MAY'S NEW HOME.
One evening nearly a fortnight after Mrs. Temple had received the
letter from John Temple announcing his marriage to May, the windows of
Woodlea Hall were all alight in expectation of their return.
Mrs. Temple had been in a state of great, though suppressed, excitement
all day. The rooms were bright with flowers, and by her orders the
whole place was arranged to appear to the best advantage. As for Mrs.
Temple herself she wore an evening dress of black velvet, having
discarded her deep mourning in honor of the occasion.
Yet she was feeling far from happy. This girl, this stranger, who
was coming to take her place, she thought, she naturally regarded
with hidden though deep resentment. John Temple could not have acted
otherwise, she told herself, but this did not lessen the bitterness of
her heart.
And when at last the carriage which contained John Temple and his young
wife drove up to the entrance of the Hall, Mrs. Temple went forward,
pale, handsome, and agitated, to receive them. She clasped John's hand
first, who warmly shook hers, and then--as though half-unwillingly--she
looked at the fair girlish face by his side.
"This is May," said John Temple, in kindly tones. "May, my dear, this
is Mrs. Temple, my poor uncle's widow."
The two women shook hands after this, and exchanged a few remarks on
the journey and the weather. May felt embarrassed and slightly overawed
by this handsome woman who looked at her so coldly. It was not like
going to her own home, somehow, she felt. John indeed referred to Mrs.
Temple about everything, and showed his uncle's widow the greatest
consideration and respect.
And when an hour or so afterward dinner was announced, John Temple
smilingly offered one arm to Mrs. Temple and the other to May.
"I must do double duty to-night, you see," he said; and when they
reached the dining-room he deliberately led Mrs. Temple to the head of
the table, and indicated to May to sit at the side. But Mrs. Temple
drew back.
"Nay," she said, "this is your wife's place."
"Certainly not," answered John Temple, decidedly; "this is your place,
as it always has been."
Mrs. Temple said nothing more at this time; she sat opposite to John,
and May, without any feeling of anger in her heart, took the chair her
husband had assigned to her. She was looking very pretty, but somehow
Mrs. Temple could not understand the expression of her face. There was
no elation there, nor pride in her new position. Now when the first
nervousness of her arrival was over, she looked very much as she had
done in the wards at St. Phillip's.
But there were no allusions made to the past. John talked of Brighton,
and of the theaters they had gone to in town, and to all outward
seeming this first evening at Woodlea might have been an ordinary
home-coming of a young couple from their bridal tour. But hidden in the
hearts of the three present was the knowledge that this was not so. The
storm was over, but its trace was there.
And the next morning a little incident occurred, which struck a
somewhat chill feeling into May's heart. Breakfast was just over, and
as John Temple rose from the table, he said pleasantly, looking at
Mrs. Temple:
"And how are you two going to amuse yourselves to-day?"
"In any manner you like, or that Mrs. John Temple likes," answered Mrs.
Temple.
"If you do not mind, John," said May, rather quickly, "I should like
to go over to Woodside this morning to see my father, as I think he
will expect me to do so. And," she added, with rather a wistful little
smile, looking up in his face, "I hope you will come with me."
But John Temple's brow clouded, and he slightly shrugged his shoulders.
"My dear child," he said, "that is a luxury which I am really not
prepared to encounter. And why be in such a hurry to go over to
Woodside?"
"I think my father would be disappointed if I did not go," answered
May, gently, but her face flushed and her eyes fell; "but I can go
alone."
"Then you had better drive over," said John Temple. "And what would you
like to do, Rachel?"
"Do you feel in the humor for a ride?" replied Mrs. Temple. "It is a
fine morning; suppose we have a ride, John?"
"All right; what time shall I order the carriage and the horses then?"
"Shall we say eleven?" said Mrs. Temple, and she looked at May, but
May's eyes were still cast down. They, however, settled it thus, and
when May returned to the morning-room about an hour later, she found
Mrs. Temple already there, dressed in her habit, and John Temple
talking to her.
"I hope May is not disappointed because I do not care to go to
Woodside?" John was saying.
"She could not expect you to do so," answered Mrs. Temple, just as May
entered the room.
She heard the words, and somehow felt that they had been talking of
her. But when a few minutes later the carriage and the riding-horses
came round John Temple led his young wife to the carriage and handed
her in, and nodded smilingly to her as he was turning away.
"Have you any message for my father?" said May, bending forward.
"Anything you like," answered John, still smiling; and then he went
back to the house, and May was driven in state to her old home.
And the arrival at Woodside of one of the Hall carriages, drawn by two
handsome horses, with their black rosetted heads, and the servants also
in mourning for their late master, naturally created quite a sensation
at the homestead. Mr. Churchill was not in the house at the time, but
one of the grooms hastily went in search of him to the stables. As for
Mrs. Churchill, she no sooner heard that her stepdaughter was in the
house than she hurried upstairs to change her dress, though she had
previously determined to make no difference in her manner to May.
But the two prancing horses outside and the handsome carriage
influenced her in spite of herself. She went into the drawing-room
quite in a flutter, to find May standing there looking a little
pensively around. What she had gone through since she had been in
this room May was thinking. But Mrs. Churchill's effusive welcome
interrupted her reflections.
"Well, my dear, welcome home," said Mrs. Churchill, and she kissed her
stepdaughter as she had never kissed her before. "We heard you had
arrived at the Hall last night, and your father was hoping that you
could come over to see us this morning; and it's very good of you to
have done so."
"Oh, I am very pleased to come," answered May, with her sweet smile.
"And the boys; how are the boys?"
"They are very well, my dear. They are both at school this morning, but
they are looking forward to seeing you. They have talked of nothing
else since your father was in London last."
"I have brought them each a present," said May, "and I hope they will
like them. Will you give my kind love to them both? The presents are
in the carriage."
At this moment Mr. Churchill hurried into the room and caught his fair
daughter in his strong arms, and kissed her vigorously.
"Well, May, my pet, and how are you? More like a Mayflower than ever,
eh, May?" he added, holding May a little apart from him, and looking at
her with eyes brimful of pride and pleasure. "Well, my girl, welcome to
your new home! It's kind of you to come over to see your old father the
very first day you have spent at the Hall."
"Dear father, of course I came," said May, gently.
"And madam? She is still there, I hear; but remember, May, you're
mistress now, so don't be put upon by any of them."
"Oh! she is very kind."
"Kind! I should think so; why should she not be kind? But you're the
squire's wife, you know, now, May, and you must show her that you quite
understand this. And how is your husband?"
"He is looking much better again; he has gone out for a ride with Mrs.
Temple this morning."
"Humph! Well, you should ride with him yourself, May. No one has a
smarter seat on horseback than you, and I'd let them all see this."
And during the rest of May's visit Mr. Churchill constantly harped on
this point. She was to assert herself, but May knew that, even had she
wished to do so, she would have found it very difficult.
For the night before, when they were alone, John Temple had spoken to
his wife on the subject of Mrs. Temple's position in the house.
"You see, May," he had said, "I came here and became heir of this
property under very peculiar circumstances. I stepped into the place
of Mrs. Temple's only child, and therefore I feel that to disturb her
in any way as mistress of the house, where she would have remained
mistress had her boy lived, would be at once ungentlemanly and
ungrateful of me. This is why I took her to the head of the table
to-night, and I am sure you have the good taste and the good feeling to
understand my wishes on the subject."
"Then is she going to live here always?" May ventured to ask.
"She will live here, of course, as long as she wishes to do so. She is
my uncle's widow, and this was his home, and I wish her to feel that it
is still her home."
Thus May had her own position clearly defined to her. And as she
listened to her father's advice she had no idea of acting on it. But
she did not tell him this; she parted with him affectionately, and Mr.
Churchill was a proud man as he led her to her carriage and handed her
in.
"I'll bring your stepmother some day over to dine with you, May," he
said, before he parted with his daughter. "I want to see you in your
own house; fix some day with your husband for us to come. And now
good-by, my pet."
Then, when May was gone, he returned to the house in a very boastful
mood.
"She's lovely, isn't she, Sarah?" he remarked to his wife. "But I gave
her a bit of advice about madam; madam must be taught her place, and
I'll see that she is too."
* * * * *
But in the days that followed May was made to feel more than once that
Mrs. Temple exercised a considerable influence over her husband's mind.
John Temple was always kind to May, always gentle, but he had fallen
back into that easy-going frame of mind which had been habitual to him
before he was aroused from it by his bitter remorse and self-reproach.
Now, he thought, everything was right for his "little May." He had
made her his wife; he bought her a pony-carriage for herself, and two
handsome ponies, so that she could drive wherever she wished, and he
allowed her plenty of money, and did not object to her spending it
lavishly among the poor and sick.
"I know what suffering and sickness is now, you know, John," she one
day said to him, a little wistfully; but John did not encourage her to
talk on the subject. He, in fact, totally ignored, and tried to forget,
the miserable time after May had left him. It disturbed him to think of
it, and John Temple did not love unpleasant thoughts.
Thus weeks passed away, and May, with her sweet reasonableness of
conduct, had almost won some sort of regard from the woman who was yet
jealous of her, when one morning May received a letter from her father,
plainly expressing a wish that he and his wife should be asked to dine
at the Hall.
"It looks so odd to other people, you know, my dear," he wrote, "and I
hope you will not allow anyone to cast a slight on your own father,"
and so on.
This letter disturbed May exceedingly, for she knew John Temple would
not like to receive Mrs. Churchill at his table, and that Mrs. Temple
also strongly objected to the whole family. Once she had had her two
young brothers to spend the day with her at the Hall, and Mrs. Temple
on that occasion had refused to appear.
"It won't do, you know, May, my dear," John had said to her afterward;
"Rachel has a strong and natural objection to the boys on account of
the death of her own lad in the game where they were playing. So don't
ask them again."
May had never done so, though she knew they thought it was unkind of
her. She took them presents and gave them money, but she dare not ask
them to the Hall. And now about her father and stepmother she knew not
what to do.
At last she took courage and went to her husband, and put her father's
letter in his hand.
"I wish to ask them so much, John," she said.
John read the letter, shrugged his shoulders, and then put his hand
kindly on his wife's arm.
"It will be an awful bore, little woman," he said.
"Just for once, John," pleaded May, and John Temple finally allowed the
invitation to be sent.
But May never wished for her stepmother to be asked to dine at the
Hall again. Mrs. Churchill went determined to show--to use one of her
husband's phrase--that "she was as good as any of them." She went
overdressed, to be received by her stepdaughter and Mrs. Temple both in
black, and Mrs. Temple took a malicious pleasure in leading her on to
make herself ridiculous.
John Temple fidgeted in his chair, but Mrs. Temple enjoyed his
discomfiture. She wished to make him feel what sort of family he had
married into, and she certainly succeeded in her design. In fact the
dinner was a most uncomfortable one, and only Mrs. Temple was amused.
"My dear May, please never ask that good lady here again," said John
Temple, after his father-in-law and his wife had taken their departure;
"I really can not stand her."
"Well, I must say," remarked Mrs. Churchill to her spouse, as they
drove home together after the entertainment was over, "that a more
stupid evening I never spent; it seems to me that May can scarcely be
called the mistress of her own house, with Mrs. Temple sitting at the
head of the table, and that kind of thing. However, we've dined there,
and the neighbors can't say we've not, and we need not tell them it was
anything but pleasant."
"Well," answered Mr. Churchill, who was also much disappointed, "I
think it is a pity May does not make more of herself. However, Mr. John
Temple is my landlord as well as my son-in-law, so we must just make
the best of things."