ARRIVAL AT WOODLAWN.
It was a warm September night at Woodlawn. The windows were open, and
through the richly-wrought curtains the balmy air of evening was
stealing, mingling its delicious perfume of flowers without with the
odor of those which drooped from the many costly vases which adorned
the handsome parlors. Lamps were burning, casting a mellow light over
the gorgeous furniture, while in robes of snowy white the mistress of
the mansion flitted from room to room, a little nervous, a little
fidgety, and, without meaning to be so, a little cross. For more than
two hours she had waited for her husband, delaying the supper, which
the cook, quite as anxious as herself, pronounced spoiled by the delay.
According to promise the party from Maple Grove had arrived, with the
exception of John Jr., who had generously remained with his
grandmother, she having been purposely omitted in the invitation. From
the first, Mrs. Graham had decided that Mrs. Nichols should never live
at Woodlawn, and she thought it proper to have it understood at once.
Accordingly, as she was conducting Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie to
’Lena’s room, she casually remarked, “I’ve made no provision for Mrs.
Nichols, except as an occasional visitor, for of course she will remain
with her son. She is undoubtedly much attached to your family, and will
be happier there!”
“_This_ ’Lena’s!” interrupted Carrie, ere her mother had time to reply.
“It’s the very best chamber in the house—Brussels carpets, marble and
rosewood furniture, damask curtains. Why, she’ll hardly know how to
act,” she continued, half unconsciously, as she gazed around the
elegant apartment, which, with one of her unaccountable freaks, Mrs.
Graham had fitted up with the utmost taste.
“Yes, this is Lena’s,” said Mrs. Graham, complacently. “Will it compare
at all with her chamber at Maple Grove? I do not wish it to seem
inferior!”
Carrie bit her lip, while her mother very coolly replied, “Ye-es, on
the whole _quite_ as good, perhaps better, as some of the furniture is
new!”
“Have I told you,” continued Mrs. Graham, bent on tormenting
them,—“have I told you that we are to spend the winter in New Orleans,
where ’Lena will of course be the reigning belle? You ought to be
there, dear,” laying her hand on Carrie’s shoulder. “It would be so
gratifying to you to witness the sensation she will create!”
“Spiteful old thing—she tries to insult us,” thought Carrie, her heart
swelling with bitterness toward the ever-hated ’Lena, whose future life
seemed so bright and joyous.
The sound of wheels was now heard, and the ladies reached the lower
hall just as the carriage, which had been sent to the station at
Midway, drove up at a side door. Carrie’s first thought was for
Durward, and shading her eyes with her hand, she looked anxiously out.
But only Mr. Graham alighted, gently lifting out his daughter, who was
still an invalid.
“Mighty careful of her,” thought Mrs. Livingstone, as in his arms he
bore her up the marble steps.
Depositing her in their midst, and placing his arm around her, he said,
turning to his wife, “Lucy, this is my daughter. Will you receive and
love her as such, for my sake?”
In a moment ’Lena’s soft, white hand lay in the fat, chubby one of Mrs.
Graham, who kissed her pale cheek, calling her “’Lena,” and saying “she
was welcome to Woodlawn.”
Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie now pressed forward, overwhelming her with
caresses, telling her how badly they had felt at her absence, chiding
her for running away, calling her a _naughty puss_, and perfectly
bewildering her with their new mode of conduct. Mr. Livingstone’s turn
came next, but he neither kissed nor caressed her, for that was not in
keeping with his nature, but very, very tenderly he looked into her
eyes, as he said, “You know, ’Lena, that _I_ am glad—most glad for
you.”
Unostentatious as was this greeting, ’Lena felt that there was more
sincerity in it than all that had gone before, and the tears gushed
forth involuntarily. Mentally styling her, the one “a baby,” and the
other “a fool,” Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie returned to the parlor,
while Mrs. Graham, calling a servant, bade her show ’Lena to her room.
“Hadn’t you better go up and assist your cousin,” whispered Mrs.
Livingstone to Carrie, who forthwith departed, knocking at the door, an
act of politeness she had never before thought it necessary to offer
’Lena. But she was an _heiress_, now, fully, yes, more than equal, and
that made a vast difference.
“I came to see if I could render you any service,” she said in answer
to ’Lena’s look of inquiry.
“No I thank you,” returned ’Lena, beginning to get an inkling of the
truth. “You know I’m accustomed to waiting upon myself, and if I want
anything, Drusa can assist me. I’ve only to change my soiled dress and
smooth my hair,” she continued, as she shook out her long and now
rather rough tresses.
“What handsome hair you’ve got,” said Carrie, taking one of the curls
in her hand. “I’d forgotten it was so beautiful. Hasn’t it improved
during your absence?”
“A course of fever is not usually very beneficial to one’s hair, I
believe,” answered ’Lena, as she proceeded to brush and arrange her
wavy locks, which really had lost some of their luster.
Foiled in her attempt at toadyism, Carrie took another tack. Looking
’Lena in the face, she said, “What is it? I can’t make it out, but—but
somehow you’ve changed, you don’t look so—so——”
“So _well_ you would say, I suppose,” returned ’Lena, laughingly, “I’ve
grown thin, but I hope to improve by and by.”
Drusa glanced at the two girls as they stood side by side, and her
large eyes sparkled as she thought her young mistress “a heap the best
lookin’ _now_.”
By this time Carrie had thought to ask for Durward. Instantly ’Lena
turned whiter, if possible, than she was before, and in an unsteady
voice she replied, that “she did not know.”
“Not know!” repeated Carrie, her own countenance brightening visibly.
“Haven’t you seen him? Wasn’t he at that funny, out-of-the-way place,
where you were?”
“Yes, but he left before I saw him,” returned ’Lena, her manner plainly
indicating that there was something wrong.
Carrie’s spirits rose. There was a chance for her, and on their way
downstairs she laughed and chatted so familiarly, that ’Lena wondered
if it could be the same haughty girl who had seldom spoken to her
except to repulse or command her. The supper-bell rang just as they
reached the parlor, and Mr. Graham, taking ’Lena on his arm, led the
way to the dining-room, where the entire silver tea-set had been
brought out, in honor of the occasion.
“Hasn’t ’Lena changed, mother?” said Carrie, feeling hateful, and
knowing no better way of showing it “Hasn’t her sickness changed her?”
“It has made her grow _old_; that’s all the difference I perceive,”
returned Mrs. Livingstone, satisfied that she’d said the thing which
she knew would most annoy herself.
“How old are you, dear?” asked Mrs. Graham, leaning across the table.
“Eighteen,” was ’Lena’s answer, to which Mrs. Graham replied, “I
thought so. Three years younger than Carrie, I believe.”
“Two, only two,” interrupted Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie exclaimed,
“Horrors! How old do you take me to be?”
Adroitly changing the conversation, Mrs. Graham made no reply, and soon
after they rose from the table. Scarcely had they returned to the
parlor, when John Jr. was announced. “He had,” he said, “got his
grandmother to sleep and put her to bed, and now he had come to pay his
respects to _Miss Graham_!”
Catching her in his arms, he exclaimed, “Little girl! I’m as much
delighted with your good fortune as I should be had it happened to
myself. But where is Bellmont?” he continued, looking about the room.
Mr. Graham replied that he was not there.
“Not here?” repeated John Jr. “What have you done with him, ’Lena?”
Lifting her eyes, full of tears, to her cousin’s face, ’Lena said,
softly, “Please don’t talk about it now.”
“There’s something wrong,” thought John Jr. “I’ll bet I’ll have to
shoot that dog yet.”
’Lena longed to pour out her troubles to some one, and knowing she
could confide in John Jr., she soon found an opportunity of whispering
to him, “Come tomorrow, and I will tell you all about it.”
Between ten and eleven the company departed, Mrs. Livingstone and
Carrie taking a most affectionate leave of ’Lena, urging her not to
fail of coming over the next day, as they should be expecting her. The
ludicrous expression of John Jr.’s face was a sufficient interpretation
of his thoughts, as whispering aside to ’Lena, he said, “I can’t do it
justice if I try!”
The next morning Mr. Graham got out his carriage to carry ’Lena to
Maple Grove, asking his wife to accompany them. But she excused
herself, on the plea of a headache, and they set off without her. The
meeting between ’Lena and her grandmother was affecting, and Carrie, in
order to sustain the character she had assumed, walked to the window,
to hide her emotions, probably—at least John Jr. thought so, for with
the utmost gravity he passed her his silk pocket handkerchief! When the
first transports of her interview with ’Lena were over, Mrs. Nichols
fastened herself upon Mr. Graham, while John Jr. invited ’Lena to the
garden, where he claimed from her the promised story, which she told
him unreservedly.
“Oh, that’s nothing, compared with my experience,” said John Jr.,
plucking at the rich, purple grapes which hung in heavy clusters above
his head. “That’s easily settled. I’ll go after Durward myself, and
bring him back, either dead or alive—the latter if possible, the former
if necessary. So cheer up. I’ve faith to believe that you and Durward
will be married about the same time that Nellie and I are. We are
engaged—did I tell you?”
Involuntarily ’Lena’s eyes wandered in the direction of the sunny slope
and the little grave, as yet but nine months made.
“I know what you think,” said John Jr. rather testily, “but hang me if
I can help it. Meb was never intended for me, except by mother. I
suppose there is in the world somebody for whom she was made, but it
wasn’t I, and that’s the reason she died. I am sorry as anybody, and
every night in my life I think of poor Meb, who loved me so well, and
who met with so poor a return. I’ve bought her some gravestones,
though,” he continued, as if that were an ample atonement for the past.
While they were thus occupied, Mr. Graham was discussing with Mrs.
Nichols the propriety of her removing to Woodlawn.
“I shan’t live long to trouble anybody,” said she when asked if she
would like to go, “and I’m nothin’ without ’Leny.”
So it was arranged that she should go with him, and when ’Lena returned
to the house, she found her grandmother in her chamber, packing up,
preparatory to her departure.
“We’ll have to come agin,” said she, “for I’ve as much as two loads.”
“Don’t take them,” interposed ’Lena. “You won’t need them, and nothing
will harm them here.”
After a little, grandma was persuaded, and her last charge to Mrs.
Livingstone and Carrie was, “that they keep the dum niggers from her
things.”
Habit with Mrs. Nichols was everything. She had lived at Maple Grove
for years, and every niche and corner of her room she understood. She
knew the blacks and they knew her, and ere she was half-way to
Woodlawn, she began to wish she had not started. Politely, but coldly,
Mrs. Graham received her, saying “I thought, perhaps, you would return
with them to _spend the day_!” laying great emphasis on the last words,
as if that, of course, was to be the limit of her visit Grandma
understood it, and it strengthened her resolution of not remaining
long.
“Miss Graham don’t want to be pestered with me,” said she to ’Lena, the
first time they were alone, “and I don’t mean that she shall be. ’Tilda
is used to me, and she don’t mind it now, so I shall go back afore
long. You can come to see me every day, and once in a while I’ll come
here.”
That afternoon a heavy rain came on, and Mrs. Graham remarked to Mrs.
Nichols that “she hoped she was not homesick, as there was every
probability of her being obliged to _stay over night_!” adding, by way
of comfort, that “she was going to Frankfort the next day to make
purchases for ’Lena, and would take her home.”
Accordingly, the next morning Mrs. Livingstone was not very agreeably
surprised by the return of her mother-in-law, who, Mrs. Graham said,
“was so home-sick they couldn’t keep her.”
That night when Mrs. Graham, who was naturally generous, returned from
the city, she left at Maple Grove a large bundle for grandma,
consisting of dresses, aprons, caps, and the like, which she had
purchased as a sort or peace-offering, or reward, rather, for her
having decamped so quietly from Woodlawn. But the poor old lady did not
live to wear them. Both her mind and body were greatly impaired, and
for two or three years she had been failing gradually. There was no
particular disease, but a general breaking up of the springs of life,
and a few weeks after ’Lena’s arrival at Woodlawn,, they made another
grave on the sunny slope, and Mabel no longer slept alone.