LEAH MORDECAI. A NOVEL.
BY MRS. BELLE KENDRICK ABBOTT.
NEW YORK:
1856.
TO MY BELOVED UNCLE,
THE REV. J. RYLAND KENDRICK, D.D.,
WHOSE HOSPITABLE HOME I ONCE SPENT MANY HAPPY
DAYS--DAYS MADE FOR EVER BRIGHT BY THE LOVE
OF HIS GREAT HEART, LOVE THAT FLOWED LIKE
A PURE STREAM FROM A CRYSTAL FOUNTAIN,
ABOUND AND ABOUT MY YOUNG LIFE--
THIS BOOK IS MOST TENDERLY
INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR.
ATLANTA, GA, November, 1875.
LEAH MORDECAI.
CHAPTER I.
THE giant clock on the wall in the assembly-room of Madam Truxton's
fashionable school had marked the hour for dismission.
Groups of restless, anxious pupils stood about the apartment, or
were gathered at the windows, watching the rain that had been
falling in copious showers since morning. All were eager to go, yet
none dared brave the storm.
Under the stone archway of the entrance to the assembly-hall, a
group of four maidens stood chatting, apart from the rest, watching
the rain, and impatient for its cessation.
"I know my father will either send my brother, or come for me
himself," said Helen Le Grande, "so I need not fear the rain." Then,
turning to the soft-eyed Jewess who stood by her side, she added,
"When the carriage comes, Leah, you can take a seat with me. I'll
see that you are safely deposited at home."
"Thank you, Helen, but it won't hurt me to walk. Nothing hurts
me--Leah Mordecai the despised." Then, averting her face, the young
girl gazed abstractedly into the street, and began humming in a low
tone.
To these words of the young Jewess there was no reply. A certain
sort of emphasis in her utterance seemed to forbid any inquiry, and
silence any word of censure that might arise to the lips of her
companions.
"How mean of me, not to offer a seat in the carriage to Lizzie
Heartwell, too," thought Helen after a moment's reflection; "but I
dared not, on account of my brother, who has so repeatedly urged me
to make equals only of the rich. He little knows how I love Lizzie
Heartwell, and whether she be rich or poor I know not, neither do I
care."
"I say, girls," at length broke the silence, as the fourth member of
the group, Bertha Levy, a Jewess too, spoke out, "think how stupid I
am. Mamma has promised me a small tea-party to-morrow night, and
this wretched rain had well-nigh caused me to forget it; but, thank
fortune, it's giving way a little, and maybe we shall all get home
after awhile. I'm desperately hungry! Of course, you will all
promise me to come, and I shall expect you." Then, turning to Helen,
she said, "Won't you?"
Helen assented.
"And you, Leah?"
"I will if I can. I am never sure of my movements, however."
"And you, dear Lizzie?"
"With the permission of my uncle and aunt; at any rate, I thank you
for your kindness."
"Well, I shall expect you every one, and--"
"There comes the carriage," shouted Helen, as the liveried coach of
the wealthy judge rolled round the corner, and drove up in front of
the spacious school-building. "I knew my father would not forget
me--yes, there is my brother."
The horses, thoroughly wet, looked dark and sleek as greyhounds, as
they stood impatiently stamping the paving-stones, while a visible
cloud of vapor rose from each distended nostril.
The coach door opened, and Emile Le Grande, with handsome, manly
figure clad in a gray military suit, and equally handsome face,
stepped out, and approached the group so impatiently watching the
progress of the storm.
"Good morning, Miss Mordecai; I am happy that we meet again," said
the gentleman, politely bowing.
"Thank you, sir; but your presence rather surprises us," replied
Leah.
"I trust, though, I am not an unwelcome intruder upon this fair
group?"
"Allow me to remind you, my brother, that my friends, Miss Heartwell
and Miss Levy, are also present," said Helen rather reproachfully.
Emile acknowledged the reproof and the courtesy with an apology and
a smile, and then added, "To Miss Mordecai's charms I owe the breach
of politeness."
Leah's face flushed crimson, and her eye sparkled more brightly than
ever at these flattering words of the young cadet; but she made no
reply.
"Come, Helen, let's go," at length said the brother. "The horses are
impatient. C‘sar is wet, and I guess you are tired, too." Then,
turning to Leah, he continued, "Miss Mordecai, will you honor us
with your company till we reach your father's house, where I pledge
myself to deposit you safely?"
"Oh! yes, Leah will go; I have already asked her," said Helen. Then,
after a moment's preparation, the two young friends stepped into the
carriage.
"Good-by again, girls," said Bertha Levy gayly, as the coach door
closed; "riding is rather better than walking, such a day as this.
Remember to-morrow night." Then, with a dash, the carriage was out
of sight.
"Well, Lizzie," resumed Bertha, smiling significantly, for she could
not but observe Helen's manifest preference in offering Leah a seat
with her, "we need not stand here any longer. I see that the rain,
out of consideration for us, is about to cease, and I don't think
any coach is coming for me. Do you expect one?"
To this characteristic remark, Lizzie Heartwell replied smilingly,
"I guess, Bertha, with umbrellas, overshoes, and care, we can reach
home without serious damage."
"But care is not a coach, you know, my friend, no matter how we turn
it," said Bertha laughingly, as she donned the wrapping and
overshoes. "I am as hungry as a wolf, and I fear mamma will let that
young brother of mine eat all my dinner, if I am too slow in getting
there. Boys are perfect cormorants, anyhow. Come, let's go at once."
The two girls stepped out into the slippery street, and turned their
faces homeward. "I am glad, Lizzie," continued Bertha, as they
turned corner after corner, "that our paths run together so far;
having company is so much better than being alone this forlorn
afternoon. And remember, I desire to know the answer to my
invitation as early as possible. To-morrow is my brother Isaac's
confirmation day, and we must all be promptly at the synagogue at
nine o'clock."
"You shall know to-night, Bertha, and I will be with you, if
possible. But here, before we part, let's stop and buy some bananas
of old Maum Cinda. She is always so grateful for a fivepence dropped
by a school-girl."
By this time the two girls were standing in front of the well-known
fruit-stall of the old blind colored woman known far and near
through the Queen City as "Maum Cinda." For years, hers had been the
important market for supplying the school-children with luscious
fruits, unimpeachable taffy, and ground-pea candy.
"An' bless de Lord, is it Miss Lizzie?" said the good-natured woman,
as the sound of Lizzie Heartwell's voice fell upon her ear in the
kindly spoken salutation.
"An' w'at will you have to-day, chile?"
"Some bananas, Maum Cinda--two for me, and two for my friend here,
Miss Bertha Levy."
"Oh! yes, Miss Bertha," replied the woman, courtesying, "an' maybe I
have seen Miss Bertha, but it's the sweet voice of Miss Lizzie that
the old blind woman remembers"--handing the bananas across the wide
board that protected her tempting wares from public incursions.
"You flatter me, Maum Cinda; but I hope the rainy day has not
interfered much with your trade. Here"--and extending her slender
white hand, Lizzie dropped the jingling pennies into the aged,
wrinkled one that opened to receive them.
"God bless you, chile. You neber forget His poor ones, de blind. God
bless you!"
"Good morning, Maum Cinda."
"Good-by, young ladies, good-by." And the last glimpse the two
receding friends had of the old woman, she was still profoundly
bowing and courtesying in acknowledgment of their remembrance.
Then the friends parted for the day, each one taking the most direct
course to her home, and soon both were safely sheltered from the
drizzling rain and chilling wind.