SUNSHINE AGAIN
So absorbed was Rose in her trouble that she took little or no interest
in the attempt to discover her family, or the discussions that took
place in the Blossom household as to its probable result. “I don’t
believe I have any relatives,” she said indifferently, “or they would
have looked after me when my mother and father died. And even if I have
they wouldn’t want to own any one accused of stealing.”
That was the burden of all her thoughts; she woke in the morning to
a sense of overwhelming calamity, and went to sleep at night with
its pressure heavy on her heart. When Grandmother Sweet had mildly
questioned if in the discovery of the marriage certificate she did not
see the hand of Providence, she had replied, with the irritability of
suffering, that she didn’t believe in Providence at all. “I might,”
she had added, “if that money could be found; I sha’n’t till then.”
For to Rose the executioner’s sword had not been lifted, only stayed
for the time. Visions of arrest and imprisonment were constantly before
her, all the more terrifying that the vagueness of her knowledge as to
their realities left ample room for her imagination. “_How_ can I tell
where the money is when I don’t know?” was the question she repeated
over and over. “And you know what he said he would do if I didn’t tell?”
She refused to go to school for fear her schoolmates had heard of her
disgrace. She cried till she was nearly blind, and fretted herself
into a fever, till Mrs. Blossom, fearing she would make herself really
sick, talked to her seriously on the selfishness as well as the harm
of self-indulgence, even in grief, and the duty as well as the need of
self-control.
Rose had never thought of her conduct in that light before, and left
alone she lay for a long time, now thoroughly aroused from her morbid
self-absorption, and looking herself, as it were, fully in the face.
The fire crackled cheerily in the little stove, the sunshine came in
at the window of the pleasant, low chamber, on the stand by her bed
were a cup of sage tea Grandmother Sweet had made for her, a glass of
aconite Mrs. Patience had prepared, and a dainty china bowl of lemon
jelly Miss Silence had brought to tempt if possible her appetite. Mute
evidence, each and all of kindly affection, that touched Rose and
filled her with a sense of shame that she had made such poor return for
all that had been done for her.
Rising with a sudden impulse, she went to the little glass, pushed
back the tumbled hair from her tear-swollen face, and sternly took
herself to task. “I’m ashamed of you, I am indeed, that after you have
been taken into this home, and cared for, you should be so ungrateful
as to make every one in it uncomfortable now, because you happen to
be in trouble; and should have shown yourself as disagreeable, and
selfish, and thoughtless as you have. Not one of them would have done
so, you may be sure; and if you ever expect to grow into a woman that
people will respect and love as they do Grandmother Sweet, or Mrs.
Blossom, or Miss Silence, or Mrs. Patience, you _must_ learn to control
yourself. And now, to begin, you must brush your hair, bathe your eyes,
go downstairs and do as you ought to do. I know it will be pretty hard,
but you _must_ do it.”
It was hard. With a morbid self-consciousness that every one could not
but know of her trouble she had hidden, shrinking from the village
folk who so often came in; she was so weak that as she crossed the
room she had to put her hand against the wall to steady her steps; and
now that she was making the effort to rouse herself she began to see
the luxury it had been to be perfectly wretched. But Rose resisted the
temptation to throw herself again on the bed; she crept steadily, if
somewhat weakly, downstairs, and made a brave attempt at smiling. With
a guilty sense of all the opportunities for making herself useful she
had neglected, she took up a stitch in her knitting Grandmother Sweet
had dropped; overcast some velvet for Mrs. Patience, who was in a hurry
with a bonnet; and that done helped Miss Silence set the table and make
supper ready.
They all saw the struggle Rose was making and helped her by keeping
her mind as much as possible off from herself. And though that missing
money still hung its dark shadow over her, and she started at every
step outside with the sinking fear that it might be some one coming
to arrest her, when she went to her room that night Grandmother Sweet
patted her cheek as she kissed her good-night and whispered, “Thee has
done bravely, Rose,” an unspoken approval she read in the manner of the
others. More than that, she was surprised to find her heart lighter
than she would have thought possible a few hours before.
To keep steadily on in the way she had marked out for herself was
anything but easy during those days of suspense and anxiety. To hold
back the lump that was always threatening to rise in her throat, the
tears from springing to her eyes; to keep a cheerful face when her
heart would be sinking down, down; to feel an interest in the concerns
of others when her own seemed to swallow up everything else. But it was
her first step in a habit of conscious self-discipline that she never
forgot, and that helped her to meet many an after hour of trial.
So something over a week went by, for though Mrs. Blossom had seen
Mr. Nathan Fifield several times the mystery was as much of a mystery
as the first day, and in spite of all Mrs. Blossom could urge both he
and Miss Eudora seemed to grow the more bitter toward Rose. Nor had
there come any answer to the letters of inquiry sent to Fredonia. Every
possible theory having been exhausted in both cases, the subjects had
come to be avoided by a tacit consent. While as to the matter of the
marriage certificate, that had made so little impression on Rose’s mind
that she was less disappointed than the others in regard to it. Mrs.
Blossom did not fail to pray daily at family devotions that the truth
they were seeking might be revealed, and innocence established, and she
moved around with the serene manner of one who has given over all care
to a higher power. But though Rose was unconsciously sustained by a
reliance on that strong faith she did not pray for herself. A hopeless
apathy chilled her. There might be a God, it didn’t matter much to
her, for if there was she was an alien to His love, and she knew she
was that for all the rest might say.
But one afternoon Rose saw a little procession—Mr. Nathan Fifield and
his two sisters, in single file, crossing the now snow-covered common
in the direction of Mrs. Blossom’s. All her fears revived at the sight.
She sprang up, her eyes dilated, her face flushing and paling. “There
they come!” she cried. “I knew they would. They are going to put me in
prison, I know they are! Oh, don’t let them take me away! Don’t let
them!” and she threw herself down beside Miss Silence and hid her face
in her lap as if for safety.
Silence put her strong arms about the trembling form. “Sit up, Rose,”
she said in a matter-of-fact tone, “and wait till you see what there is
to be afraid of.”
By the time Rose had struggled back to outward calmness the visitors
had entered; Mr. Nathan, his face almost as red as the red silk
handkerchief he waved in his hand; Miss Eudora dissolved in tears; and
Miss Fifield with an expression of mingled vexation and crestfallen
humility.
There was a moment’s awkward silence, broken by Mr. Nathan in an abrupt
and aggravated tone. “I’ve come to explain a mistake I have been led
into by women’s meddling and—”
“You needn’t include me,” interrupted Miss Eudora. “You know I wouldn’t
have said what I did if you hadn’t made me feel that we were in danger
of being murdered in our beds, and I hadn’t thought Jane would be
always blaming me if I didn’t use decision. Nobody can tell how painful
it has been for me to do what I have. I don’t know when my nerves will
recover from the strain, and I’ve lost flesh till my dresses are so
loose they will hardly hang on me. I’m sure I never dreamed that Jane—”
“Oh, yes, lay all the blame you can on Jane,” rejoined that lady
grimly. “It isn’t often you get the chance, so both of you make the
best of it. I’m sure when I went away I never dreamed that you were
going to get in a panic and act like a pair of lunatics, particularly
a strong-minded man like Nathan. I never was so astonished as when
I reached home on the stage to-day and found out what had happened.
Eudora says she wrote me about it, but if she did she must have
forgotten to put the State on; she always does, and the letter may be
making the round of the Romes of the whole country; or else Nathan is
carrying it in his pocket yet—he never does remember to mail a letter.”
“If I were you I wouldn’t say anything about remembering, now or for
some time to come,” snapped her brother.
“Friends,” Grandmother Sweet’s voice was serenely calm, “if thee will
refrain from thy bickering and explain what thee means, it will be
clear to our minds what doubtless thee wishes us to know.”
While Rose, unable longer to restrain her impatience, exclaimed, “Oh,
tell us, have you found who stole the money?”
“That is just what I want to do if I can have a chance,” and Mr.
Fifield glared at Jane and Eudora. Then to Rose, “No, we haven’t
found who stole the money,” and as her face paled he hastened to add,
“because, in fact, the money was not stolen at all.”
“Where—what—” cried his eager listeners, while Rose drew a long breath
of infinite relief and sank back in her chair trembling, almost faint
with the joyful relaxation after the long strain of anxiety.
“Jane,” Mr. Nathan continued, rubbing his head till every hair stood
up, “simply saw fit to remove the money from the place where she knew I
was in the habit of keeping it, without even letting me know what she
had done.”
“You see,” explained Miss Fifield, feeling herself placed on the
defensive and determined to maintain it boldly, “I had just read
of a man who kept his money in a stove, and one day some one built
a fire and burned it all up, so I felt a stove was not a very safe
hiding-place.”
“Well,” snorted Mr. Nathan, “as there hasn’t to my certain knowledge
been a fire in that parlor stove for the last four years, I don’t think
there was much danger, to say nothing of the fact that gold will not
burn.”
“But it will melt,” triumphantly. “Besides, I have been told that when
burglars go into a house under carpets and in stoves are among the
first places they look. For these reasons I changed it to a trunk under
a pile of papers in the store-room. I intended to have told Nathan what
I had done, but in the hurry of getting away I did forget. But I should
have thought that before accusing any one they would have waited to see
what I knew about the matter.”
“You say so much about my being forgetful that I didn’t suppose you
ever did such a thing as to forget,” growled Mr. Nathan. And Eudora
added, “And her mind’s always on what she is doing. She has so little
patience with mistakes I never thought of her being the one to blame.”
“At any rate,” retorted Miss Fifield, “I don’t lose my glasses a dozen
times a day. And I don’t put things in the oven to bake and get to
mooning and let them burn up. I admit I was in fault about this, and I
am as sorry as I can be for the trouble it has made, and most of all
for the unjust suspicion it has brought on Rose; but, fortunately, no
one but ourselves is aware of this, and I don’t know as it will make
matters any better to harp on it forever.”
In fact, it needed no words to tell that the Fifields were not only
heartily sorry for what had happened, but decidedly ashamed. For every
one had been touched in the way to be felt most keenly; Squire Fifield
in that he had been proven unjust and mistaken in his opinion, Miss
Eudora that she had been hard-hearted, and Miss Fifield that she had
failed in memory and laid herself open to blame. This blow at the
especial pride of each, made them, while really glad that Rose had
been proved innocent, for the moment almost wish that she or some one
could at least have been guilty enough to have saved them the present
irritation of chagrin and humiliation.
Perhaps unconsciously something of this showed itself in Mr. Nathan’s
manner as he said: “Yes, Rose, we deeply regret that we have wrongfully
accused you—though I must still say that under the circumstances we
seemed justified in doing so, and I hope you will accept this as a
compensation for the trouble it has made you,” and he dropped a couple
of gold eagles in her lap.
Rose’s cheeks crimsoned. “I don’t want any such money,” she cried
hotly, flinging the gold coins to the floor. “Because I was poor and
hadn’t any home or friends you thought I must be a liar and a thief. If
you had said as though you’d meant it that you were sorry for the way
you had treated me it would have been all I asked. I don’t ask to be
paid for being honest. It’s an insult for you to offer to, and I’d beg
before I’d touch it, I would!”
“Rose, Rose!” reproved Mrs. Blossom, who had been unable to check the
indignant torrent. “I trust you will overlook the way Rose has spoken,”
she hastened to say. “This last week has been a great strain on her,
and her nerves are in a condition that she is hardly responsible.” As
she spoke she gave a warning glance at Silence, from the expression of
whose face she knew that she approved of Rose’s action, and was fearful
would endorse it in words; at the same time Mrs. Patience looked
at Rose in amazement that she should dare thus to provoke Nathan
Fifield’s well-known irascible temper, and all present waited for the
explosion they expected would follow.
But contrary to their expectation after a moment’s amazement he began
to laugh. “She’ll do,” he said to Mrs. Blossom with a nod of approval.
“Grit like that will pull through every time, and she’s got it about
right, too. Upon my word,” rubbing his hands as if at a sudden idea,
“if no one else puts in a claim I will be tempted to adopt her myself.
I believe an education wouldn’t be wasted, and with her spunk I’d like
to see what she would make.”
One good thing about Rose’s temper was that though fiery its flame was
quickly spent, and penitence was almost sure to swiftly follow wrath.
It was so in this case; hardly had he ceased speaking when a meek
little voice was heard, “I didn’t do right at all, Mr. Fifield, to talk
to you as I did, and I hope you’ll forgive me?”
“Well, my dear,” was the answer, “I didn’t do right either in being
so ready to think evil of you, in being on the lookout for something
wrong, as I was, and I hope you’ll forgive me?”
“And me, too,” sobbed Miss Eudora. “I never was hard on anybody before
in my life, and I’m sure I never will be again.”
“And now,” observed Miss Fifield drily, “I suppose I ought to ask to be
forgiven for being the guilty one.”
“Oh, Miss Fifield,” and Rose caught her hand, “we all forget
things; I know I tried you lots of times by forgetting. It wasn’t—I
suppose—strange they should have thought as they did, but it’s all
right now. And please promise me, Mr. Fifield and Miss Eudora, that you
will let it all go, and never say anything unpleasant to Miss Fifield
about it.”
“Why, child!” cried Mr. Nathan, as if astonished at the idea, “I
wouldn’t say anything unpleasant to my sisters, I never do. Of course I
have to hold them level now and then, but I don’t know as I ever spoke
a really unpleasant word to them in my life.”
“Yes,” Miss Fifield’s tone was complacent, “that is one of the things
I have always been thankful for, that we were a perfectly harmonious
family. I don’t deny that I am tried sometimes with Nathan and Eudora,
but I never let them know it.”
“I have my trials, too,” added Miss Eudora with a pensive shake of her
little grey curls, “but I bear them in silence. Family squabbles are so
disgraceful that I don’t see how a person of refinement could ever take
part in one.”
Rose stared round-eyed from one to another speaker, and Silence Blossom
turned her face away for a moment; but Grandmother Sweet smiled gently,
for she had long ago learned how seldom it is that people know their
own faults, or see themselves as others see them.
As they were leaving Miss Fifield turned to Rose. “Of course we shall
want you to come back to us. When will that be?”
“Not just at present,” Mrs. Blossom hastened to answer. “First of all
she must have time to rest and get back to her usual self.” Rose lifted
grateful eyes, for at that moment it didn’t seem to her that she could
enter the Fifield house again.
At the door Miss Eudora paused. “And you haven’t heard anything yet
about her people? Finding the marriage certificate in the locket
was just like a story. And if she should prove to be an heiress how
romantic that would be! I heard of such a case the winter I was in
Albany.”