UNCLE AND NEPHEW
While they were so occupied Mr. Cleve had closed the parlor door,
shutting himself in with his nephew for a long talk over their past and
present lives and future arrangements—though the earthly future of the
aged man would necessarily be very brief.
The old gentleman wished rather to hear than to talk, and so he only
briefly reverted to the main events of his own life—his early
disappointment in love when his betrothed bride was taken ill and died a
few days before their intended marriage, and was buried in her bridal
dress on her wedding day.
“Yet, no; she was not buried, only her left-off body was buried. She
lived! Oh! how vividly! how blessedly! how potently she lives! And I
shall soon see her again! After seventy years, my boy! after seventy
years! But what are they, in view of the life everlasting?” said the
aged man in conclusion of this reminiscence.
Cleve Stuart made no reply, but pressed his uncle’s hand in reverential
silence.
Then the old man spoke of the nephews who had borne his own name and
expected to inherit his estate, but who had both died, unmarried, of
wounds received in battle. Then he spoke of his long, vain search of his
niece’s son, Cleve Stuart, and of the chance by which he found him.
“And now, my boy, that I have found you, let me say that I find you all
that I could wish, and your young wife—charming! But tell me about her,
Cleve. Who is she?” he inquired.
“Palma is the daughter of the late James Jordan Hay and the
granddaughter of the late John Hayward Hay, of Haymore, in the North
Biding of Yorkshire, England,” replied Stuart.
“Why—indeed! I knew the old squire. When I went to Europe in my young
manhood I reached England in the autumn, and through a letter of
introduction got an invitation to Mr. Storr’s, of Hoxton, where I stayed
for the Melton hunts and met Mr. Hay, of Haymore. Yes, the Hays, of
Haymore, are an ancient, historical, almost, I might say, an illustrious
family. I congratulate you, my boy, but more on the personal merit of
your young wife than on her family connections. Who represents the house
now at Haymore? Which of the three lads I found there?”
Stuart, as briefly as possible, gave him the later family history.
“What a fatality! All these fine boys to pass away in early manhood! And
the son of Cuthbert, the second brother, you say, inherits the manor. I
remember Cuthbert well. He was intended for the church. They called him
Cuddie. Now, tell me how you came to meet Palma. She was the daughter of
the youngest brother, James, you say.”
“Yes; and after the death of her parents she was adopted by Judge and
Mrs. Barrn, who were my guardians. I met Palma in their house when I
first went there to live, and so knew her from her infancy up. I won her
pure affection then, and never afterward lost it, thank Heaven.”
“An excellent knowledge and a blessed beginning. Now, tell me how it was
you lost your Mississippi plantation.”
“I have not lost it. It is legally mine, but of no more use to me than
would be so many acres of waste land in the Sahara. The land is, indeed,
a desert, and the buildings a mass of charred ruins.”
“Through the war?”
“Yes, of course. Mansion house, stables, barns, mills, negroes’ quarters
fired and burned to the ground; stock all driven off; negroes
conscripted. The place is a ruin and a wilderness; it would take many
thousand dollars to reclaim it.”
The old man sighed, but made no reply.
Then Stuart told him frankly of the desperate straits to which he had
been reduced at the time when his uncle’s letter came to him so
opportunely.
Mr. Cleve was shocked.
“If I had known! If I had only known!” he said.
But in all his narrative Stuart never mentioned the name or existence of
either Lamia Leegh or Gentleman Geff. It was bad enough, he thought, to
trouble the old gentleman’s calm spirit with the tale of want; but it
would have been far worse to have darkened and depressed it with the
story of falsehood and treachery.
The early dinner bell brought the family together, and around the table
were only happy faces. All the painful past was for the time forgotten.
The afternoon was beautiful.
The large old sleigh was brushed out, lined with buffalo skins and
blankets, and brought around to the front door by two swift horses. And
the four—Mr. Cleve, Mrs. Pole, Stuart and Palma—took a ride; the first
pair seated on the back seat, the second on the front seat, and Josias,
the coachman, on the box.
They took the road that skirted the base of the mountains, on the
inside, and went in a circle around the plantation. On this road, under
the shelter of the mountains, stood the negroes’ quarters—log huts,
large and small, from one room to two, three or even four, according to
the necessities of the occupants. The men and boys were all away at such
farm work as the season permitted, and the women were engaged in
washing, ironing, cooking, or carding and spinning wool. Their open
doors showed their occupations, and showed also the bright pine wood
fires that so warmed their huts as to permit these open doors.
The sleigh passed too swiftly for the party in it to return half the
nods and smiles with which their passage was greeted.
“Uncle,” said Palma, “you appear to me like a patriarch of old living
among his tribe.”
“Yes, dear child, with this exception—the patriarchs were men of large
families, with many sons and daughters, and sons-in-law and
daughters-in-law, and innumerable grandchildren and great-grandchildren
to the third and fourth generation, to rise up and call them blessed.
And I—have none.”
“Oh! uncle, dear, you have us. We love you; indeed, we do. And we will
serve you as tenderly and devotedly as any children could.”
“I know it, my dear; I know it. And I thank the Lord for sending you to
me.”
“And I thank the Lord that you let us come. And, oh! uncle, I wish we
could multiply ourselves into a tribe of many generations to serve and
bless you.”
“All in good time, my little love; all in good time,” said the old man
with a twinkle in his glowing brown eyes.
The three miles’ circuit of the road was completed, and they reached the
house just as the winter sun was winking out of sight behind the western
peak.
“The first day the ground will admit of walking I shall go on foot to
make the acquaintance of all your interesting people, Uncle Cleve. I
liked the glimpses I got of them as we flew by,” said Palma as she gave
her hand to her husband and sprang out of the sleigh.
“Yes, my child, so you shall,” replied the old man as he in his turn
alighted with the assistance of both Stuart and Palma. “So you shall, my
dear. And there are some few neighbors and some distant relatives of
ours with whom you must soon make acquaintance.”
“Who are they, uncle, dear?” inquired Palma as she entered the house on
the old man’s arm, followed by Stuart and Mrs. Pole, while ’Sias drove
the sleigh around to the stables.
“I will tell you presently, dear,” replied Mr. Cleve.
In the hall Palma laid off her fur cloak and hood and gave them to Hatty
to take upstairs. Stuart helped his uncle off with his overcoat and
muffler.
When they had all returned to the oak parlor, where the great fire had
been replenished, and were seated around the hearth enjoying the glow,
and while Polly was passing in and out setting the tea table, Mr. Cleve
said:
“We have no very near relations left in this world. We who sit here are
the nearest of kin to each other. Still, you know, Virginians are as
clannish as highlanders.”
“Yes, indeed. I remember that much of my beloved mother. No matter how
distant the relationship or how humble or even unworthy the individual,
my dear mother always held sacred the claims of kindred. My poor father,
who was not so clannish, used to laugh at her a little and ask:
“‘Why do you not take in all the human race at once, since all are Sons
and daughters of our first parents, and brothers and sisters of
ourselves?’”
“Well, he was right,” commented the old man.
“But excuse me for interrupting you, uncle. You were speaking of our
kindred in this country, and we are anxious to hear of them.”
“Well, my boy, there are the Gordons, of Gordondell; they are our third
cousins, and live about seven miles south of this on the Staunton road.
They are a large family of three generations, living in one house; but
they are all Gordons. Then there are the Bells, of the Elms; only two, a
bachelor brother and maiden sister, living on their little place just
beyond Wolfswalk. And the Clydes, my dears, who live in the village, and
keep a general store. There is a young father and mother and half a
dozen children. That is all. They are all more or less injured by the
war, and are poor, and—some of them—somewhat embittered by their losses;
but they are our kindred, and we must have them all here to meet you in
the coming Christmas holidays.”
“Tea is on the table, ma’am,” said Polly.
And the party left the fireside and gathered around the table.
The sleigh ride had given them all fine appetites, and they enjoyed
their repast.
After it was over, and the evening worship was offered up, the little
family separated and retired to rest.
And so ended the first day at Wolfscliff; the first, also, of many happy
days.
The cousins did not wait to be invited. The news of the new arrival at
the Hall was soon spread through the neighborhood by the negroes, and
neighbors and relatives lost no time in calling on the young pair.
And yet these were not so truly calls as visits, for when any one came
to the house they arrived in the morning to stay all day and take dinner
and tea. They expected this, and it was also expected of them.
The very first to come were the Gordons, who arrived early in the
morning a few days before Christmas. They came in a big ox cart, and
filled it. There was old Mr. and Mrs. Gordon, an ancient couple nearly
ninety years of age, bowed, shriveled and white-haired, yet, withal,
right merry; and their bachelor brother and maiden sister, Mr. Tommy and
Miss Nancy Gordon, as aged and as merry as themselves; then there was
the son and daughter, Col. and Mrs. George Gordon, both stout, rosy and
full of the enjoyment of this life, and their middle-aged bachelor
brother and maiden sister, Mr. Henry and Miss Rebecca Gordon. And there
were seven young men and three young women between the ages of fifteen
and twenty-seven. But, really, it would take up too much time and space
to tell you all their names and ages and characters. They were a happy,
rollicking set of young people.
They had not been much hurt either in mind, body or estate by the war,
and were neither depressed nor embittered.
Then came the two old folks from the Elms. And, finally, the Clydes,
from the village.
And besides these, neighbors came; old families who had been in the
land, as the Cleves had, from the first settlement by the English—the
Hills, the Ords, and the Balls—all of whom lived within ten miles of
Wolfscliff.
And all of these kinsfolks and neighbors were warmly welcomed at
Wolfscliff, and well liked by Cleve and Palma.
Christmas brought its usual festivities at the home, but also a
snowstorm that commenced on the morning of Christmas Eve and continued
all day and all night and all the next day, covering the ground two feet
deep, and toward the close of the second day, when the wind rose,
drifting in places several yards deep.
This made it impossible for the families at Wolfscliff to leave the
house; but Mr. Cleve held service in the large drawing-room, where all
his people from the plantation, as well as the members of his household,
were collected.
And when the service was over Christmas gifts were distributed, mostly
in articles of clothing, to the servants. To Palma he gave a casket of
pearls and rubies that had been his mother’s; to Stuart he gave a fine
horse, with new saddle and bridle, that he had within a few days past
purchased from a neighbor.
Cleve and Palma gave to him an olive-green velveteen dressing-grown and
skullcap to match, which they had purchased for this very purpose; and
to the servants each they gave a piece of gold coin, having nothing else
to offer them. And then the congregation dispersed joyfully.
The snowstorm continued, with a high wind. The contemplated dinner party
for the twenty-seventh had to be given up. The state of the road made
travel impossible for several days.
One of the first expeditions abroad was made by Josias, who, mounted on
a stout mule, tried to reach the post office at Wolfswalk. It took him
all day to go and come, but he succeeded, and late in the evening
brought back letters and parcels that had been forwarded from New York
to the Stuarts—letters and parcels that bore the London and the Haymore
postmarks. The first were from the London solicitors of the Hays, of
Haymore, and contained the information that certain railway, mining and
manufacturing shares had been transferred from the name of Randolph Hay
to that of Palma Hay Stuart, and were at her disposal, and included the
bonds—for, after all, self-indulgent Will Walling had decided not to
take the long journey to the mountains of Virginia in the midst of
winter, but to forward the documents by mail, and without even an
explanatory letter from himself.
“I think you will have no trouble in finding the funds for the
reclamation of your Mississippi estate,” said John Cleve with a smile as
he received the information which Stuart seemed proud and glad to give
him. “Your wife’s cousin is a noble, generous fellow. Whom did he
marry?”
Cleve Stuart was for a moment dumfounded by the question. He had not so
far risen above conventionality as not to feel much embarrassment in
replying.
“Miss Judith Man, of California,” answered Palma, on seeing that Stuart
had found nothing to say.
“Ah! Who was she?” next inquired Mr. Cleve.
“The best, the noblest, the loveliest girl I ever met with in my life!”
warmly responded Palma.
“Ah! that is well, very well! Of what family was she?” persevered the
old gentleman, who was completely unconscious of the embarrassment his
questions were causing.
“I really do not know, uncle, dear,” answered Palma.
“I do not think we ever inquired,” replied Stuart, speaking at last.
“Ah! well, it does not matter, so that she is a good, true girl, worthy
of the noble young fellow,” said Mr. Cleve.
“She is all that, uncle,” said Stuart.
Palma and Stuart then opened their letters. They were from Ran and Judy,
telling them of their arrival at Haymore, their reception of Gentleman
Geff and his “lady,” and, indeed, of all the events that transpired in
the first few days of their stay at the Hall, and of which our readers
are already informed; making no mention of the transfer of stocks from
Ran to Palma; but renewing and pressing their invitation that the
Stuarts would visit them in England during the next summer. Of course,
Ran and Judy at the time of writing their letter had not heard of Cleve
and Palma’s removal to West Virginia.
Palma was so little a worshiper of Mammon that she was much more
delighted with the faithful affection revealed in these letters than
with the accession of fortune that accompanied them.
She flew upstairs to answer them. She was earnest in her thanks for
Ran’s magnanimity in giving her so noble a share in their grandfather’s
fortune; but she was even more earnest in her appreciation of Judy’s
friendship and their mutual invitation to herself and Cleve. She had,
however, to explain why neither of them could take advantage of the
offered opportunity of visiting their friends in England, by telling
them of her own and her husband’s change of residence and new-found
happiness in the country home of their aged uncle, and of the
impossibility that they should leave him while his presence on earth
should be spared to them.
Cleve Stuart also answered Ran’s letters in very much the same strain,
giving the same thanks with much deprecation, and offering the same
explanations.
These letters were all taken to the post office the next morning.
In another week the weather moderated and the snow melted. But traveling
was, if possible, more difficult than before, for the roads were sloughs
of mud.
But within doors, at Wolfscliff, all was pleasant, comfortable and
happy.
Only Mrs. Pole complained of having too little to do. But her special
grievance did not last very long, for——
On the morning of the fourteenth of February Palma Stuart received from
Above, in trust for earth and heaven, a most precious valentine, in the
form of a pair of twins, a fine boy and girl. And no more grateful and
delighted mother dwelling on the “footstool” that day raised her heart
in prayer and thanksgiving to the Throne.
No prouder father lived than Stuart, no happier uncle than John Cleve,
nor more important nurse than Mary Pole. She had enough to do now, both
day and night, to nurse mother and babes.
On the very first visit Stuart was allowed to make at the bedside of his
wife, when he had kissed her with deep feeling, and had admired the
twins to his heart’s content, she said to him:
“Cleve, dear, of course our boy must be named John Cleve, after dear
uncle and yourself. But our little girl? Will you please ask uncle if he
will let us call her Clarice, after his own dear angel love?”
“Well thought of, darling. I know he will be pleased. I will ask him as
soon as I go downstairs,” warmly responded Cleve Stuart.
“And you must go now, sir, if you please. She must be quiet and go to
sleep if she can,” said Mrs. Pole from the eminence of her new
authority.
Stuart meekly bowed his head and obeyed.
The result of Palma’s proposal was this: Early in the afternoon, when
she had had a good sleep, had awakened and taken refreshment, and was
resting in peace and bliss, the old gentleman came quietly into the
room, sat down beside her, and said softly:
“I thank you, my dear. May the Lord bless you, and may He bless your
dear babes—little Clarice and John.”