ODALITE
Among all the merry-makers there was one sad face—Odalite’s—which no
effort of self-control could make otherwise than sad.
Odalite, for the sake of her young sisters, had joined every party, but
she took no pleasure in them.
Now that all the distracting excitement was over, and she could think
calmly of the circumstances, they all combined to distress, mortify and
humiliate her. The remembrance of that scene in the church, of which at
the time it transpired she was but half conscious, was to her so
shameful and degrading that she secretly shrank from the eyes of friends
and neighbors whom she was obliged to meet at the various gatherings in
the neighborhood.
Then the doubt of her real relations to the Satan who had entered her
Eden, the uncertainty of her true position, and the instability of her
circumstances, all gathered around her like heavy clouds and darkened,
saddened and oppressed her spirits.
That Anglesea had no moral claim on her she was perfectly well assured.
That her father would protect her against him she felt equally certain.
But that the man might have a legal claim upon her—supposing his
marriage with the Widow Wright to have been an irregular one—and that he
might give her dear mother and herself trouble through that claim, she
was sorely afraid.
And then there was Le—her dear, noble, generous Le—who had pardoned her
apparent defection and had sworn to be faithful to her and share her
fate to the end of life, even though that fate should oblige them to
live apart in celibacy forever. Her heart ached for Le. She had had but
one letter from him since he left the house, a month before. In it he
told her that he had reached his ship only six hours before she was to
sail, and that he had only time to write a few farewell lines on the eve
of departure. But these lines were, indeed, full of love, faith and
hope. He told her that he should keep a diary for her, and send it in
sections by every opportunity. And he renewed all his vows of fidelity
to her through life.
That was his first and last letter up to this time. But now she was
looking for another.
This daily expectation and the weekly visits to Greenbushes helped to
occupy her mind, and enabled her to endure life.
Old Molly, the housekeeper there, who did not understand, and could not
appreciate, the comfort and consolation that Odalite derived from these
weekly inspections, remonstrated on the subject, saying:
“’Deed, Miss Odalite, ’tain’t no use for you to take all dis yere
trouble for to come ober yere ebery week to see as de rooms is all
opened and aired and dried—’deed it ain’t. You can trust me—’deed you
can. Now did you eber come ober yere on a Wednesday morning, and not
find a fire kindled into ebery room in de house, and de windows all
opened, ef it was clear? And likewise, if you war to come at night,
you’d find the fires all out, and the windows all shut, and the rooms
all dry as a toast.”
“I know I can trust you thoroughly, Molly, but you see I like to come.
It seems to bring me nearer Le, you know,” Odalite replied, in her
gentle and confiding way.
“Yes, honey, so it do, indeed. Well, it was a awful set-down to us w’en
dat forriner come yere an’ cut Marse Le out, an’ him a married man, too,
Lord save us!”
“Hush, Molly. You must not speak of that person to me,” said Odalite,
sternly.
“Lord, honey, I ain’t a-blamin’ of you. Well I knows as you couldn’t
help it. Well I knows as he give you witch powders, or summut, to make
you like him whedder or no. W’ite people don’t believe nuffin ’bout dese
witch powders, but we dem colored people we knows, honey. But now he is
foun’ out an’ druv away, we dem all sees as you is a fo’gettin’ de
nonsense, honey, ’cause he can’t give you no mo’ witch powders. Lor’!
why, if it had been true love you feeled for him, you couldn’t a got
ober it as soon as you has, eben if yer had foun’ him out to be de gran’
vilyun as he is, ’cause it would a took time. But as it war not true
love, but only witch powders, you see you got ober it eber since he went
away. Lor’! I knows about witch powders.”
“Please, Mollie,” pleaded Odalite.
But the negro woman, having mounted her hobby, rocked on:
“Neber mind, honey. You and Marse Le is young ’nough to spare t’ree
years, an’ next time he come home, please de Lord, we’ll all ’joy a
merry marridge, an’ you an’ him to come to housekeeping ’long of us.”
Odalite took leave, and went home. That was the only way in which she
could escape the painful subject.
She found a letter from Le on her return. It was dated last from Rio de
Janeiro. It contained the daily record of the young midshipman’s life on
the man-of-war, and no end to the vows of love and constancy.
This letter came under cover to her mother. It cheered Odalite up for
days.
But again her spirits sank.
At length her health began to suffer, and then her parents took into
consideration a plan that had been discussed a month before. This was to
leave the plantation under the competent direction of their long-known
overseer and their family solicitor, and to take a furnished house in
Washington City for three years, during which time they could place
their two younger daughters at a good finishing school, and introduce
their eldest into society.
It was Mrs. Force who had first proposed the plan, and it was she who
now recurred to it.
“You know, dear Abel,” she said to her husband, while they were sitting
together one morning in her little parlor, “you know that two
considerations press on us now—the health of Odalite and the education
of Wynnette and Elva. I really fear for Odalite, and so does Dr. Ingle,
if she should be permitted to remain in this neighborhood, where
everything reminds her of the distress and mortification she has
suffered. Odalite must have a thorough change. And no better change can
be thought of for her than a winter in Washington. The gay season is
just commencing in that city, and with all that we could do for her
there Odalite would be sure to improve. Think what a contrast Washington
in its season—Washington with its splendid official receptions, its
operas and concerts, every day and night—would be to the secluded life
we all lead here. And especially what a contrast in the conception of
Odalite, who will see the city for the first time.”
“I appreciate all that; but, my love, your simple wish to go to the city
would be quite sufficient for me,” said the squire.
Mrs. Force turned away her head and breathed a sigh, as she often did at
any especial mark of love or trust from her good husband.
“I should not express the wish on my own account, dear Abel. I have
always been well content with our retired life and your society alone. I
spoke only for the children’s sake. I have told you why Odalite needs
the change, and now I wish to tell you how our residence in Washington
will benefit her younger sisters. Wynnette and Elva must go on with
their education. We would not like to engage a stranger to come and take
charge of them here, just after such a public event as that of the
broken marriage, even if we could get one to replace Natalie Meeke, or
suit us as well as she did, which I am sure we could not. Nor, on the
other hand, could we consent to send our children away from us. So I see
no better plan for them, as well as for all, than that we should all go
to Washington, where we can give our Odalite the social life that she so
much needs just now, and where we can enter Wynnette and Elva as day
pupils in a first-class school.”
“My dear, I see that you are right,” said Mr. Force. “You are quite
right in regard to the wisdom of going to Washington, so far as the
benefit of our children is concerned; nor do I see any hindrance to our
leaving this place without our care. Barnes is an invaluable farm
manager, and Copp is as capable an agent as any proprietor could desire.
We will leave the place in their care. We can go at once, or just as
soon as you can pack up. If we cannot secure a furnished house at once
we can go to a hotel and stay until we can get one.”
“But—what shall we do with Mrs. Anglesea?” demanded Mrs. Force, in
sudden dismay as the vision of the lady from Wild Cats’ arose in her
mind’s eye.
Abel Force gave a long, low whistle, and then answered:
“We must invite her to go with us to Washington.”
“To——Invite Mrs. Anglesea to join our party to Washington?” gasped the
lady.
“Yes. She will be charmed to accept, I am sure,” replied the gentleman,
with a twinkle of humor in his eye.
“But, good heavens, Abel! how could we introduce that woman into
Washington society?”
“Very well, indeed. Very much better than we could into any other
society on the face of the earth. The wives of the high officers of the
government are the leaders of society; the latter are under the dominion
of the sovereign people, who flock to the city in great numbers, and
from all parts of the country, and all ranks and grades of the social
scale; and you will find the drawing rooms of cabinet ministers and
foreign ambassadors filled with companies more mixed than you could find
elsewhere in the world. Our lady from the gold mines will find plenty to
keep her in countenance.”
“For all that,” said Mrs. Force, “I shall try to evade the necessity of
taking her with us.”
“My dear, we cannot, in decency, turn our guest out of doors; so the
only alternative we have is to take her with us or stay at home.”
“I think—she is so simple, good-humored and unconventional—that I think
I may explain to her the necessity of our going to Washington for the
sake of the children, and then give her a choice to go with us or to
remain here.”
“That’s it!” exclaimed Mr. Force. “And let us hope that she will elect
to remain.”
A little later in the day Mrs. Force had an explanation with her guest,
and put the alternative before her.
“You will understand, dear Mrs. Anglesea, the cruel necessity that
obliges us to leave our home at this juncture; and now I wish you to be
guided by your own impulses whether to go with us to Washington or to
remain here as long as it may suit you to do so,” said the lady, in
conclusion.
“You say you’re all a-gwine to a hotel?” inquired the visitor.
“Yes.”
“Well, then, you don’t catch me leavin’ of a comfortable home like this,
where there’s plenty of turkeys, and canvas-back ducks, and game of all
sorts, as the niggers shoot and sell for a song, and feather beds, and
good roaring fires, and cupboards full of preserves and sweetmeats, to
go to any of your hotels to get pizened by their messes, or catch my
death in damp sheets. No, ma’am, no hotels for me, if you please. I got
enough of ’em at the Hidalgo. I know beans, I do; and I stays here.”
“Very well. I shall be glad to think of you here; and I shall leave Lucy
and Jacob in the house to take care of it, and they will wait on you,”
said the well-pleased lady of the manor.
“I’ll make myself comfortable, you bet, ole ’oman! and I’ll take good
care of the house while you’re gone—you may stake your pile on that!”
And so this matter was satisfactorily settled.
Preparations for departure immediately began, and soon the news got
abroad in the neighborhood that the Forces were going to leave Mondreer
and live in Washington.