IN CYNTHIANA.
*--------------------------------------------*
| GEORGE P. STORMS & CO., |
| |
| DEALERS IN |
| |
| DRY GOODS, GROCERIES & PROVISIONS. |
*--------------------------------------------*
That was the sign which our travellers saw after landing at the station
in the little town of Cynthiana. Magdalen was the first to see it, and
the first to enter a low room where a young man of twenty-five or more
was weighing a codfish for a negress with a blue turban bound around her
head.
Magdalen was taking the lead in all things, and Mr. Grey and Guy let
her, and smiled at her enthusiasm and the effect she produced upon the
young man. He was not prepared for this apparition of beauty in so
striking contrast to old Hannah and her codfish, and he blushed and
stammered in his reply to her question as to whether “Mrs. James Storms
was a relative of his, and lived near them.”
“She is my mother, and lives just down the street. Did you wish to see
her?” he said, and Magdalen replied:
“Yes; that is, if she is the Mrs. Storms I am after. Is she a church
woman, and has she ever been in Cincinnati?”
“She is a church woman, and has been in Cincinnati,” the young man said,
and then he followed Magdalen to the door and pointed a second time to
his mother’s house, and stood watching her as she sped like a deer along
the muddy street, leaving Mr. Grey and Guy very far behind her.
A very respectable-looking woman answered Magdalen’s knock, and inviting
her to enter, stood waiting for Mr. Grey and Guy, who had just reached
the gate.
It was Magdalen who did most of the talking,—Magdalen who, without
taking the chair offered her, broke out impetuously, “Are you Mrs. James
Storms, and did you years ago,—say nineteen or twenty—know a Mrs.
Clayton, in Cincinnati, and her daughter, Mrs. Grey,—Laura they called
her?”
The woman, who seemed to be naturally a lady, cast a wondering glance at
Magdalen, and replied:
“I am Mrs. Storms, and I knew Laura Clayton, or rather Mrs. Grey. Are
you her daughter? You look like her as I remember her.”
Magdalen did not answer this question, but went on vehemently:
“Were you much with Mrs. Grey, and can you tell me anything about her
starting for her home in New York, and if she had a baby then, and how
old it was, and what dress did it wear? Try to remember, please, and
tell me if you can.”
Mrs. Storms was wholly bewildered with all these interrogatories of a
past she had not recalled in years, and looked inquiringly at Mr. Grey,
who was standing by Magdalen, and who said with a smile:
“Not quite so fast. You confuse the woman with your rapid questions. Ask
her one at a time; or perhaps it will be better for me to explain a
little first.”
Then as briefly as possible he repeated what he thought necessary for
Mrs. Storms to know of the business which had brought them there, and
asked if she could help them any.
For a moment Mrs. Storms was too much surprised to speak, and stood
staring, first at Magdalen and then at Mr. Grey, in a dazed, helpless
kind of way.
“Lost her baby,—the little child I stood for! Didn’t have it when she
got home, nor her baggage either! it takes my breath away! Of course she
was crazy. I can see it now, though I did not suspect it then. I only
thought her queer at times.”
“Yes, but tell us; begin at the beginning,” Magdalen exclaimed, too
impatient to wait any longer. And thus entreated, Mrs. Storms began:
“I knew Mrs. Clayton in New Orleans, before she moved to Cincinnati, or
I was married and came here. I had seen Laura when a little girl, but
did not know much of her until she came home after her marriage. Then I
saw her every time I was at her mother’s, which was quite often,
considering the distance between here and Cincinnati, and the tedious
way we had then of getting there by stage. My husband, who is dead now,
and myself were sponsors for her baby, whom she called Magdalen.”
“Was there _one_ or _two_ children? Tell me that first, please,”
Magdalen said, and when Mrs. Storms replied, “She had _two_, but one
died before it was christened,” she gave a sudden scream, and staggered
a step towards Mr. Grey, who, almost as white and weak as herself, laid
his hand with a convulsive grasp upon her shoulder and said, “Two
children! twins! and I never knew it!”
“Never knew it!” Mrs. Storms repeated. “I wrote it to you myself the day
after they were born. I happened to be there, and Laura asked me to
write and tell you, and I did, and directed my letter to Rome.”
“I never received it, which is not strange, as I journeyed so much from
place to place and had my mail sent after me,” Mr. Grey rejoined, and
Mrs. Storms continued, “I remember now that after my letter was sent
Laura grew worse,—crazy like, we thought, and seemed sorry I had
written, and said the Greys did not like children and would take her
babies from her, and when the little sickly one died she did not seem to
feel so very badly and said it was safe from the Greys. She was always
queer on that subject, though she never said a word against her husband.
She had plenty of money, and, I supposed, was going back to Beechwood as
soon as you returned. I was not with her when Mrs. Clayton died; it was
sudden,—very, and I only went to the funeral. Laura told me, then, she
was going home, but said she wished first to visit me. I consented, of
course, though I wondered that she did not go at once. She came to me
after the funeral, and stayed some time with her child, and appeared
very sad and depressed, and cried a great deal at times, and then,
again, was wild, and gay, and queer.”
“But the child,—the little girl—How did she look?” Magdalen asked.
And Mrs. Storms replied:
“She was very healthy and fat; a pretty creature, with dark eyes, like
her mother’s, and dark hair too. A beautiful baby I called her, who
might easily grow to be just like you, miss.”
She was complimenting Magdalen, whose face flushed a little as she
asked:
“Do you remember what the child wore when she went away? Would you know
the dress if you saw it?”
Mrs. Storms hardly thought she would. Mrs. Grey was in mourning, but
about the baby she did not know.
“Was the dress like this?” Magdalen asked, taking from her satchel the
dress she had worn to Millbank, and the one found in Laura’s bag.
Mrs. Storms looked at them a moment, and then a sudden gleam of
intelligence broke over her face as she exclaimed:
“I do remember them perfectly now. I made them myself for Mrs. Grey.”
“And you are left-handed?” interrupted Magdalen.
“Yes, I am left-handed. You knew that by the hems? You would make a
capital lawyer,” Mrs. Storms said, laughingly. Then, excusing herself a
moment, she left the room, but soon returned, bringing a patch-work
quilt, made from bits of delaine.
Conspicuous among these were blocks of the same material as the two
spotted dresses. To these blocks Mrs. Storms called Magdalen’s
attention.
“I had a baby then, a boy, Charlie, he is dead now, and these are pieces
of the dress Mrs. Grey gave to him. She bought enough for him and her
baby, too, and I made them both and then found there was still material
for another, provided the sleeves were short and the neck low. So I made
that at the very last, and as Laura’s trunk was full she put it in her
satchel.”
Mr. Grey’s hand deepened its grasp on one whom he now knew to be his
child beyond a doubt, and who said to Mrs. Storms:
“Did she go from here alone to Cincinnati, and about what time?”
“It was in April, and must have been nineteen years ago. I know by
Charlie’s age. I had hurt my ankle and Mr. Storms was going with her,
but at the last something happened, I don’t remember what, and he did
not go. She said a great many harsh things about her mother-in-law and
sister, and about their taking her baby from her, and the night before
she went was more excited than I ever saw her, but I did not think her
crazy. There was no railroad then, and she went by stage, and from
Cincinnati sent me a note that she was safely there and about to start
for the East. I wondered a little she never wrote to me, but fancied she
was with her grand friends and in her handsome house and had forgotten
poor folks like us, and I would not write first. Then I had a great deal
of trouble pretty soon.
“Charlie died, and Mr. Storms’ lungs gave out, and I went to Florida
with him and buried him there, and after six years came back to
Cynthiana. So you see there was a good deal of one thing and another to
put Laura out of my mind.”
Many more questions were asked and explanations and suggestions made
until it was preposterous for Magdalen to require more testimony. She
_was_ Mr. Grey’s daughter,—she believed it now, and her heart throbbed
with ecstasy when she remembered Alice, whom she already loved so much.
There was also a feeling of unutterable tenderness and pity for the poor
crazy woman who had suddenly come up in the capacity of her mother. She
could, aye, she did love her, all wrecked and shattered and imbecile as
she was; but she could not so soon respond to the affection which showed
itself in every lineament of Mr. Grey’s face and thrilled in the tone of
his voice as he wound his arm around her neck, and drawing her closely
to him said, with deep emotion:
“Magdalen, my daughter, my darling child! Heaven has been better to me
than I deserved.”
He stooped and kissed her lips, but she did not give him back any
answering caress, except as she suffered him to hold her in his embrace.
He felt the coldness of her manner, and it affected him deeply, but
there was no opportunity then for any words upon the subject. The train
was coming which would take them to Cincinnati, and so after a little
further conversation with Mrs. Storms, whom Mr. Grey resolved to
remember in some substantial form, they bade her good-by and were soon
on their way to the city.