GOING HOME
The Village hearse was waiting at Snowdon depot, and close beside it
stood the carriage from Terrace Hill; the one sent there for Adah, the
other for her husband, whose lifeblood, so freely shed, had wiped away
all stains upon his memory, and enshrined him in the hearts of Snowdon's
people as a martyr. He was the first dead soldier returned to them, his
the first soldier's grave in their churchyard; and so a goodly throng
were there, with plaintive fife and muffled drum, to do him honor. His
major was coming with him, it was said--Major Stanley, who had himself
been found, in a half-fainting condition watching by the dead--Major
Stanley, who had seen that the body was embalmed, had written to the
wife, and had attended to everything, even to coming on himself by way
of showing his respect. Death is a great softener of errors; and the
village people, who could not remember a time when they had not disliked
John Richards, forgot his faults now that he was dead.
It seemed a long-time-waiting for the train, but it came at last, and
the crowd involuntarily made a movement forward, and then drew back as a
tall figure appeared upon the platform, his stylish uniform betokening
an officer of rank, and his manner showing plainly that he was master of
ceremonies.
"Major Stanley," ran in a whisper through the crowd, whose wonder
increased when another, and, if possible, a finer-looking man, emerged
into view, his right arm in a sling, and his face pale and worn, from
the effects of recent illness. He had not been expected, and many
curious glances were cast at him as, slowly descending the steps, he
gave his well hand to the lady following close behind, Mrs. Worthington;
they knew her, and recognized also the two young ladies, Alice and Adah,
as they sprang from the car. Poor Adah! how she shrank from the public
gaze, shuddering as on her way to the carriage she passed the long box
the men were handling so carefully.
Summoned by Irving Stanley, she had come on to Washington to meet, not a
living husband, but a husband dead, and while there had learned that
Mrs. Worthington, Hugh, and Alice were all in Georgetown, whither she
hastened at once, eager to meet the mother whom she had never yet met as
such. Immediately after the discovery of her parentage, she had written
to Kentucky, but the letter had not reached its destination,
consequently no one but Hugh knew how near she was; and he had only
learned it a few days before the battle, when he had, by accident, a few
moments' conversation with Dr. Richards, whom he had purposely avoided.
He was talking of Adah, and the practicability of sending for her, when
she arrived at the private boarding house to which he had been removed.
The particulars of that interview between the mother and her daughter we
cannot describe, as no one witnessed it save God; but Adah's face was
radiant with happiness, and her soft, brown eyes beaming with joy when
it was ended, and she went next to where Hugh was waiting for her.
"Oh, Hugh, my noble brother!" was all she could say, as she wound her
arms around his neck and pressed her fair cheek against his own,
forgetting, in those moments of perfect bliss, all the sorrow, all the
anguish of the past.
Nor was it until Hugh said to her: "The doctor was in that battle. Did
he escaped unharmed?" that a shadow dimmed the sunshine flooding her
pathway that autumn morning.
At the mention of him the muscles about her mouth grew rigid, and a look
of pain flitted across her face, showing that there was yet much of
bitterness mingled in her cup of joy. Composing herself as soon as
possible she told Hugh that she was a widow, but uttered no word of
complaint against the dead, and Hugh, knowing that she could not sorrow
as other women have sorrowed over the loved ones slain in battle, drew
her nearer to him, and after speaking a few words of poor 'Lina, told
her of the golden fortune which had so unexpectedly come to him, and
added: "And you shall share it with me. Your home shall be with me and
Golden Hair--Alice--who has promised to be my wife. We will live very
happily together yet, my sister."
Then he asked what Major Stanley's plan was concerning the body of her
husband, and upon learning that it was to bury the doctor at home, he
announced his determination to accompany them, as he knew he should be
able to do so.
Hugh had no suspicion of the truth, but Alice guessed it readily, and
could scarcely forbear throwing her arms around Adah's neck and
whispering to her how glad she was. She had said to her softly: "I am to
be your sister, Adah--are you willing to receive me?" and Adah had only
answered by a warm pressure of the hand she held in hers and by the
tears which shone in her brown eyes.
It was a great trial to Adah to face the crowd they found assembled at
the depot, but Irving, Hugh, and Alice all helped to screen her from
observation, and almost before she was aware of it she found herself
safe in the carriage which effectually hid her from view. Slowly the
procession moved through the village, the foot passengers keeping time
to the muffled drum, whose solemn beats had never till that morning been
heard in the quiet streets. The wide gate which led into the grounds of
Terrace Hill was opened wide, and the black hearse passed in, followed
by the other carriages, which wound around the hill and up to the huge
building where badges of mourning were hung out--mourning for the only
son, the youngest born, the once pride and pet of the stately woman who
watched the coming of that group with tear-dimmed eyes, holding upon her
lap the little boy whose father they were bringing in, dead, coffined
for the grave. Not for the world would that high-bred woman have been
guilty of an impropriety, and so she sat in her own room, while Charlie
Millbrook met the bearers in the hall and told them where to deposit
their burden.
In the same room where we first saw him on the night of his return from
Europe, they left him, and went their way, while to Dixson and Pamelia
was accorded the honor of first welcoming Adah, whom they treated with
as much deference as if she had never been with them in any capacity
save that of mistress. She had changed since they last saw her--was
wonderfully improved, they said to each other as they left her at the
door of the room, where Mrs. Richards, with her two older daughters, was
waiting to receive her. But if the servants were struck with the air of
dignity and cultivation which Adah acquired during her tour in Europe,
how much more did this same air impress the haughty ladies waiting for
her appearance, and feeling a little uncertain as to how they should
receive her. Any doubts, however, which they had upon this subject were
dispelled the moment she entered the room, and they saw at a glance that
it was not the timid, shrinking Rose Markham with whom they had to deal,
but a woman as wholly self-possessed as themselves, and one with whose
bearing even their critical eyes would find no fault. She would not
suffer them to patronize her; they must treat her fully as an equal or
as nothing, and with a new-born feeling of pride in her late son's
widow, Mrs. Richards arose, and putting Willie from her lap, advanced to
meet her, cordially extending her hand, but uttering no word of welcome.
Adah took the hand, but her eyes never sought the face of her lady
mother. They were riveted with a hungry, wistful, longing look on
Willie, the little boy, who, clinging to his grandmother's skirts,
peered curiously at her, holding back at first, when, unmindful of
Asenath and Eudora, who had not yet been greeted, she tried to take him
in her arms.
"Oh, Willie, darling, don't you know me? I am poor mamma," and Adah's
voice was choked with sobs at this unlooked-for reception from her
child.
He had been sent for from Anna's home to meet his mother, because it was
proper; but no one at Terrace Hill had said to him that the mamma for
whom sweet Anna taught him daily to pray was coming. She was not in his
mind, and as eighteen months had obliterated all memories of the gentle,
girlish creature he once knew as mother, he could not immediately
identify that mother with the lady before him.
It was a sad disappointment to Adah, and without knowing what she was
doing, she sank down upon the sofa, and involuntarily laying her head in
Mrs. Richards' lap, cried bitterly, her tears bringing answering ones
from the eyes of all three of the ladies, for they half believed her
grief, in part, was for the lifeless form in the room below.
"Poor child, you are tired and worn. It is hard to lose him just as
there was a prospect of perfect reconciliation with us all," Mrs.
Richards said, softly smoothing the brown tresses lying on her lap, and
thinking even then that curls were more becoming to her daughter-in-law
than braids had been, but wondering why, now she was in mourning, Adah
had persisted in wearing them.
"Pretty girl, pretty turls, is you tyin'?" and won by her distress,
Willie drew near, and laid his baby hand upon the curls he thought so
pretty.
"That's mamma, Willie," Asenath said; "the mamma Aunt Anna said would
come some time--Willie's mamma. Can't he kiss her?"
The child could not resist the face which, lifting itself up, looked
eagerly at him, and he put up his little hands for Adah to take him,
returning the kisses she showered upon him and clinging to her neck,
while he said:
"Is you mam-ma sure? I prays for mam-ma--God take care of her, and pa-pa
too. He's dead. They brought him back with a dum. Poor pa-pa, Willie
don't want him dead;" and the little lip began to quiver.
Never before since she knew she was a widow had Adah felt so vivid a
sensation of something akin to affection for the dead, as when her child
and his mourned so plaintively for papa; and the tears which now fell
like rain were not for Willie alone, but were given rather to the dead.
"Mrs. Richards has not yet greeted us," Asenath said; and turning to
her at once, Adah apologized for her seeming neglect, pressing both her
and Eudora's hands more cordially than she would have done a few moments
before.
"Where is Anna?" she asked; and Mrs. Richards replied:
"She's sick. She regretted much that she could not come up here to-day;"
while Willie, standing in Adah's lap, with his chubby arm around her
neck, chimed in.
"You don't know what we've dot. We've dot 'ittle baby, we has."
Adah knew now why Anna was absent, and why Charlie Millbrook looked so
happy when at last he came in to see her, delivering sundry messages
from his Anna, who, he said could scarcely wait to see her dear sister.
There was something genuine in Charlie's greeting, something which made
Adah feel as if she were indeed at home, and she wondered much how even
the Richards race could ever have objected to him, as she watched his
movements and heard him talking with his stately mother.
"Yes, Major Stanley came," he said, in reply to her questions, and Adah
was glad it was put to him, for the blushes dyed her cheek at once, and
she bent over Willie to hide them, while Charlie continued: "Captain
Worthington came, too, Adah's brother, you know. He was in the same
battle with the doctor, was wounded rather seriously and has been
discharged, I believe."
"Oh," and Mrs. Richards seemed quite interested now, asking where the
young men were, and appearing disappointed when told that, after waiting
a few moments in hopes of seeing the ladies, they had returned to the
hotel, where Mrs. Worthington and Alice were stopping.
"I fully expected the ladies here; pray, send for them at once," she
said, but Adah interposed:
"Her mother would not willingly be separated from Hugh, and as he of
course would remain at the hotel, it would be useless to think of
persuading Mrs. Worthington to come to Terrace Hill."
"But Miss Johnson surely will come," persisted Mrs. Richards.
Adah could not explain then that Alice was less likely to leave Hugh
than her mother, but she said: "Miss Johnson, I think, will not leave
mother alone," and so the matter was settled.
It was a terribly long day to Adah, for Mrs. Richards and her daughter
kept their darkened room, seeing no one who called, and appearing
shocked when Adah stole out from their presence, and taking Willie with
her, sought the servants' sitting-room, where the atmosphere was not so
laden with restraint. Once the elder lady rang for Pamelia, asking where
Mrs. Richards was, and looking a little distressed when told she was in
the garden playing with Willie.
"Why, do you want her?" was Pamelia's blunt inquiry, to which her
mistress responded with an aggrieved sigh:
"No-o, only I thought perhaps she was with her dead husband; but, poor
thing, it is not her nature, I presume, to take it much to heart."
Pamelia didn't believe she did "take it much to heart." Indeed, she
didn't see how she could, but she said nothing, and Adah was left to
play with Willie until Alice was announced as being in the
reception-room. She had driven around, she said, to call on Mrs.
Richards, and after that take Adah with her to the cottage, where Anna,
she knew, was anxious to receive her. At first Mrs. Richards demurred,
fearing it would be improper, but saying: "my late son's wife is, of
course, her own mistress, and can do as she likes."
Very adroitly Alice waived all objections, and bore Adah off in triumph.
"I knew you must be lonely up there," she said, as they drove slowly
along, "and there can be no harm in visiting one's sick sister."
Anna surely did not think there was, as her warm, welcoming kisses fully
testified.
"I wanted so much to see you to-day," she said, "that I have worked
myself into quite a fever; but knowing mother as I do, I feared she
might not sanction your coming;" then proudly turning down the blanket,
she disclosed the red-faced baby, who, just one week ago, had come to
the Riverside Cottage.
"Isn't he a beauty?" she asked, pressing her lips upon the wrinkled
forehead. "A boy, too, and looks so much like Charlie, but--" and her
soft, blue eyes seemed more beautiful than ever with the maternal
love-shining for them, "I shall not call him Charlie, nor yet John,
though mother's heart is set on the latter name. I can't. I loved my
brother dearly, and never so much as now that he is dead, but my baby
boy must not bear his name, and so I have chosen Hugh, Hugh Richards. I
know it will please you both," and she glanced archly at Alice, who
blushingly kissed the little boy who was to bear the name dearest to her
of all others.
Hugh--they talked of him a while, and then Anna spoke of Irving Stanley,
expressing her fears that she could not see him to thank him for his
kindness and forbearance to her erring brother.
"He must be noble and good," she said, then turning to Adah, she
continued: "You were with him a year. You must know him well. Do you
like him?"
"Yes," and Adah's face was all ablaze, as the simple answer dropped from
her lips.
For a moment Anna regarded her intently, then her eyes were withdrawn
and her white hand beat the counterpane softly, but nothing more was
said of Irving Stanley then.
The next day near the sunsetting, they buried the dead soldier, Mrs.
Richards and Adah standing side by side as the body was lowered to its
last resting place, the older leaning upon the younger for support, and
feeling as she went back to her lonely home and heard the merry laugh of
little Willie in the hall that she was glad her son had married the
young girl, who, now that John was gone forever from her sight began to
be very dear to her as his wife, the Lily whom he had loved so much. In
the dusky twilight of that night when alone with Adah she told her as
much, speaking sadly of the past, which she regretted, and wishing she
had never objected to receiving the girl about whom John wrote so
lovingly.
"Had I done differently he might have been living now, and you might
have been spared much pain, but you'll forgive me. I'm an old woman, I
am breaking fast, and soon shall follow my boy, but while I live I wish
for peace, and you must love me, Lily, because I was his mother. Let me
call you Lily, as he did," and the hand of her who had conceded so much
rested entreatingly upon the bowed head of the young girl beside her.
There was no acting there, Adah knew, and clasping the trembling hand
she involuntarily whispered:
"I will love you, mother, I will."
"And stay with me, too?" Mrs. Richards continued, her voice choked with
the sobs she could not repress, when she heard herself called mother by
the girl she had so wronged. "You will stay with him, Lily. Anna is
gone, my other daughters are old. We are lonely in this great house. We
need somebody young to cheer our solitude, and you will stay, as
mistress, if you choose, or as a petted, youngest daughter."
This was an unlooked for trial to Adah. She had not dreamed of living
there at Terrace Hill, when Hugh and her own mother could make her so
happy in their home. But Adah had never consulted her own happiness, and
as she listened to the pleading tones of the woman who surely had some
heart, some noble qualities, she felt that 'twas her duty to remain
there for a time at least, and so she replied at last:
"I expected to live with my own mother, but for the present my home
shall be here with you."
"God bless you, darling," and the proud woman's lips touched the fair
cheek, while the proud woman's hand smoothed again the soft short curls,
pushing them back from the white brow, as she murmured: "You are very
beautiful, my child, just as John said you were."
It was hard for Adah to tell Mrs. Worthington that she could not make
one of the circle who would gather around the home fireside Hugh was to
purchase somewhere, but she did at last, standing firmly by her decision
and saying in reply to her mother's entreaties: "It is my duty. They
need me more than you, who have both Hugh and Alice."
Adah was right, so Hugh said, and Alice, too, while Irving Stanley said
nothing. He must have found much that was attractive about the little
town of Snowdon, for he lingered there long after there was not the
least excuse for staying. He did not go often to Terrace Hill, and when
he did, he never asked for Adah, but so long as he could see her on the
Sabbath days when, with the Richards' family she walked quietly up the
aisle, her cheek flushing when she passed him, and so long as he
occasionally met her at Mrs. Worthington's rooms, or saw her riding in
the Richards' carriage, so long was he content to stay. But there came a
time when he must go, and then he asked for Adah, and in the presence of
her mother-in-law invited her to go with him to her husband's grave. She
went, taking Willie with her, and there, with that fresh mound between
them, Irving Stanley told her what he had hitherto withheld, told what
the dying soldier had said, and asked if it should be so.
"Not now, not yet," he continued, as Adah's eyes were bent upon that
grave, "but by and by, will you do your husband's bidding--be my wife?"
"I will," and taking Willie's hand Adah put it with hers into the broad,
warm palm which clasped them both, as Irving whispered: "Your child,
darling, shall be mine, and never need he know that I am not his
father."
It was arranged that Alice should tell Mrs. Richards, as Adah would have
no concealments. Accordingly, Alice asked a private interview with the
lady, to whom she told everything as she understood it. And Mrs.
Richards, though weeping bitterly, generously exonerated Adah from all
blame, commended her as having acted very wisely, and then added, with a
flush of pride:
"Many a woman would be glad to marry Irving Stanley, and it gives me
pleasure to know that to my son's widow the honor is accorded. He is
worthy to take John's place, and she, I believe, is worthy of him. I
love her already as my daughter, and shall look upon him as a son. You
say they are in the garden. Let them both come to me."
They came, and listened quietly, while Mrs. Richards sanctioned their
engagement, and then, with a little eulogy upon her departed son, said
to Adah: "You will wait a year, of course. It will not be proper
before."
Irving had hoped for only six months' probation, but Adah was satisfied
with the year, and they went from Mrs. Richards' presence with the
feeling that Providence was indeed smiling upon their pathway, and
flooding it with sunshine.
The next day Major Stanley left Snowdon, but not until there had come to
Hugh a letter, whose handwriting made Mrs. Worthington turn pale, it
brought back so vividly the terror of the olden times. It was from
Murdock, and it inclosed for Densie Densmore the sum of five hundred
dollars.
"Should she need more, I will try and supply it," he wrote, "for I have
wronged her cruelly." Then, after speaking of his fruitless search for
Adah, and his hearing at last that she was found and Dr. Richards dead,
he added: "As there is nothing left for me to do, and as I am sure to be
playing mischief if idle, I have joined the army, and am training a band
of contrabands to fight as soon as the government comes to its senses,
and is willing for the negroes to bear their part in the battle."
The letter ended with saying that he should never come out of the war
alive, simply because it would last until he was too old to live any
longer.
It was a relief for Mrs. Worthington to hear from him, and know that he
probably would not trouble her again, while Adah, whose memories of him
were pleasanter, expressed a strong desire to see him.
"We will find him by and by, when you are mine," Irving said playfully;
then, drawing her into an adjoining room where they could be alone, he
said his parting words, and then with Hugh went to meet the train which
took him away from Snowdon.