CHAPTER VII.
MRS. OAKLEY DECIDES WHAT TO DO
Mrs. Oakley was not only angry, but very much disturbed at the words which John had imprudently uttered. They startled her, because they intimated John's suspicion of something which she had good reason for knowing to be a fact.
Mrs. Oakley knew that her husband had executed a later will, and, though she did not know where it was, she believed it still to be in existence!
The will under which she inherited bore a date only two months after her marriage with Squire Oakley. She had cunningly influenced him to make it. He did so without proper consideration, and gave the will into her custody. But, though his wife carefully concealed from him her real character, she could not do so entirely. Little things, which came under his observation, led him to believe that she entertained a secret dislike for John, and, only three months before his death, Squire Oakley, to protect John's interests, made a second will, which superseded the first, and limited his wife to that portion of his property which she could legally claim,—that is, one third.
He did not see fit to apprise his wife of this step. But she was watchful and observant, and something led her to suspect what had been done. She determined to find out secretly, and with this end went to the desk where her husband kept his private papers, one day when she supposed him to be absent, and began to search for the suspected will. After a while she found it, and, spreading it open, began to read:—
"I, Henry Oakley, being of sound mind," etc.
She had read so far, when a heavy hand was laid upon her shoulder. Turning with a start, she saw her husband, his face dark with anger, looking sternly at her.
"Give me that document, Mrs. Oakley," he said, abruptly.
She did not dare do otherwise than obey.
"By what right do you come here to pry into my private papers?" he demanded.
"I am your wife," she said.
"That is true. You are my wife; but that does not authorize your stealing in here like a thief, and secretly examining papers, which would have been shown you if they had been intended for your eyes."
"Does not that paper relate to me?" she asked, boldly.
"It relates to my property."
"It is your will."
"Yes."
"And it makes the one which I hold of no value."
"It does."
"So you are secretly plotting against my interests," she said, angrily. "I suspected as much, and I determined to find out."
"The will of which you speak never ought to have been made. It disinherits my son, and places him in your power."
"Could you not trust me to provide for him?" asked Mrs. Oakley.
"I fear not," said her husband. And her eyes fell before his steady glance. She felt that she was better understood than she had supposed.
"So you have placed me in John's power," she said, bitterly.
"I have done nothing of the kind."
"Have you not left the property to him?"
"You well know that you are entitled by law to one-third of my estate."
"One-third!"
"Yes."
"And he is to have two-thirds?"
"Why should he not? If I had not married a second time he would have had the whole."
"And my son Ben is left unprovided for?" questioned Mrs. Oakley, in a tone of mingled anger and disappointment.
"Ben has no claim upon me."
"Poor boy! so he will be penniless."
"You appear to forget that your share of the property will amount to twenty thousand dollars. He need not suffer, unless his mother should refuse to provide for him."
But this did not suit Mrs. Oakley's views. She was not at all reconciled to the thought that John Oakley, whom she disliked, would inherit forty thousand dollars, while she and Ben must live on half that sum. She was fond of money and the position it would bring, and although twenty thousand dollars would once have seemed to her a great fortune, her desires had increased with her prosperity, and she now thought it a hardship that she should be limited to such a trifle. She was by no means reconciled to the thought that Ben must play second fiddle to his rich stepbrother. Still John was young, and if she were his guardian that would be something. So she smoothed her face and said:—
"I suppose you have appointed me John's guardian?"
Squire Oakley shook his head.
"I have appointed Mr. Selwyn to that position. It is more fitting that a lawyer should have the care of property," he said.
There was another reason which he did not mention. He thought that John's interests would be safer in Mr. Selwyn's hands than in those of his wife.
"This is an insult to me," said Mrs. Oakley, angry and disappointed. "It will be declaring to the world that you have no confidence in me."
"Nothing of the kind. Even were you his real mother, there would be nothing strange in my leaving him to the guardianship of another."
But Mrs. Oakley looked angry, and for days afterwards wore an offended and injured look. She appeared to forget from what poverty and dependence Squire Oakley had delivered her, and how many favors he had lavished upon Ben, who had no claim upon him save in his relationship to her.
Three days afterwards, Squire Oakley asked his wife for the will which she had had in her possession for nearly three years.
"Why do you want it?" she asked.
"Because it is of no value now, since I have made a later will. I wish to destroy it."
Mrs. Oakley said she would look for it. If she did so, she took care not to look in the right place, for she reported that it was mislaid, and she could not find it.
"It is rather strange that you should have mislaid a document which might have been of such importance," said Squire Oakley, significantly.
"I am always mislaying things," said she, forcing a laugh. "I will look again to-morrow."
But the will was not found, and Squire Oakley drew his own deductions from this fact. Painful as it was to suspect his wife, he feared that his second will would not be safe if she could once get it into her possession. He saw, too late, that he had married a selfish and unscrupulous woman. He determined, therefore, to conceal the document, which so vitally affected his son's interests, in a hiding-place where it would be safe from Mrs. Oakley's prying disposition. He did so. But he did not foresee at that time how soon he would be struck with paralysis that would affect his speech, and render it difficult for him to reveal the secret to those who ought to know it. So it happened, however. From the time paralysis attacked him, Mrs. Oakley kept vigilant watch over him, and did all she could to keep John away from his father's bedside, lest the secret should be revealed to him. Meanwhile, she sought everywhere for the missing will, but couldn't find it. The most she feared was that it had been placed in the lawyer's hands for safe-keeping. It ought to have been. Squire Oakley, as he lay on his sick-bed, regretted bitterly that it had not been so disposed of. It would have saved him from much anxiety. John obtained one interview with him, as we know, but his father was unable to impart to him the desired information, and the sudden entrance of Mrs. Oakley destroyed his last chance.
The rest we know. Squire Oakley died; his wife produced the earlier will, which she now had no difficulty in finding, and under that claimed and inherited the whole property. A search was instituted for the late will, under the lawyer's directions, but it was not found. Mrs. Oakley found herself, to her secret delight, the undisputed mistress of her late husband's handsome estate. She had hoped that John knew nothing of the later will; but the words to which he gave utterance at the close of the last chapter undeceived her. It was clear that he knew something of it, and he had expressed a determination to find it. That it was somewhere in the house, Mrs. Oakley believed, and, if so, it was very possible that John might stumble upon it. The result would be that she would be compelled to surrender two-thirds of the property, and he would become independent of her. Aside from the large pecuniary loss, she could not bear to think of John's release from her persecutions. At present, she pleased herself with thinking that he was in her power, and that she could "break his proud spirit," as she termed it, though, as we have seen, John was disposed to be respectful, and only displayed such a proper spirit as his self-respect demanded.
"If I could only find the will myself," thought Mrs. Oakley, "there would be no further trouble."
She did not say to herself, that, should such a discovery be made, it would plainly be her duty to make it known to Squire Selwyn, who had always been her late husband's lawyer. She did not consider what she should do with it, but we who have obtained a glimpse of her character may easily guess that in her hands it would not have benefited John much.
The point for Mrs. Oakley to consider was how to protect herself against any sudden discovery of John's. She saw that it would be dangerous for her to have him continue in the house, and she resolved to send him away. Where, she could not at once decide.
Having determined upon this, it occurred to her once more to visit her husband's desk, and examine it carefully, in the hope of discovering some secret drawer, in which the will might have been concealed.
It was now evening. She lit a lamp, and went to the small room which Squire Oakley had used for reading and writing in, and went at once to the desk. It was old-fashioned, with a variety of small drawers. These she had examined more than once, but she opened them again, in the hope of discovering some false bottom, which had served as a means of concealment. While she was intent upon her search, she heard a slight noise at the door, and, looking up, was startled to find John looking into the room.
"What are you prying into my actions for?" she demanded, sharply, a little embarrassed at being caught thus employed, and especially by John.
"I am not," said John.
"Why are you here, then?"
"By accident entirely; I was passing through the entry, and, seeing a light in here, I just glanced in."
"I wanted to find a receipt," said Mrs. Oakley, thinking it best to offer some plausible explanation. "A bill was presented me for payment that I think has already been paid."
"Can I assist you?"
"No," said Mrs. Oakley, coldly. "I shall probably find it soon."
John was not deceived by this explanation. He felt sure that Mrs. Oakley was searching for the will; but this he kept to himself.
"I must get rid of him at once," said his stepmother. "Once get him out of the house, and I'll explore it thoroughly. I shan't feel safe till the will is found."
CHAPTER VIII.
MR. EPHRAIM HUXTER
Mrs. Oakley had determined to send John away, This resolution was easily formed, but it was not quite so easy to decide where to send him. There were plenty of boarding-schools where he might be sent, but these would be expensive, and, besides, Mrs. Oakley was of opinion that John knew enough already. He was very much the superior of Ben in scholarship, and for this she was sorry. She would like to have apprenticed him to a trade; but if this was done while Ben lived in idleness, Mr. Selwyn would be sure to remonstrate, and as the will was not yet found she felt in some fear of his opinion.
It was about this time that the stage arrived one afternoon before the gate, and a tall, shabbily dressed man, with a battered valise, descended, and walking up the front path rang the bell.
The servant who answered the summons thought she recognized him as a peddler who had called there about a month before.
"We don't want anything," she said, abruptly, nearly shutting the door in the stranger's face.
"What do you mean?" he demanded, staring at her in surprise. "I want to see your mistress."
"It's no use. She won't take anything of you."
"What do you mean by your impudence?" he said, angrily.
"Hoity-toity," said the girl. "You put on airs enough for a peddler; but it's of no use. You may take your rubbish off somewhere else."
"Who's a peddler, I should like to know? If you don't open that door pretty quick, I'll tell my sister to dismiss you without a character."
"Your sister!" repeated the girl, taken by surprise. "What has your sister got to do with me?"
"She gives you a home, and pays you wages, I reckon."
"Aint you a peddler, then?" demanded the girl, incredulously.
"I am Mrs. Oakley's brother, and you'd better invite me into the house, if you want to stay in it yourself."
"Excuse me, sir. I made a mistake. If you'll walk in I'll tell Mrs. Oakley you're here."
"That's the first sensible word you've spoken. I'll put my valise here in the entry."
"Well," thought the servant, "if that's Mrs. Oakley's brother, I don't think much of her family. I always thought she belonged to a poor set."
She went upstairs to the front chamber, where her mistress liked to sit, and said:—
"Your brother's downstairs. He says he would like to see you."
"My brother!" repeated her mistress, not looking overpleased.
"Yes, he is down in the parlor."
"Very well, I will go down and see him."
The ill-dressed stranger was stretched out in a rocking-chair, in an attitude more comfortable than graceful. He was gazing about the room, and noting with much complacency the evidences of comfort and luxury which the handsome furniture exhibited. It was thus that Mrs. Oakley found him.
"How do you do, brother Ephraim?" she said, coldly, advancing, and just giving him the tips of her fingers.
"I'm pretty well," he answered. "So the old gentleman's dead, hey?"
"If you mean my husband," she answered, still with coldness, "you are right."
"It's all right about the property, hey? How much is left to you?"
"The whole."
"Whew!" whistled Mr. Ephraim Huxter.—"Well, you have worked your cards well, that's a fact."
"I'll thank you, Ephraim," said Mrs. Oakley, with dignity, "not to use such low language, or indulge in such insinuations. I did my duty by my husband, and he showed his confidence in me by leaving me his property."
"Well, perhaps that's the right way to put it," said Mr. Huxter. "I'm glad you have feathered your nest so well."
"I must again request you not to indulge in such language," said Mrs. Oakley, in tones of displeasure.
Mr. Huxter was evidently perplexed.
"Come, Jane," said he, "there's no use in trying to deceive me. You made a good thing of it in marrying old Oakley, and you needn't pretend to be broken-hearted because he is dead, and has left you his fortune."
"Hush!" said Mrs. Oakley, closing the door; "what if the servants should hear you talking in this way?"
"Well, there is something in that. That girl of yours that came to the door took me for a peddler. She wasn't going to let me in."
Mrs. Oakley glanced at her brother's soiled linen and stained clothes, and did not express any surprise.
"I brought my valise," said her brother. "I suppose it'll be convenient for me to stay a few days."
Mrs. Oakley assented rather ungraciously,—in truth she did not care much to present such a man as her brother. She felt that it would make it still more difficult to obtain the position which she desired to maintain in the village.
"I thought maybe I could help you in settling up the estate," said Mr. Huxter.
"I don't think I shall require any assistance. Mr. Oakley was a good business man, and the task is an easy one," said his sister, coldly.
"How much does the property amount to?" asked Mr. Huxter,—the property being in his eyes the main thing to be considered.
"I can't say exactly."
"Well, you can give a guess."
But Mrs. Oakley did not care to have her brother understand her exact position as regarded money matters. She saw clearly enough that he was already speculating how to turn her prosperity to his own advantage, and this she was determined he should not do. She would like to have kept him at a distance, but she was already feeling one of the inconveniences of wealth. There are some whose chief enjoyment of wealth arises from the happiness which it enables them to impart to others, and some, in Mrs. Oakley's position, would have been glad to do something for such of their relatives as were in struggling circumstances; but it was not so with her. She was of a stingy, penurious disposition, and did not mean that her money should benefit any one but Benjamin and herself, except the small sum which she felt obliged to spend on John.
"No, I don't think I could form any estimate," she said. "Mr. Oakley has recently died, you know."
"Has he left as much as fifty thousand?"
"Fifty thousand!" exclaimed Mrs. Oakley; "what are you thinking of?"
"It isn't much less, I am thinking. At any rate, you're a rich woman."
"I am comfortably provided for."
"I wish I was as comfortably provided for," said Mr. Huxter. "Seems to me your ideas have risen some, Jane, since you used to live with me, and bind shoes for a living. You and Ben wouldn't have been very comfortable, I reckon, if I hadn't helped you once upon a time."
"As to that," said Mrs. Oakley, "I worked for my board. It was no great favor on your part."
"At any rate, you thought yourself lucky to get a home. Now, things are changed considerably. You are a rich woman, and—well, I'm hard up."
"You always were shiftless, Ephraim," said Mrs. Oakley, who saw what her brother was coming to.
"Shiftless!" repeated Mr. Huxter, in an injured tone. "I don't know what you call shiftless. I've been a hard-working man; but luck's never been on my side."
Mr. Huxter's nose had a suspicious redness, which seemed to indicate whiskey might have had something to do with his want of luck. This was in fact the case. If he had never made much headway, it was partly, at least, his own fault, as his sister knew well enough. But she knew also that there was very little chance of his amending in that particular, and though she gave him little encouragement by her manner, she felt that she should have to help him at last.
"How are your family?" asked Mrs. Oakley.
"Oh, about as usual. Wife's always scoldin' and complainin', and the children are fractious. I don't know what makes 'em behave so. My home aint a very happy one, that's a fact."
Mrs. Oakley knew that very well. For more than two years, when left a widow, with Ben on her hands, she had found a home in her brother's family, which proved so far from agreeable, that she finally determined to leave it, and do as well as she could for herself outside. She had been lucky enough to obtain a situation in Mr. Oakley's family as house-keeper, and this proved the starting-point of a new and prosperous career. During Mr. Oakley's life, Mr. Huxter had never been near her. This had been at Mrs. Oakley's special request. She felt that her brother was not calculated to do her any particular credit, and she had succeeded, though with some difficulty, in keeping him at a distance. She had accomplished this by an occasional present, and the distinct intimation that these would cease unless her brother should respect her wishes. Now that she was a widow, he considered that the prohibition was at an end, and had presented himself unexpectedly, and was by no means welcome.
At this moment Ben, who wished to see his mother, and was not aware of his uncle's arrival, entered the room, and, observing the shaggy appearance of the visitor, whom apparently he did not recognize, surveyed him with unconcealed contempt.
CHAPTER IX.
MORE ABOUT MR. HUXTER
Mr. Ephraim Huxter, on perceiving Ben, wreathed his homely features into what was intended for a gracious smile, and, rising, took his nephew's rather unwilling hand.
"So this is Ben," he said. "Bless me, what a young gentleman he's grown, to be sure! Don't you remember me, Ben?"
"No, I don't," said Ben, but not truly, for he had recognized his uncle at first sight. Indeed, any one who had ever seen Mr. Huxter would be likely to remember his harsh features and ungainly form.
"It is your Uncle Ephraim," said his mother.
"Humph!" said Ben, not feeling it necessary to express any pleasure. With his improved fortunes, his pride had developed, and he had come to look upon his mother's brother as a low person, who was immeasurably his inferior.
"Yes, Ben has become quite a gentleman," said his uncle, surveying his broadcloth suit, and gold watch-chain ostentatiously displayed over his vest. "But I dare say he hasn't forgotten when he used to run round in a shirt and overalls, and hoed potatoes at three cents an hour."
Ben did remember distinctly, and the recollection was far from pleasing; so he thought it best to forget it.
"I don't remember anything of the kind," he said, rather roughly.
"I suppose you'd want to be paid better now, ha, ha!" said Mr. Huxter, laughing as if he thought it a capital joke.
"I don't know anything about hoeing potatoes," said Ben, haughtily. "I'm not a laborer."
"No, of course not," said Mr. Huxter. "You and your mother are now rich; but I hope you won't look down on your poor uncle and cousins, who have to grub along as well as they can for a living. Things were different once, to be sure. Once my humble home was thrown open to receive you, and I was glad to give you a shelter, though a lowly one, in your hour of need. I shall always be glad to think of that, though my wife and little ones should starve before my face."
Mr. Huxter deliberately drew from his pocket a red cotton handkerchief, and raised it to his eyes, not to wipe away the tears, for there were none, but to increase the pathos of his remarks. But even with this help they failed to produce the desired effect. Mrs. Oakley remained cool and unaffected, and Ben, turning from his uncle to his mother, said:—
"How soon will supper be ready?"
"You may go and ask Hannah to set the table at once," said Mrs. Oakley.
Ben left the room with alacrity, without taking further notice of his uncle.
"The young cub! I'd like to flog him!" thought his uncle; but he did not consider it polite to give utterance to this thought. "What a gentlemanly appearance Ben has!" he said, instead.
"Yes," said Mrs. Oakley, more graciously; for her pride in Ben was her great, and perhaps it might be said, her only weakness, cool and calculating woman as she was. "I think he will do me credit, brother Ephraim."
"Indeed he will. I am quite proud of him," said Mr. Huxter, who thought he saw the best way to ingratiate himself with his sister. "I can hardly believe he's the same little Ben that used to run round the farm barefooted. He don't like to think of those old times, ha, ha!"
"No," said Mrs. Oakley; "he has a proud spirit, Benjamin has."
"That's all well enough as long as he has money to support it. 'Poor and proud' don't go so well together, sister Jane."
"I don't know," said Mrs. Oakley. "I was once poor, but I never lost my pride. If I had I should have given right up, and made no effort to better myself."
"I know who you're thinking of. You're thinking of me. You think I haven't got any proper pride. Well, I don't know as I have. Misfortunes have come thick and fast, and I've had a hard row to hoe. Hard work and poverty are enough to take away a man's pride."
Mr. Huxter certainly did not look as if he could ever have had much to be proud of; but then, pride and merit do not always go together, and appearances are sometimes deceitful.
"Well," said Mrs. Oakley, now graciously, "perhaps matters may take a turn with you. I cannot do much, for I have Mr. Oakley's son to provide for, as well as Benjamin and myself; but I may be able to do something."
"Thank you, Jane," said Mr. Huxter, more cheerfully. "I was sure you would not harden your heart against your only brother, and leave his family to suffer, while you were living on the fat of the land."
"We will talk further this evening, Ephraim," said Mrs. Oakley. "Excuse me for five minutes, while I go out to the kitchen to see if supper is nearly ready."
"Certainly, Jane. I don't mind confessing that I feel rather hungry myself. I didn't take any dinner at the Half-way House, to-day, for dinner costs money, and with my narrow means I didn't feel as if I could spare half a dollar."
"I am glad you mentioned it. I will see that some cold meat be placed on the table. You must require something hearty."
"It's my praising Ben that fetched her," said Mr. Huxter, when, being left to himself, he began to reflect upon the cause of his sister's sudden and agreeable change of manners. "I shall have to flatter up the young rascal, I expect, though I'd a good deal rather give him a taste of a horsewhip. So he turns up his nose at me, does he? He forgets the time when he'd have been obliged to beg from house to house but for me. Maybe he won't always be prosperous. The race isn't always to the strong, nor the battle to the swift."
Mr. Huxter did not often read the Bible, and was not aware that he had made a trifling mistake in his quotation. His thoughts were turned into a different and more agreeable channel by the reappearance of his sister, and the announcement that supper was ready. He rose with alacrity, and followed Mrs. Oakley into a room in the rear of the parlor, where an abundant and appetizing meal was spread. Mr. Huxter rubbed his hands with satisfaction,—for in his own household the meals were neither abundant nor inviting,—and took his seat at his sister's table. Ben took the head of the table opposite his mother, and John Oakley sat opposite Mr. Huxter.
"Who is this young man?" asked Mr. Huxter, glancing at John. "I have not had the pleasure of an introduction."
"That is John Oakley," said his stepmother, briefly.
"The son of your lamented husband," said Mr. Huxter.
"Yes. Will you have milk and sugar in your tea?"
"Yes, thank you. I hope you are well, Mr. Oakley."
"Quite well, thank you, sir," said John, wondering who was addressing him.
"I am your stepmother's brother," continued Mr. Huxter, "and that makes me a sort of relation, you know."
"Will you help yourself to the toast, Ephraim?" said Mrs. Oakley, in a quick, sharp tone, for she didn't fancy the idea of her brother's paying so much attention to John.
"Thank you, Jane. If it is as nice as your tea, I shall want to help myself more than once. But you were always a good house-keeper."
Mrs. Oakley did not relish this allusion, for she would like to have had everybody forget that she had been a professional house-keeper. She thought her brother was succeeding admirably in making himself disagreeable, and determined that he should not long remain her guest, if she could conveniently get rid of him. But Mr. Huxter had not penetration enough to see that he was displeasing his sister, and continued, his mouth being full of toast:—
"Mr. Oakley must be near your Benjamin's age, Jane."
"I'm almost two years older," said Ben, who had so few points of superiority that he might well claim this.
"Indeed, I shouldn't have thought it," said his uncle; "but then Mr. Oakley is very well grown for his age."
"I don't know that Ben is deficient in that way," said Mrs. Oakley, coldly.
"Oh, no, of course not; I didn't mean to hint such a thing. The boys must be a good deal of company for each other."
"You're mistaken there," said Ben, shortly.
"They are not much together," said Mrs. Oakley. "John goes to school, but Benjamin has finished his education."
"Indeed!" said Mr. Huxter; "pray what studies do you pursue, Mr. Oakley?"
"I am studying Latin, Greek, and mathematics," answered John.
"I want to know! Why, you are quite a scholar! Are you going to college?" asked Mr. Huxter.
"That was what my father intended," said John.
"Mr. Oakley's death has interrupted all our plans," said Mrs. Oakley, coldly, "and we have not had time to form new ones."
"What are your plans for Benjamin?" asked his uncle. "Do you understand Latin and Greek, too, Ben?"
"No; and I don't want to," said Ben. "It's all nonsense, and won't do any good."
"Well, I can't say as I care much about either myself," said Mr. Huxter; "only it is fashionable to study them."
"I don't care whether it is fashionable or not," said Ben; "I shan't waste my time over them."
"Will you have some more toast, Ephraim?" asked Mrs. Oakley, heartily tired of the conversation.
"Thank you, I believe I will."
John mentally decided that Mr. Huxter was a singular man, but did not dream that he was likely to have considerable to do with him, and that ere long.