The Potter and the Clay: A Romance of Today

Maud Howard Peterson

The Potter and the Clay

A Romance of Today

Sharp Ink Publishing

2024

Contact: [email protected]

ISBN 978-80-282-3933-6

Table of Contents

Cover

Titlepage

Text

"

AUTHOR'S NOTE

The comparatively unknown rendering of the verse from the Rubáiyát of Omar Kháyyám, quoted on the succeeding page, is to be found in the first edition of Fitzgerald's translation of the Persian poem.

"For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day,

I watch'd the Potter thumping his wet clay:

And with its all-obliterated Tongue

It murmur'd—'Gently, Brother, gently, pray!'"

From the Rubáiyát.

PERMISSION to use the poem, The Potter's Wheel, which appears on the next page, was granted by the owners of the English copyright of Browning's works through Messrs. Smith, Elder & Co., London, and by the American publishers of Browning, Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston.

The

Potter's Wheel

Ay, note that Potter's wheel,

That metaphor! and feel

Why time spins fast, why passive lies our clay—

Thou, to whom fools propound,

When the wine makes its round,

Since life fleets, all is change; the past gone, seize to-day!

Fool! All that is, at all,

Lasts ever, past recall;

Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure:

What entered into thee,

That was, is, and shall be:

Time's wheel runs back or stops: Potter and clay endure.

He fixed thee mid this dance

Of plastic circumstance,

This Present, thou, forsooth, would fain arrest:

Machinery just meant

To give thy soul its bent,

Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently impressed.

What though the earlier grooves,

Which ran the laughing loves

Around thy base, no longer pause and press?

What though, about thy rim,

Skull-things in order grim

Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress?

Look not thou down but up!

To uses of a cup,

The festal board, lamp's flash and trumpet's peal,

The new wine's foaming flow,

The Master's lips aglow!

Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what needst thou with earth's wheel?

But I need, now as then,

Thee, God, who mouldest men;

And since, not even while the whirl was worst,

Did I—to the wheel of life

With shapes and colors rife,

Bound dizzily—mistake my end, to slake Thy thirst:

So, take and use Thy work:

Amend what flaws may lurk,

What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim!

My times be in Thy hand!

Perfect the cup as planned!

Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same!

Robert Browning.

BOOK ONE

THE CLAY

TAKES SHAPE

BOOK ONE

THE CLAY TAKES SHAPE

I.

The six-foot Englishman, with the military carriage and the rough tweed cap, continued to stare at the back of the girl in the brown tailor suit, leaning over the ship's rail. There was something in the attitude that recalled a child swinging on the railing of a fort's drawbridge. He could not have told exactly why. Perhaps it was because he so often recalled that picture; perhaps it was because he had always held fast to a vague hope that some day he might meet that child again.

The girl in the brown tailor suit remained motionless, her face turned toward the Liberty that was melting into an indistinct blur. The young Englishman came a little nearer. She had not been there when he had come aboard. Of that he was sure. Well, he had probably missed half of his fellow passengers while he was changing to his seafaring clothes, and there had been a couple of letters to be written to be carried back by the pilot. All that had taken time.

The girl turned. The last faint trace of Liberty had faded; she might just as well admit that, and give her attention to the novelties of ship-board life. She looked curiously down the long white deck. Passengers were appearing every moment, clad in ulsters and soft hats; the deck steward was hurrying to and fro adjusting steamer chairs and wraps. The voyage had undoubtedly begun.

Suddenly the line of her vision was interrupted by a tall man in a rough tweed cap. And then she noticed that he had snatched it from his head and was coming toward her with both hands outstretched.

Isn't it—Cary? he asked, eagerly.

The girl looked into his eyes. Somewhere in their grave depths a smile was hidden.

Why, it's Johnny, she cried, delightedly.

"To be sure it's Johnny! And what do you mean by sailing under an English flag?"

She laughed again, showing her perfect teeth.

Isn't it absurd? But Daddy dragged me into it.

Which? The Cunarder or the trip?

Both. Where in the world have you been all this time, and oh! how's Rob? I declare I've so many questions to ask you I don't know where to begin.

Stewart smiled.

You're the same old Cary, he said, Only a bit taller. Let me find your chair for you. You're not crossing alone?

Do you think I'd leave my father?

Of course not. Where is he?

"There, forgive me. I was rude. I'm afraid I am as bad as ever." Cary sighed.

I never said that—

Well, Papa's writing a note to be carried back on the pilot. If he does not come up soon, I'll have to hunt him up. I'm his shadow. To tell you a secret; I'm chaperoning him on this trip!

Indeed! Stewart's eyes were smiling.

To be sure. Now, about yourself—

Your eyes say, 'What have you been doing in America that you failed to look me up? said Stewart.

That is just what I was thinking, and when we were going to hunt for you, too, when we landed! Come!

There isn't much to tell, said Stewart, meeting her eyes squarely. There have been a good many years—uneventful ones—of a pretty steady 'grind', and rather rigid military training at Woolwich—

She looked up quickly.

You are an officer? An engineer?

He laughed, pleased.

You know more about our English military schools than the majority of American girls.

You forget I am an Army woman. Go on!

And so I'm a member—a young one—of the Royal Engineers. I was ordered to India, where I served out my sub-lieutenancy. I was in a bit of a row there, and after, I took the jungle fever and got sick leave. They've sent me over the Atlantic for a sea trip. I'm to be transferred later. I was only in New York two days. That's why I couldn't look you up. You see, I didn't know if you were still at the old fort down South, or in Texas or Montana or—any other of your big states. He was rapidly getting off of the subject of self. Now, where have you been and why didn't you keep on writing?

I did write, but you wouldn't answer—sent the letters to your home in Scotland.

Ah! We were traveling; the old place has been rented almost steadily for years. They must have miscarried in the forwarding. Father has preferred London political life, and mother wanted to be near us boys when at school and afterwards when we became cadets—

How is your mother?

Well; thanks. She'll be glad to see you again.

Cary looked seaward.

I shall never forget, she said, how she nursed me. She was silent a moment. How's Rob? she asked, presently.

I'm inclined to think he's less changed than any one of the three of us. He's fiery, fierce, affectionate, as ever, with a wonderful talent for getting into scrapes and scrambling out of them again.

What is he—a sailor?

He wanted to go in the navy—bad. Poor Rob. But my uncle had set his heart on the army for him. You know he was a great fighter in his day—retired on a wound that would have killed most men. He wanted him to go to Sandhurst, but Rob kicked on that, and they compromised on Woolwich.

I didn't know Rob would ever have brains enough for the Engineers. Cary laughed and caught wildly at her hat, which the wind was trying to tear from her head.

Rob's clever enough—cleverer than most men, if he'd only study. He leaves Woolwich in a couple of months now—graduated. How he has ever stayed there as long as he has is a marvel. Such doings! Stewart shook his head even as he smiled.

I believe, he said, after a pause, It's for his father's sake and my mother's that he has drawn the line where he has! There isn't an officer or an instructor who don't like him, though. He's as straight as a string where honor is concerned, and as brave—Well! You know how brave he could be as a child.

Stewart went on.

As for the cadets—they swear by him—every last boy of them! Rob will be wild when he hears you are in England, and will probably take 'French leave'! Stewart laughed again. There! That's the family history. Now, what about yourself?

The girl ran her hand thoughtfully along the railing.

Papa was stationed at the Fort for three years after you left us. Since then we've been moving from pillar to post—in regular Army fashion. You know how it is? She raised her eyes to Stewart and Stewart nodded. He was ordered to Florida and then to Arkansas and then to Alaska— she laughed. He sent me to boarding school for a year but I couldn't stand not seeing him, and he was even worse about me. After that he taught me himself—dear, old Daddy—he taught me everything from calculus to colt riding. It's been a wild kind of a life, but I've missed the old Fort and the sea. None of the other places was ever much like home— Cary raised her eyes from the railing and looked soberly toward the receding shore.

Stewart watched her; realizing that while she had not grown pretty she was possessed of an indefinable magnetism.

Cary went on.

Then Daddy got notions about me—about my lack of advantages, social and—otherwise, Cary was laughing again. He was retired last month and now he's carrying me off to Europe, to be polished. Am I such a rough specimen? she asked Stewart, suddenly.

He shook his head so gravely in denial that she smiled.

There! Of course, I was only fooling! And so I'm going over to your great, beautiful, strange Old World to be 'finished'—as if anyone could ever be 'finished' as long as they live! I'm to see all the celebrated Old Masters and to visit all the old historic places and see the old ruins— she broke off suddenly, I think by the time I've finished, I'll be very tired, don't you?

And then? asked Stewart.

Why, then Daddy and I will return to America and have a little home somewhere—I hope near the Fort where I lived as a child; close by the sea and the capes and the beach.

They were silent a moment. Behind them was the merry hum of voices and the rapid movement of feet hurrying to and fro, but for that moment they were as much alone as though they were in the shadow of the old fort wall.

My home, said Stewart, looking out over the sea into nothingness. My home in eastern Scotland is like that. Some day I hope you will see it. If you ever grow very homesick for America let me know, and I'll try to arrange to run up there for a day with you and mother. The long beach will remind you of home.

Thank you, said the girl, gently.

There was a long quiet between them, and then the young officer's face changed suddenly and he broke into an infectious laugh.

"Oh, the guns—do you remember the guns, and the pinafores and the sunbonnets? Weren't you ever caught?"

The tall girl joined in with his laugh and the two—his deep and hers low—mingled and drifted back to the passers-by who smiled sympathetically at the sound. Cary shook her head.

No—that is, not until long afterwards. It seems that the Department issued orders that the big show guns should be recast, and when they were taken away and broken up—they were found to be storehouses for a small girl's wardrobe! Lieutenant Burden happened to be on the spot and the story he tells— she broke off, still laughing.

Was there anything left of the things? asked the Briton, amused.

Yes, indeed—some were pretty well preserved! And how poor old Mammy Amy would worry over the thief who dared to steal her 'chile's clothes!' It's all too funny!

And Mam' Amy?

Dead. She followed us out to Alaska, but she died. I suppose it must have been the climate.

Stewart's face grew a little grave.

Lieutenant Burden—wasn't he the officer we stole the boat from?

The girl nodded, smiling.

And that row! Wasn't that a row we had that day, he said. Do you remember the terrible swim Rob took and how he saved us?

Yes. And how you comforted me. I went to sleep—didn't I?

Yes; and how ill you were afterwards! Do you know I've never forgiven myself for all that. I was thirteen, and the oldest, and should have had more horse sense.

What children we were! Cary sighed.

Are you wishing the time back?

I hardly know— she hesitated, No, I suppose not.

Then:

They told me that you saved me in that illness.

Did they?

Do you believe in confessions? he asked, with an odd smile.

Cary laughed.

That depends. Well—what have you been doing?

Do you know I kissed you that day when you fell asleep in the boat—when we were facing death together—and again when I was fighting death for you that long night?

You wretch! Well, it didn't count much then, Cary's eyes were twinkling, You were thirteen and I was only seven. Rob! Imagine Rob ever kissing me!

Stewart laughed a little nervously.

Look out, Rob may yet!

Preposterous! Don't you remember when you said you lived in Aberdeen and Rob in Argyll, and I innocently asked whether they were not near together? How indignant Rob was! And then I crossly retorted that they both began with 'a', anyway, and— she paused for breath, and Stewart laughingly took up the story and finished it.

"And how Rob scornfully answered that so did 'cat' and 'crow'! He's never deigned to