The Merry Anne

CHAPTER III – AT THE HOUSE ON STILTS

DICK and Henry did not go directly back, and it was mid-afternoon when they reached the pier. As they walked down the incline from the road, Dick’s eyes strayed toward the house on stilts. The Captain lay with nose in the sand, and beside her, evidently just back from a sail, stood Annie with two of the students who came on bright days to rent Captain Fargo’s boats. They were having a jolly time, – he could hear Annie laughing at some sally from the taller student, – and they had no eye for the two sailors on the pier. Once, as they walked out, Dick’s hand went up to his hat; but he was mistaken, she had not seen him. And so he watched her until the lumber piles, on the broad outer end of the pier, shut off the view; and Henry watched him.

Dick hardly heard what his cousin said when they parted. He leaped down to the deck of the Merry Anne, and plunged moodily into the box of an after cabin. His men, excepting Pink Harper, who was somewhere up forward devouring a novel, were on shore; so that there was no one to observe him standing there by the little window gazing shoreward. Finally, after much chatting and lingering, the two students sauntered away. Annie turned back to make her boat fast; and Dick, in no cheerful frame of mind, came hurrying shoreward.

She saw him leap down from pier to sand, and gave him a wave of the hand; then, seeing that he was heading toward her, she turned and awaited him.

“Come, Dick, I want you to pull the Captain higher up.”

Dick did as he was bid, without a word. And then, with a look and tone that told her plainly what was to come next, he asked, “What are you going to do now?”

“I guess I ‘ll have to see if mother wants me. I’ve been sailing ever since dinner.”

“You haven’t any time for me, then?”

“Why, of course I have, – lots of it. But I can’t see you all the while.”

“No, I suppose you can’t – not if you go sailing with those boys.”

Annie’s mischievous nature leaped at the chance this speech gave her. “They aren’t boys, Dick; Mr. Beveridge is older than most of the students. He told me all about himself the other day.”

“Oh, he did.”

“Yes. He was brought up on a farm, and he has had to work his way through school. When he first came here, he got off the train with only just three dollars and a half in his pocket, and he didn’t have any idea where he was going to get his next dollar. I think it’s pretty brave of a man to work as hard as that for an education.”

Dick could say nothing. Most of his education had come in through his pores.

“I like Mr. Wilson, too.”

“He is the other one, I suppose?”

Dick, his eyes fixed on the sand, did not catch the mirthful glance that was shot at him after these words. And her voice, friendly and unconscious, told him nothing.

“Yes, he is Mr. Beveridge’s friend. They room together.”

“Well, I hope they enjoy it.”

“Now, Dick, what makes you so cross? When you are such a bear, it wouldn’t be any wonder if I didn’t want to see you.”

He gazed for a minute at the rippling blue lake, then broke out: “Can you blame me for being cross? Is it my fault?”

She looked at him with wondering eyes.

“Why – you don’t mean it is my fault, Dick?”

“Do you think it is just right to treat me this way, Annie?”

“What way do you mean, Dick?”

He bit his lip, then looked straight into her eyes and came out with characteristic directness: —

“I don’t like to think I’ve been making a mistake all this while, Annie. Maybe I have never asked you right out if you would marry me. I’m not a college fellow, and it isn’t always easy for me to say things, but I thought you knew what I meant. And I thought that you didn’t mind my meaning it.”

She was beginning to look serious and troubled.

“But if there is any doubt about it, I say it right now. Will you marry me? It is what I have been working for – what I have been buying the schooner for – and if I had thought for a minute that you weren’t going to say yes sooner or later, I should have gone plumb to the devil before this. It isn’t a laughing matter. It has been the thought of you that has kept me straight, and – and – can’t you see how it is, Annie? Haven’t you anything to say to me?”

She looked at him. He was so big and brown; his eyes were so clear and blue.

“Don’t let’s talk about it now. You’re so – impatient.”

“Do you really think I’ve been impatient?”

She could not answer this.

“Now listen, Annie: I’m going to sail in the morning, away around to a place called Spencer, on Lake Huron; and I could hardly get back inside of ten or twelve days. And if I should go away without a word from you – well, I couldn’t, that’s all.”

“You don’t mean – you don’t want me to say before to-morrow?”

“Yes, that’s just what I mean. You haven’t anything to do to-night, have you?”

She shook, her head without looking at him. “Well, I ‘ll be around after supper, and we ‘ll take a walk, and you can tell me.”

But her courage was coming back. “No, Dick, I can’t.”

“But, Annie, you don’t mean – ”

“Yes, I do. Why can’t you stop bothering me, and just wait. Maybe then – some day – ”

“It’s no use – I can’t. If you won’t tell me to-night, surely ten – or, say, eleven – days ought to be enough. If I went off tomorrow without even being able to look forward to it – Oh, Annie, you’ve got to tell me, that’s all. Let me see you to-night, and I ‘ll try not to bother you. I ‘ll get back in eleven days, if I have to put the schooner on my back and carry her clean across the Southern Peninsula,” – she was smiling now; she liked his extravagant moods, – “and then you ‘ll tell me.” He had her hand; he was gazing so eagerly, so breathlessly, that she could hardly resist. “You ‘ll tell me then, Annie, and you ‘ll make me the luckiest fellow that ever sailed out of this town. Eleven days from to-night – and I ‘ll come – and I ‘ll ask you if it is to be yes or no – and you ‘ll tell me for keeps. You can promise me that much, can’t you?”

And Annie, holding out as long as she could, finally, with the slightest possible inclination of her head, promised.

“Where will you be this evening?” he asked, as they parted.

“I ‘ll wait on the porch – about eight.”

For the rest of the afternoon Dick sat brooding in his cabin. When, a little after six, he saw Henry coming down the companionway, his heart warmed.

“Thought I’d come over and eat with you,” said his cousin. “What’s the matter here – why don’t you light up?”

Dick, by way of reply, mumbled a few words and struck a light. Henry looked at him curiously.

“What is it, Dick?” he asked again.

There had been few secrets between them. So far as either knew, they were the last two members of their family, and their intimacy, though never expressed in words, had a deep foundation. Before the present arrangement of Dick’s work, which made it possible for them to meet at least once in the month, they had seen little of each other; but at every small crisis in the course of his struggle upward to the command of a schooner, Dick had been guided by the counsel and example of the older man. Now he spoke out his mind without hesitation.

“Sit down, Henry. When – when I told you about what I have been thinking – about Annie – why did you look at me as you did?”

“How did I look?”

“Don’t dodge, Henry. The idea struck you wrong. I could see that, and I want to know why.”

“Well,” Henry hesitated, “I don’t know that I should put it just that way. I confess I was surprised.”

“Haven’t you seen it coming?”

“I rather guess the trouble with me was that I have been planning out your future without taking your feelings into account.”

“How do you mean, – planning my future?”

“Oh, it isn’t so definite that I could answer that question offhand. I thought I saw a future for myself, and I thought we might go it together. But I was counting on just you and me, without any other interests or impediments.”

“But if I should marry – ”

“If you marry, your work will have to take a new direction. Your interests will change completely. And before many years, you will begin to think of quitting the Lake. It isn’t the life for a family man. But then – that’s the way things go. I have no right to advise against it.” Henry smiled, with an odd, half bitter expression. “And from what I have seen since my eyes were opened, I don’t believe it would do any good for me to object.”

“You are mistaken there, Henry,” the younger man replied quietly; “it isn’t going well at all. I’ve been pretty blue to-day.”

“Well,” said Henry, with the same odd expression, “I don’t know but what I’m sorry for that. That future I was speaking of seems to have faded out lately, – in fact, my plans are not going well, either. And so you probably couldn’t count on me very much anyway.”

He paused. Pink Harper, who acted as cook occasionally when the Anne was tied up and the rest of the crew were ashore, could be heard bustling about on deck. After a moment Henry rose, and, with an impulsive gesture, laid his hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Cheer up, Dick,” he said. “Don’t take it too hard. Try to keep hold of yourself. And look here, my boy, we’ve always stepped pretty well together, and we mustn’t let any new thing come in between us – ”

“Supper’s ready!” Pink called down the companionway.

Dick was both puzzled and touched; touched by Henry’s moment of frankness, puzzled by the reasons given for his opposition to the suggested marriage. It was not like his cousin to express positive opinions, least of all with inadequate reasons. Dick had no notion of leaving the Lake; he could never do so without leaving most of himself behind. Plainly Henry did not want him married, and Dick wondered why.

It was half-past seven, and night was settling over the Lake. Already the pier end was fading, the masts of the two schooners were losing their distinctness against the sky; the ripples had quieted with the dying day-breeze, and now murmured on the sand. The early evening stars were peeping out, looking for their mates in the water below.

On the steps, sober now, and inclined to dreaming as she looked out into the mystery of things, sat Annie. A shadow fell across the beach, – the outline of a broad pair of shoulders, – and she held her breath. The shadow lengthened; the man appeared around the corner of the house. Then, as he came rapidly nearer, she was relieved to see that it was Beveridge.

He was in a cheerful frame of mind as he stepped up and sat beside her. It was pleasant that the peculiar nature of his work should make it advisable to cultivate the acquaintance of an attractive young woman – such a very attractive young woman that he was beginning to think, now and then, of taking her away with him when his work here should be done.

“What do you say to a row on the Lake?” he suggested, after a little.

“I mustn’t go away,” said Annie. “I promised I would be here at eight.”

“But it’s not eight yet,” Beveridge replied. “Let’s walk a little way – you can keep the house in sight, and see when he comes.”

“Well,” doubtfully, “not far.”

They strolled along the beach until Annie turned. “This is far enough.”

“I don’t know whether I can let your Captain come around quite so often,” said he, as they sat down on the dry sand, in the shelter of a clump of willows. “It won’t do – he is too good looking. I should like to know what is to become of the rest of us.”

This amused Annie. They had both been gazing out towards the schooners, and he had read her thoughts. He went on: “You know it’s not really fair. These sailor fellows always get the best of us. He named his schooner after you, didn’t he?”

“Oh, no, I don’t believe so.”

“Sailors and soldiers – it’s the same the world over! There’s no chance for us common fellows when they are about. Tell you what I shall have to do – join the militia and come around in full uniform. Then maybe you would be looking at me, too. I don’t know but what I could even make you forget him.”

She had to laugh at this. “Maybe you could.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t do me any good to try without the uniform, would it?”

She tossed her head now. “So that’s what you think of me – that I care for nothing but clothes?”

“Oh, no, it’s not the clothes. His red shirt would never do it. But it’s the idea of a sailor’s life – there is a sort of glitter about it – he seems pluckier, somehow, than other men. It’s the dash and the grand-stand play that fetches it. I suppose it wouldn’t be a bit of use to tell you that you are too good for him.”

She made no reply, and the conversation halted. Annie gazed pensively out across the water. He watched her, and as the moments slipped away his expression began to change; for he was still a young man, and the witchery of the night was working within him.

“Do you know, I’m pretty nearly mean enough to tell you some things about Dick Smiley. I don’t know but what I’m a little jealous of him.”

She did not turn, or speak.

“I’m afraid it is so. I would hardly talk like this if I were not. I thought I was about girl-proof, – up to now, no one has been able to keep my mind off my work very long at a time, – but you have been playing the mischief with me, this last week or so. It’s no use, Annie. I wouldn’t give three cents for the man that could look at you and keep his head. And when I think of you throwing yourself away on Smiley, just because he’s good-looking and a sailor – you mustn’t do it, that’s all. I have been watching you – ”

“Oh, – you have?”

“Yes, and I think maybe I see some things about you that you don’t see yourself. I wonder if you have thought where a man like Smiley would lead you?” She would have protested at this, but he swept on. “He can never be anything more than he is. He has no head for business, and even if he works hard, he can’t hope to do more than own his schooner. You see, he’s not prepared for anything better; he’s side-tracked. And if you were just a pretty girl and nothing more, – just about the size of these people around you, – I don’t suppose I should say a word; I should know you would never be happy anywhere else. Why, Annie, do you suppose there’s a girl anywhere else on the shore of Lake Michigan – on the whole five Lakes – living among fishermen and sailors, as you do, that could put on a dress the way you have put that one on, that could wear it the way you’re wearing it now?

“Oh, I know the difference, and I don’t like to stand by and let you throw yourself away. You see, Annie, I haven’t known you very long, but it has been long enough to make it impossible to forget you. I haven’t any more than made my start, but I’m sure I am headed right, and if I could tell you the chance there is ahead of me to do something big, maybe you would understand why I believe I’m going to be able to offer you the kind of life you ought to have – the kind you were made for. I don’t want to climb up alone. I want some one with me – some one to help me make it. You may think this is sudden – and you would be right. It is sudden. I have felt a little important about my work, I’m afraid, for I really have been doing well. But ever since you just looked at me with those eyes of yours, the whole business has gone upside down. Don’t blame me for talking out this way. It’s your fault for being what you are. I expect to finish up my work here pretty soon now, and then I ‘ll have to go away, and there’s no telling where I ‘ll be.”

Annie was puzzled.

“Oh, you finish so soon? It is only September now.”

“I have to move on when the work is done, you know. I obey orders.”

“But I thought you were a student, Mr. Beveridge?”

He hesitated; he had said too much. Chagrined, he rose, without a word, at her “Come, I must go back now,” and returned with her to the house. And when they were approaching the steps, he was just angry enough with himself to blunder again.

“Wait, Annie. I see you don’t understand me. But there is one thing you can understand. I want to go away knowing that you aren’t going to encourage Smiley any longer. You can promise me that much. I don’t want to talk against him; but I can tell you he’s not the man for you; he’s not even the man you think he is. Some day I will explain it all. Promise me that you won’t.”

But she hurried on resolutely toward the house, and there was nothing to do but follow. “Will you take my word for it, Annie, – that you ‘ll do best to let him alone?”

She shook her head and hurried along.

On the steps sat a gloomy figure – Dick, in his Sunday clothes, white shirt and collar, red necktie, and all. His elbows rested on his knees, his chin rested on his hands, and the darkness of the great black Lake was in his soul. He watched the approaching figures without raising his head; he saw Beveridge lift his hat and turn away toward the bank; he let Annie come forward alone without speaking to her.

She put one foot on the bottom step, and nodded up at him. “Here I am, Dick. Do you want to sit here or – or walk?”

He got up, and came slowly down to the sand.

“So this is the way you treat me, Annie?”

“I’m not late, am I, Dick? It can’t be much after eight.”

“So you go walking with him, when – when – ”

“Now, Dick, don’t be foolish. Mr. Beveridge came around early, and wanted me to walk, and – and I told him I couldn’t stay away – ”

She was not quite her usual sprightly self; and the manner of this speech was not convincing. Dick’s reply was a subdued sound that indicated anything but satisfaction.

“I’m mad, Annie, – I know I’m mad – and I don’t think you can blame me.”

“I – I didn’t ask you to come before eight, Dick.”

“Oh, that was it, was it? I suppose you told him to come at seven.”

“Now, Dick, – please – ”

But he, not daring to trust his tongue, was angry and helpless before her. After a moment he turned away and stood looking out toward the lights of the schooner. Finally he said, in a strange voice, “I see I’ve been a fool – I thought you meant some of the things you’ve said – I ought to have known better; I ought to have known you were just fooling with me – you were just a flirt.”

He did not look around. Even if he had, the night would have concealed the color in her cheeks. But he heard her say, “I think perhaps – you had better go, Dick.”

He hesitated, then turned.

“Good night,” she said, and ran up the steps.

“Say – wait, Annie – ”

The door closed behind her, and Dick stood alone. He waited, thinking she might come back, but the house was silent. He stepped back and looked up at her little balcony with its fringe of flowers, but it was deserted; no light appeared in the window. At last he turned away, and tramped out to the Merry Anne. The men were aboard, ready for an early start in the morning; the new mate was settling himself in the cabin. To Dick, as he stood on the pier and looked down on the trim little schooner, nothing appeared worth while. He leaped down to the deck, and thought savagely that he would have made the the same leap if the deck had not been there, if there had been fourteen feet of green water and a berth on the scalloped sand below. But there was one good thing – nothing could rob Dick of his sleep. And in his dreams Annie was always kind.

CHAPTER IV – THE CIRCLE MARK

EARLY in the morning they were off. Dick, glum and reckless, took the wheel; McGlory went up forward and looked after hoisting the jibs and foresail. The new mate had already succeeded, by an ugly way he had, in antagonizing most of the men; but their spirits ran high, in spite of him, as the Merry Anne slipped away from the pier and headed out into the glory of the sunrise.

“Hey, Peenk,” called Larsen, “geeve us ‘Beelly Brown.’” And Pink, who needed no urging, roared out promptly the following ballad, with the whole crew shouting the spoken words: – =

“You’re makin’ noise enough up there,” growled McGlory. Pink, with a rebellious glance, bent over the rope he was coiling and held his peace.

As they started, so they sailed during four days – the Captain reckless, the mate hard and uncommunicative, the men cowed. And at mid-morning on the fourth day they arrived at Spencer.

The Hydrographic Office had at that time worked wonders in charting these Great Lakes of ours, but it had given no notice to the little harbor that was tucked snugly away behind False Middle Island, not a hundred miles from Mackinaw City on the Lake Huron side; merely a speck of an island with a nameless dent behind it. But old Spencer, a lank, hatchet-faced Yankee, had found that a small schooner could be worked in if she headed due west, “with the double sand dune against the three pines till you get the forked stump ranged with the ruined shanty; meet this range and hold it till clear of the bar at the north end of the island; circle around to port; when clear of the bar, hug the inner shore of the island until the mill can be seen behind the trees; then run up into the harbor. Plenty of water here.”

This discovery had resulted in such a curious little mill as can be found only in the back corners of the country, – a low shed with a flat roof; one side open to the day; within, an old-fashioned vertical saw; the whole supplied with power by a rotting, dripping, moss-covered sluiceway.

All about were blackened pine stumps – nothing else for a hundred miles. And all through the forest was the sand, drifting like snow over roads and fences, changing the shape of the land in every high wind, blowing into hair and clothes, and adding, with the tall, endless, gray-green mullein stalks, the final touch of desolation to a hopeless land. Here and there, in the clearings, sand-colored farmers and their sand-colored wives struggled to wring a livelihood from the thankless earth. Other farmers had drifted helplessly away, leaving houses and barns to blacken and rot and sink beneath the sand drifts, and leaving, too, rows of graves under the stumps.

Twenty miles down the coast, where a railroad touched, was a feeble little settlement that was known, on the maps, as Ramsey City.

This region had been “cut over” once; it had been burned over more than once; and yet old Spencer, with his handful of employees and his deliberate little mill, wore a prosperous look on his inscrutable Yankee face. There was no inhabited house within ten miles, but he was apparently contented.