EM.’S NEW HOME
Oh, brightly is bedeck’d your bower, and gorgeously your halls;
Here treads the foot on springing buds, and there on velvet falls:
The massive curtains’ graceful flow, the vase, the painting warm;
Those household echoes, mirrors bright, revealing the fair form;
Exotics that perfume the air with odors sweet and strange,
And shells that far in foreign climes mid ocean wonders range,
With countless gifts of taste and art, in classic beauty rife,
Are laid upon your household shrine, and grace your daily life.
GILMAN.
Tired as she was with her unusual exertions, before she slept that night
Susan Palmer ran up the attic stairs to her daughter’s chamber to
communicate the good news that was to make Em. so happy.
The door was closed, but not locked, so she opened it and walked in.
She found that Em. had gone to bed but not to sleep. She immediately sat
down beside the bed, and in answer to the girl’s eager, questioning
eyes, she said:
“Yes, my dear, your father has given his consent for you to go.”
Em. started and threw her arms around her mother’s neck, exclaiming:
“Oh, how glad I am! It was you, dear, I know it was, who got him to
consent at last. But oh, dear mother, you will not think I love you any
the less because I want to go to that desolate Lady of Edengarden,
_will_ you, mother dear?”
“Nonsense, girl, of course not! You’ll love us as much, and even more,
when you get away from us than you do now. Why, law! when I was younger
than you are now I was crazy to go out to service; and when I did, I
found that I loved my home and my mother better than I had ever done
before. I sha’n’t be jealous, Em.,” laughed Susan.
“I don’t know why I should want to go, either; but that dear lady is so
lonely, so desolate, my heart goes out to her, mother. Think of it, she
has no family circle, no visitors, no society, no one but her colored
servants!”
“It is her own choice, Em.; yet I do wonder at the shyness that makes
her keep herself unknown even to old Commodore Bruce, who used to know
her when she was a child, and who was just as fond of her as if she had
been his own. I do wonder at that!”
“Mother dear,” exclaimed Em. suddenly, “don’t you remember she said Dr.
Willet had been to see her?”
“Oh, yes. Dr. Willet was one of her oldest and best friends, and stood
by her manfully in her worst troubles. But for a long time after she
disappeared not even _he_ knew what had become of her; however, I dare
say she notified him afterward, although he never said anything about
it, being bound over to secrecy, most likely.”
“Well, but, mother dear, Dr. Willet is staying at Commodore Bruce’s, and
don’t you think he will tell the old commodore, who has so long mourned
Emolyn as dead, that she is really alive and within his reach?”
“Oh, no, no, Dr. Willet will never do so without the lady’s
consent—never!”
“Oh, what a pity it is that she so secludes herself from all who would
love her!”
“Yes, it is, Em., a crying pity. If you should get any influence over
her, Em., you must try to coax her out of all that.”
“Oh, I will, I will, dear mother. I will do all in my little power for
that lady. It is so strange, but she feels inexpressibly near and dear
to me,” said the girl tenderly.
“I am glad to hear you say so, Em. And now, my dear, as you sat up all
last night with Mrs. Whitlock, you must really go to sleep. Good-night,
and God bless you, my dear,” said Susan Palmer, as she kissed her
daughter and left the room.
The next morning, true to his promise, John Palmer authorized Em. to
write a note of acceptance to the Lady of Edengarden, and to send it by
the old gatekeeper in his boat.
Em. joyfully obeyed, and penned the grateful missive, inquiring at its
close when the lady would like that she should come.
Old ’Sias took charge of the note and started to deliver it.
But the old man was feeble and slow at the oars, so that he took nearly
the whole day to do his errand, and the family had finished supper,
cleared up the kitchen and gathered around the blazing wood fire,
occupied with their evening work—the women and girls knitting and
sewing, the men and boys mending harness and carving out wooden
bolts—when ’Sias walked in, bringing a letter, which he handed to Em.
“Did you see the lady?” she eagerly inquired as she opened the note.
“No, honey, I didn’t see nobody but a mons’ous handsome, bright ’latto
’oman. Handsome as a queen, honey—de Queen o’ Sheba in all her
glory—which she tell me, honey, as her name was Mellow Ponies. ’Deed, if
I had cotch my eye on _her_ ’fore I ebber seed Sereny——But ’tain’t no
use talking ’bout dat now. On’y if the ’Vine Marster _was_ to ’flict me
wid de loss ob Sereny——But all dat’s wanity and wexation of de
sperrits,” concluded the old man with a sigh.
Meanwhile Em. read her note, which she presently passed to her mother,
saying:
“She wants me to come on Thursday, mother, and this is Tuesday evening,
you know.”
“Well, my girl, that will give you a day to get ready, and I will help
you,” answered Susan. Then quickly turning to the old gatekeeper, said:
“’Sias, stop! I want to send a message by you. Tell your wife Sereny
that if she will come and sit up with our sick woman to-night she shall
be paid well for it.”
“Berry well, ma’am, sartin. And dat will be a great deliverance for me
of one night, anyhow!” exclaimed the old man as he retreated.
The following day was spent by the mother and all her daughters in
looking over, doing up and packing Em.’s simple wardrobe, ready for use
in her new home.
That night, being the last one previous to her departure, Em. sat up
with Ann Whitlock until near day, when she was relieved by Monica.
It was a glorious autumn day, near the last of October, when Em. took
leave of her mother and sisters to set out for her new home.
“Now you know, dear mother, the lady said in her note that she hoped you
would come and spend a day with us just as often as you could, the
oftener the better,” said the girl, lovingly lingering over her
leavetaking.
“Yes, Em.,” replied Susan.
“Also she said that whenever I should feel the least homesick, I should
come to you for a few days.”
“Yes, Em.”
“And whenever you might feel like wanting me at home you were to send
for me and I should come.”
“Yes, Em.”
“Then you won’t feel lonesome for me, mother dear?”
“No, you goose! There, don’t worry about me! You didn’t make half so
much fuss about leaving home when you went to The Breezes, though that
was the very first time you ever left us! There! God bless you, my good
child, good-by. I shall come to hear the blind preacher of the island
Sunday, and then I shall see you and your sweet lady, too,” said Susan,
pressing her daughter to her heart in a final embrace.
Em. turned away, and, escorted by her father, walked quickly down the
leaf-strewn road leading through the park.
It was true! Em. felt more disturbed at leaving home now on this second
time than she had done on the first—even though now she was going to
live with one to whom her affections were strangely and strongly
attracted. It may have been that in the depths of her spirit she had
unacknowledged previsions that this was a final departure from her home,
that never again would she re-enter her father’s house except as a
visitor.
John walked on silently for a while, but just before they got to the
park gate, where old ’Sias stood in attendance, he said:
“Em., my child, don’t forget us in your fine new home.”
“Oh, dear, dear, good, best father, never, never, never! How could you
think I would? No, I will write to you twice a week, at least, and send
the letter by a special messenger, for I feel that my lady will indulge
me in that!”
“No, Em., don’t you do it! Don’t give so much extra trouble in a strange
house. I am satisfied with what you say, my girl. I know you will not
forget us!”
By this time they had reached the gate, which ’Sias had set wide open
for their egress.
“Good-by, Uncle ’Sias. You must sometimes get in your boat and come to
see me in my new home,” said Em., holding out her hand.
“Good-by, Miss Em. Surely I’ll come to see you. Give my despectful
compliments to Miss Mellow Ponies! If ever de ’Vine Marster was to
’flict me wid de ’reavement ob Sereny—but dere! I won’t say nuffin more
’bout dat. It’s permature!” added the old man, as he flourished his hat
in a final adieu.
The father and daughter walked down to the shore, where they found the
two boys mounting guard over Em.’s trunk, which they had carefully
brought down from the house and deposited in the boat ready for
transportation.
Em. took leave of her brothers and seated herself in the boat.
“Get in, dad, and make yourself comfortable; we’ll unchain her,”
exclaimed Tom.
Mr. Palmer followed this advice and took up the oars, and as soon as the
boat was free he pushed off.
Em. steered.
There was a strong current down the river, and they made very rapid
progress, and soon touched the island strand.
“The lady will send two of her men servants down for my trunk, father.
We can safely leave it here in the meantime,” said Em., as she stepped
upon the land.
John nodded and joined her, and they walked together through the silver
girdle, as the belt of maple trees was called, and thence through the
acacia groves and up the beautiful terraces to the summit of the island,
crowned with its white palace.
The Lady of Edengarden stood at the portal to receive her new inmate.
She came down the steps, greeted John Palmer courteously, and then took
Em. in her arms in a warm embrace and kissed her on the forehead and
lips.
“Don’t spoil my girl by petting and indulgence, ma’am,” said John
Palmer, smiling.
“She cannot be spoiled. Nothing can spoil her,” said the lady earnestly.
“But now come in and rest and refresh yourself before returning, Mr.
Palmer.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but I haven’t time,” replied John, with a how; and
resisting all the lady’s entreaties, he took leave of her and of his
daughter, and retraced his steps to the boat, followed by two boys whom
Emolyn had sent to bring up her young companion’s trunk.
“Come on, my lads, you will have to step into the boat. There, each of
you take hold of the handles at each end and lift it out. There! All
right. Now go on!” said John Palmer cheerfully.
And having seen the boys start with the trunk, he re-entered his boat
and rowed rapidly for home, feeling content because Em. was happy.