Buch lesen: «Elsie's Vacation and After Events», Seite 6

CHAPTER IX

A week or more had passed since the return of our friends from their vacation in the more northern part of their loved native land, and Lulu and Grace, who had at first missed their older brother sorely from the family circle, had now begun to feel somewhat accustomed to his absence, and were very merry and happy.

They had resumed their studies, reciting, as before, to their father, and took daily walks and rides on their ponies, varied by an occasional drive with the captain, Violet, and the little ones.

The Ion and Fairview families, too, had gone back to old pleasures and employments; but so busy had all been, taking up familiar cares and duties, and making needed preparations for approaching winter, that only few and short visits had as yet been exchanged between them.

It was in the sitting-room, and just after breakfast, that the captain had read Max's letter aloud to his wife and children.

"Go to the schoolroom now, daughters, and look over your lessons for the day," he said, presently, addressing Lulu and Grace.

They obeyed instantly, and as they left the room a servant came in with a note from Violet's mother, which he handed to his mistress, saying one of the Ion servants had just brought it.

"Mamma's handwriting," Violet remarked to her husband as she took the note and glanced at the address upon it.

"Ah! I hope they are all well?" he returned half inquiringly.

"No, mamma herself is certainly not quite well," Violet answered with a disturbed look, after glancing hastily down the page; "she says as much, and that she wants me to come and spend a few days with her, bringing all the children if I choose; they will not disturb her. And you also will be most welcome. Dear, dear mamma! I shall go to her at once – unless my husband objects," she added, looking up at him with a rather sad sort of smile.

"As he certainly could not think of doing, my love," he replied, in tender tones. "We must go, of course; you and the little ones, at least; we will consider about the older ones, and I shall spend my time between the two places, not being willing to stay constantly away from you, yet having some matters to attend to here, some things that ought not to be delayed."

"But you will be with us a part of every day?" returned Violet, with a wistful half-inquiring look up into his face.

"Yes, oh yes!" he hastened to say; "with my wife so near at hand I could not let a day go by without inflicting my presence upon her for some small part of it," he concluded in a half jesting tone, and with a fond look down into the sweet, troubled face; for he was standing close at her side.

"I think it could not be harder for you than for me, my dear," she returned, with a loving smile up at him. "I should like to take all the children," she went on, "but Alma is here to make up some dresses for Lulu, and will need her at hand to try them on and make sure of the fit."

"And I should seriously object to allowing Lulu to drop her studies again just as she has made a fresh and fair start with them," said the captain; "so of course she will have to stay at home. Grace also, I think, as there would be the same objection to her absence from home – as regards the lessons I mean."

"But if you will allow it, I can hear her recite at Ion," Violet said. "She could learn her lessons there and still have a good deal of time to play with her little sister, who thinks no one else quite equal to her Gracie, – as she calls her, – for a playfellow."

"Well, my dear, we will make that arrangement if you wish it," responded the captain.

"And yet how Lulu will miss her," Violet said, a troubled look coming over her face. "I wish we could manage it so that she could go too, the dear child!"

"I should be glad to give her the pleasure," returned Captain Raymond; "but really think it will not do to have her studies so interfered with now when she has but just well settled down to them. It will be a little hard for her, but perhaps not a bad lesson in patience and self-denial."

"But a lesson I fear she will not enjoy," remarked Violet, with a regretful smile.

Going into the schoolroom presently the captain found his two little girls industriously busy with their tasks.

"Gracie, daughter," he said, "your mamma is going over to Ion for a few days, because Grandma Elsie is not very well and wants her companionship, and Mamma Vi wants you, – for little Elsie's sake, – having found you very successful in entertaining her and baby Ned. We are all invited, indeed; but I must be here the greater part of the time, as I have various matters to oversee, and Lulu cannot be spared from home as Alma is at work upon some dresses for her, and I wish her to go on diligently with her studies."

"But don't I need to be attending to mine, papa?" queried Grace, looking regretfully at her sister, over whose face had come a look of keen disappointment, succeeding one of pleased anticipation called out by the beginning of her father's communication.

"Yes," he said, with a smile; "we are going to let you attend to them there, Mamma Vi acting as governess."

"Isn't she willing to do the same for me too, papa?" asked Lulu, in a slightly hurt tone.

"I think so," he answered pleasantly; "but there is the dressmaking, and I couldn't think of such a thing as asking to have that carried on at Ion."

Lulu seemed to have nothing more to say and Grace gave her a troubled look; then, with a little hesitation, "Papa," she said, "I – I think I'd rather stay at home with Lu, if I may."

"No, daughter," he answered, still speaking very pleasantly. "I have not time to give my reasons just now; but I want you to go, and Lulu to stay. It will probably be for only a few days; and I think she may trust her father not to allow her to be very lonely in the meanwhile," he added, with a smile directed to Lulu, but which she did not seem to see, keeping her face down and her eyes fixed upon her book.

Then he left the room, saying to Grace as he went out, "Make haste, daughter, to gather up your books and whatever else you may wish to take with you. I have already ordered the carriage and there is no time to waste. Lulu may help you if she will."

"Will you, Lu?" asked Grace, with a very sympathizing look at her sister. "Oh, I wish papa had said you were to go too! Whatever shall I do without my dear, big sister!"

"Never mind, Gracie; I'm sure I don't want to go where I'm not wanted," replied Lulu, in a hurt tone.

"I'm sure it isn't because they wouldn't like to have you there," returned Grace, running to her sister and putting her arms about her neck.

"Why don't they ask me, then?" queried Lulu, a little angrily.

"May be they did. I'm most sure Grandma Elsie wouldn't forget to include you in her invitation; and, oh, yes! don't you remember papa did say we were all invited? But you know there are the lessons, and I suppose papa would rather hear them himself."

"But he could hear them there."

"Yes; so he could if he wanted to. But then there's the dressmaking, you know."

"That could be put off for a few days," returned Lulu, with a very grown-up air. "There are plenty of ways when people want to do a thing – plenty of excuses to be thought of when they don't. Alma has numerous customers and could sew for somebody else first, giving her my time, and me hers after we get home."

"Oh, maybe it could be managed in that way!" exclaimed Grace joyously; "and I'd so much rather have you along. I think I'll ask papa."

"No, don't you do any such thing," returned Lulu, in a not particularly amiable tone. "If I'm not wanted, I'm sure I don't wish to go. But you'll have to hurry, Gracie. You know papa is very particular about our being prompt in obeying his orders."

"Yes," returned Grace, who was again at her desk, "but I have been busy all this time getting out the books and other things I must take along, and now I'll go upstairs and get dressed and put up the things there that I want. Won't you go with me? You'll know so much better than I what I need to take."

"Yes, Gracie, dear; I'll be glad to give you all the help I can. I'm glad papa said I might. Oh, but it will be lonely here without you! I do think papa might have said I could go, too."

"I'd be ever so glad if he had, or would," said Grace, as hand in hand they left the room together, "but you know, Lu dear, we always find out in the end that his way is the best."

"So we do, and I'll try to believe it now," returned Lulu, in a more cheerful tone than she had used since learning that the rest of the family were to go to Ion and she was to remain at home.

With her good help Grace was ready in a few minutes, and just then they heard their father call to her to come at once, as the carriage was at the door.

The sisters embraced each other hastily, Grace saying, "Oh, Lu, good-by, I do wish you were going along, for I can hardly bear to go without you."

"Never mind, but just try to enjoy yourself as much as ever you can," returned Lulu. "Go down now, dearie, for we should never keep papa waiting, you know. Here's Agnes to carry down your satchel. I hope you won't stay long enough away from me to need many clothes, and if you do it will be easy enough to send them – the carriage going back and forth every day."

Grace was half-way down the stairs before Lulu had finished.

"Ain't you a gwine down to see de folks off, Miss Lulu?" queried Agnes, as she took up the satchel.

"No," returned Lulu shortly; "I'm going back to the schoolroom to attend to my lessons."

Agnes gave her a look of surprise as she left the room, thinking she had never known Miss Lu fail to be at the door when any of the other members of the family were leaving for more than a short drive, and she staying behind.

"Where is Lulu, Gracie?" asked Violet, as the captain handed the little girl into the carriage. "I hadn't time to hunt her up, and thought she would be here at the door to say good-by to us all."

"She said she must hurry back to her lessons, mamma," answered Grace, blushing for her sister. "You see she stopped to help me get ready, and I suppose she's afraid she'll not know them well by the time papa wants to hear her recite."

"It would have taken very little of her time," the captain remarked, with a grave and somewhat displeased look.

"Oh, well, you can bring her over to Ion, perhaps this afternoon or to-morrow, for a call, Levis," Violet hastened to say in a cheery tone.

"Possibly," he answered, and was about to step into the carriage when a servant came hurrying up to ask directions in regard to some work to be done in the grounds.

"My dear," said the captain to Violet, "I think it would be better for you and the children to drive on without waiting for me. I shall probably follow you in another hour or two."

"Very well; please don't disappoint us if you can help it," returned Violet, and the carriage drove on, while Captain Raymond walked away in the opposite direction, to give the needed orders to his men.

"I think it's a shame that I should be left behind when all the rest of the family are going to Ion to have a good time," muttered Lulu angrily, as she seated herself at her desk again and opened a book. "Papa could hear my lessons there just as well as here if he chose, and Mamma Vi might have arranged to have my dresses made a week or two later."

"Miss Lu," said Agnes, opening the door and putting in her head, "Miss Alma tole me for to tell you she's 'bout ready fo' to try on yo' new dress."

"Tell her to take it to my room. I'll go up there to have it tried on," replied Lulu, in a vexed, impatient tone.

Then, as Agnes withdrew her head and closed the door, "Horrid thing! why couldn't she have come to me while I was up there? Here I am, hardly fairly settled to my work, and I must drop it and go back again. I'd better take my book with me, for there's no knowing how long she may keep me while she alters something that she has got wrong, for she's generally too stupid to make a thing right at the first trial. Well, perhaps she'll get done by the time papa comes back and is ready to hear me recite."

So saying she went slowly from the school room and upstairs to her own apartment.

There were a few minutes of waiting for Alma, which did not improve Lulu's temper, and as the girl came in she received an angry glance, accompanied by the remark, in no very pleasant tones, that she had no business to send for people till she was ready to attend to them.

At that Alma colored painfully. "I am sorry to have inconvenienced you, Miss Lu," she said, "but I'll try not to keep you so very long."

"If you don't, it will be about the first time that you haven't," snapped Lulu. "I think you are just about the slowest, most blundering dressmaker I ever did see."

At that unkind remark, Alma's eyes filled with tears, but she went on silently with her work, making no rejoinder, while Lulu – the reproaches of conscience rendering her uneasy and irritable – fidgetted and fussed, thus greatly increasing the difficulty of the task.

"Miss Lu," Alma said at last, in a despairing tone, "if you can't keep stiller, it is not possible for me to make the dress to fit you right."

"Indeed!" returned Lulu scornfully, "I don't feel sure of your ability to fit it right under any circumstances – such a stupid, awkward thing as you are, and – "

Her sentence was left unfinished, for at that instant, to her astonishment and dismay, her father's voice called to her from his dressing-room, in sterner accents than she had heard from him in a long while. "Lucilla, come here to me!" She had not known of his detention at home, but supposed he had gone with the others to Ion.

Jerking off the waist, which Alma had already unfastened, – snatching up a dressing-sack and putting it on as she went, – she appeared before him, blushing and shamefaced.

"I am both surprised and mortified by what I have just overheard," he said. "I had a better opinion of my dear, eldest daughter than to suppose she would ever show herself so heartless. You surely must have forgotten that poor Alma is a stranger, in a strange land, while you are at home, in your father's house. Go to her now, and apologize for your rudeness."

Lulu made no movement to obey, but stood before him in sullen silence and with downcast, scowling countenance.

He waited a moment; then said sternly, "Lucilla, you will yield instant obedience to my order, or go immediately to your own room, and not venture into my presence again until you can tell me you have obeyed."

At that she turned and left the room, more angry and rebellious than she had ever been since that dreadful time at Ion when her indulgence in a fit of passion had so nearly cost little Elsie's life.

"Papa will have a pretty time making me do it," she muttered angrily to herself, as she stood by a window in her bedroom looking out into the grounds. "Ask Alma's pardon, indeed! She's not even a lady; she's nothing but a poor woman, who has to support herself with her needle, – or rather with a sewing machine, and cutting and fitting, – and I think it's just outrageous for papa to tell me I must ask her pardon. I'll not do it, and papa needn't think he can make me, though – " she added, uneasily, the next minute, "to be sure, he always has made me obey him; but I'm older now; too old, I think, even he would say, to be whipped into doing what I don't choose to do.

"But he forbade me to come into his presence till I obeyed, and – oh, dear, I can't live that way, because I love him so – better than any one else in all the wide world; and – and – it would just kill me to have to go without his love and his caresses; never to have him hug and kiss me, and call me his dear child, his darling. Oh, I couldn't bear it! I never could! it would just break my heart!" and her tears began to fall like rain.

She cried quite violently for a while; then began to think of Alma more kindly and pityingly than ever before, as an orphan and a stranger in a strange land.

"Oh, I am ashamed to have treated her so!" she exclaimed at length, "and I will ask her pardon; not only because papa has ordered me to do so, but because I am sorry for her, and really mortified to think of having treated her so badly."

Fortunately, just at that moment Alma's timid rap was heard at the door and her voice saying, in a hesitating, deprecating way, "Miss Lu, please, I need to try the dress once more. I'm very sorry to disturb and trouble you, but I know you want it to be a good fit."

"Yes, of course I do, Alma," returned Lulu gently, opening the door as she spoke; "you are quite right to come back with it. I'm sorry and ashamed of having been so rude and unkind to you when you were in here before," she added, holding out her hand. "It was shameful treatment. Papa said I must ask your pardon, and I think I would do it now, even if he hadn't ordered me."

"It is too much, Miss Lu," Alma said, blushing, and with tears in her eyes. "I could never ask such a thing as that of a young lady like you."

"Indeed, my behavior has been very unladylike to-day," sighed Lulu; "and papa is very, very much displeased with me."

"I am sorry, Miss," Alma responded, in a sympathizing tone. "But the captain will not stay angry; he is so very fond of his children."

"Yes; and so kind and indulgent that I ought to be the best girl in the world. Oh, I wish I had not behaved so badly!"

"He will forgive you, Miss; he will not stay displeased, for his love for you is so very great," returned Alma. "There, Miss, the dress does fit you now. See in the glass. Does it not?"

"Yes," Lulu replied, surveying herself in the mirror; "I could not ask a better fit, Alma."

"It is lovely, Miss Lu; the stuff so fine and soft, and the colors so beautiful!" remarked the girl, gazing upon it with admiring eyes. "It is good, Miss Lu, to have a kind papa, rich enough to gif you all things needful for a young lady to wear."

"Yes, and so generous and kind as mine is," sighed Lulu. "It is a very great shame that I ever do anything to displease him."

Alma went back to the sewing-room, and Lulu hastened to the door of the room where her father had been when he called to her. But a glance within showed her that he was not there now. Then she ran downstairs and through library, parlors, halls, – everywhere, – looking for him.

"Oh, where is he?" she sighed. "I must find him and tell him how sorry I am for my naughtiness. I can't have one minute of happiness till I have done so and got a kiss of forgiveness."

Snatching a hat from the rack and putting it on as she went, she ran out and round the porches and the grounds; but nowhere was he to be seen.

"Miss Lu," called a servant, at length, "is you lookin' fo' de cap'n? He's done gone to Ion, I 'spects; kase dere's whar Miss Wi'let went in de kerridge."

"Did he say when he would come back?" asked Lulu, steadying her voice with quite an effort.

"He gwine come back dis evenin' fo' suah, Miss Lu, to see 'bout de work on de plantation," was the reply, as the man turned to his employment again. And with a heavy sigh Lulu turned about and re-entered the house.

"Oh, it's so lonesome for me here all by myself!" she said half-aloud.

But there was no one near enough to hear her, and she went back to her tasks, trying to forget her troubles in study; an effort in which she was for the time partially successful.

CHAPTER X

"I hope there is nothing serious ailing dear mamma," Violet said rather anxiously to herself, as the carriage rolled swiftly on toward Ion; "there was really nothing in her note to indicate it, but she has never been one to complain of even a pretty serious ailment. She is not old yet; we may hope to keep her with us for many, many years. But then she is so good – so ripe for heaven!" And a silent prayer went up to God that the dear mother might be spared for many years to help others on their pilgrim way, especially her children and grandchildren. "For oh, how we need her!" was the added thought; "what could we ever do without her – the dear, kind, loving mother to whom we carry all our troubles and perplexities, sure of comfort, the best of advice, and all the help in her power to give. Dear, dear mamma! Oh, I have never prized her as I ought!"

It was only the previous evening that Mrs. Travilla herself had learned that she was assailed by more than a trifling ailment. What seemed to her but a slight one, causing discomfort, and at times quite a good deal of pain, she had been conscious of for some weeks or months, but had not thought it necessary to speak of it to anyone.

About the time of her return home, however, there had been a very decided increase in the suffering; which at length led her to confide her trouble to her cousin and family physician, Dr. Arthur Conly, and she had learned from him that it was far more serious than she had supposed; that in fact her only escape from sure and speedy death lay in submission to a difficult and dangerous surgical operation.

Arthur told her as gently and tenderly as he could – assuring her that there was more than a possibility of a successful result – bringing relief from her suffering and prolonging her life for many years.

His first words – showing her ailment as so much more serious than she had ever for a moment supposed it to be – gave her a shock at the thought of the sudden parting from all her dear ones – father, children, and grandchildren; yet before he had finished she was entirely calm and composed.

"And what would death be but going home?" she said; "home to the mansions Jesus my Saviour has prepared for those he died to redeem, and to the dear ones gone before, there to await the coming of those who will be left behind for a little while. Ah, it is nothing to dread or to fear, for 'I know that my Redeemer liveth.'"

"And yet, Cousin Elsie," Arthur returned, with ill-concealed emotion, "how illy you could be spared by any of those who know and love you. Even I should feel it an almost heartbreaking thing to lose you out of my life, and your father, children – "

"Yes, I know, dear cousin, and shall not hesitate to do or bear all that holds out a hope of prolonging my days here upon earth; for otherwise I should feel that I was rushing into the Master's presence unbidden, and that without finishing the work he has given me to do here.

"Nor would I be willing to so pain the hearts of those who love me. I am ready to submit at once to whatever you deem necessary or expedient. But ah, my dear father! How distressed he will be when he learns all that you have just told me! I wish he might be spared the knowledge till all is over. But it would not do. He must be told at once, and – I must tell him."

"That will be very hard for you, dear cousin; would it not be better – " Arthur began, but paused, leaving his sentence unfinished.

"It will come best from me, I think," she returned, with a sad sort of smile. "But when?"

"Day after to-morrow, if you will. I think you would prefer to have the trial over as soon as possible?"

"Yes; I think it will save both me and all concerned from some of the suffering of anticipation, if you can make it suit your convenience."

"Perfectly," he answered; "there are few preparations to be made and I do not want long to contemplate doing what must be a trial to so many whom I love."

Their talk had been in her boudoir. He lingered but a few moments longer, then went down to the drawing-room.

"Uncle," he said, in a low aside to Mr. Dinsmore, "I have just left Cousin Elsie in her boudoir and she wishes to see you there."

"She is not well, Arthur?" asked the old gentleman, with a slightly startled look, as he rose from his easy chair and the two passed out into the hall together.

"Not very, uncle," was the sad-toned reply. "She has been consulting me and there is something she wishes to say to you."

Mr. Dinsmore paled to the very lips. "Don't keep me in suspense, Arthur; let me know the worst, at once," he said, with almost a groan. "Why has anything been hidden from me – the father who loves her better than his life?"

"I have been as ignorant as yourself, uncle, till within the last half hour," replied the doctor, in a patient, deeply sympathizing tone. "It is astonishing to me that she has been able to endure so much for weeks or months past without a word of complaint. But do not despair, my dear uncle; the case is by no means hopeless."

"Tell me all, Arthur; hide nothing, nothing from me," Mr. Dinsmore said with mingled sternness and entreaty, hastily leading the way as he spoke to the little reception room opening from the other side of the hall, and closing the door against any chance intruder.

Arthur complied, stating the case as briefly as possible, and laying strong emphasis upon the fact that there was reason to hope for, not spared life alone, but entire and permanent relief.

"God grant it!" was the old gentleman's fervent, half agonized response. "My darling, my darling! would that I could bear all the suffering for you! Arthur, when – when must my child go through the trial which you say is – not to be escaped?"

"We have agreed upon the day after to-morrow, uncle, both she and I wishing to have it over as soon as possible."

A few minutes later, Mr. Dinsmore passed quietly into his daughter's boudoir, where he found her alone, lying on a lounge, her eyes closed, her countenance, though deathly pale, perfectly calm and peaceful.

He bent down and touched his lips to the white forehead; then as the sweet eyes opened and looked up lovingly into his, "Oh, my darling, idol of my heart," he groaned, "would that your father could himself take the suffering that I have just learned is in store for you."

"Ah no, no, my dear, dear father, I could illy bear that," she said, putting an arm about his neck; "suffering and danger to you would be far harder for me than what I am now enduring or expecting in the near future. Arthur has told you all?"

"Yes; kind-hearted and generous fellow that he is, he felt that he must spare you the pain of telling it yourself."

"Yes, it was very, very kind," she said, "Dear papa, sit down in this easy chair, close by my side, and take my hand in yours while we talk together of some matters that need to be settled before – before I am called to go through that which may be the end of earthly life for me."

Then, in response to the anguished look in his face as he bent over her with another silent caress, "My dear father, I do not mean to distress you. Arthur holds out strong hope of cure and years of health and strength to follow; yet surely it is but the part of wisdom to prepare for either event."

"Yes; and I am sure you are fully prepared, at least so far as your eternal welfare is concerned; should you be called away – our grief will be for ourselves alone."

"I am glad the choice is not left with me," she said, in low, sweet tones, after a moment's silence. "For your dear sake, papa, and that of my beloved children, I am more than willing to stay here on earth for many more years, yet the thought of being forever with the Lord – near him and like him – thrills my heart with joy unspeakable, while added to that is a great gladness in the prospect of reunion with the dear husband who has gone before me to that happy land. So I am not to be pitied, my dear father," she added, with a beautiful smile; "and can you not rejoice with me that the choice is not mine but lies with him whose love for us both is far greater than ours for each other?"

"Yes," he replied with emotion; "blessed be his holy name that we may leave it all in his hands, trusting in his infinite wisdom and love; knowing that if called to part for a season, we shall be reunited in heaven, never again to be torn asunder."

"Yes, dear father; we cannot expect to go quite together, but when reunited there in that blessed land, never again to part, the time of separation will seem to have been very short; even as nothing compared to the long, the unending eternity we shall spend together.

"And oh, what an eternity of joy and bliss, forever freed from sin and suffering, near and like our Lord, altogether pleasing in his sight, no doubts, no fears, the battle fought, the victory won. 'And there shall be no more curse, but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it, and his servants shall serve him; and they shall see his face; and his name shall be in their foreheads. And there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them light, and they shall reign for ever and ever!'"

"Yes, my darling; blessed be his holy name for the many great and precious promises of his word, and I have not a doubt of your full preparation for either event; but oh, that it may please him to spare you to me as the light, comfort, joy of my remaining days! Yet should it please him to take you to himself – ah, I cannot, dare not allow myself to contemplate so terrible a bereavement," he added, in low anguished accents, as he bent over her, softly smoothing her hair with tenderly caressing touch.

"Then do not, dear father," she said, lifting to his eyes full of ardent love and sympathy; "try to leave it all with the dear Master, and he will fulfil to you his precious promise, 'As thy days, so shall thy strength be.' Has it not ever been the testimony of all his saints concerning his precious promises that not one faileth?"

"Yes," he said, "and so will it ever be. By his grace I will trust and not be afraid for you, my beloved child; nor for myself, his most unworthy servant."

Then with an upward glance, "'Lord increase our faith.' Oh, help us each to trust in thee and not to be afraid, be the way ever so dark and dreary, remembering thy gracious promise, 'I will in no wise fail thee, neither will I in anywise forsake thee.'"

"Sweet, sweet words, papa," she said, low and tremulously, lifting to his eyes full of glad, grateful tears.

"And those others, 'When thou passeth through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee; when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. For I am the Lord thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour.'