MUSTERED IN.
Christie’s return was a very happy one, and could not well be otherwise
with a mother, sister, and lover to welcome her back. Her meeting with
Letty was indescribably tender, and the days that followed were pretty
equally divided between her and her brother, in nursing the one and
loving the other. There was no cloud now in Christie’s sky, and all the
world seemed in bloom. But even while she enjoyed every hour of life,
and begrudged the time given to sleep, she felt as if the dream was too
beautiful to last, and often said:
“Something will happen: such perfect happiness is not possible in this
world.”
“Then let us make the most of it,” David would reply, wisely bent on
getting his honey while he could, and not borrowing trouble for the
morrow.
So Christie turned a deaf ear to her “prophetic soul,” and gave herself
up to the blissful holiday that had come at last. Even while March
winds were howling outside, she blissfully “poked in the dirt” with
David in the green-house, put up the curly lock as often as she liked,
and told him she loved him a dozen times a day, not in words, but in
silent ways, that touched him to the heart, and made his future look so
bright he hardly dared believe in it.
A happier man it would have been difficult to find just then; all his
burdens seemed to have fallen off, and his spirits rose again with an
elasticity which surprised even those who knew him best. Christie often
stopped to watch and wonder if the blithe young man who went whistling
and singing about the house, often stopping to kiss somebody, to joke,
or to exclaim with a beaming face like a child at a party: “Isn’t every
thing beautiful?” could be the sober, steady David, who used to plod to
and fro with his shoulders a little bent, and the absent look in his
eyes that told of thoughts above or beyond the daily task.
It was good to see his mother rejoice over him with an exceeding great
joy; it was better still to see Letty’s eyes follow him with
unspeakable love and gratitude in their soft depths; but it was best of
all to see Christie marvel and exult over the discoveries she made:
for, though she had known David for a year, she had never seen the real
man till now.
“Davy, you are a humbug,” she said one day when they were making up a
bridal order in the greenhouse.
“I told you so, but you wouldn’t believe it,” he answered, using long
stemmed rose-buds with as prodigal a hand as if the wedding was to be
his own.
“I thought I was going to marry a quiet, studious, steady-going man;
and here I find myself engaged to a romantic youth who flies about in
the most undignified manner, embraces people behind doors, sings opera
airs,—very much out of tune by the way,—and conducts himself more like
an infatuated Claude Melnotte, than a respectable gentleman on the
awful verge of matrimony. Nothing can surprise me now: I’m prepared for
any thing, even the sight of my Quakerish lover dancing a jig.”
“Just what I’ve been longing to do! Come and take a turn: it will do
you good;” and, to Christie’s utter amazement, David caught her round
the waist and waltzed her down the boarded walk with a speed and skill
that caused less havoc among the flower-pots than one would imagine,
and seemed to delight the plants, who rustled and nodded as if
applauding the dance of the finest double flower that had ever
blossomed in their midst.
“I can’t help it, Christie,” he said, when he had landed her breathless
and laughing at the other end. “I feel like a boy out of school, or
rather a man out of prison, and must enjoy my liberty in some way. I’m
not a talker, you know; and, as the laws of gravitation forbid my
soaring aloft anywhere, I can only express my joyfully uplifted state
of mind by ‘prancing,’ as you call it. Never mind dignity: let’s be
happy, and by and by I’ll sober down.”
“I don’t want you to; I love to see you so young and happy, only you
are not the old David, and I’ve got to get acquainted with the new
one.”
“I hope you’ll like him better than the frost-bitten ‘old David’ you
first knew and were kind enough to love. Mother says I’ve gone back to
the time before we lost Letty, and I sometimes feel as if I had. In
that case you will find me a proud, impetuous, ambitious fellow,
Christie, and how will that suit?”
“Excellently; I like pride of your sort; impetuosity becomes you, for
you have learned to control it if need be; and the ambition is best of
all. I always wondered at your want of it, and longed to stir you up;
for you did not seem the sort of man to be contented with mere creature
comforts when there are so many fine things men may do. What shall you
choose, Davy?”
“I shall wait for time to show. The sap is all astir in me, and I’m
ready for my chance. I don’t know what it is, but I feel very sure that
some work will be given me into which I can put my whole heart and soul
and strength. I spoilt my first chance; but I know I shall have
another, and, whatever it is, I am ready to do my best, and live or die
for it as God wills.”
“So am I,” answered Christie, with a voice as earnest and a face as
full of hopeful resolution as his own.
Then they went back to their work, little dreaming as they tied roses
and twined smilax wreaths, how near that other chance was; how soon
they were to be called upon to keep their promise, and how well each
was to perform the part given them in life and death.
The gun fired one April morning at Fort Sumter told many men like David
what their work was to be, and showed many women like Christie a new
right to claim and bravely prove their fitness to possess.
No need to repeat the story of the war begun that day; it has been so
often told that it will only be touched upon here as one of the
experiences of Christie’s life, an experience which did for her what it
did for all who took a share in it, and loyally acted their part.
The North woke up from its prosperous lethargy, and began to stir with
the ominous hum of bees when rude hands shake the hive. Rich and poor
were proud to prove that they loved their liberty better than their
money or their lives, and the descendants of the brave old Puritans
were worthy of their race. Many said: “It will soon be over;” but the
wise men, who had warned in vain, shook their heads, as that first
disastrous summer showed that the time for compromise was past, and the
stern reckoning day of eternal justice was at hand.
To no home in the land did the great trouble bring a more sudden change
than the little cottage in the lane. All its happy peace was broken;
excitement and anxiety, grief and indignation, banished the sweet home
joys and darkened the future that had seemed so clear. David was sober
enough now, and went about his work with a grim set to his lips, and a
spark in his eyes that made the three women look at one another pale
with unspoken apprehension. As they sat together, picking lint or
rolling bandages while David read aloud some dismal tale of a lost
battle that chilled their blood and made their hearts ache with pity,
each woman, listening to the voice that stirred her like martial music,
said within herself: “Sooner or later he will go, and I have no right
to keep him.” Each tried to be ready to make her sacrifice bravely when
the time came, and each prayed that it might not be required of her.
David said little, but they knew by the way he neglected his garden and
worked for the soldiers, that his heart was in the war. Day after day
he left Christie and his sister to fill the orders that came so often
now for flowers to lay on the grave of some dear, dead boy brought home
to his mother in a shroud. Day after day he hurried away to help Mr.
Power in the sanitary work that soon claimed all hearts and hands; and,
day after day, he came home with what Christie called the “heroic look”
more plainly written on his face. All that first summer, so short and
strange; all that first winter, so long and hard to those who went and
those who stayed, David worked and waited, and the women waxed strong
in the new atmosphere of self-sacrifice which pervaded the air,
bringing out the sturdy virtues of the North.
“How terrible! Oh, when will it be over!” sighed Letty one day, after
hearing a long list of the dead and wounded in one of the great battles
of that second summer.
“Never till we have beaten!” cried David, throwing down the paper and
walking about the room with his head up like a war-horse who smells
powder. “It is terrible and yet glorious. I thank heaven I live to see
this great wrong righted, and only wish I could do my share like a
man.”
“That is natural; but there are plenty of men who have fewer ties than
you, who can fight better, and whose places are easier to fill than
yours if they die,” said Christie, hastily.
“But the men who have most to lose fight best they say; and to my
thinking a soldier needs a principle as well as a weapon, if he is to
do real service.”
“As the only son of a widow, you can’t be drafted: that’s one comfort,”
said Letty, who could not bear to give up the brother lost to her for
so many years.
“I should not wait for that, and I know mother would give her widow’s
mite if she saw that it was needed.”
“Yes, Davy.” The soft, old voice answered steadily; but the feeble hand
closed instinctively on the arm of this only son, who was so dear to
her. David held it close in both of his, saying gratefully: “Thank you,
mother;” then, fixing his eyes on the younger yet not dearer women, he
added with a ring in his voice that made their hearts answer with a
prompt “Ay, ay!” in spite of love or fear:
“Now listen, you dear souls, and understand that, if I do this thing, I
shall not do it hastily, nor without counting well the cost. My first
and most natural impulse was to go in the beginning; but I stayed for
your sakes. I saw I was not really needed: I thought the war would soon
be over, and those who went then could do the work. You see how
mistaken we were, and God only knows when the end will come. The
boys—bless their brave hearts!—have done nobly, but older men are
needed now. We cannot sacrifice all the gallant lads; and we who have
more to lose than they must take our turn and try to do as well. You
own this; I see it in your faces: then don’t hold me back when the time
comes for me to go. I must do my part, however small it is, or I shall
never feel as if I deserved the love you give me. You will let me go, I
am sure, and not regret that I did what seemed to me a solemn duty,
leaving the consequences to the Lord!”
“Yes, David,” sister and sweetheart answered, bravely forgetting in the
fervor of the moment what heavy consequences God might see fit to send.
“Good! I knew my Spartans would be ready, and I won’t disgrace them.
I’ve waited more than a year, and done what I could. But all the while
I felt that I was going to get a chance at the hard work, and I’ve been
preparing for it. Bennet will take the garden and green-house off my
hands this autumn for a year or longer, if I like. He’s a kind,
neighborly man, and his boy will take my place about the house and
protect you faithfully. Mr. Power cannot be spared to go as chaplain,
though he longs to desperately; so he is near in case of need, and with
your two devoted daughters by you, mother, I surely can be spared for a
little while.”
“Only one daughter near her, David: I shall enlist when you do,” said
Christie, resolutely.
“You mean it?”
“I mean it as honestly as you do. I knew you would go: I saw you
getting ready, and I made up my mind to follow. I, too, have prepared
for it, and even spoken to Mrs. Amory. She has gone as matron of a
hospital, and promised to find a place for me when I was ready. The day
you enlist I shall write and tell her I am ready.”
There was fire in Christie’s eyes and a flush on her cheek now, as she
stood up with the look of a woman bent on doing well her part. David
caught her hands in his, regardless of the ominous bandages they held,
and said, with tender admiration and reproach in his voice:
“You wouldn’t marry me when I asked you this summer, fearing you would
be a burden to me; but now you want to share hardship and danger with
me, and support me by the knowledge of your nearness. Dear, ought I to
let you do it?”
“You will let me do it, and in return I will marry you whenever you ask
me,” answered Christie, sealing the promise with a kiss that silenced
him.
He had been anxious to be married long ago, but when he asked Mr. Power
to make him happy, a month after his engagement, that wise friend said
to them:
“I don’t advise it yet. You have tried and proved one another as
friends, now try and prove one another as lovers; then, if you feel
that all is safe and happy, you will be ready for the greatest of the
three experiments, and then in God’s name marry.”
“We will,” they said, and for a year had been content, studying one
another, finding much to love, and something to learn in the art of
bearing and forbearing.
David had begun to think they had waited long enough, but Christie
still delayed, fearing she was not worthy, and secretly afflicted by
the thought of her poverty. She had so little to give in return for all
she received that it troubled her, and she was sometimes tempted to ask
Uncle Enos for a modest marriage portion. She never had yet, and now
resolved to ask nothing, but to earn her blessing by doing her share in
the great work.
“I shall remember that,” was all David answered to that last promise of
hers, and three months later he took her at her word.
For a week or two they went on in the old way; Christie did her
housework with her head full of new plans, read books on nursing, made
gruel, plasters, and poultices, till Mrs. Sterling pronounced her
perfect; and dreamed dreams of a happy time to come when peace had
returned, and David was safe at home with all the stars and bars a man
could win without dying for them.
David set things in order, conferred with Bennet, petted his womankind,
and then hurried away to pack boxes of stores, visit camps, and watch
departing regiments with a daily increasing certainty that his time had
come.
One September day he went slowly home, and, seeing Christie in the
garden, joined her, helped her finish matting up some delicate shrubs,
put by the tools, and when all was done said with unusual gentleness:
“Come and walk a little in the lane.”
She put her arm in his, and answered quickly:
“You’ve something to tell me: I see it in your face.”
“Dear, I must go.”
“Yes, David.”
“And you?”
“I go too.”
“Yes, Christie.”
That was all: she did not offer to detain him now; he did not deny her
right to follow. They looked each other bravely in the face a moment,
seeing, acknowledging the duty and the danger, yet ready to do the one
and dare the other, since they went together. Then shoulder to
shoulder, as if already mustered in, these faithful comrades marched to
and fro, planning their campaign.
Next evening, as Mrs. Sterling sat alone in the twilight, a tall man in
army blue entered quietly, stood watching the tranquil figure for a
moment, then went and knelt down beside it, saying, with a most
unsoldierly choke in the voice:
“I’ve done it, mother: tell me you’re not sorry.”
But the little Quaker cap went down on the broad shoulder, and the only
answer he heard was a sob that stirred the soft folds over the tender
old heart that clung so closely to the son who had lived for her so
long. What happened in the twilight no one ever knew; but David
received promotion for bravery in a harder battle than any he was going
to, and from his mother’s breast a decoration more precious to him than
the cross of the Legion of Honor from a royal hand.
When Mr. Power presently came in, followed by the others, they found
their soldier standing very erect in his old place on the rug, with the
firelight gleaming on his bright buttons, and Bran staring at him with
a perplexed aspect; for the uniform, shorn hair, trimmed beard, and a
certain lofty carriage of the head so changed his master that the
sagacious beast was disturbed.
Letty smiled at him approvingly, then went to comfort her mother who
could not recover her tranquillity so soon. But Christie stood aloof,
looking at her lover with something more than admiration in the face
that kindled beautifully as she exclaimed:
“O David, you are splendid! Once I was so blind I thought you plain;
but now my ‘boy in blue’ is the noblest looking man I ever saw. Yes,
Mr. Power, I’ve found my hero at last! Here he is, my knight without
reproach or fear, going out to take his part in the grandest battle
ever fought. I wouldn’t keep him if I could; I’m glad and proud to have
him go; and if he never should come back to me I can bear it better for
knowing that he dutifully did his best, and left the consequences to
the Lord.”
Then, having poured out the love and pride and confidence that enriched
her sacrifice, she broke down and clung to him, weeping as so many
clung and wept in those hard days when men and women gave their
dearest, and those who prayed and waited suffered almost as much as
those who fought and died.
When the deed was once done, it was astonishing what satisfaction they
all took in it, how soon they got accustomed to the change, and what
pride they felt in “our soldier.” The loyal frenzy fell upon the three
quiet women, and they could not do too much for their country. Mrs.
Sterling cut up her treasured old linen without a murmur; Letty made
“comfort bags” by the dozen, put up jelly, and sewed on blue jackets
with tireless industry; while Christie proclaimed that if she had
twenty lovers she would send them all; and then made preparations
enough to nurse the entire party.
David meantime was in camp, getting his first taste of martial life,
and not liking it any better than he thought he should; but no one
heard a complaint, and he never regretted his “love among the roses,”
for he was one of the men who had a “principle as well as a weapon,”
and meant to do good service with both.
It would have taken many knapsacks to hold all the gifts showered upon
him by his friends and neighbors. He accepted all that came, and
furnished forth those of his company who were less favored. Among these
was Elisha Wilkins, and how he got there should be told.
Elisha had not the slightest intention of enlisting, but Mrs. Wilkins
was a loyal soul, and could not rest till she had sent a substitute,
since she could not go herself. Finding that Lisha showed little
enthusiasm on the subject, she tried to rouse him by patriotic appeals
of various sorts. She read stirring accounts of battles, carefully
omitting the dead and wounded; she turned out, baby and all if
possible, to cheer every regiment that left; and was never tired of
telling Wash how she wished she could add ten years to his age and send
him off to fight for his country like a man.
But nothing seemed to rouse the supine Elisha, who chewed his quid like
a placid beast of the field, and showed no sign of a proper spirit.
“Very well,” said Mrs. Wilkins resolutely to herself, “ef I can’t make
no impression on his soul I will on his stommick, and see how that’ll
work.”
Which threat she carried out with such skill and force that Lisha was
effectually waked up, for he was “partial to good vittles,” and Cynthy
was a capital cook. Poor rations did not suit him, and he demanded why
his favorite dishes were not forthcoming.
“We can’t afford no nice vittles now when our men are sufferin’ so. I
should be ashamed to cook ’em, and expect to choke tryin’ to eat ’em.
Every one is sacrificin’ somethin’, and we mustn’t be slack in doin’
our part,—the Lord knows it’s precious little,—and there won’t be no
stuffin’ in this house for a consid’able spell. Ef I could save up
enough to send a man to do my share of the fightin’, I should be proud
to do it. Anyway I shall stint the family and send them dear brave
fellers every cent I can git without starvin’ the children.”
“Now, Cynthy, don’t be ferce. Things will come out all right, and it
ain’t no use upsettin’ every thing and bein’ so darned uncomfortable,”
answered Mr. Wilkins with unusual energy.
“Yes it is, Lisha. No one has a right to be comfortable in such times
as these, and this family ain’t goin’ to be ef I can help it,” and Mrs.
Wilkins set down her flat-iron with a slam which plainly told her Lisha
war was declared.
He said no more but fell a thinking. He was not as unmoved as he seemed
by the general excitement, and had felt sundry manly impulses to “up
and at ’em,” when his comrades in the shop discussed the crisis with
ireful brandishing of awls, and vengeful pounding of sole leather, as
if the rebels were under the hammer. But the selfish, slothful little
man could not make up his mind to brave hardship and danger, and fell
back on his duty to his family as a reason for keeping safe at home.
But now that home was no longer comfortable, now that Cynthy had
sharpened her tongue, and turned “ferce,” and now—hardest blow of
all—that he was kept on short commons, he began to think he might as
well be on the tented field, and get a little glory along with the
discomfort if that was inevitable. Nature abhors a vacuum, and when
food fell short patriotism had a chance to fill the aching void. Lisha
had about made up his mind, for he knew the value of peace and
quietness; and, though his wife was no scold, she was the ruling power,
and in his secret soul he considered her a very remarkable woman. He
knew what she wanted, but was not going to be hurried for anybody; so
he still kept silent, and Mrs. Wilkins began to think she must give it
up. An unexpected ally appeared however, and the good woman took
advantage of it to strike one last blow.
Lisha sat eating a late breakfast one morning, with a small son at
either elbow, waiting for stray mouthfuls and committing petty
larcenies right and left, for Pa was in a brown study. Mrs. Wilkins was
frying flap-jacks, and though this is not considered an heroical
employment she made it so that day. This was a favorite dish of
Lisha’s, and she had prepared it as a bait for this cautious fish. To
say that the fish rose at once and swallowed the bait, hook and all,
but feebly expresses the justice done to the cakes by that
long-suffering man. Waiting till he had a tempting pile of the
lightest, brownest flapjacks ever seen upon his plate, and was watching
an extra big bit of butter melt luxuriously into the warm bosom of the
upper one, with a face as benign as if some of the molasses he was
trickling over them had been absorbed into his nature, Mrs. Wilkins
seized the propitious moment to say impressively:
“David Sterlin’ has enlisted!”
“Sho! has he, though?”
“Of course he has! any man with the spirit of a muskeeter would.”
“Well, he ain’t got a family, you see.”
“He’s got his old mother, that sister home from furrin’ parts
somewheres, and Christie just going to be married. I should like to
know who’s got a harder family to leave than that?”
“Six young children is harder: ef I went fifin’ and drummin’ off, who’d
take care of them I’d like to know?”
“I guess I could support the family ef I give my mind to it;” and Mrs.
Wilkins turned a flapjack with an emphasis that caused her lord to bolt
a hot triangle with dangerous rapidity; for well he knew very little of
his money went into the common purse. She never reproached him, but the
fact nettled him now; and something in the tone of her voice made that
sweet morsel hard to swallow.
“’Pears to me you’re in ruther a hurry to be a widder, Cynthy, shovin’
me off to git shot in this kind of a way,” growled Lisha, ill at ease.
“I’d ruther be a brave man’s widder than a coward’s wife, any day!”
cried the rebellious Cynthy: then she relented, and softly slid two hot
cakes into his plate; adding, with her hand upon his shoulder, “Lisha,
dear, I want to be proud of my husband as other women be of theirs.
Every one gives somethin’, I’ve only got you, and I want to do my
share, and do it hearty.”
She went back to her work, and Mr. Wilkins sat thoughtfully stroking
the curly heads beside him, while the boys ravaged his plate, with no
reproof, but a half audible, “My little chaps, my little chaps!”
She thought she had got him, and smiled to herself, even while a great
tear sputtered on the griddle at those last words of his.
Imagine her dismay, when, having consumed the bait, her fish gave signs
of breaking the line, and escaping after all; for Mr. Wilkins pushed
back his chair, and said slowly, as he filled his pipe:
“I’m blest ef I can see the sense of a lot of decent men going off to
be froze, and starved, and blowed up jest for them confounded niggers.”
He got no further, for his wife’s patience gave out; and, leaving her
cakes to burn black, she turned to him with a face glowing like her
stove, and cried out:
“Lisha, ain’t you got no heart? can you remember what Hepsey told us,
and call them poor, long-sufferin’ creeters names? Can you think of
them wretched wives sold from their husbands; them children as dear as
ourn tore from their mothers; and old folks kep slavin eighty long,
hard years with no pay, no help, no pity, when they git past work?
Lisha Wilkins, look at that, and say no ef you darst!”
Mrs. Wilkins was a homely woman in an old calico gown, but her face,
her voice, her attitude were grand, as she flung wide the door of the
little back bedroom. and pointed with her tin spatula to the sight
beyond.
Only Hepsey sitting by a bed where lay what looked more like a
shrivelled mummy than a woman. Ah! but it was that old mother worked
and waited for so long: blind now, and deaf; childish, and half dead
with many hardships, but safe and free at last; and Hepsey’s black face
was full of a pride, a peace, and happiness more eloquent and touching
than any speech or sermon ever uttered.
Mr. Wilkins had heard her story, and been more affected by it than he
would confess: now it came home to him with sudden force; the thought
of his own mother, wife, or babies torn from him stirred him to the
heart, and the manliest emotion he had ever known caused him to cast
his pipe at his feet, put on his hat with an energetic slap, and walk
out of the house, wearing an expression on his usually wooden face that
caused his wife to clap her hands and cry exultingly:
“I thought that would fetch him!”
Then she fell to work like an inspired woman; and at noon a sumptuous
dinner “smoked upon the board;” the children were scrubbed till their
faces shone; and the room was as fresh and neat as any apartment could
be with the penetrating perfume of burnt flapjacks still pervading the
air, and three dozen ruffled nightcaps decorating the clothes-lines
overhead.
“Tell me the instant minute you see Pa a comin’, and I’ll dish up the
gravy,” was Mrs. Wilkins’s command, as she stepped in with a cup of tea
for old “Harm,” as she called Hepsey’s mother.
“He’s a comin’, Ma!” called Gusty, presently.
“No, he ain’t: it’s a trainer,” added Ann Lizy.
“Yes, ’tis Pa! oh, my eye! ain’t he stunnin’!” cried Wash, stricken for
the first time with admiration of his sire.
Before Mrs. Wilkins could reply to these conflicting rumors her husband
walked in, looking as martial as his hollow chest and thin legs
permitted, and, turning his cap nervously in his hands, said
half-proudly, half-reproachfully:
“Now, Cynthy, be you satisfied?”
“Oh, my Lisha! I be, I be!” and the inconsistent woman fell upon his
buttony breast weeping copiously.
If ever a man was praised and petted, admired and caressed, it was
Elisha Wilkins that day. His wife fed him with the fat of the land,
regardless of consequences; his children revolved about him with
tireless curiosity and wonder; his neighbors flocked in to applaud,
advise, and admire; every one treated him with a respect most grateful
to his feelings; he was an object of interest, and with every hour his
importance increased, so that by night he felt like a
Commander-in-Chief, and bore himself accordingly. He had enlisted in
David’s regiment, which was a great comfort to his wife; for though her
stout heart never failed her, it grew very heavy at times; and when
Lisha was gone, she often dropped a private tear over the broken pipe
that always lay in its old place, and vented her emotions by sending
baskets of nourishment to Private Wilkins, which caused that
bandy-legged warrior to be much envied and cherished by his mates.
“I’m glad I done it; for it will make a man of Lisha; and, if I’ve sent
him to his death, God knows he’ll be fitter to die than if he stayed
here idlin’ his life away.”
Then the good soul openly shouldered the burden she had borne so long
in secret, and bravely trudged on alone.
“Another great battle!” screamed the excited news-boys in the streets.
“Another great battle!” read Letty in the cottage parlor. “Another
great battle!” cried David, coming in with the war-horse expression on
his face a month or two after he enlisted.
The women dropped their work to look and listen; for his visits were
few and short, and every instant was precious. When the first greetings
were over, David stood silent an instant, and a sudden mist came over
his eyes as he glanced from one beloved face to another; then he threw
back his head with the old impatient gesture, squared his shoulders,
and said in a loud, cheerful voice, with a suspicious undertone of
emotion in it, however:
“My precious people, I’ve got something to tell you: are you ready?”
They knew what it was without a word. Mrs. Sterling clasped her hands
and bowed her head. Letty turned pale and dropped her work; but
Christie’s eyes kindled, as she answered with a salute:
“Ready, my General.”
“We are ordered off at once, and go at four this afternoon. I’ve got a
three hours’ leave to say good-by in. Now, let’s be brave and enjoy
every minute of it.”
“We will: what can I do for you, Davy?” asked Christie, wonderfully
supported by the thought that she was going too.
“Keep your promise, dear,” he answered, while the warlike expression
changed to one of infinite tenderness.
“What promise?”
“This;” and he held out his hand with a little paper in it. She saw it
was a marriage license, and on it lay a wedding-ring. She did not
hesitate an instant, but laid her own hand in his, and answered with
her heart in her face:
“I’ll keep it, David.”
“I knew you would!” then holding her close he said in a tone that made
it very hard for her to keep steady, as she had vowed she would do to
the last: “I know it is much to ask, but I want to feel that you are
mine before I go. Not only that, but it will be a help and protection
to you, dear, when you follow. As a married woman you will get on
better, as my wife you will be allowed to come to me if I need you, and
as my”—he stopped there, for he could not add—“as my widow you will
have my pension to support you.”
She understood, put both arms about his neck as if to keep him safe,
and whispered fervently:
“Nothing can part us any more, not even death; for love like ours will
last for ever.”
“Then you are quite willing to try the third great experiment?”
“Glad and proud to do it.” “With no doubt, no fear, to mar your
consent.” “Not one, David.” “That’s true love, Christie!”
Then they stood quite still for a time, and in the silence the two
hearts talked together in the sweet language no tongue can utter.
Presently David said regretfully:
“I meant it should be so different. I always planned that we’d be
married some bright summer day, with many friends about us; then take a
happy little journey somewhere together, and come back to settle down
at home in the dear old way. Now it’s all so hurried, sorrowful, and
strange. A dull November day; no friends but Mr. Power, who will be
here soon; no journey but my march to Washington alone; and no happy
coming home together in this world perhaps. Can you bear it, love?”
“Have no fear for me: I feel as if I could bear any thing just now; for
I’ve got into a heroic mood and I mean to keep so as long as I can.
I’ve always wanted to live in stirring times, to have a part in great
deeds, to sacrifice and suffer something for a principle or a person;
and now I have my wish. I like it, David: it’s a grand time to live, a
splendid chance to do and suffer; and I want to be in it heart and
soul, and earn a little of the glory or the martyrdom that will come in
the end. Surely I shall if I give you and myself to the cause; and I do
it gladly, though I know that my heart has got to ache as it never has
ached yet, when my courage fails, as it will by and by, and my selfish
soul counts the cost of my offering after the excitement is over. Help
me to be brave and strong, David: don’t let me complain or regret, but
show me what lies beyond, and teach me to believe that simply doing the
right is reward and happiness enough.”
Christie was lifted out of herself for the moment, and looked inspired
by the high mood which was but the beginning of a nobler life for her.
David caught the exaltation, and gave no further thought to any thing
but the duty of the hour, finding himself stronger and braver for that
long look into the illuminated face of the woman he loved.
“I’ll try,” was all his answer to her appeal; then proved that he meant
it by adding, with his lips against her cheek: “I must go to mother and
Letty. We leave them behind, and they must be comforted.”
He went, and Christie vanished to make ready for her wedding,
conscious, in spite of her exalted state of mind, that every thing was
very hurried, sad, and strange, and very different from the happy day
she had so often planned.
“No matter, we are ‘well on’t for love,’ and that is all we really
need,” she thought, recalling with a smile Mrs. Wilkins’s advice.
“David sends you these, dear. Can I help in any way?” asked Letty,
coming with a cluster of lovely white roses in her hand, and a world of
affection in her eyes.
“I thought he’d give me violets,” and a shadow came over Christie’s
face.
“But they are mourning flowers, you know.”
“Not to me. The roses are, for they remind me of poor Helen, and the
first work I did with David was arranging flowers like these for a dead
baby’s little coffin.”
“My dearest Christie, don’t be superstitious: all brides wear roses,
and Davy thought you’d like them,” said Letty, troubled at her words.
“Then I’ll wear them, and I won’t have fancies if I can help it. But I
think few brides dress with a braver, happier heart than mine, though I
do choose a sober wedding-gown,” answered Christie, smiling again, as
she took from a half-packed trunk her new hospital suit of soft, gray,
woollen stuff.
“Won’t you wear the pretty silvery silk we like so well?” asked Letty
timidly, for something in Christie’s face and manner impressed her very
much.
“No, I will be married in my uniform as David is,” she answered with a
look Letty long remembered.
“Mr. Power has come,” she said softly a few minutes later, with an
anxious glance at the clock.
“Go dear, I’ll come directly. But first”—and Christie held her friend
close a moment, kissed her tenderly, and whispered in a broken voice:
“Remember, I don’t take his heart from you, I only share it with my
sister and my mother.”
“I’m glad to give him to you, Christie; for now I feel as if I had
partly paid the great debt I’ve owed so long,” answered Letty through
her tears.
Then she went away, and Christie soon followed, looking very like a
Quaker bride in her gray gown with no ornament but delicate frills at
neck and wrist, and the roses in her bosom.
“No bridal white, dear?” said David, going to her.
“Only this,” and she touched the flowers, adding with her hand on the
blue coat sleeve that embraced her: “I want to consecrate my uniform as
you do yours by being married in it. Isn’t it fitter for a soldier’s
wife than lace and silk at such a time as this?”
“Much fitter: I like it; and I find you beautiful, my Christie,”
whispered David, as she put one of her roses in his button-hole.
“Then I’m satisfied.”
“Mr. Power is waiting: are you ready, love?”
“Quite ready.”
Then they were married, with Letty and her mother standing beside them,
Bennet and his wife dimly visible in the door-way, and poor Bran at his
master’s feet, looking up with wistful eyes, half human in the anxious
affection they expressed.
Christie never forgot that service, so simple, sweet, and solemn; nor
the look her husband gave her at the end, when he kissed her on lips
and forehead, saying fervently, “God bless my wife!”
A tender little scene followed that can better be imagined than
described; then Mr. Power said cheerily:
“One hour more is all you have, so make the most of it, dearly beloved.
You young folks take a wedding-trip to the green-house, while we see
how well we can get on without you.”
[Illustration: “THEN THEY WERE MARRIED.”]
David and Christie went smiling away together, and if they shed any
tears over the brief happiness no one saw them but the flowers, and
they loyally kept the secret folded up in their tender hearts.
Mr. Power cheered the old lady, while Letty, always glad to serve, made
ready the last meal David might ever take at home.
A very simple little marriage feast, but more love, good-will, and
tender wishes adorned the plain table than is often found at wedding
breakfasts; and better than any speech or song was Letty’s broken
whisper, as she folded her arms round David’s empty chair when no one
saw her, “Heaven bless and keep and bring him back to us.”
How time went that day! The inexorable clock would strike twelve so
soon, and then the minutes flew till one was at hand, and the last
words were still half said, the last good-byes still unuttered.
“I must go!” cried David with a sort of desperation, as Letty clung to
one arm, Christie to the other.
“I shall see you soon: good-by, my husband,” whispered Christie,
setting him free.
“Give the last kiss to mother,” added Letty, following her example, and
in another minute David was gone.
At the turn of the lane, he looked back and swung his cap; all waved
their hands to him; and then he marched away to the great work before
him, leaving those loving hearts to ask the unanswerable question: “How
will he come home?”
Christie was going to town to see the regiment off, and soon followed
with Mr. Power. They went early to a certain favorable spot, and there
found Mrs. Wilkins, with her entire family perched upon a fence, on the
spikes of which they impaled themselves at intervals, and had to be
plucked off by the stout girl engaged to assist in this memorable
expedition.
“Yes, Lisha ’s goin’, and I was bound he should see every one of his
blessed children the last thing, ef I took ’em all on my back. He knows
where to look, and he’s a goin’ to see seven cheerful faces as he goes
by. Time enough to cry byme by; so set stiddy, boys, and cheer loud
when you see Pa,” said Mrs. Wilkins, fanning her hot face, and utterly
forgetting her cherished bonnet in the excitement of the moment.
“I hear drums! They’re comin’!” cried Wash, after a long half hour’s
waiting had nearly driven him frantic.
The two younger boys immediately tumbled off the fence, and were with
difficulty restored to their perches. Gusty began to cry, Ann Elizy to
wave a minute red cotton handkerchief, and Adelaide to kick delightedly
in her mother’s arms.
“Jane Carter, take this child for massy sake: my legs do tremble so I
can’t h’ist her another minute. Hold on to me behind, somebody, for I
must see ef I do pitch into the gutter,” cried Mrs. Wilkins, with a
gasp, as she wiped her eyes on her shawl, clutched the railing, and
stood ready to cheer bravely when her conquering hero came.
Wash had heard drums every five minutes since he arrived, but this time
he was right, and began to cheer the instant a red cockade appeared at
the other end of the long street.
It was a different scene now than in the first enthusiastic, hopeful
days. Young men and ardent boys filled the ranks then, brave by
instinct, burning with loyal zeal, and blissfully ignorant of all that
lay before them.
Now the blue coats were worn by mature men, some gray, all grave and
resolute; husbands and fathers with the memory of wives and children
tugging at their heart-strings; homes left desolate behind them, and
before them the grim certainty of danger, hardship, and perhaps a
captivity worse than death. Little of the glamour of romance about the
war now: they saw what it was, a long, hard task; and here were the men
to do it well.
Even the lookers-on were different. Once all was wild enthusiasm and
glad uproar; now men’s lips were set, and women’s smileless even as
they cheered; fewer handkerchiefs whitened the air, for wet eyes needed
them; and sudden lulls, almost solemn in their stillness, followed the
acclamations of the crowd. All watched with quickened breath and proud
souls that living wave, blue below, and bright with a steely glitter
above, as it flowed down the street and away to join the sea of
dauntless hearts that for months had rolled up against the South, and
ebbed back reddened with the blood of men like these.
As the inspiring music, the grand tramp drew near, Christie felt the
old thrill and longed to fall in and follow the flag anywhere. Then she
saw David, and the regiment became one man to her. He was pale, but his
eyes shone, and his whole face expressed that two of the best and
bravest emotions of a man, love and loyalty, were at their height as he
gave his new-made wife a long, lingering look that seemed to say:
“I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more.”
Christie smiled and waved her hand to him, showed him his wedding roses
still on her breast, and bore up as gallantly as he, resolved that his
last impression of her should be a cheerful one. But when it was all
over, and nothing remained but the trampled street, the hurrying crowd,
the bleak November sky, when Mrs. Wilkins sat sobbing on the steps like
Niobe with her children scattered about her, then Christie’s heart gave
way, and she hid her face on Mr. Power’s shoulder for a moment, all her
ardor quenched in tears as she cried within herself:
“No, I could not bear it if I was not going too!”