APPLES OF DISCORD.
It was very hard for Annis Bouvier to give up so much of her mother.
Her new father teased her a little, but when he saw she was really
pained and the tears came into her eyes he would stop and give her
a caress and a kiss. He was a very kindly master, and the overseer
grumbled a little at times and made up by undue severity. Then he
certainly was an indulgent father. Patricia despaired at times of
establishing any authority.
The house was so large, the servants so numerous, the confusion so
great after the quiet life she had led in the far-away settlement. And
at first not a day passed without some visitors, who came to pay their
respects to the new mistress. Jaqueline ordered her pony and rode off
with a mere announcement to anyone standing near. She seemed to have
no end of girl friends and was mostly a law unto herself. She and her
sister had numerous squabbles that never degenerated into quarrels.
Annis liked Patricia very much, but she and Varina looked askance at
each other, with considerable jealousy at the bottom.
Mrs. Jettson came over with her nurse and two babies, and Annis was
delighted with them.
"But they are not yours in any way," said Varina. "They belong to us
and Grandma Floyd."
"That is being a selfish little girl, Rene," said Aunt Jane. "Annis is
to be like a sister to you."
"But I don't want her for a sister. I have enough sisters. She shall
not ride on my pony nor feed my pigeons nor have any of my books."
Annis' heart swelled within her.
"I don't want any of them," she made answer. "And I wish mamma and I
could go away. She belongs to me and--and a little to your father, but
most to me. But I wish she didn't belong to any of you!" and the soft,
deep eyes overflowed with tears.
"Oh, Annis! what is this all about?" Patricia flew in and clasped the
little girl in her arms in spite of a protest. "I'm beginning to love
your mother very much. You see, she _does_ belong to us, and now you
can't take her away. And we are glad to have you----"
"I'm not glad." Varina stretched up every inch of her size. "I'm sure
we were well enough before."
"It's mostly Rene's dispute," began Aunt Jane. "Annis was enjoying the
babies. Come here, dear."
Annis rushed out of the room sobbing. Where was her mother?
"Rene, you naughty little girl!" and Patricia gave her a shake. "Why,
Jane, we have all been getting along in the very nicest manner. And
_she's_ just lovely. We couldn't quite resolve at first whether we
would call her mother; but father wanted us to, and now it seems
natural enough. Louis likes her ever so much. And Jack says she's like
a big sister. She's nicer than Aunt Catharine was at the last, she
fretted at us so. I hope her little girls are pretty bad, and then she
won't think we are the worst."
Aunt Jane laughed. "I dare say Aunt Catharine will have some trials.
That is a funny wish. Rene, you must learn to like this little girl. I
think her very nice and sweet. I shall ask her to come over and visit
me."
"Then I won't come." Varina's eyes flashed.
"But why do you not like her?"
"She sits on father's knee, and--and Charles read to her yesterday and
showed her pictures in his book and said she understood better than I
did. And Mammy said her hair was beautiful."
Varina began to cry.
"So her hair is beautiful," said Aunt Jane decisively. "And perhaps she
_is_ smart. You are dull at your book, Varina, and if you are going to
be cross and jealous your father will not like you. Fie, for shame!"
"If you are going to roar like the bull of Bashan you will have to go
upstairs by yourself. And I must find little Annis," declared Patricia.
Annis had seen her mother walk down the path under the mulberry
trees, and she ran swiftly, sobbing as if her heart would break with
a strange, yearning homesickness for the home in the forest and her
mother all to herself once more. Then she caught her foot in the root
of a tree that had pushed up out of the ground, but two friendly arms
clasped her, and sitting down on the bole of a tree that had been sawed
off to thin the dense shrubbery, he held her tenderly.
"What is it, little Annis? What has happened to you?"
"I want my dear mother," the child sobbed. "I want her to go away and
take me. I can't stay here. I'd rather have Sally Brown to play with,
and the great woods. I think I shouldn't even mind Indians, nor dark
nights."
"Has Charles been cross to you?"
"No, I like Charles. Let me go find mamma."
"You can't have her just now," said Louis in a soothing tone. "Father
has to have her on a little matter of business."
"You _all_ have her!" resentfully.
"That is because she is so charming and sweet."
Annis looked up into the face that was smiling and sympathetic.
"Tell me the trouble. Surely Patty or Jacky have not been scolding
you? For you couldn't have done anything bad. You are such a shy, quiet
little thing."
"I was playing with the babies----"
"Surely it wasn't Aunt Jane?"
"No." She had stopped sobbing and raised her sweet eyes, the tears
still beading the lashes.
"Why do you want to go away, then?"
There was no answer. Did she really want to go? The arm about her was
very friendly. She had felt almost afraid of this big brother, but his
voice went to her heart.
"I think we cannot spare you. I know we cannot spare your mother."
"Annis! Annis!" called the clear girl's voice.
"Here, Patty," answered her brother, and the young girl ran down to
them. She smiled at Annis.
"What happened?" Louis asked.
"It was that little cat Rene! She didn't scratch, though. Rene has been
spoiled by everybody, and she believes now that no one has any rights
but herself."
"And we'll stand by Annis. Come--you do like us a little, do you not?"
He put both hands on her shoulders and smiled in a very winsome manner.
"Of course she does." Patty stooped and kissed her. "You must not mind
Rene when she gets in a temper. See, there's Jacky and I, two girls on
your side, and Louis and Charles, I am quite sure. Don't you know Jack
told you we were always taking sides?"
"But--what will--Rene do?"
The tone was so half-reluctant, pity fighting against inclination, that
Louis could not forbear smiling while he hugged her to his heart.
"Rene must be punished. It isn't the first time she has been snappy,
Louis. She quarreled with Charles the other day because----"
Patty finished the sentence with raising her brows and making very big
eyes.
"Because," said Annis in a low tone, "he was reading to me and would
not leave his book to go and play."
Annis looked very pretty with her downcast eyes and the softened truth
in her tone.
"Charles was a gentleman. All Virginia boys should be. And now, little
Annis, isn't it all made up? You will not want to go away?"
"I like you both," Annis said simply.
"Come back and see the babies," and Patricia held out her hand.
Louis bent down and kissed her. Of course no one would ever grudge her
any love, not even Rene when she understood. It was a mere childish
ebullition.
Jaqueline had come in and heard the story, and, as she was quite
accustomed to authority, Rene had been handed over to Mammy Phillis
with strict injunction to keep her a prisoner for the next two hours.
Jane had come out on the lawn and little Floyd was rolling over the
short turf in the care of a laughing darkey boy, while Arthur lay on
his back crowing and chewing his fat fists for an interlude. There was
her mother with some needlework in her hand, and Annis flew to her,
hiding her face in the little hollow between neck and shoulder, with a
great heart-throb of thankfulness.
No one remarked on Rene's absence at the dinner table. It was a jolly
family gathering, and there was a great deal of talk about what was
going on in the City and the coming election and the return of Louis to
college. Jaqueline would go with him and pay Aunt Catharine her first
visit, that she was very urgent about. She missed the young people
sadly, she admitted.
They also discussed a tutor for the younger children. Although
education had not taken a very wide range for girls as yet, the
necessity was beginning to be felt. Ministers appointed abroad would
want intelligent wives, and even now, in Washington, foreigners
appeared in society, and it was considered an accomplishment to talk
French and to be entertaining.
The elders went to take an afternoon nap, a favorite habit with the
squire when he could.
"Come," Charles said to Annis, "let us go down under the pines and
read," and she was nothing loath. The old heroes of Froissart were
like fairyland to the children. Then there were marvelous pictures, the
roughest kind of woodcuts, but they picked out their heroes with great
satisfaction.
Annis had seen few books. There were some old French volumes belonging
to her father, and Patricia had begun to teach the little girl as
a solace for her long and often weary hours. This was a garden of
delight, even if Charles did puzzle over the long words and miscall
them.
Jane took Varina home with her, which was a great source of elation
after the enforced seclusion of the day. She gave Annis an indifferent
nod as she stepped into the carriage.
"You must be a good little girl and mind Aunt Jane," said her father.
"Children's tiffs are natural," he remarked to his wife. "Varina
has been the baby so long she cannot tolerate a rival. Years ago she
crowded Charles out of his place."
He was not quite sure but the winsome little Annis, with her shy sweet
ways and ready interest, was the more companionable. Yet he must not be
disloyal to his own.
Were they all on her side? Annis wondered. And would she need to take
sides anywhere? She was very happy and content. Louis took her out
riding on Varina's pony. She demurred at first, but the squire promised
to look up a suitable one for her in a day or two.
The new wife soon became settled in her agreeable surroundings. She
had not an aggressive nature, and the house servants soon learned that
her rule was not as severe as Miss Catharine's, while quite as wise.
She really desired to win the affection of her husband's children.
Neighbors were near enough for pleasant rides and drives. There was
much hearty sociability among these Virginian people. There had grown
up a certain ease and carelessness since the strenuous days of the war.
Though finances had been troublesome and grave questions, as well as
bitter disputes, had come to the forefront of the young republic--in
spite of all there had been a certain degree of prosperity on the large
estates, where nearly everything was raised and much made for home
consumption. Georgetown was rather a thriving and fashionable place.
Bladensburg was quite a summer resort, on account of a mineral spring
many thought efficacious for numerous diseases. Vessels laden with
tobacco still sailed from its wharves down the Anacostia. There was the
noted dueling-ground also, where proud-spirited men went to satisfy
their "honor." Around, in many directions, were handsome Colonial
mansions with picturesque grounds. Washington was slowly emerging
from the chaos of unfinished streets and buildings, but had not yet
outgrown the flings of the envious and disappointed. The Capitol shone
in its white glory. The President's mansion was imposing and habitable,
though, through the administration, it had been graced largely by Mrs.
Madison, the charming wife of the secretary of state, and one of her
sisters.
When Annis Bouvier went over with her mother and stepfather to bring
home Rene, who had tired of the babies and was longing for her pony
and the larger liberty, and, perhaps, her disputes with Charles and
the teasing of Louis, as well as the merriment of her sisters, the
child stared at the stately row of buildings that quite met her idea
of a palace. The long and wide avenues running off into unfinished
spaces, the trees already beginning to make a brave show, the handsome
dwellings here and there were a fair augury of things to come, and
seemed wonderful to her. Out in the settlement it had been vaguely
speculated upon. Was it not a dream?
They drove about in some of the most passable streets. People were
out for an airing this pleasant afternoon; numbers of men stood in
groups in eager discussion, some gesticulating quite as fiercely as
Grandfather Floyd had done. There were pretty young women on horseback,
with their attendant cavaliers, laughing and jesting, and a few boys
running about. The broad river, with its curves, receiving in its bosom
the springs and rivulets and edged with swaying grasses topping into
feathery fronds, while multitudes of wild flowers sprinkled the verdure
that, from its moisture, still kept the greenness and fresh aspect of
spring.
"Now you can take a good look at everything," said the squire, leaning
over to Annis. "We hurried through so, and it was nearly dark when we
came from Baltimore. It is the palace of our republic."
Annis was to see it under various phases and to spend a night of terror
in it, then to watch it arise from the ashes of destruction. But she
could always recall this lovely afternoon and the birds flashing hither
and thither in flame-color and gold--the Maryland yellow-throat, the
redbird, with his high cockade and his bold, soldier-like air. Child
as she was, the beauty of all things touched her deeply, and she hardly
heard Varina's chatter about what she had done and where she had been,
and the spinet at Aunt Jane's house, "which I do think more refined
than a fiddle," declared the little miss disdainfully. "A lady can play
on it. Of course fiddling is the right thing to dance by, and it seems
proper enough for the slaves. And some of the real elegant people come
to Aunt Jane's. Your mother hasn't any gown half as pretty as they
wear."
"No," returned Annis, without a touch of envy.
"Jaqueline is to have some new gowns to go to Williamsburg. Oh, I just
wish I was a big girl and could have fine things! I hate being little!
You get sent out of the room when the ladies are talking, and you
have to go to bed early, and you can't come to the table when there is
company. I am going to try my very best to grow and grow."
Annis wondered whether she would like being a young lady. Jacky was
nice, to be sure.
Jaqueline seemed to enjoy it very much. The new tutor, who was a Mr.
Evans, a young man, was to take charge of the girls' studies, as well
as those of Charles. Patricia quite envied her sister, and declared
French was the greatest nuisance that had ever been invented.
"You don't invent a language," corrected Charles. "It grows by slow
degrees and is improved upon and perfected----"
"It was just sent upon the world at the Tower of Babel," interrupted
Patricia. "After all," laughing--and a laugh always came to end Patty's
spurts of temper--"it must have been very funny. Think of a man asking
for--what were they building the tower out of? Bricks, wasn't it? and
water, and the other man not understanding. And I suppose bread had a
dozen new queer names, and everything! What a jabber it was! And that's
where the languages came in, Master Charles," with a note of triumph in
her clear, breezy voice.
"Just wait until you study Latin and Greek!"
"Girls don't have to, thank fortune! The French will destroy my
constitution, and, unlike the United States, I haven't any by-laws, so
I shall be finished out."
"There have been some learned women and wonderful queens."
"I can't be a queen. I don't want to. Think of poor Marie Antoinette!"
and Patty shivered. "I _might_ marry someone who would be President,
but it is doubtful. No, like Jacky, I shall go in for the good time."
Charles thought there was not much comfort talking to girls, except
Annis, who listened with attentive eyes, and asked such sensible
questions--as if she really wanted to know things. The very first day
the boy warmed to his tutor, and Mr. Evans was quite delighted with
this small scholar. But, as the trend of the day was then, he also had
no very exalted opinion of girls, and considered their highest honor
that at the head of the household.
The great trunk in the storeroom that Aunt Catharine went through
religiously once a year, to see that no corrupting influences, such as
moth or rust, should gain surreptitious entrance, was to be opened now,
and Jaqueline's portion of her dead mother's treasures bestowed upon
her. Aunt Catharine had divided them as equally as possible, and done
them up in separate parcels for each girl. In her early married life
Mrs. Mason had made a visit to Paris, while Franklin was still abroad.
There had been a sojourn in London as well, and she had brought home
enough to last her brief life and to descend to her children. Mrs.
Conway specified which gowns should be refashioned a little for her
niece and what of her mother's jewels it would be proper for her to
wear. Jaqueline would fain have confiscated all.
"Do as your aunt advises," said her father, with a sound of authority
in his tone not to be gainsaid. "She was always a woman of good sense
until she took up with those ultra views of religion, and Conway. She
was so settled in her ways, too, that no one would have dreamed it,
either; but there's no telling what a woman will do until she's past
doing. And it's natural for them to marry. But Catharine could have had
her pick in her youth. She held her head mighty high then."
There was no little confusion getting the two young people ready. Louis
brushed up some studies with Mr. Evans, for his summer had been one
of careless fun and good-fellowship with the neighboring young men.
Still, he was ambitious to stand well and not drop behind his last
year's record. Then they had to go up and bid grandmother good-by, and
there were neighborhood gatherings quite as important as if these young
people were going to the unexplored wilds of Africa.
Their departure made a sudden hiatus. With so many people in the house
and on the plantation, it did not seem as if two could be so sincerely
regretted. Every slave, from Homer down to the rollicking pickaninnies,
bemoaned "Mas'r Louis"; and Mammy Phil, who had nursed every one of the
"chillens," had a double dose of sorrow, and so many reminiscences that
Patricia was provoked.
"As if there were never any children in the world but Louis and
Jaqueline!" she flung out with some vexation. "Mammy, you wouldn't make
as much fuss if I was going to be buried."
"'Fore de Lord, chile, dat would break Mammy's heart cl'ar in two! You
can't 'member how de joy went roun' in all de cabins when young mas'r
had a son born to be de heir. Why de 'clar' o' peace wan't nuffin to
it!"
"I shouldn't think I could remember that!" said the girl, with great
dignity and a withering accent, "seeing as I was not in the rejoicing.
You are getting old and doted, mammy!"
The old slave woman wiped her eyes. But to her comfort she had found
a delightful listener in little Annis, who never wearied of the family
legends, and who studied the portraits in the great drawing room with
a mysterious sort of awe. There was a cavalier of the times of the
first Charles, with his slashed doublet, his Vandyke collar and cuffs
of what had been snowy linen and elegant lace, and his picturesque
hat with its long plume: a sharp-featured, handsome face in spite of
a certain languid indifference. There was another in a suit of green
camlet, richly laced, and the great periwig of close-curled rings.
The hand, almost covered with costly lace ruffles, rested lightly on
the jeweled hilt of the rapier that hung at his side. There were two
plainer men: one suggestive of Puritan times; one, round, rosy, quite
modern in the half-Continental costume, that one would easily guess was
the squire in his youth. Beside it was Mistress Mason in her wedding
gown of satin trimmed with a perfect cloud of Venice point, a stomacher
set with precious stones, and a brocaded petticoat. Like a soft mist a
veil floated about her exquisite shoulders, fastened at the top with a
diamond clasp. There was the beauty of the Verneys and the Carringtons
in her face.
"That is our own mother," said Varina as she was showing Annis the
ancestors of the house. "She is a great deal handsomer than your
mother, and yours has no such fine gowns. This has been laid away,
and we shall all wear it as a wedding gown when our turn comes. Aunt
Catharine said once there was a fortune in the lace. Has your mother
nothing?"
"She has a string of pearls and some beautiful rings, but I have never
seen any gowns."
"And she is not handsome," declared the young miss with a decisive air.
"She is beautiful to me, and sweet and kind, and loves me," replied
Annis with a swelling heart.
"Well--our mother loved us. It was very cruel in God to take her away.
I would a hundred times rather have her than your mother."
"I am sorry she is gone. Everybody must love her own mother the best."
The tone was sweet at the beginning and confident at the end, yet it
hardly suited the daughter of the house.
"You would not have been here, then," triumphantly.
"No. But we should have left the settlement and come to Baltimore. I
liked it there. And there was a kindly old lady who begged mother to
leave me with her, but your father said 'Nay' quite sharply. And at
first she would not consent to the marriage."
There had been some jesting discussion at the Carringtons'. Annis had
not clearly understood it.
"But she would have had to. Father makes people do his way. He is the
master of everything."
Annis was silent. She did not yet clearly understand the mystery, but
she sometimes thought she would be glad to go back to the settlement
and have her mother all to herself. Something seemed to come between
continually. There were numerous cares for the housewife on so large a
plantation, with children and servants, visitors and a rather exigent
husband.
There were many beautiful articles and curiosities in the great drawing
room. But Annis liked Charles better as a guide. They never jarred
upon each other, and he had no jealousy. Then, he really liked his new
mother.
Varina cared little for books. Besides the worn Froissart there was a
copy of Captain John Smith's adventures, which were wonderful to both
children, and here Annis could supply many queries about the Indians,
who were rapidly disappearing from this vicinity. Gentle and quiet as
Charles was, he had a great desire for adventure, and a soldier's life
appeared very heroic to him. But the War of the Revolution seemed ages
ago to the younger people, though the slaves often gathered about the
brushwood fires and related stirring scenes almost as if they had been
eyewitnesses.
Christmas was a great festival. At nearly every plantation there was
a gathering of neighbors and friends, and in some houses visits of
days, when extra guests were invited to dinner and a dance given for
the young people. And though the exchange of gifts had none of the
costly features of the present day, there was much real affection
and generosity. Annis thought it delightful. There was an influx of
cousins, with some little girls who were very merry and who found Annis
quite charming.
It had been planned for Jaqueline to return, but no reliable
acquaintance seemed ready to undertake the journey. Truth to tell,
Jaqueline was tasting the sweets of incipient bellehood, and was
quite a prize to the young collegians. His parish duties not being
very onerous, the Reverend Conway added to them a professorship in
the college, and the rectory was quite a center of society. What with
frequent guests and the care of two small girls, Mrs. Conway found
her hands quite full, and unable to restrict her nieces' pleasures to
her own ideas of what was advisable. Then, she was glad to have the
gay, lively girl, who was ready to sing at anyone's bidding, and had a
gracious way with the elders as well as the young. She had often longed
for the children of this first motherhood, though she accepted her new
duties in a satisfactory manner.