WISTARIA.
“What a fine, substantial, aristocratic-looking old place it is!”
Isabelle’s thoughts, as she moved slowly up the long driveway to the
Brook mansion, were almost envious. She had come across fields to
fulfil the neighborly office which Miss Joanna had begged, and she
had attached little importance to Bonny’s prophecy of a “delightful
surprise” awaiting her.
Indeed, what would have made Beatrice extravagantly happy would have
scarcely appealed to Isabelle at all. The elder girl was fighting
valiantly to “down discontent,” but so far her efforts had not been
crowned with marked success. To accept the simple life which God had
ordered for her was a bitter trial. She was not the first who has
imagined it would “be easy to do just right if--” in some other way one
could arrange one’s life.
“Why couldn’t I have been born in such a home? Why need my mother toil
as she does? And Roland, Bonny, even little Bob, has to think each day
how best to increase the family income; while these old people, at the
very end of life, have ten thousand times more than they can use or
enjoy.”
It was, indeed, a “fine old place,” rich with the accumulations of
nearly a century of ownership by the same, always wealthy family. It
stood “four square to all the winds that blew,” its back and front
so exactly alike that it could not be said to put its “finest to the
world.” On either end, immense fluted columns rose to the roof, which,
extending over the wide veranda thus formed, gave protection to those
who would enjoy these “out-of-door rooms.”
The east veranda looked toward the river, the west upon the tree-lined
avenue which led from the road, a quarter of a mile distant, through
the park to the mansion. On either side, also, were gay parterres of
choicest flowers, while a “maze” of old-time box borders invited the
curious to tread its quaintly constructed paths for a full mile of
windings in and out, before one could emerge on the northern side, and
upon a well-kept bridle-road, which led through the great forest on
the bluff, down its sides to the river, the old “embankments” and the
well-preserved historic reminders of a day when the Chidly Brooks “had
fought and bled for freedom’s cause.”
The stables and outbuildings were well to the south of the mansion, and
on that side were also the kitchen offices, which in this well-ordered
establishment were as freely open to inspection as any other part of
Miss Joanna’s “kingdom.”
“Ah! my dear! It is good of you to come so early! That is exactly what
I like: plenty of time to do things neatly and completely.”
“But, dear Miss Brook! you are so quick and active I should think you
would not ever take much time for anything! You are certainly twice as
spry as I am!” responded Isabelle, surprised from her revery by the
salutation of her white-haired neighbor.
“I don’t know about that! I don’t know about that! I do know that the
only way of making haste which I understand is to take such thought
beforehand that I rarely make one blundering movement. I have never
had time, even in my long life, to ‘hurry,’ but I have managed to
accomplish about all I have set out to do.”
“And I do try to ‘hurry,’ but never succeed! I am slow-motioned--a
dreamer, my mother tells me; and once in a while I get so behind-hand
that I put on steam and then--a smash up!”
“Give it up, my child, give it up at once. Learn to use forethought
instead of haste and you’ll be thankful all your life for doing so.
But, dearie me! how old lips do love to preach, and how distasteful it
is to young ears to listen! No, no, my child. I do not think you are
impatient. It is only that I remember so distinctly how I disliked to
learn of anybody in this world--except Joanna Brook! But come in, come
in. I have as many of these May roses as I think we can use. The others
we will cut after these are in place. Did you ever see this earth more
lovely than it is this very morning? Oh, what a God! what a loving,
generous God!”
Isabelle looked up swiftly into the sweet old face before her. She
was sometimes startled by these sudden outbursts of feeling on Miss
Joanna’s part; a person who ordinarily never “preached,” but who seemed
so full to overflowing of the love of God that her natural speech
became, at times, as the speech of an alien.
“I suppose He is,” answered the girl, slowly.
Miss Brook darted a glance into the beautiful face of the girl, and
opened her lips quickly; but the words she would have said she altered
to the quiet remark: “If you do not know, but only ‘suppose,’ you will
know some day. You would know now if it were His will. But come in.
Let us begin at the front parlor first.”
They ascended the steps and entered the great hall, which ran through
the main floor of the house from back to front. Each entrance door
stood widely open, and the outlook either way was entrancing. Isabelle
forgot to be regretful for her own privations in the enjoyment of that
scene.
“How lovely! This would make such a pretty picture, if one might put it
on canvas. This great hall, with the curious staircase, the old-time
furniture, and that big, hospitable vista beyond! May I sketch it
sometime, Miss Joanna?”
“Yes, indeed! And we would feel honored. Ah! those old outside
galleries,--galleries we called them, when I was young,--many’s the
cotillon has been danced upon them, many the tea-party gathered there.
See this table! It is a century and a half old. It is only about four
feet in diameter, yet eighteen people have gathered about that bit of
mahogany to drink a cup of tea, when tea was tea, my dear! These are
the cups; they were my grandmother’s. See?”
The old lady stepped to a cabinet and took out a tiny cup and saucer of
delicate china, thin as an egg-shell and no larger than the smaller
end of one. “I often sit and muse over those old times. I can imagine
the whole scene so well, and sometimes I almost find myself talking
gossip with the dead-and-gone dames who drank to the success of ‘the
army’ in these same bits of cups. I must show you my grandmother’s
gowns and things some day, my dear; I think you would enjoy seeing
them, even trying them on, if you like. Eh?”
A moment’s thought flashed through Isabelle’s brain. Here were artistic
possibilities open to her that the city could not have furnished, and
her discontent vanished entirely. “I should be very grateful, dear
Miss Brook! It would be a treasure-trove to me! But sometime, after
I have worked very, very faithfully to do better things than I ever
have accomplished, will you sit to me for a sketch? It sounds like the
greatest presumption, yet would you?”
“Would I? Would I not? I should be delighted! Make a trial right away,
to-morrow if you can. I should love to give a new picture of myself to
Chidly. The last one I had painted was when I was middle-aged, in ‘my
prime’ some flatterers said, ‘neither hay nor grass,’ _I_ said. I had
outgrown the dimples of youth and I had not acquired the finish of
age. I’m in my prime now, I fancy, as near as I ever shall be until God
sends Azrael to lay the touch of perfect peace upon my restless lips.”
[Illustration: “THERE WAS NO ANSWER, AND MISS JOANNA TURNED ABOUT
SWIFTLY.”]
She led the way without another word into the wide eastern
drawing-room, and threw open the shutters to let in the morning
sunshine.
“Here you are, my child, free to do exactly as you please. Make the
rooms as pretty as you can, and I begin with this first, because it
is chief. You can call for one of the men to cut as many flowers as
you like. The bushes and trees are loaded with blossoms now. And,
oh! here is something you will like, at least I hope so. A gift from
the daughter of a dear old friend, herself as noble a woman as ever
drew breath though she couldn’t help be that, with such a mother! The
girl--dear me! she’s fifty, if a day, but a girl to me always!--this
girl is manager of one of the art rooms in the city, and she brought me
this for a birthday gift from there. Isn’t it pretty?”
There was no answer, and Miss Joanna turned about swiftly. She was a
woman who liked others to share her enthusiasms.
Isabelle was straining with clasped hands and parted lips, gazing
amazedly upon a threefold screen shielding the hearthplace. The
panels bore each a female figure, but the central one was that which
had engrossed the young artist’s attention to the exclusion of the
others; and its design was a golden-haired child in a delicate drapery
of heliotrope tint reaching upward to pull the bunches of wistaria
blooms from a vine wreathed above her head. The scheme of the coloring,
even to the framing of the screen, was of heliotrope and gold, and the
effect was of indescribable light and joy.
“Ah! I see you like it! We think it is beautiful, beautiful! and my
friend says that though they do not know the artist’s name now, the Art
Directors will make every effort to hunt her up and help her on; for I
suppose it must be a woman, since this is a Women’s Society.”
Still Isabelle did not speak, her words seemed utterly to have deserted
her; but there was one at hand who was never at a loss for language,
and with a rush and whirl Beatrice came waltzing into the great room,
her eyes dancing as gayly as her feet, and her lips bubbling over with
laughter.
“Oh! I couldn’t stand it any longer! I thought I should just burst with
impatience, so I told Mr. Brook he would have to excuse me a minute,
whether or no, and here I am! Now, Miss Isabelle Beckwith, what have
you to say for yourself? Didn’t I have a surprise for you, and isn’t it
just too glorious to be true?”
“I--I can’t believe it! Even yet!”
“Well, I should like to know what has come over you two children!”
exclaimed Miss Joanna, utterly at sea for an explanation of this odd
behavior.
Bonny stopped dancing, went up to her sister, threw her arms
impulsively about Isabelle’s neck, and kissed her heartily. Then she
asked, “Shall I tell her, or will you, dear?”
Belle blushed a little, but her eyes shone with pride as she turned
toward Miss Brook. “Since I have heard your opinion of the panel when
you did not know who painted it, I suppose I may tell you that your
words made me very proud. That ‘Wistaria’ is my own work.”
“My goodness! Is it possible! And to think that I never dreamed it! Yet
why should I? The only signature anywhere about the picture is a blade
of grass in one corner.”
“Yes,” laughed Isabelle, now as gay as she had been speechless before,
“that was the only one I dared use. I am such a mere beginner in art,
that I feel as if I really know nothing yet! Only I feel it within
me--strong, strong, strong!--that I shall sometime be able to put a
little of myself, my dreams and ambitions, into visible form! Oh! I am
so grateful and so humble. I am ready now, dear Miss Joanna, to say
with you, ‘God is so loving, so generous!’”
There was silence in the room for a moment, during which Bonny’s dark
eyes filled with an unwonted moisture; and rather than “sprinkle down
the occasion” she stole quietly away and to her own duty in that
big study, where natural history and she had such a tussle daily
to understand each other, but where a growing friendship had been
established between them under the wise instruction of Philipse Chidly
Brook, Esquire.
Beatrice’s departure broke the spell, and Miss Joanna moved swiftly
forward and clasped the trembling, success-humbled Isabelle in her
kindly arms. “Ah! my dear, if you can take your good fortune in such
guise, all things will be possible to you. I envy you; yes, even if
it is wicked! The feeling in your heart at this moment must be so
exquisite! To be conscious of one’s own power to transcribe a little
of this wonderful beauty all about us so that other eyes may read its
secret too, and to be assured that the dear God is approving by helping
one as He has helped you now, must be happiness indeed! My darling, I
congratulate you with all my heart!”
Belle looked up with glistening eyes. Where was now the envy that had
tormented her soul as she had approached that house but a few moments
before? Gone utterly. For ten times the wealth and pride of all the
Brooks who ever lived in those stately old rooms she would not have
given up one iota of the pure joy which now thrilled her heart.
“Dear lady, a bit of a while ago it was I who was envious. Now I
wouldn’t change places with you for the world! But, dear me! how horrid
that sounds!”
“No, no, no. Let it stand! You are like a young queen who has known
all along that her blood was royal, but whom the world has not
acknowledged. Now you are free to enter into your kingdom. In the name
of the people, welcome! See to it, crowned one, that you always, as
now, reverence your high estate!”
Miss Joanna kissed the girl gently on her white brow, then moved
quietly away; and Isabelle looked after her wonderingly. “I did not
dream that she had all that romance and fine feeling in her alert,
practical nature! Well, I shall know a new Miss Joanna now, and love
her dearly, dearly! But I came over here to work, not to dream; and
though I am so glad I can hardly keep still, I will do, exactly as
Motherkin would bid me, ‘the task that lies nearest the best that I
can.’”
Certainly no rooms were ever arranged with more loving delicacy of
touch and judgment than were these old parlors for Miss Brook’s
dinner-party; and when all was finished and Isabelle free at length to
go home, she approached her old friend with something of timidity in
her air.
“Miss Joanna, may I speak with you a moment?”
“An hour, if you will. It would take all that to express my pleasure in
everything, yourself included, if I were to try to put it into words.”
“Then will you understand me exactly, when I say, something, maybe
queer--”
“My dear, we have taken a peep each into the other’s soul this morning.
I am certain there will be no misunderstanding. You may say all you
wish.”
But even wise Miss Brook was not wholly prepared for what was
forthcoming, though secretly rejoiced at it.
“Well, you see, all of us, except myself, have some way of earning
money; there does not seem to be anything especial I can do, unless--
This arranging your rooms has put an idea into my head. Do you think
some of the other rich families about here, the ‘summer folks’ and all,
would give me an opportunity to help them get ready for their social
gatherings, as I have done for you? I want, this is what you must
certainly understand, I want to always fix your things if you will let
me, because it is the only way I can show-- No, that isn’t it! Because
I love you! You have from the first seemed to like me, and I have been
so glad of it. Bonny is so bright, and Roland so manly and good, and
little Bob so--”
“The least said about little Bob the better!” cried the old lady,
smiling so brightly that Isabelle was quite reassured. “We all love the
little scamp who teases the patience out of us a dozen times a day.”
“But for these other people, if I--who do understand the value of
beautiful things, even if I don’t own them--could take care of their
bric-à-brac, put their apartments in order after the maids have done
their sweepings, and as I imagine few servants are trained to do, at a
small price per hour, I should be very glad to do it.”
Miss Brook put on her spectacles and looked fixedly at her young
neighbor. “My dear, they said you were the proud one of the family.”
“So I am.”
“And yet you realize what you are asking?”
“Perfectly. It will be putting myself in a servant’s place.”
“I fancied you were even a little ashamed to have your brother drive
the ‘Parcel Express.’”
“I was ashamed of everything.”
“Well!”
“Now I am only ashamed of myself, ashamed of the ignoble shame I felt
then.”
“But the artist in you? Will you not be coining money by that talent
soon?”
“I think not. Those who do the best work are the least appreciated for
a while. It has been so in so many lives of real artists. No, indeed,
I am not dazzled by the sale of one panel! ‘One swallow doesn’t make a
summer.’ And if I can earn money in some other way, I can--I can keep
my soul clean. I need never earn ‘pot-boilers’ by a desecration of what
little power I possess, but I can always keep that channel to expand
in. Does that sound very presumptuous and conceited in me?”
“It sounds as I wish thousands of other workers felt. We should have
truer pictures, finer statues, loftier literature, if the greed for
money were kept out of the question. You are right. Roland is right. If
he is a poet, he will not be debarred his privilege to sing because he
ploughs the field or drives the ‘Parcel Express.’ If you are an artist,
you will work out your beautiful conception none the less because you
have to live in industry, not idleness. My child, I shall always call
upon you to help me gratuitously; but you shall help my neighbors at
the rate of thirty cents an hour! Do I understand you, think?”
Isabelle gave a quick, warm embrace to the kind creature beside her,
and, her task being done, escaped before she betrayed herself into any
more sentiment.
It was a very different girl who bounded homewards over the sun-dried
grass than she who had moved wearily, almost despondently, along the
regular paths a few hours before, and her heart rejoiced at sight of
her mother’s face watching for her from the kitchen door.
“Ah! the dear Motherkin! I can hardly wait to tell her. She will be as
glad, almost more glad than I!”
But what is that? At first sight of her daughter’s form approaching
The Lindens, Mrs. Beckwith had hurried forward, waving a strip of
paper above her head. She seemed quite as excited and eager as Isabelle
herself; and as soon as they had come within hailing distance, two
shouts crossed each other on the sun-lighted air.
“My daughter, good news, good news! A check--for you!”
“Oh, Motherkin! I was never so happy in my life!”