ANNA AND ADAH
For a moment Anna was inclined to think that Pamelia had made a mistake.
That beautiful face, that refined, ladylike manner, did not suit well a
waiting maid, and Anna's doubts were increasing, when little Willie set
her right by patting her cheek again, while he called out: "Mamma,
arntee."
The look of interest which Anna cast upon him emboldened Adah to say:
"Excuse him, Miss Richards; he must have mistaken you for a dear friend
at home, whom he calls 'Auntie,' I'll take him down; he troubles you."
"No, no," and Anna passed her arm around him. "I love children so much.
I ought to have been a wife and mother, my brother says, instead of a
useless old maid."
Anna smiled faintly as she said this, while thoughts of Charlie
Millbrook flashed across her mind. Adah was too much a stranger to
disclaim against Anna's calling herself old, so she paid no attention to
the remark, but plunged at once into the matter which had brought her
there. Presuming they would rather be alone, Pamelia had purposely left
the room, meeting in the lower hall with Mrs. Richards and her daughter,
who, in much affright, were searching for the recent occupants of the
reception-room. Pamelia quieted them by saying: "The lady was in Miss
Anna's room."
"How came she there? She must be a bold piece, upon my word!" she said,
angrily, while Pamelia replied:
"The little boy got upstairs, and walked right into Miss Anna's room.
She was taken with him at once, and asked who he was. I told her and she
sent for the lady. That's how it happened."
Mrs. Richards hurried up to Anna's chamber, where Willie still was
perched by Anna's pillow, while Adah, with her bonnet in her lap, sat a
little apart, traces of tears and agitation upon her cheeks, but a look
of happiness in the brown eyes fixed so wistfully on Anna's fair, sweet
face.
"Please, mother," said Anna, motioning her away, "leave us alone a
while. Shut the door, and see that no one comes near."
Mrs. Richards obeyed, and Anna, waiting until she was out of hearing,
resumed the conversation just where it had been interrupted.
"And so you are the one who wrote that advertisement which I read. Let
me see--the very night my brother came home from Europe. I remember he
laughed because I was so interested, and he accidentally tore off the
name to light his cigar, so I forgot it entirely. What shall I call you,
please?"
Adah was tempted to answer her at once, "Adah Hastings"--it seemed so
wrong to impose in any way on that frank, sweet woman; but she
remembered Mrs. Worthington's injunction, and for her sake she
refrained, keeping silent a moment, and then breaking out impetuously:
"Please, Miss Richards, don't ask my real name, for I'd rather not give
it now. I will tell you of the past, though I did not ever mean to do
that; but something about you makes me know I can trust you." And then,
amid a shower of tears, in which Anna's, too, were mingled, Adah told
her sad story.
"But why do you wish to conceal?" she asked, after Adah had finished.
"Is there any reason?"
"At first there was none in particular, save a fancy I had, but there
came one afterward--the request of one who had been, kind to me as a
dear mother. Is it wrong not to tell the whole?"
"I think not. You have dealt honestly with me so far, but what shall I
call you? You must have a name."
"Oh, may I stay?" Adah asked eagerly, forgetting her late terror of
'Lina.
"Of course you may. Did you think I would turn you away?" was Anna's
reply; and laying her head upon the white counterpane of the bed, Adah
cried passionately; not a wild, bitter cry, but a delicious kind of cry
which did her good, even though her whole frame quivered and her low,
choking sobs fell distinctly on Anna's ear.
"Poor child!" the latter said, laying her soft hand on the bowed head.
"You have suffered much, but with me you shall find rest. I want you for
a companion, rather than a maid. I, too, have had my heart troubles;
not like yours, but heavy enough to make me wish I could die."
It was seldom that Anna alluded to herself in this way, and to do so to
a stranger was utterly foreign to the Richards' nature. But Anna could
not help it. There was something about Adah which interested her
greatly. She could not wholly shield her from her mother's and sisters'
pride, but she would do what she could.
"Oh, pride, pride," she whispered to herself, "of how much pain hast
thou been the cause."
Pride had sent her Charlie over the sea without her; pride had separated
her brother from the Lily she was sure he loved, as he could never love
the maiden to whom he was betrothed; and pride, it seemed, had been at
the root of all this young girl's sorrow. Blessed Anna Richards--the
world has few like her--so gentle, so kind, so lovely, and as no one
could long be with her and not feel her influence, so Adah, by the touch
of the fingers still caressing her, was soothed into peaceful quiet.
When she had grown quite calm, Anna continued: "You have not told me yet
what name to give you, or shall I choose one for you?"
"Oh, if you only would!" and Adah looked up quickly.
Anna began to enjoy this mystery, wondering what name she should choose.
Adah should be Rose Markham, and she repeated it aloud, asking Adah how
it sounded.
"If it did not seem so much like deceiving," Adah said. "You'll tell
your family it is not my real name, won't you?"
Anna readily agreed to Adah's proposal, and then, remembering that all
this time she had been sitting in her cloak and fur, she bade her lay
them aside. "Or, stay," she added, "touch that bell, if you please, and
ring Pamelia up. There's a little room adjoining this. I mean to give
you that. You will be so near me, and so retired, too, when you like.
John--that's my brother--occupied it when a boy. I think it will answer
nicely for you."
Obedient to the ring, Pamelia came, manifesting no surprise when told by
Anna to unlock the door and see if the little room was in order for
"Mrs. Markham."
Pamelia cast a rapid glance at Adah, who winced as she heard the new
name, and felt glad when Anna added: "Pamelia, I can trust you not to
gossip out of the house. This young woman's name is not Markham, but I
choose to have her called so."
Another glance at Adah, more curious than the first, and then Pamelia
did as she was bidden, opening the door and saying, as she did so: "I
know the room is in order. There's a fire, too; Miss Anna has forgot
that Dr. John slept here last night."
"I do remember now," Anna replied. "Mrs. Markham can go in at once.
Pamelia, send lunch to her room, and tell your husband to bring up her
trunk."
Again Pamelia bowed and departed to do her young mistress' bidding,
while Adah entered the pleasant room where Dr. Richards had slept the
previous night.
On the marble hearth the remains of a cheerful fire were blazing, while
on the mantel over the hearth was a portrait of a boy, apparently ten or
twelve years of age, and a young girl, who seemed a few years older. The
girl was Anna. But the boy, the handsome, smooth-cheeked boy, in his
fancy jacket, with that expression of vanity plainly visible about his
mouth. Who was he? Had Adah any knowledge of him? Had they met before?
Never that she knew of. Dr. Richards was a stranger to her, for she
guessed this was the doctor, 'Lina's betrothed, scrutinizing him
closely, and wondering if the man retained the look of the boy. And as
she gazed, the features seemed to grow familiar. Surely she had met a
face like this, but where she could not guess, and turning from him she
inspected the rest of the room, wondering if Alice Johnson were ever in
this room.
With thoughts of Alice came memories of Spring Bank, and the wish that
they knew all this. How thankful they would be, and how thankful she was
for this resting place in the protection of sweet Anna Richards. It was
better than she had even dared to hope for, and sinking down by the
snowy-covered bed, she murmured inaudibly the prayer of thanksgiving she
felt compelled to make to Him who had led her to Terrace Hill. It was
thus that Pamelia found her when she came up again, and it did much to
establish the profound respect she ever manifested toward the new
waiting maid, Rose Markham.
"Your lunch will be here directly," she said to Adah, who little dreamed
of the parley which had taken place between Asenath and Dixson, the
cook, concerning this same lunch.
Asenath was too proud to discuss the matter with a servant, but when she
saw the slices of cold chicken which Dixson was deliberately cutting up,
and the little pot of jelly which Pamelia placed upon the salver, she
forgot her dignity, and angrily demanded what they were doing.
"Miss Anna ordered lunch, and I'm a-gettin' it," was Dixson's reply.
"Yes, but such a lunch for a waiting woman; and going to send it up. I'd
like to know if she's too big a lady to come into the kitchen," and
Asenath's sharp shoulders jerked savagely.
"I must say, I think you very foolish indeed, to take a person about
whom you know nothing," she said to Anna, as soon as she saw her, but
stopped short as Willie ran out from the adjoining room and stood
looking at her.
As well as she was capable of doing, Asenath had loved her brother John
when a baby; and when he became a prattling active child, like the one
standing before her, she had almost worshiped him, thinking there was
never a face so pretty or manner so engaging as his. There had come no
baby after him, and she remembered him so well, starting now with
surprise as she saw reflected in Willie's face the look she never had
forgotten.
"Who is he, Anna? Not her child, the waiting woman's, surely."
"Hush--sh," came warningly from Anna, as she glanced toward the open
door, and that brought Asenath back from her dream of the past.
It was the waiting woman's child. There was no look like John now. She
had been mistaken, and rather rudely pushing him away, she said: "I
think you might have consulted us, at least. What are we to do with a
child in this house? Here, here, young man," and Asenath started forward
just in time to frighten Willie and make him drop and break the goblet
he was trying to reach from the stand, "to dink," as he said.
Asenath's purple silk was deluged with the water, and her temper was
considerably ruffled as she exclaimed: "You see the mischief he has
done, and it was cut glass, too. I hope you'll deduct it from her
wages!"
"Asenath," and Anna's voice betrayed her astonishment that her sister
should speak so in Adah's presence.
She had hurried out at Asenath's alarm, but the latter did not at first
observe her, and when she did, she was actually startled into an apology
for her speech.
"I'm sorry Willie was so careless. I'll pay for the goblet cheerfully,"
Adah said, not to Asenath, but to Anna, who answered kindly: "No matter;
it was already cracked across the bottom--don't mind."
But Adah did mind; and once alone in her room, her tears fell in
torrents. She had heard the whole about Willie's mischief, heard of the
buds torn to pieces, and of the hole kicked in the carpet. She would
like to see that hole, and after Willie was asleep, she stole down to
the reception-room to see the damage for herself. She found the hole, or
what was intended for it, smiling as she examined the few loose threads;
and then she hunted for the stool, finding it under the curtain where
Eudora had placed it, and finding, too, that letter dropped by Jim. The
others were gone, appropriated by Mrs. Richards, who always watched for
the western mail and looked it over herself.
MISS ANNIE RICHARDS,
SNOWDOWN,
MASS.
That was the direction, and the envelope was faced with black. Adah
noticed this, together with the heavy seal of wax stamped with an
initial; and she was taking the lost epistle to its rightful owner when
Mrs. Richards met her, asking what she had.
"I found this beneath the curtain," Adah replied. "It's for Miss Anna;
I'll take it to her, shall I?"
"Yes, yes--yes, yes; for Anna," and madam snatched eagerly at that
letter from Charlie Millbrook.
Soon recovering herself, she said naturally: "I'll take it myself. Say,
girl, what is your name, now that you are to work here? You won't mind
righting up the parlors, I presume--sweeping and dusting them, before
you go upstairs again?"
It was new business for Adah, sweeping parlors as a servant, but she did
it without a murmur; and then, when her task was completed, stopped for
a moment by a window, and looked out upon the town, wondering where
Alice Johnson's home had been. The house where she once lived would seem
like an old friend, she thought, just as Pamelia came in and joined her.
At the same moment Adah's eye caught the cottage by the river, and her
heart beat rapidly, for that seemed to answer Alice's description of her
Snowdon home.
"Whose pretty place is that?" she asked, pointing it out to Pamelia, who
replied:
"It was a Mrs. Johnson's, but she's dead, and Miss Alice has gone a
long ways off. I wish you could see Miss Alice, the most beautiful and
the best lady in the world. She and Miss Anna were great friends. She
used to be up here every day, and the village folks talked some that she
came to see the doctor. But my," and Pamelia's face was very expressive
of contempt, "she wouldn't have him, by a great sight. He's going to be
married, though, to a Kentucky belle, with a hundred or more negroes,
they say, and mighty big feelin'. But she needn't bring none of her a'rs
nor her darkies here!"
"When does she come?" Adah asked, and Pamelia answered:
"In the spring; so you needn't begin to dread her. Why, your face is
white as paper," and rather familiarly Pamelia pinched Adah's marble
cheek.
Adah did not mean to be proud, but still she could not help shrinking
from the familiarity, drawing back so quickly that Pamelia saw the
implied rebuke. She did not ask pardon, but she became at once more
respectful.
A moment after Anna's bell was heard, but Adah paid no heed, till
Pamelia said:
"That was Miss Anna's bell, and it means for you to come."
Adah colored, and hastily left the room, while Pamelia muttered to
herself:
"Ain't no more a maid than Miss Anna herself. But why has she come here?
That's the mystery. She's been unfortunate."
This was the solution in Pamelia's mind; but the thought went no further
than to her better half.
Adah's feelings at being called just as Lulu and Muggins were at home,
had been in a measure shared by Anna, who hesitated several minutes ere
touching the bell.
"If she is to be my maid, it will be better for us both not to act under
restraint," she thought, and so rang out the summons which brought Adah
to her room.
It was an awkward business, requiring a menial's service of that
ladylike creature, and Anna would have been exceedingly perplexed had
not Adah's good sense come to the rescue, prompting her to do things
unasked in such a way that Anna was at once relieved from embarrassment,
and felt that in Rose Markham she had found a treasure. She did not join
the family in the evening, but kept her room instead, talking with Adah
and caressing and playing with little Willie, who persisted in calling
her "Arntee," in spite of all Adah could say.
"Never mind," Anna answered, laughingly; "I rather like to hear him. No
one has ever called me by that name, and maybe never will, though my
brother is engaged to be married in the spring. I have a picture of his
betrothed there on my bureau. Would you like to see it?"
Adah nodded, and was soon gazing on the dark, haughty face she knew so
well, and which, even from the casing, seemed to smile disdainfully
upon, her, just as the original had often done.
"What do you think of her?" Anna asked.
Adah must say something, and she replied:
"I dare say people think her pretty."
"Yes; but what do you think? I asked your opinion," persisted Anna; and
thus beset Adah replied at last:
"I think her too showily dressed for a picture. She displays too much
jewelry."
Anna began to defend her future sister.
"There's rather too much of ornament, I'll admit, but she's a great
beauty, and attracts much attention. Why, one of her pictures hangs in
Brady's Gallery."
"At Brady's!" and Adah spoke quickly. "I should not suppose your brother
would like to have it there where so many can look at it."
Anna tried to shield the heartless 'Lina, never dreaming how much more
than herself Adah knew of 'Lina Worthington.
It seemed to Adah like a miserable deceit, sitting there and listening
while Anna talked of 'Lina, and she was glad when at last she showed
signs of weariness, and expressed a desire to retire for the night.
"Would you mind reading to me from the Bible?" Anna asked.
"Oh, no, I'd like it so much," and Adah read her favorite chapter.
And Anna listening to the sweet, silvery tones reading: "Let not your
heart be troubled," felt her own sorrow grow less.
"If you please," Adah said timidly, bending over the sweet face resting
on the pillow, "if you please, may I say the 'Lord's Prayer' here with
you?"
Anna answered by grasping Adah's hand, and whispering to her:
"Yes, say it, do."
Then Adah knelt beside her, and Anna's fair hand rested as if in
blessing on her head as they said together, "Our Father."
Adah's sleep was sweet that night in her little room at Terrace
Hill--sweet, not because she knew whose home it was, nor yet because
only the previous night he had tossed wearily upon the self-same pillow
where she was resting so quietly, but because of a heart at peace with
God, a feeling that she had at last found a haven of shelter for herself
and her child, a home with Anna Richards, whose low breathings could be
distinctly heard, and who once as the night wore on moaned so loudly in
her sleep that it awakened Adah, and brought her to the bedside. But
Anna was only dreaming and Adah heard her murmur the name of Charlie.
"I will not awaken her," she said, and gliding back to her own room, she
wondered who was Anna's Charlie, associating him somehow with the letter
she had given, into the care of Mrs. Richards.