“She is what we call dead, but we know it is not true, while we say it. She is more alive than she has ever been.”

“She hasn't been quite as much alive as other people for a long time, has she?” said Julius, speaking to cover a smile that he could not explain or control.

“No, she has been ill and weak. But now she has a fuller life to make up for it.”

“Won't she ever be in her room any more?” said Dora, in a slightly unsteady tone.

“Not so that we can see her. But we shall feel that she is there.”

“Then will you keep the room for her?”

“She would like us to use it for ourselves, but we shall always think of it as hers.”

“Why tell them that anything has happened at all?” said Tullia to her brother.

“I suppose for fear they should notice her absence, and make erroneous deductions.”

“Is she buried already?” said Julius.

“No, not yet,” said his mother. “But we need not think about that. We must just feel that her spirit is free.”

“She was tired of this house, wasn't she?” said Julius. “She said she was tired of everything.”

“It is really a merciful release,” said Dora.

“Well, we can feel it is best for her,” said Jessica, in a slightly different manner.

“Shall we know when she is buried?” said Julius.

“Well, there will be a funeral, of course. You are too young to go to it. But you will be able to put some flowers
on her grave. Perhaps you would like to keep some always there.”

Dora and Julius looked at each other, foreseeing a tax on their supplies for sacrifice.

“It would be better to grow some roots,” said Dora.

“Yes, that would be nicer still,” said her mother. “The gardener will give you some, and you can plant them yourselves.”

“I daresay we can pick them sometimes,” said Julius, in a low tone.

“It would be better to leave them for Aunt Sukey,” said Jessica. “You mean them for her, don't you?”

“He meant the dead ones,” said Dora, raising her eyes. “Flowers don't grow so well, if those are left. He didn't know if you might pick anything from graves.”

“I think you may take care of the plants. Aunt Sukey would like you to do that. That is not the same as picking flowers for yourselves.”

“It would be all right to use them for a sacred purpose,” said Julius, in a rapid undertone.

“And now you will not go for a walk to-day,” said Jessica, speaking as if this daily exercise maintained life on a festive level. “You will just have a quiet hour in the garden. Here is Reuben to go with you. It will be nice for you to be together.”

“And now what messages have to be taken?” said Miss Lacy.

“None that we may give to you, Miss Lacy,” said Thomas. “We must not burden you with them.”

“What messages have to be taken?” said Miss Lacy, in the same manner.

“Miss Lacy can help us, if she will,” said Jessica. “There are messages, as she knows. She can be of great use, if she will be so kind.”

“And she will be,” said Miss Lacy. “Or rather she will be not kind at all, but an ordinary family friend.”

Some messages were written and given to Miss Lacy,
and others put aside for Terence; and Miss Lacy quietly gathered them all into her hands and went.

“Why is it nice for us to be together?” said Julius, as they reached the garden. “For some religious reason?”

“So that we can share our feelings,” said Dora, in an absent tone. “Why do we nearly laugh, when people tell us that someone has died?”

Her companions could not tell her, though they had found themselves under the same compulsion.

“It is not as if we were amused.”

“And that is where it is not fair on us,” said Julius. “Our innocent action would be misinterpreted.”

“We were not seen so it does not matter,” said his sister.

“Do you really mind that Aunt Sukey is dead?” said Julius.

“Not so that it makes any real difference. Of course I should choose for her to be alive. No one would condemn another person to death.”

“Terence doesn't believe that people live after they are dead,” said Reuben. “I know it from something he said.”

“You should not repeat things, that are just let fall by accident,” said Dora. “And we never talk about Terence's opinions about those things. We know he is under a sad error, and will one day know it. And it is not fair to tell people the one thing that is sad about him.”

“Will it be better or worse for us, now that Aunt Sukey is dead?” said Julius.

“You mean that Mother will have more time for us,” said Dora. “But I hardly think she will, because she hasn't had enough for Father, and will have to give it all to him. And I don't think she would ever supervise us much. She would always think of other things.”

“I think I would as soon have Jenney as a mother,” said Reuben.

“I daresay it would be as good,” said Dora. “And there would be less painfulness over things. I should not think that Jenney ever makes that. But there is nothing to
complain of about our mother, and it would not do to have no one.”

“Perhaps Father and Miss Lacy would be enough,” said Julius.

“I am not sure that they would,” said his sister. “It wouldn't do for things to be too much without seriousness. We might be ill or in trouble or get imprisoned; and Father and Miss Lacy and even Terence might not even come to see us. It would not do only to be thought about light-heartedly.”

“Do you suppose we are more likely to die, because of Aunt Sukey?” said Julius. “Those things do run in families.”

“Aunt Sukey died of her illness.”

“That is what I meant. We might inherit it.”

“I don't think children ever have illnesses like that. I think their hearts are always sound. But we will cast our burden on Chung, and go our way.”

Dora sank on her knees before the rock, and Julius knelt by her. Reuben stood aside, waiting for the word to join them.

“O great and good and powerful god, Chung, deliver us from any danger that besets us from the illness of our late kinswoman. For we would walk long upon the paths of this earth. Therefore save us from the threat of the valley of the shadow. For Sung Li's sake, amen.”

“A word for Aunt Sukey's soul, so as not to intercede only for ourselves,” said Julius.

“And have a care, O god, for the soul of thine erring handmaid. Bear in mind that the trials were great, that beset her, and that though her spirit was willing, the flesh was weak. For Sung Li's sake, amen.”

As they rose from their knees, Reuben disappeared into the bushes, feeling he could bear no part in this fellowship. He looked back to see if he was missed, but his cousins were too little concerned with him, to observe his going.

“I don't suppose the cloud will lift until after the funeral,” said Julius. “But we need not take much notice of it. We can keep out of doors, and a little preaching and weeping in the house won't make much difference.”

Julius was wrong in his forecast, as his mother was even now approaching.

“Where is Reuben?” she said.

Her children could not tell her.

“You have not been unkind to him, have you?”

“No,” said the pair, looking surprised.

“We hardly spoke to him,” said Julius.

“We did not even see when he went,” said Dora, in support of her brother.

“Well, would you like to come and have a little talk about Aunt Sukey? It will be nice to do that, while we still almost feel that she is with us. She has been so much of our life, hasn't she?”

“And after she is buried, we shan't ever be able to speak of her again,” said Dora.

“Oh, I always think that is such a sad way of doing things. I shall like to talk about her, just as if she were still one of us. And of course we shall feel that she is.”

“But will you be able to do that?” said Julius. “You talk about her now in a different way.”

“And people often don't speak of people after they are dead,” said Dora. “Miss Lacy had a brother who died, and his name was never mentioned in the house.”

“Well, I think that was a great pity,” said Jessica. “It would have been better to speak of him whenever he came into their minds. Because they must often have been thinking of him.”

“If it is possible to do it,” said Julius. “But I don't think it often is. You are not really doing it now. I mean, not like you did, when Aunt Sukey was alive.”

Something in his voice recalled that his mother's words had not always been in praise of her sister.

“It might be suitable to make a difference,” said Dora, in a mature tone.

“Well, let us just say what we cannot help thinking,” said Jessica. “That she was a beautiful and unusual person for us to have in our home, and that we can never replace her.”

“People can't ever do that, whatever the dead person is like,” said Julius.

“Was she as beautiful as Tullia?” said Dora. “I don't think Father thought she was.”

“Well, her face was not young when you knew it. But in a way its experience made it better. We can often read a story in people's faces.”

“Was there one in Aunt Sukey's face?”

“Yes, a sad one, I am afraid, the story of wasted gifts and beauty spoiled by suffering,” said Jessica, not feeling she was in danger of making too deep an impression. “I don't think anyone could have had a harder thing to bear.”

“Did you know about it, when she was alive?” said Dora.

“Yes, but I did not always remember it. But I think she felt that I knew it in my heart.”

“If you had said it, other people would have known. It might have been better for her, if they had.”

“Well, let that teach you that we should do what we can for each other, while we have the opportunity. When that once goes, we can never recall it.”

“But didn't you know that?” said Dora.

“Yes, but I am afraid I was inclined to forget it. You must try to do better than I did.”

“Could children do that?” said Julius.

“I hope you will. You have a weak and stumbling person for a mother. You must never think her example is one to follow.”

“You are better than anyone else in the house, aren't you?” said Dora.

Jessica was silent, finding that the family standard hardly struck her as a high one.

“I think Uncle Benjamin knew about Aunt Sukey,” said Dora. “He didn't mind about her illness making her different. I think he was the only person who didn't. Of course the other people mightn't have known.”