It was true. Locke Morgeson had been insolvent for five years. All
this time he had thrown ballast out from every side in the shape
of various ventures, which he trusted would lighten the ship, that,
nevertheless, drove steadily on to ruin. Then he steered blindly,
straining his credit to the utmost; and then--the crash. His losses
were so extended and gradual that the public were not aware of his
condition till he announced it. There was a general exasperation
against him. The Morgeson family rose up with one accord to represent
the public mind, which drove Veronica wild.
"Have you acted wrongly, father?" she asked.
"I have confessed, Verry, will that suit you!"
Our house was thronged for several days. "Pay us," cried the female
portion of his creditors. In vain father represented that he was still
young--that his business days were not over--that they must wait, for
paid they should be. "Pay us now, for we are women," they still cried.
Fanny opened the doors for these persons as wide as possible when they
came, and shut them with a bang when they went, astonishing them
with a satirical politeness, or confounding them with an impertinent
silence. The important creditors held meetings to agree what should
be done, and effected an arrangement by which his property was left
in his hands for three years, to arrange for the benefit of his
creditors. The arrangement proved that his integrity was not
suspected; but it was an ingenious punishment, that he should keep in
sight, improve, or change, for others, what had been his own. I was
glad when he decided to sell his real estate and personal property,
and trust to the ships alone, but would build no more. I begged him to
keep our house till Ben should return. He consented to wait; but I
did not tell Verry what I had done. All the houses he owned, lots,
carriages, horses, domestic stock, the fields lying round our
house--were sold. When he began to sell, the fury of retrenchment
seized him, and he laid out a life of self-denial for us three.
Arthur's ten thousand dollars were safe, who was therefore provided
for. He would bring wood and water for us; the rest we must do, with
Fanny's help. We could dine in the kitchen, and put our beds in one
room; by shutting up the house in part, we should have less labor
to perform. We attempted to carry out his ideas, but Veronica was so
dreadfully in Fanny's way and mine, that we were obliged to entreat
her to resume her old rôle. As for Fanny, she was happy--working
like a beaver day and night. Father was much at home, and took an
extraordinary interest in the small details that Fanny carried out.
When Temperance heard of these arrangements, she came down with Abram
in their green and yellow wagon. Temperance drove the shaggy old white
horse, for Abram was intrusted with the care of a meal bag, in which
were fastened a cock and four hens. We should see, she said when she
let them out, whether we were to keep hens or not. Was Veronica to go
without new-laid eggs? Had he sold the cat, she sarcastically inquired
of father.
"Who is going to do your washing, girls?" she asked, taking off her
bonnet.
"We all do it."
"Now I shall die a-laughing!" But she contradicted herself by crying
heartily. "One day in every week, I tell _you_, I am coming; and Fanny
and I can do the washing in a jiffy."
"Sure," said Abram, "you can; the sass is in."
"Sass or no sass, I'm coming."
She made me laugh for the first time in a month. I was too tired
generally to be merry, with my endeavors to carry out father's wishes,
and keep up the old aspect of the house. When she left us we all felt
more cheerful. Aunt Merce wanted to come home, but Verry and I thought
she had better stay at Rosville. We could not deny it to ourselves,
that home was sadly altered, or that we were melancholy; and though
we never needed her more, we begged her not to come. Happily father's
zeal soon died away. A boy was hired, and as there was no out-of-doors
work for him to do, he relieved Fanny, who in her turn relieved
me. Finding time to look into myself, I perceived a change in my
estimation of father; a vague impression of weakness in him troubled
me. I also discovered that I had lost my atmosphere. My life was
coarse, hard, colorless! I lived in an insignificant country
village; I was poor. My theories had failed; my practice was like my
moods--variable. But I concluded that if _to-day_ would go on without
bestowing upon me sharp pains, depriving me of sleep, mutilating me
with an accident, or sending a disaster to those belonging to me, I
would be content. Arthur held out a hope, by writing me, that he meant
to support me handsomely. He wished me to send him some shirt studs;
and told me to keep the red horse. He had heard that I was very
handsome when I was in Rosville. A girl had asked him how I looked
now. When he told her I was handsomer than any woman Rosville could
boast of, she laughed.
October had gone, and we had not heard from Ben. Veronica came to my
room of nights, and listened to wind and sea, as she never had before.
Sometimes she was there long after I had gone to bed, to look out of
the windows. If it was calm, she went away quietly; if the sea was
rough, she was sorrowful, but said nothing. The lethargic summer had
given way to a boisterous autumn of cold, gray weather, driving rains,
and hollow gales. At last he came--to Veronica first. He gave a deep
breath of delight when he stood again on the hearth-rug, before our
now unwonted parlor fire. The sight of his ruddy face, vigorous form,
and gay voice made me as merry as the attendants of a feast are when
they inhale the odor of the viands they carry, hear the gurgle of the
wine they pour, and echo the laughter of the guests.
There was much to tell that astonished him, but he could not be
depressed; everything must be arranged to suit us. He would buy the
house, provided he could pay for it in instalments. Did I know that
his mother had docked his allowance as soon as she knew that he would
marry Verry?
"How should I know it?"
I had not heard then that Desmond's was doubled, when she heard his
intention of going to Spain.
"How should I know that?"
One thing I should learn, however--and that was, that Desmond had
begged his mother to make no change in the disposition of her income.
He had declined the extra allowance, and then accepted it, to offer
him--Ben. Was not that astonishing?
"Did you take it?"
"No; but pa did."
All he could call his was fifteen hundred a year. Was that enough for
them to live on, and pay a little every year for the house? Could we
all live there together, just the same? Would we, he asked father, and
allow him to be an inmate?
Father shook hands with him so violently that he winced; and Verry
crumpled up a handful of his tawny locks and kissed them, whereat he
said: "Are you grown a human woman?"
About the wedding? He could only stay to appoint a time, for he must
post to Belem. It must be very soon.
"In a year or two," said Verry.
"Verry!"
"In three weeks, then."
"From to-day?"
"No, that will be the date of the wreck of the _Locke Morgeson_; but
three weeks from to-morrow. Must we have anybody here, Ben?"
"Helen, and Alice, Cassandra?"
"Certainly."
"I have no friends," said Verry.
"What will you wear, Verry?" I asked.
"Why, this dress," designating her old black silk. Her eyes filled
with tears, and went on a pilgrimage toward the unknown heaven where
our mother was. _She_ could only come to the wedding as a ghost. I
imagined her flitting through the empty spaces, from room to room,
scared and troubled by the pressure of mortal life around her.
"I shall not wear white," Verry said hastily.
The very day Ben went to Belem one of father's outstanding ships
arrived. She came into the harbor presenting the unusual sight of
trying oil on deck. Black and greasy from hull to spar, she was a
pleasant sight, for she was full of sperm oil. Little boys ran down to
the house to inform us of that fact before she was moored. "Wouldn't
Mr. Morgeson be all right now that his luck had changed?" they asked.
At supper father said "By George!" several times, by that oath
resuming something of his old self. "Those women can now be paid," he
said. "If I could have held out till now, I could have gone on without
failing. This is the first good voyage the _Oswego_ ever made me; if
another ship, the _Adamant_, will come full while oil is high, I shall
arrange matters with my creditors before the three years are up. To
hold my own again--ah! I never will venture all upon the uncertain
field of the sea."
The _Oswego's_ captain sent us a box of shells next day, and a small
Portuguese boy, named Manuel--a handsome, black-eyed, husky-voiced
fellow, in a red shirt, which was bound round his waist with a leather
belt, from which hung a sailor's sheath-knife.
"He is volcanic," said Verry.
"The Portuguese are all handsome," said Fanny, poking him, to see if
he would notice it. But he did not remove his eyes from Veronica.
"He shall be your page, Verry."
The next night a message came to us that Abram was dying. If we ever
meant to come, Temperance sent word, some of us might come now; but
she would rather have Mr. Morgeson. Fanny insisted upon going with him
to carry a lantern. Manuel offered her his knife, when he comprehended
that she was going through a dark road.
"You are a perfect heathen. There's nothing to be afraid of, except
that Mr. Morgeson may walk into a ditch; will a knife keep us out of
that?"
"Knife is good--it kills," he said, showing his white, vegetable-ivory
teeth.
Verry and I sat up till they returned, at two in the morning. Abram
had died about midnight, distressed to the last with worldly cares.
"He asked," said father, "if I remembered his poor boy, whose chest
never came home, and wished to hear some one read a hymn; Temperance
broke down when I read it, while Fanny cried hysterically."
"I was freezing cold," she answered haughtily.
In the morning Verry and I started for Temperance's house; but she
waited on the doorstep till I had inquired whether we were wanted. I
called her in, for Temperance asked for her as soon as she saw me.
"He was a good man, girls," she said with emphasis.
"Indeed he was."
"A little mean, I spose."
I put in a demurrer; her face cleared instantly.
"He thought a great deal of your folks."
"And a great deal of you."
"Oh, what a loss I have met with! He had just bought a first-rate
overcoat."
"But Temperance," said Verry, with a lamentable candor, "you can come
back now."
"Can't you wait for him to be put into the ground?" And she tried to
look shocked, but failed.
A friend entered with a doleful face, and Temperance groaned slightly.
"It is all done complete now, Mis Handy. He looks as easy as if he
slept, he was _so_ limber."
"Yes, yes," answered Temperance, starting up, and hurrying us out
of the room, pinching me, with a significant look at Verry. She was
afraid that her feelings might be distressed. "The funeral will be day
after to-morrow. Don't come; your father will be all that must be here
of the family. I shall shut up the house and come straight to you. I
know that I am needed; but you mustn't say a word about pay--I can't
stand it, I have had too much affliction to be pestered about wages."
Verry hugged her, and Temperance shed the honestest tears of the day
then, she was so gratified at Verry's fondness. Before Abram had been
buried a week, she was back again--a fixture, although she declared
that she had only come for a spell, as we might know by the size
of the bundle she had, showing us one, tied in a blue cotton
handkerchief. What should she stay from her own house for, when as
good a man as ever lived left it to her? We knew that she merely
comforted a tender conscience by praising the departed, for whom she
had small respect when living. We felt her brightening influence, but
Fanny sulked, feeling dethroned.
Ben Pickersgill Somers and Veronica Morgeson were "published."
Contrary to the usual custom, Verry went to hear her own banns read
at the church. She must do all she could, she told me, to realize that
she was to be married; had I any thoughts about it, with which I might
aid her? She thought it strange that people should marry, and could
not decide whether it was the sublimest or the most inglorious act of
one's life. I begged her to think about what she should wear--the time
was passing. Father gave me so small a sum for the occasion, I had
little opportunity for the splendid; but I purchased what Veronica
wanted for a dress, and superintended the making of it--black lace
over lavender-colored silk. She said no more about it; but I observed
that she put in order all her possessions, as if she were going to
undertake a long and uncertain journey. Every box and drawer was
arranged. All her clothes were repaired, refolded, and laid away;
every article was refreshed by a turn or shake-up. She made her room a
miracle of cleanliness. What she called rubbish she destroyed--her old
papers, things with chipped edges, or those that were defaced by wear.
She went once to Milford in the time, and bought a purple Angola rug,
which she put before her arm-chair, and two small silver cups, with
covers; in one was a perfume which Ben liked, the other was empty.
Her favorite blank-books were laid on a shelf, and the table, with its
inkstand and portfolio, was pushed against the wall. The last ornament
which she added to her room was a beautifully woven mat of evergreens,
with which she concealed the picture of the avenue and the nameless
man. After it was done, she inhabited my room, appearing to feel at
home, and glad to have me with her. As the time drew near, she grew
silent, and did not play at all. Temperance watched her with anxiety.
"If ever she can have one of those nervous spells again she will have
one now," she said. "Don't let her dream. I am turning myself inside
out to keep up her appetite."
"Do you ever feel worried about _me_, Tempy?"
"Lord 'a marcy! you great, strong thing, why should I? May be you do
want a little praise. I never saw anybody get along as well as you do,
nowadays; you have altered very much; I never would have believed it."
"What _was_ the trouble with me?"
"_I_ always stuck up for you, gracious knows. Do you know what has
been said of you in Surrey?"
"No."
"Then I shan't tell you; if I were you, though, I shouldn't trouble
myself to be overpolite to the folks who have come and gone here, nigh
on to twenty years,--hang 'em!"
A few days before the wedding Aunt Merce and Arthur came home. Arthur
was shy at first regarding the great change, but being agreeably
disappointed, grew lively. I perceived that Aunt Merce had aged since
mother's death; her manner was changed; the same objects no longer
possessed an interest. She looked at me penitentially. "I wish I
could say," she said, "what I used to say to you,--that you were
'possessed.' Now that there is no occasion for me to comprehend
people, I begin to. My education began wrong end foremost. I think
Mary's death has taught me something. Do you think of her? She was the
love of my life."
"Women do keep stupid a long time; but I think they are capable of
growth, beyond the period when men cease to grow or change."
"Oh, I don't know anything about men, you know."
Temperance and I cleaned the house, opened every room, and made every
fire-place ready for a fire--a fire being the chief luxury which I
could command. Baking went on up to within a day of the wedding, under
Hepsey's supervision, who had been summoned as a helper; Fanny was
busy everywhere.
"Mr. Morgeson," said Temperance, "the furniture is too darned shabby
for a wedding."
"It is not mine, you must remember."
"Plague take the creditors! they know as well as I that you turned
Surrey from a herring-weir into a whaling-port, and that the houses
they live in were built out of the wages you gave them. I am thankful
that most of them have water in their cellars."