The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXVII, Issue 26, 1 July 1909, Page 1003

The Storyteller

MARTHA

Many a time in the four years during which the village greengrocer courted our maid Martha, my wife and I shared a good laugh over the bashfulness of the one and the- haughtiness of the other. But somehow, when Mr. Peck proposed and was accepted, the joke collapsed like a pin-pricked toy balloon, and neither of us could find anything to laugh at. It was a hard thing to realise that Martha, who had been with us all the nineteen years of our married life, had actually decided to. leave us. I doubt if there was ever a matrim,omal which gave complete satisfaction to everyone acquainted with either of the contracting parties, and in Martha's case my wife would be the first to admit that she was what is mildly termed 'put out' when one morning her maid, busy washing the breakfast dishes, remarked abruptly yet calmly : . > ' Excuse me-, mem, but I maun tell ye I've made up ma mind to ha'e Dugald Peck, the greengrocer.' My wife cannot recollect the exact reply she made co the announcement, but she distinctly remembers dropping the lid of the muffin-dish by which she set great store, and which she could never trust to Martha's fingers. In the evening she reported the announcement and of the subsequent conversation to me, adding: ' But the thing that puzzled me most, Jim, was that Martha wasn't the least excited. She didn't even blush. ' How old is Martha?' I inquired. ' That has nothing to do with it—but I fancy she's about forty. You don't mean to infer that 'a woman cannot blush at that age, do you?' ' It is for you to say, Margaret,' I returned, smiling at her. ** She said it without words, and laughed a little laugh that trailed off into a sigh. Presently she spoke again, seriously. ' No, Martha didn't blush, and she wasn't a bit confused. She just went on washing the dishes as if she had said nothing more important than, " It's not quifc« so cold this morning." Why, Jim, she didn't even appear to be particularly glad about it.' ' Perhaps she was sad,' I suggested. Margaret shook her head. < I thought she would have shown some — some sorrow at the prospect of leaving as,' she said in a low tone. ' I confess I was disappointed in Martha this morning. I didn't' — she continued, a note of dignity slightly hardening her voice — 'I didn't look for tears of gratitude, but I "did expect some expression of regret.' ' It was too bad,' I muttered, not knowing what to say. ' You have done so much for her, dear — when she was ill, when she was jilted by that wretched fellow just after she came to us, when she ' ' Oh, never mind that. And yet I can't helieve Martha isn't sorry to leave me.' <No more can I. In fact, I shouldn't be surprised if she threw over Peck at the last minute and stayed out here/- I exclaimed cheerfully. 'My dear ! The wedding is to be six weeks hence. She wouldn't have fixed it so definitely if she had had any doubt about keeping to her bargain. Besides/ we are not dependent on Martha. I can get another maid.. Indeed, I have sometimes thought of late that a younger woman might suit better.' ' Yes, of course,' I assented, thinking of one hundred and one little ways up to which a stranger would require to be educated. ,* Perhaps Margaret was thinking likewise, for she silent for several minutes. - • ■ I lit my pipe and casually observed: ' 1 suppose Peck is a decent sort of man.' "I believe he is quite respectable and prosperous, if that's what you mean, Jim. He certainly ought to be the latter, with the prices he charges for his vegetables and fruit.' 'But what's wrong with him?' I asked. - My wife hesitated. 'Well,' she said at last, 'I'm sure he's a mean man— you can see it in his eye, when you catch it; and I don't mind saying' that I wish Martha were going to marry anybody else in the village, for I'm convinced that as Mrs. Peck she'll have harder work for less reward than she had here.' ' But Martha musj; . see something attractive in him surely.' v - -■ ' ' I suppose so. But as I said, I wish she- had taken some one else. Really, Jim, I was amazed when she told me this morning, for I know, and so do you,, how she has been snubbing him for years.'

' Ah, there's nothing like a lover being persistent.' ' Lover ? Do you think every man who wants a wife is a lover?' - # ' I think you are a bit severe on Peck," I ventured. ' No, Jim, I'm not. I see the man nearly every day, and I'd be sorry for any woman who became his wife. I'm not thinking of Martha at all now. Mr. Peck wants an assistant, but does not want to have to pay a proper wage. 'Is Martha going to be married from here?' I inquired. ' No. She didn't give me time to offer that. She wishes to leave this day month and go home to stay with her old mother, who has not been well lately, and be married there. I dare say that is the better way.' ' Save some trouble. ' ' I wouldn't mind that,' said my wife, gently, ' though I would have hated to see her go out of this hoxise with Mr. Peck. However, I've got to concern myself about the new girl now. I'll write to Winifred to-night and ask her how she sets about engaging a maid.' 'Your sister has had some experience?' ( I should think so ! Poor Winifred. She has two maids and a — a nurse, and she has never had one stay for a year, and she has been married fifteen years in June.' ' Well, Margaret, I trust we are not in for a period of quick changes, even in our small establishment.' ' I shouldn't wonder,' said Margaret, rather gloomily, as she rose and went to the writing table. ' I've heard that >fc is very difficult to get a girl to come to the country, and when you get her to keep her. Girls find it dull, whioh I dare say is natural. However, I "must do my best, but ' She paused, playing with a pen. * 'Well, dear?' ' But you must understand, Jim,' she continued, after a moment or two, ' you must understand that it will take years, probably, to get the best of girls to do everything in the way we are used to. And there are some little things that I don't think I could ask a strange girl to do.' ' For instance ?' ' Well, I don't think I could ask her to bring our morning tea into the bedroom, as Martha has done since the morning after we came home from our honeymoon, dear. I don't think I could do that. Could I?' ' Perhaps not. Ex,it one piece of unnecessary indulgence!' I returned, with affected carelessness. 'Proceed, Margaret.' ' No, no. We'll find out plenty of little things we can't have soon enough, such as cooking a Welsh rabbit at 11 o'clock at night because we happen to get suddenly hungry. I never liked Martha being up so late, but she seemed to take a pride in it, and, of course, she hadn't to rise very early. ' I'll have to do the Welsh rabbit myself in the future.' ' We'll have dinner an hour later and do without the rabbits,' I said bravely. ' We shall certainly have to alter some of our habits, Jim. Perhaps we have been easy-going. At any rate, you must give up dropping into the kitchen when I'm there to ask me unimportant questions. I don't think — but don't let tis talk any more about it now. I'm going to write to Winifred.' As the days went on depression took a firmer hold on us both. ' I'm sure,' Margaret once sighed, ' I can't think what has come over Martha. Her manner is so queer that sometimes I think she must be ill. I haven't seen her smile since she became engaged, and the other day, when I tried to make a joke about her being our greengroceress in the near future, her expression almosb frightened me.' ' You've never gone into the kitchen when Peck was there, have you?' said I. 'I couldn't, Jim; I couldn't!' 1 Perhaps she knows you adon't like him, and naturally feels offended.', ' I don't think she's offended. Sometimes, she's like a dumb thing simply longing to speak. Her eyes haven't changed . # It's her face, especially her mouth.' ' Have you mentioned our proposed little wedding present, dear?' ' ' No. We'll send it after her, to her mother's. I couldn't give it to her here now.' ' Cheer up, Margaret,' I said feebly. ' She's not worth all the pain you are giving your tender heart.' ' Perhaps not. I don't know — and yet I can't believe that she has lost all her feelings. Surely the soul of that mean little man hasn't gone into her. That's nonsense I'm talking, but I—lI — I feel the whole thing terribly, and- — and so do you, Jim.' ' I do,' I had to confess at last. The day of Martha's departure arrived, and the local chariot stood at the garden gate, laden with her belongings and ready to take them and herself to the station.

' You must come, Jim, and say good-bye to her, and wish her luck and happiness,' said my wife, entering the study. ' All right,' said I, feeling it was all wrong. ' Has — has she broken down, Margaret?' I asked nervously. ' No. And I don't think she will. Com«, it's time she was going now.' We went into the kitchen together. Feeling miserable and foolish, I repeated with the utmost stiffness the kind words which I had committed to memory the previous evening. - ' Thenk ye, sir,' she said quietly. My wife held out her hand. ' Good-bye, Martha, but— but not for long. We'll see you soon again. All good wishes, you know.' ~ ' Thenk ye, mem,' Baid Martha, still quietly. Then for an instant, she let her eyes—honest brown eyes they were — rest on her mistress. Surely, I thought, she was going to, break down at last. But, no. Although the look in her eyes was motherly (there is no other "word to describe it), her face was hard. We went to the door and saw her off. At the last moment I fancied her lips quivered, but I could not bo certain of that. The cab rolled away. Margaret shut the front door softly, ' and together we went into the study. So far Margaret had been unsuccessful in her quest for a maid, and for a fortnight we had to be content with the daily help of an elderly woman from the village. ' Martha will be married by now. They will probably be dancing at the wedding,' said Margaret suddenly about 10 o'clock one evening. She did not look up from her sewing I had been dreading the coming of the remark all th.3 hours during which I had been making a pretence at writing. ' So she will,' I responded, with as much carelessness as I could muster, and was wondering helplessly what I could say to change the subject when a bright thought struck me. ' I say, Margaret, I'm shockingly hungry. Do you think you could be bothered — er ' ' Welsh rabbit,' she said, rising with a sad smile. 1 Remember, I can't make it like Martha, Jim.' ' Nonsense ! It was you who taught Martha.' For the moment 1 had stupidly forgotten that "Welsh rabbit suggested the departed, otherwise I should never have mentioned it. Presently Margaret left the room after I had asked her to leave both doors open so that I might not feel too lonely. I heard her moving about the kitchen, stirring up the fire, removing the lid of the range, and shutting the damper. Then she went to the larder, thence to the table, and I guessed she was cutting up -cheese and slicing the bread. Once more she went to the fire and remained there. I was inwardly debating how I was going to attack the Welsh rabbit when ready, for I had no appetite worth mentioning, when I heard Margaret run hastily from the fire to the back door and open it. 'Martha!' she cried in' a frightened tone, whereupon I jumped from my chair. ' Ay, mem, it's jist me,' replied a very familiar voice, not quite the voice of a fortnight ago. ' Oh, Martha ! What are you doing here ?' gasped my wife. The back door was closed, probably by Martha. ' Excuse me, mem, but is my place filled up ?' The question came anxioxisly. ' No ; not yet, Martha, but ' ' That's fine!' exclaimed Martha, with intense satisfaction. ' I've just a wee bag wi' me the liicht, but I'll get ma trunk an' ither things sent on the morn. I'm rale gled to' be back, mem. But I'm vexed to see ye a wee thing wearit-like. Hoo's the maister?' 'Jim!' cried my wife. 'Please come quickly. Here'a Martha come. back. Do try to get her to explain, for I ' Well, Martha,' said I, entering the kitchen, ' what has happened? Has the wedding been — ahem — postponed ?' ' Deed, ay !' she promptly answered, her face beaming with smiles ; ' it's postponed, as ye say, sir j postponed for ever an' ever!' 'What?' cried my wife. 'I'm no gaun to marry Maister Peck nor ony ither man,' said* Martha, gaily. 'Ye see, mem, ma Uncle Rubbert is deid.' ' Dear me ! I'm very sorry,' I began. ' Dinna fash yersel',' sir, for I'm no sorry. He was a hard man when he was leevin', but noo he's awa', an' his bit siller comes to ma puir auld mither. So you see, mem,' she turned to her mistress, ' I'm no needin' to marry

Maister Peck nor ony ither man, an' if yell let irt@, I wud like to bide here an' dae as I have done for near twinty year.' ' But, Martha,' cried my wife, the tears in her eyes, ' were you going to marry Mr. Peck because your mother was in want?' , ' That's aboot it, mem. Ma mither's gettin' auld, an' her sight was failin' and she had lost ,a' the fine needlework that used to bring her a bit siller. An' so there was naethin' for it but to mairry a man o' substance that seemed to want me. It was a bargain 'twixt him an' mo. I was to keep hoose an' shop when he gaed to market, an' he was to see that ma mither didna want. I made him write it doon on paper, for I wasna jist shair o' him. But that's a' bo noo, an' I tcll't him yesterday to try an' get anither lass aboot ma am size an' I wud mak' her a present o' ma weddin' garments at haulf price wi' pleasure. He was yet pit oot, puir man, but I doot there's mair o' his he'rt in his cabbages an' plooms nor in his — his insine. An' that's the hale story, mem, an' ' ' But why did you not tell me of your trouble long ago?' asked my wife. Martha's vivacity left her, and she looked at the ground. 'Mem,' she said softly and humbly at last; '1 ask yer pardon, but if I had — if I had let ma he'rt get saft for a singe meenit, then I wud ha'e broke doon an' never faced the thing I thoct had to be. I had jist to pretend to' masel' that I didna care for onybody, but, oh, mem! ye ken it wasna that wey wi' me!. I'm ashamed an' vexed an' — oh, criftens, the cheese is burnin' !' She rushed to the fire, and I slipped out of the kitchen., After a little Margaret followed me to the study. Her eyes were bright with smiles and tears. ' Martha will be herself again shortly,' she said, ' and then she'll make us fresh Welsh rabbits. Oh, I'm so glad to have her back, Jim ; aren't you ?' ' Without a doubt, dear.' Ten minutes later a slight crash sounded from the kitchen. ' Martha is all right now,' laughed Margaret. ' She has broken something.'