Keziah Coffin

J >> Joseph C. Lincoln >> Keziah Coffin


He walked to the back door of the kitchen, threw it open, and stood
looking out.

"Keziah," he said, "come here a minute."

She came from the dining room and stood at his side. He put an arm about
her.

"Look off there," he said, pointing with his free hand. "See that?"

The sun was just setting and all the west was gorgeous with crimson and
purple and yellow. The bay was spangled with fire, the high sand bluffs
along the shore looked like broken golden ingots. The fields and swamps
and salt meadows, rich in their spring glory of bud and new leaf, were
tinged with the ruddy glow. The Trumet roofs were bathed in it, the
old packet, asleep at her moorings by the breakwater, was silhouetted
against the radiance. The church bell had ceased to ring and there was
not a sound, except the low music of the distant surf.

"Look at it, Keziah," urged Captain Nat.

"I'm lookin', Nat," she answered. "It's beautiful."

"Ain't it? I love it, you know that, and I never thought I should be
anxious for the time to come when I must leave it. But I am. I want to
go."

They were to be married in another month. It would be a double wedding,
for Grace and the minister were to be married at the same time. Then Nat
and his wife were to go to New York, where a new ship, just out of
the builders' hands, was to be ready for him. She was a fine one, this
successor to the Sea Mist. She had been building for more than a year
and when Captain Hammond returned, safe and sound, and with their money
in his possession, the owners decided at once that he should command the
addition to their fleet. She was to sail for Liverpool and Keziah was to
be a passenger.

"I can't hardly wait to get to sea," went on Nat. "Think of it! No more
lonesome meals in the cabin, thinkin' about you and about home. No, sir!
you and home'll be right aboard with me. Think of the fun we'll have in
the foreign ports. London, and you and me goin' sightseein' through it!
And Havre and Gibraltar and Marseilles and Genoa and--and--by and by,
Calcutta and Hong Kong and Singapore. I've seen 'em all, of course, but
you haven't. I tell you, Keziah, that time when I first saw a real hope
of gettin' you, that time after I'd learned from John that that big
trouble of yours was out of the way forever, on my way up to Boston in
the cars I made myself a promise--I swore that if you did say yes to me
I'd do my best to make the rest of your life as smooth and pleasant as
the past so far had been rough. I ain't rich enough to give you what you
deserve, nowhere near; but I'll work hard and do my best, my girl--you
see."

Keziah was looking out over the bay, her eyes brighter than the sunset.
Now she turned to look up into his face.

"Rich!" she repeated, with a little catch in her voice. "Rich! there
never was a woman in this world so rich as I am this minute. Or so
happy, either."