Keziah Coffin

J >> Joseph C. Lincoln >> Keziah Coffin


"Say YES! Why, you--"

"Don't stop to argue, Keziah. I've got 'most fifteen hundred dollars in
the bank. Laviny keeps the pass book in her bureau, but you could get it
from her. I own my house. I'm a man of good character. You're poor,
but I don't let that stand in the way. Anyhow, you're a first-rate
housekeeper. And I really do think an awful lot of you."

Mrs. Coffin stepped no farther in the direction of the kitchen. Instead,
she strode toward the rickety chair and its occupant. Kyan grasped the
pipe with both hands.

"You poor--miserable--impudent--" began the lady.

"Why, Keziah, don't you WANT to?" He spoke as if the possibility of
a refusal had never entered his mind. "I cal'lated you'd be glad.
You wouldn't have to go away then, nor--My soul and body! some one's
knockin' at the door! AND THIS DUMMED PIPE'S FETCHED LOOSE!"

The last sentence was a smothered shriek. Keziah heeded not. Neither
did she heed the knock at the door. Her hands were opening and closing
convulsively.

"Be glad!" she repeated. "Glad to marry a good-for-nothin' sand-peep
like you! You sassy--GET down off that chair and out of this house! Get
down this minute!"

"I can't! This stovepipe's loose, I tell you! Be reason'ble, Keziah.
Do--don't you touch me! I'll fall if you do. Pl-e-ase, Keziah!--O Lordy!
I knew it. LAVINY!"

The door opened. On the threshold, arms akimbo and lips set tight, stood
Lavinia Pepper. Her brother's knees gave way; in their collapse they
struck the chair back; the rickety leg wabbled. Kyan grasped at the pipe
to save himself and, the next moment, chair, sections of stovepipe, and
Mr. Pepper disappeared with a mighty crash behind the high-boy. A cloud
of soot arose and obscured the view.

Keziah, too indignant even to laugh, glared at the wreck. In the doorway
of the kitchen Grace Van Horne, hammer in hand, leaned against the jamb,
her handkerchief at her mouth and tears in her eyes. Lavinia, majestic
and rigid, dominated the scene. From behind the high-boy came coughs,
sneezes, and emphatic ejaculations.

Miss Pepper was the first to speak.

"Abishai Pepper," she commanded, "come out of that this minute."

Her answer was a tremendous sneeze. Then from the dusky cloud by the
wall sounded a voice feebly protesting.

"Now, Laviny," began poor Kyan, "I never in my life--"

"Do you hear me? Come out of that!"

There was a sound of scrambling. More soot floated in the air. Then
around the corner of the high-boy appeared Mr. Pepper, crawling on his
hands and knees. His hair was streaked with black; his shirt front and
collar and shirt sleeves were spotted and smeared with black; and from
his blackened cheeks his red whiskers flamed like the last glowing
embers in a fire-scarred ruin.

"Laviny," he panted, "I never was so surprised and upsot in all my life
afore."

This was too much for Grace. She collapsed in a chair and laughed
hysterically. Even the wrathful Keziah smiled. But Lavinia did not
smile. For that matter, neither did her brother.

"Hum!" sneered Miss Pepper. "Upsot! Yes, I see you're upsot. Get up, and
try to look as much like a Christian as you can!"

Kyan rose from his knees to his feet and rubbed his back. He glanced
reproachfully at Grace, then fearfully at his sister.

"I was just tryin' to help Keziah take down her stovepipe," he
explained. "You see, she didn't have no man to--"

"Yes, I see. Well, I judge you got it down. Now you go out to the sink
and wash your face. Heavens and earth! Look at them clothes!"

"I do hope you didn't hurt yourself, Abishai," said the sympathetic
Keziah. Then, as remembrance of what had led to the upset came to her,
she added: "Though I will say 'twas your own fault and nobody else's."

Lavinia whirled on her.

"His own fault, was it?" she repeated, her voice shrill and trembling.
"Thank you very much, marm. I cal'late 'twas his own fault comin'
here, too, wa'n't it? Nobody led him on, I s'pose. Nobody put him up to
riggin' out in his best bib and tucker and sneakin' here the minute I
was out of the house. No, nobody did! Of COURSE not!"

"No, nobody did," said Keziah briskly. "And you may know what you're
hintin' at, but I don't."

"Dear me! Ain't we innocent! We've got plenty of money, WE have.
Widowers with property ain't no attraction to US. Everybody knows
that--oh, yes! And they never talk of such a thing--oh, no! Folks don't
say that--that--Well," with a snarl in the direction of the kitchen,
"are you anywheres nigh clean yet? Get your coat and hat on and come
home with me."

She jerked her brother into the blue coat, jammed the tall hat down upon
his head, and, seizing him by the arm, stalked to the door.

"Good day, marm," she said. "I do hope the next widower you get to take
down your stovepipe--yes, indeed! ha! ha!--I hope you'll have better
luck with him. Though I don't know who 'twould be; there ain't no more
idiots in town that I know of. Good day, and thank you kindly for your
attentions to our family."

She pulled the door open and was on the step; but Mrs. Coffin did not
intend to let her go in just that way.

"Laviny Pepper," she declared, her eyes snapping, "I don't know what
you're talkin' about, but if you dare to mean that I want any of your
money, or your brother's money, you're mistaken--'cause I don't. And I
don't want your brother either--Lord help him, poor thing! And I tell
you right now that there's nobody that does; though some kind-hearted
folks have said 'twould be a Christian act to poison him, so's to put
him out of his misery. There! Good mornin' to you."

She slammed the door. Lavinia was speechless. As for her brother, but
one remark of his reached Grace, who was watching from the window.

"Laviny," pleaded Kyan, "just let me explain."

At nine o'clock that night he was still "explaining."

Keziah turned from the door she had closed behind her visitor.

"Well!" she ejaculated. "WELL!"

Her friend did not look at her. She was still gazing out of the window.
Occasionally she seemed to choke.

Keziah eyed her suspiciously.

"Humph!" she mused. "'Twas funny, wasn't it?"

"Oh, dreadfully!" was the hurried answer.

"Yes. Seems to me you took an awful long time findin' that hammer."

"It was away back in the drawer. I didn't see it at first."

"Hum! Grace Van Horne, if I thought you heard what that--that THING said
to me, I'd--I'd--Good land of mercy! somebody ELSE is comin'."

Steps, measured, dignified steps, sounded on the walk. From without came
a "Hum--ha!" a portentous combination of cough and grunt. Grace dodged
back from the window and hastily began donning her hat and jacket.

"It's Cap'n Elkanah," she whispered. "I must go. This seems to be your
busy morning, Aunt Keziah. I"--here she choked again--"really, I didn't
know you were so popular."

Keziah opened the door. Captain Elkanah Daniels, prosperous, pompous,
and unbending, crossed the threshold. Richest man in the village,
retired shipowner, pillar of the Regular church and leading member of
its parish committee, Captain Elkanah looked the part. He removed
his hat, cleared his throat behind his black stock, and spoke with
impressive deliberation.

"Good morning, Keziah. Ah--er--morning, Grace." Even in the tone given
to a perfunctory salutation like this, the captain differentiated
between Regular and Come-Outer. "Keziah, I--hum, ha!--rather expected to
find you alone."

"I was just going, Cap'n Daniels," explained the girl. The captain bowed
and continued.

"Keziah," he said, "Keziah, I came to see you on a somewhat important
matter. I have a proposal I wish to make you."

He must have been surprised at the effect of his words. Keziah's face
was a picture, a crimson picture of paralyzed amazement. As for Miss Van
Horne, that young lady gave vent to what her friend described afterwards
as a "squeal," and bolted out of the door and into the grateful
seclusion of the fog.


CHAPTER II

IN WHICH KEZIAH UNEARTHS A PROWLER


The fog was cruel to the gossips of Trumet that day. Mrs. Didama Rogers,
who lived all alone, except for the society of three cats, a canary,
and a white poodle named "Bunch," in the little house next to Captain
Elkanah's establishment, never entirely recovered from the chagrin
and disappointment caused by that provoking mist. When one habitually
hurries through the morning's household duties in order to sit by the
front window and note each passer-by, with various fascinating surmises
as to his or her errand and the reasons for it, it is discouraging to be
able to see only one's own front fence and a scant ten feet of sidewalk.
And then to learn afterwards of a dozen most exciting events, each
distinctly out of the ordinary, which might have been used as excuses
for two dozen calls and as many sensations! As Captain Zeb Mayo, the
irreverent ex-whaler, put it, "That fog shook Didama's faith in the
judgment of Providence. 'Tain't the 'all wise,' but the 'all seein''
kind she talks about in meetin' now."

The fog prevented Mrs. Rogers's noting the entrance of Mr. Pepper at the
Coffin front gate. Also his exit, under sisterly arrest. It shut from
her view the majestic approach of Captain Elkanah Daniels and Grace's
flight, her face dimpled with smiles and breaking into laughter
at frequent intervals. For a young lady, supposed to be a devout
Come-Outer, to hurry along the main road, a handkerchief at her mouth
and her eyes sparkling with fun, was a circumstance calculated to
furnish material for enjoyable scandal. And Didama missed it.

Other happenings she missed, also. Not knowing of Captain Daniels's call
upon Keziah, she was deprived of the pleasure of wonder at the length of
his stay. She did not see him, in company with Mrs. Coffin, go down
the road in the opposite direction from that taken by Grace. Nor their
return and parting at the gate, two hours later. She did not see--but
there! she saw nothing, absolutely nothing--except the scraggy spruce
tree in her tiny front yard and the lonely ten feet of walk bordering
it. No one traversed that section of walk except old Mrs. Tinker, who
was collecting subscriptions for new hymn books for the Come-Outer
chapel. And Didama was particularly anxious NOT to see her.

The dismal day dragged on. The silver-leaf trees dripped, the hedges
were shining with moisture. Through the stillness the distant surf along
the "ocean side" of the Cape growled and moaned and the fog bell at the
lighthouse clanged miserably. Along the walk opposite Didama's--the
more popular side of the road--shadowy figures passed at long intervals,
children going to and from school, people on errands to the store, and
the like. It was three o'clock in the afternoon before a visitor came
again to the Coffin front gate, entered the yard and rapped at the side
door.

Keziah opened the door.

"Halloa!" she exclaimed. "Back, are you? I begun to think you'd been
scared away for good."

Grace laughed as she entered.

"Well, auntie," she said, "I don't wonder you thought I was scared.
Truly, I didn't think it was proper for me to stay. First Kyan and then
Cap'n Elkanah, and both of them expressing their wishes to see you alone
so--er--pointedly. I thought it was time for me to go. Surely, you give
me credit for a little delicacy."

Keziah eyed her grimly.

"Humph!" she sniffed. "If you'd been a little less delicate about
fetchin' that hammer, we might have been spared at least one smash-up. I
don't s'pose Laviny'll ever speak to me again. Oh, dear! I guess likely
I'll never get the memory of that--that Kyan thing out of my mind. I
never was so set back in my born days. Yes, you can laugh!"

She laughed herself as she said it. As for Grace, it was sometime before
that young lady became coherent.

"He DID look so funny!" she gasped. "Hopping up and down on that shaky
chair and holding on to that pipe and--and--O Aunt Keziah, if you could
have seen your face when I opened that door!"

"Yes; well, I will say you was sometime gettin' it open. And then, on
top of the whole fool business, in parades Elkanah Daniels and--"

She paused. Her companion looked delightedly expectant.

"Yes," she cried eagerly. "Then Cap'n Elkanah came and the very first
thing he said was--I almost laughed in his face."

"Almost! Humph! that's no exaggeration. The way you put out of that door
was a caution."

"Yes, but what did the cap'n mean? Is it a secret? Ahem! shall I
congratulate you, auntie?"

"Grace Van Horne! there's born fools enough in this town without your
tryin' to be one. You know 'twa'n't THAT. Though what 'twas was surprise
enough, I will say," she added. "Grace, I ain't goin' away to-morrow."

"You're not? Oh, splendid! Has the cap'n decided to let you stay here?"

"I guess his decidin' wouldn't influence me, if twas stayin' in his
house he meant. The only way I could live here would be on his charity,
and that would be as poor fodder as sawdust hasty puddin', even if I
was fond of charity, which I ain't. He said to me--Well, you take your
things off and I'll tell you about it. You can stay a little while,
can't you?"

"Yes, I was going to stay all the afternoon and for supper, if you'd let
me. I knew you had so much to do and I wanted to help. I told uncle and
he said certainly I ought to come. He said he should try to see you and
say good-by before you left tomorrow."

"You don't say! And me a Regular! Well, I'm much obliged, though I guess
your Uncle Eben won't see me to-morrow--nor speak to me again, when he
knows what I AM going to do. Grace, I ain't goin' to leave Trumet, not
for the present, anyhow. I've got a way of earnin' my livin' right here.
I'm goin' to keep house for the new minister."

The girl turned, her hat in her hand.

"Oh!" she cried in utter astonishment.

Keziah nodded. "Yes," she affirmed. "That was what Elkanah's proposal
amounted to. Ha! ha! Deary me! When he said 'proposal,' I own up for
a minute I didn't know WHAT was comin'. After Kyan I was prepared
for 'most anything. But he told me that Lurany Phelps, who the parish
committee had counted on to keep house for Mr. Ellery, had sent word her
sister was sick and couldn't be left, and that somebody must be hired
right off 'cause the minister's expected by day after to-morrow's coach.
And they'd gone over every likely candidate in town till it simmered
down to Mehitable Burgess. And Cap'n Zeb Mayo spoke right up in the
committee meetin' and gave out that if Mehitable kept house for Mr.
Ellery he, for one, wouldn't come to church. Said he didn't want to hear
sermons that was inspired by HER cookin'. Seems she cooked for the Mayos
one week when Mrs. Mayo had gone to Boston, and Cap'n Zeb declares his
dreams that week was somethin' awful. 'And I'm a man with no nerves and
mighty little imagination,' he says. 'Land knows what effect a dose of
Mehitable's biscuits might have on a MINISTER.'

"And so," continued Keziah, "they decided Mehitable wouldn't do, and
finally somebody thought of me. I have a notion 'twas Zeb, although
Cap'n Elkanah did his best to make me think 'twas himself. And the cap'n
was made a delegate to come and see me about it. Come he did, and we
settled it. I went down to the parsonage with him before dinner and
looked the place over. There's an awful lot of sweepin' and dustin' to
be done afore it's fit for a body to live in. I did think that when I'd
finished with this house I could swear off on that kind of dissipation
for a while, but I guess, judgin' by the looks of that parsonage, what
I've done so far is only practice." She paused, glanced keenly at her
friend and asked: "Why! what's the matter? You don't act nigh so glad as
I thought you'd be."

Grace said of course she was glad; but she looked troubled,
nevertheless.

"I can hardly make it seem possible," she said. "Is it really
settled--your salary and everything? And what will you do about your
position in Boston?"

"Oh, I'll write Cousin Abner and tell him. Lord love you, HE won't care.
He'll feel that he did his duty in gettin' me the Boston chance and if I
don't take it 'tain't his fault. HIS conscience'll be clear. Land sakes!
if I could clean house as easy as some folks clear their consciences I
wouldn't have a backache this minute. Yes, the wages are agreed on, too.
And totin' them around won't make my back ache any worse, either," she
added drily.

Grace extended her hand.

"Well, Aunt Keziah," she said, "I'm ever and ever so glad for you.
I know you didn't want to leave Trumet and I'm sure everyone will be
delighted when they learn that you're going to stay."

"Humph! that includes Laviny Pepper, of course. I cal'late Laviny's
delight won't keep her up nights. But I guess I can stand it if she can.
Now, Grace, what is it? You AIN'T real pleased? Why not?"

The girl hesitated.

"Auntie," she said, "I'm selfish, I guess. I'm glad for your sake; you
mustn't think I'm not. But I almost wish you were going to do something
else. You are going to live in the Regular parsonage and keep house
for, of all persons, a Regular minister. Why, so far as my seeing you is
concerned, you might as well be in China. You know Uncle Eben."

Keziah nodded understandingly.

"Yes," she said, "I know him. Eben Hammond thinks that parsonage is
the presence chamber of the Evil One, I presume likely. But, Grace, you
mustn't blame me, and if you don't call I'll know why and I shan't blame
you. We'll see each other once in a while; I'll take care of that. And,
deary, I HAD to do it--I just had to. If you knew what a load had been
took off my mind by this, you'd sympathize with me and understand. I've
been happier in Trumet than I ever was anywhere else, though I've seen
some dark times here, too. I was born here; my folks used to live here.
My brother Sol lived and died here. His death was a heavy trouble to
me, but the heaviest came to me when I was somewheres else and--well,
somehow I've had a feelin' that, if there was any real joys ever planned
out for me while I'm on this earth, they'd come to me here. I don't know
when they'll come. There's times when I can't believe they ever will
come, but--There! there! everybody has to bear burdens in this life, I
cal'late. It's a vale of tears, 'cordin' to you Come-Outer folks, though
I've never seen much good in wearin' a long face and a crape bathin'
suit on that account. Hey? What are you listenin' to?"

"I thought I heard a carriage stop, that was all."

Mrs. Coffin went to the window and peered into the fog.

"Can't see anything," she said. "'Tain't anybody for here, that's sure.
I guess likely 'twas Cap'n Elkanah. He and Annabel were goin' to drive
over to Denboro this afternoon. She had some trimmin' to buy. Takes more
than fog to separate Annabel Daniels from dressmakin'. Well, there's a
little more packin' to do; then I thought I'd go down to that parsonage
and take a whack at the cobwebs. I never saw so many in my born days.
You'd think all the spiders from here to Ostable had been holdin' camp
meetin' in that shut-up house."

The packing took about an hour. When it was finished, the carpet rolled
up, and the last piece of linen placed in the old trunk, Keziah turned
to her guest.

"Now, Gracie," she said, "I feel as though I ought to go to the
parsonage. I can't do much more'n look at the cobwebs to-night, but
to-morrow those spiders had better put on their ascension robes. The
end of the world's comin' for them, even though it missed fire for the
Millerites when they had their doin's a few years ago. You can stay
here and wait, if 'twon't be too lonesome. We'll have supper when I get
back."

Grace looked tempted.

"I've a good mind to go with you," she said. "I want to be with you as
much as I can, and HE isn't there yet. I'm afraid uncle might not like
it, but--"

"Sho! Come along. Eben Hammond may be a chronic sufferer from acute
Come-Outiveness, but he ain't a ninny. Nobody'll see you, anyway. This
fog's like charity, it'll cover a heap of sins. Do come right along.
Wait till I get on my things."

She threw a shawl over her shoulders, draped a white knitted "cloud"
over her head, and took from a nail a key, attached by a strong cord to
a block of wood eight inches long.

"Elkanah left the key with me," she observed. "No danger of losin' it,
is there. Might as well lose a lumber yard. Old Parson Langley tied it
up this way, so he wouldn't miss his moorin's, I presume likely. The
poor old thing was so nearsighted and absent-minded along toward the
last that they say he used to hire Noah Myrick's boy to come in and look
him over every Sunday mornin' before church, so's to be sure he hadn't
got his wig on stern foremost. That's the way Zeb Mayo tells the yarn,
anyhow."

They left the house and came out into the wet mist. Then, turning to
the right, in the direction which Trumet, with unconscious irony, calls
"downtown," they climbed the long slope where the main road mounts the
outlying ridge of Cannon Hill, passed Captain Mayo's big house--the
finest in Trumet, with the exception of the Daniels mansion--and
descended into the hollow beyond. Here, at the corner where the
"Lighthouse Lane" begins its winding way over the rolling knolls and
dunes to the light and the fish shanties on the "ocean side," stood
the plain, straight-up-and-down meeting house of the Regular society.
Directly opposite was the little parsonage, also very straight up and
down. Both were painted white with green blinds. This statement is
superfluous to those who remember Cape architecture at this period;
practically every building from Sandwich to Provincetown was white and
green.

They entered the yard, through the gap in the white fence, and went
around the house, past the dripping evergreens and the bare, wet lilac
bushes, to the side door, the lock of which Keziah's key fitted. There
was a lock on the front door, of course, but no one thought of meddling
with that. That door had been opened but once during the late pastor's
thirty-year tenantry. On the occasion of his funeral the mourners came
and went, as was proper, by that solemn portal.

Mrs. Coffin thrust the key into the keyhole of the side door and essayed
to turn it.

"Humph!" she muttered, twisting to no purpose; "I don't see why--This
must be the right key, because--Well, I declare, if it ain't unlocked
already! That's some of Cap'n Elkanah's doin's. For a critter as fussy
and particular about some things, he's careless enough about others.
Mercy we ain't had any tramps around here lately. Come in."

She led the way into the dining room of the parsonage. Two of the blinds
shading the windows of that apartment had been opened when she and
Captain Daniels made their visit, and the dim gray light made the room
more lonesome and forsaken in appearance than a deeper gloom could
possibly have done. The black walnut extension table in the center,
closed to its smallest dimensions because Parson Langley had eaten alone
for so many years; the black walnut chairs set back against the wall at
regular intervals; the rag carpet and braided mats--homemade donations
from the ladies of the parish--on the green painted floor; the dolorous
pictures on the walls; "Death of Washington," "Stoning of Stephen," and
a still more deadly "fruit piece" committed in oils years ago by a now
deceased boat painter; a black walnut sideboard with some blue-and-white
crockery upon it; a gilt-framed mirror with another outrage in oils
emphasizing its upper half; dust over everything and the cobwebs
mentioned by Keziah draping the corners of the ceiling; this was the
dining room of the Regular parsonage as Grace saw it upon this, her
first visit. The dust and cobwebs were, in her eyes, the only novelties,
however. Otherwise, the room was like many others in Trumet, and, if
there had been one or two paintings of ships, would have been typical of
the better class.

"Phew!" exclaimed Keziah, sniffing disgustedly. "Musty and shut up
enough, ain't it? Down here in the dampness, and 'specially in the
spring, it don't take any time for a house to get musty if it ain't
aired out regular. Mr. Langley died only three months ago, but we've
been candidatin' ever since and the candidates have been boarded round.
There's been enough of 'em, too; we're awful hard to suit, I guess.
That's it. Do open some more blinds and a window. Fresh air don't hurt
anybody--unless it's spiders," with a glare at the loathed cobwebs.

The blinds and a window being opened, more light entered the room. Grace
glanced about it curiously.

"So this is going to be your new home now, Aunt Keziah," she observed.
"How queer that seems."

"Um--h'm. Does seem queer, don't it? Must seem queer to you to be so
near the headquarters of everything your uncle thinks is wicked. Smell
of brimstone any, does it?" she asked with a smile.

"No, I haven't noticed it. You've got a lot of cleaning to do. I wish I
could help. Look at the mud on the floor."

Keziah looked.

"Mud?" she exclaimed. "Why, so 'tis! How in the world did that come
here? Wet feet, sure's you're born. Man's foot, too. Cap'n Elkanah's,
I guess likely; though the prints don't look hardly big enough for his.
Elkanah's convinced that he's a great man and his boots bear him out
in it, don't they? Those marks don't look broad enough for his
understandin', but I guess he made 'em; nobody else could. Here's the
settin' room."