THE FORTUNES OF ODALITE
To explain the mysterious letter written by Elfrida Force to her
housekeeper, we must condense the family history of the last three
years, which had passed without any incident worth recording, and bring
it up to the time when events full of importance for good or evil
followed each other in rapid succession.
Mr. Force, on removing his family to Washington, in the month of
February three years before, took apartments in one of the best hotels
for himself, his wife, and their eldest daughter, while he placed his
two younger daughters and his little ward at a first-class boarding
school.
The Forces had some friends and acquaintances in the city, and to these
they sent cards, which were promptly honored by calls.
For the sake of Odalite, Mrs. Force chose to enter the gay society for
which she herself had little heart.
The trousseau prepared for the girl’s luckless, broken marriage came
well into use as an elegant outfit for the fashionable season in the gay
capital.
Mr. Force escorted his wife and daughter to all the receptions,
concerts, balls and dinners to which they were invited, and everywhere
he felt pride and pleasure in the general admiration bestowed upon his
beautiful wife and their lovely daughter.
But the instinct of caste was strong in the breast of Elfrida Force. She
and her daughter were recipients of many elegant entertainments, and she
wished to reciprocate, but could not do so while living at a hotel.
His wife’s wishes, joined to his own longing for the freedom of domestic
life, added zeal to Abel Force’s quest of a house.
But it was at the end of the session of Congress before his desire was
gratified. Then a United States senator, whose term of office had
expired, offered his handsome and elegantly furnished house for rent.
Mr. and Mrs. Force inspected the premises, and leased them for three
years.
They did not wish to go in at once, as the season was at an end, and the
summer at hand.
But as soon as the retiring statesman and his family had vacated the
house Mr. Force sent in a squad of housecleaners to prepare the place
for the new tenants.
When the schools closed for the long summer vacation he gave little
Rosemary Hedge into the hands of Miss Grandiere, who had come to
Washington to fetch her home, and with his wife and three daughters left
the city for an extensive summer tour.
After three months of varied travel the family returned to Washington in
September, and took possession of the beautiful town house, near the P
Street circle, in the northwest section of the city.
Then they replaced their daughters and their little ward at the same
school—not as boarders, however, but as day pupils, for Mr. and Mrs.
Force wished to have their girls as much as possible under their own
care, believing home education to be the most influential for good—or
for evil—of all possible training.
When Congress met, and the season began, Mrs. Force took the lead by
giving a magnificent ball, to which all the beauty, fashion, wealth and
celebrity of the national capital were invited, to which they nearly all
came.
The ball was a splendid success.
The beautiful Elfrida Force became an acknowledged queen of society, and
her lovely young daughter was the belle of the season.
Had no one in the city then heard of her disastrous wedding broken up at
the altar?
Not a soul had heard of it. Not one of those friends and acquaintances
of Mrs. Force whom she had met in Washington, for, be it remembered, she
had written to no one of her daughter’s approaching marriage, and had
bid to the wedding only the nearest neighbors and oldest friends of her
family.
Odalite was saved this unmerited humiliation, at least—though many who
admired the beautiful girl wondered that the lovely, dark eyes never
sparkled, the sweet lips never smiled.
In this season she had several “eligible” offers of marriage—one from a
young officer in the army; another from a middle-aged banker; another
from an aged cabinet minister; a fourth from a foreign secretary of
legation; a fifth from a distinguished lawyer; a sixth from a brilliant
congressman; a seventh from a fashionable preacher; and so on and so on.
All these were declined with courtesy.
Odalite took very little pleasure in the gay life of Washington, and
very little pride in her conquests.
Her sole delight was in Le’s letters, which came to her under cover to
her mother; but were read and enjoyed by the whole family.
Le certainly was a faithful servant of the great republic, and never
neglected his duty; but yet his “most chiefest occupation” must have
been writing to Odalite, for his letters came by every possible
opportunity, and they were not only letters, but huge parcels of
manuscript, containing the journal of his thoughts, feelings, hopes and
purposes from day to day. And all these might have been summed in one
word—“Odalite.”
She also sent letters as bulky and as frequently; and all that she wrote
might have been condensed into a monosyllable—“Le.”
These parcels were always directed in the hand of her mother.
Ah! mother and daughter ever felt that the eyes of an implacable enemy
were secretly watching them, so that they must be on their guard against
surprise and treachery.
They suffered this fear, although they never heard one word from, or of,
Angus Anglesea. He might be dead, living, or imprisoned, for aught they
knew of his state, condition, or whereabouts.
In the distractions of society, however, they forgot their secret fears,
for indeed they had no time for reflection. This was one of the gayest
seasons ever known in the gay capital; reception, ball and concert
followed ball, concert and reception in a dizzy round; and the Forces
were seen at all! If they had purposely intended to make up for all the
long years of seclusion at Mondreer they certainly and completely
succeeded.
At the end of the season they took a rest; but they did not leave
Washington until June, when the schools closed, and then they placed
little Rosemary Hedge in the hands of Miss Grandiere, who came to the
city to receive her, and they went to Canada for the summer.
As this first year passed, so passed the second and nearly the whole of
the third.
It was in September of the third year that the monotony of winter
society and summer travel was broken by something of vital interest to
all their lives.
They had just returned to Washington; replaced their youngest daughters
and their ward at school, and settled themselves, with their eldest
daughter, in their town house, which had been renovated during their
absence.
It was a season of repose coming between the summer travel and the
winter’s dissipations. They were receiving no calls, making no visits,
but just resting.
One morning the father, mother and daughter were seated in the back
piazza which faced the west, and was therefore, on this warm morning in
September, cool and shady. The piazza looked down upon a little back
yard, such as city lots can afford. But every inch of the ground had
been utilized, for a walk covered with an arbor of latticework and
grapevines led down to a back gate and to the stables in the rear. On
the right hand of this walk was a green plot, with a pear tree and a
plum tree growing in the midst, and a border of gorgeous autumn flowers
blooming all around. On the other side of the walk was another plot with
a peach tree and an apple tree growing in the midst, and a border of
roses all around. And the grapevine and the fruit trees were all in full
fruition now, and supplied the dessert every day.
Mr., Mrs. and Miss Force were all seated in the pleasant Quaker
rocking-chairs with which this back piazza was furnished.
Mr. Force had the morning paper in his hands and he was reading aloud to
the two ladies, who were both engaged in crochet work, when the back
door opened and a manservant came out and handed an enveloped newspaper
to his master, saying:
“The postmaster has just left it, sir.”
“And nothing else?” inquired the gentleman.
“Nothing else, sir—only that.”
“Only a newspaper,” said Mr. Force, laying it down carelessly, without
examination, as he resumed the _Union_ and the article he had been
engaged in reading.
No one felt the slightest interest in the paper that lay neglected on
the little stand beside Mr. Force’s chair. Many newspapers came by mail,
and but few of them were opened. Mr. Force went on with his reading, and
Mrs. and Miss Force with their embroidery. And the neglected newspaper,
with its tremendous news, lay there unnoticed and forgotten with the
prospect of being thrown, unopened, into the dust barrel; which must
certainly have been its fate, had not Odalite chanced to cast her eye
upon it and to observe something unfamiliar in its style and character.
In idle curiosity she took it up, looked at it, and gave a cry.