Spring is delicious when one is happy. The trees in the Niendorf garden
put out their leaves one by one, a green veil hung over the budding
forests, and violets were blooming everywhere; Gertrude's whole domain
was filled with the scent of the blue children of spring. The voice of
the young wife sounded through the old house like the note of a lark,
and when Frank returned all sunburned from the fields, a white
handkerchief waved from the shining windows upstairs, and when he
reached the court it was fluttering in her hand on the topmost step.
"You have come at last, dearest," she would cry then.
And the walks in the woods, the evenings when he read aloud, and then
the furnishing the house! How sweet it was to consult together, to make
selections, to buy new things and how delighted they both were when
they happened to think of the same things!
So the house was furnished by degrees. Workmen and upholsterers did
their best. Aunt Rosa's room alone remained untouched, and the master's
cosy room, in which they had passed their first happy weeks together.
And now everything was ready, homelike and comfortable without any
pretension. The low rooms were not suited to display costly carved
furniture, so with excellent taste they had both chosen only the
simplest things.
"By-and-by, when we build a new house, Gertrude," he said, and she
assented.
"First we will improve the estate, Frank--it is so pleasant in these
dear old rooms."
The garden-hall been fitted up as a dining-room. Close by was a
drawing-room with dark curtains and soft carpets; on the walls Uncle
Henry's wedding present, two large oil paintings--a sunny landscape and
a wintry sea-coast. From behind great green palms stood out a noble
bust of Hermes. Sofas, low seats and arm-chairs everywhere, and
wherever there was the smallest space it was filled up with a vase of
fresh flowers.
Upstairs, next to the master's room, was that of the young wife, where
her father's picture now stood behind the work-table, by the window.
The door between the two rooms stood open, and bright striped Turkish
curtains drawn back, permitted Gertrude from her place by the window,
to see the writing-table at which he was working. And from the window
might be seen the wooded mountains beyond the green garden, and farther
away still the distant Brocken, half-hidden in the clouds.
The young wife had cleared out all the cupboards; in the kitchen the
last new tin had been hung up on the hooks, and shone and sparkled in
the bright sunshine as if it were pure silver. In the store-room jars
and pots were all full and in order, as she turned the key with a happy
smile, and put it into the spick-and-span new key-basket on her arm.
"Come, Frank," she said, after he had been admiring all this splendor,
"now we will go through all the rooms again."
"There are not many of them, Gertrude," he laughed.
"Enough for us, Frank; we do not need any more."
And they went through the garden hall, and admired the stately buffet
and the hanging-lamp of polished brass, which swung over the great
dining-table. They went into the drawing-room, and admired the pictures
again which the sun lighted up so beautifully, and then they stopped,
looked in each other's eyes and kissed each other.
"It is all just as I like it, Frank," said she, "plain and suitable,
but nothing sham, no imitations. I hate pretence--everything ought to
be genuine, as real and true as my love and your heart, you dear, good
fellow.--Now everything is perfect in the house," she continued,
picking up a thread from the carpet. "No one would recognize it; it is
the most charming little house for miles around. And it did not cost
nearly as much as Jenny's trousseau and wedding-journey."
They were standing in the open hall door, and the young man looked with
brightening eyes across the garden to the outbuildings which had
exchanged their leaky roofs for new shining blue slates.
"You are right, Gertrude, it is a pretty sight; we will sit here often.
And to-morrow they will begin to build the new barns. They must be
ready when we harvest the first rye."
"Frank," she asked, mischievously, "do you still think as you did a
week after our wedding when we spoke about this for the first time, and
you were really childish and absolutely _would_ not take anything of
that which is yours by every right human and divine? And you would have
let the cows be rained on in their stalls and the farm-servants in
their beds."
"No, Gertrude, not now," he replied.
"And why, you Iron-will?"
"Because we love each other, love each other unspeakably."
"The adjective is not necessary," corrected she.
"Don't you believe that one may love unspeakably?" asked he with a
smile.
"It sounds like a figure of speech."
He laughed aloud, and drew her out on the veranda.
"Our home," he said; "come, let us go through the garden and a little
way into the wood."
The next day Gertrude opened the windows of the guest-chamber, and made
everything there bright and fresh. The table in the dining-room was
gayly decked, and Frank drove to the city in the new carriage to bring
the judge from the station.
Gertrude was glad of the opportunity of seeing him, Frank had told her
so much about his old friend. She had laughed heartily over his
droll descriptions of his friend's peculiarities, how in company when
he tried to pay a compliment he invariably managed to make it a
back-handed one, to his own infinite astonishment.
She would take especial pains with her dress for this "jewel" of a man,
as Frank called him. She put a rosette of lace in her hair, Frank liked
that so much, it looked so matronly, almost like a little cap. When she
went up to the toilet-table with this graceful emblem of her youthful
dignity, to look at herself in the glass, she saw there a bouquet of
lilies of the valley with a paper wound round their stems.
"From him, from Frank," she whispered, growing crimson with delight.
He had said good-bye to her with such a merry smile. She hastily
unwound the paper from the flowers and read it.
They were verses turning on the expression he had made use of the day
before,--"loving unspeakably," and justifying himself for using it by
pointing out that for long after he had seen and loved her he knew not
how to call her, where she dwelt, nor who she was, and so he might
literally be said to have loved her "unspeakably."
"That is how he proves himself in the right," she murmured with
blissful looks, pressing the paper to her lips. "And he is right,
indeed, he does love me 'unspeakably.' Ah, I am a very happy woman!"
And she put the lilies of the valley in her dress, the verses in her
pocket, took the key-basket and went to the dining-room once more on a
tour of inspection round the table, and then as she had nothing to do
for the moment, she knocked at Aunt Rosa's door, which was only
separated from the dining-room by a small entry.
The old lady was sitting at the window making roses. There was to be a
wedding in the village at Whitsuntide. A small man was sitting opposite
her, who greeted the entrance of the young wife with a low bow.
"Beg a thousand pardons, madam,--I wanted to speak to your
husband--I heard he had gone out and the lady here permitted me to wait
for him."
"What does he say, Mrs. Linden?" inquired the old lady, shaking hands,
"I did not permit him to do any such thing. He came in himself--and
here he is."
"My name is Wolff, madam," said the agent by way of introduction.
"Must you speak to my husband to-day? It will not be convenient, for we
have company to dinner. Can't I arrange it?" inquired Gertrude.
"O, no--no--" said he, very decidedly, bowing as he spoke. "I must
speak to Mr. Linden himself, but I can come again, there is no hurry, I
used to come here every day. Good morning, ladies."
"What could he want, auntie?" inquired the young wife after he had
gone.
"Well, I can tell you what he wanted of _me_--he wanted to _question_
me. He would have liked to look through the key-hole to find out how it
looked in your house. But sit down, my dear."
These two understood each other perfectly. Sometimes the old lady drank
coffee with Gertrude and then she had many questions to answer. In this
way it had come out quite by chance that she had been a schoolmate of
Gertrude's grandmother.
Sometimes they went to walk together and Gertrude learned to know the
village people, found out who the poor ones were and a little of the
history of the place. Aunt Rosa's pictures were rather roughly drawn,
she did not like every one, but Linden was her idol next to a young
niece of hers.
"He is so nice," she used to say, "he is so courteous to the old as
well as the young."
And Gertrude returned the compliment by declaring she could not imagine
the house without Aunt Rosa.
To-day, the young mistress of the house could not stay long quietly in
the rose-room. It was strange, but she felt anxious about her husband.
If only he had had no accident with the new horses, she thought, as she
went out on the veranda.
The blooming garden lay quiet and still before her in the mid-day
sunshine. Suddenly a shadow came over her face--there, under the
chestnut-trees, where the sunbeams broke through the leaves in golden
flecks. There was no doubt of it--it was he, the man in Aunt Rosa's
room. How happened he to penetrate into the garden? Where had she heard
his name before? She started as if she had touched something
unpleasant. "Wolff,"--it was the name on the card that came with the
flowers on her wedding eve. Yes, to be sure. But she had _seen_ the
man, too, somewhere before--where was it? Perhaps in the factory with
Arthur, very likely.
She raised her head and her eyes began to sparkle. There was the
carriage just turning in at the gate. _He_ was driving and on the front
seat beside the expected guest sat Uncle Henry, waving his red
handkerchief.
The gentlemen were all in the best of humor--it was a lively meeting.
"It looks something like here now, Frank," said the little judge,
clapping Linden on the shoulder and shaking hands with his wife. He was
so pleased that he even inquired for Aunt Rosa.
"Do you know, child," said Uncle Henry by way of excuse for his
presence, "I should not be here so soon again, but the landlord of the
hotel died this morning--and I couldn't eat there, it was out of the
question. You have some asparagus?"
"I shall not tell any tales out of school, uncle."
She put her arm in that of the old gentleman and went up the steps with
her guests. At the top she turned her head and then walked quickly to
the balustrade of the veranda.
There stood Wolff bowing before her husband, his hat in his hand, his
face covered with smiles.
"O, ta, ta!" said Uncle Henry.
"How comes he here, Gertrude?"
The judge looked out from under his blue spectacles with earnest
attention at the two men. Just then Linden waved his hand shortly and
they strode along the way which led to the court and the outer gate,
Wolff still speaking eagerly.
Gertrude bent far over the iron railing. It seemed to her that Frank
was vexed. Now they stood still. Frank opened the gate and pointed
outward with an unmistakable and very energetic gesture.
Mr. Wolff hesitated, he began to speak again--again the mute gesture
still more energetic, and the little man disappeared like a flash. The
gate fell clanging in the lock and Frank came back, but slowly as if he
must recover himself first and deeply flushed as if from intense anger.
Gertrude went to meet him, but said nothing. She would not ask him for
explanations before their guests. She very stealthily pressed his hand
and spoke cheerfully of her pleasure in her guests.
"Charming!" he said, absently, "but Gertrude, pray entertain Uncle
Henry--Richard--come with me a moment--I must--I will show you your
room." And the two friends left the room together.
"Do you know that you are going to have some more visitors this
afternoon?" asked the old gentleman, settling himself comfortably in a
chair. "Your mother and the Fredericks,--they came back yesterday
morning. Jenny looks blooming as a rose, and, thank Heaven! Arthur has
got his milk-face burned a little with the sun."
"Yes," replied Gertrude, "he was with them at the Italian lakes
for a month." And then as if she had only just taken in his whole
meaning,--"How glad I am that mamma is coming out here at once! Ah,
uncle, if she would only get reconciled to Frank!"
"Eh, what? Gertrude, don't distress yourself, it will all come right.
Besides he is not a man to put up with much nonsense!"
"What could this Wolff have wanted with him?"
"Hm! what are they about in Heaven's name?" asked her uncle,
impatiently.
"Are you hungry?" she asked, absently.
"Hungry? How can you use such common expressions? A dish of pork and
beans would suffice for hunger. I have an appetite, my child. O, ta,
ta, the asparagus will be spoiled if those two stay so long in their
room."
It was a very cosy group that Mrs. Baumhagen's eyes rested on as she,
with Jenny and Arthur, mounted the veranda steps.
They were sitting over their dessert, and Uncle Henry, with his napkin
in his buttonhole, his champagne-glass in his hand, shouted out a
stentorious "welcome!" while the young host and hostess hurried down
the steps, Gertrude with crimson cheeks. She was so proud, so happy.
Mrs. Baumhagen looked at her daughter in amazement. The pale, quiet
girl had become as blooming as a rose. "It is the honeymoon still," she
said to herself, and her eyes never ceased to follow her youngest child
during the whole time of her stay.
The coffee-table was set out under the chestnuts. It was a beautiful
spot. The eye glanced over the green lawn, past the magnificent trees
to the quaint old dwelling-house with its high gables and its ivy-grown
walls. The doors of the garden-hall stood open, and from the flagstaff
fluttered gayly a black-and-white flag.
"An idyll like a picture by Voss," laughed the little judge.
The young host gallantly escorted his mother-in-law through the garden.
Every cloud had vanished from his brow, he was cheerful and agreeable.
"But very sure of himself," Jenny remarked, later, to her mother. "He
feels himself quite the host and master of the house."
The uncomfortable feeling which he had always had in his
mother-in-law's presence, had disappeared. To her amazement he
permitted himself once or twice quite calmly to contradict her. Arthur
had never dared to do that. And Gertrude, how ridiculous! while she
presided over the coffee in her calm way, her eyes were continually
turning to him as soon as he spoke. "As you like, Frank,"--"What do you
think, Frank?" etc. And when her mother hoped Gertrude would not fail
to call on her Aunt Pauline on her birthday, the next day, she asked
appealingly, "Can I, Frank? Can I have the carriage?"
"Certainly, Gertrude," was the reply.
Then Mrs. Baumhagen put down her dainty coffee cup and leaned back in
her garden chair. The child was not in her right mind! that was too
much. But Arthur Fredericks applauded loudly.
"Gertrude," he called out across the table, "talk to this--" he seized
the hand of his wife who angrily tried to draw it away. "What does
Katherine say as an amiable wife to her sister? Words that sound as
sweet to us as a message from a better world."
"To be sure!" laughed Gertrude, not in the least offended by the
ironical tone.
"Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee
And for thy maintenance; commits his body
To painful labor, both by sea and land;
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold
While thou liest warm at home secure and safe;
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love, fair looks and true obedience,--
Too little payment for so great a debt."
"You see, Arthur, I have my Shakespeare at my tongue's end."
Mrs. Baumhagen suddenly broke up the coffee party. She seemed heated,
for she was fanning herself with her handkerchief.
"Gertrude, you must show us the house," she exclaimed. "Come, Jenny, we
will leave the gentlemen to their cigars."
"Gladly, mamma," said the young girl, easily.
She led her mother and sister through the kitchen and cellar, through
the chambers, and through the whole house. In the dining-room a pretty
young woman in a spotless white apron was engaged in clearing off the
table. Gertrude gave her some orders in a low tone as she passed.
"That is Johanna, whose husband was killed," said Jenny.
"Yes," replied her sister, "I have engaged her as housekeeper. She is
very capable, and I like to have a familiar face about me."
"With the child?" asked the mother, scornfully.
"Of course," replied the young wife. "She lives in the other wing. It
is a pleasure to see how the little fellow improves in the country
air."
"Who lives in this wing?" inquired Jenny.
"Aunt Rosa."
"Good gracious! A sort of mother-in-law?" cried her sister in
consternation.
Gertrude shook her head. "No, she is quite inoffensive, she belongs to
the inventory--so to speak. But I would like Frank to have his mother
here, the old lady is so alone and she is not very well."
Jenny laughed aloud, but Mrs. Baumhagen rustled so angrily into the
next room that all the ribbons on her rather youthful toilette
fluttered and waved in the air.
"Gertrude!" cried Jenny, "you will not be so senseless!"
The young wife made no reply. She opened a wardrobe door in the
corridor and said,
"This is the linen, Jenny; we need so much in the country. That is the
chest for the finest linen and for the china, and this is my room. This
way, mamma."
"It might have been a little less simple," remarked her mother, who had
recovered herself, though the flush of excitement still rested on her
full cheeks.
"I did not wish to be so very unlike Frank, who kept his old furniture;
besides we are only in moderate circumstances, you know, mamma, and we
are only just beginning."
Her mother cleared her throat and sat down in one of the small
arm-chairs. Jenny wandered about the room, looking at the pictures and
ornaments, slightly humming to herself as she did so. Gertrude stood
thoughtfully beside her mother and felt her heart grow cold as ice. It
was the old feeling of estrangement which always thrust itself between
her and her mother and sister--they had nothing in common. She grieved
over it as she had always done, but she no longer felt the bitter pain
of former days. Slowly her hand sought the pocket of her dress, and
touched lightly a rustling paper--"Thou art unspeakably beloved." Ah,
that was compensation enough for anything, and she lifted her head with
a happy smile.
"But you have not told me anything about your delightful journey yet,
and your letters were so very short."
"O, yes," said Jenny, yawning as she took up a terra cotta figure and
gazed at it on all sides, "it was perfectly delightful in Nice. Now
that I am back again, I begin to feel what a provincial little circle
it is that we vegetate in here."
"We will go again, next year, Providence permitting," added Mrs.
Baumhagen. "Only I must beg to be excused from Arthur's company. He was
really just as childish as your father used to be in his time. Jenny
must not do this and Jenny should not do that, mustn't go here and
mustn't stand there, in short he was a perfect torment, as if we women
did not know ourselves what it is proper to do."
Jenny seated herself too.
"Never mind, mamma, he is still suffering for his folly. I have not
allowed him to forget the scene he made for us at Monte Carlo yet."
"O yes, Heaven knows you are a very happy couple," exclaimed her
mother.
"But I think it is time for us to be going home," she continued, taking
her costly watch from her belt. "We will go and get your husband.
Come."
The three ladies went back to the garden to the table where the
gentlemen were comfortably chatting over their cigars. Frank was in
earnest conversation with Aunt Rosa, who in her best array, sat
enthroned in the seat Mrs. Baumhagen had left only a short time before.
Gertrude hastened to introduce her mother and sister to the old lady.
There was no help for it--they were obliged to sit down again for a
short time out of politeness. Mrs. Baumhagen, with a bored look, Jenny
with scarcely concealed amusement at the wonderful little old lady.
"Gertrude," began Frank, "Aunt Rosa came to tell us that she expects
company."
"I hope it won't put you out," said the old lady, turning to Gertrude.
"My niece always visits me every year at this time. You have heard me
say that the child is passionately fond of the woods and mountains and
she cheers me up a little."
"Is it that pretty little girl you have told us about so often, Aunt
Rosa?" asked Gertrude, kindly; and as the former nodded, she continued,
"Oh, she will be heartily welcome, won't she, Frank? When is she
coming, and what is her name?"
"I expect her in a day or two, and her name is Adelaide Strom," replied
Aunt Rosa. "I always call her Addie."
[Illustration: "Gertrude hastened to introduce her mother and sister to
the old lady."]
Then she began to explain the relationship which had the result of
making all the company dizzy.
"My mother's sister married a Strom, and her step-son is the cousin of
Adelaide's grandfather--"
Here Mrs. Baumhagen rose with great rustling. "I must go home," she
said, interrupting the explanation. "It is high time we were gone."
Jenny, who was standing behind her husband's chair, laid her hand on
his shoulder.
"Please order the carriage."
"Why, what do you mean, child?" said he in a tone of vexation. "We have
only just come!"
"But mamma wishes it."
"Mamma? But why?" he asked, shortly. "We are having a delightful talk."
"Won't you stay till evening, Mrs. Baumhagen?" asked Frank,
courteously.
"My head aches a little," was the reply.
Arthur ran his hand despairingly through his hair. This "headache" was
the weapon with which every reasonable argument was overthrown.
"Very well, then, do you go," he muttered, grimly. "I will come home
with Uncle Henry."
"Yes, to be sure, my dear fellow," cried the old gentleman, much
pleased. "I shall be very glad of your company; we will try the
Moselle, eh, Frank?"
"Uncle Henry filled up the cellar for our wedding-present," explained
the young host as he rose to order the carriage.
"And so richly," added Gertrude.
"Oh, ta, ta!"
The old gentleman had risen and was helping his sister-in-law on with
her cloak, with somewhat asthmatic politeness.
"It was pure selfishness, Ottilie. Only that a man might get a drop fit
to drink when one arrived here, weary and thirsty."
"Gertrude," whispered Jenny, taking her sister a little aside, "how can
you be so foolish as to allow a young girl to be brought into the
house? I tell you it is really dreadful; they are always in the way,
they _always_ want to be admired, they are always wanting to help and
never fail to pay most touching attentions to the host. It is really
inconsiderate of the old lady to impose her on you. Invent some excuse
for keeping her away. I speak from experience, my love. Arthur invited
a cousin once, you remember, I nearly died of vexation."
Gertrude laughed.
"Ah, Jenny," she said, shaking her head. The she hastened after her
mother, who was already seated in the carriage.
"Come again soon," she said cordially, when Jenny had taken her seat
also.
"I shall expect a visit from you next," was the reply. "You must be
making a few calls in town some time."
"We haven't thought about it yet," cried Gertrude, gayly.
"Pray do see that Arthur gets home before the small hours. Uncle Henry
never knows when to go," cried Jenny in a tone of vexation.
And the carriage rolled away.