THE RISE AND FALL.
During the next week of our stay at the Fairview hotel, it grew rather
dull. There was little to do but drive on the long country roads, or
wander over the hills and in the fields and woods. I could have found
plenty of pleasure in that with Bessie and a party of congenial friends,
but it didn’t seem to be right always to leave my worthy mother-in-law
behind, with her crochet work or the last new novel from the city, on
the sunny piazza or in her dim little chamber. She was not averse to
drives, in fact enjoyed them very much, but she seemed to divine that I
did not really want her company, though I protested, as became a dutiful
son-in-law, that I should be very glad to take her at any time. She did
go with us once or twice, but the laughter and romping behavior which
gave our rides their chief zest were extinguished, and we jogged along
in the most proper manner, professing admiration for the outlines of the
hills and the far-away stretches of scenery between the more distant
mountains. We returned as quiet and demure as if we had been to a
funeral. Mrs. Pinkerton saw the effect, and with her fine feeling of
independence, she politely but firmly declined to go afterwards. As for
walking on anything but level sidewalks or gravel-paths, she could not
think of such a thing. The idea of her climbing a hill or getting
herself over a fence seemed ridiculous to anybody that knew her.
So it was that we were continually forced to leave her behind, or deny
ourselves the chief recreation of the country. I was sincerely
disinclined to slight her in any way, and desirous of contributing to
her pleasure, but what could I do? A fellow can’t get an iceberg to
enjoy tropical sunshine. Our dislike to leave the old lady alone,
although she insisted that she didn’t mind it at all, led us to pass a
large portion of each day, sometimes all day, about the house. It was
“deuced stupid,” to use Marston’s elegant phrase, but there was little
to do for it. To be sure, there was Desmond, “old Dives,” Fred called
him. He seldom went out of sight of the house, but he had a perfect
mail-bag of newspapers and letters every morning, and spent the forenoon
indoors, holding sweet communion with them and answering his
correspondents. In the afternoon he sat on the piazza by the hour,
contemplating the mountain-top that had such a fascination for him. He
had a prodigious amount of information on all manner of subjects, and a
quick and accurate judgment; but he was generally very reticent, as he
tipped back in his chair and twisted his fingers in and out of that fine
gold chain. My mother-in-law, from her shady nook of the piazza, would
glance at him occasionally from her work or her book, as much as to say,
“It is strange people can’t make some effort to be agreeable, instead of
being so stiff and dignified all the afternoon”; but he seemed
unconscious of her looks and her mental comments. His thoughts were
probably in the marts of trade.
Fred was continually going off to distant towns, or down to the great
hotels in the mountains, for livelier diversion. His wife often insisted
on going with him, to his evident disgust, not because she cared to be
in his company, but because she wanted to go to the same places and
could not well go alone. Now, Fred wasn’t a bad fellow at heart. I had
known him for years, and used to like him exceedingly. But he was left
without a father at an early age, with a considerable fortune, and his
mother was indulgent and not overwise. He got rather fast as he grew up,
and then he contracted a thoughtless marriage with Lizzie Carleton, a
handsome and stylish young lady, fond of dress and gay society, and
without a notion of domestic responsibility or duty. Like most women who
are not positively bad, she had in her heart a desire to be right, but
she didn’t know how. She was all impulse, and gave way to whims and
feelings, as if helpless in any effort to manage her own waywardness. As
a natural consequence there were constant jars between the pair. Fred
took to his clubs and mingled with men of the race-course and the
billiard halls, and Lizzie beguiled herself as best she could with her
fashionable friends.
And where was Miss Van Duzen these long and tedious days? They were
never tedious to her, for she was always on the go. She would go off
alone on interminable strolls, and bring back loads of flowers and
strange plants, and she could tell all about them too. Her knowledge of
botany was wonderful, and she could make very clever sketches; she would
sit by the hour on some lonely rock, putting picturesque scenery on
paper, just for the love of it; for when the pictures were done she
would give them away or throw them away without the least compunction.
She had a fine sense of the ludicrous and was all the time seeing funny
things, which she described in a manner quite inimitable. She had grown
up in New York, before her father’s death, in the most select of
Knickerbocker circles, but there was not a trace of aristocracy in her
ways. She was sociable with the ostler and the office-boy, and agreeable
to the neighboring farmers, talking with them with a spirit that quite
delighted them. And yet there was nothing free and easy in her ways that
encouraged undue familiarity. It was merely natural ease and good
nature. She inspired respect in everybody but my mother-in-law, who was
puzzled with her conduct, so different from her own ideas of propriety,
and yet so free from real vulgarity. Mrs. Pinkerton could by no means
approve of her, and yet she could accuse her of no offence which the
most rigid could seriously censure.
Miss Van was the life of the company when she was about, telling of her
adventures, getting up impromptu amusements in the parlor, and planning
excursions. She was the only person in the world, probably, who was
quite familiar with Mr. Desmond, and she would sit on his knee, pull his
whiskers, and call him an “awful glum old fogy,” whereat he would laugh
and say she had gayety enough for them both. He admired and loved her
for the very qualities that he lacked.
All this while I was trying to win the gracious favor of my
mother-in-law, but it was up-hill work. She would answer me with severe
politeness, and volunteer an occasional remark intended to be pleasant,
but the moment I seemed to be gaining headway, a turn at billiards with
Marston, for whom she had a great aversion, a thoughtless expression
with a flavor of profanity in it, or my cigars, which I now indulged in
without restraint, brought back her freezing air of disapproval.
“Oh, dear!” I yawned sometimes, “why can’t I go ahead and enjoy myself
without minding that very respectable and severe old woman?” But I
couldn’t do it. I was always feeling the influence of those eyes, and
even of her thoughts. I couldn’t get away from it. Sunday came, and Mrs.
Pinkerton expressed the hope that we were to attend divine service
together. I hadn’t thought of it till that moment, and then it struck me
as a terrible bore. There was no church within ten miles except a little
white, meek edifice in the neighboring village, occupied alternately by
Methodist and Baptist expounders of a very Calvinistic, and, to me, a
very unattractive sort of religion. It was not altogether to my
mother-in-law’s liking, but she regarded any church as far better than
none.
“I presume you will go, sir,” she said, addressing me when I made no
reply to the previous hint. She always used “sir,” with a peculiar
emphasis, when any suggestion was intended to have the force of a
command.
“Well, really, I had not thought about it,” I said, rather vexed, as I
secretly made up my mind, reckless of my policy of conciliation, that I
would not go at any price. A tedious, droning sermon of an hour and
perhaps an hour and a half in a country church, full of dismal
doctrines,—the sermon, not the church,—I couldn’t stand, I thought.
Mrs. Pinkerton’s eyes were upon me, waiting for a more definite answer.
“I—well, no, I don’t think I really feel like it this morning. I
thought I would read to Bessie quietly in our room, and take a rest.”
“Very well, sir,” she said, “Bessie and I will walk down to the
village.”
“The deuce you will!” I thought; “walk a mile and a half on a dusty
road; to be bored!” I knew it was useless to protest, and I was too
wilful to take back what I had said, have the team harnessed, and go,
like a good fellow, to church. “No, I’ll be blowed if I do!” I muttered.
So off went the widow and her daughter without me. Bessie tripped around
to me on the piazza, looking like a fairy in her white dress and bit of
blue ribbon, gave me a sweet kiss, and said, “I’ll be back before
dinner. Have a nice quiet time, now.”
“Oh, yes; have a nice quiet time, and you gone off with that old
dragon!” It was a wicked thought, for she was not a bit of a dragon, but
the feeling came over me that I was going to feel miserable all the
forenoon, and so I did. Miss Van and her uncle had gone early to the
neighboring town, the largest in the county, for church and the
opportunity of observing; Fred and his wife had gone, the night before,
round to the other side of the mountains, where there was to be a sort
of ball or hop at the leading hotel; and the rest of the people in the
house might as well have been in the moon, for all that I cared about
them. A nice quiet time! Oh, yes; lounging about and trying to think of
something besides Mrs. Pinkerton and my own shabby behavior. I would ten
times rather have been in the dullest country church that ever echoed to
the voice of the old and unimproved theology of Calvin’s day. But I was
in for it, and lay in the hammock and looked through the stables, tried
to read, tried to sleep, started on a walk and came back, and almost
cursed the quiet country Sunday, as specially calculated to make a man
of sense feel wretched.
At last Bessie and her mother returned, and we had dinner. In the
afternoon I was an outcast from Mrs. Pinkerton’s favor, but I had Bessie
and read to her, and, on the whole, got through the rest of the day
comfortably.
The week following I began to feel that this was getting tiresome. Under
other circumstances it might be very pleasant, but really I began to
doubt whether I was enjoying it. But I made up my mind that during these
days of leisure I ought to be making progress in the favor of my
mother-in-law, with whom I was destined to live, nobody could say how
many years. I couldn’t and wouldn’t make a martyr or a hypocrite of
myself. I wouldn’t conceal my actions or deny myself freedom. So I
smoked with Fred, played billiards, rolled ten-pins with Fred’s wife and
Miss Van, and even beguiled Bessie into that vigorous and healthful
exercise, which brought a gentle reprimand from her mother, addressed to
her but directed at me. She did not think that kind of amusement
becoming to ladies who had a proper respect for themselves.
“Why, mamma, Miss Van Duzen plays, and says she thinks it jolly fun,”
said Bessie innocently.
“That doesn’t alter the case in the least,” was the rejoinder. “Miss Van
Duzen can judge for herself. I don’t think it proper. Besides, your
husband’s familiar way with those ladies—one of whom is married and no
better than she ought to be, if appearances mean anything—does not
please me at all.”
“O mamma, how absurd! I see no harm in it at all, and poor Lizzie, I am
sure, never means any harm.”
“Well, well, my dear, I don’t wish to say anything about other people,
and I only hope you will never have occasion to see any harm in your
husband’s evident preference for the company of people with loose
notions about proper and becoming behavior.”
On Saturday of that week a little incident occurred that raised me
perceptibly in Mrs. Pinkerton’s estimation. The great, lumbering
stage-coach came up just at evening, more heavily laden than usual, and
top-heavy with trunks piled up on the roof. The driver dashed along with
his customary recklessness, the six horses breaking into a canter as
they turned to come up the rather steep acclivity to the house. The
coach was drawn about a foot from its usual rut, one of the wheels
struck a projecting stone, and over went the huge vehicle, passengers,
trunks, and all. The driver took a terrible leap and was stunned. The
horses stopped and looked calmly around on the havoc. There was great
consternation in and about the house. Here my natural self-possession
came into full play. I took command of the situation at once, directed
prompt and vigorous efforts to the extrication of the passengers, had
the injured ones taken into the house, applied proper restoratives, and
in a few minutes ascertained that only one was seriously hurt. She was a
young girl, who had insisted on riding outside, higher up even than the
driver. She had been thrown headlong, striking, fortunately, on the
grass, but terribly bruising one side of her face and dislocating her
left shoulder. In a trice I had made her as comfortable as possible;
dashed down to the village for the nearest doctor, having had the
forethought to order a team harnessed in anticipation of such a
necessity; and, having started the doctor up in a hurry, kept on to the
neighboring county town for a surgeon who had considerable local
reputation. I had him on the ground in a surprisingly short time, and
before bedtime the unfortunate girl was put in the way of recovery,
having received no internal injury.
My behavior in this affair, as I said, gave me a lift in my
mother-in-law’s estimation, and of course filled Bessie with the most
unbounded admiration, though I had never thought of the moral effect of
my action. In the morning I determined to follow up my advantage. It was
Sunday again, and I bespoke the team early, to go to the neighboring
town, where there was an Episcopal church, and where, for that day, a
distinguished divine from the city, who was spending his vacation in
those parts, was to hold forth. When I had announced my preparation for
the religious observance of the day, I actually received what was
almost a smile of approval from my mother-in-law. I enjoyed the ride,
and was not greatly bored by the service, for I was thinking of
something else most of the time, or amusing my mind with the native
congregation. We got back late to dinner, and the rest had left the
dining-room. The ladies went in without removing their bonnets, and
after dinner retired to their rooms.
As I came out on the piazza, Fred, who was walking about in a restless
way, puffing his cigar with a sort of ferocity, as though determined to
put it through as speedily as possible, shouted, “Hello! Charlie, old
boy, where the eternal furies have you been? Here I have been about this
dead, sleepy, stupid place all the morning, with nothing to do and
nobody to speak to!”
“Why, where’s Mrs. M.?”
“Lib? Oh, she’s been here, but then she was reading a ghastly stupid
novel, and wasn’t company; and she went off to the big boarding-house
down the road half a mile, to dine with a friend. I wouldn’t go to the
blasted place, and really think she didn’t want me to. But where in
thunder were you all the while?”
“At church, to be sure, with my wife and her mother.”
“Oh, yes!” was the reply, peculiarly prolonged, as if the idea never
occurred to him before. “How long since you became so pious, old man?
Didn’t suppose you knew what the inside of a church was used for. The
outside is mainly useful to put a clock on, where it can be seen. Old
Pink,—beg pardon! Mrs. Pinkerton,—I suppose, dragged you along by main
force.”
“Not at all. I went of my own motion; in fact, suggested it to the
ladies.”
“You don’t say so! Well, I see she is bringing you around. It is she
that is destined to gain the supremacy.”
“Pshaw! Is my going to church such an indication of submission? It
wouldn’t do you any harm to go to church once in a while, Fred.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” he said, taking out his cigar, and
stretching his feet to the top of the balustrade; “I don’t know about
that. I am afraid it might be the ruin of me. I might become awfully
pious, and then what a stick and a moping man of rags I should become. I
tell you, Charlie, my boy, there’s many a good fellow spoilt by too
much church and Sunday school.”
“Perhaps,” I replied, “but you and I are beyond danger.”
“Well, yes, but you can’t be too careful of yourself, you know.”
There was no answering that, and we relapsed into commonplace, and
finished our cigars.
“Where’s old Dives to-day, and his charming niece, the lively Van?”
asked Fred, after an uncommon fit of silent contemplation.
“They went over to some town thirty or forty miles away, yesterday, and
haven’t got back,” I replied.
“I tell you, that girl knows how to circumvent these stupid Sundays,
don’t she, though? And she takes old Dives along wherever she wants to
go. I believe she would take him where the other Dives went, if she was
disposed to take a trip there herself. But, holy Jerusalem! what are we
to do to get through the rest of the day. No company, no billiards, no
fishing. Confound the prejudices of society. I tell you, it is just such
women as that mother-in-law of yours that keep society intimidated, as
it were, into artificial proprieties. Now where’s the harm of a pleasant
game on a Sunday, more than sitting here and grumbling and cursing
because there’s nothing to do?”
I made no reply, and Fred lighted another cigar. He was evidently
thinking of something. “Look here, old fellow,” he said at length in an
undertone, something very unusual with him, “come up to my room. You
haven’t seen it. Lib won’t be back till teatime, and perhaps we can find
something to amuse ourselves.”
He led the way and I followed, thinking no harm. His room was up stairs
and on the back of the house, looking up the great hill that stretched
back to the clouds. As we entered, I found he had brought a good many
things with him, and given the room much the air of the quarters of a
bachelor in the city. His sleeping-room was separate from that, and
formed a sort of boudoir for his wife. He motioned me to an easy-chair,
set a box of fine cigars on the table, and going to the closet brought
out a decanter of sherry and some glasses.
“In these cursed places, you can get nothing to drink,” he said,
“unless on the sly, and I hate that; so I bring along my own beverages,
you see.”
I saw and tasted, and found it very good. He was still fumbling about
the closet, with profane ejaculations, and finally emerged with
something in his hand that I at first took for a small book. But he
unblushingly put on the table that pasteboard volume sometimes called
the Devil’s Bible. “Come,” he said, “where’s the harm? Let us have a
quiet game of Casino or California Jack, or something else. It is better
than perishing of stupidity.”
I demurred. I was not over-scrupulous, but I had sufficient of my early
breeding left to have a qualm of conscience at the thought of playing
cards on Sunday.
“Oh, nonsense!” said Fred, carelessly, as he proceeded to deal the cards
for Casino. “There, you have an ace and little Casino right before you.
Go ahead, old man!”
I made a feeble show of protesting, but took up my cards, and, finding
that I could capture the ace and little Casino, took them. From that the
play went on; I became quite absorbed, and dismissed my scruples, when,
as the sun was getting low, a shadow passed the window.
“Great Jupiter!” I exclaimed, looking up. “Does that second-story piazza
go all the way round here?”
“To be sure,” answered Fred, whose back was to the window. “Why not?
What did you see,—a spook?”
“My mother-in-law!”
“The devil!”
“No, Mrs. Pinkerton!”
“Well, what do you care? You are your own boss, I hope.”
“Yes, of course; but she will be terribly offended, and I think it would
be pleasanter for all concerned to keep in her good graces.”
“Gammon! Assert your rights, be master of yourself, and teach the old
woman her place. D—— me, if I would have a mother-in-law riding over
me, or prying around to see what I was about!”
“Oh, I am sure she passed the window by accident. She would never pry
around; it isn’t her style; she has a fine sense of propriety, has my
mother-in-law!”
“Oh, yes, old Pink is the pink of propriety, no doubt about that!” said
the rascal, laughing heartily at his heartless pun.
But I couldn’t laugh. I saw plainly enough that I had lost more than all
the ground that I had gained in my mother-in-law’s favor, and my task
would be harder than ever. I had no more desire to play cards, and
sauntered down stairs and out of doors as if nothing had happened. At
the tea-table Mrs. Pinkerton was very impressive in her manner, but
showed no direct consciousness of anything new. On the piazza, after
tea, she was uncommonly affable to her daughter, and, I thought, a
little disposed to keep Bessie from talking to me. The latter appeared
troubled somewhat, and looked at me in an anxious way, as if longing to
rush into my arms and ask me all about it and say how willingly she
forgave me; but her mother kept her within the circle of her influence,
and I sat apart, harboring unutterable thoughts and saying nothing. At
last Mrs. Pinkerton arose, and said sweetly, “I wouldn’t stay out any
later, dear, it is rather damp.”
“Stay with me, Bessie,” I said, “I want to speak to you. Your mother is
at liberty to go in whenever she pleases.” It was then she gave me a
disdainful look and swept in, and I muttered the wish regarding her
transportation to a distant clime, which brought out the gentle rebuke
with which this story opens.
I saw no prospect of enjoying a longer stay at the Fairview, unless some
burglary or terrible accident should occur to give me chance for a new
display of my heroic qualities, and even then, I thought, it would be of
no use, for I should spoil it all next day. So we determined to go home
a week earlier than we had intended. The Marstons were going to Canada
and Lake George, and wouldn’t reach home till October. Mr. Desmond and
his niece stayed a month longer where they were, and that would bring
them home about the same time. Bessie and I went home with a lack of
that buoyant bliss with which we had travelled to the mountains and
spent those first two weeks. There was no change in us, but it was all
due to my mother-in-law.