THE
REJECTED WIFE.
BY
MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.
AUTHOR OF “FASHION AND FAMINE,” “THE OLD HOMESTEAD,” “MARY DERWENT,”
“THE HEIRESS,” ETC., ETC.
Yes, woman’s love, when left alone,
Around an evil heart may cling,
As ivy trails from stone to stone,
Creeping o’er many a ruined thing;
It gathers in its loving clasp
The thorns that pierce and flowers that bloom;
Nor perishes in death’s cold grasp,
But dove-like flies beyond the tomb.
=Philadelphia:=
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS,
306 CHESTNUT STREET.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by
EDWARD STEPHENS,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, in
and for the Southern District of New York
TO
MRS. CORNELIUS VANDERBILT.
DEAR LADY:
THIS YEAR, WHICH CROWNS YOUR MARRIED LIFE WITH A “GOLDEN WEDDING,” MANY
A TRIBUTE OF LOVE WILL BE OFFERED FOR YOUR ACCEPTANCE, BOTH IN
RECOGNITION OF YOUR FEMININE MERITS, AND OF THE NAME YOU HAVE SO LONG
HONORED IN BEARING. BUT NO PROOF OF AFFECTION CAN BE RENDERED TO YOU
THAT WILL REPRESENT MORE SINCERE REGARD OR PROFOUND RESPECT THAN THIS
SIMPLE DEDICATION.
ANN S. STEPHENS.
OCTOBER 17TH, 1863.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
THE FARM-HOUSE IN COMMOTION—EXPECTED GUESTS—PARLOR AND KITCHEN 25
CHAPTER II.
GOING HOME—A SHOOTING-MATCH 38
CHAPTER III.
PREPARATIONS FOR THANKSGIVING 50
CHAPTER IV.
THE DOUBLE SLEIGH AND THE GOOSE-NEST 61
CHAPTER V.
ARNOLD’S VISIT TO LEONARD’S CABIN—THE SAW-MILL AT NIGHT 72
CHAPTER VI.
OPPOSING WILLS—CONFIDENCES BETWEEN MOTHER AND SON 81
CHAPTER VII.
A DECLARATION—PASSIONATE STRUGGLE 96
CHAPTER VIII.
A WEARY NIGHT—THE FAMILY BREAKFAST—PARENTAL ANXIETIES 101
CHAPTER IX.
THE MILL ON THE YANTIC—THE DEPTHS BELOW 111
CHAPTER X.
AFTER THE RESCUE—ANTIPATHIES AND REPULSIONS—JOSHUA’S ANGUISH 125
CHAPTER XI.
THE VILLAGE DOCTOR—HIS TWO PATIENTS 138
CHAPTER XII.
THE GUEST’S RETURN 149
CHAPTER XIII.
OLD FRIENDSHIP RENEWED—THE HOLY FORCE OF PRAYER 157
CHAPTER XIV.
FATHER AND SON—REBELLION AND REPENTANCE 165
CHAPTER XV.
SECRET INTERVIEWS—OUTLAWS’ MEETINGS 172
CHAPTER XVI.
THE UNNATURAL ENCOUNTER 183
CHAPTER XVII.
OUT IN THE SNOW 189
CHAPTER XVIII.
WILD HOPES AND WISHES 200
CHAPTER XIX.
IN THE DEPTHS OF DARKNESS 211
CHAPTER XX.
WAITING AND WATCHING 222
CHAPTER XXI.
THE MORTGAGED FARM 227
CHAPTER XXII.
THE MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 236
CHAPTER XXIII.
A TUMULT IN THE HOUSEHOLD—SIGNING THE MORTGAGE 247
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE MINISTER’S SPINNING-BEE 253
CHAPTER XXV.
NEWS AT LAST 268
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE DESOLATE HOME 281
CHAPTER XXVII.
SEARCHING IN THE DEPTHS 292
CHAPTER XXVIII.
WANDERING IN THE NIGHT 295
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE REVELATION 302
CHAPTER XXX.
THE UNION OF SORROW 308
CHAPTER XXXI.
A FAMILY JOURNEY 317
CHAPTER XXXII.
THE SUMMONS NO CONFESSION 324
CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE TYRANT AND HIS VICTIM 334
CHAPTER XXXIV.
HAGAR’S LOVE-LETTER 343
CHAPTER XXXV.
THE MINISTER’S FAREWELL 352
CHAPTER XXXVI.
DOUBLE TIES 357
CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER IN A BLACK HEART 364
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
FOLLOWING AFTER 371
CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE SHIPWRECK 380
CHAPTER XL.
COMING INTO PORT 388
CHAPTER XLI.
THE BRIDAL TOILET 394
CHAPTER XLII.
UNDER THE ELMS 405
CHAPTER XLIII.
THE BRIDE AND THE WIFE 411
CHAPTER XLIV.
CONFESSIONS OF DECEPTION 419
CHAPTER XLV.
THE DUEL AND THE WEDDING 425
THE REJECTED WIFE.
CHAPTER I.
THE FARM-HOUSE IN COMMOTION—EXPECTED GUESTS—PARLOR AND KITCHEN.
More than ninety years ago, what is now the city of Norwich was a
thriving village scattered over one of the most picturesque hills in the
world. Its wildness and its beauty forming a picture one might well go
back a century or so to look at; for civilization is most lovely when it
improves nature without enslaving and plundering it. Thus, the
picturesque log-cabins, and the aspiring frame houses on their natural
terraces overlooking each other,—some peeping out upon unreclaimed
rocks, others embowered in trees, and all wildly irregular,—were a
thousand times more attractive than the cultivation and stately wealth
of the present city, which is even now among the most beautiful in our
country.
There was not much inland navigation in those days; but now and then a
sloop spread its white sails on the Thames below the village, while
canoes and rude boats were abundant on the Yantic and the Shetucket.
Along the rich valley which lies on the northwest, farms were scattered,
and to a considerable extent the wilderness was cut away. The dwellings,
so far as the land permitted, were gathered in close neighborhood, out
of which first a scattering village, and now a city has sprung. But the
cove, which sets up to the mouth of the Yantic, was surrounded by one
unbroken mass of trees. Here and there the blue smoke curled up from
some newly-built cabin in a clearing of the forest. The Yantic River,
which plunges its wild body of waters into the head of the cove, through
rocks, over precipices, and down chasms, foaming and rioting with eager
haste to overtake and outleap the Shetucket in a race for the sea, had
been forced to yield some of its rioting waters for the use of a
grist-mill, with its slow stones that moaned over their task of a few
bushels each day. Below this a saw-mill sent its hoarse music into the
dash of the waters, which leaped by, shouting back a mellow defiance,
that rang through the old forest-trees day and night, as they sing and
laugh at the present moment.
Two log-cabins stood back in the woods. Into one the miller took his
toll at night: and the other was inhabited by the man that attended the
saw-mill. In those days, when two log-cabins stood within sight of each
other, they were likely to constitute a village and receive a name; but
with a grist-mill and saw-mill within hearing, of course this was
imperative; so the miller and his neighbor held a town-meeting between
themselves and baptized the beautiful spot Yanticville.
Down among the farm-houses, on the plain, stands to this day a large
frame house, with a broad, gabled roof and heavy chimneys. Two or three
old trees droop around it, and a substantial fence, half stone, and
completed with rails, encloses it from the highway. Even now the house
possesses that air of substantial comfort which is the characteristic of
almost all Connecticut dwellings; but in the last century it was a very
superior building indeed, and bespoke the growing prosperity which had
followed the Norwich settlement from its foundation.
The ambition of every farmer in those days was to convert his log cabin
into a stable, and give evidence of thrift in a frame house. Sometimes
it was years before this house received its entire finish, but stood an
imposing shell, with a net-work of lath on the walls waiting for
plaster, while no room but the kitchen was thoroughly made comfortable.
This house was no exception to the general rule. The hoarded savings
that had erected it gave out when the exterior was completed, and for
years the good couple lived in a large kitchen and bedroom in winter,
contenting themselves with a broader range of fine airy apartments from
spring to autumn, when the unfinished state of their dwelling was rather
an advantage than otherwise. They had a growing family, and so put off
finishing the house till gray hairs came thick on their temples, and
their only son had gone forth into the world to get his own living.
There had for three months been great confusion in this house. The sound
of hammers, the grating of trowels had made their harsh music; then the
low, soft sweep of whitewash brushes, completed everything. Almost
thirty years after its foundations were laid, Mr. Arnold’s house had
received its finishing touches.
And why was all this haste after such patient waiting? Why was the good
housewife so busy upon her knees, nailing down home-made carpets, or,
with both arms uplifted, rolling up paper blinds at the windows? Why was
that fair young girl, with meek, brown eyes, so earnest in her
attendance on the mother, holding the little plate of carpet-tacks, and
helping with her pretty brown hands to stretch the stubborn fabric to
its place?
Why, it was the day but one before Thanksgiving, when all those members
of the family who had wandered beyond that valley were to meet again
under the gable-roof and have a grand holiday. That only son, of whom
the mother was so proud, and a guest or two of foreign blood, who, fond
of adventure, had come to see the grandeur of that New World which was
soon to claim a place among nations,—were expected at the homestead.
The carpet was down in the south room, and the green and red stripes
shone out splendidly. Many a long month had Mrs. Arnold and her daughter
toiled at the great wheel, the dye-tub, and the loom, before the admired
fabric was completed, and they both felt all the sweet consciousness of
creation to its full extent. Tall, wooden chairs, with backs bent inward
like a bow, and divided longitudinally with small, round bars, and seats
curved like a scroll, stood primly against the white wall. A
looking-glass, with a fan-like ornament of carved mahogany on each end
of the frame, and surmounted at the top with a gilt eagle, gleamed
grandly between the two front windows. A long, mahogany table, bright as
the mirror, stood under it, with each claw-foot grasping a ball, and
long, deep leaves rounded down to the floor. Opposite this was a high
“chest o’ drawers,” each drawer bulging out, and sinking in like a
scroll, with picturesque brass handles shining brightly up and down the
front. This elaborate piece of furniture reached from the floor to the
ceiling, where it ended in a carved shell,—a wondrous work of art, for
which, as a piece of worldly vanity, Mrs. Arnold wished to be forgiven
in her prayers, but still regarded with complacency when she observed
its effect on the best room.
“There now, I think every thing is in order here,” said Mrs. Arnold,
dropping the linsey-woolsey apron with which she had been polishing the
table. “They might come to-day for any thing we should care. Dear me!
here is a spot on the andirons,” and down she went upon her knees,
rubbing the tall, brass andiron with both hands till drops of
perspiration hung on her forehead.
“No, no: that is a bruise,—it will never come out,” said Hannah. “Don’t
you remember when brother made it throwing his hammer, one day when he
hurt his fingers cracking walnuts?”
Mrs. Arnold stopped, gazed down a moment upon the dent with gentle
thoughtfulness, and arose from her knees.
“Yes,” she said, with a sigh; “I haven’t forgotten it, Hannah. Your
father and I have often made it a subject of prayer; and it has set on
my conscience more than once that we ought to have punished him at that
time as the Scriptures point out; but, somehow, whipping never seemed
the thing for your brother. It always made him fierce and sullen; and I
don’t know as any punishment besides the rod is held proper for a child.
One hardly knows what way to turn with a boy like that.”
“He is so brave, so handsome, mother,” said Hannah Arnold. “I don’t
wonder you couldn’t find the heart to punish him. It seems like whipping
a race-horse for wanting to run ahead. Won’t he be delighted when he
sees what we’ve been about here?”
Mrs. Arnold looked around with gentle complacency upon her pale, sweet
face.
“It is real nice,” she said. “The roses on the curtains make the room
look bright as a flower-garden. Come, now, daughter, let’s go and see to
the beds. Bring down the new coverlet, with blue and orange quarters,
for the out-room, and then we’ll go into the kitchen and see how Dan and
Hagar are getting along. It’ll be time for your father to kill the
turkeys and chickens pretty soon. It won’t do to have the noise about
when the company comes. Get the coverlet, Hannah, and then go tell your
pa, or they will catch us nicely.”
Hannah ran up-stairs, opened a huge chest, full of homespun linen and
substantial bedding, from which she took the coverlet woven in orange
quarters, and came down again.
“Mother,” she said, making herself very busy spreading the coverlet
under the snowy pillows, while her cheeks blushed like moss-roses,
“mother, if it should snow to-morrow,—it looks like it, I think,—and the
French gentleman, who is coming with brother, should fancy a
sleigh-ride, what do you think of it?”
“A sleigh-ride on Thanksgiving-day!” exclaimed Mrs. Arnold, a little
horrified.
The roses flushed deeper in Hannah Arnold’s cheek, and she cast a little
deprecating look at her mother that melted all the prejudices down in
that gentle heart in an instant.
“Well, Hannah, I don’t quite see my way clear about the sleigh-ride, if
it should snow,—and it seems to me I saw flakes in the air a little
while ago; but supposing you mention the matter to pa; if he doesn’t
take it too hard, I won’t interfere. You can wear my muff and tippet.”
“I didn’t mean myself, mother; but the young French gentleman and his
sister. You will want me to help about the dinner.”
“Never mind about the dinner. I’m capable of managing that with Hagar.
We can chop the stuffing and strain the pumpkin-sauce over night, you
know. There, now, I don’t believe there’s a bit of sage or summer savory
in the house. What shall we do? These workmen turn every thing
topsy-turvy!”
“Oh, yes there is, mother! I put up two bundles myself, and hung them on
the rafters in the garret, out of the joiner’s way. Shall I run and get
it?”
“Well, if you’d just as lief as not.”
Away went Hannah up into the garret, where any quantity of dried herbs
hung in clusters and bundles along the naked rafters. The whole roof was
ornamented with strings of fresh apples, nicely quartered, and hung up
to dry side by side, with loops and rings of pumpkins, stretched along
poles, and forming massive golden chains across the slope of the
shingles. On a tow sheet, stretched along one end of the garret-floor,
which was of loose boards, that rattled as she walked, lay a huge pile
of butter-nuts. Three or four bushels of chestnuts lay in one corner,
and a quantity of shag-barks was heaped away farther out of sight.
“There’ll be enough for one Thanksgiving, anyway,” thought Hannah,
looking around, as she jumped down from the old chair on which she had
mounted in order to reach the herbs. “Brother needn’t be afraid of our
starving his friends out, I reckon.”
She ran down, with a bunch of herbs in each hand, flushed and pleased
that she had remembered something which her mother deemed important.
By this time, Mrs. Arnold was in the kitchen, settling the programme of
the coming supper and the next day’s feast with Hagar, the household
slave,—who was in reality rather more mistress of the kitchen than Mrs.
Arnold herself.
“Now, Hagar, don’t you think we can get along with out Hannah
to-morrow?”
Hagar laid down the loaf of bread she was cutting, and seemed cloudily
doubtful.
“Young folks will be young folks,” said the mistress, persuasively.
“Sure enough; there’s nature in that ’ar.”
Here Hannah entered. Hagar’s face brightened at the sight of the herbs.
She received them with great complacency, observing that she had just
been a-worrying the soul out of her body about sage, and there it came,
just like a miracle, with an angel behind it.
“Hannah has been very thoughtful,” said the mother.
“Yes and as you was a-saying, Miss Arnold, young folks will be young
folks, and sleighing is sleighing; that’s what I told Dan, not ten
minutes ago, ‘Dan,’ says I, ‘you jist go inter the barn, and dust out
that ’ere two-horse sleigh, and the cutter as well; for if there isn’t
two foot of snow to-morrow morning, I ain’t a cullered pusson to be
’pended on.’ So in course, Dan went. Get along without Hannah! Who
thought we couldn’t, I’d like to know?”
“But what will Mr. Arnold say to all this?” inquired the mistress,
doubtfully.
“He—he told me to ask you,” said Hannah, with a demure little smile.
Mrs. Arnold did not smile in return; but a look of pleasure stole over
her face.
“Well,” she said, “we will think about it! Thanksgivin’ isn’t exactly
like Sunday, being rather an institution of the government: so perhaps
if we read a chapter, and have prayers at home, and especially if your
father and I go to meeting with a sense of edification, a decorous
sleigh-ride would not be wrong. Hagar, I think Dan had better bring out
the great bear-skin robes, and we must see about the foot-stoves.”
“I’ve ’tended to that,” said Hagar, with a sniff of her nose, which
reminded you of a squirrel over its nut. “Master carried the robes out
hisself, and has been adusting them agin the stun fence ever since.”
“Now, that is all settled,” said Mrs. Arnold, with a gentle sigh, for
her delicate conscience was not quite at rest. “We’d better fix up a
little, Hannah, for there’s no knowing when the visitors may come.
Hagar, tell Dan to build a fire in the out-room; there is plenty of
pine-knots under the kitchen-stairs, and every thing handy.”
“I’ll ’tend to that,” said Hagar, plunging her knife into the bread.
“There’s Dan coming now with the sleigh-bells in his hand. ’Spoze he
wants me to scour ’em up for him. There ain’t no end to his wants.”
Sure enough, just as Mrs. Arnold and her daughter left the kitchen, Dan
entered, dragging a huge black bear-skin robe in one hand, and with a
string of bells jingling in the other.
Dan was rather more than six feet high; while Hagar stood just four feet
ten in her highest-heeled shoes. Dan was large and portly, with a glossy
black skin, and a little stoop in his shoulders; Hagar was straight as
an arrow, and held her head back pertly, like a quail when it walks the
spring turf. Dan had large feet, large hands, and was altogether a
little ponderous; Hagar was quick, wiry, and, to use Dan’s complimentary
way of expressing it, “sharp as a steel trap.”
Hagar suspected what her fellow-slave wanted, and kept on shaving off
slices of bread from the loaf with great diligence.
“Hagar, here is a great, long slit in the bear-skin. Master tore it agin
the stun wall. S’posing you jes take a needle and sew ’em up, ’cause
it’s going to be wanted now, I tell you.”
“I’se got more to ’tend to now than I’se likely to get along with,” said
Hagar, pushing aside the slices of bread, and sweeping the crumbs into
one hand with the palm of the other. “Who’s goin’ to help me, I should
like to know? There’s the fire to build in the out-room, and oven-wood
to get in, and pine-knots to split up. Who’s goin’ to help me, I say,
with all the family goin’ to meetin’ and every-which-way?”
“I’ll help you, Hagar. Who else has a right to that felicitation?” said
Dan, bending grandly over the little woman. “Only get your needle and
stitch up the little bit of a tear, jest to satisfy master, and see if I
don’t come up to the mark.”
Hagar dusted the crumbs from her hands, took a wooden needle poppet from
her bosom, which Dan recognized, with a broad smile, as his own gift,
selected a coarse needle, threaded it, and then explored the depths of
her pocket for a steel side-thimble. Thus equipped, she drew the
bear-skin on her lap, and soon put it in order.
“Now,” said Dan, coaxingly, “if you would jest touch up these ’ere bells
a trifle with a little brick-dust.”
“Touch ’em up yourself,” said Hagar, with a toss of her little head.
“Bells ain’t my work, nohow.”
“Yes,” said Dan, benignly; “scouring belongs to the women folks. How
often I’ve stood by to watch them ’ere hands of yourn a-sliding up and
down the knives! It ed be a shame for any other pusson to touch scouring
in this house. I’ve said so fifty times.”
“Well, take away the bear-skin and give me the bells. Mighty good care
you’ve taken on ’em.”
“Hagar,” said Dan, stooping low, and speaking in a bland, confidential
voice, “it’s beginning to snow. There’s half-an-inch on the ground this
minute.”
“Well, that’s no secret. I can see for myself.”
“Yes, Hagar; but I was thinking what’s sarse for the goose is sarse
for——”
“Oh, git away, Dan, and don’t talk poetry to me.”
“Wal, then, Hagar, if the rest on ’em are goin’ a-sleighing to-morrow,
why shouldn’t we?”
Hagar gave sure evidence that she was really smart as a steel trap. Her
eyes began to sparkle, her little figure erected itself.
“You don’t mean that ’ere, Dan!”
“Yes, I do. There’s the cutter that I painted a beautiful yaller only
last fall,—jest the dandy for us; then here’s the bear-skin,—you’ll sit
under it, Hagar, as snug and warm as a biscuit; and then them bells,—ah!
you’ve got to work at ’em—won’t they glisten and jingle? I’ll heat a
brick, and do it up in flannel for your feet. It needn’t be a large
brick for them feet, Hagar.”
“Oh, you git out with your soft soap,” cried the delighted Hagar, giving
her sable admirer a gentle push.
“Then,” continued Dan, magnificently, “as for the driving, perhaps I
don’t know how to make old Jack go! Gingle! crack! dash! here we go!
Snow-balls flying from the horse’s huffs, fences running away from us, a
jumper every-which-while in the road, the cutter going slap bang over
it. There, Hagar, that will do. They’re bright as a new dollar,—every
bell on ’em,—much obliged. Now, if you would just build that fire in the
out-room, while I get the cutter in order. If pine-knots are wanted,
you’ll find an axe at the back-door, with a beautiful barked log to lay
them agin. If master’ll only let me take the cutter and old Jack, we’ll
be sure to have that sleigh-ride.”
With this, Dan gathered up the robe and bells, made a motion with his
hand, threw an imaginary kiss high over Hagar’s head, and disappeared,
leaving the little negress in a state of hazy doubt whether Dan had been
putting all his work on her or not.
Now, in a fair battle of intellect or temper, Hagar was five times a
match for her fellow-slave; but then Dan seldom got into a temper, and
was sure to meet her acuteness with glozing flattery and that small
cunning which is often available where good sense fails. The great, tall
fellow absolutely believed that he was superior to the little steel
trap, because he usually prevailed over her. So Hagar went down on her
knees, and fanned the shovel full of live coals which lay in a heap of
glowing red under the pile of hickory wood she had crossed over the
tall, brass andirons. She pursed out her India-rubber cheeks into a pair
of bellows, relieving them with her linsey-woolsey apron, which she held
tight between her two hands. At last, a tongue of flame shot up the fine
splinters, and licked the delicate moss from the wood, till the cloud of
smoke turned into sheets of fire, which danced cheerily over the tall
andirons and brightened all the room.
As Hagar stood on the hearth, regarding her work, Mrs. Arnold and Hannah
came in, looking quite picturesque and beautiful. You might travel a
week anywhere and not find a more charming figure than Hannah exhibited
when she entered the room, with her bottle-green skirt, and crimson
short-gown trimmed with black gimp, and that fall of narrow ruffles
meeting at the throat and leaving the shapely neck free in its motions,
which were graceful as those of a canary-bird when it sings; calf-skin
shoes over black stockings, with long, crimson clocks at the ankles,
completed a costume that Hagar pronounced quite enhancing.
“Isn’t she nice, Hagar?” said Mrs. Arnold, smoothing the soft, brown
hair that lay rich and bright on each side the young girl’s head. “A
nice obedient girl, I mean?” she continued, blushing at the motherly
pride that broke forth in her words.
“Neat as a new pin,” chimed in Hagar, folding her arms, and facing round
to take a full survey. “If she don’t catch a beau this time, I lose my
guess.”
Hannah blushed, and smiled, and looked slyly at her mother, while Hagar
stood criticizing them both, with her head on one side, and both arms
reposing on her little chest.
“Am I too fine, Hagar?” said Mrs. Arnold, flushing a little at the idea;
“any thing wrong?”
“Wal, now, if the crown of that ’ere cap stood up a little higher
behind, kinder like a fan, you know, and the ribbon that goes round the
head was yallar, or blue, or red, instead of black, it ed be more
scrumptious, according to my notion. Then, if you’d make the pleats of
that ’ere muslin handkerchief fall open in front, jest enough to show
the string of gold beads, with a little more of the neck,—for it’s
almost as white as our Hannah’s arter all,—I shouldn’t find much fault.
The roll of that hair jest back from the forehead is handsome as a
picter; and then that brown-silk dress has got any amount of rustle in
it. Well, I can’t say as there is much fault to find. Now, jest set down
here, both on you, while I go and get the supper under way. Dan has got
to help me to-night, or I’ll know the reason why.”