THE DEPARTURE.
“John, how would you like to take a trip to New York—the city, I mean?”
said Mr. Livingstone, to his son, one morning about two weeks following
the events narrated in the last chapter.
“Well enough—why do you ask?” answered John.
“Because,” said his father, “I have to-day received a letter which
makes it necessary for one of us to be there the 15th, and as you are
fond of traveling, I had rather you would go. You had better start
immediately—say to-morrow.”
John Jr. started from his chair. To-morrow she left her home—the 15th
she sailed. He might see her again, though at a distance, for she
should never know he followed her! Since that night in Frankfort he had
not looked upon her face, but he had kept his promise, returning to her
everything—everything except a withered rose-bud, which years before,
when but a boy, he had twined among the heavy braids of her hair, and
which she had given back to him, playfully fastening it in the
button-hole of his roundabout! How well he remembered that day. She was
a little romping girl, teasing him unmercifully about his _flat feet_
and _big hands_, chiding him for his _negro slang_, as she termed his
favorite expressions, and with whatever else she did, weaving her image
into his heart’s best and noblest affections, until he seemed to live
only for her, But now ’twas changed—terribly changed. She was no longer
“his Nellie,” the Nellie of his boyhood’s love; and with a muttered
curse and a tear, large, round, and hot, such as only John Jr. could
shed, he sent her back every memento of the past, all save that
rose-bud, with which he could not part, it seemed so like his early
hopes—withered and dead.
Nellie was alone, preparing for her journey, when the box containing
the treasures was handed her. Again and again she examined to see if
there were not one farewell word, but there was nothing save, “Here
endeth the first lesson!” followed by two exclamation points, which
John Jr. had dashed off at random. Every article seemed familiar to her
as she looked them over, and everything was there but one—she missed
the rose-bud—and she wondered at the omission for she knew he had it in
his possession. He had told her so not three months before. Why, then,
did he not return it? Was it a lingering affection for her which
prompted the detention? Perhaps so, and down in Nellie’s heart was one
warm, bright spot, the memory of that bud, which grew green and fresh
again, as on the day when first it was torn from its parent stem.
When it was first known at Maple Grove, that Nellie was going to
Europe, Mrs. Livingstone, who saw in the future the full consummation
of her plans, proposed that Mabel should spend the period of Nellie’s
absence with her. But to this Mr. Douglass would not consent.
“He could not part with both his daughters,” he said, and Mabel decided
to remain, stipulating that ’Lena, of whom she was very fond, should
pass a portion of the time with her.
“All the time, if she chooses,” said Mr. Douglass, who also liked
’Lena, while Nellie, who was present, immediately proposed that she
should take music lessons of Monsieur Du Pont, who had recently come to
the city, and who was said to be a superior teacher. “She is fond of
music,” said she, “and has always wanted to learn, but that aunt of
hers never seemed willing; and this will be a good opportunity, for she
can use my piano all the time if she chooses.”
“Capital!” exclaimed Mabel, generously thinking how she would pay the
bills, and how much she would assist ’Lena, for Mabel was an excellent
musician, singing and playing admirably.
When this plan was proposed to ’Lena, she objected, for two reasons.
The first, that she could not leave her grandmother, and second, that
much as she desired the lessons, she would not suffer Mabel to pay for
them, and she had no means of her own. On the first point she began to
waver, when Mrs. Nichols, who was in unusually good health, insisted
upon her going.
“It will do you a sight of good,” said she, “and there’s no kind of use
why you should stay hived up with me. I’d as lief be left alone as not,
and I shall take comfort thinkin’ you’re larnin’ to play the pianner,
for I’ve allus wondered ’Tildy didn’t set you at Car’line’s. So, go,”
the old lady continued, whispering in ’Lena’s ear, “Go, and mebby some
day you’ll be a music teacher, and take care of us both.”
Still, ’Lena hesitated at receiving so much from Mabel, who, after a
moment’s thought, exclaimed, “Why, I can teach you myself! I should
love to dearly. It will be something to occupy my mind; and my
instructors have frequently said that I was capable of teaching
advanced pupils, if I chose. You’ll go now, I know”—and Mabel plead her
cause so well, that ’Lena finally consented, saying she should come
home once a week to see her grandmother.
“A grand arrangement, I must confess,” said Carrie, when she heard of
it. “I should think she sponged enough from her connections, without
living on other folks, and poor ones, too, like Mr. Douglass.”
“How ridiculous you talk,” said John Jr., who was present. “You’d be
perfectly willing to spend a year at Mr. Graham’s, or Mr. Douglass’s
either, if he had a son whom you considered an eligible match. Then as
to his being so poor, that’s one of Mother Atkins’ yarns, and she knows
everybody’s history, from Noah down to the present day. For ’Lena’s
sake I am glad to have her go, though heaven knows what I shall do
without her.”
Mrs. Livingstone, too, was secretly pleased, for she would thus be more
out of Durward’s way, and the good lady was again becoming somewhat
suspicious. So when her husband objected, saying ’Lena could take
lessons at home if she liked, she quietly overruled him, giving many
good reasons why ’Lena should go, and finally saying that if Mrs.
Nichols was very lonely without her, she might spend her evenings in
the parlor when there was no company present! So it was decided that
’Lena should go, and highly pleased with the result of their call, Mr.
Douglass and Mabel returned to Frankfort.
At length the morning came when Nellie was to start on her journey. Mr.
Wilbur had arrived the night before, together with his sister, whose
marble cheek and lusterless eye even then foretold the lonely grave
which awaited her far away ’neath a foreign sky. Durward and Mr.
Douglass accompanied them as far as Cincinnati, where they took the
cars for Buffalo. Just before it rolled from the depot, a young man
closely muffled, who had been watching our party, sprang into a car
just in the rear of the one they had chosen, and taking the first
vacant seat, abandoned himself to his own thoughts, which must have
been very absorbing, as a violent shake was necessary, ere he heeded
the call of “Your ticket, sir.”
Onward, onward flew the train, while faster and faster Nellie’s tears
were dropping. They had gushed forth when she saw the quivering chin
and trembling lips of her gray-haired father, as he bade his only child
good-bye, and now that he was gone, she wept on, never heeding her
young friend, who strove in vain to call her attention to the fast
receding hills of Kentucky, which she—Mary—was leaving forever. Other
thoughts than those of her father mingled with Nellie’s tears, for she
could not forget John Jr., nor the hope cherished to the last that he
would come to say farewell. But he did not. They had parted in
coldness, if not in anger, and she might never see him again.
“Come, cheer up, Miss Douglass; I cannot suffer you to be so sad,” said
Mr. Wilbur, placing himself by Nellie, and thoughtlessly throwing his
arm across the back of the seat, while at the same time he bent
playfully forward to peep under her bonnet.
And Nellie did look up, smiling through her tears, but she did not
observe the flashing eyes which watched her through the window at the
rear of the car. Always restless and impatient of confinement, John Jr.
had come out for a moment upon the platform, ostensibly to take the
air, but really to see if it were possible to get a glimpse of Nellie.
She was sitting not far from the door, and he looked in, just in time
to witness Mr. Wilbur’s action, which he of course construed just as
his jealousy dictated.
“Confounded fool!” thought he. “_I_ wouldn’t hug Nellie in the cars in
good broad daylight, even if I was married to her!”
And returning to his seat; he wondered which was the silliest, “for
Nellie to run off with Mr. Wilbur, or for himself to run after her. Six
of one and half a dozen of the other, I reckon,” said he; at the same
time wrapping himself in his shawl, he feigned sleep at every station,
for the sake of retaining his entire seat, and sometimes if the crowd
was great, going so far as to snore loudly!
And thus they proceeded onward, Nellie never suspecting the close
espionage kept upon her by John Jr., who once in the night, at a
crowded depot, passed so closely to her that he felt her warm breath on
his cheek. And when, on the morning of the 15th, she sailed, she little
thought who it was that followed her down to the water’s edge, standing
on the last spot where she had stood, and watching with a swelling
heart the vessel which bore her away.
“I’m nothing better than a walking dead man, now,” said he, as he,
retraced his steps back to his hotel. “Nellie’s gone, and with her all
for which I lived, for she’s the only girl except ’Lena who isn’t a
libel on the sex—or, yes—there’s Anna—does as well as she knows how—and
there’s Mabel, a little simpleton, to be sure, but amiable and
good-natured, and on the whole, as smart as they’ll average. ’Twas kind
in her, anyway, to offer to pay ’Lena’s music bills.”
And with these reflections, John Jr. sought out the men whom he had
come to see, transacted his business, and then started for home, where
he found his mother in unusually good spirits. Matters thus far had
succeeded even beyond her most sanguine expectations. Nellie was gone
to Europe, and the rest she fancied would be easy. ’Lena, too, was
gone, but the result of this was not what she had hoped. Durward had
been at Maple Grove but once since ’Lena left, while she had heard of
his being in Frankfort several times.
“Something must be done”—her favorite expression and in her difficulty
she determined to call upon Mrs. Graham, whom she had not seen since
Christmas. “It is quite time she knew about the gray pony, as well as
other matters,” thought she, and ordering the carriage, she set out one
morning for Woodlawn, intending to spend the day if she found its
mistress amiably disposed, which was not always the case.