The summer flew by. Thea was glad when Ray Kennedy had a Sunday in town and could take her driving. Out among the sand hills she could forget the “new room” which was the scene of wearing and fruitless labor1. Dr. Archie was away from home a good deal that year. He had put all his money into mines above Colorado Springs, and he hoped for great returns from them.
In the fall of that year, Mr. Kronborg decided2 that Thea ought to show more interest in church work. He put it to her frankly3, one night at supper, before the whole family. “How can I insist on the other girls in the congregation being active in the work, when one of my own daughters manifests so little interest?”
“But I sing every Sunday morning, and I have to give up one night a week to choir4 practice,” Thea declared rebelliously5, pushing back her plate with an angry determination to eat nothing more.
“One night a week is not enough for the pastor’s daughter,” her father replied. “You won’t do anything in the sewing society, and you won’t take part in the Christian6 Endeavor or the Band of Hope. Very well, you must make it up in other ways. I want some one to play the organ and lead the singing at prayer-meeting this winter. Deacon Potter told me some time ago that he thought there would be more interest in our prayer-meetings if we had the organ. Miss Meyers don’t feel that she can play on Wednesday nights. And there ought to be somebody to start the hymns8. Mrs. Potter is getting old, and she always starts them too high. It won’t take much of your time, and it will keep people from talking.”
This argument conquered Thea, though she left the table sullenly9. The fear of the tongue, that terror of little towns, is usually felt more keenly by the minister’s family than by other households. Whenever the Kronborgs wanted to do anything, even to buy a new carpet, they had to take counsel together as to whether people would talk. Mrs. Kronborg had her own conviction that people talked when they felt like it, and said what they chose, no matter how the minister’s family conducted themselves. But she did not impart these dangerous ideas to her children. Thea was still under the belief that public opinion could be placated10; that if you clucked often enough, the hens would mistake you for one of themselves.
Mrs. Kronborg did not have any particular zest11 for prayer-meetings, and she stayed at home whenever she had a valid12 excuse. Thor was too old to furnish such an excuse now, so every Wednesday night, unless one of the children was sick, she trudged13 off with Thea, behind Mr. Kronborg. At first Thea was terribly bored. But she got used to prayer-meeting, got even to feel a mournful interest in it.
The exercises were always pretty much the same. After the first hymn7 her father read a passage from the Bible, usually a Psalm14. Then there was another hymn, and then her father commented upon the passage he had read and, as he said, “applied the Word to our necessities.” After a third hymn, the meeting was declared open, and the old men and women took turns at praying and talking. Mrs. Kronborg never spoke15 in meeting. She told people firmly that she had been brought up to keep silent and let the men talk, but she gave respectful attention to the others, sitting with her hands folded in her lap.
The prayer-meeting audience was always small. The young and energetic members of the congregation came only once or twice a year, “to keep people from talking.” The usual Wednesday night gathering16 was made up of old women, with perhaps six or eight old men, and a few sickly girls who had not much interest in life; two of them, indeed, were already preparing to die. Thea accepted the mournfulness of the prayer-meetings as a kind of spiritual discipline, like funerals. She always read late after she went home and felt a stronger wish than usual to live and to be happy.
The meetings were conducted in the Sunday-School room, where there were wooden chairs instead of pews; an old map of Palestine hung on the wall, and the bracket lamps gave out only a dim light. The old women sat motionless as Indians in their shawls and bonnets17; some of them wore long black mourning veils. The old men drooped18 in their chairs. Every back, every face, every head said “resignation.” Often there were long silences, when you could hear nothing but the crackling of the soft coal in the stove and the muffled19 cough of one of the sick girls.
There was one nice old lady,—tall, erect20, self-respecting, with a delicate white face and a soft voice. She never whined21, and what she said was always cheerful, though she spoke so nervously22 that Thea knew she dreaded23 getting up, and that she made a real sacrifice to, as she said, “testify to the goodness of her Saviour24.” She was the mother of the girl who coughed, and Thea used to wonder how she explained things to herself. There was, indeed, only one woman who talked because she was, as Mr. Kronborg said, “tonguey.” The others were somehow impressive. They told about the sweet thoughts that came to them while they were at their work; how, amid their household tasks, they were suddenly lifted by the sense of a divine Presence. Sometimes they told of their first conversion25, of how in their youth that higher Power had made itself known to them. Old Mr. Carsen, the carpenter, who gave his services as janitor26 to the church, used often to tell how, when he was a young man and a scoffer27, bent28 on the destruction of both body and soul, his Saviour had come to him in the Michigan woods and had stood, it seemed to him, beside the tree he was felling; and how he dropped his axe29 and knelt in prayer “to Him who died for us upon the tree.” Thea always wanted to ask him more about it; about his mysterious wickedness, and about the vision.
Sometimes the old people would ask for prayers for their absent children. Sometimes they asked their brothers and sisters in Christ to pray that they might be stronger against temptations. One of the sick girls used to ask them to pray that she might have more faith in the times of depression that came to her, “when all the way before seemed dark.” She repeated that husky phrase so often, that Thea always remembered it.
One old woman, who never missed a Wednesday night, and who nearly always took part in the meeting, came all the way up from the depot30 settlement. She always wore a black crocheted31 “fascinator” over her thin white hair, and she made long, tremulous prayers, full of railroad terminology32. She had six sons in the service of different railroads, and she always prayed “for the boys on the road, who know not at what moment they may be cut off. When, in Thy divine wisdom, their hour is upon them, may they, O our Heavenly Father, see only white lights along the road to Eternity33.” She used to speak, too, of “the engines that race with death”; and though she looked so old and little when she was on her knees, and her voice was so shaky, her prayers had a thrill of speed and danger in them; they made one think of the deep black canyons34, the slender trestles, the pounding trains. Thea liked to look at her sunken eyes that seemed full of wisdom, at her black thread gloves, much too long in the fingers and so meekly35 folded one over the other. Her face was brown, and worn away as rocks are worn by water. There are many ways of describing that color of age, but in reality it is not like parchment, or like any of the things it is said to be like. That brownness and that texture36 of skin are found only in the faces of old human creatures, who have worked hard and who have always been poor.
One bitterly cold night in December the prayer-meeting seemed to Thea longer than usual. The prayers and the talks went on and on. It was as if the old people were afraid to go out into the cold, or were stupefied by the hot air of the room. She had left a book at home that she was impatient to get back to. At last the Doxology was sung, but the old people lingered about the stove to greet each other, and Thea took her mother’s arm and hurried out to the frozen sidewalk, before her father could get away. The wind was whistling up the street and whipping the naked cottonwood trees against the telegraph poles and the sides of the houses. Thin snow clouds were flying overhead, so that the sky looked gray, with a dull phosphorescence. The icy streets and the shingle37 roofs of the houses were gray, too. All along the street, shutters38 banged or windows rattled39, or gates wobbled, held by their latch40 but shaking on loose hinges. There was not a cat or a dog in Moonstone that night that was not given a warm shelter; the cats under the kitchen stove, the dogs in barns or coal-sheds. When Thea and her mother reached home, their mufflers were covered with ice, where their breath had frozen. They hurried into the house and made a dash for the parlor41 and the hard-coal burner, behind which Gunner was sitting on a stool, reading his Jules Verne book. The door stood open into the dining-room, which was heated from the parlor. Mr. Kronborg always had a lunch when he came home from prayer-meeting, and his pumpkin42 pie and milk were set out on the dining-table. Mrs. Kronborg said she thought she felt hungry, too, and asked Thea if she didn’t want something to eat.
“No, I’m not hungry, mother. I guess I’ll go upstairs.”
“I expect you’ve got some book up there,” said Mrs. Kronborg, bringing out another pie. “You’d better bring it down here and read. Nobody’ll disturb you, and it’s terrible cold up in that loft43.”
Thea was always assured that no one would disturb her if she read downstairs, but the boys talked when they came in, and her father fairly delivered discourses44 after he had been renewed by half a pie and a pitcher45 of milk.
“I don’t mind the cold. I’ll take a hot brick up for my feet. I put one in the stove before I left, if one of the boys hasn’t stolen it. Good-night, mother.” Thea got her brick and lantern, and dashed upstairs through the windy loft. She undressed at top speed and got into bed with her brick. She put a pair of white knitted gloves on her hands, and pinned over her head a piece of soft flannel46 that had been one of Thor’s long petticoats when he was a baby. Thus equipped, she was ready for business. She took from her table a thick paper-backed volume, one of the “line” of paper novels the druggist kept to sell to traveling men. She had bought it, only yesterday, because the first sentence interested her very much, and because she saw, as she glanced over the pages, the magical names of two Russian cities. The book was a poor translation of “Anna Karenina.” Thea opened it at a mark, and fixed47 her eyes intently upon the small print. The hymns, the sick girl, the resigned black figures were forgotten. It was the night of the ball in Moscow.
Thea would have been astonished if she could have known how, years afterward48, when she had need of them, those old faces were to come back to her, long after they were hidden away under the earth; that they would seem to her then as full of meaning, as mysteriously marked by Destiny, as the people who danced the mazurka under the elegant Korsunsky.
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1
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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4
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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rebelliously
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| adv.造反地，难以控制地 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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7
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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9
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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placated
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| v.安抚，抚慰，使平静( placate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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valid
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| adj.有确实根据的；有效的；正当的，合法的 | |
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trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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psalm
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| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
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15
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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18
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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20
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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21
whined
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| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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22
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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24
saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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janitor
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| n.看门人，管门人 | |
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scoffer
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| 嘲笑者 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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30
depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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31
crocheted
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| v.用钩针编织( crochet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
terminology
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| n.术语；专有名词 | |
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33
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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34
canyons
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| n.峡谷( canyon的名词复数 ) | |
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35
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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36
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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37
shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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38
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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39
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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40
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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41
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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42
pumpkin
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| n.南瓜 | |
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43
loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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44
discourses
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| 论文( discourse的名词复数 )； 演说； 讲道； 话语 | |
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45
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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46
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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47
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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48
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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