EXTRACTS FROM DAISY'S JOURNAL
ELMWOOD, December 20, 18--.
Daisy McDonald Thornton's journal, presented by my husband, Mr. Guy
Thornton, who wishes me to write something in it every day; and when I
asked him what I should write, he said: "Your thoughts, and opinions,
and experiences. It will be pleasant for you some time to look back upon
your early married life and see what progress you have made since then,
and will help you to recall incidents you would otherwise forget. A
journal fixes things in your mind, and I know you will enjoy it,
especially as no one is to see it, and you can talk to it freely as to a
friend."
That is what Guy said, and I wrote it right down to copy into the book
as a kind of preface or introduction. I am not much pleased with having
to keep a journal, and maybe I shall have Zillah keep it for me. I don't
care to fix things in my mind. I don't like things fixed, anyway. I'd
rather they would be round loose, as they surely would, if I had not
Zillah to pick them up. She is a treasure, and it is almost worth being
married to have a waiting maid--and that reminds me that I may as well
begin back at the time when I was not married, and did not want to be,
if only we had not been so poor, and obliged to make so many shifts to
seem richer than we were.
My maiden name was Margaret McDonald, and I am seventeen next New Year's
Day. My father is of Scotch descent, and a lawyer; my mother was a
Barnard, from New Orleans, and has the best blood of the two. I am an
only child, and very handsome--so everybody says--and I should know it
if they did not say it, for can't I see myself in the glass! And still I
really do not care so much for my good looks except as they serve to
attain the end for which father says I was born.
Almost the first thing I can remember is of his telling me that I must
marry young and marry rich, and I promised him I would, and asked if I
could stay at home with mother just the same after I was married.
Another thing I remember, which made a lasting impression, and that is
the beating father gave me for asking before some grand people staying
at our house, "Why we did not always have beefsteak and hot muffins for
breakfast, instead of just baked potatoes and bread and butter."
I must learn to keep my mouth shut, father said, and not tell all I
knew; and I profited by the lesson, and that is one reason, I suppose,
why I so rarely say what I think, or express an opinion whether
favorable or otherwise.
I do not believe I am deceitful, though all my life I have seen my
parents try to seem what they are not; that is, try to seem like rich
people, when sometimes father's practice brought him only a few hundreds
a year, and there was mother and myself and Tom to support. Tom is my
cousin--Tom McDonald--who lived with us and fell in love with me, though
I never tried to make him. I liked him ever so much, though he used to
tease me horribly, and put horn-bugs in my shoes, and worms on my neck,
and Jack-o'-lanterns in my room, and tip me off his sled into the snow;
but still I liked him, for with all his teasing he had a great, kind,
unselfish heart, and I shall never forget that look on his face when I
told him I could not be his wife. I did not like him as he liked me, and
I did not want to be married anyway, and if I did marry it must be to
some rich man. That was in Chicago, and the night before he started for
South America, where he was going to make his fortune, and he wanted me
to promise to wait for him, and said no one would ever love me as well
as he did.
I could not promise, because, even if he had all the gold mines in Peru,
I did not care to spend my days with him--to see him morning, noon, and
night, and all the time. It is a good deal to ask of a woman, and I told
him so, and he cried so hard--not loud, but in a pitiful kind of way,
which hurt me cruelly. I hear that sobbing sometimes now in my sleep,
and it's like the moan of the wind round that house on the prairie where
Tom's mother died. Poor Tom! I gave him a lock of my hair and let him
kiss me twice, and then he went away, and after that old Judge Burton
offered himself and his million to me; but I could not endure his bald
head a week, and I told him no, and when father seemed sorry and said I
missed it, I told him I would not sell myself for gold alone. I'd run
away first and go after Tom. Then Guy Thornton came, and--and--well, he
took me by storm, and I liked him better than anyone I ever saw, and I
married him. Everybody said he was rich, and father was satisfied and
gave his consent, and bought be a most elaborate trousseau. I wondered
then where the money came from. Now I know that Tom sent it. He has been
very successful with his mine, and in a letter to father sent me a check
for fifteen hundred dollars. Father would not tell me that, but mother
did, and I felt worse, I think, than when I heard the sobbing. Poor Tom!
I never wear one of the dresses now without thinking who paid for it and
wrote, "I am working like an ox for Daisy." Poor, poor Tom!
OCTOBER 1, 18--.
I rather like writing in my journal, for here I can say what I think,
and I guess I shall not let Zillah make the entries. Where did I leave
off? Oh, about poor Tom.
I have had a letter from him. He had just heard of my marriage, and only
said: "God bless you, my darling little Daisy, and may you be very
happy."
I burned the letter up and cried myself into a headache. I wish people
would not love me so hard. I do not deserve it. There's Guy, my husband,
more to be pitied than Tom, because, you see, he has got me; and,
privately, between you and me, old journal, I am not worth the getting,
and I know it perhaps better than anyone else. I like Guy and believe
him to be the best man in the world, and I would rather he kissed me
than Tom, but do not want anybody to kiss me; and Guy is so
affectionate, and his great hands are so hot, and muss my fluted dresses
so terribly.
I guess I don't like to be married anyway. If one only could have the
house, and the money, and the nice things without the man! That's
wicked, of course, when Guy is so kind and loves me so much. I wish he
didn't, but I would not for the world let him know how I feel. I did
tell him that I was not the wife he ought to have, but he would not
believe me, and father was anxious, and so I married him, meaning to do
the best I could. It was splendid at Saratoga, only Guy danced so
ridiculously and would not let me waltz with those young men. As if I
cared a straw for them or any other man besides Guy and Tom!
It is pleasant here at Elmwood, only the house is not as grand as I
supposed, and there are not as many servants, and the family carriage is
awful poky. Guy is to give me a pretty little phaeton on my birthday.
I like Miss Frances very much, only she is such a raging housekeeper,
and keeps me all the while on the alert. I don't believe in these raging
housekeepers, who act as if they wanted to make the bed before you are
up, and eat breakfast before it is ready. I don't like to get up in the
morning anyway, and I don't like to hurry, and I am always behind, and
keeping somebody waiting, and that disturbs the people here very much.
Miss Frances seems really cross sometimes, and even Guy looks sober and
disturbed when he has waited for me half an hour. I guess I must try and
do better, for both Guy and Miss Frances are as good as they can be, but
then I am not one bit like them, and have never been accustomed to
anything like order and regularity. At home things came round any time,
and I came with them, and that suited me better than this being married,
a great deal, only now I have a kind of settled feeling, and am Mrs. Guy
Thornton, and Guy is good-looking, and highly esteemed, and very
learned, and I can see that the young ladies in the neighborhood envy me
for being his wife. I wonder who is that Julia Hamilton Miss Frances
talks about so much, and why Guy did not marry her instead of me. She,
too, is very learned and gets up in the morning and flies round and
reads scientific articles in the _Westminster Review_. I asked Guy once
why he did not marry her instead of a little goose like me, and he said
he liked the little goose the best, and then kissed me, and crumpled my
white dress all up. Poor Guy! I wish I did love him as well as he does
me, but it's not in me to love any man!
DECEMBER 20, 18--.
A horrible thing has happened, and I have married a poor man after all!
Guy signed for somebody and had to pay, and Elmwood must be sold, and we
are to move into a stuffy little house without Zillah, and with only one
girl. It is too dreadful to think about, and I was sick for a week after
Guy told me of it. I might as well have married Tom, only I like Guy the
best. He looks so sorry and sad that I sometimes forget myself to pity
him. I am going home to mother for a long, long time--all winter,
maybe--and I shall enjoy it so much. Guy says I have ten thousand
dollars of my own, and the interest on that will buy my dresses, I
guess, and get something for Miss Frances, too. She is a noble woman,
and tries to bear up so brave. She says they will keep the furniture of
my blue room for me, if I want it; and I do, and I mean to have Guy
send it to Indianapolis, if he will. Oh, mother, I am so glad I am
coming back, and I almost wish--no, I don't, either. I like Guy, only I
don't like being married!