MRS. DR. CLAYTON.
Although Meadow Brook and Pine District were distant from each other
only four or five miles, there was between the two neighborhoods but
little communication; and this, added to the fact that Aunt Sally Wright
was confined to her bed, was undoubtedly the reason why the news of the
approaching nuptials did not reach us until the week before the time
appointed for them to take place. It was a warm sultry day in July, that
Aunt Sally, who was now convalescent, sent us word that she would visit
us that afternoon, if it was perfectly convenient; the little girl who
brought the message, adding that “Miss Wright said Miss Lee needn’t put
herself out an atom, as she wan’t a bit particular what she _ett_.”
Of course it was convenient, and about one o’clock she came, talkative
and full of news as ever. I was suffering from a severe headache, which,
during the morning, had kept me confined to the bed; but knowing how
much Aunt Sally would have to tell, and feeling curious to hear it all,
I went down to the sitting-room, where her first exclamation was, “Now
do tell what makes you look so down in the mouth?”
I was about to tell her of my headache, when she prevented me by
continuing—“But law! it’s no wonder, seein’ you’ve lost the doctor slick
and clean.”
A dim foreshadowing of the truth came over me, but with a strong effort,
I controlled my feelings, and in a very indifferent manner, asked her
what she meant.
“Now I’ll give up,” said she, “if you hain’t heerd on’t. Why, it’s in
everybody’s mouth. They are to be married next Thursday night, at nine
o’clock; and the dress is white satin, with a veil that comes most to
the floor.”
“Who is to be married?” asked Anna, eagerly, her interest all awakened
by the mention of white satin and lace veils.
“Why, Dr. Clayton and Dell Thompson;” returned Aunt Sally. “They was
published last Sunday; Andy Slosson see it himself and told me. They are
goin’ first out to York State, to see them great Falls, and then they
are goin’ to live in Boston, boardin’ at some of them big taverns; and
Dell has got six bran new gowns a-purpose to wear to breakfast.”
Here Aunt Sally paused for breath, while Anna asked who was invited, and
if it was to be a large wedding.
“I don’t know how large,” said Aunt Sally, “but it’s pretty likely all
the upper crust’ll be there. _I_ hain’t been invited, ’cause they think
I’m sick, I s’pose,—but goodness alive! look at Rosa!” she continued,
pointing towards me, who, weary and faint, had lain my head upon the
window-stool.
“She’s got the sick headache,” said Anna, while Lizzie, with a delicate
tact, for which in my heart I blessed her, came up to me, saying, “I
don’t believe you are able to sit up; I’d go to bed.”
Glad of any excuse to be alone, I left the room, going to my chamber,
where I wept myself to sleep. When I awoke the sun had set, but I heard
the voices of the family below, and once when I thought I caught the
sound of Dr. Clayton’s name, I involuntarily stopped my ears to shut out
the sound. A moment after, the door of my room was softly opened, and
Carrie came stealing in on tiptoe. Learning that I was awake, she
advanced towards me, holding to view a note, which she said had been
left there for me by Captain Thompson’s hired man, and was an invitation
to the wedding! It was still sufficiently light for me to see, and
leaning upon my elbow, I read on a card, that Mrs. Thompson would be “at
home” from eight to eleven on the evening of the 25th, while in the
corner were the names of “Dr. Clayton and Dell Thompson.”
There was no longer a shadow of hope!—it was all true, and he had
insulted me with an invitation to witness his marriage with another! I
did not know then, as I afterwards did, that the invitation was
purposely sent by Dell to annoy me! For a moment I forgot my headache in
my anger, but ere long it returned in all its force, and if the next day
my headache continued with unabated severity, it was not without a
sufficient cause, for sleepless nights are seldom conducive to one’s
health. Of course I did not attend the wedding, which was said to have
been a brilliant affair; the bride and the table looking beautifully,
while the bridegroom, it was rumored, was pale and nervous, making the
responses in a scarcely audible tone of voice.
The next morning, between eight and nine o’clock, as I was on my way to
school, I met the travelling carriage of Capt. Thompson, which was
taking the newly married couple to the dépôt. John was driving, while on
the back seat, with his arm partly around his bride, was the doctor. My
first impulse was not to look at them, but this act _pride_ forbade, and
very civilly I returned the nod of Dell, and the polite bow of the
doctor, whose face turned crimson when he saw me. A moment more, and a
turn of the road hid them from my view; then seating myself upon a large
flat stone, beneath a tree, where were the remains of a _play-house_
built by my own hands only the autumn before, I cried out loud, thinking
myself the most wretched of beings, and wondering if ever any one before
had such trouble as I! As nearly as I am able to judge, I was taking my
first lesson in _love-sickness_; a kind of disease which is seldom
dangerous, but, like the toothache, very disagreeable while it lasts. At
least I found it so, and for weeks I pined away with a kind of
sentimental melancholy, which now appears to me wholly foolish and
ridiculous; for were I indeed the wife of Dr. Clayton, instead of Rosa
Lee, this book would undoubtedly never have been written; while in place
of bending over the inkstand this stormy morning, as I am doing, I
should probably have been engaged in washing, dressing, scolding, and
cuffing three or four little Claytons, or in the still more laudable
employment of darning the _socks_ and mending the _trousers_ (a thing,
by the way, which I can’t do) of said little Claytons’ sire; who, by
this time, would, perhaps, have ceased to call me “his Rose,” bestowing
upon me the less euphonious title of “she,” or “my woman?”
But not thus did I reason then. I only knew that I had lost him and was
very unhappy. Many a long walk I took alone in the shadowy woods,
singing to myself snatches of love-songs, particularly the one
containing the following:
“I have not loved lightly—
I’ll think of thee yet,
And I’ll pray for thee nightly.
Till life’s sun is set.”
Somehow, too, I got the impression that my heart was all broken to
pieces; and this fact satisfactorily settled, I began to take a
melancholy pleasure in brooding over my _early death_, and thinking how
Dr. Clayton would feel, when he heard the sad news! Almost every week I
was _weighed_, feeling each time a good deal chagrined to find that I
was not losing flesh as fast as a person in a decline would naturally
do. In this state of affairs, I one day came across a little sketch of
Hannah More, in which her early disappointment was described, and
forthwith I likened myself to _her_, and taking courage from her
example, I finally concluded that if I could not have the doctor I could
at least write for the newspapers, and some day I might perhaps be able
to make a _book_. This, I thought, would amply atone for my loss—an
opinion which I hold still, for if ever I do see myself in a book, and
the _reviews_ let me alone, which, in consideration of all I have
suffered, I am sure they will do, I shall consider it a most fortunate
circumstance that Dell’s $10,000, in prospect, proved a stronger
temptation than my father’s $5,000 divided by thirteen!