Dear Old Ess again.
Let us visit once more the room from which Mr. Walters and his friends made
so brave a defence. There is but little in its present appearance to remind
one of that eventful night,--no reminiscences of that desperate attack,
save the bullet-hole in the ceiling, which Mr. Walters declares shall
remain unfilled as an evidence of the marked attention he has received at
the hands of his fellow-citizens.
There are several noticeable additions to the furniture of the apartment;
amongst them an elegantly-carved work-stand, upon which some unfinished
articles of children's apparel are lying; a capacious rocking-chair, and
grand piano.
Then opposite to the portrait of Toussaint is suspended another picture,
which no doubt holds a higher position in the regard of the owner of the
mansion than the African warrior aforesaid. It is a likeness of the lady
who is sitting at the window,--Mrs. Esther Walters, _nee_ Ellis. The brown
baby in the picture is the little girl at her side,--the elder sister of
the other brown baby who is doing its best to pull from its mother's lap
the doll's dress upon which she is sewing. Yes, that is "dear old Ess," as
Charlie calls her yet, though why he will persist in applying the adjective
we are at a loss to determine.
Esther looks anything but old--a trifle matronly, we admit--but old we
emphatically say she is not; her hair is parted plainly, and the tiniest of
all tiny caps sits at the back of her head, looking as if it felt it had no
business on such raven black hair, and ought to be ignominiously dragged
off without one word of apology. The face and form are much more round and
full, and the old placid expression has been undisturbed in the lapse of
years.
The complexion of the two children was a sort of compromise between the
complexions of their parents--chubby-faced, chestnut-coloured,
curly-headed, rollicking little pests, who would never be quiet, and whose
little black buttons of eyes were always peering into something, and whose
little plugs of fingers would, in spite of every precaution to prevent, be
diving into mother's work-box, and various other highly inconvenient and
inappropriate places.
"There!" said Esther, putting the last stitch into a doll she had been
manufacturing; "now, take sister, and go away and play." But little sister,
it appeared, did not wish to be taken, and she made the best of her way
off, holding on by the chairs, and tottering over the great gulfs between
them, until she succeeded in reaching the music-stand, where she paused for
a while before beginning to destroy the music. Just at this critical
juncture a young lady entered the room, and held up her hands in horror,
and baby hastened off as fast as her toddling limbs could carry her, and
buried her face in her mother's lap in great consternation.
Emily Garie made two or three slight feints of an endeavour to catch her,
and then sat down by the little one's mother, and gave a deep sigh.
"Have you answered your brother's letter?" asked Esther.
"Yes, I have," she replied; "here it is,"--and she laid the letter in
Esther's lap. Baby made a desperate effort to obtain it, but suffered a
signal defeat, and her mother opened it, and read--
"DEAR BROTHER,--I read your chilling letter with deep
sorrow. I cannot say that it surprised me; it is what I have
anticipated during the many months that I have been silent
on the subject of my marriage. Yet, when I read it, I could
not but feel a pang to which heretofore I have been a stranger.
Clarence, you know I love you, and should not make the
sacrifice you demand a test of my regard. True, I cannot say
(and most heartily I regret it) that there exists between us the
same extravagant fondness we cherished as children--but
that is no fault of mine. Did you not return to me, each
year, colder and colder--more distant and unbrotherly--until
you drove back to their source the gushing streams of
a sister's love that flowed so strongly towards you? You ask
me to resign Charles Ellis and come to you. What can you
offer me in exchange for his true, manly affection?--to what
purpose drive from my heart a love that has been my only
solace, only consolation, for your waning regard! We have
grown up together--he has been warm and kind, when you
were cold and indifferent--and now that he claims the reward
of long years of tender regard, and my own heart is conscious
that he deserves it, you would step between us, and forbid
me yield the recompense that it will be my pride and delight
to bestow. It grieves me to write it; yet I must, Clary--for
between brother and sister there is no need of concealments;
and particularly at such a time should everything be open,
clear, explicit. Do not think I wish to reproach you. What
you are, Clarence, your false position and unfortunate education
have made you. I write it with pain--your demand
seems extremely selfish. I fear it is not of _me_ but of _yourself_
you are thinking, when you ask me to sever, at once and for
ever, my connection with a people who, you say, can only
degrade me. Yet how much happier am I, sharing their
degradation, than you appear to be! Is it regard for me
that induces the desire that I should share the life of constant
dread that I cannot but feel you endure--or do you fear that
my present connections will interfere with your own plans for
the future?
"Even did I grant it was my happiness alone you had in
view, my objections would be equally strong. I could not
forego the claims of early friendship, and estrange myself
from those who have endeared themselves to me by long
years of care--nor pass coldly and unrecognizingly by playmates
and acquaintances, because their complexions were a few
shades darker than my own. This I could never do--to me
it seems ungrateful: yet I would not reproach you because
you can--for the circumstances by which you have been surrounded
have conspired to produce that result--and I presume
you regard such conduct as necessary to sustain you in your
present position. From the tenor of your letter I should
judge that you entertained some fear that I might compromise
you with your future bride, and intimate that _my_ choice may
deprive you of _yours_. Surely that need not be. _She_ need not
even know of my existence. Do not entertain a fear that I,
or my future husband, will ever interfere with your happiness
by thrusting ourselves upon you, or endanger your social
position by proclaiming our relationship. Our paths lie so
widely apart that they need never cross. You walk on the
side of the oppressor--I, thank God, am with the oppressed.
"I am happy--more happy, I am sure, than you could
make me, even by surrounding me with the glittering lights
that shine upon your path, and which, alas! may one day go
suddenly out, and leave you wearily groping in the darkness.
I trust, dear brother, my words may not prove a prophecy;
yet, should they be, trust me, Clarence, you may come back
again, and a sister's heart will receive you none the less
warmly that you selfishly desired her to sacrifice the happiness
of a lifetime to you. I shall marry Charles Ellis. I ask
you to come and see us united--I shall not reproach you if
you do not; yet I shall feel strange without a single relative
to kiss or bless me in that most eventful hour of a woman's
life. God bless you, Clary! I trust your union may be as
happy as I anticipate my own will be--and, if it is not, it will
not be because it has lacked the earnest prayers of your
neglected but still loving sister."
"Esther, I thought I was too cold in that--tell me, do you think so?"
"No, dear, not at all; I think it a most affectionate reply to a cold,
selfish letter."
"Oh, I'm glad to hear you say that. I can trust better to your tenderness
of others' feelings than to my own heart. I felt strongly, Esther, and was
fearful that it might be too harsh or reproachful. I was anxious lest my
feelings should be too strikingly displayed; yet it was better to be
explicit--don't you think so?"
"Undoubtedly," answered Esther; and handing back the letter, she took up
baby, and seated herself in the rocking-chair.
Now baby had a prejudice against caps, inveterate and unconquerable; and
grandmamma, nurse, and Esther were compelled to bear the brunt of her
antipathies. We have before said that Esther's cap _looked_ as though it
felt itself in an inappropriate position--that it had got on the head of
the wrong individual--and baby, no doubt in deference to the cap's
feelings, tore it off, and threw it in the half-open piano, from whence it
was extricated with great detriment to the delicate lace.
Emily took a seat near the window, and drawing her work-table towards her,
raised the lid. This presenting another opening for baby, she slid down
from her mother's lap, and hastened towards her. She just arrived in time
to see it safely closed, and toddled back to her mother, as happy as if she
had succeeded in running riot over its contents, and scattering them all
over the floor.
Emily kept looking down the street, as though in anxious expectation of
somebody; and whilst she stood there, there was an opportunity of observing
how little she had changed in the length of years. She is little Em
magnified, with a trifle less of the child in her face. Her hair has a
slight kink, is a little more wavy than is customary in persons of entire
white blood; but in no other way is her extraction perceptible, only the
initiated, searching for evidences of African blood, would at all notice
this slight peculiarity.
Her expectation was no doubt about to be gratified, for a smile broke over
her face, as she left the window and skipped downstairs; when she
re-entered, she was accompanied by her intended husband. There was great
commotion amongst the little folk in consequence of this new arrival. Baby
kicked, and screamed out "Unker Char," and went almost frantic because her
dress became entangled in the buckle of her mamma's belt, and her sister
received a kiss before she could be extricated.
Charlie is greatly altered--he is tall, remarkably athletic, with a large,
handsomely-shaped head, covered with close-cut, woolly hair; high forehead,
heavy eyebrows, large nose, and a mouth of ordinary size, filled with
beautifully white teeth, which he displays at almost every word he speaks;
chin broad, and the whole expression of his face thoughtful and commanding,
yet replete with good humour. No one would call him handsome, yet there was
something decidedly attractive in his general appearance. No one would
recognize him as the Charlie of old, whose escapades had so destroyed the
comfort and harmony of Mrs. Thomas's establishment; and only once, when he
held up the baby, and threatened to let her tear the paper ornaments from
the chandelier, was there a twinkle of the Charlie of old looking out of
his eyes.
"How are mother and father to-day?" asked Esther.
"Oh, both well. I left them only a few minutes ago at the dinner table. I
had to hurry off to go to the office."
"So I perceive," observed Esther, archly, "and of course, coming here,
which is four squares out of your way, will get you there much sooner."
Emily blushed, and said, smilingly, Esther was "a very impertinent person;"
and in this opinion Charlie fully concurred. They then walked to the
window, where they stood, saying, no doubt, to each other those little
tender things which are so profoundly interesting to lovers, and so
exceedingly stupid to every one else. Baby, in high glee, was seated on
Charlie's shoulder, where she could clutch both hands in his hair and pull
until the tears almost started from his eyes.
"Emily and you have been talking a long while, and I presume you have fully
decided on what day you are both to be rescued from your misery, and when I
am to have the exquisite satisfaction of having my house completely turned
upside down for your mutual benefit," said Esther. "I trust it will be as
soon as possible, as we cannot rationally expect that either of you will be
bearable until it is all over, and you find yourselves ordinary mortals
again. Come now, out with it. When is it to be?"
"I say next week," cried Charlie.
"Next week, indeed," hastily rejoined Emily. "I could not think of such a
thing--so abrupt."
"So abrupt," repeated Charlie, with a laugh. "Why, haven't I been courting
you ever since I wore roundabouts, and hasn't everybody been expecting us
to be married every week within the last two years. Fie, Em, it's anything
but abrupt."
Emily blushed still deeper, and looked out of the window, down the street
and up the street, but did not find anything in the prospect at either side
that at all assisted her to come to a decision, so she only became more
confused and stared the harder; at last she ventured to suggest that day
two months.
"This day two months--outrageous!" said Charlie. "Come here, dear old Ess,
and help me to convince this deluded girl of the preposterous manner in
which she is conducting herself."
"I must join her side if you _will_ bring me into the discussion. I think
she is right, Charlie--there is so much to be done: the house to procure
and furnish, and numberless other things that you hasty and absurd men know
nothing about."
By dint of strong persuasion from Charlie, Emily finally consented to abate
two weeks of the time, and they decided that a family council should be
held that evening at Mrs. Ellis's, when the whole arrangements should be
definitely settled.
A note was accordingly despatched by Esther to her mother--that she,
accompanied by Emily and the children, would come to them early in the
afternoon, and that the gentlemen would join them in the evening at
tea-time. Caddy was, of course, completely upset by the intelligence; for,
notwithstanding that she and the maid-of-all-work lived in an almost
perpetual state of house-cleaning, nothing appeared to her to be in order,
and worse than all, there was nothing to eat.
"Nothing to eat!" exclaimed Mrs. Ellis. "Why, my dear child, there are all
manner of preserves, plenty of fresh peaches to cut and sugar down, and a
large pound-cake in the house, and any quantity of bread can be purchased
at the baker's."
"Bread--plain bread!" rejoined Caddy, indignantly, quite astonished at her
mother's modest idea of a tea--and a company-tea at that. "Do you think,
mother, I'd set Mr. Walters down to plain bread, when we always have hot
rolls and short-cake at their house? It is not to be thought of for a
moment: they must have some kind of hot cake, be the consequences what they
may."
Caddy bustled herself about, and hurried up the maid-of-all-work in an
astonishing manner, and before the company arrived had everything prepared,
and looked as trim and neat herself as if she had never touched a
rolling-pin, and did not know what an oven was used for.
Behold them all assembled. Mrs. Ellis at the head of the table with a
grandchild on each side of her, and her cap-strings pinned upon the side
next to baby. Esther sits opposite her husband, who is grown a little grey,
but otherwise is not in the least altered; next to her is her father,
almost buried in a large easy-chair, where he sits shaking his head from
time to time, and smiling vacantly at the children; then come Emily and
Charlie at the foot, and at his other hand Caddy and Kinch--Kinch the
invincible--Kinch the dirty--Kinch the mischievous, now metamorphosed into
a full-blown dandy, with faultless linen, elegant vest, and fashionably-cut
coat. Oh, Kinch, what a change--from the most shabby and careless of all
boys to a consummate exquisite, with heavy gold watch and eye-glass, and
who has been known to dress regularly twice a day!
There was a mighty pouring out of tea at Mrs. Ellis's end of the table,
and baby of course had to be served first with some milk and bread. Between
her and the cat intimate relations seemed to exist, for by their united
efforts the first cap was soon disposed of, and baby was clamouring for the
second before the elder portions of the family had been once served round
with tea.
Charlie and Emily ate little and whispered a great deal; but Kinch, the
voracity of whose appetite had not at all diminished in the length of
years, makes up for their abstinence by devouring the delicious round
short-cakes with astonishing rapidity. He did not pretend to make more than
two bites to a cake, and they slipped away down his throat as if it was a
railroad tunnel and they were a train of cars behind time.
Caddy felt constrained to get up every few moments to look after something,
and to assure herself by personal inspection that the reserved supplies in
the kitchen were not likely to be exhausted. Esther occupied herself in
attending upon her helpless father, and fed him as tenderly and carefully
as if he was one of her babies.
"I left you ladies in council. What was decided?" said Charlie, "don't be
at all bashful as regards speaking before Kinch, for he is in the secret
and has been these two months. Kinch is to be groomsman, and has had three
tailors at work on his suit for a fortnight past. He told me this morning
that if you did not hurry matters up, his wedding coat would be a week out
of fashion before he should get a chance to wear it."
"How delightful--Kinch to be groomsman," said Esther, "that is very kind in
you, Kinch, to assist us to get Charlie off our hands."
"And who is to be bridesmaid?" asked Walters.
"Oh, Caddy of course--I couldn't have any one but Caddy," blushingly
answered Emily.
"That is capital," cried Charlie, giving Kinch a facetious poke, "just the
thing, isn't it, Kinch--it will get her accustomed to these matters. You
remember what you told me this morning, eh, old boy?" he concluded, archly.
Kinch tried to blush, but being very dark-complexioned, his efforts in
that direction were not at all apparent, so he evidenced his confusion by
cramming a whole short-cake into his mouth, and almost caused a stoppage in
the tunnel; Caddy became excessively red in the face, and was sure they
wanted more cakes.
But Mr. Walters was equally confident they did not, and put his back
against the door and stood there, whilst Mrs. Ellis gravely informed them
that she soon expected to be her own housekeeper, for that she had detected
Caddy and Kinch in a furniture establishment, pricing a chest of drawers
and a wash-stand; and that Kinch had unblushingly told her they had for
some time been engaged to be married, but somehow or other had forgotten to
mention it to her.
This caused a general shout of laughter around the table, in which baby
tumultuously joined, and rattled her spoon against the tea-urn until she
almost deafened them.
This noise frightened Mr. Ellis, who cried, "There they come! there they
come!" and cowered down in his great chair, and looked so exceedingly
terrified, that the noise was hushed instantly, and tears sprang into the
eyes of dear old Ess, who rose and stood by him, and laid his withered face
upon her soft warm bosom, smoothed down the thin grey hair, and held him
close to her throbbing tender heart, until the wild light vanished from his
bleared and sunken eyes, and the vacant childish smile came back on his
thin, wan face again, when she said, "Pray don't laugh so very loud, it
alarms father; he is composed now, pray don't startle him so again."
This sobered them down a little, and they quietly recommenced discussing
the matrimonial arrangements; but they were all in such capital spirits
that an occasional hearty and good-humoured laugh could not be suppressed.
Mr. Walters acted in his usual handsome manner, and facetiously collaring
Charlie, took him into a corner and informed him that he had an empty house
that be wished him to occupy, and that if he ever whispered the word rent,
or offered him any money before he was worth twenty thousand dollars, he
should believe that he wanted to pick a quarrel with him, and should refer
him to a friend, and then pistols and coffee would be the inevitable
result.
Then it came out that Caddy and Kinch had been, courting for some time, if
not with Mrs. Ellis's verbal consent, with at least no objection from that
good lady; for Master Kinch, besides being an exceedingly good-natured
fellow, was very snug in his boots, and had a good many thousand dollars at
his disposal, bequeathed him by his father.
The fates had conspired to make that old gentleman rich. He owned a number
of lots on the outskirts of the city, on which he had been paying taxes a
number of years, and he awoke one fine morning to find them worth a large
sum of money. The city council having determined to cut a street just
beside them, and the property all around being in the hands of wealthy and
fashionable people, his own proved to be exceedingly valuable.
It was a sad day for the old man, as Kinch and his mother insisted that he
should give up business, which he did most reluctantly, and Kinch had to be
incessantly on the watch thereafter, to prevent him from hiring cellars,
and sequestering their old clothes to set up in business again. They were
both gone now, and Kinch was his own master, with a well-secured income of
a thousand dollars a-year, with a prospect of a large increase.
They talked matters over fully, and settled all their arrangements before
the time for parting, and then, finding the baby had scrambled into Mrs.
Ellis's lap and gone fast asleep, and that it was long after ten o'clock,
each departed, taking their several ways for home.