WILFORD'S SECOND VISIT.
Wilford Cameron had tried to forget Katy Lennox, while his mother and
sisters had done their best to help to forget, or at least sicken of
her; and as the three, Juno, Bell and the mother, were very differently
constituted, they had widely different ways of assisting him in his
dilemma, the mother complimenting his good sense in drawing back from
an alliance which could only bring him mortification; Bell, the blue
sister, ignoring the idea of Wilford's marrying that country girl as
something too preposterous to be contemplated for a moment, much less to
be talked about; while Juno spared neither ridicule nor sarcasm, using
the former weapon so effectually that her brother at one time nearly
went over to the enemy; and Katy's tears, shed so often when no one
could see her, were not without a reason. Wilford was trying to forget
her, both for his sake and her own, for he foresaw that she could not
be happy with his family, and he came to think it might be a wrong to
her, transplanting her into a soil so wholly unlike that in which her
habits and affections had taken root.
His father once had abruptly asked him if there was any truth in the
report that he was about to marry and make a fool of himself, and when
Wilford had answered "No," he had replied with a significant:
"Umph! Old enough, I should think, if you ever intend to marry.
Wilford," and the old man faced square about: "I know nothing of the
girl, except what I gathered from your mother and sisters. You have not
asked my advice. I don't suppose you want it, but if you do, here it is.
If you love the girl and she is respectable, marry her if she is poor as
poverty and the daughter of a tinker; but if you don't love her, and
she's rich as a nabob, for thunder's sake keep away from her."
This was the elder Cameron's counsel, and Katy's cause arose fifty per
cent, in consequence. Still Wilford was sadly disquieted, so much so
that his partner, Mark Ray, could not fail to observe that something was
troubling him, and at last frankly asked what it was. Wilford knew he
could trust Mark, and he confessed the whole, telling him far more of
Silverton than he had told his mother, and then asking what his friend
would do were the case his own.
Fond of fun and frolic, Mark laughed immoderately at Wilford's
description of Aunt Betsy bringing her "herrin' bone" patchwork into the
parlor, and telling him it was a part of Katy's "settin' out," but when
it came to her hint for an invitation to visit in New York, the amused
young man roared with laughter, wishing so much that he might live to
see the day when poor Aunt Betsy Barlow stood ringing for admittance at
No. ---- Fifth Avenue.
"Wouldn't it be rich, though, the meeting between your Aunt Betsy and
Juno?" and the tears fairly poured down the young man's face.
But Wilford was too serious for trifling, and after his merriment had
subsided, Mark talked with him candidly, sensibly, of Katy Lennox, whose
cause he warmly espoused, telling Wilford that he was far too sensitive
with regard to family and position.
"You are a good fellow on the whole, but too outrageously proud," he
said. "Of course this Aunt Betsy in her pongee, whatever that may be,
and the uncle in his shirt sleeves, and this mother whom you describe as
weak and ambitious, are objections which you would rather should not
exist; but if you love the girl, take her, family and all. Not that you
are to transport the whole colony of Barlows to New York," he added, as
he saw Wilford's look of horror, "but make up your mind to endure what
cannot be helped, resting yourself upon the fact that your position is
such as cannot well be affected by any marriage you might make, provided
the wife were right."
This was Mark Ray's advice, and it had great weight with Wilford, who
knew that Mark came, if possible, from a better line of ancestry than
himself, inasmuch as his maternal grandmother was a near relative of the
English Percys, and the daughter of a lord. And still Wilford hesitated,
waiting until the winter was over before he came to the decision which
when it was reached was firm as a granite rock. He had made up his mind
at last to marry Katy Lennox if she would accept him, and he told his
mother so in the presence of his sisters, when one evening they were all
kept at home by the rain. There was a sudden uplifting of Bell's
eyelashes, a contemptuous shrug of her shoulders, and then she went on
with the book she was reading, wondering if Katy was at all inclined to
literature, and thinking if she were that it might be easier to tolerate
her. Juno, who was expected to say the sharpest things, turned upon him
with the exclamation:
"If you can stand those two feather beds, you can do more than I
supposed," and as one means of showing her disapproval, she quitted the
room, while Bell, who had taken to writing articles on the follies of
the age, soon followed her sister to elaborate an idea suggested to her
mind by her brother's contemplated marriage.
Thus left alone with her son, Mrs. Cameron tried all her powers of
persuasion upon him in vain. But nothing she said influenced him in the
least, seeing which she suddenly confronted him with the question:
"Shall you tell her all? A husband should have no secrets of that kind
from his wife."
Wilford's face was white as ashes, and his voice trembled as he replied:
"Yes, mother, I shall tell her all; but, oh! you do not know how hard it
has been for me to bring my mind to that, or how sorry I am that we ever
kept that secret--when Genevra died--"
"Hush-h!" came warningly from the mother as Juno reappeared, the warning
indicating that Genevra, whoever she might be, was a personage never
mentioned, except by mother and son.
As Juno remained the conversation was not resumed, and the next morning
Wilford wrote to Katy Lennox the letter which carried to her so much of
joy, and to Dr. Grant so much of grief. To wait four weeks, as Katy said
he must, was a terrible trial to Wilford, who counted every moment which
kept him from her side. It was all owing to Dr. Grant and that
perpendicular Helen, he knew, for Katy in her letter had admitted that
the waiting was wholly their suggestion; and Wilford's thoughts
concerning them were anything but complimentary, until a new idea was
suggested, which drove every other consideration from his mind.
Wilford was naturally jealous, but that fault had once led him into so
deep a trouble that he had struggled hard to overcome it, and now, at
its first approach, after he thought it dead, he tried to shake it
off--tried not to believe that Morris cared especially for Katy. But
the mere possibility was unendurable, and in a most feverish state of
excitement he started again for Silverton.
As before, Morris was waiting for him at the station, his cordial
greeting and friendly manner disarming him from all anxiety in that
quarter, and making him resolve anew to trample the demon jealousy under
his feet, where it could never rise again. Katy's life should not be
darkened by the green monster, he thought, and her future would have
been bright indeed had it proved all that he pictured it as he drove
along with Morris in the direction of the farmhouse, for he was to stop
there first and then at night go over to sleep at Linwood.
Katy was waiting for him, and as he met her alone, he did not hesitate
to kiss her more than once as he kept her for a moment in his arms, and
then held her off to see if her illness had left any traces upon her. It
had not, except it were in the increased delicacy of her complexion and
the short hair now growing out in silky rings. She was very pretty in
her short hair, but Wilford felt a little impatient as he saw how
childish it made her look, and thought how long it would take for it to
attain its former length. He was already appropriating her to himself,
and devising ways of improving her. In New York, with Morris Grant
standing before his jealous gaze, he could see no fault in Katy, and
even now, with her beside him, and the ogre jealousy gone, he saw no
fault in her; it was only her dress, and that could be so easily
remedied. Otherwise she was perfect, and in his delight at meeting her
again he forgot to criticise the farmhouse and its occupants, as he had
done before.
They were very civil to him--the mother overwhelmingly so--insomuch that
Wilford could not help detecting her anxiety that all should be settled
this time. Helen, on the contrary, was unusually cool, confirming him in
his opinion that she was strong-minded and self-willed, and making him
resolve to remove Katy as soon as possible from her strait-laced
influence. When talking with his mother he had said that if Katy had
told him "yes," he should probably place her at some fashionable school
for a year or two; but on the way to Silverton he had changed his mind.
He could not wait a year, and if he married Katy at all, it should he
immediately. He would then take her to Europe, where she could have the
best of teachers, besides the advantage of traveling; and it was a very
satisfactory picture he drew of the woman whom he should introduce into
New York society as his wife, Mrs. Wilford Cameron. It is true that Katy
had not yet said the all-important word, but she was going to say it,
and when late that afternoon they came up from the walk he had asked her
to take, she was his promised wife.
They had sat together on the very rock where Katy sat that day when
Uncle Ephraim told her of the different paths there were through life,
some pleasant and free from care, some thorny and full of grief. Katy
had never forgotten the conversation, and, without knowing why, she had
always avoided that rock beneath the butternut as a place where there
had been revealed to her a glimpse of something sad; and so, when
Wilford proposed resting there, she at first objected, but yielded at
last, and, with his arm around her, listened to the story of his love.
It was what she had expected and thought herself prepared for, but when
it came it was so real, so earnest, that she could only clasp her hands
over her face, which she hid on Wilford's shoulder, weeping passionately
as she thought how strange it was for a man like Wilford Cameron to seek
her for his wife. Katy was no coquette; whatever she felt she expressed,
and when she could command herself she frankly confessed to Wilford her
love for him, telling him how the fear that he had forgotten her had
haunted her all the long, long winter; and then with her clear, truthful
blue eyes looking into his, asking him why he had not sent her some
message if, as he said, he loved her all the time.
For a moment Wilford's lip was compressed and a flush overspread his
face, as, drawing her closer to him, he replied: "My little Katy will
remember that in my first note I spoke of certain circumstances which
had prevented my writing earlier. I do not know that I asked her not to
seek to know those circumstances; but I ask it now. Will Katy trust me
so far as to believe that all is right between us, and never allude to
these circumstances?"
He was kissing her fondly, and his voice was so winning that Katy
promised all that was required; and then came the hardest, the trying to
tell her all, as he had said to his mother he would. Twice he essayed to
speak, and as often something sealed his lips, until at last he began:
"You must not think me perfect, Katy, for I have faults, and perhaps if
you knew my past life you would wish to revoke your recent decision and
render a different verdict to my suit. Suppose I unfold the blackest
leaf for your inspection?"
"No, no, oh, no," and Katy playfully stopped his mouth with her hand.
"Of course you have some faults, but I would rather find them out
myself. I could not hear anything against you now. I am satisfied to
take you as you are."
Wilford felt his heart throb wildly with the feeling that he was in some
way deceiving the young girl; but if she would not suffer him to tell
her, he was not to be censured if she remained in ignorance. And so the
golden moment fled, and when he spoke again he said: "If Katy will not
now read that leaf I offered to show her, she must not shrink back in
horror if ever it does meet her eye."
"I don't, I promise," Katy answered, a vague feeling of fear creeping
over her as to what the reading of that mysterious page involved. But
this was soon forgotten, as Wilford, remembering his suspicions of Dr.
Grant, thought to probe a little by asking if she had ever loved any one
before himself?
"No, never," she answered. "I never dreamed of such a thing until I saw
you, Mr. Cameron;" and Wilford believed the trusting girl, whose loving
nature shone in every lineament of her face, upturned to receive the
kisses he pressed upon it, resolving within himself to be to her what
he ought to be.
"By the way," he continued, "don't call me Mr. Cameron again, as you did
just now. I would rather be your Wilford. It sounds more familiar. And
still," he added, "it may be better at present to reserve that name for
the time when we are alone. To your family I may as well remain Mr.
Cameron."
This was an after thought, suggested by his knowing how he should shiver
to hear Aunt Betsy call him "Wilford," as she surely would if Katy did.
Then he told her of his projected tour to Europe, and Katy felt her
pulses quicken as she thought of London, Paris and Rome, as places which
her plain country eyes might yet look upon. But when it came to their
marriage, which Wilford said must be soon--within a few weeks--she
demurred, for this arrangement was not in accordance with her desires.
She should so much enjoy a long courtship with Wilford coming often to
Silverton, and such quantities of letters passing between them as should
make her the envy of all Silverton. This was Katy's idea, and she
opposed her lover with all her strength, telling him she was so young,
not eighteen till July, and she knew so little of housekeeping. He must
let her stay at home until she learned at least the art of making bread!
Poor, ignorant Katy! Wilford could not forbear a smile as he thought how
different were her views from his, and tried to explain that the art of
bread-making, though very desirable in most wives, was not an essential
accomplishment for his. Servants would do that; besides he did not
intend to have a house of his own at once; he should take her first to
live with his mother, where she could learn what was necessary much
better than there in Silverton.
Wilford Cameron expected to be obeyed in every important matter by the
happy person who should be his wife, and as he possessed the faculty of
enforcing perfect obedience without seeming to be severe, so he silenced
Katy's arguments, and when they left the shadow of the butternut tree
she knew that in all human probability six weeks' time would find her on
the broad ocean alone with Wilford Cameron. So perfect was Katy's faith
and love that she had no fear of Wilford now, but as his affianced wife
walked confidently by his side, feeling fully his equal, nor once
dreaming how great the disparity his city friends would discover between
the fastidious man of fashion and the unsophisticated country girl. And
Wilford did not seek to enlighten her, but suffered her to talk of the
delight it would be to live in New York, and how pleasant for mother and
Helen to visit her, especially the latter, who would thus have a chance
to see something of the world.
"When I get a house of my own I mean she shall live with me all the
while," she said, stooping to gather a tuft of wild bluebells growing in
a marshy spot.
Wilford winced a little, for in his estimation Helen Lennox formed no
part of that household to be established on Madison Square, but he would
not so soon tear down Katy's castles, and so he merely remarked as she
asked if it would not be nice to have Helen with them.
"Yes, very nice, but do not speak of it to her yet, as it will probably
be some time before she will come to us, and she had better not have it
in anticipation."
And so Helen never knew the honor in store for her as she stood in the
doorway anxiously waiting for her sister, who, she feared, would take
cold from being out so long. Something though in Katy's face made her
guess that to her was lost forever the bright little sister whom she
loved so dearly, and fleeing up the narrow stairway to her room she
wept bitterly as she thought of the coming time when she would share
that room alone, and know that never again would a little golden head
lie upon her neck just as it had lain, for there would be a new love, a
new interest between them, a love for the man whose voice she could hear
now talking to her mother in the peculiar tone he always assumed when
speaking to any one of them excepting Morris or Katy.
"I wish it were not wrong to hate him," she exclaimed passionately; "it
would be such a relief; but if he is only kind to Katy, I do not care
how much he despises us," and bathing her face in water Helen sat down
by her window, gazing out upon the fresh green earth, where the young
grass was springing, wondering if Mr. Cameron took her sister, when it
would probably be. "Not this year or more," she said, "for Katy is so
young;" but on this point she was soon set right by Katy herself, who,
leaving her lover alone with her mother, stole up to tell her sister the
good news.
"Yes, I know; I guessed as much when you came back from the meadows,"
and Helen's voice was very unsteady in its tone as she smoothed back the
soft rings clustering around her sister's brow.
"Crying. Helen! oh, don't. I shall love you just the same, and you are
coming to live with us in the new house on Madison Square," Katy said,
forgetting Wilford's instructions in her desire to comfort Helen, who
broke down again, while Katy's tears were mingled with her own.
It was the first time Katy had thought what it would be to leave forever
the good, patient sister, who had been so true, so kind, treating her
like a petted kitten and standing between her and every hardship.
"Don't cry, Nellie," she said, twining her arms around her neck; "New
York is not far away, and I shall come so often--that is, after we
return from Europe. Did I tell you we are going there first, and Wilford
will not wait, but says we must be married the tenth of June; that's his
birthday--thirty--and he is telling mother now."
"So soon--oh, Katy! and you so young!" was all Helen could say, as with
quivering lip she kissed her sister's hand raised to wipe her tears
away.
"Yes, it is soon, and I am young; but Wilford is in such a hurry; he
don't care," Katy replied, trying to comfort Helen, and begging of her
not to cry so hard.
No, Wilford did not care, as it would seem, how much he wrung the hearts
of Katy's family by taking her from them at once, and by dictating to a
certain extent the way in which he would take her. There must be no
invited guests, he said; no lookers-on, except such as chose to go to
the church where the ceremony would, of course, be performed, and from
which place he should go directly to the Boston train. It was his wish,
too, that the matter should be kept as quiet as possible, and not be
generally discussed in the neighborhood, as he disliked being a subject
for gossip. And Mrs. Lennox, to whom this was said, promised compliance
with everything, or if she ventured to object she found herself borne
down by a stronger will than her own, and weakly yielded, her manner
fully testifying to her delight at the honor conferred upon her by this
high marriage of her child. Wilford knew just how pleased she was, and
her obsequious manner annoyed him far more than did Helen's blunt,
straightforwardness, when, after supper was over, she told him how
averse she was to his taking Katy so soon, adding still further that if
it must be, she saw no harm in inviting a few of their neighbors. It was
customary--it would be expected, she said, while Mrs. Lennox, emboldened
by Helen's boldness, chimed in, "at least your folks will come; I shall
be glad to meet your mother."
Wilford was very polite to them both; very good-humored, but he kept to
his first position, and poor Mrs. Lennox saw fade into airy nothingness
all her visions of roasted fowls and frosted cake trimmed with myrtle
and flowers, with hosts of the Silverton people there to admire and
partake of the marriage feast. It was too bad, and so Aunt Betty said,
when, after Wilford had gone to Linwood, the family sat together around
the kitchen stove, talking the matter over.
"Yes, it was too bad, when there was that white hen turkey she could fat
up so easy before June, and she knew how to make 'lection cake that
would melt in your mouth, and was enough sight better than the black
stuff they called weddin' cake. Vum! she meant to try what she could do
with Mr. Cameron."
And next morning when he came again she did try, holding out as
inducements why he should be married the night before starting for
Boston, the "white hen, turkey, the 'lection cake, and the gay old times
the young folks would have playing snap-and-catchem; or if they had a
mind, they could dance a bit in the kitchen. She didn't believe in it,
to be sure--none of the orthodox did; but as Wilford was a 'Piscopal,
and that was a 'Piscopal quirk, it wouldn't harm for once."
Wilford tried not to show his disgust, and only Helen suspected how hard
it was for him to keep down his utter contempt. She saw it in his eyes,
which resembled two smoldering volcanoes as they rested upon Aunt Betsy
during her harangue.
"Thank you, madam, for your good intentions, but I think we will
dispense with the turkey and the cake," was all he said, though he did
smile at the old lady's definition of dancing, which for once she might
allow.
Even Morris, when appealed to, decided with Wilford against Mrs. Lennox
and Aunt Betsy, knowing how unequal he was to the task which would
devolve on him in case of a bridal party at the farmhouse. In
comparative silence he had heard from Wilford of his engagement,
offering no objection when told how soon the marriage would take place,
but congratulating him so quietly that, if Wilford had retained a
feeling of jealousy, it would have disappeared; Morris was so seemingly
indifferent to everything except Katy's happiness. But Wilford did not
observe closely, and failed to detect the hopeless look in Morris' eyes,
or the whiteness which settled about his mouth as he fulfilled the
duties of host and sought to entertain his guest. Those were dark hours
for Morris Grant, and he was glad when at the end of the second day
Wilford's visit expired, and he saw him driven from Linwood around to
the farmhouse, where he would say his parting words to Katy and then go
back to New York.