Alice called me to her chamber window one morning. "Look into the
lane. Charles and Jesse are there with that brute. He goes very well,
now that they have thrown the top of the chaise back; he quivered like
a jelly at first."
"I must have a ride, Alice."
"Charles," she called. "Breakfast is waiting."
"What shall be his name, girls?" he asked.
"Aspen," I suggested.
"That will do," said Alice.
"Shall we ride soon?" I asked.
"Will you?" he spoke quickly. "In a day or two, then."
"Know what you undertake, Cass," said Alice.
"She always does," he answered.
"Let me go, papa," begged Edward.
"By and by, my boy."
"What a compliment, Cass! He does not object to venture you."
He proposed Fairtown, six miles from Rosville, as he had business
there. The morning we were to go proved cloudy, and we waited till
afternoon, when Charles, declaring that it would not rain, ordered
Aspen to be harnessed. I went into Alice's room tying my bonnet; he
was there, leaning over the baby's crib, who lay in it crowing and
laughing at the snapping of his fingers. Alice was hemming white
muslin.
"Take a shawl with you, Cass; I think it will rain, the air is so
heavy."
"I guess not," said Charles, going to the window. "What a nuisance
that lane is, so near the garden! I'll have it plowed soon, and
enclosed."
"For all those wild primroses you value so?" she asked.
"I'll spare those."
Charlotte came to tell us that the chaise was ready.
"Good-bye, Alice," he said, passing her, and giving her work a toss up
to the ceiling.
"Be careful."
"Take care, sir," said Penn, after we were in the chaise, "and don't
give way to him; if you do, he'll punish you. May be he feels the
thunder in the air."
We reached Fairtown without any indication of mischief from Aspen,
although he trotted along as if under protest. Charles was delighted,
and thought he would be very fast, by the time he was trained. It grew
murky and hot every moment, and when we reached Fairtown the air was
black and sultry with the coming storm. Charles left me at the little
hotel, and returned so late in the afternoon that we decided not to
wait for the shower. Two men led Aspen to the door. He pulled at his
bridle, and attempted to run backward, playing his old trick of trying
to turn his nostrils inside out, and drawing back his upper lip.
"Something irritates him, Charles."
"If you are afraid, you must not come with me. I can have you sent
home in a carriage from the tavern."
"I shall go back with you."
But I felt a vague alarm, and begged him to watch Aspen, and not talk.
Aspen went faster and faster, seeming to have lost his shyness, and my
fears subsided. We were within a couple of miles of Rosville, when a
splashing rain fell.
"You must not be wet," said Charles. "I will put up the top. Aspen is
so steady now, it may not scare him."
"No, no," I said; but he had it up already, and asked me to snap the
spring on my side. I had scarcely taken my arm inside the chaise when
Aspen stopped, turned his head, and looked at us with glazed eyes;
flakes of foam flew from his mouth over his mane. The flesh on his
back contracted and quivered. I thought he was frightened by the
chaise-top, and looked at Charles in terror.
"He has some disorder," he cried. "Oh, Cassandra! My God!"
He tried to spring at his head, but was too late, for the horse was
leaping madly. He fell back on his seat.
"If he will keep the road," he muttered.
I could not move my eyes from him. How pale he was! But he did
not speak again. The horse ran a few rods, leaped across a ditch,
clambered up a stone wall with his fore-feet, and fell backward!
Dr. White was in my room, washing my face. There was a smell of
camphor about the bed. "You crawled out of a small hole, my child," he
said, as I opened my eyes. It was quite dark, but I saw people at
the door, and two or three at the foot of my bed, and I heard low,
constrained talking everywhere.
"His iron feet made a dreadful noise on the stones, Doctor!"
I shut my eyes again and dozed. Suddenly a great tumult came to my
heart.
"Was he killed?" I cried, and tried to rise from the bed. "Let me go,
will you?"
"He is dead," whispered Dr. White.
I laughed loudly.
"Be a good girl--be a good girl. Get out, all of you. Here, Miss
Prior."
"You are crying, Doctor; my eyes feel dry."
"Pooh, pooh, little one. Now I am going to set your arm; simple
fracture, that's all. The blow was tempered, but you are paralyzed by
the shock."
"Miss Prior, is my face cut?"
"Not badly, my dear."
My arm was set, my face bandaged, some opium administered, and then
I was left alone with Miss Prior. I grew drowsy, but suffered so from
the illusion that I was falling out of bed that I could not sleep.
It was near morning when I shook off my drowsiness and looked about;
Miss Prior was nodding in an arm-chair. I asked for drink, and when
she gave it to me, begged her to lie down on the sofa; she did not
need urging, and was soon asleep.
"What room is he in?" I thought. "I must know where he is."
I sat up in the bed, and pushed myself out by degrees, keeping my eyes
on Miss Prior; but she did not stir. I staggered when I got into the
passage, but the cool air from some open window revived me, and I
crept on, stopping at Alice's door to listen. I heard a child murmur
in its sleep. He could not be there. The doors of all the
chambers were locked, and I must go downstairs. I went into the
garden-room--the door was open, the scent of roses came in and made me
deadly sick; into the dining-room, and into the parlor--he was there,
lying on a table covered with a sheet. Alice sat on the floor, her
face hid in her hands, crying softly. I touched her. She started on
seeing me. "Go away, Cassy, for God's sake! How came you out of bed?"
"Hush! Tell me!" And I went down on the floor beside her. "Was he dead
when they found us?"
She nodded.
"What was said? Did you hear?"
"They said he must have made a violent effort to save you. The side
of the chaise was torn. The horse kicked him after you were thrust out
over the wheel. Or did you creep out?"
I groaned. "Why did he thrust me out?"
"What?"
"Where is Aspen?"
She pointed to the stable. "He had a fit. Penn says he has had one
before; but he thought him cured. He stood quiet in the ditch after he
had broken from the chaise."
"Alice, did you love him?"
"My husband!"
A door near us opened, and Ben Somers and young Parker looked in. They
were the watchers. Parker went back when he saw me; but Ben came in.
He knelt down by me, put his arm around me, and said, "Poor girl!"
Alice raised her tear-stained face, looking at me curiously, when
he said this. She took hold of my streaming hair and pulled my head
round. "Did _you_ love him?" Ben rose quickly and went to the window.
"Alice!" I whispered, "you may or you may not forgive me, but I was
strangely bound to him. And I must tell you that I hunger now for the
kiss he never gave me."
"I see. Enough. Go back to your room. I must stay by him till all is
over."
"I can't go back. Ben!"
"What is it?"
"Take me upstairs."
Raising me in his arms, he whispered: "Leave him forever, body and
soul. I am not sorry he is dead." He called Charlotte on the way, and
with her he put me to back to bed. I asked him to let me see the dress
they had taken off.
"That is enough," I said, "Charles broke my arm."
It was torn through the shoulder, and the skirt had been twisted like
a rope. Ben made no reply, but bent over me and kissed me tenderly.
All this time Miss Prior had slept the sleep of the just; but he had
barely gone when she started up and said, "Did you call, my dear?"
"No, it is day."
"So it is; but you must sleep more."
I could not obey, and kept awake so long that Dr. White said he
himself should go crazy unless I slept.
"Presently, presently," I reiterated; "and am I going home?"
At last my mind went astray; it journeyed into a dismal world, and
came back without an account of its adventures. While it was gone,
my friends were summoned to witness a contest, where the odds were
in favor of death. But I recovered. Whether it was youth, a good
constitution, or the skill of Dr. White, no one could decide. It was a
faint, feeble, fluttering return at first. The faces round me, mobile
with life, wearied me. I was indifferent to existence, and was more
than once in danger of lapsing into the void I had escaped.
When I first tottered downstairs, he had been buried more than three
weeks. It was a bright morning; the windows of the parlor, where
Charlotte led me, were open. Little Edward was playing round the table
upon which I had seen his father stretched, dead. I measured it with
my eye, remembering how tall he looked. I would have retreated, when
I saw that Alice had visitors, but it was too late. They rose, and
offered congratulations. I was angry that there was no change in the
house. The rooms should have been dismantled, reflecting disorder and
death, by their perpetual darkness and disorder. It was not so. No
dust had been allowed to gather on the furniture, no wrinkles or
stains. No mist on the mirrors, no dimness anywhere. Alice was
elegantly dressed, in the deepest mourning. I examined her with a
cynical eye; her bombazine was trimmed with crape, and the edge of her
collar was beautifully crimped. A mourning brooch fastened it, and
she wore jet ear-rings. She looked handsome, composed, and contented,
holding a black-edged handkerchief. Charlotte had placed my chair
opposite a glass; I caught sight of my elongated visage in it. How
dull I looked! My hair was faded and rough; my eyes were a pale,
lusterless blue. The visitors departed, while I still contemplated my
rueful aspect, and Alice and I were alone.
"I want some broth, Alice. I am hungry."
"How many bowls have you had this morning?"
"Only two."
"You must wait an hour for the third; it is not twelve o'clock."
We were silent. The flies buzzed in and out of the windows; a great
bee flew in, tumbled against the panes, loudly hummed, and after a
while got out again. Alice yawned, and I pulled the threads out of the
border of my handkerchief.
"The hour is up; I will get your broth."
"Bring me a great deal."
She came back with a thin, impoverished liquid.
"There is no chicken in it," I said tearfully.
"I took it out."
"How could you?" And I wept.
She smiled. "You are very weak, but shall have a bit." She went for
it, returning with an infinitesimal portion of chicken.
"What a young creature it must have been, Alice!"
She laughed, promising me more, by and by.
"Now you must lie down. Take my arm and come to the sofa.
"Not here; let us go into another room."
"Come, then."
"Don't leave me," I begged, after she had arranged me comfortably. She
sat down by me with a fan.
"What happened while I was ill?"
She fanned rapidly for an instant, taking thought what to say.
"I shot Aspen, a few days after."
"With your own hand?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"Penn protested, said I interfered with Providence. Jesse added, also,
that what had happened was ordained, and no mistake, and then I sent
them both away."
"And I am going at last, Alice; father will be here again in a few
days."
"You did not recognize Veronica, when they came."
"Was she here?"
"Yes, and went the same day. What great tears rolled down her
unmovable face, when she stood by your bed! She would not stay; the
atmosphere distressed her so, she went back to Boston to wait for your
father. I could neither prevail on her to eat, drink, or rest."
"What will you do, Alice?"
"Take care of the children, and manage the mills."
"Manage the mills?"
"I can. No wonder you look astonished," she said, with a sigh. "I am
changed. When perhaps I should feel that I have done with life, I am
eager to begin it. I have lamented over myself lately."
"How is Ben?"
"He has been here often. How strange it was that to him alone Veronica
gave her hand when they met! Indeed, she gave him both her hands."
"And he?"
"Took them, bowing over them, till I thought he wasn't coming up
again. I do not call people eccentric any more," she said, faintly
blushing. "I look for a reason in every action. Tell me fairly, have
you had a contempt for me--for my want of perception? I understand you
now, to the bone and marrow, I assure you."
"Then you understand more than I do. But you will remember that once
or twice I attempted to express my doubts to you?"
"Yes, yes, with a candor which misled me. But you are talking too
much."
"Give me more broth, then."