Standing Aside

Mrs. Burton was perplexed, and a good bit troubled in her mind.  She was honestly proud of Katherine’s beauty, and longed that her sister should have an easier life than she had had herself.  So that when Jervis Ferrars had begun to show rather a decided inclination to cultivate Katherine’s society, the elder sister had felt both glad and sorry because of it.  She was glad, because any girl might have felt honoured by the notice of a man like Jervis Ferrars:  But she was sorry because he was so poor, and marriage with him must mean for Katherine a life of hard work and much drudgery; for in remote places and pioneer settlements it was on the women, the wives and the mothers, that the real hardships of life fell.

Her own husband had been a poor man, a bright young Canadian, as good-looking as Jervis Ferrars, but without his culture.  Ted Burton had commanded one of the boats of the fishing fleet, and was holder of a good many shares in the company as well; but one day his vessel came home without him, and Mrs. Burton had to return a widow to her father’s house.  No wonder she dreaded Katherine wedding after the same fashion.  History has a trick of repeating itself, and she could not bear to think of sunny-hearted Katherine having to live always in the shadows, as she herself had done.

But the worry oppressing her just now was concerned also with Mary Selincourt.  Mary spent a great deal of time at the store, and when she was there she made herself useful like other people.  She had even served an Indian squaw with coloured calico of an astonishing pattern, had clicked off the proper number of yards in the most business-like fashion, and then had demanded:  “What next, if you please?” in a manner as collected as if she had served an apprenticeship behind a counter.  A most delightful companion was Mary, and Mrs. Burton fairly revelled in her society:  but Mary had one strange habit which puzzled her, she always avoided Jervis Ferrars when it was possible to do so, and she had a trick of blushing when his name was mentioned.  These symptoms were proof positive to Mrs. Burton that Mary cared for Jervis, and she was sorely troubled about it.

Katherine, on the other hand, seemed to be absolutely heart-whole; she went about her daily work with a zest which was refreshing to behold.  She always seemed to be happy and content, while she treated Jervis in much the same fashion as she did Miles, and teased him whenever the occasion seemed to demand it, which was very often.

It was the middle of July, and the great event of the year had taken place, that is, the first steamer had come through Hudson Strait, and was anchored off Seal Cove.  ’Duke Radford had heavy shipments in this vessel, and for a few days Katherine left the outside customers to their own devices, spending busy hours in checking invoices and helping to stow away the merchandise which Stee Jenkin and Miles brought up river in boatloads from the steamer.  These goods had been ordered in October of the year before, but that was how things had to be done in that awkward corner of the world, where ice blocked the ocean road for eight months out of the twelve.

The steamer which brought groceries and dry goods for the store was to take away sealskins, walrus-skins, narwhal ivory, whalebone, and blubber of various sorts, which had been accumulating in the fish shed since the fishing began.  This made Jervis as busy in his way as Katherine was in hers.  Indeed, the press of work was so great that Mary went down day after day to do the writing in the office at Seal Cove, while Mr. Selincourt, with his shirt sleeves rolled above his elbows, helped Jervis to pack skins and weigh blubber.

It was easy for Mary to get away, as most of her housework and a good deal of the cooking was done for her by the portage men who happened to be in residence at Roaring Water Portage.  When Mr. Selincourt hired men and boats at Temiskaming, he hired them for the whole summer, and planned their work to suit his own convenience.  There were two men to each boat, and after the first journey with luggage-laden boats the men found that they could manage the journey each way in a little over a fortnight.  So two pairs of them were always en route, while the third pair rested and did housework at the hut at Roaring Water Portage, taking their departure with mails when another pair of their companions returned from the lake.

When Mrs. Burton was troubled about anything it was sure to come out sooner or later, and one night during that week of bustle and hard work she spoke of the matter that was on her mind.  The sisters were brushing their hair before going to bed.  Somehow hair-brushing lends itself to confidential talk, especially when, as in this case, awkward things have to be put into speech, because a veil of hair will hide a good many emotions.

“Do you know, I believe that Mary cares for Mr. Ferrars,” Mrs. Burton blurted out, with considerable nervous trepidation, turning her back on Katherine, and wielding her brush as if her life depended on her accomplishing a given number of strokes per minute.

“What put such an idea into your head, you delightful old matchmaker?” demanded Katherine, with a ripple of amused laughter, while her brush went slower as she waited for the answer.

“A good many things,” Mrs. Burton said, warming to her subject, and feeling relieved already by the careless ease of Katherine’s manner.  “Mary always avoids Mr. Ferrars when it is possible to do so, and I have never once seen her touch his hand, though she shakes hands with every other person she meets.  I have even seen her shake hands with Oily Dave, a thing I would not do myself.”

“Am I to understand, then, that if one person will not shake hands with another it is a sign of being in love?” asked Katherine in a teasing tone.  “Because, if so, what about your own refusal to touch the hand of Oily Dave?”

Mrs. Burton laughed, and her heart felt lighter than for many days past; for if Katherine could laugh and make jokes in this fashion, it was plain there was no harm done.  So she drew a long breath and went on:  “I wish you would try to be serious for a few minutes and listen to me.  What is only fun to you may be grim earnest to poor Mary, and I like her so well that I do not care to think of her missing the best thing that life can give her.”

“Which is ?” queried Katherine mischievously.

“Which is the love she longs for,” Mrs. Burton answered, with a sentimental sigh.

Katherine broke into irrepressible laughter.  Then, when her mirth had subsided a little, she said:  “Just fancy speaking of a girl as ‘Poor Mary’ whose father has an income of five or six thousand pounds a year!”

“Still, she is poor in spite of her money if she can’t get what she wants,” Mrs. Burton said, sticking to her point.  “Money isn’t everything by a long way, and you can’t satisfy heart-hunger with dollars, or pounds either.”

“Did Mary take you into her confidence concerning this want which money can’t satisfy?” demanded Katherine, a touch of scorn in her tone and a chill feeling at her heart, as if someone had laid an icy finger upon it.

“Dear me, no!  Mary is not the sort of girl to go round howling about what she wants but can’t get,” Mrs. Burton replied.  “But I have eyes in my head, and I think a married woman sees more, and has a larger understanding of affairs of the heart, than a girl who has had no experience at all.”

“That is very probable,” Katherine said quietly, while the chill feeling grew and intensified, despite her efforts to make light of the matter.  “But what has all this to do with me?  Do you want me to approach Mr. Ferrars on the subject, and say to him that he had better make haste and satisfy the heart-hunger of the rich Miss Selincourt?”

Mrs. Burton looked absolutely shocked.  “Dear Katherine, do be serious for once if you can!” she pleaded.  “If I thought that you cared for Mr. Ferrars yourself I should never have mentioned this to you at all; but you are so plainly fancy-free that surely it won’t hurt you to stand aside and let Mary have her chance.”

“Stand aside?  How?” Katherine kept her voice steady by an effort, while her thoughts flew back to that evening when Jervis Ferrars had taken her up to Ochre Lake, and had talked to her of the struggles and hardships of his life.  She had been so happy that evening, and every day since had been like a festival.  There had been no need to put things into words:  she had known that night that Jervis Ferrars cared for her; she had been equally well assured that she cared for him, and the knowledge brought with it a rest and contentment such as she had never known before.  But if what her sister said was correct, then it might be that she was wrong, something worse than selfish even, to take this good thing which was offered to her; and the standing-aside idea would have to be very carefully considered.

Mrs. Burton rolled up her abundant hair, and poked in half a dozen hairpins to keep it in place.  Then she said:  “You are so much better-looking than Mary, and you have so much more charm of manner!  It is easy to see that Mr. Ferrars is attracted by you, because his eyes always follow you every time you move.  Then you saved his life at considerable risk, which, of course, is tremendously in your favour, or would be, if you cared about him.  But if you don’t really want to marry him it would be kind to stand back and let Mary have a chance.  Of course it would be an immense advantage to Mr. Ferrars to marry Mr. Selincourt’s daughter, for I fancy he is very poor, although he is such a cultured gentleman; and money does make a great deal of difference in the comfort of one’s daily life.”

“Indeed it does, my wise, practical sister.  Really, your argument is not half bad, and is well worth my best consideration, which it shall have,” said Katherine; then giving her sister a good-night kiss, she dived into bed and promptly went to sleep, or at least pretended to do so, which was the same thing in its effect on Mrs. Burton, who soon went to sleep herself.

In reality there was little rest for Katherine that night, for she was faced by a problem that had never even occurred to her before.  If she followed the desire of her own heart, she stood in the way of two people.  True, she might make Jervis Ferrars happy with her love, more especially as she was quite sure that he cared for her.  But would there ever come a time when he might be tempted to wish for more worldly advantages, and to long for the power that money brings?  Lying there in the twilight of the northern summer night, which was never in that month quite dark, Katherine faced the future with a steady, single-hearted desire to do the right thing at all costs.  She felt herself doubly bound.  Her own love for Jervis made her hesitate about allowing him to bind himself to a life of poverty, or at least a life of continuous struggle, such as marriage with a portionless wife must bring.

But Jervis was only one consideration.  There was Mary also to be thought of.  And then it flashed upon Katherine that Mary had even more claim upon her than Jervis.  Ever since ’Duke Radford had been stricken down, robbed of memory, of understanding, and the power to think and act for himself, Katherine had carried her father’s sin as if it were a wrongdoing of her own.  He had implored her to expiate it if she could.  But how could she?  Even the saving grace of confession was denied to her, for she could not go to Mr. Selincourt and say:  “My father did you a bitter wrong many years ago; please forgive him, and say no more about it!”

It was true that she and Phil had saved the rich man’s life by pulling him out of the muskeg, but there had been little personal risk for herself in the matter, although it had been very hard work, and there were scars on her hands still where the ropes had cut into the skin.  Hard work was not self-sacrifice, however, and as Katherine understood things it was only by self-sacrifice that she could expiate her father’s sin, if indeed it ever could be expiated.

Could she do it?  Lying there in the mean little room, with the grey twilight showing outside the open window, she told herself ‘No’:  she could not do it, she could not stand aside and give up to another what she wanted so badly for herself.  But, as the slow hours stole by, a different mood crept over her.  She thought of the Saviour of the world, and the sacrifices he had made for man; then prayed for grace to tread the thorny path of self-immolation, if such action should be required of her.

She dared not rise to kneel and pray, the little bedroom was too crowded for privacy; and although she often yearned for a room, however small, to have for her sole use, this was not possible.  Folding her hands on her breast, she prayed for strength to do what was right, for guidance in the way she had to go, and wisdom to see the true from the false.  Then, because her day’s work had made her so very tired, she fell asleep, and presently began to dream that she was at the marriage of Mary Selincourt with Jervis Ferrars, and that it was her place to give away the bride.  She was doing her part, as she believed, faithfully and well, although the dragging pain at her heart was almost more than she could endure, and the part of the marriage service had been reached where the ring should have been put on Mary’s hand, when, to her amazement, she found it was on her own finger.

“Katherine, Katherine, how soundly you sleep, dear!  Wake up, we are quite late this morning!” said Mrs. Burton, and Katherine opened her tired, heavy eyes to find that Beth and Lotta were enjoying a lively pillow fight on the other bed, and that their mother was already half-dressed.

For one moment she lay weakly wishing that she had not to rise to work, to struggle, and to endure; but the next minute found her out of bed and thrusting her face into a basin of cold water, which is, after all, the very best way of gathering up a little courage.

When she was dressed and out in the fresh air things did not look so bad.  Mrs. Burton might have been quite mistaken in thinking that Mary cared for Jervis Ferrars.  In the broad light of the sunshiny morning the very idea seemed absurd.  The rich man’s daughter had a wide circle to choose from; it was scarcely likely that her choice would fall on a poor man, whose position was little removed from that of a Hudson Bay fisherman.

Of course it was absurd!  Mrs. Burton must have had a sentimental streak on last night, and she herself was uncommonly foolish to have been made so miserable for nothing at all.

When Katherine reached this point in her musings her laughter rang out again, the future brightened up, and she was ready to face anything the day might bring.  Happiness is such a great factor in one’s life; and when that is secured it is easy to make light of the ordinary ills, troubles, cares, and vexations which are sure to crop up even in the smoothest kind of existence.  But she meant to watch very closely for some sign which might guide her in gaining an insight into Mary’s heart.  She must make absolutely certain that Mrs. Burton was wrong.  It was not easy to see just how she would be able to do this; but it must be done, of course it must be done!

The day passed in a feverish round of incessant work.  One hour Katherine was happy as of old, the next hour she was horribly heartsick and oppressed.  But it never once occurred to her that the reason for this was her exhausted condition from loss of rest on the previous night.

In the evening Jervis came up from Seal Cove, sat and talked with ’Duke Radford for half an hour, then asked Katherine to come and walk with him in the woods to see if the wild strawberries were getting ripe.  But she refused, declaring that her head ached, which, although true, was not the real reason by any means.

“I am afraid you have been working too hard this week,” he said kindly.  “I have been very much in the same plight myself, or I would have come up to help you.  Can you save things back for a few days?  As soon as the steamer has gone I shall be quite at leisure, and will put in a day or two at helping you to get your stores stowed away.”

“It has been hard work, and of course we are to a certain extent novices at it,” Katherine answered.  “But the worst is over now until the next boat comes, when I suppose the confusion will begin all over again, only of course by then we shall be more used to managing things.”

“You had better go to bed early and get a good night’s rest, or I shall be having you for a patient next, and I am very much afraid you would not prove a tractable one,” he said, more troubled by her pale cheeks and weary looks than he cared to confess.

“I have never been ill in my life, so I have no idea how the rôle of invalid would suit me,” she answered with a mirthless laugh, thinking how very pleasant a stroll in the woods would have been after her long, hard day of work in the stockrooms.

“I don’t think it would suit you at all,” he replied.  Then he said, as he rose to go:  “As you are not inclined for a walk, I will go and have a talk with Mr. Selincourt about the plans for the fish-curing sheds.”

Standing aside was dismal work, Katherine told herself; and there were tears on her pillow when she went to sleep that night.