KATY.
Much which Bell had written of Katy was true. She had been in New York
nearly four months, drinking deep draughts from the cup of folly and
fashion held so constantly to her lips; but she cloyed of it at last,
and what at first had been so eagerly grasped, began, from daily
repetition, to grow insipid and dull. To be the belle of every place, to
know that her dress, her style, and even the fashion of her hair was
copied and admired, was gratifying to her, because she knew it pleased
her husband, who was never happier or prouder than when, with Katy on
his arm, he entered some crowded parlor and heard the buzz of admiration
as it circled round, while Katy smiled and blushed like a little child,
wondering at the attentions lavished upon her, and attributing them
mostly to her husband, whose position she understood, marveling more and
more that he should have chosen her to be his wife. That he had so
honored her made her love him with a strange kind of grateful, clinging
love, which as yet would acknowledge no fault in him, no wrong, no
error; and if ever a shadow did cloud her heart she was the one to
blame, not Wilford; he was right—he had idol she worshiped—he the one
for whose sake she tried to drop her country ways and conform to the
rules his mother and sister taught, submitting with the utmost good
nature to what Bell called the _drill_, but never losing that natural,
playful, airy manner which so charmed the city people and made her the
reigning belle. As Marian Hazelton had predicted, others than her
husband had spoken words of praise in Katy’s ear; but such was her
nature that the shafts of flattery glanced aside, leaving her unharmed,
so that her husband, though sometimes disquieted, had no cause for
jealousy, enjoying Katy’s success far more than she did herself, urging
her out when she would rather have stayed at home, and evincing so much
annoyance if she ventured to remonstrate, that she gave it up at last
and floated on with the tide.
Mrs. Cameron had at first been greatly shocked at Katy’s want of
propriety, looking on aghast when she wound her arms around Wilford’s
neck, or sat upon his knee; but to the elder Cameron the sight was a
pleasant one, bringing back sunny memories of a summer-time years ago,
when _he_ was young, and a fair bride had for a few brief weeks made
this earth a paradise to him. But fashion had entered his Eden—that
summer time was gone, and only the dun leaves of autumn lay where the
buds which promised so much had been. The girlish bride was a stately
matron now, doing nothing amiss, but making all her acts conform to a
prescribed rule of etiquette, and frowning majestically upon the
frolicsome, impulsive Katy, who had crept so far into the heart of the
eccentric man that he always found the hours of her absence long,
listening intently for the sound of her bounding footsteps, and feeling
that her coming to his household had infused into his veins a better,
healthier life than he had known for years. Katy was very dear to him,
and he felt a thrill of pain when first the _toning down_ process
commenced. He had heard them talk about it, and in his wrath he had
hurled a cut-glass goblet upon the marble hearth, breaking it in atoms,
while he called them a pair of precious fools, and Wilford a bigger one
because he suffered it. So long as his convalescence lasted, he was some
restraint upon his wife, but when he was well enough to resume his
duties in his Wall Street office, there was nothing in the way, and
Katy’s education progressed accordingly. For Wilford’s sake Katy would
do anything, and she submitted to much which would otherwise have been
excessively annoying. But she was growing tired now, and it told upon
her face, which was whiter than when she came to New York, while her
figure was, if possible, slighter and more airy; but this only enhanced
her loveliness, Wilford thought, and so he paid no heed to her
complaints of weariness, but kept her in the circle which welcomed her
so warmly, and would have missed her so much.
Little by little it had come to Katy that she was not quite as
comfortable in her husband’s family as she would be in a house of her
own. The constant watch kept over her by Mrs. Cameron and Juno irritated
and fretted her, making her wonder what was the matter, and why she
should so often feel lonely and desolate when surrounded by every luxury
which wealth could purchase. “It is _his folks_,” she always said to
herself when cogitating upon the subject. “Alone with Wilford I shall
feel as light and happy as I did in Silverton.”
And so Katy caught eagerly at the prospect of a release from the
restraint of No.——, seeming so anxious that Wilford, almost before he
was aware of it himself, became the owner of one of the most desirable
situations on Madison Square. Of all the household after Katy, Juno was
perhaps the only one glad of the new house. It would be a change for
herself, for she meant to spend much of her time on Madison Square,
where everything was to be on the most magnificent style. Fortunately
for Katy, she knew nothing of Juno’s intentions and built castles of her
new home, where mother could come with Helen and Dr. Grant. Somehow she
never saw Uncle Ephraim, nor his wife, nor Aunt Betsy there. She knew
how out of place they would appear, and how they would annoy Wilford;
but surely to her mother and Helen there could be no objection, and when
she first went over the house she designated this room as mother’s, and
another one as Helen’s, thinking how each should be fitted up with
direct reference to their tastes, Helen’s containing a great many books,
while her mother’s should have easy-chairs and lounges, with a host of
drawers for holding things. And Wilford heard it all, making no reply,
but considering how he could manage best so as to have no scene, for he
had not the slightest intention of inviting either Mrs. Lennox or Helen
to visit him, much less to become a part of his household. That he did
not marry Katy’s relatives was a fact as fixed as the laws of the Medes
and Persians, and Katy’s anticipations were answering no other purpose
than to divert her mind for the time being, keeping her bright and
cheerful.
Very pleasant indeed were the pictures Katy drew of the new house where
Helen was to come, but pleasanter far were her pictures of that visit to
Silverton, to occur in April. Poor Katy! how much she thought about that
visit when she should see them all and go with Uncle Ephraim down into
the meadows, making believe she was Katy Lennox still—when she could
climb the ladder in the barn after new-laid eggs, or steal across the
fields to Linwood, talking with Morris as she used to talk in the days
which seemed so long ago. Morris she feared was not liking her as well
as of old, thinking her very frivolous and silly, for he had only
written her one short note in reply to the letter she had sent, telling
him of the parties she had attended, and the gay, happy life she led,
for to him she would not then confess that in her cup of joy there was a
single bitter dreg. All was bright and fair, she said, and Morris had
replied that he was glad, “But do not forget that _death_ can find you
even amid your splendor, or that after death the judgment comes, and
then what shall it profit you if you gain the whole world and lose your
own soul.”
These words had rung in Katy’s ears for many a day, following her to the
dance and to the opera, where even the music was drowned by the echo of
the words, “lose your own soul.” But the sting grew less and less, till
Katy no longer felt it, and now was only anxious to talk with Morris and
convince him that she was not as thoughtless as he might suppose, that
she still remembered his teachings, and the little church in the valley,
preferring it to the handsome, aristocratic house where she went with
the Camerons once on every Sunday.
“One more week and then it is April,” she said to Wilford one evening
after they had retired to their room, and she was talking of Silverton.
“I guess we’d better go about the tenth. Shall you stay as long as I
do?”
Wilford bit his lip, and after a moment replied,
“I have been talking with mother, and we think April is not a good time
for you to be in the country; it is so wet and cold, and I want you here
to help order our furniture.”
“Oh, Wilford!” and Katy’s voice trembled, for from past experience she
knew that for Wilford to object to her plans was equivalent to a
refusal, and her heart throbbed with disappointment as she tried to
listen while Wilford urged many reasons why she should not go,
convincing her at last that of all times for visiting Silverton, spring
was the worst; that summer or autumn were better, and that it was her
duty to remain where she was until such time as he saw fit for her to do
otherwise.
This was the meaning of what he said, and though his manner was guarded,
and his words kind, they were very conclusive, and with one gasping sob
Katy gave up Silverton, charging it more to Mrs. Cameron than to
Wilford, and writing next day to Helen that she could not come just
then, but that after she was settled they might surely expect her.
With a bitter pang Helen read this letter to the three women who had
anticipated Katy’s visit so much, and each of whom cried quietly over
her disappointment, while Uncle Ephraim went back to his work that
afternoon with a heavy heart, for now his labor was not lightened by
thoughts of Katy’s being there so soon.
“Please God she may come to us sometime,” he said, pausing beneath the
butternut in the meadow, and remembering just how Katy looked on that
first day of her return from Canandaigua, when she sat on the flat stone
while he piled up his hay and talked with her of different paths through
life, one of which she must surely tread.
She had said, “I will choose the straight and pleasant,” and some would
think she had; but Uncle Ephraim was not so sure, and leaning against a
tree, he asked silently that whether he ever saw his darling again or
not, God would care for her and keep her unspotted from the world.