Oiled Calico
[Illustration]
A few days after the disaster in the family chapel, my mother's cousin,
Mrs. Bray, came to see us, bringing her daughter Lucy. Their home had
been in Henrico County, but Mr. Bray had "the western fever." My mother
and Aunt Eliza Carter said so in my hearing before the Brays' visit, and
when they arrived I was surprised to see him looking so well and strong
and that he had a hearty appetite. They were on their way to Ohio,
travelling in their own carriage, and having also along with them a huge
covered wagon, drawn by four fine horses, and packed full of furniture.
This wagon was rolled into an empty carriage-house and kept there,
locked up, while they stayed.
They had planned to spend Sunday with us, just to say "Good-by," and to
move on, on Monday. On Saturday night, Cousin Mary Bray was taken ill,
and before morning the tiniest baby I ever saw was born. It was very
weak, too, and cried like a kitten all the time it was awake. The mother
had to be kept perfectly quiet. The dogs were sent to "the quarters,"
and everybody went about on tiptoe and talked in whispers. It was very
dreadful until Monday morning, when an enchanting change was made in
domestic arrangements.
The house was a rambling building, with three separate staircases--none
of them back stairs--and two wings, besides what I made my father laugh
by calling "the tail," in which was "the chamber." Cousin Mary Bray's
room was in the second story of the south wing, which was connected by a
corridor with the main house. In the north wing was a lumber room that
had once been used as a bedroom, and had a good fireplace. Mam' Chloe
set a couple of men to pile trunks, old chairs, bedsteads, and the like,
in one corner, and two maids to sweeping and cleaning up the dust; and
when half of the room was empty and "broom-clean," had a fire kindled,
and our playthings and ourselves taken over to that end of the house. In
the corner farthest from the fire were heaped a mattress, a feather-bed,
some old blankets and comfortables, and this became, forthwith, our
favorite resort. Even Mary 'Liza entered into the fun of climbing upon
the pile that let us sink down, _down_, ever so far, and, pulling the
blankets over us, making believe that we were in a big covered wagon,
and going to Ohio. Our dolls, and a few other toys, went with us, and we
munched ginger cakes and apples, and played that it was night and we
were to sleep in the wagon, and that the wind howling under the eaves
was wolves, roaring 'round and 'round the camp-fire, looking for little
girls to eat. Mary 'Liza was Mr. Bray, I was Cousin Mary, Lucy was just
herself, and she did her part well.
On Tuesday, which I heard Mam' Chloe say to my mother in a solemn sort
of way was "the third day," our dinner was brought upstairs. We set the
table for ourselves by covering a packing-box with an old sheet, and
putting our plates and mugs and the dishes holding our food upon it.
Mary 'Liza was at the foot of the table, I at the head, and Lucy sat up,
prim and well-behaved, at the side, saying, "Yes, ma'am," to me and,
"No, thank you, sir," to Mary 'Liza. We were making merry over the feast
when the door opened and my mother came in with her maid Marthy, who had
a plate in her hand with three round cakes on it. Pound-cake, baked in
little pans, and warm from the oven! I danced and screamed for joy. Mary
'Liza sat still, her hands in her lap, and said, "Thank you," when her
cake was put on her plate. Lucy laughed all over her face without saying
anything, but when my mother sat down on a chair to rest after climbing
the stairs, the child ran to her and put both arms around her neck and
laid her cheek on her shoulder.
I can see her now--the picture was so pretty! Her hair was dark brown
and waved naturally away from her forehead, making her face rather oval
than round; her gray eyes were clear and large, and, when she was not
smiling or talking, there was a serious shadow far down in them. She had
a dear little mouth, and I liked to make her laugh that I might see the
dimples come and go in her cheeks.
Her frock was a new material to Mary 'Liza and me,--bright red, with a
tiny black clover leaf dotting it. They called the stuff "oiled calico,"
and, by putting my nose close to it, I could distinguish an odor that
was something like oil. What we knew as "Turkey red," many years later,
resembled it somewhat, but the oiled calico was much finer and softer.
My mother lifted the slight figure to her lap, and I pressed close to
her other side, nibbling my cake, crumb by crumb, to make it last
longer. I had a habit of swallowing my goodies as soon as I got them.
Mary 'Liza always put aside part of hers "until next time."
At Christmas I had made a valiant effort to be economical and
forehanded, and got the plantation carpenter to knock together a
savings-bank for me, with a hole in the top. Into this I put half of the
candy, raisins, and almonds given to me in the holidays and for a
fortnight afterward. The self-denial went hard with me, but I consoled
myself each night with the anticipation of opening day. The end of the
fortnight arrived at last. I promised my sable cohort such a spread in
the playhouse as it and they had never beheld. Barratier, Mariposa's
brother, borrowed a hammer and chisel from "the shop," and pried off the
lid. All crowded close to peep in. The box was almost full. Sticks of
peppermint candy, with ribbons of red and white winding about them (a
barber's pole reminds me of them to this hour); lollipops, also of
peppermint, that would just go into my mouth and let the roof down and
the teeth meet; cubes of amber lemon candy; and, most delicately
delicious of all, squares of pink rose-candy that dissolved upon the
tongue and smelt like the Vale of Cashmere to the very last grain;
bunches of raisins, which we--and Jacky Horner--called "plums"; almonds,
palm-nuts, filberts; small ginger cakes of a cut and size that Aunt
'Ritta would not make for us unless she were in a particularly good
humor;--the sight called forth a round-eyed and round-mouthed
"_Aw-w-w!_" from the heads packed in a solid circle, as necks craned
eagerly forward.
For five heavenly minutes I was a fairy-godmother, a Lady Bountiful,
with whom the ability to give was coequal with the desire. I made them
sit down in rows on the carpeted boards. I hope there was not sacrilege
in thinking, as I gave the order, how and where a similar command had
been spoken. Beginning with the babies, I put a bit of candy upon each
greedy palm, bidding my pensioners wait until I gave the signal to eat
it. Then I took a pink cube between my thumb and finger, waved it
theatrically above my head, and popped it into my mouth. Every other
mouth opened simultaneously.
Even now I hurry over the telling. The treasure-chest was of green pine
boards. The contents were so strongly impregnated with turpentine that
not a morsel was eatable. The weest pickaninny spat it out and squalled
because the turpentine burned his tongue.
I could dwell tearfully--possibly profitably--upon the moral of the
adventure, had I not left Lucy Bray all this time on my mother's lap,
and myself fingering the oiled calico in covetous admiration.
"Mother," I said, "I wish, next time you go to Richmond, you would buy
me a frock like this. Don't you think it is pretty?"
"Very pretty, Molly. But I do not like to have you wear cotton in the
winter. I am afraid you might catch fire. Haven't you a worsted frock
that you can put on to-morrow, Lucy? It would be safer while you
children are up here so much alone."
Lucy was an old-fashioned little body from being the only child for so
long and being so much with her mother. Instead of answering directly,
she stopped to think, a pucker drawn between her brows with the effort.
"I don't believe I have, Cousin Mary," she said slowly. "'Most all my
best clothes are packed up, and the trunks are in the wagon. We didn't
mean to stay here more than two days, you know. It wouldn't be worth
while to unpack the trunks, I s'pose? Mamma will be well enough to go on
to Ohio pretty soon, won't she?"
"I hope so, dear."
My mother drew her up to her and kissed the brown head. She, too, was
thoughtful. I supposed that she was wondering if she would better
unpack those trunks. I was not glad that Cousin Mary Bray was sick, but
I was in no hurry for her to get well enough to travel. I had never had
another visitor whose ways of playing suited me as well as Lucy's. She
was a year older than I, and a year younger than Mary 'Liza, and she got
along beautifully with both of us. Then there was her cat, Alexander the
Great, that she was taking to Ohio with her. He was the biggest cat any
of us had ever known, with a coat of the longest, softest fur you can
imagine, all pure gray, without a white or black hair on him, and he had
lots of fun and sense. Mary 'Liza wanted, at first, to make believe that
he was a hungry wolf, but Lucy would not hear of it until I proposed he
should be a tame wolf we had taken when he was a baby and trained to
defend us. He really seemed to understand what was expected of him, and
when we lay down in the feather-bed and huddled close together under
the covers, and whispered, as the wind screamed around the corners of
the house:--
"There they are again! Don't you s'pose they'll be afraid of the fire?
Wolves always are, you know,"--and Lucy would answer:--
"Faithful Alexander will take care of us."
Alexander would prowl up and down the room and stalk around the bed,
never offering to get upon it, until we called out to one another:--
"Another morning, and we are still safe!"
Then, he would leap into Lucy's arms, and purr, and tickle her nose with
his whiskers, until she couldn't speak for laughing. She had had him
ever since he was born, and he slept on the foot of her bed at night.
While she sat in my mother's lap, he was winding himself in and out
between her feet, his tail carried aloft like a soldier's plume, and
purring almost as loudly as a watchman's rattle. My mother looked down,
presently, at him, and checked the absent-minded passes of her hand
over Lucy's hair.
"Give him some milk, Marthy," she said, smiling. "I wish you had a coat
like his, Lucy. I shouldn't be afraid then of your taking cold, or of
your going too near the fire. Marthy! to-morrow you must hunt up a
fender to put here, and see if one of your Miss Mary 'Liza's last
winter's frocks won't fit Miss Lucy. It would do very well for her to
play in. We must take good care of her while--this bad weather lasts."
I fancy she would have finished the sentence differently but for fear of
saddening the child by intimating that her mother might be ill for a
long time. She kissed Lucy in putting her down, and patted my shoulder,
telling me to "be a good girl and very kind to my cousin."
"I am glad you all are so comfortable and happy here," she added. "I
could not have you downstairs just now. Carry these things down, Marthy,
and run up every little while to see how the young ladies are getting
on. Be sure and keep up a good fire, Mary 'Liza, my dear. I trust you to
look after the other children."
When she had gone I went to the window and flattened my nose against the
glass to peer into the storm. It was a dormer-window, and the March snow
was drifted high upon the roof on both sides of it, and upon the jutting
eaves above it, until I looked out, as through a tunnel, into the
jutting tree-tops. Beyond was a mad whirl of snowflakes that hid the
nearest hills. The wind whined and scolded, and now and then arose into
a hoarse bellow. I shivered, and slipped my cold hands up the sleeves of
my stuff frock. We had circassian frocks for every day, and merino for
Sundays. Our under petticoats were of flannel, and we wore, outside of
these, quilted skirts interlined with wool. My mother had a nervous
dread of fire.
A shriek of laughter turned me to the more cheerful scene behind me.
Alexander the Great was chasing his own tail as violently as if he had
just discovered it and considered it as an offence to his dignity. Lucy
was clapping her hands to egg him on, and Mary 'Liza had sat down upon
the pile of bedding to laugh at her ease. Before leaving the room Marthy
had piled wood upon the andirons as high as she could reach up the
chimney-throat without grazing her hands in withdrawing them, as was the
rule in fire-architecture on Virginia plantations. The March wind,
finding its way through many a crack and cranny, beat at the flames
until they flared this way and that. The cat dashed dizzily across the
hearth, and Lucy, with a cry of alarm, darted forward to snatch him from
the dangerous neighborhood. She caught hold of him, and pulled him away,
and the draught whipped her skirts into the hottest heart of the fire.
It was the work of an instant. The oily dressing of the cotton fabric
may have made it the more inflammable. Rooted to the floor by horror, I
saw a column of flame flash past me to the door, and heard the piercing
wail grow fainter down the stairs.
My mother heard it in the distant room where the sick woman was sleeping
quietly, the tiny baby on her arm. Shutting the door as she came out,
the hostess flew across the house to the north wing, and met the burning
child on the stairs. Eluding her by keeping close to the wall, she
gained the upper room, saw, at one wild glance that her own little ones
were safe, tore a blanket from the bed, overtook Lucy at the stair-foot,
and smothered the flames with it.
[Illustration]