"Charley, my boy, what I feared has come to pass! Last night our new
young minister called. He is a good young man, I know, but so stiff! Not
too stiff, though, to take a good look at Rachel. We all sat up straight
in our chairs. His eyes were deep and black, his face pale and solemn.
He was all in black, but just the white about his throat. When the
weather, the prospects of the farmers, and of the church, were all over
with, then came an awful pause. _Then_ it was that I began to shiver,
and that the mischief was done. 'Mrs. Sprague.' he began, 'I understand
you have a nephew, not now at home, who taught school last winter in the
little village of Norway.' You may guess the rest. There was a long talk
about you. Rachel hasn't said a word, but I see by her face that she is
laying some desperate plan. Now, Charley, is your time! Hurry home! Come
and spend next Sunday. Aunt spoke of your coming in four weeks, but I
shall look for you next Saturday night. She gets through work earlier
then. The stage reaches here about sunset. Stop at the tavern, and run
home over the hills. You will come out behind the orchard, and Rachel
and I will be sitting on the branch of the low apple-tree."
Now I had been getting uneasy for some time. All this while I had been
living on Fanny's letters. Now I wanted more. It was much to know that
Rachel loved me, but I longed to hear her say so. I depended upon her.
She seemed already a part of myself. My shadowy pinafore-maker had
assumed a living form of beauty, and was already more to me than I had
ever imagined woman could be to man, than one soul could be to another.
I had always, in common with other men, considered myself as an oak
destined in the course of Nature to support some clinging vine; but, if
I were an oak-tree, she was another, with an infinitude more of grace
and beauty.
As may be supposed, I required no urging to take the Saturday's stage
for home. We arrived at sunset. I made for the hills with all speed,
rushing through bushes and briers, leaping brooks at a bound, until I
came out just behind the orchard. There I paused. My happiness seemed so
near that I would fain enjoy, before grasping it. I walked softly along
under the trees, until I came in sight of two girls sitting with their
arms around each other's waists upon the low branch of the apple-tree.
There was just room for two. The branch, after running parallel with the
ground for a little way, took a sudden turn upwards; and to this natural
seat I had myself, in my younger days, added a back of rough branches. I
came towards them, from behind, and hid myself awhile behind the trunk
of a tree. Fanny was making Rachel talk, making her laugh, in spite of
herself, as I could well see. Then she began to play with her dark hair,
twining it prettily about her head, and twisting among it damask roses
with their buds,--for it was June, and our damask rose-bush was then
always in full bloom.
If Rachel had been beautiful in her rusty black dress, what could I say
of her now? She wore a gown of pink gingham, made after the fashion of
the day, short-waisted and low in the neck, with a--finishing-off--of
white muslin or lace, edged with a tucker. There was color in her
cheeks, and added to this was the glow from the roses, and from the pink
gown. When she smiled, her mouth was beautiful. I had not been used to
seeing her smile. As she threw her arm over the back of the seat, in
turning her face towards Fanny, laughing as I had never before seen her
laugh, I was so bewildered by the beauty of her face and figure that I
forgot my caution, and made a hasty step towards her. The grass was
soft, but they heard the noise and turned full upon me.
"Why, Charley! you dear boy!" exclaimed Fanny; and she came running up,
throwing both arms around my neck.
I kissed her; and then she drew me towards Rachel, who stood, like one
in despair, trembling, blushing, almost weeping.
"Charley," cried Fanny, roguishly, "kiss me, kiss my friend. This is my
friend. Won't you kiss her, too?"
"With pleasure," I answered, with too much of deep feeling to laugh.
"Rachel, I always mind Fanny; you will not, then, think it strange, if
I"--
I cannot finish the sentence on paper, because it had not a grammatical
ending. I kept hold of Rachel's hand, thus adding to her
distress,--telling her, all the while, how good it was to see her, and
to see her there. She tried to withdraw her hand, tried to speak, tried
to keep silent, and at last burst out with,--
"Oh, Fanny! do tell him that I didn't know,--that I had no idea,--that
you asked me,--that you never told me!"
"Charley," said Fanny, laughing, "did you ever know me to tell a lie? To
my certain knowledge, this young woman came here to board, expecting to
find nothing worse than Aunt Huldah and myself; and it was at my
suggestion she came."