Augusta Huiell Seaman - The Curious Affair at Heron Shoals (Augusta Huiell Seaman) (Literary Thoughts Edition)

They were midway through the lane, at this point, and Marty suddenly glanced up at his face, for he had stopped talking abruptly, and stood staring up at the tops of the close-crowding, pointed cedars burnished with the descending sun. His fine face had taken on some grim lines, but his voice was as steady as ever when he continued:

“But we had a very great loss—Ted and I—something less than a year ago. She was taken from us suddenly—a fatal automobile accident—and life will not be quite the same for either of us, ever again. It has been particularly hard on Ted. He’s an extremely sensitive child, and he adored her. After the first shock of it was over, I thought perhaps he would abandon the music, as being too painful a memory, and I planned to put him in a good boys’ school. I’ll admit that I privately hoped he would forget his music and some day fit himself for a business career; perhaps step into my own place later on, when he was ready for it. But I guess that’s not to be. He begged me not to send him away to school but let him stay at home and go on with his music. His one thought seems to be not only a real love of it, but also a desire to fulfil his mother’s ambition for him. He seemed so unhappy about my plan that I finally gave it up and engaged his mother’s former teacher, this Professor Aubert, to take up the task of his musical instruction, which he was delighted to do. Ted also has another tutor at home, to give him instruction in other studies, for I do not want his general education neglected. But he is very fond of ‘Monsieur,’ as we all call him, and so we brought him along on this little vacation. Also, Monsieur does not want Ted to fall behind with his practising, as he is to give this recital later in the fall. So that explains the two pianos.”

Marty had been very quiet all through this account, but her expressive face showed that she appreciated keenly the sorrow that had come into the lives of these people still almost unknown to her. She could find no words to express it, but Mr. Burnett must have understood, for he went on:

“This has been a long story, Marty, but I had to tell it to you that you might understand fully the situation. The point of the whole matter is this. Ted’s health hasn’t been too good lately. He never was an athletic boy, as so many are, never very fond of outdoor sports and that sort of thing, but he always has been normally well and strong. Of late months, though, he doesn’t sleep well, his appetite has failed and, though he says nothing, we know he is brooding deeply over the loss of his mother. We have tried everything—taken him to new places, tried to give him new experiences—everything—but nothing has worked. It was Professor Sedgwick who finally suggested bringing him down here to try a few weeks of an utterly different kind of life, a life of roughing it on this wild beach, with just enough of his piano practice to keep him from falling back there, but mainly to be out in the wind and the sun and the salt air, and the privilege of having the companionship of yourself and your little cousin over at Captain Cy’s. If that doesn’t take him out of himself, I don’t know what will.”

“I’m afraid he won’t like the house,” ventured Marty. “It’s so big—and old—and it hasn’t any conveniences—not even a bathtub! We couldn’t ever afford to put any in.”

“He’ll get used to it and come to love it!” prophesied Mr. Burnett. “That’s all part of the change. You don’t realize how we city dwellers enjoy getting away from that kind of life, and being down here on this wild, magnificent beach of yours. We don’t miss the lack of city conveniences. It’s all part of the fun! But before we leave this conversation, there’s one more thing I want to say. My main purpose in this stay here is that Ted may have something to divert his mind from past unhappiness. If you can think of any way you can help about that, any special things that might get his mind running in other channels, I’ll be eternally grateful to you—and you won’t be sorry you took the trouble. It may not come all at once. You don’t know him well enough yet. But if, in your further acquaintance with him, you can discover anything, outside his music, that seems to strike his interest, will you be good enough to encourage him in it?”

“I surely will!” promised Marty earnestly, though how it was to be brought about, she hadn’t the faintest idea at that moment.

“Thank you!” said Mr. Burnett simply. “And now I think we had better be getting on to the house. I must clean this fish before I can ask Mrs. Greene to cook it—not a very savory job!”

After Marty had snuggled down in bed that night, her mind too excited with the day’s events to allow her to sleep, she began to consider the problem with which Mr. Burnett had faced her. She was not in her own room, and not entirely comfortable, which fact also served to keep her awake. At her grandmother’s suggestion, she had given up her room to the boy, because it was warmer and more comfortable than most of those in the big old house at this season of the year, being directly over the kitchen and getting some of the kitchen’s heat through a little register set in the floor. She had rather resented this change up till now—hating to give up her own cozy nook that she had filled with her personal belongings and inexpensive decorations. Now she was glad she had done so, even though the room she was in was not too well furnished and had been long unused.

After all, what did it matter? she thought, trying to find a comfortable spot in the hard, lumpy old mattress. She had given her word to try to help this interesting boy, and that was the only thing that counted. What an evening they had had, all gathered at supper about the kitchen-table! Her grandmother hadn’t liked that very much, at first. She had begun setting places for the new-comers in the long-unused dining-room, trying to heat it as well as she could with a little oil-stove, for the evening had turned chilly. But when Mr. Burnett had seen it, he demanded that they all eat together in the cozy, big, old kitchen. Said they’d love it and it would be so much less trouble than setting a separate table. Mrs. Greene had agreed somewhat reluctantly, considering that it didn’t quite fit in with the proprieties.

Marty had never remembered a more interesting meal. The willing but clattering Hettie Boscom had gone home just before the supper was served, and Marty herself waited on the table when it was necessary. The conversation had been as natural and cheerful as if they had all known each other a long time. Often it was dominated by the lively little old French professor.

“How polite he is!” thought Marty. “He bowed over my hand when he was introduced as if I were a great lady—instead of just Marty Greene! And he insists on calling me ‘Mam’selle Marty’! And how he loves that little boy! He watches every expression of his face—almost every mouthful he eats!”

During the meal, Mr. Burnett had explained how he had come to be allowed to house the two pianos in the Coast-Guard Station—a most unusual proceeding according to all precedent.

“I had a pretty complicated time about that,” he had remarked laughingly. “Had to pull every wire I was able to. Fortunately I had some acquaintance with the Commander in New York, who got me in touch with some of the officials in Washington. As this particular station has been closed and all the crew sent elsewhere, as they have done with a number along this coast, I had thought the matter would be simple. It was anything but that! Official ‘red tape’ was all against it. I finally had to promise that should the slightest Government need for the station arise, while the pianos were there, I would move them out at an instant’s notice, even if I had to leave them in the sand!” They had all giggled at the vision of the two stately grand pianos reposing on a sand-dune!