LETTERS.
In course of time there came a letter to Edna from Roy. It had been sent
by him to Aunt Jerry, and by her to Uncle Phil, who forwarded it to his
niece, together with a few lines of his own, telling how “all-fired
lonesome he was, and how he missed her gab, and the click-clack of her
high heels on the stairs, and the whisk of her petticoats through the
doors.”
“The synagogue is getting along slowly,” he wrote, “for the _cusses_—”
(he erased that word as hardly consistent for a man who was running a
church, and substituted “cattle,” so that it read) “the _cattle_ are on
another strike, what hain’t gone over to work on the Unitarian meetin’
house, which is havin’ the greatest kind of overhaulin’ inside and out.
The persuasion meets now in the Academy, and go it kind of ritual, with
the litany and some of the _sams_, which they read slower than time in
the primmer. Ruth Gardner leads off, and is getting up another carouse
to buy a _Fount_ to dip the young ones in, and expects to catch the new
minister. But let ’em run. Old Phil don’t ask no odds of Unitarian nor
Orthodox, nor nobody else. He’ll build his own church and pay his own
minister, if necessary, and burn _innocence_ too, if he wants to.
“I send a letter from Roy, I guess, and it has done some travellin’,
too, having gone first to that remarkable woman, your Aunt Jerushy, who
wrote to me as follows:
“‘Philip Overton, forward the enclosed to Edna, and oblige, Jerusha
Amanda Pepper.’
“Short and sweet, wasn’t it? but like the old gal, as you described her.
If Maude is there, tell her I am real hungry for a sight of her blue
eyes and sassy face. Come up here, both of you, as soon as you can.
Yours to command,
“PHILIP OVERTON.”
This was Uncle Phil’s letter, and Edna cried over it a little, and knew
just how lonely the old man was without her, and half wished she had not
left him, “though it would have been dreadful never to have known Roy at
all,” she said to herself, as she opened next Aunt Jerusha’s letter, in
which Roy’s was enclosed, and read what that worthy woman had to say.
There was a good deal about her “neurology,” and a sure cure she had
found for it, and about the new rector, who was as much too _low_ as the
other had been too _high_, inasmuch as he went to the Methodist
prayer-meetings and took a part in them, and said he wasn’t quite sure
about the direct line down from the Apostles; it might be straight
enough, but he guessed it had been broken a few times, and had some
knots in it where it was mended, and he fully indorsed young Tyng, and
believed in Henry Ward Beecher and Woman’s Rights, all of which she
considered worse than turning your back to the people, and bowing to the
floor in the creed, and so latterly she had staid at home and read the
Bible and Prayer-Book by herself, and sung a hymn and psalm, and felt
she was worshipping God quite as well as if she had gone to church and
been mad as fury all the time. She hoped Edna felt better now she was at
Leighton, though she was a big fool for going, and a bigger one if she
staid there after that woman with a boy’s name came as my lady.
“Roy was not satisfied with sending me a letter for _you_, but he must
needs write to _me_ too, and tell me he was going to be married; and
that he should insist upon knowing where you were, so he could persuade
you to live at Leighton, your proper place.
“So you see what’s before you, and you know my advice, which, of course,
you won’t follow. You are more than half in love with Roy yourself;
don’t deny it; I know better; and that critter with the boy’s name will
find it out, if she has not already, and you’ll hate one another like
pisen, and it’s no place for you. Better come back to Aunt Jerusha, and
keep the district school this winter. They want a woman teacher, because
they can get her cheap, and she’ll do her work better, as if there was
any justice in that. I believe in Woman’s Rights so far as equal pay for
the same work; but this scurriping through the country speech-making,
and the clothes-basket full of dirty duds at home, and your husband’s
night-shirt so ragged that if took sick sudden in the night he’d be
ashamed to send for the doctor, I don’t believe in, and never will.
“According to orders, I send this to your Uncle Philip, and s’pose
you’ll answer through the same channel and tell if you’ll come home
about your business, and teach school for sixteen dollars a month, and I
board you for the chores you’ll do night and morning.
Yours with regret,
“JERUSHA A. PEPPER.”
“Go back to Allen’s Hill, and teach school, and board with Aunt Jerusha,
and do chores?” Edna repeated to herself, as she finished the letter;
she might have added, “and leave Roy?” but she did not, though her face
turned scarlet as she recalled the words, “You are more than half in
love with Roy yourself.”
Was that true? She could not quite answer that it was, and she tried to
believe it was her attachment to Mrs. Churchill which made Leighton so
dear to her, and that Roy had nothing to do with it, except as he helped
to make her life very pleasant. She was _not_ in love with him, she
decided at last; if she were, she should think it her duty to leave at
once, but as it was, she should remain until the wedding, which had not
yet been appointed. Some time before Christmas, Georgie had told her,
while Mrs. Churchill had said:
“Roy will not marry till spring.”
And she believed the latter, because she wanted to, and saying to
herself, “I shall stay till Georgie comes, for Mrs. Churchill’s sake,”
she opened Roy’s letter, and read the kind, brotherly message he had
written to his “dear sister Edna, whom he wished so much to find.” There
were hot blushes on Edna’s cheeks, and she felt a heart throb of pain as
she began to read, in Roy’s own words, of his engagement to Georgie
Burton. She had known it all before, it is true, and had seen his
betrothed almost every day, and received, each time she saw her, some
little malicious stab through the medium of Edna Browning. She had also
been witness, at divers times, to various little love-passages between
the engaged pair, or rather of love-passages on Georgie’s part, for that
young lady was not at all backward in asserting her right to fondle and
caress her promised husband, who was not demonstrative, and who never of
his own accord so much as took Georgie’s hand in his own, or laid a
finger on her in the presence of others. He merely submitted to her
fondlings in silence and did not shake her off, though Edna sometimes
fancied he wanted to do so, when she hung so helplessly upon him, or put
her arm around his neck, and smoothed and caressed his hair, and called
him “Roy dear.” How he demeaned himself toward her when they were alone
Edna did not know, but seeing him always so quiet and reserved, she had
never realized that he was engaged as fully as she did when she saw it
in his own handwriting, and two burning tears rolled down her cheeks and
were impatiently dashed away as she read:
“And now, my little sister, I have something to communicate which may
surprise you, but which I hope will please you, inasmuch as I trust it
may have a direct bearing upon your future. I am engaged to be married
to the Miss Georgie Burton who was so kind to you and poor Charlie in
Iona. She is very nice, of course, and the most beautiful woman I have
ever met, unless it be a Miss Overton who is here as companion for
mother.”
Edna’s face and neck were scarlet now, and there was a throb of ecstasy
in her heart, as she read on:
“This Miss Overton is not at all like Georgie, but quite as beautiful, I
think, and both mother and myself like her immensely. She is nineteen, I
believe, but a _wee_ little creature, with the roundest, sauciest eyes,
the softest golden brown hair rippling all over her head, and the
sweetest, most innocent face, while her smile is something wonderful.
Maude Somerton, whom I wish you knew, calls her _Dotty_, but to myself I
call her ‘Brownie,’ her eyes and hair are such a pretty brown, just
tinged with golden, and her complexion, though smooth and soft, and very
bright, is still a little brownish.”
“A pretty way to talk about _me_, and he engaged to Georgie,” Edna said,
but not impatiently.
Indeed, she would have been well satisfied to have read Roy’s praises of
herself for the entire day, and felt a little annoyed when he turned
from Miss Overton’s beauty, to his plan of having his sister at Leighton
as soon as Georgie came, and begged her to tell him where she was, that
he might come for her himself.
“Mother wants you,” he wrote, “and surely for Charlie’s sake you will
heed her wishes.”
Edna wished she could believe that Mrs. Churchill would love her when
she knew who she was, but after Georgie’s insinuations she could not
hope to be esteemed by either Roy or his mother.
“They would hate and despise me,” she said, “so I shall not let them
know that _Edna_ was ever here, and my easier way will be not to answer
Roy’s letter, now or ever; I cannot tell him I am rejoiced at his
engagement, for I am not. I don’t like her; I never shall like her; I
almost think I hate her, or should if it were not so very wicked,” and
Edna’s boot-heels dug into the carpet as she gave vent to this amiable
outburst.
There was nothing more of Georgie or Miss Overton in the letter, but
Edna had read enough to make her very happy. Roy thought she was
beautiful, and called her “Brownie” to himself. Surely this was
sufficient cause for happiness, even though his marriage with another
was fixed for the ensuing spring. It was a long time till then, and she
would enjoy the present without thinking of the future, when Leighton
could no longer be her home.
This was Edna’s conclusion, and folding up Roy’s letter, she went to
Mrs. Churchill with so bright a look in her face, that it must have
shown itself in her manner, for Mrs. Churchill said:
“You seem very happy this morning. You must have had good news in the
letter Russell brought you.”
“Yes; very good news. At least, a part of it was,” Edna replied, her
pulse throbbing a little regretfully, as she remembered having seen, in
Roy’s own handwriting, that he was pledged to another,—he who called her
“Brownie,” and who, as the days went by, was so very kind to her, and
who, once, when she was standing beside him, laid his hand upon her
hair, and said:
“What a little creature you are! One could toss you in his arms as
easily as he could a child.”
“Suppose you try,” said a smooth, even-toned voice, just behind him, and
the next moment Georgie appeared in view, her black eyes flashing, but
her manner very composed and quiet.
After that, Roy did not touch Edna’s hair, or talk of tossing her in his
arms. Whatever it was which Georgie said to him with regard to Miss
Overton,—and she did say something,—it availed to put a restraint upon
his manner, and caused him to keep to himself any wishes he might have
with regard to Edna. But he watched her when she went out, and when she
came in, and listened to her voice when reading or singing to his
mother, until there would, at times, come over him such a feeling of
restlessness,—a yearning for something he could not define,—that he
would rush out into the open air, or, mounting his swift-footed steed,
ride for miles down the river road, until the fever in his veins was
abated, when he would return to Leighton, and, if Georgie was there, sit
dutifully by her, and try to behave as an engaged man ought to do, and
get up a little enthusiasm for his bride-elect. But whether he held
Georgie’s white jewelled hand in his, as he sometimes did, or felt her
breath upon his cheek, as she leaned her beautiful head upon his breast
in one of her gushing moods, he never experienced a glow of feeling like
that which throbbed through every vein did “Brownie’s” soft, dimpled
hands by any chance come in contact with so much as his coat-sleeve, or
“Brownie’s” dress sweep against his feet when he was walking with her.
He did not ask himself whither all this was tending. He did not reason
at all. He was engaged to Georgie; he fully intended to keep his
engagement; he loved her, as he believed, but that did not prevent his
being very happy in Miss Overton’s society; and as the days went by he
drifted farther and farther from his betrothed, who, with all her
shrewdness, was far from suspecting the real nature of his feelings.
During all this time, no answer had come from Edna to Roy, who wrote
again and again, until he grew desperate, and resolved upon a second
visit to Aunt Jerry Pepper, hoping by bribe or threat to obtain some
clue to Edna’s whereabouts. This intention he communicated by letter to
the worthy spinster, who replied:
“Don’t for goodness’ sake come here again on that business, and do let
Edna alone. She nor no other woman is worth the powder you are wasting
on her. If she don’t answer your letter, and tell you she’s in the
seventh heaven because of your engagement, it’s pretty likely she ain’t
thrown off her balance with joy by it. She didn’t fancy that woman with
a boy’s name none too well when she saw her in Iona, and if I may speak
the truth, as I shall, if I speak at all, it was what she overheard that
person say to her brother about you and your mother’s opinion of poor
girls like her, that kept her from going to Leighton with the body, and
it’s no ways likely she’ll ever go now, so long as the thing with the
boy’s name is there as mistress. So just let her alone and it will work
itself out. Anyway, don’t bother me with so many letters, when I’ve as
much as I can do with my house-cleaning, and making over comforters, and
running sausages.
“Yours to command,
“JERUSHA AMANDA PEPPER.”
It was Roy’s duty to feel indignant toward one who called his wife
elect, “that thing with a boy’s name,” and he made himself believe he
was, and styled her a very rude, impertinent woman, and then he thought
of what she had said about Edna’s disapproval of the match, and of
Georgie’s treatment of her in Iona, and that hurt him far worse than
Miss Pepper’s calling his betrothed “that thing with the boy’s name.”
What could Georgie have said or done to Edna? She had always seemed so
kindly disposed toward the girl, and since their engagement had warmly
seconded his plan of finding her, and bringing her home. Once he thought
to speak to Georgie herself on the subject, but generously refrained
from doing so, lest she should be pained by knowing there was any one
who was not pleased with the prospect of her being his wife. But
Georgie, who was not overscrupulous with regard to other people’s
property, found the letter on the library table, where he left it, and
unhesitatingly read it through, and then that same afternoon took
occasion, in Edna’s presence, to ask Roy if he had heard from his sister
yet, and to express herself as _so_ sorry that they could not find where
she was.
“Poor little creature, so young and so childlike as she seemed when I
saw her at Iona,” she said, flashing her great eyes first upon Roy and
then upon Miss Overton. “And so shy too of strangers. Why, I almost
fancied that she was afraid of _me_, she was so timid and reserved, and
possibly she was, for in my excitement I might have been a little
brusque in my manner.”
“I do not remember asking if you urged her to come here at that time,”
Roy said, thinking of Miss Pepper’s letter, while Georgie, thinking of
it too, replied without the least hesitation:
“Certainly, I did. I said all I could consistently say; but she was too
sick to undertake the journey, and then she had a nervous dread of
meeting Charlie’s friends. I’ve since thought it possible that she was
too much stunned and bewildered to know exactly what was said to her, or
what we meant by saying it.”
Georgie had made her explanation, and effectually removed from Roy’s
mind any unpleasant impression which Aunt Jerry’s letter might have left
upon it. And she was satisfied; for it did not matter _what_ Edna
thought of her; and still Georgie could not then meet the wondering gaze
of the brown eyes fixed so curiously upon her; and she affected to be
very much interested and occupied with a cap she was finishing for Mrs.
Churchill, and did not look at Edna, who managed to escape from the room
as soon as possible, and who, out in the yard, had recourse to her old
trick of digging her heels into the gravel by way of relieving her
feelings.
Roy made one effort more to win over Miss Pepper, but with so poor
success that he gave the matter up for a time, and devoted himself to
trying to get up a passion for his betrothed equal to that she felt for
him, and to studying and enjoying Miss Overton, who became each day more
bewildering and enjoyable for him, while to Mrs. Churchill she became
more and more necessary, until both wondered how they had ever existed
without her.