Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph.
It is time to relax and fully let go.
There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go.
Close your eyes and feel yourself sink into the support beneath you.
And let all the worries of the day drift away.
This is your time and your space.
Take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out with a long sigh.
There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go.
Happy listening.
The Unhappiness of Miss Farquhar Frances Farquhar was a beauty and sometimes called a social butterfly by people who didn't know very much about it.
Her father was wealthy and her mother came of an extremely blue-blooded family.
Frances had been out for three years and was a social favourite.
Consequently,
It may be wondered why she was unhappy.
In plain English,
Frances Farquhar had been jilted.
Just a commonplace,
Everyday jilting.
She had been engaged to Paul Holcombe,
Who was a very handsome fellow,
Somewhat too evidently aware of the fact,
And Frances was very deeply in love with him,
Or thought herself so,
Which at the time comes to pretty much the same thing.
Everybody in her set knew of her engagement and all her girlfriends envied her,
For Holcombe was a matrimonial catch.
Then the crash came.
Nobody outside of the family knew exactly what did happen,
But everyone knew the Holcombe-Farquhar match was off and everyone had a different story to account for it.
The simple truth was,
Holcombe was fickle and had fallen in love with another girl.
There was nothing of the man about him and it did not matter to his sublimely selfish caddishness whether he broke Frances Farquhar's heart or not.
He got his freedom and he married Maude Carroll in six months' time.
The Farquhars,
Especially Ned,
Who was Frances's older brother,
And seldom concerned himself about her,
Except when the family honour was involved,
Were furious at the whole affair.
Mrs Farquhar stormed and Ned swore and Della lamented her vanished role of bridesmaid.
As for Mrs Farquhar,
She cried and said it would ruin Frances's future prospects.
The girl herself took no part in the family indignation meetings,
But she believed her heart was broken.
Her love and her pride had suffered equally and the effect seemed disastrous.
After a while,
The Farquhars calmed down and devoted themselves to the task of cheering Frances up.
This they did not accomplish.
She got through the rest of the season somehow and showed a proud front to the world,
Not even flinching when Holcombe himself crossed her path.
To be sure,
She was pale and thin and had about as much animation as a mask,
But the same might be said of a score of other girls who were not suspected of having broken hearts.
When the summer came,
Frances asserted herself.
The Farquhars went to Green Harbour every summer,
But this time Frances said she would not go and stuck to it.
The whole family took turns coaxing her and had nothing to show for their pains.
I'm going up to Windy Meadows to stay with Aunt Eleanor,
She declared.
She's invited me often enough.
Ned whistled.
Jolly time you'll have of it,
Sis.
Windy Meadows is about as festival as a funeral and Aunt Eleanor isn't lively to put it in the mildest possible way.
I don't care if she isn't.
I want to get somewhere where people won't look at me and talk about that,
Said Frances,
Looking ready to cry.
Ned went out and swore at Holcombe again and then advised his mother to humour Frances.
Accordingly,
Frances went to Windy Meadows.
Windy Meadows was,
As Ned said,
The reverse of lively.
It was a pretty country place with a sort of fag end by way of a little fishing village huddled on a windswept bit of beach,
Locally known as The Cove.
Aunt Eleanor was one of those delightful people,
So few and far between in this world,
Who have perfectly mastered the art of minding their own business exclusively.
She left Frances at peace.
She knew her niece had had some love trouble or another and hadn't gotten over it rightly.
It's always best to lay these things to their course,
Said this philosophical lady to her help and confidant,
Mary Anne Peabody.
She'll get over it in time,
Though she doesn't think so now,
Bless her.
For the first fortnight,
Frances revelled in a luxury of unhindered sorrow.
She could cry all night and all day too,
If she wished,
Without having to stop because people might notice her eyes were red.
She could mope in her room all she liked.
There were no men who demanded civility.
When the fortnight was over,
Aunt Eleanor took crafty counsel with herself.
The letting alone policy was all very well,
She thought,
But it would not do to have the girl die on her hands.
Frances was getting paler and thinner every day and she was spoiling her eyelashes by crying.
I wish,
Said Aunt Eleanor one morning,
That I could go and take Corona Sherwood out for a drive today.
I promised her last week I would,
But I haven't had any time and today is baking and churning day.
It is a shame,
Poor Corona.
Who is Corona?
Asked Frances,
Trying to realise there was actually someone in the world besides herself who was to be pitied.
She's our minister's sister.
She's been ill with rheumatic fever.
She's better now,
But doesn't seem to get strong very fast.
She ought to go out more,
But she isn't able to walk.
I really must try and get around tomorrow.
She keeps house for her brother at the manse.
He isn't married,
You know.
Frances didn't know,
Nor did she in the least degree care,
But even the luxury of unlimited grief pulls,
And Frances was beginning to feel this vaguely.
She offered to go and take me Sherwood out driving.
I've never seen her,
She said,
But I suppose that doesn't matter.
I can drive Grey Tom in the Faton if you like.
It was just what Aunt Eleanor intended,
And she saw Frances drive off that afternoon with a great deal of satisfaction.
Give my love to Corona,
She told her,
And say for me she isn't to go messing about among those sure people until she's perfectly well.
The manse is the fourth house after you turn the third corner.
Frances kept count of the corners and houses and found the manse.
Corona Sherwood herself came to the door.
Frances had been expecting an elderly personage with spectacles and grey crimps,
And she was surprised to find the minister's sister was a girl of about her own age and possessed of a distinct worldly prettiness.
Corona was dark,
With a different darkness from that of Frances,
Who had ivory outlines and blue-black hair,
While Corona was dusky and picot.
Her eyes brightened with delight when Frances told her errand.
How good of you,
Miss Eleanor!
I'm not strong enough to walk yet,
Or do anything useful,
And Elliot so seldom has time to take me out.
Where shall we go?
Asked Frances when they started.
I don't know much about this locality.
Can we drive to the cove first?
I want to see poor little Jackie Hart,
He's been so sick.
Aunt Eleanor positively forbade that,
Said Frances dubiously.
Will it be safe to disobey her?
Corona laughed.
Miss Eleanor blames my poor short people for making me sick at first,
But it wasn't really like that,
And I want to see Jackie Hart so much.
He's been ill for some time with some disease of the spine,
And he's worse lately.
I'm sure Miss Eleanor won't mind me calling just to see him.
Frances turned Grey Tom down the shore road that ran to the cove,
And passed it to silvery,
Wind-swept sands,
Rimming sea expanses crystal clear.
Jackie Hart's home proved to be a tiny little place,
Overflowing with children.
Mrs.
Hart was a pale,
Tired-looking woman.
She told her troubles unreservedly to Corona in her monotonous voice.
Her man was drinking again,
And the mackerel catch was poor.
When Mrs.
Hart asked Corona to go in and see Jackie,
Frances went too.
The sick boy with the child-like,
Wasted face and large bright eyes lay in a tiny bedroom off the kitchen.
The air was hot and heavy.
Mrs.
Hart stood at the foot of the bed with her tragic face.
I have to set up nights with him now,
She said.
It's awful hard on me and me man.
The neighbours are kind enough and come sometimes,
But most of them have got enough to do.
His medicine's got to be given every half hour.
I've been up three nights running.
Then she suddenly broke down and began to cry in a heartbroken way.
Corona looked troubled.
I wish I could come tonight,
Mrs.
Hart,
But I'm afraid I'm not strong enough yet.
I don't know much about sickness,
Spoke up Frances,
But if to sit by the child and give him his medicine regularly is all that is necessary,
I'm sure I can do that.
I'll come and sit with Jackie tonight if you care to have me.
When she went and sat with Jackie Hart that night,
Getting to the cove at night,
When the sea was a shimmer of fairy tints and the boats were coming in from the fishing grounds,
Frances was a little scared,
But Jackie greeted her with a wonderful smile and later on she found herself watching alone by his bed.
The tiny lamp on the table burned dim and outside on the rocks there was a loud laughing and talking until a late hour.
Afterwards a silence fell,
Through which the lap of the waves on the sands and the far-off moan of the Atlantic surges came sonorously.
Jackie was restless and wakeful,
But did not suffer and liked to talk.
Frances listened to him with a newborn power of apathy,
Which she thought she must have caught from Corona.
He told her all the tragedy of his short life and how bad he felt,
Before Daddy taking to drink and Mummy having to work so hard.
The pitiful little sentences made Frances's heart ache.
The maternal instinct of the true woman awoke in her and she took a second liking to this child.
He was a spiritual little creature and his sufferings made him old and wise.
Once in the night he told Frances he thought the angels must look like her.
What is it dear,
Said Frances gently,
Do you want something?
If I can get it or do it for you,
I will.
I do wish you'd come here once every day and sit for five minutes and let me look at you,
The little boy said.
Frances stooped and kissed him.
I will come every day,
She said.
I knew you were as good as an angel.
When morning came Frances went home.
It was raining and the sea was hidden in mist.
As she walked along the wet road,
Elliot Sherwood came splashing along in a little two-wheeled gig and picked her up.
He wore a raincoat and a small cap and did not look at all like a minister,
Or at least like Frances's conception of one.
Not that she knew much about ministers.
Her own minister at home preached scholarly,
Cultured sermons and was as far removed from Frances's personal life as a star in the Milky Way.
But a minister who wore rubber coats and little caps and drove about in a two-wheeled gig and talked about the shore people as if they were household intimates of his,
Was absolutely new to Frances.
She could not help seeing,
However,
That the crisp brown hair under the edges of the un-clerical looking cap curled around a remarkably well-shaped forehead,
Beneath which flashed out a pair of very dark,
Fine grey eyes.
This man had likewise a good mouth,
Which was resolute and looked as if it might be stubborn on occasion,
And although he was not exactly handsome,
Frances decided she very much liked his face.
Do you want any more of that sort to do?
He asked her abruptly.
Frances felt faintly amused.
He talked to her as if he must have done to Corona.
He seemed oblivious of the fact her profile was classic and her eyes delicious,
And his indifference piqued Frances a little,
In spite of her murdered heart.
Well,
If there was anything she could do,
She might as well do it,
She told him briefly,
And he,
With equal brevity,
Gave her directions for finding some old lady who lived on the Elm Creek Road,
And whom Corona had read tracks.
Tracks are a mild dissipation of Aunt Clorinda's,
He said.
She rarely revels in them.
She's half-blind and is Miss Corona very much.
There were other matters as well.
A dozen or so factory girls who needed to be looked after,
And a family of ragged children.
Frances went through the rain that afternoon and read tracks to Aunt Clorinda.
She was so dreadfully tired that night,
She forgot to cry.
And she slept well,
Soundly.
In the morning,
She went to church for the first time since coming to Windy Meadows.
She was surprised at Elliot Sherwood's sermon,
And mentally wondered why such a man had been allowed to remain for four years in a little country pulpit.
Later on,
Aunt Elliot told her it was for his health.
He was not strong when he left college,
So he came here,
But he's as well as ever now.
I expect he'll soon be gobbled up by some of your city churches.
He preached in Castle Street last winter,
And I believe they were delighted with him.
That summer went by very quickly,
And one day Jackie Hart died.
He drifted out with the ebbtide holding Frances's hand.
She had loved the patient sweet soul little creature,
And missed him greatly.
Elliot Sherwood came up the night before Frances was due to go back home.
When Margaret Anne showed him reverentially in,
Frances was sitting in a halo of sunset light,
And the pale golden chrysanthemums in her hair shone like stars in the blue-black coils.
Elliot Sherwood had been absent from Windy Meadows for several days.
There was a subdued jubilance in his manner.
You think I've come to say goodbye,
But I haven't,
He told her.
I shall see you again very soon,
I hope.
I've just received a call to Castle Street Church.
It's my intention to accept,
So Corona and I will be in town this winter.
Frances tried to tell him how glad she was,
But she only stammered.
Then Elliot Sherwood came close up to her,
As she stood by the window in the fading light,
And said gently,
You really are the most wonderful girl I've ever met.
Then Frances replied,
But on second thoughts,
Some things should be left to the imagination.
