TROUBLE IN THE HOUSEHOLD.
As soon as it was understood that Mrs. Wilford Cameron was able to go
out, there were scores of pressing invitations from the gay world which
had missed her so much, but Katy declined them all on the plea that baby
needed her care. She was happier at home, and as a mother it was her
place to stay there. At first Wilford listened quietly, but when he
found it was her fixed determination to abjure society entirely, he
interfered in his cool, decisive way, which always carried its point.
"It was foolish to take that stand," he said. "Other mothers went and
why should not she? She had already stayed in too much. She was injuring
herself, and"--what was infinitely worse to Wilford--"she was losing her
good looks."
As proof of this he led her to the glass, showing her the pale, thin
face and unnaturally large eyes, so distasteful to him. Wilford Cameron
was very proud of his handsome house, proud to know that everything
there was in keeping with his position and wealth, but when Katy was
immured in the nursery, the bright picture was obscured, for it needed
her presence to make it perfect, and he began to grow dissatisfied with
his surroundings, while abroad he missed her quite as much, finding the
opera, the party or the reception insipid where she was not, and feeling
fully conscious that Wilford Cameron, without a wife, and that wife
Katy, was not a man of half the consequence he had thought himself to
be. Even Sybil Grandon did not think it worth her while to court his
attention, especially if Katy were not present, for unless some one saw
and felt her triumph it ceased directly to be one. On the whole Wilford
was not well pleased with society, as he found it this winter, and
knowing where the trouble lay he resolved that Katy should no longer
remain at home, growing pale and faded and losing her good looks.
Wilford would not have confessed it, and perhaps was not himself aware
of the fact, that Katy's beauty was quite as dear to him as Katy
herself. If she lost it her value was decreased accordingly, and so as
a prudent husband it behooved him to see that what was so very precious
was not unnecessarily thrown away. It did not take long for Katy to
understand that her days of quiet were at an end, that neither crib nor
cradle could avail her longer. Mrs. Kirby, selected from a host of
applicants, was wholly competent for Baby Cameron, and Katy must throw
aside the mother which sat so prettily upon her and become again the
belle. It was a sad trial, but Katy knew that submission was the only
alternative, and so when Mrs. Banker's invitation came, she accepted it
at once, but there was a sad look upon her face as she kissed her baby
for the twentieth time ere going to her dressing-maid.
Never until this night had Helen realized how beautiful Katy was when in
full evening dress, and her exclamations of delight brought a soft flush
to Katy's cheek, while she felt a thrill of the olden vanity as she saw
herself once more arrayed in all her costly apparel. Helen did not
wonder now at Wilford's desire to have Katy with him, and very proudly
she watched her young sister as Esther twined the flowers in her hair
and then brought out the ermine cloak she was to wear as a protection
against the cold.
"If they could only see you at home," she said, while instantly there
arose a thought of Dr. Grant, and Helen felt a throb of keen regret as
she contrasted the gay, airy figure with the grave, quiet Morris, who
found his chief delights in works of charity, and whose feet lingered
amid the haunts of poverty and suffering, rather than such scenes as
that to which she was going.
But Katy's path lay far from Dr. Grant's, and only Wilford Cameron had
A right to say whither she should go or when return. He was standing by
her now, making a few suggestions and expressing his approbation in a
way which reminded Helen of that night before the marriage, when Katy's
dress had been condemned, and of that sadder, bitterer time when she
had poured her tears like rain into that trunk returned. All she had
thought of Wilford then was now more than confirmed, but he was kind to
her and very proud of Katy, so she forced back her feelings of disquiet,
which, however, were roused again when she saw the dark look on his
face, as Katy, at the very last, ran to the nursery to kiss baby again,
succeeding this time in waking it, as was proven by the cry that made
Wilford scowl angrily and brought to his lips a word of rebuke for
Katy's childishness.
"You are like a girl with her first doll," he said, as he opened the
door for her to pass, and Helen, though she felt the truth of the
remark, knew there was no necessity for him to throw so much of lordly
displeasure into his manner, and make poor Katy look so distressed and
worried as they drove rapidly along the streets to Mrs. Banker's.
The party was not so large as that at Sybil Grandon's, but it was more
select, and Helen enjoyed it better, meeting people like Morris, who
readily appreciated the peculiarities of her mind, and who would have
made her forget all else around her if she had not been a guest at Mark
Ray's house. It was the first time she had met him away from home since
the night of Mrs. Grandon's, and as if forgetful of her reserve, he paid
her numberless attentions, which, coming from the master of the house,
were the more to be valued.
With a quiet dignity Helen received them all, the thought once creeping
into her heart that she was preferred, notwithstanding that engagement.
But she soon repudiated this idea as unworthy of her. She could not be
wholly happy with one who, to win her hand, had trampled upon the
affections of another, even if that other were Juno Cameron.
And so she kept out of his way as much as possible, watching her sister
admiringly as she moved about with an easy, assured grace, or floated
like a snow flake through the dance in which Wilford persuaded her to
join, looking after her with a proud, all-absorbing feeling, which left
no room for Sybil Grandon's coquettish advances.
As if the reappearance of Katy had awakened all that was weak and silly
in Sybil's nature, she now put forth her full powers of attraction, but
met only with defeat. Katy, and even Helen, was preferred before
her--both belles of a different type; but both winning golden laurels
from those who hardly knew which to admire most--Katy, with her pure,
delicate beauty and charming simplicity, or Helen, with her attractive
face and sober, quiet manner. But Katy grew tired early. She could not
endure what she once did; and when she came to Wilford with a weary look
upon her face and asked him to go home, he did not refuse, though Mark,
who was near, protested against their leaving so soon.
"Surely Miss Lennox might remain; the carriage could be sent back for
her; and he had hardly seen her at all."
But Miss Lennox chose to go; and after her white cloak and hood passed
down the stairs and through the door into the street, there was nothing
attractive for Mark in his crowded parlors, and he was glad when the
last guest had departed and he was left alone with his mother.
Operas, parties, receptions, dinners, matineés, morning calls, drives,
visits and shopping; how fast one crowded upon the other, leaving
scarcely an hour of leisure to the devotee of fashion who attended to
them all. How astonished Helen was to find what high life in New York
implied, ceasing to wonder that so many of the young girls grew haggard
and old before their time, or that the dowagers grew selfish and hard
and scheming. She would die outright, she thought, and she pitied poor
little Katy, who, having once returned to the world, seemed destined to
remain there, in spite of her entreaties and the excuses she made for
declining the invitations which poured in so fast.
"Baby was not well--baby needed her," was the plea with which she met
Wilford's arguments, until the mention of his child was sure to bring a
scowl upon his face, and it became a question in Helen's mind whether he
would not be happier if baby had never come between him and his
ambition.
To hear Katy's charms extolled, and know that she was admired, and he
was envied the possession of so rare a gem, feeling all the while sure
of her faith, was Wilford's great delight, and it is not strange that,
without any very strong fatherly feeling or principle of right in that
respect, he should be irritated by the little life so constantly
interfering with his pleasure and so surely undermining Katy's health.
For Katy did not improve, as Wilford hoped she might; and with his two
hands he could almost span her slender waist, while the beautiful neck
and shoulders, once his chiefest pride, were no longer worn uncovered,
for Katy would not display her bones, whatever the fashion might be. In
this dilemma Wilford sought his mother, and the result of that
consultation brought a more satisfied look to his face than it had worn
for many a day.
"Strange he had never thought of it, when it was what so many people
did," he said to himself as he hurried home. "It was the very best thing
both for Katy and the child, and would obviate every difficulty."
Next morning, as she sometimes did when more than usually fatigued, Katy
breakfasted in bed; while Wilford's face, as he sat opposite Helen at
the table, had on it a look of quiet determination, such as she had
rarely seen there before. In a measure accustomed to his moods, she felt
that something was wrong, and never dreaming that he intended honoring
her with his confidence, she was wishing he would finish the coffee and
leave, when, motioning the servant from the room, he said abruptly, and
in a tone which roused Helen's antagonistic powers at once, it was so
cool, so decided: "I believe you have more influence over your sister
than I have; at least, she has latterly shown a willfulness in
disregarding me and a willingness to listen to you, which confirms
me in this conclusion--"
"Well," and Helen twisted her napkin ring nervously, waiting for him to
say more; but her manner, so different from Katy's, disconcerted him,
making him a little uncertain what might be hidden behind that rigid
face, confronting him so steadily, a little doubtful as to the
expression it would put on when he had said all he meant to say.
He did not expect it to wear a look as frightened and hopeless as Katy's
did when he last saw it upon the pillow, for he knew how different the
two sisters were, and much as he had affected to despise Helen Lennox,
he was afraid of her now. It had never occurred to him before that he
was somewhat uncomfortable in her presence, that her searching brown
eyes held him often in check; but it came to him now that his wife's
sister was in his way, for what could he do with a will almost as firm
as his own, and she was sure to take Katy's part. He saw it in her face,
even though she had no idea of what he meant to say.
"Well;" that was the last sound heard in the quiet room; but since its
utterance the relative positions of the two individuals sitting opposite
each other had changed. Wilford regarding Helen as an obstacle in his
path, and Helen regarding him as a tyrant contemplating some direful
harm against her sister.
He must explain some time, and so at last he continued: "You must have
seen how opposed Katy is to complying with my wishes, setting them at
naught, when she knows how much pleasure she would give me by yielding
as she used to do."
"I don't know what you mean," Helen replied, "unless it is her aversion
to going out, as that I think is the only point where her obedience has
not been absolute."
Wilford did not like the words "obedience" and "absolute;" that is, he
did not like the sound. Their definition suited him, but Helen's
enunciation was at fault, and he answered quickly: "I do not require
absolute obedience from Katy. I never did; but in the matter to which
you refer, I think she might consult my wishes as well as her own. There
is no reason for her secluding herself in the nursery as she does. Do
you think there is?"
He put the question direct, and Helen answered it.
"I do not believe Katy means to displease you, but she has conceived a
strong aversion for festive scenes, and besides baby is not healthy, you
know, and like all young mothers she may be over-anxious, while I fancy
she has not the fullest confidence in the nurse, and this may account
for her unwillingness to leave the child with her."
Kirby was all that was desirable, Wilford replied. His mother had taken
her from a genteel, respectable house in Bond Street, and he paid her an
enormous price, consequently she must be right; and then there came out
the story how his mother had decided that neither Katy nor baby would
improve so long as they remained together--that for both a separation
was desirable--that she had recommended sending the child into the
country, where it would be better cared for than it could be at home
with Katy constantly undoing all Mrs. Kirby had done, disregarding her
orders, waking it from sleep whenever the fancy took her, and in short
treating it much as she probably did her doll when she was a little
girl. With the child away there would be nothing to prevent Katy's going
out as she used to do, and getting back her good looks, which were
somewhat impaired.
"Why, she looks older than you do," Wilford said, thinking thus to
conciliate Helen, who quietly replied:
"There is not two years difference between us, and I have always been
well, keeping regular hours until I came here."
Wilford's compliment had failed, and more annoyed than before, he asked,
not what Helen thought of the arrangement, but if she would influence
Katy to act and think rationally upon it; "at least you will not make it
worse," he said, and this time there was something quite deferential and
pleading in his manner.
Helen knew the matter was fixed, that neither Katy's tears nor
entreaties would avail to revoke the decision, and so, though her whole
soul rose in indignation against a man who would deliberately send his
nursing baby from his roof because it was in his way, and was robbing
his bride's cheek of its girlish bloom, she answered composedly:
"I will do what I can, but I must confess it seems to me an unnatural
thing. I had supposed parents less selfish than that."
Wilford did not care what Helen had supposed, and her opposition only
made him more resolved. Still he did not say so, and he even tried to
smile as he quitted the table and remarked to her:
"I hope to find Katy reconciled when I come home. I think I had better
not go up to her again, so tell her I send a good-by kiss by you. I
leave her case in your hands."
It was a far more difficult case than either he or Helen imagined, and
the latter started back in alarm from the white face which greeted her
view as she entered Katy's room, and then with a moan hid itself in the
pillow.
"Wilford thought he had better not come up, but he sent a kiss by me,"
Helen said, softly touching the bright, disordered hair, all she could
see of her sister.
"It does not matter," Katy gasped. "Kisses cannot help me if they take
my baby away. Did he tell you?" and she turned now partly toward Helen,
who nodded affirmatively while Katy continued: "Had he taken a knife and
cut a cruel gash it would not have hurt me half so badly. I could bear
that, but my baby--oh, Helen, do you think they will take her away?"
She was looking straight at Helen, who shivered as she met an expression
so unlike Katy, and so like to that a hunted deer might wear if its
offspring were in danger.
"Say, do you think they will?" she continued, shedding back with her
thin hand the mass of tangled curls which had fallen about her eyes.
"Whom do you mean by 'they'?" Helen asked, coming near to her, and
sitting down upon the bed.
There was a resentful gleam in the blue eyes usually so gentle, as Katy
answered:
"Whom do I mean? His folks of course! They have been the instigators of
every sorrow I have known since I left Silverton. Oh, Helen, never,
never marry anybody who has folks, if you wish to be happy."
Helen could not repress a smile, though she pitied her sister, who
continued:
"I don't mean Father Cameron, nor Bell, nor Jamie, for I love them all,
and I believe that they love me. Father does, I know, and Jamie, while
Bell has helped me so often; but Mrs. Cameron and Juno--oh, Helen, you
will never know what they have been to me."
"I notice you always say 'father' and 'Mrs. Cameron.' Why is that?"
Helen asked, hoping thus to divert Katy's mind from her present trouble,
and feeling a little anxious to hear Katy's real sentiments with regard
to her husband's family.
Since Helen came to New York there has been so much to talk about
that, though Katy had told her of her fashionable life, she had said
comparatively little of the Camerons. Now, however, there was no holding
back on Katy's part, and beginning with the first night of her arrival
in New York she told what is already known to the reader, and more,
exonerating Wilford in word, but dealing out full justice to his mother
and Juno, the former of whom controlled him so completely.
"I tried so hard to love her," Katy said, "and if she had given me ever
so little in return I would have been satisfied, but she never did--that
is, when I hungered for it most, missing you at home, and the loving
care which sheltered me in childhood. After the world took me into favor
she too began to caress me, but I was wicked enough to think it all came
of selfishness. I know I am hard and bad, for when I was sick Mrs.
Cameron was really very kind, and I began to like her; but if she takes
baby away, I shall surely die."
Katy had come back to the starting point, and in her eye there was the
same fierce look which Helen had at first observed.
"Where is baby to be sent?" Helen asked, and Katy answered:
"Up the river, to a house which Father Cameron owns, and which is kept
by a farmer's family. I can't trust Kirby. I do not like her. She keeps
baby asleep too long, and acts so cross if I try to wake her, or hint
that she looks unnatural. I cannot give baby to her care, with no one to
look after her, though Wilford says I must."
"Why then do you try to resist, when you know how useless it is?" Helen
asked, and something in her manner brought a sudden flush of shame to
Katy's cheek, as she said:
"What do you mean? Of what are you thinking?"
Helen did not stop to consider the propriety of her remarks, but
replied:
"I was thinking that you reminded me of a bird beatings wings against
the bars of its cage, vainly hoping to escape into the freedom which it
feels is outside its prison house, but falling back bruised and bleeding
with its efforts, and no nearer escape."
For a moment Katy regarded her sister intently, while she seemed trying
to digest the meaning of her words; then, as it vaguely flashed upon
her, tears gathered on her eyelashes and rolled down her cheeks, while
with a quivering lip she asked:
"If you were that bird, what would you do?"
"I? What would I do? I should beat my wings until I died; but your
nature is different. You are more yielding, more loving, more
submissive. You can bear it better."
This was not the first time since she came to New York and saw how firm,
how unbending was the will which held Katy in its grasp, that Helen had
thought how surely she, with her high, imperious spirit, should die,
from the very resistance she should offer to that will. But as she had
truly expressed it, Katy's gentle, submissive nature saved her, for
never had she offered so violent opposition to any plan as she did now
to that of sending her child away.
"I can't, I can't," she repeated constantly, and Mrs. Cameron's call,
made that afternoon with a view to reconcile the matter, only made it
worse, so that Wilford, on his return at night, felt a pang of
self-reproach as he saw the drooping figure holding his child upon its
lap and singing it a lullaby in a plaintive voice, which told how sore
was its heart.
Wilford did not mean to be either a savage or a brute. On the contrary
he had made himself believe that he was acting only for the good of both
mother and child; but the sight of Katy touched him, and he might have
given up the contest had not Helen unfortunately taken up the cudgels in
Katy's defense, neglecting to conceal the weapons, and so defeating her
purpose. It was at the dinner from which Katy was absent that she
ventured to speak, not asking that the plan be given up, but speaking of
it as an unnatural one which seemed to her not only useless but cruel.
Wilford did not tell her that her opinion was not desired, but his
manner implied as much, and Helen felt the angry blood prickling through
her veins as she listened to his reply, that it was neither unnatural
nor cruel, that many people did it, and his would not be an isolated
case.
"Then if it must be," Helen said, "pray let it go to Silverton, and I
will be its nurse. Katy will not object to that."
In a very ironical tone Wilford thanked her for her offer, which he
begged leave to decline, intimating a preference for settling his own
matters according to his own ideas. Helen knew that further argument was
useless, and but for Katy, wished herself at home, where there were no
wills like this with which she had unwittingly come in contact, and
which, ignoring Katy's tears and Katy's pleading face, would not retract
one iota, or even stoop to reason with the suffering mother, except to
reiterate, "It is only for your good, and every one with common sense
will say so."
Next morning Helen was surprised at Katy's proposition to drive around
to Fourth Street, and call on Marian, whom they had not seen for several
days.
"I am always better after talking with her," Katy said, "And I have a
strong presentiment that she can do me good."
"Shall you tell her?" Helen asked in some surprise; and Katy replied,
"perhaps I may. I'll see."
An hour later, and Katy, up in Marian's room, sat with her hands clasped
together upon the table, listening intently while Marian spoke of a
letter received a few days since from an old friend who had worked with
her at Madam ----'s, and to whom she had been strongly attached, keeping
up a correspondence with her after her marriage and removal to New
London, in Connecticut; and whose little child, born two months before
Katy's, was dead, and the mother, finding her home so desolate, had
written, beseeching Marian to come to her for the remainder of the
winter, adding in conclusion: "If you know of any little homeless baby,
bring it to me in place of mine, which God has taken. I shall thus be
doing good, and in part forget my sorrow."
Instantly Helen and Katy glanced at each other, the same thought
flashing upon both, and finding form in Katy's vehement outburst, "If
Mrs. Hubbell would take baby, and Marian would go, too, I should be so
happy."
In a few moments Marian had heard Katy's trouble--struggling hard to
fight back the giddy faintness she felt stealing over her, as she
thought of nursing Wilford Cameron's child.
"Write to her, Marian--write to-day--now, before I go," Katy continued,
clasping Marian's hand, with an expression which, more than aught else
won Marian Hazelton's consent to a plan which seemed so strange.
"Yes, I will write," she answered; "I will tell Amelia what you desire."
"But, Marian, you, too, must go. I'll trust baby with you. Say, Marian,
will you take care of my darling?"
It was hard to refuse, with those great, wistful, pleading eyes looking
so earnestly into hers; but Marian must have time to consider. She had
thought of going to New London to open a shop, and if she did she should
board with Mrs. Hubbell, and so be with the child. She would decide when
the answer came to the letter.
This was all the encouragement she would give; but it was enough to
change the whole nature of Katy's feelings, and her face looked bright
and cheerful as she tripped down the stairway, talking to Helen of what
seemed to both like a direct interposition of Providence, and what she
was sure would please Wilford quite as well as the farmhouse up the
river.
"Surely he will yield to me in this," she said. Nor was she wrong; for
glad of an opportunity to make some concessions, and still in the main
have his own way, Wilford raised no objection to the plan as
communicated to him by Katy, when, at an earlier hour than usual, he
came home to dinner, drawn thither by a remembrance of the face which
had haunted him the entire day, and bringing as a peace offering to both
wife and sister--a new book for the one, and for the other a set of
handsome coral, which he had heard her admire only the week before.
These he presented with that graceful, winning manner he knew so well
how to assume, and with the harmony of his household once more restored,
felt himself a model husband as he listened to Katy's plan of sending
baby to New London. On the whole, it might be better even than the
farmhouse up the river, he thought, for it was farther away, and Katy
could not be tiring herself with driving out every few days, and keeping
herself constantly uneasy and excited. The distance between New York
and New London was the best feature of the whole; and he wondered Katy
had not thought of it as an objection. But she had not, and but for the
pain when she remembered the coming separation, she would have been very
happy that evening, listening with Wilford and Helen to the opera of
"Norma," and sympathizing so keenly with the poor distracted mother.
Very differently from this was Marian's evening passed, and on her face
there was a look such as Katy's had never worn, as on her knees she
asked for guidance to choose the right, to lay all self aside, and if it
were her duty and care for the child which had stirred the pulsations of
her heart and made the old wound bleed and throb with bitter anguish as
she remembered what she once hoped would be, and what but for a cruel
wrong might still have been. And as she prayed there crept into her face
another look which told that self was sacrificed at last, and Katy
Cameron was safe with her.
* * * * *
Mrs. Hubbell was willing--aye, more than that--was glad to take the
child, and the generous remuneration offered would make them so
comfortable in their little cottage, she wrote to Marian, who hastened
to confer by note with Katy, adding in a postscript, "Is it still your
wish that I should go? if so, I am at your disposal."
It was Katy's wish, and she hastened to reply, going next to the nursery
to confer with Mrs. Kirby. Dark were the frowns and dire the displeasure
of that lady when told that her services would soon be no longer needed
on Madison Square--that instead of going up the river as she had hoped,
she was free to return to the "genteel and highly respectable home on
Bond Street," where Mrs. Cameron had found her.
"Wait till the madam comes and then we'll see," she thought, referring
to Mrs. Cameron, and feeling delighted when that very day she heard that
lady's voice in the parlor.
But Mrs. Cameron, though a little anxious with regard to both Mrs.
Hubbell's and Marian's antecedents, and a little doubtful as to the
effect a common dressmaker's nursing might have upon the child, saw at
once that Wilford was in favor of New London and so voted accordingly,
only asking that she might see and talk with Marian Hazelton herself.
"One can judge so much better from hearing one converse. If her manner
should be very bad and her grammar execrable, I should consider it my
duty to withdraw my consent," she said, with as much deliberation as if
the matter were wholly at her disposal. "Would Katy drive around with
her to Marian Hazelton's to-morrow?"
Katy would be delighted; and so next day Mrs. Cameron, the elder, was
holding high her aristocratic skirts and glancing ruefully around as she
followed Mrs. Cameron, the younger, up the three flights of stairs to
Marian's door, which did not open to the assured knock, nor yet yield to
the gentle pressure. Marian was out, and there was no alternative but
for Katy to scribble a few lines upon the card she left upon the knob,
telling Marian who had been there, and requesting her to call that
evening at No. ---- Fifth Avenue, as the elder Mrs. Cameron was
particularly anxious to see her before committing her grandchild to her
care. "Please go, Marian, for my sake," Katy added, but in reading to
Wilford's mother what she had written, she omitted that, and so escaped
a lecture from that lady upon undue familiarity with inferiors.