THE SORROWFUL HOUSE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVIII, Issue 20988, 26 September 1931, Page 12 (Supplement)

THE SORROWFUL HOUSE.

By JEANNETTE STONEHOUSE. . '

A NEW ZEALAND STORY.

Tlio "Valley" inhabitants, were, on tlie whole,, very pleased with the new teacher. She was, they decided, not too young, and a " nice, sensible body." Nan Warden smiled at that phrase, which she chanced to overhear—smiled a little wryly, and fell to wondering if the good folk would have been quite so sure of their premises could they have lead all the thoughts that lay hidden in her heart, But she had nothing against her new position: it suited her admirably. Kindly, country people, children, who were not unusually naughty or dull; and llie most beautiful surroundings. 'lms, to JNan, meant more than tlie rest, for she had never been north before, and tlie nameless charm of that land of kauri and golden sunshine, had caught her in us spell, and most fine Saturdays and bundays found her wandering about Hie country-side, accompanied by ail amazingly, ugly cat, on whom she had bestowed the most unsuitable name of Cupid, on his first attaching himselt to her. She would take her lunch and a book, and often spend the day rambling about, and resting beneath the shade ot some convenient tree, or fragrant clump of manuka. . , It was on one of these excursions that she discovered the Sorrowful House. She had started off along the highway, instead of sticking to the hills and paddocks, a procedure strongly objected to by Oupid, as an occasional motor-car played havoc with his nerves. So Nan presently took pity on him, and strolled up the first byway that presented itself to her view. It was little more than a rough track, running between a group of pink and win e manuka blossom—such blossom as is on y seen in the north—and leading steadily upwards. Five minutes later she came into the open, and saw the blue waters of the harbour at her feet, and to the right, the Sorrowful House. She called it that almost as her eyes encountered it, for it looked forlorn and desolate standing there among the scrub, with bare windows looking seawards, and no path to its gaping doorwav, though a line wheie the scrub was lower and less dense, suggested that a track had been cleared at one time. There was not a gate of any sort, but yielding to an impulse she could not explain, even to herself, she scrambled through the wire fence, and made her way to the back of the house. Here the ground had evidently at one time, been carefully prepared,- and there were even signs of' something in the nature of flower-beds here and there against the house. But there was nothing else to suggest human habitation, and Nan gazed about her with wondering eves at the odds and ends of rotting timber, the ladder lying on the ground, the little heaps of rusty nails, and pieces of iron; and she realised that this was not a home that, having seen its day, was now falling into decay, as she had at first supposed, but a house that had never been lived in at all, never even completed. Yet, someone had formed flower-beds! Treading lightly, with an odd feeling that she was on sacred ground, Nan explored the house. There was a roomy, back verandah, with an end partitioned off—probably for a bathroom. A small kitchen with a bedroom and living room—both large, pleasant apartments leading out of it. Beyond the living room, there was another wide verandah, with a little room at one end. For a spare room, Nan decided. Plenty of room for a bed on the verandah, too, and the view from here was glorious; pity the Inrger bedroom did not look this way. But on returning to it she discovered it had a pleasant prospect of undulating country, and caught the morning sun. " And it's a pretty shape, and has casement windows," she found herself saying loudly. Then laughed a little afc her own ernestness, and her laughter echoed hollowly through the empty house. But, outside in the spring sunlight, she addressed the house quite seriously. " I know now why you're sorrowful," she said, " poor dear, you've never been lived in. I feel a bit that way myself, so perhaps, we can console each other, anyhow, you're iust the sort of house I've always wanted for myself." During the week, she made a few casual enquiries, and discovered all there was known in the district about the unfinished house.

It had been built, it appeared, some eight or ten years before by a man named Sanderson. He had come a stranger to the district, looking for land. Had bought a Government section', and at once commenced fencing. His section was about a hundred acres and the " Valley " had understood that he intended milking as soon as his land was in order. Then timber arrived, and he started building, with the help of one of the settlers, who was something of a rough carpenter. Sanderson had sung and whistled at his work, had talked of scrub-cutting, ploughing and tho best of grass to sow for a milking herd. Then, one day, the singing and whistled had ceased abruptly, also the building which was very near completion, even the windows being in. And a week later, ho put tho house and section up for sale and left the district. No purchaser had been found. This, briefly, was the history of the Sorrowful House, and Nan felt, it was delivered into her hands. For, she told herself, with truly feminine logic, if no one had fallen a victim to its charms in eight—or was it ten years—there, was now little chance that anyone would do so. As for the shadowy Sanderson, he had deserted it, so deserved no consideration whatever.

So Nan Warden, spinster of thirty years standing, and teacher of the " Valley " school, who bore the name of a " sensible body," began in all seriousness, the task of cheering the Sorrowful House!

She bought tools, a diminative reaphook, a spade, and cut and cleared a pathway amongst the scrub, with infinite labour. She formed up tho flower beds anew and planted seeds and cuttings. She even attacked the inside—washed (lie windows and floors, and gathered together odd boards that were, scattered about them, and piled them neatly in the bathroom. The litter out-of-doors, by-the-way, she had dealt with, by the simple method of heaping it altogether behind some conveniently tall manuka and sowing a whole packet of nasturtium seed among

The " Valley " had no suspicions with regard to these activities. The by-road that Nan had discovered was one that had fallen into disu;e. Tho only adjoining section being also unoccupied—a large piece of Crown land, bounding it on two sides—and if anyone did happen to observe the teacher carrying a spade along the main road, she was known to be a ferning enthusiast; the hook being more likely to excite remark, she concealed in a large Maori kit, alofig with other odds and ends, necessary for her purpose. ,

"That's the advantage of being considered eccentric," she told Cupid in confidence. " Nobody here bothers much about what I do, because they have decided that in some matters I am a harmless lunalic. In proof whereof," she concluded, " I have let 'the ugliest cat in the district adopt me, given him the ridiculous name of Cupid, and talkto him as though lie was a human being!" lint Cupid merely wound his ungainly body about her legs, and purred loudly, no doubt well aware that" his diviniiy valued his devotion more highly than she cared to admit. And during the weeks that followed, he continued to follow her on her walks, with most unfelino regularity—walks that always ended at the Sorrowful House.

Tim place drew her like a magnet—it pervaded lier thoughts and her imaagination to an extraordinary extent and she laboured there unceasingly, but had to admit herself beaten in llio end—it was still the Sorrowful House, and she knew that no effort of hers could make it anything else. It was December then, nearly three months since she had first seen the Sorrowful House, and during those months nearly the whole of her spare timo had

(CorrnicuT.)

been devoted to it. Now she stood in the blazing summer sunlight, and looked about her with a sense of failure and futility out of all proportion to the seriousness of the matter involved.

' I feel as though I had gone up in an aeroplane, and landed in a mud-pud-dle," she told the faithful Cupid sadly, and she looked ruefully at the pathways her inexperienced hand had attempted, the pathetic little flower beds, the seedlings willing in the sun, and thero were actually tears in "her eyes.

But Fate had another blow in store for her, and at the very moment of the realisation of her defeat she saw a man climb through the fence and come towards her—and instantly, and without the shadow of doubt she knew that his name was Sanderson—proprietorship enveloped him like a garment, lie came toward her slowly, looking about him in a puzzled manner, and Cupid, who had been drowsing contentedly in the shade, suddenly became aware of his approach, and bolted into the scrub. Nan, overwhelmed all at once by the absurdity of her position, resisted a strong inclination to follow his example, and wished, with all her heart, that the ground would open and swallow her up; and as she advanced a few steps to meet the intruder, with a courage born of despair, her usually pale cheeks were flushed an unwonted and most becoming pink, and her hazel eyes were wide, and more eloquent than she knew. The stranger smiled pleasantly, and raised his hat.

" My name is Sanderson," ho began politely—but Nan interrupted him. " And you wonder what on earth I am doing on your property," she said with a calmness that surprised herself. " Mr. Sanderson, I have the most absurd confession to make," and forthwith she plunged into a detailed account of her attempt to enliven the Sorrowful House. Sanderson listened in silence, and to her relief seemed neither annoyed nor amused. When she had finished, he said, simply: " I think it was jolly sporting of you." " It was an awful cheek—really," said Nan, with-a faint laugh, "but do you know I've never thought of that till now. I never actually thought of this house as belonging to you; I somehow—it seemed to be mine from the moment I set eves upon it. You'll think I'm an awful fool, of course, but there seemed to be a sort of sympathy between us. It sounds awfully silly, doesn't it?" But even then he did not smile. " You've made a big improvement," was all ho said.

Nan glanced shaVply at him, to see if this was intended for sarcasm, but his eyes met hers squarely, pleasant grey eyes, set, in a pleasant weather-tanned face. She felt an unaccountable uplift of her spirits. " It's awfully nice of you to say so," she said, " I was feeling very discouraged."

She hesitated, possessed by an odd desire to make him understand her, then she continued slowly, choosing her words carefully. " This house hasn't got a soul. No one has ever lived in it, felt joy and pain, hope and disappointment there. There's no love in it, no little pattering feet —" She broke off, confused abashed; why should she say this to a stranger—she Nan Warden, who prided herself on her reserve ?

The man however, did not appear to notic3.

" You mean it's not a home ?" he said, and his voice lingered on the iast word.

' Nan nodded, with burning cheeks. " Nothing I could do would make it that," she said simply. The man looked at her with a strange expression. Then—- " Como inside," ho said, " it's hot out here." She followed him meekly. " It'll he cool on the front verandah," she told him in a small voice, and they went together through the house and sat on the steps, for tlie sun had not reached there. Sanderson began to speak, presently, in a low voice. " When I -was building this house," be said, " I thought it was going to be a home all right, but the girl I thought 1 was going to marry changed her mind at the lust moment, and I threw up the sponge and cleared out." Ho paused, but Nan did not speak; she had curious feeling that she had been waiting to hear this ever since she had discovered the Sorrowful House. Presently Sanderson continued: " I've knocked about since then, and in all bv wanderings I've never found a home, and I've wanted one badly. I've nevei once thought of coming back here to try and make one—now I don't know, it scenis to nie that this is my home," he looked at Nan's downcast face. " You're so plucky," he said, " such a sport. I feel' as though I had been a quitter. I came with the idea of havftig (he house pulled down, and selling the timber and the ground for what it would fetch. J think that now—l'll stay here—and make a home." Ilis voico dropped. Nan raised her faco then. Her eyes wore shining, clear sweet, honest eyes. There was an uneveh beating at her heart. She gave a little unsteady laugh. " So I really have accomplished something. I've felt all along that in some way it was very important. It's kind of filled my life these months. My holidays start next week, and I've quite dreaded going away—leaving my Sorrowful House all alone. Now you will take care of it. I think I've been doing nil this for you, really. You don't seem like a stranger, but part of the house—Oh ! but you must think I'm an idiot!" she broke off. "No, 1 don't," Sanderson said. "I didn't know there were any women like you anywhere in the world," he added reverently. " There's not many," she told him, with a flash of humour, " and perhaps it's just as well. I am a littlo mad, you know, but I try to conceal it as a rule." Her eyes and lips sobered suddenly. " Circumstances have been against me," she went on a little wistfully, " I'm a lonely person, with no one who particularly wants me. Aunts and uncles, who have their own families to consider—cousins, who are busy with their own concerns—you know how it is. And I've got into the way of living in a world of my own. I don't often make friends, somehow. I like the people here, they've been wonderfully kind to me, and I'm quite fond of some of the kiddies and they like me I think. Bui there is no one' here with whom T have much in common, and not a solitary soul in the whole world to whom I am in the least necessary." Sanderson looked at her with a kindling face. " I 1 hink that in the future that may be altered," he said very deliberately. ****** Something moro than a year later, Nan and Sanderson were proudly surveying tho Sorrowful House—Sorrowful no longer. " You see, it's got a soul now." Nan, said contentedly. " Not to mention a coat of paint," remarked her husband. Nan laughed. "Yes! and a real flower garden, and honest-to-goodness paths, and nice ploughed paddocks all around it. But it wanted a spul most of all." " You're sure it's got a soul now I suppose," Sanderson said, regarding his wife's glowing face with tender scrutiny. " Of course there is," she cried, " isn't there lovo in it, and all tho things I said " No little pattering feet, though," said Sanderson quizzically. Nan stopped to caress a very ugly cat that was rubbing round her legs. " Not yet!" she said, very softly.