MARIAN HAZELTON.
The last days of June had come, and Wilford was beginning to make
arrangements for removing Katy from the city before the warmer weather.
To this he had been urged by Mark Ray's remarking that Katy was not
looking as well as when he first saw her, one year ago, "She had grown
thin and pale," he said. "Had Wilford remarked it?"
Wilford had not. She complained much of headache; but that was only
natural. Still he wrote to the Mountain House that afternoon to secure
rooms for himself and wife, and then at an earlier hour than usual went
home to tell her of the arrangement. Katy was out shopping, Esther said,
and had not yet returned, adding: "There is a note for her upstairs,
left by a woman who insisted on seeing the house, until I took her over
it, showing her every room."
"A strange woman went over my house in Mrs. Cameron's absence! Who was
it?" Wilford asked, hastily, visions of Helen, or possibly Aunt Betsy,
rising before his mind.
"She said she was a friend of Mrs. Cameron, and that she knew she would
allow the liberty," Esther replied, thus confirming Wilford in his
suspicions that some country acquaintance had thrust herself upon them,
and hastening up to Katy's room, where the note was lying, he took it up
and examined the superscription, examined it closely, holding it up to
the light full a minute, and forgetting to open it in his perplexity and
the train of thought it awakened.
"They are singularly alike," he said, and still holding the note in his
hand he went downstairs to the library, and opening a drawer of his
writing desk, which was always kept locked, he took from it a picture
and a bit of soiled paper, on which was written: "I am not guilty,
Wilford, and God will never forgive the wrong you have done to me."
There was no name or date, but Wilford needed neither, for he knew well
whose hand had penned those lines, and he sat looking at them, comparing
them at last with the "Mrs. Wilford Cameron" which the strange woman had
written. Then opening the note, he read that, having returned to New
York, and wishing employment either as seamstress or dressmaker, Marian
Hazelton had ventured to call upon Mrs. Cameron, remembering her promise
to give her work if she should desire it. The note concluded by saying:
"I am sure you will pardon me for the liberty I took of going over the
house. It was a temptation I could not resist. You have a delightful
home. God grant you may be happy in it. You see I have also made bold
to write this in your library, for which I beg pardon,
"Yours truly, MARIAN HAZELTON,
"No. ---- Fourth St., 4th floor, N.Y."
"Who is Marian Hazelton?" Wilford asked himself as he threw down the
missive. "Some of Katy's country friends, I dare say. Seems to me I have
heard that name. She certainly writes as Genevra did, except that this
Hazelton's is more decided and firm. Poor Genevra!"
There was a pallor about Wilford's lips as he said this, and taking up
the picture he gazed for a long time upon the handsome, girlish face,
whose dark eyes seemed to look reproachfully upon him, just as they must
have looked when the words were penned: "God will never forgive the
wrong you have done to me."
"Genevra was mistaken," he said. "At least, if God has not forgiven, he
has prospered me, which amounts to the same thing;" and without a single
throb of gratitude to Him who had thus prospered him, Wilford laid
Genevra's picture and Genevra's note back with the withered grass and
flowers plucked from Genevra's grave, and then went again upstairs, just
as Katy's ring was heard and Katy herself came in.
As thoughts of Genevra always made Wilford kinder toward his wife, so
now he kissed her white cheek, noticing that, as Mark had said, it was
whiter than last year in June. But mountain air would bring back the
roses, he thought, as he handed her the note.
"Oh, yes, from Marian Hazelton," Katy said, glancing first at the name
and then hastily reading it through.
"Who is Marian Hazelton? Some intimate friend, I judge, from the liberty
she took."
"Not very intimate, though I liked her so much, and thought her above
her position," Katy replied, repeating all she knew of Marian, and how
she chanced to know her at all. "Don't you remember Helen wrote that she
fainted at our wedding, and I was so sorry, fearing I might have
overworked her."
Wilford did remember something about it, and satisfied that Marian
Hazelton had no idea of intruding herself upon them, except as she might
ask for work, he dismissed her from his mind and told Katy of his plan
for taking her to the Mountain House a few weeks before going to
Saratoga.
"Would you not like it?" he asked, as she continued silent, with her
eyes fixed upon the window opposite.
"Yes," and Katy drew a long and weary breath. "I shall like any place
where there are birds, and rocks, and trees, and real grass, such as
grows of itself in the country; but Wilford," and Katy crept close to
him now, "if I might go to Silverton, I should get strong so fast. You
don't know how I long to see home once more. I dream about it nights and
think about it days, knowing just how pleasant it is there, with the
roses in bloom and the meadows so fresh and green. May I go, Wilford?
May I go home to mother?"
Had Katy asked for half his fortune, just as she asked to go home,
Wilford would have given it to her, but Silverton had a power to lock
all the softer avenues of his heart, and so he answered that the
Mountain House was preferable, that the rooms were engaged, and that as
he should enjoy it so much better he thought they would make no change.
Katy did not cry, nor utter a word of remonstrance; she was fast
learning that quiet submission was better than useless opposition, and
so Silverton was again given up. But there was one consolation. Seeing
Marian Hazelton would be almost as good as going home, for had she not
recently come from that neighborhood, bringing with her the odor from
the hills and freshness from the woods. Perhaps, too, she had lately
seen Helen or Morris at church, and had heard the music of the organ
which Helen played, and the singing of the children just as it sometimes
came to Katy in her dreams, making her start in her sleep and murmur
snatches of the sacred songs which Dr. Morris taught. Yes, Marian could
tell her of all this, and very impatiently Katy waited for the morning
when she would drive around to Fourth Street with the piles of sewing
she was going to take to Marian.
"Dear Marian, I wonder is she very poor?" Katy thought, as she next day
made her preparations for the call, and had Wilford been parsimoniously
inclined, he might have winced could he have seen the numerous stores
gathered up for Marian and packed away in the carriage with the bundle
of cambric and linen and lace, all destined for that fourth-story
chamber where Marian Hazelton sat that summer morning, looking drearily
out upon the dingy court and contrasting its sickly patch of grass,
embellished with rain water barrels, coal hods and ash pails, with the
country she had so lately left, the wooded hills and blooming gardens of
Silverton, which had been her home for nearly two years.
It was a fault of Marian's not to remain long contented in any place,
and so tiring of the country she had returned to the great city, urged
on by a strange desire it may be to see Mrs. Wilford Cameron, to know
just how she lived, to judge if she were happy, and perhaps--some time
see Wilford Cameron, herself unknown, for not for the world would she
have met face to face the man who had so often stood by Genevra
Lambert's grave in the churchyard beyond the sea. Thinking she might
succeed better alone, she had hired a room far up the narrow stairway of
a high, somber-looking building, and then from her old acquaintances, of
whom she had several in the city, she had solicited work. More than once
she had passed the handsome house on Madison Square where Katy lived,
walking slowly and gazing with dim eyes which could not weep at Wilford
Cameron's luxurious home, and contrasting it with hers, that one room,
which yet was not wholly uninviting, for where Marian went there was
always an air of humble comfort; and Katy, as she crossed the threshold,
uttered an exclamation of delight at the cheerful, airy aspect of the
apartment, with its bright ingrain carpet, its simple shades of white,
its chintz-covered lounge, its one rocking-chair, its small parlor
stove, and its pots of flowers upon the broad window sill.
"Oh, Marian," she exclaimed, tripping across the floor, and impulsively
throwing her arms around Miss Hazelton's neck, "I am so glad to meet
some one from home. It seems almost like Helen I am kissing," and her
lips again met those of Marian Hazelton, who amid her own joy at finding
Katy unchanged, wondered what the Camerons would say to see their Mrs.
Wilford kissing a poor seamstress whom they would have spurned.
But Katy did not care for Camerons then, or even think of them, as in
her rich basquine and pretty hat, with emeralds and diamonds sparkling
on her fingers, she sat down by Marian, whose hands, though delicate and
small, showed marks of labor such as Katy had never known.
"You must forgive me for going over your house," Marian said, after they
had talked together a moment, and Katy had told how sorry she was to
miss the call. "I could not resist the temptation, and it did me so much
good, although I must confess to a good cry when I came back and thought
of the difference between us."
There was a quiver of her lip and a tone in her voice which touched
Katy's heart, and she tried to comfort her, forgetting entirely whether
what she said was proper or not, and impetuously letting out that even
in houses like hers there was trouble. Not that she was unhappy in the
least, for she was not; but, oh! the fuss it was to be fashionable and
keep from doing anything to shock his folks, who were so particular
about every little thing, even to the way she tied her bonnet and sat
in a chair.
This was what Katy said, and Marian, looking straight into Katy's face,
felt that she would not exchange places with the young girl-wife whom so
many envied.
"Tell me of Silverton," was Katy's next remark. "You don't know how
I want to go there; but Wilford does not think it best--that is, at
present. Next fall I am surely going. I picture to myself just how it
will look; Morris' garden, full of the autumnal flowers--the ripe
peaches in our orchard, the grapes ripening on the wall, and the long
shadows on the grass, just as I used to watch them, wondering what made
them move so fast, and where they could be going. Will it be unchanged,
Marian? Do places seem the same when once we have left them?" and Katy's
eager eyes looked wistfully at Marian, who replied: "Not always--not
often, in fact; but in your case they may. You have not been long away."
"Only a year," Katy said. "I was as long as that in Canandaigua; but
this past year is different. I have seen so much, and lived so much,
that I feel ten years older than I did last spring, when you and Helen
made my wedding dress. Darling Helen! When did you see her last?"
"I was there five weeks ago," Marian replied. "I saw them all, and told
them I was coming to New York."
"Do they miss me any? Do they talk of me? Do they wish me back again?"
Katy asked, and Marian replied: "They talked of little else--that is,
your own family. Dr. Morris, I think, did not mention your name. He
has grown very silent and reserved," and Marian's eyes were fixed
inquiringly upon Katy, as if to ascertain how much she knew of the
cause for Morris' reserve.
But Katy had no suspicion, and only replied: "Perhaps he is vexed that
I do not write to him oftener, but I can't. I think of him a great deal,
and sometimes have so wished I could sit in his public library, and
forget that there are such things as dinner parties, where you are in
constant terror lest you should do something wrong--evening parties,
where your dress and style are criticised--receptions or calls, and all
the things which make me so confused. Morris could always quiet me. It
rested me just to hear him talk, and I respect him more than any living
man, except, of course, Wilford; but when I try to write, something
comes in between me and what I wish to say, for I want to convince him
that I am not as frivolous as I fear he thinks I am. I have not
forgotten the Sunday school, nor the church service, which I so loved to
hear, especially when Morris read it, as he did in Mr. Browning's
absence; but in the city it is so hard to be good, particularly when one
is not, you know--that is, good like you and Helen and Morris--and the
service and music seem all for show, and I feel so hateful when I see
Juno and Wilford's mother making believe, and putting their heads down
on velvet cushions, knowing as I do that they both are thinking either
of their own bonnets or those just in front."
"Are you not a little uncharitable?" Marian asked, laughing in spite of
herself at the picture Katy drew of fashion trying to imitate religion
in its humility.
"Perhaps so," Katy answered. "I grow bad from looking behind the scenes,
and the worst is that I do not care. But tell me, do you think Morris
likes me less than formerly?"
Marian did not, and assured on that point, Katy went back to the
farmhouse, asking numberless questions about its inmates, and at last
coming to the business which had brought her to Marian's room.
There were perceptible spots on Marian's neck, and her lips were very
white, while her hands grasped the bundles tossed into her lap--the
yards and yards of lace and embroidery, linen, and cambric, which she
was expected to make for the wife of Wilford Cameron; and her voice was
husky as she asked directions or made suggestions of her own.
"It's because she has no such joy in expectation. I should feel so, too,
if I were thirty and unmarried," Katy thought, as she noticed Marian's
agitation, and tried to divert her mind by telling her as delicately as
possible that she had brought with her sundry stores of which she had
such an abundance.
"I knew you were not an object of charity," she said, as she saw the
flush on Marian's brow, "but when I have so much I like to share it with
others, and you seem like our folks."
"Did Wilf--did Mr. Cameron know?" Marian asked, and Katy answered "No;
but it does not matter. He lets me do as I like in these matters, and
the greatest pleasure I have is giving. You are not offended?" she
continued, as she saw a tear drop from Marian's eyelids.
"No--oh, no," and Marian quietly laid aside the packages which would
find their way to many an humble garret or cellar, where biting poverty
had its abode.
It would choke her to eat whatever came from Wilford Cameron, but she
could not tell Katy so, though she did say: "I will keep these because
you brought them, but do not do so again. There are many far more needy.
I saved something in Silverton. I shall not suffer so long as my health
is spared."
Then after a few more inquiries concerning the work, about which she
could now talk calmly, she asked where Katy went when she was abroad,
her blue eyes growing almost black as Katy talked of Rome, of Venice, of
Paris, and then of Alnwick, where they had stopped so long.
"By the way, you were born in England? Were you ever at Alnwick?" Katy
asked, and Marian replied: "Once, yes. I've seen the castle and the
church. Did you go there--to St. Mary's, I mean?"
"Oh, yes, and I was never tired of that old churchyard, Wilford liked
it, too, and we wandered by the hour among the sunken graves and quaint
headstones."
"Do you remember any of the names upon the stones? Perhaps I may know
them?" Marian asked; but Katy did not remember any, or if she did, it
was not "Genevra Lambert, aged twenty-two." And so Marian asked her no
more questions concerning St. Mary's, at Alnwick, but talked instead of
London and other places, until three hours went by, and down in the
street the coachman chafed and fretted at the long delay, wandering what
kept his mistress in that neighborhood so long. Had she friends, or had
she come on some errand of mercy? The latter most likely, he concluded,
and so his face was not quite so cross when Katy at last appeared,
looking at her watch and exclaiming at the lateness of the hour. But
when, as they turned into the avenue, Katy called to him to stop,
bidding him drive back, as she had forgotten something, he showed
unmistakable signs of irritation, but nevertheless obeyed, and Katy was
soon mounting a second time to the fourth story of No. ----, where Marian
Hazelton knelt upon the floor, her head resting upon the costly fabrics
and her frame quivering with the anguish of the sobs which reached
Katy's ear even before she opened the unbolted door.
"What is it, Marian?" she asked, in great distress, while Marian,
struggling to her feet, remained for a moment speechless.
She had not expected Katy to return, else she had never given way as she
did, calling on her God to help her bear what she now knew she was not
prepared to bear. She had thought the heart struggle conquered, and that
she could calmly look upon Wilford Cameron's wife; but the sight of
Katy, together with the errand on which she came, had unnerved her, and
she wept bitterly in her desolation, until Katy's reappearance startled
her from her position on the floor, making her stammer out some excuse
about "homesickness and the seeing Katy bringing back the past."
Very lovingly Katy tried to comfort her, putting into her manner just
enough of pretty patronage to amuse without annoying Marian, who soon
grew calm, and then listened while Katy told why she returned. She
feared she had talked too much of her own affairs--too much of his
folks, who, after all, were nice, kind people, and she came to take
it back, asking Marian never to speak of it, as it might get to them
indirectly, and Wilford would be angry.
With a smile, as she thought how improbable it was that anything said to
her up in that humble room should reach to No. ---- Fifth Avenue, Marian
promised silence; and with a good-by kiss, given to convince Marian that
she was not proud, Katy again departed, and was soon driving toward
Madison Square. She was very happy that morning, for seeing Marian had
brought Silverton near to her, and airy as a bird she ran up the steps
of her own dwelling, where the door opened as by magic, and Wilford
himself confronted her, asking, with the tone which always made her
heart beat, where she had been, and he waiting for her two whole hours.
Surely it was not necessary to stop so long with a seamstress, he
continued when she tried to explain. Ten minutes would suffice for
directions, and he could not imagine what attractions there were in Miss
Hazelton to keep her there three hours, and then the real cause of his
vexation came out. He had come expressly for the carriage to take her
and Sybil Grandon to a picnic up the river, whither his mother, Juno and
Bell had already gone. Mrs. Grandon must wonder why he stayed so long,
and perhaps give up going. Could Katy be ready soon; and Wilford walked
rapidly up and down the parlor as he talked, with a restless motion of
his hands which always betokened impatience. Poor Katy, how the
brightness of the morning faded, and how averse she felt to joining that
picnic, which she knew had been in prospect for some time, and had
fancied she should enjoy. But not to-day, not with that cold, proud look
on Wilford's face, and the feeling that he was vexed. Still she could
think of no reasonable excuse, and so an hour later found her driving
into the country with Sybil Grandon, who received her apologies with as
much good-natured grace as if she had not worked herself into a passion
at the delay, for Sybil had been very cross and impatient; but all this
vanished when she met Wilford and saw that he, too, was disturbed and
irritated. Soft and sweet and smooth was she both in word and manner, so
that by the time the pleasant grove was reached Wilford's ruffled
spirits had been soothed, and he was himself again, ready to enjoy the
pleasures of the day as keenly as if no harsh word had been said to
Katy, who, silent and unhappy, listened to the graceful badinage between
Sybil and her husband, thinking how differently his voice had sounded
when addressing her only a little while before.
"Pray put some animation into your face, or Mrs. Grandon will certainly
think we have been quarreling," Wilford whispered, as he lifted his wife
from the carriage, and with a great effort Katy tried to be gay and
natural.
But all the while was she fighting back her tears and wishing she were
away. Even Marian's room, looking into the dingy court, was preferable
to that place, and she was glad when the long day came to an end, and
she with a fearful headache was riding back to the city.
The next morning was dark and rainy; but in spite of the weather Katy
found her way to Marian's room, this time taking the ---- avenue cars,
which left her independent as regarded the length of her stay. About
Marian there was something more congenial than about her city friends,
and day after day found her there, watching while Marian fashioned into
shape the beautiful little garments, the sight of which had over Katy a
strangely quieting influence, sobering her down and maturing her more
than all the years of her life had done. Those were happy hours spent
with Marian Hazelton, the happiest of the entire day, and Katy felt it
keenly when Wilford at last interfered, telling her she was growing
quite too familiar with that sewing woman, and her calls had best be
discontinued, except, indeed, such as were necessary to the work in
progress.
There was a grieved look on Katy's face, but she uttered no word of
remonstrance; while her husband went on to say, that of course he did
not wish to be unreasonable, nor interfere between her and her
acquaintances as a general thing, but when the acquaintance chosen was a
sewing woman, whose antecedents no one knew, and whose society could not
be improving, the case was different.
After this there were no more mornings spent in Marian's room, no more
talks of Silverton and Morris Grant; talks which did Katy a world of
good, and kept her heart open to better influences, which might
otherwise have been wholly choked and destroyed by the life she saw
around her. With one great gush of tears, when there was no one to see
her, Katy gave Marian up, writing her a note, in which were sundry
directions for the work, which would go on even after she had left for
the Mountain House, as she intended doing the last of June. And Marian,
reading this note, guessed at more than Katy meant she should, and with
a bitter sigh laid it in her basket, and then resumed the work, which
seemed doubly monotonous now that there was no more listening for the
little feet tripping up the stairs, or for the bird-like voice which had
brought so much of music and sunshine to her lonely room.