Lady Ferry Page #7

"Lady Ferry" is a novella by Sarah Orne Jewett that explores themes of love, loss, and the passage of time through the lens of a small New England community. The story revolves around the character of Lady Ferry, a former belle who grapples with her past while navigating the complexities of her relationships. Jewett's lyrical prose immerses readers in the rich imagery of the setting, highlighting the connection between personal history and the natural world. The work is a poignant reflection on the enduring impacts of memory and the deep-seated ties of community.

• Short story

								

and my lady rose, and with her head nodding and drooping, with a
sorrowful, hunted look in her eyes, went out again into the shadows.
She had had a flash of youth, the candle had blazed up brilliantly;
but it went out again as suddenly, with flickering and smoke.

"I was startled when I saw her beside me," said Mr. McAllister. "Pray,
who is she? she is like no one I have ever seen. I have been told that
I am like my grandfather in looks and in voice; but it is years since
I have seen any one who knew him well. And did you hear her speak of
dancing? It is like seeing one who has risen from the dead. How old
can she be?"--"I do not know," said cousin Matthew, "one can only
guess at her age."--"Would not she come back? I should like to
question her," asked the other. But cousin Matthew answered that she
always refused to see strangers, and it would be no use to urge her,
she would not answer him.

"Who is she? Is she any kin of yours?" asked Mr. McAllister.

"Oh, no!" said my cousin Agnes: "she has had no relatives since I have
known her, and I think she has no friends now but ourselves. She has
been with us a long time, and once before this house was her home for
a time,--many years since. I suppose no one will ever know the whole
history of her life; I wish often that she had power to tell it. We
are glad to give shelter, and the little care she will accept, to the
poor soul, God only knows where she has strayed and what she has seen.
It is an enormous burden,--so long a life, and such a weight of
memories; but I think it is seldom now that she feels its
heaviness.--Go out to her, Marcia my dear, and see if she seems
troubled. She always has a welcome for the child," cousin Agnes added,
as I unwillingly went away.

I found Lady Ferry in the garden; I stole my hand into hers, and,
after a few minutes of silence, I was not surprised to hear her say
that they had killed the Queen of France, poor Marie Antoinette! she
had known her well in her childhood, before she was a queen at all--"a
sad fate, a sad fate," said Lady Ferry. We went far down the gardens
and by the river-wall, and when we were again near the house, and
could hear Mr. McAllister's voice as cheery as ever, madam took no
notice of it. I had hoped she would go into the parlor again, and I
wished over and over that I could have waited to hear the secrets
which I was sure must have been told after cousin Agnes had sent me
away.

One day I thought I had made a wonderful discovery. I was fond of
reading, and found many books which interested me in cousin Matthew's
fine library; but I took great pleasure also in hunting through a
collection of old volumes which had been cast aside, either by him, or
by some former owner of the house, and which were piled in a corner of
the great garret. They were mostly yellow with age, and had dark brown
leather or shabby paper bindings; the pictures in some were very
amusing to me. I used often to find one which I appropriated and
carried down stairs; and on this day I came upon a dusty, odd-shaped
little book, for which I at once felt an affection. I looked at it a
little. It seemed to be a journal, there were some stories of the
Indians, and next I saw some reminiscences of the town of Boston,
where, among other things, the author was told the marvellous story of
one Mistress Honor Warburton, who was cursed, and doomed to live in
this world forever. This was startling. I at once thought of Madam,
and was reading on further to know the rest of the story, when some
one called me, and I foolishly did not dare to carry my book with me.
I was afraid I should not find it if I left it in sight; I saw an
opening near me at the edge of the floor by the eaves, and I carefully
laid my treasure inside. But, alas! I was not to be sure of its safe
hiding-place in a way that I fancied, for the book fell down between
the boarding of the thick walls, and I heard it knock as it fell, and
knew by the sound that it must be out of reach. I grieved over this
loss for a long time; and I felt that it had been most unkindly taken
out of my hand. I wished heartily that I could know the rest of the
story; and I tried to summon courage to ask Madam, when we were by
ourselves, if she had heard of Honor Warburton, but something held me
back. There were two other events just at this time which made this
strange old friend of mine seem stranger than ever to me. I had a
dream one night, which I took for a vision and a reality at the time.
I thought I looked out of my window in the night, and there was bright
moonlight, and I could see the other gable plainly; and I looked in at
the windows of an unoccupied parlor which I never had seen open
before, under Lady Ferry's own rooms. The shutters were pushed back,
and there were candles burning; and I heard voices, and presently some
tinkling music, like that of a harpsichord I had once heard in a very
old house where I had been in England with my mother. I saw several
couples go through with a slow, stately dance; and, when they stopped
and seated themselves, I could hear their voices; but they spoke low,
these midnight guests. I watched until the door was opened which led
into the garden, and the company came out and stood for a few minutes
on the little lawn, making their adieus, bowing low, and behaving with
astonishing courtesy and elegance: finally the last good-nights were
said, and they went away. Lady Ferry stood under the pointed porch,
looking after them, and I could see her plainly in her brocade gown,
with the impish flowers, a tall quaint cap, and a high lace frill at
her throat, whiter than any lace I had ever seen, with a glitter on
it; and there was a glitter on her face too. One of the other ladies
was dressed in velvet, and I thought she looked beautiful: their eyes
were all like sparks of fire. The gentlemen wore cloaks and ruffs, and
high-peaked hats with wide brims, such as I had seen in some very old
pictures which hung on the walls of the long west room. These were not
pilgrims or Puritans, but gay gentlemen; and soon I heard the noise of
their boats on the pebbles as they pushed off shore, and the splash of
the oars in the water. Lady Ferry waved her hand, and went in at the
door; and I found myself standing by the window in the chilly, cloudy
night: the opposite gable, the garden, and the river, were
indistinguishable in the darkness. I stole back to bed in an agony of
fear; for it had been very real, that dream. I surely was at the
window, for my hand had been on the sill when I waked; and I heard a
church-bell ring two o'clock in a town far up the river. I never had
heard this solemn bell before, and it seemed frightful; but I knew
afterward that in the silence of a misty night the sound of it came
down along the water.

In the morning I found that there had been a gale in the night; and
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