ROSE MARKHAM
To Mrs. Richards and her elder daughters Rose Markham was an object of
suspicious curiosity, while the villagers merely thought of Rose Markham
as one far above her position, saying not very complimentary things of
madam and her older daughters when it was known that Rose had been
banished from the family pew to the side seat near the door, where
honest Jim said his prayers, with Pamelia at his side.
For only one Sabbath had Adah graced the Richards' pew, and then it was
all Jim's work. He had driven his wife and Adah first to church, as the
day was stormy, and ere returning for the ladies, had escorted Adah up
the aisle and turned her into the family pew, where she sat unconscious
of the admiring looks cast upon her by those already assembled, or of
the indignant astonishment of Miss Asenath and Eudora when they found
that for one half day at least they must he disgraced by sitting with
their servant. Very haughtily the scandalized ladies swept up the aisle,
stopping suddenly at the pew door as if waiting for Adah to leave; but
she only drew back further into the corner, while Willie held up to
Asenath the picture he had found in her velvet-bound prayer book.
Alas! for the quiet hour Adah had hoped to spend, hallowed by thoughts
that the dear ones at Spring Bank were mingling in the same service.
She could not even join in the responses at first for the bitterness at
her heart, the knowing how much she was despised by the proud ladies
beside her.
Very close she kept Willie at her side, allowing him occasionally as he
grew tired to stand upon the cushion, a proceeding highly offensive to
the Misses Richards and highly gratifying to the row of tittering
schoolgirls in the seat behind him. Willie always attracted attention,
and numerous were the compliments paid to his infantile beauty by the
younger portion of the congregation, while the older ones, they who
remembered the doctor when a boy, declared that Willie Markham was
exactly like him, when standing in the seat he kept the children in
continual excitement by his restless movements and pretty baby ways.
The fire burned brightly in Anna's room when Adah returned from church,
and Anna herself was waiting for her, welcoming her back with a smile
which went far toward removing the pain still heavy at her heart. Anna
saw something was the matter, but it was her sisters who enlightened her
as together they ate their Sunday dinner in the little breakfast room
where Anna joined them.
"Such impudence," Eudora said. "She had not heard one word of Mr.
Howard's sermon, for keeping her book and dress and fur away from that
little torment."
Then followed the story in detail, how "Markham had sat in their seat,
parading herself up there just for show, while Willie had kissed the
picture of little Samuel in Asenath'a book and left thereon the print of
his lips. If Anna would have a maid, they did wish she would get one not
quite so affected as Markham, one who did not try to attract attention
by assuming the airs of a lady," and with this the secret was out.
Adah was too pretty, too stylish, to suit the prim Eudora, who felt
keenly how she must suffer by comparison with her sister's waiting maid.
Even unsuspicious Anna saw the point, and smiling archly asked "what she
could do to make Rose less attractive."
In some things Anna could not have her way, and when her mother and
sisters insisted that they would not keep a separate table for Markham,
as they called Adah, she yielded, secretly bidding Pamelia see that
everything was comfortable and nice for Mrs. Markham and her little boy.
There was hardly need for this injunction, for in the kitchen Adah was
regarded as far superior to those who would have trampled her down, and
her presence among the servants was not without its influence, softening
Jim's rough, loud ways, and making both Dixson and Pamelia more careful
of their words and manners when she was with them. Much, too, they grew
to love and pet the little Willie, who, accustomed to the free range of
Spring Bank, asserted the same right at Terrace Hill, going where he
pleased, putting himself so often in Mrs. Richards' way, that she began
at last to notice him, and if no one was near, to caress the handsome
boy. Asenath and Eudora held out longer, but even they were not proof
against Willie's winning ways.
It was many weeks ere Adah wrote to Alice Johnson, and when at last she
did, she said of Terrace Hill:
"I am happier here than I at first supposed it possible. The older
ladies were so proud, so cold, so domineering, that it made me very
wretched, in spite of sweet Anna's kindness. But there has come a
perceptible change, and they now treat me civilly, if nothing more,
while I do believe they are fond of Willie, and would miss him if he
were gone."
Adah was right in this conjecture; for had it now been optional with the
Misses Richards whether Willie should go or stay, they would have kept
him there from choice, so cheery and pleasant he made the house. Adah
was still too pretty, too stylish, to suit their ideas of a servant; but
when, as time passed on, they found she did not presume at all on her
good looks, but meekly kept her place as Anna's maid or companion, they
dropped the haughty manner they had at first assumed, and treated her
with civility, if not with kindness.
With Anna it was different. Won by Adah's gentleness and purity, she
came at last to love her almost as much as if she had been a younger
sister. Adah was not a servant to her, but a companion, a friend, with
whom she daily held familiar converse, learning from her much that was
good, and prizing her more and more as the winter weeks went swiftly by.
Since the morning when Adah confided to her a part of her history, she
had never alluded to it or intimated a desire to hear more; but she
thought much about it, revolving in her mind various expedients for
finding and bringing back to his allegiance the recreant lover.
"If I were not bound to secrecy," she thought one day, as she sat
waiting for Adah's return from the post office, "if I were not bound to
secrecy, I would tell Brother John, and perhaps he might think of
something. Men's wits are sometimes better than women's. When she comes
back from the office I mean to see what she'll say."
Adah did not join Anna at once, but went instead to her own room, where
she could read and cry alone over the nice long letter from Alice
Johnson, telling how much they missed her, how old Sam pined for Willie,
how Mrs. Worthington and Hugh mourned for Adah, and how she, Alice,
prayed for the dear friend, never so dear as now that she was gone. Many
and minute were Alice's inquiries as to whether Adah had yet seen Dr.
Richards, when was he expected home, and so forth.
Adah placed her letter in her pocket, and then went to sit with Anna,
whose face lighted up at once, for Adah's society was like sunshine to
her monotonous life.
"Rose," she said, after an interval of silence had elapsed, "I have been
thinking about you all day, and wishing I might do you good. You have
never told me the city where you met Willie's father, and I fancied it
might be Boston, until I remembered that your advertisement was in the
_Herald_. Was it Boston?"
It was a direct question, and Adah answered frankly.
"It was in New York," while Anna quickly rejoined.
"Oh, I'm so glad! for now you'll let me tell Brother John. He has lived
there so much he must know everybody, or at all events he may find that
man and bring him back. You will have to give his name, of course."
Adah's face was white as ashes, as she replied:
"No, no--oh, no. He could not find him. Nobody can but God. I am willing
to wait His time. Don't tell your brother, Miss Anna--don't."
She spoke so earnestly, and seemed so distressed, that Anna answered at
once:
"I will not without your permission, though I'd like to so much. He is
coming home by-and-by. His wedding day is fixed for April ----, and he
will visit us before that time, to see about our preparations for
receiving 'Lina. We somehow expected a letter to-day. Did you get one?"
"Yes, one for your mother--from the doctor, I think," Adah replied,
without telling how faint the sight of the handwriting had made her, it
was so like George's--not exactly like his, either, but enough so to
make her heart beat painfully as she recalled the only letter she ever
received from him, the fatal note which broke her heart.
"It is so very long since I had a letter all to myself, that I wonder
how it would seem," Anna rejoined. "I have not had one since--since--"
"The day I came there was one for you," said Adah, while Anna looked
wonderingly at her, saying, "You are mistaken, I'm sure. I've no
remembrance of it. A letter from whom?"
Adah did not know from whom or where. She only knew there was one, and
by way of refreshing Anna's memory, she said:
"Jim put it with the others on the table, and it fell behind the
curtain, where I found it in the afternoon. I was bringing it to you
myself, but your mother took it from me and said she would carry it up
while I swept the parlor. Surely you remember now."
No, Anna did not, and she looked so puzzled that Adah, anxious to set
the matter right, continued:
"I remember it particularly, because it was spelled A-n-n-i-e instead of
Anna."
Adah was not prepared for the sudden start, the look almost of terror in
Anna's eyes, or for the color which stained the usually colorless face.
In all the world there was but one person who ever called her Annie, or
wrote it so, and that person was Charlie. Had he written at last, and if
so, why had she never known it? Could it be her proud mother had
withheld what would have been life to her slowly dying daughter? It was
terrible to suspect such a thing, and Anna struggled to cast the thought
aside, saying to Adah. "Was there anything else peculiar about it?"
"Nothing, except that 'twas inclosed in a mourning envelope, sealed with
wax, and the letter on the seal was--was--"
"Oh, pray think quick. You have not forgotten. You must not forget," and
Anna's soft blue eyes grew dark with intense excitement as Adah tried to
recall the initial on that seal.
"She had not noticed particularly, she did not suppose it was important.
She was not certain, but she believed--yes, she was nearly sure--the
letter was 'M.'"
"Oh, you do not know how much good you have done me," Anna cried, and
laying her throbbing head on Adah's neck, she wept a torrent of tears,
wrung out by the knowing that Charlie had not forgotten her quite. He
had written, and that of itself was joy, even though he loved another.
"The initial was 'M.'--you are sure, you are sure," she kept whispering,
while Adah soothed the poor head, wondering at Anna's agitation, and in
a measure guessing the truth, the old story, love, whose course had not
run smoothly.
"And mother took it," Anna said at last, growing more composed.
"Yes, she said she would bring it to you," was Adah's reply.
For several minutes Anna sat looking out upon the snowy landscape, her
usually smooth brow wrinkled with thought, and her eyes gleaming with a
strange, new light. There was a shadow on her fair face, a grieved,
injured expression, as if her mother's treachery had hurt her cruelly.
She knew the letter was withheld, and her first impulse was to demand it
at once. But Anna dreaded a scene, and dreaded her mother, too, and
after a moment's reflection that her Charlie would write again, and
Adah, who now went regularly to the office, would get it and bring it to
her, she said:
"Does mother always look over the letters?"
"Not at first," was Adah's reply, "but now she meets me at the door, and
takes them from my hand."
Anna was puzzled. Turning again to Adah, she said:
"I wish you to go always to the office, and if there comes another
letter for me, bring it up at once. It's mine."
Anna had no desire now to talk with Adah of the recreant lover, or ask
that John should hear the story. Her mind was too much disturbed, and
for more than half an hour she sat, looking intently into the fire,
seeing there visions of what might be in case Charlie loved her still,
and wished her to be his wife. The mere knowing that he had written made
her so happy that she could not even be angry with her mother, though a
shadow flitted over her face, when her reverie was broken by the
entrance of Madam Richards, who had come to see what she thought of
fitting up the west chambers for John's wife, instead of the north ones.
"I have a letter from him," she said. "They are to be married the ----
day of April, which leaves us only five weeks more, as they will start
at once for Terrace Hill. Do, Anna, look interested," she continued,
rather pettishly, as Anna did not seem very attentive. "I am so
bothered. I want to see you alone," and she cast a furtive glance at
Adah, who left the room, while madam plunged at once into the matter
agitating her so much.
She had fully intended going to Kentucky with her son, but 'Lina had
objected, and the doctor had written, saying she must not go.
"I have not the money myself," he wrote, "and I'll have to get trusted
for my wedding suit, so you must appeal to Anna's good nature for the
wherewithal with which to fix the rooms. She may stay with you longer
than you anticipate. It is too expensive living here, as she would
expect to live. Nothing but Fifth Avenue Hotel would suit her, and I
cannot ask her for funds at once. I'd rather come to it gradually."
And this it was which so disturbed Mrs. Richards' peace of mind. She
could not go to Kentucky, and she might as well have saved the money she
had expended in getting her black silk velvet dress fixed for the
occasion, while, worst of all, she must have John's wife there for
months, perhaps, whether she liked it or not, and she must also fit up
the rooms with paper and paint and carpets, notwithstanding that she'd
nothing to do it with, unless Anna generously gave the necessary sum
from her own yearly income. Anna assented to that, and said she would
try to spare the money. Rose could make the carpets, and that would save
a little.
"I wish, too, mother," she added, "that you would let her arrange the
rooms altogether. She has exquisite taste, besides the faculty of making
the most of things. Our house never looked so well as it has since she
came. Somehow Eudora and Asenath have such a stiff set way of putting
the furniture."
So it was Anna who selected the tasteful carpet for 'Lina's boudoir, and
the bedchamber beyond it, but it was Adah who made it, Adah who, with
Willie playing on the floor, bent so patiently over the heavy fabric,
sometimes wiping away the bitter tears as she thought of the days
preceding her own bridal, and of her happiness, even though no fingers
were busy for her in the home where they were too proud to receive her.
Where was that home? Was it North or South, East or West, and what was
it like? She had no idea, though, sometimes fancy had whispered that it
might have been like Terrace Hill, that George's haughty mother, who had
threatened to turn her from the door, was a second Mrs. Richards, and
then an involuntary prayer of thanksgiving escaped her lips for the
trial she had escaped.
Frequently doubts crossed her mind as to the future, when it might be
known that she came from Spring Bank, and knew the expected bride. Would
she not be blamed as a party in the deception? Ought she not to tell
Anna frankly that she knew her brother's betrothed? She did not know,
and the harassing anxiety wore upon her faster than all the work she had
to do.
Anna seemed very happy. Excitement was what she needed, and never since
her girlish days had she been so bright and active as she was now,
assisting Adah in her labors, and watching the progress of affairs. The
new carpets looked beautiful when upon the floor, and gave to the rooms
a new and cozy aspect. The muslin curtains, done up by the laundress so
carefully, lest they should drop to pieces, looked almost as good as
new, and no one would have suspected that the pretty cornice had been
made from odds and ends found by Adah in an ancient box up in the
lumber-room. The white satin bows which looped the curtains back, were
tied by Adah's hands.
And during all this while came there to Adah's heart no suspicion for
whom and whose she was thus laboring? No strange interest in the
bridegroom, the handsome doctor, so doted upon by mother and sisters?
None whatever. She scarcely remembered him, or if she did, it was as one
toward whom she was utterly indifferent. He would not notice her. He
might not notice Willie, though yes, she rather thought he would like
her boy; everybody did, and the young mother bent down to kiss her
child, and so hide the blush called up by a remembrance of Irving
Stanley's kindness on that sad journey to Terrace Hill.
Rapidly the few days went by, bringing at last the very morning when he
was expected. Brightly, warmly the April sun looked in upon Adah,
wondering at the load upon her spirits. She did not associate it with
the doctor, nor with anything in particular. She did not know for
certain that she should even see him. She might and she might not, but
if she did perchance stumble upon him, she would a little rather he
should see that she was not like ordinary waiting-maids. She would make
a good impression!
And so she wore the pretty dark French calico which Anna had given to
her, fastened the neat linen collar with a chaste little pin, buttoned
her snow-white cuffs, thrust a clean handkerchief into the dainty pocket
on the outside of her skirt, and then descended to the drawing-room to
see that the fires were burning briskly, for spite of the cheerful
sunshine pouring in, the morning was cold and frosty. They had delayed
their breakfast until the doctor should come, and in the dining-room the
table was laid with unusual care. Everything was in its place, and still
Adah fluttered around it like a restless bird, lingering by what she
knew was the doctor's chair, taking up his knife, examining his napkin
ring, and wondering what he would think of the cheap bone rings used at
Spring Bank.
In the midst of her cogitations, the door bell rang, and she heard the
tramp of horses' feet as Jim drove around to the stable. The doctor had
come and she must go, but where was Willie?
"Willie, Willie," she called, but Willie paid no heed, and as Eudora had
said, was directly under foot when she unlocked the door, his the first
form distinctly seen, his the first face which met the doctor's view,
and his fearless baby laugh the first sound, which welcomed the doctor
home!