"Nor I," answered Mrs.Fosdick reassuringly."She was crossed in love,--that was all the matter to begin with; but as I look back, I can see that Joanna was one doomed from the first to fall into a melancholy.She retired from the world for good an' all, though she was a well-off woman.All she wanted was to get away from folks; she thought she wasn't fit to live with anybody, and wanted to be free.Shell-heap Island come to her from her father, and first thing folks knew she'd gone off out there to live, and left word she didn't want no company.'Twas a bad place to get to, unless the wind an' tide were just right; 'twas hard work to make a landing.""What time of year was this?" I asked.
"Very late in the summer," said Mrs.Fosdick."No, I never could laugh at Joanna, as some did.She set everything by the young man, an' they were going to marry in about a month, when he got bewitched with a girl 'way up the bay, and married her, and went off to Massachusetts.He wasn't well thought of,--there were those who thought Joanna's money was what had tempted him; but she'd given him her whole heart, an' she wa'n't so young as she had been.All her hopes were built on marryin', an' havin' a real home and somebody to look to; she acted just like a bird when its nest is spoilt.The day after she heard the news she was in dreadful woe, but the next she came to herself very quiet, and took the horse and wagon, and drove fourteen miles to the lawyer's, and signed a paper givin' her half of the farm to her brother.They never had got along very well together, but he didn't want to sign it, till she acted so distressed that he gave in.Edward Todd's wife was a good woman, who felt very bad indeed, and used every argument with Joanna; but Joanna took a poor old boat that had been her father's and lo'ded in a few things, and off she put all alone, with a good land breeze, right out to sea.Edward Todd ran down to the beach, an' stood there cryin' like a boy to see her go, but she was out o' hearin'.She never stepped foot on the mainland again long as she lived.""How large an island is it? How did she manage in winter?" Iasked.
"Perhaps thirty acres, rocks and all," answered Mrs.Todd, taking up the story gravely."There can't be much of it that the salt spray don't fly over in storms.No, 'tis a dreadful small place to make a world of; it has a different look from any of the other islands, but there's a sheltered cove on the south side, with mud-flats across one end of it at low water where there's excellent clams, and the big shell-heap keeps some o' the wind off a little house her father took the trouble to build when he was a young man.
They said there was an old house built o' logs there before that, with a kind of natural cellar in the rock under it.He used to stay out there days to a time, and anchor a little sloop he had, and dig clams to fill it, and sail up to Portland.They said the dealers always gave him an extra price, the clams were so noted.
Joanna used to go out and stay with him.They were always great companions, so she knew just what 'twas out there.There was a few sheep that belonged to her brother an' her, but she bargained for him to come and get them on the edge o' cold weather.Yes, she desired him to come for the sheep; an' his wife thought perhaps Joanna'd return, but he said no, an' lo'ded the bo't with warm things an' what he thought she'd need through the winter.He come home with the sheep an' left the other things by the house, but she never so much as looked out o' the window.She done it for a penance.She must have wanted to see Edward by that time."Mrs.Fosdick was fidgeting with eagerness to speak.
"Some thought the first cold snap would set her ashore, but she always remained," concluded Mrs.Todd soberly.
"Talk about the men not having any curiosity!" exclaimed Mrs.
Fosdick scornfully."Why, the waters round Shell-heap Island were white with sails all that fall.'Twas never called no great of a fishin'-ground before.Many of 'em made excuse to go ashore to get water at the spring; but at last she spoke to a bo't-load, very dignified and calm, and said that she'd like it better if they'd make a practice of getting water to Black Island or somewheres else and leave her alone, except in case of accident or trouble.But there was one man who had always set everything by her from a boy.
He'd have married her if the other hadn't come about an' spoilt his chance, and he used to get close to the island, before light, on his way out fishin', and throw a little bundle way up the green slope front o' the house.His sister told me she happened to see, the first time, what a pretty choice he made o' useful things that a woman would feel lost without.He stood off fishin', and could see them in the grass all day, though sometimes she'd come out and walk right by them.There was other bo'ts near, out after mackerel.But early next morning his present was gone.He didn't presume too much, but once he took her a nice firkin o'
things he got up to Portland, and when spring come he landed her a hen and chickens in a nice little coop.There was a good many old friends had Joanna on their minds.""Yes," said Mrs.Todd, losing her sad reserve in the growing sympathy of these reminiscences."How everybody used to notice whether there was smoke out of the chimney! The Black Island folks could see her with their spy-glass, and if they'd ever missed getting some sign o' life they'd have sent notice to her folks.
