THE SOLDIERS’ AID SOCIETY.
The new-comers were at length settled in their pleasant home. The
neighbors had all called, and were received with a courtesy and
kindness which won golden opinions from every one.
Mrs. Fenton was a confirmed invalid, never leaving her apartment; but
the peace of God, which like a river flowed through her soul, filled
the room with sunshine. In early life she had been a proud, ambitious
woman, valuing wealth and social distinction above all things else, and
anxious only that her children should shine in the circles of fashion
to which she belonged. But in the midst of her career the hand of God
was laid upon her, and in the solitude of a sick-room she was forced
to think. Through the prayers and efforts of a faithful Christian
friend she was brought to look to Jesus for pardoning and healing
mercy, and after a season of deep mental anguish, during which all the
waves and billows of divine wrath seemed rolling over her, she found
refuge at last at the foot of the cross, and was enabled to say from
the heart, “I know in whom I have believed.”
For ten years since that hour she had been confined to her couch with a
hopeless disease, often racked with intense agony, yet always the same
patient, uncomplaining sufferer, always calm and happy, with a heart
full of love and pity for every form of human sorrow. By her household
she was looked upon as a guardian spirit, rather than a helpless
dependent. Every disputed question was referred to her decision, and
whatever storms invaded the domestic circle, “mother’s room” was
always a place of refuge, which seemed to her children the dearest spot
on earth.
Elinor Fenton the daughter was a delicate, graceful girl, inheriting
her mother’s gentleness and refinement, but with the shadow of a deep
sorrow always visible on her sweet face. That there was a son we knew,
but nothing was ever said of him, and we could easily believe that his
desertion of the Union cause, the uncertainty of her father’s fate, and
the illness of her mother, must exert a depressing influence on one so
young, even before we heard the saddest part of her story. The wealth
of her affections had been bestowed on one who seemed fully worthy of
them, but when the day of trial came he was found wanting. He was one
of the first to enter the rebel army, and his influence over young
Fenton had led the latter to adopt the same course. Thus doubly bereft
of lover and brother, the young girl devoted herself to her suffering
mother; but her heart was open as the day “to melting charity,” and
none ever appealed to her in vain for sympathy or relief.
When I first went to the house, I saw only Mrs. Fenton and Elinor,
but my interest in both was so much excited that the call was soon
repeated, and on my second visit Mrs. Fenton said to her daughter,
“Elinor, where is your cousin? Go, my love, and tell Lilian I wish to
see her here.”
Elinor left the room, and soon returned, accompanied by a young girl
whom she introduced as Miss Grey, and in whom I recognized the original
of the pleasing portrait I had seen. She was indeed most attractive in
face and person; bright, sparkling, and intellectual, with a world
of thought and feeling in her full hazel eye, shaded by long silken
lashes, and an equal amount of firmness and energy indicated by the
finely moulded mouth and chin.
After paying her respects to me as a stranger, she seated herself on
an ottoman by the side of the couch, and taking one thin, white hand
of the invalid, laid her cheek on it in a caressing way, which was
evidently the expression of a tender and loving nature.
“And what has my Lilian been about all the morning,” said Mrs. Fenton,
“that I have seen nothing of her before?”
“Oh, dear aunt, I have been very busy, I assure you. Venus wanted me in
the kitchen a while, for she was afraid her preserves were in danger
of spoiling. Then I gave little Pete his daily lesson; and last, not
least, had to prepare some work to take to the society to-morrow.”
“Then you are going to our meeting?” I said; “I am very glad to hear
that, for somehow I feared we should not have the pleasure of seeing
you young ladies there.”
“You do not know our Lilian,” said her aunt fondly, “or you would
have no doubts on such a subject. She is a perfect enthusiast in the
Union cause, and I am afraid she has almost wished herself capable of
bearing arms in its defence. However that may be, she honors a soldier
with all her heart, and would gladly devote herself in any way to do
him good. As for my Elinor,” she added, turning with a smile to her
daughter, “she is no less loyal than her cousin, though not quite so
demonstrative naturally, and tied to a sick mother who can hardly live
without her. But you will see them both to-morrow, for the cause is
dear to us all.”
When I left the house, Lilian Grey accompanied me to the door, and
taking my hand, said with a frankness that was very captivating,
“Mrs. Glenn, my aunt has taken a great fancy to you; and if there were
no other reason, we should love you for that. Now I want to ask as
a great favor, that you will take Elinor and myself under your wing
to-morrow, for we cannot help dreading the battery of eyes and tongues
that we must encounter. I dare say you are no worse here than other
people, and perhaps a great deal better, but as Venus says, ‘There’s
no accounting for human nature,’ and strangers usually have to run the
gauntlet in order to gain the freedom of any country town.”
I kissed the fair cheek that was glowing like a rose, and promised my
best services on the morrow.
There was a very full meeting of the Soldiers’ Aid Society, for it was
hoped that the strangers would attend, and all were anxious to meet
them. I went early, and found Mrs. Ryder, our president, and Miss Letty
Brown busied in cutting and fitting garments; while in the two rooms
needles and tongues were equally active.
It was not long before Miss Fenton and her cousin came in, for they
had none of that petty pride which leads its possessor to despise
punctuality as a vulgar virtue. They were both more plainly dressed
than most of the young ladies present; but though simple and unaffected
in manner, there was an innate dignity and refinement about them which
effectually repelled impertinence, and disappointed a few who were
prepared, in their own elegant phraseology, “to find out all about
them.” There was one woman, however, who was not to be foiled in this
determination.
Mrs. Flint was the widow of a worthy man, who is said to have been
worried out of existence by his disconsolate partner, and none who knew
her could question the probability of such a catastrophe. Her manner
was always deprecating; her step, true to her nature, was soft and
stealthy, and her voice carefully modulated to express only amiability;
but there was a rigidity about the thin lips and a sharp glitter in the
cold blue eye which told quite another story.
Greatly to the annoyance of our good pastor and his wife, Mrs. Flint
arrogated to herself the office of adviser in all matters relating to
the church; and as she could talk fluently, and call up tears from some
hidden fountain on all proper occasions, some ignorant people looked
on her as quite a saint, while those who knew her best regarded her
as a scheming, dangerous woman, the female counterpart of Bunyan’s
Talkative. She had exerted herself to the utmost to get the management
of the Society, and especially of its funds, into her own hands;
and failing in this, had left us in disgust, and for months had not
attended our meetings, until brought out by curiosity on the present
occasion.
Mabel Ryder had drawn Elinor away into a circle of young ladies; but
Lilian, who had been consulting Miss Letty about her work, was sitting
alone, and to her Mrs. Flint cautiously made her way. After a few
commonplace remarks, she said in her softest tone, “I am very happy to
see you here, of course, but I hardly expected that you Southerners
would be willing to help us fight against your own brethren.”
“I don’t know,” was the spirited reply, “whom you mean by my brethren.
I am an American, and love my whole country and the dear old flag
better than my life. There is as much Northern blood in my veins as
Southern, and if it were not so, I should feel just as I do now. No one
could be any thing to me who wished to break up and destroy the best
government ever formed by man. I never see a soldier who has fought for
his country without feeling as if I wished to speak to him as a friend;
and I count it an honor to do any thing, no matter how humble, that can
add to his comfort.”
The dark eyes flashed and the red lips trembled with the earnestness of
her feelings; and any one but Mrs. Flint would have retired from the
field; but she only answered with perfect coolness,
“I admire your patriotism, but when we think what a terrible thing war
is, and how many precious lives are thrown away, we cannot help being
willing to do any thing for peace.”
“I do not consider war as the worst of all evils,” replied Lilian,
“dreadful as it is. There are times in the history of all nations, when
liberty can only be preserved by fighting for it, and I believe God
hates a guilty peace, even more than the desolations of war. Storms
are very useful and salutary things,” she added with a smile, “though
they often make sad havoc of property and life. None can mourn more
than I do the loss of the glorious dead, who have fallen in the cause
of freedom; but it is far better to die so than to live cowards or
traitors.”
Clearly there was nothing to be made out of Lilian Grey, and Mrs.
Flint looked about for Elinor; but Mabel Ryder was on her guard, and
gave no opportunity for an attack in that direction. So our Beach Hill
diplomat was silent for a time, but during the afternoon I heard her in
discussion with Miss Letty on some subject which seemed to interest
the latter very deeply. I only caught the conclusion of Mrs. Flint’s
remarks. “Such things seem to me very singular, to say the least.”
“Well, I’m very thankful that I haven’t the faculty of seeing singular
things that some folks seem to have. I always thought that this was
a land of liberty, and that men could go into the army and fight, or
stay at home and help others to go, just as they thought right, without
being called to an account for it. Mr. Lester is able to take care of
himself, and doesn’t need my help; but I hate this mousing round after
characters, just as if they were bits of cheese.”
“But you must acknowledge,” answered the purring voice again, “that
there’s a mystery about this young man, and that is always against any
one.”
“Fiddlesticks on your mystery. I sha’n’t acknowledge any such thing.
In the first place, I don’t call every thing a mystery that I can’t
see through; for if I did, there’d be no end of mysteries, seeing I
can understand but very little. In the next place, supposing there
is a mystery, it may be a good one; for I suppose there can be good
mysteries as well as bad ones in this world.”
“I have been told on very good authority,” persisted Mrs. Flint, “that
Mr. Lester has been much at the South, and he may have his own private
reasons for not wishing to fight the rebels.”
“And if he has,” replied Miss Letty, “I dare say they are honorable
ones, and if they satisfy him, I don’t see what business ’tis of ours.
When I get a person marked down in my book as pure gold, I a’n’t always
going over them with a magnifying-glass to see if I can’t find a flaw
somewhere. If there are things about them I don’t understand, I take
it for granted they’re of a piece with those that I do understand, and
so it never troubles me a bit.”
“I know he is a great favorite of yours, and you can’t see any faults
in him; but for my part, I never had clear evidence of his being a
Christian.”
“And pray, what kind of evidence do you want?” inquired Miss Letty,
with more asperity of tone than I had ever heard from her before. “If
humbly trusting in Christ, feeding the hungry, clothing the naked,
and taking care of widows and orphans, isn’t religion, what is? Mr.
Lester is always on hand when any thing good is going forward in the
church, though he doesn’t pray at the corners of the streets, like the
Pharisees, nor say to everybody, by his looks and actions, ‘See how
good I am.’ I think though, that he follows his Master a great deal
nearer than some who try to make out that their little tallow dip is a
splendid Drummond light. But bless me, Mrs. Flint, you’re sewing that
sleeve in wrong-side out. It wont do to talk about our neighbors and
sew for the soldiers at the same time.”
With this home-thrust Miss Letty left the room, while we all inwardly
rejoiced that Mrs. Flint had been silenced by one whom she regarded as
so greatly her inferior.
After tea all work was laid aside, and the gentlemen one after another
came in, until the rooms were filled, and the evening was spent in
social enjoyment. It was remarked by all that Robert Lester and Miss
Grey did not meet as strangers, though there was evident constraint in
the manner of both. Lilian changed color, and seemed about to retreat
when he approached her; and on his part, though remarkable for his
power of self-control, there was something in his appearance none
had ever seen before. They had evidently known each other previously,
and met now on a different footing from that of mere acquaintance.
A dozen pair of eyes were upon them, and the situation was becoming
embarrassing enough, when Elinor Fenton came to the rescue of her
cousin, and entering into conversation with Mr. Lester, drew attention
from Lilian, who took refuge among a group of young persons surrounding
the piano.
When the company were about to separate, I chanced to be in the
dressing-room, when as Lilian entered the hall I heard Mr. Lester say
to her,
“Lilian, will you not allow me to accompany you home?”
“Certainly not,” was the hasty reply; “my aunt has sent the carriage
for us, and I prefer riding with Elinor.”
“Permit me at least to see you to the carriage,” he said almost humbly,
and I felt hurt at her cold rejection of his offer.
“There is no necessity for it,” she said. “Pete is here, and he is
accustomed to the duty.”
What could this mean? Of all the young men I had ever known, I should
have selected Robert Lester as the one best fitted to win the heart
of such a young lady as Lilian; yet she shunned him and repelled his
attentions. My thoughts were painfully occupied with the subject as
I returned home, and in my dreams that night the two were strangely
blended, though always with some invisible barrier between them, which
I sought in vain to discover and remove.