Life cannot stop because tragedy enters it. Meals must be made ready though a son dies and porches must be repaired even if your only daughter is going out of her mind. Mrs. Frederick, in her systematic1 way, had long ago appointed the second week in June for the repairing of the front porch, the roof of which was sagging2 dangerously. Roaring Abel had been engaged to do it many moons before and Roaring Abel promptly3 appeared on the morning of the first day of the second week, and fell to work. Of course he was drunk. Roaring Abel was never anything but drunk. But he was only in the first stage, which made him talkative and genial4. The odour of whisky on his breath nearly drove Mrs. Frederick and Cousin Stickles wild at dinner. Even Valancy, with all her emancipation5, did not like it. But she liked Abel and she liked his vivid, eloquent6 talk, and after she washed the dinner dishes she went out and sat on the steps and talked to him.
Mrs. Frederick and Cousin Stickles thought it a terrible proceeding7, but what could they do? Valancy only smiled mockingly at them when they called her in, and did not go. It was so easy to defy once you got started. The first step was the only one that really counted. They were both afraid to say anything more to her lest she might make a scene before Roaring Abel, who would spread it all over the country with his own characteristic comments and exaggerations. It was too cold a day, in spite of the June sunshine, for Mrs. Frederick to sit at the dining-room window and listen to what was said. She had to shut the window and Valancy and Roaring Abel had their talk to themselves. But if Mrs. Frederick had known what the outcome of that talk was to be she would have prevented it, if the porch was never repaired.
Valancy sat on the steps, defiant9 of the chill breeze of this cold June which had made Aunt Isabel aver10 the seasons were changing. She did not care whether she caught a cold or not. It was delightful11 to sit there in that cold, beautiful, fragrant12 world and feel free. She filled her lungs with the clean, lovely wind and held out her arms to it and let it tear her hair to pieces while she listened to Roaring Abel, who told her his troubles between intervals13 of hammering gaily14 in time to his Scotch15 songs. Valancy liked to hear him. Every stroke of his hammer fell true to the note.
Old Abel Gay, in spite of his seventy years, was handsome still, in a stately, patriarchal manner. His tremendous beard, falling down over his blue flannel16 shirt, was still a flaming, untouched red, though his shock of hair was white as snow, and his eyes were a fiery17, youthful blue. His enormous, reddish-white eyebrows18 were more like moustaches than eyebrows. Perhaps this was why he always kept his upper lip scrupulously19 shaved. His cheeks were red and his nose ought to have been, but wasn’t. It was a fine, upstanding, aquiline20 nose, such as the noblest Roman of them all might have rejoiced in. Abel was six feet two in his stockings, broad-shouldered, lean-hipped. In his youth he had been a famous lover, finding all women too charming to bind21 himself to one. His years had been a wild, colourful panorama22 of follies23 and adventures, gallantries, fortunes and misfortunes. He had been forty-five before he married—a pretty slip of a girl whom his goings-on killed in a few years. Abel was piously24 drunk at her funeral and insisted on repeating the fifty-fifth chapter of Isaiah—Abel knew most of the Bible and all the Psalms25 by heart—while the minister, whom he disliked, prayed or tried to pray. Thereafter his house was run by an untidy old cousin who cooked his meals and kept things going after a fashion. In this unpromising environment little Cecilia Gay had grown up.
Valancy had known “Cissy Gay” fairly well in the democracy of the public school, though Cissy had been three years younger than she. After they left school their paths diverged26 and she had seen nothing of her. Old Abel was a Presbyterian. That is, he got a Presbyterian preacher to marry him, baptise his child and bury his wife; and he knew more about Presbyterian theology than most ministers, which made him a terror to them in arguments. But Roaring Abel never went to church. Every Presbyterian minister who had been in Deerwood had tried his hand—once—at reforming Roaring Abel. But he had not been pestered27 of late. Rev8. Mr. Bently had been in Deerwood for eight years, but he had not sought out Roaring Abel since the first three months of his pastorate. He had called on Roaring Abel then and found him in the theological stage of drunkenness—which always followed the sentimental28 maudlin29 one, and preceded the roaring, blasphemous30 one. The eloquently31 prayerful one, in which he realised himself temporarily and intensely as a sinner in the hands of an angry God, was the final one. Abel never went beyond it. He generally fell asleep on his knees and awakened32 sober, but he had never been “dead drunk” in his life. He told Mr. Bently that he was a sound Presbyterian and sure of his election. He had no sins—that he knew of—to repent33 of.
“Have you never done anything in your life that you are sorry for?” asked Mr. Bently.
Roaring Abel scratched his bushy white head and pretended to reflect. “Well, yes,” he said finally. “There were some women I might have kissed and didn’t. I’ve always been sorry for that.”
Mr. Bently went out and went home.
Abel had seen that Cissy was properly baptised—jovially drunk at the same time himself. He made her go to church and Sunday School regularly. The church people took her up and she was in turn a member of the Mission Band, the Girls’ Guild34 and the Young Women’s Missionary35 Society. She was a faithful, unobtrusive, sincere, little worker. Everybody liked Cissy Gay and was sorry for her. She was so modest and sensitive and pretty in that delicate, elusive36 fashion of beauty which fades so quickly if life is not kept in it by love and tenderness. But then liking37 and pity did not prevent them from tearing her in pieces like hungry cats when the catastrophe38 came. Four years previously39 Cissy Gay had gone up to a Muskoka hotel as a summer waitress. And when she had come back in the fall she was a changed creature. She hid herself away and went nowhere. The reason soon leaked out and scandal raged. That winter Cissy’s baby was born. Nobody ever knew who the father was. Cecily kept her poor pale lips tightly locked on her sorry secret. Nobody dared ask Roaring Abel any questions about it. Rumour40 and surmise41 laid the guilt42 at Barney Snaith’s door because diligent43 inquiry44 among the other maids at the hotel revealed the fact that nobody there had ever seen Cissy Gay “with a fellow.” She had “kept herself to herself” they said, rather resentfully. “Too good for our dances. And now look!”
The baby had lived for a year. After its death Cissy faded away. Two years ago Dr. Marsh45 had given her only six months to live—her lungs were hopelessly diseased. But she was still alive. Nobody went to see her. Women would not go to Roaring Abel’s house. Mr. Bently had gone once, when he knew Abel was away, but the dreadful old creature who was scrubbing the kitchen floor told him Cissy wouldn’t see any one. The old cousin had died and Roaring Abel had had two or three disreputable housekeepers46—the only kind who could be prevailed on to go to a house where a girl was dying of consumption. But the last one had left and Roaring Abel had now no one to wait on Cissy and “do” for him. This was the burden of his plaint to Valancy and he condemned48 the “hypocrites” of Deerwood and its surrounding communities with some rich, meaty oaths that happened to reach Cousin Stickles’ ears as she passed through the hall and nearly finished the poor lady. Was Valancy listening to that?
Valancy hardly noticed the profanity. Her attention was focussed on the horrible thought of poor, unhappy, disgraced little Cissy Gay, ill and helpless in that forlorn old house out on the Mistawis road, without a soul to help or comfort her. And this in a nominally49 Christian50 community in the year of grace nineteen and some odd!
“Do you mean to say that Cissy is all alone there now, with nobody to do anything for her—nobody?”
“Oh, she can move about a bit and get a bite and sup when she wants it. But she can’t work. It’s d——d hard for a man to work hard all day and go home at night tired and hungry and cook his own meals. Sometimes I’m sorry I kicked old Rachel Edwards out.” Abel described Rachel picturesquely51.
“Her face looked as if it had wore out a hundred bodies. And she moped. Talk about temper! Temper’s nothing to moping. She was too slow to catch worms, and dirty—d——d dirty. I ain’t unreasonable—I know a man has to eat his peck before he dies—but she went over the limit. What d’ye sp’ose I saw that lady do? She’d made some punkin jam—had it on the table in glass jars with the tops off. The dawg got up on the table and stuck his paw into one of them. What did she do? She jest took holt of the dawg and wrung52 the syrup53 off his paw back into the jar! Then screwed the top on and set it in the pantry. I sets open the door and says to her, ‘Go!’ The dame54 went, and I fired the jars of punkin after her, two at a time. Thought I’d die laughing to see old Rachel run—with them punkin jars raining after her. She’s told everywhere I’m crazy, so nobody’ll come for love or money.”
“But Cissy must have some one to look after her,” insisted Valancy, whose mind was centred on this aspect of the case. She did not care whether Roaring Abel had any one to cook for him or not. But her heart was wrung for Cecilia Gay.
“Oh, she gits on. Barney Snaith always drops in when he’s passing and does anything she wants done. Brings her oranges and flowers and things. There’s a Christian for you. Yet that sanctimonious55, snivelling parcel of St. Andrew’s people wouldn’t be seen on the same side of the road with him. Their dogs’ll go to heaven before they do. And their minister—slick as if the cat had licked him!”
“There are plenty of good people, both in St. Andrew’s and St. George’s, who would be kind to Cissy if you would behave yourself,” said Valancy severely56. “They’re afraid to go near your place.”
“Because I’m such a sad old dog? But I don’t bite—never bit any one in my life. A few loose words spilled around don’t hurt any one. And I’m not asking people to come. Don’t want ’em poking57 and prying58 about. What I want is a housekeeper47. If I shaved every Sunday and went to church I’d get all the housekeepers I’d want. I’d be respectable then. But what’s the use of going to church when it’s all settled by predestination? Tell me that, Miss.”
“Is it?” said Valancy.
“Yes. Can’t git around it nohow. Wish I could. I don’t want either heaven or hell for steady. Wish a man could have ’em mixed in equal proportions.”
“Isn’t that the way it is in this world?” said. Valancy thoughtfully—but rather as if her thought was concerned with something else than theology.
“No, no,” boomed Abel, striking a tremendous blow on a stubborn nail. “There’s too much hell here—entirely too much hell. That’s why I get drunk so often. It sets you free for a little while—free from yourself—yes, by God, free from predestination. Ever try it?”
“No, I’ve another way of getting free,” said Valancy absently. “But about Cissy now. She must have some one to look after her——”
“What are you harping59 on Sis for? Seems to me you ain’t bothered much about her up to now. You never even come to see her. And she used to like you so well.”
“I should have,” said Valancy. “But never mind. You couldn’t understand. The point is—you must have a housekeeper.”
“Where am I to get one? I can pay decent wages if I could get a decent woman. D’ye think I like old hags?”
“Will I do?” said Valancy.
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1
systematic
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| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
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sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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aver
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| v.极力声明；断言；确证 | |
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11
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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12
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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13
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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15
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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16
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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17
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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18
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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19
scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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23
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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24
piously
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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psalms
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| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
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26
diverged
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| 分开( diverge的过去式和过去分词 )； 偏离； 分歧； 分道扬镳 | |
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pestered
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| 使烦恼，纠缠( pester的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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maudlin
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| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
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30
blasphemous
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| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
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31
eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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32
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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33
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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guild
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| n.行会，同业公会，协会 | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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37
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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38
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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40
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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41
surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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42
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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43
diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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44
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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45
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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46
housekeepers
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| n.（女）管家( housekeeper的名词复数 ) | |
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47
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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48
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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49
nominally
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| 在名义上，表面地； 应名儿 | |
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50
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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51
picturesquely
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52
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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53
syrup
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| n.糖浆，糖水 | |
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54
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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55
sanctimonious
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| adj.假装神圣的，假装虔诚的，假装诚实的 | |
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56
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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57
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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58
prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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59
harping
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| n.反复述说 | |
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