MISS NAN UNDERHILL
Just a few days later, Mrs. Odell came down for some advice and help,
for Janey was to be married. Her betrothed was a well-to-do young farmer
up in Sullivan County. He was coming down in August to go to the World's
Fair; and he wanted to be married and make a general holiday of it.
"I am not much judge of such matters; but Stephen's wife will go
shopping with you. I don't know what we should do without her," said
Mrs. Underhill.
That very morning two silver-embossed envelopes came for Miss Nan
Underhill. One schoolmate was to be married in church at noon, and go to
Niagara on a wedding journey. The other was an evening ceremony with a
reception afterward. Mr. James Underhill had an invitation to this also.
Was all the world getting married, or being engaged! Standing on the
threshold, Hanny shrank back in dismay. It was looking out of a tranquil
cloister into a great, unknown world; and it gave her a mysterious
shiver. She didn't feel safe and warm until she had dropped on her
father's knee, and had his strong, fond arms about her.
Dolly's party was a great success. The young people were invited to meet
Miss Nan Underhill. And Miss Nan wore her graduation dress and blue
ribbons. Blue gave her a sort of ethereal look; pink added a kind of
blossomy sweetness.
Dolly knew so many young folks. True, there were some older ones. Ben
and Delia came up for an hour. Dolly said they were old-fashioned
married people already. Hanny thought there didn't seem much difference,
only Ben had a new strange sort of sweetness. She was very fond of
Delia; and it was a delight to feel free to go down to Beach Street.
Peter and Paulus Beekman came; and they were nice, fine, rather stout
young men. Peter was a lawyer; he and Jim were quite friends. Paulus was
in shipping business.
"Oh," said Peter to Nan, "you look just as you did when you were a
little girl and used to come to grandfather's. Do you remember that
beautiful Angora cat? That was grandfather's sign. He always took to
people Katschina liked. And your hair hasn't grown any darker. I like
light hair. Aunt Dolly has such beautiful hair! And I'm glad you have
not grown up into a great, tall May-pole. I just adore little women.
When I marry, I am going to choose a 'bonnie wee thing,' like the wife
in the song."
Hanny flushed rosy red. Oh, why would people talk about being married,
and all that? And if Peter wouldn't look at her in just that way! It
gave her a touch of embarrassment.
But oh, they had a splendid time! Modern young people would have been
bored, and voted it "no spread at all." They played Proverbs, and What
is my thought like? and everybody tried to bring out their very best,
and be as bright and witty and joyous as possible. They had plain cake
and fancy cake, and a new kind of dainty crisp crackers; candies, nuts,
raisins, and mottoes, which were the greatest fun of all. Afterward,
some dancing with the Cheat quadrille, and it was so amusing to "cut
out," or run away and leave your partner with his open arms, and a blank
look of surprise on his face.
Doctor Joe came to take the little girl home; for he was quite sure Jim
would want to take some one else's sister.
"Aunt Dolly," said Peter, when he was going away without any girl at
all, though he had hoped to walk home with Hanny, "isn't Nan Underhill
just the sweetest little thing in the world? I don't wonder grandfather
liked her so. With that soft, indescribable hair, and her
eyes,--twilight eyes, some one put in a poem,--and that cunning dimple
when she smiles, and so dainty altogether. What made you say she was not
pretty?"
"Why, I said, she was not as handsome as Mrs. Hoffman."
"She suits me ten times better. She is like this,
"'A creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food.'"
Dolly repeated the talk and the verses to Stephen. "And Peter is such a
solid, steady-going fellow. He was really smitten."
"The idea! And with that child!"
Dolly laughed gaily. "I suppose when our girls get to be eighteen, you
will still think them children. Why, I wasn't quite fifty when you fell
in love with me!"
Fifty! How ridiculous it was to think of Dolly ever being fifty. Ah, it
is love alone that holds the secret of eternal youth!
"Well, I hope there won't any one be foolish over Hanny, in a long
while," said Stephen, decisively.
"Foolish!" repeated Dolly, in a tone of resentment. But then they both
laughed.
The Odell girls came down to make a two days' visit. They went up to the
Deans' to tea; and the two engaged girls strayed off by themselves, with
their arms about each other, and had confidences in which the masculine
pronoun played an important part. And poor Polly bewailed the prospect
of being left alone. If she had a brother like Jim, she wouldn't mind.
Jim's girls were a kind of standing amusement to the family. This was a
case where there was safety in numbers, Mrs. Underhill felt assured. If
she had known of the episode of Lily Ludlow, her confidence would have
been a little shaken. Jim was a general lover of the sex, and a
good-looking, entertaining young fellow is apt to be spoiled.
Just now he had a penchant for Daisy, who teased him, and was as
uncertain as an April shower. She and Hanny were inseparables. Jim took
them round to Dolly's, or down to Ben's, or to Mrs. Hoffman, who had a
new grand piano, and had refurnished her parlor, quite changing the
simplicity of her first wedded life. Through the winter, she had given
fortnightly receptions, that had an air and grace of the highest
refinement. You always met some of the best and the most entertaining
people. It was not a crush and a jam; but men and women really talked at
that period, and brought out their best. Knowledge was not at a
discount.
Young ladies came to call on Miss Underhill; and in the evenings, they
brought their brothers or admirers. When she knew of it beforehand, she
always had Daisy to help. Sometimes the whole party would go out for a
little walk, and have some cream or water ices. The city was still so
airy and open, you did not have to fly out of it at the first pleasant
day.
This summer, nearly everybody was staying at home, and waiting for the
big fair to open. Rooms at hotels and private houses were engaged; and
the plainer country people came in to visit. There would be crowds, of
course.
The Underhills had invited some of the elder relatives, since they had
plenty of room.
And on July 4th, this great event occurred. The President, Mr. Franklin
Pierce at that time, was the grand master of the occasion. Oh, what a
Fourth of July it was! The grounds were crowded. The military were out
in force; and the fireworks would have done credit to the empire of
China. Never had the city seen such a gala time; the Victory of Peace it
was called.
The men had it largely to themselves this day. It was more the
ceremonies, than the articles exhibited, that attracted attention. That
came later on.
There was a great influx of visitors in the city. The streets were
thronged; the stages were crowded. One wonders what they did without
electric cars. But numbers of people still kept carriages, and temporary
lodging-houses were erected in the vicinity of the Palace. It certainly
was a great thing for that day. And the interior, with its handsome
dome, its galleries, its arched naves, and broad aisles, had a striking
and splendid effect.
And, oh, the riches of the world that had contributed some of its
choicest treasures! There were many people who never expected to go to
Europe, and who were glad beyond measure to have it come to them. Here
was the largest collection of paintings and sculpture that had ever been
gathered in New York. Then, for the first time, we saw Powers' matchless
Greek slave, and Kiss' Amazon, and many another famous marble. There was
the row of the Apostles by the sculptor Thorwaldsen, about which there
was always a concourse of people; and some of the devout could almost
see them in the flesh.
We have had a Centennial since, and a famous White City, and almost any
day, in New York, you can see some famous pictures and statuary. Then
people run over to Europe, and study up the galleries, and write books
of exquisite descriptions; but it was not so at that time. There is the
grand Museum of Art near to where the old Palace stood; but all was new
then. We had not been surfeited with beauty; we had not had a flood of
art critics, praising or denouncing, and schools of this or that fad. It
is good for cities, as well as nations, that they should once be young,
and revel in the enchanting sense of freshness and delight.
Presently, it became a sort of regular thing to go,--a kind of
summer-day excursion. There were delightful walks and drives up above.
Bloomingdale was still a garden of sweetness. Riverside was unknown,
only as the beautiful bank of the Hudson. You went and carried your
lunch, or you found some simple cottage, where a country-woman dispensed
truly home-made bread, and delicious ham, and a glass of milk,
buttermilk on some days.
The remembrance of it to Hanny Underhill, through all her after years,
was as of a golden summer. The little knot of young people kept
together. When Josie Dean recovered somewhat, from the first transports
of her engagement, she proved very companionable. Charles, in his long
vacation, was quite at their service. Jim couldn't always be at liberty;
but he did get off pretty often. Sometimes Joe, sometimes Father
Underhill, chaperoned the party; but they were allowed to go by
themselves as well. Girl friends joined them; Peter Beekman, and even
Paulus, thought it a great thing to be counted in.
Oh, the wonderful articles! It was a liberal education. Sevres china,
Worcestershire with its wonderful tint, Wedgwood, Doulton, Cloisonnee,
some rare Italian; and the tragic stories of Palissy, of Josiah
Wedgwood, and Charles III. of Naples taking his secret to Spain; some
queer Chinese ware, and Delft and Dresden, until it seemed as if half
the genius of the world must have been expended in the exquisite
productions.
And then the laces, the gossamer fabrics, the silks and velvets, the
jewels, the elegant things from barbaric Russia, the wonders of the
Orient, the plainer exhibit of our own land rich in mechanical wonders,
the natural products, the sewing-machine that now could do the finest of
work, the miniature looms weaving, the queer South American and Mexican
fabrications, the gold from California,--well, it seemed as if one never
could see it all.
Hanny wondered why Peter Beekman should want to stay close by her when
Daisy was so bright and entertaining, and when there were other girls.
When he looked at her so earnestly her heart gave a great throb, her
cheeks burned, and she wanted to run away.
He wished she wasn't so shy and so ready to shelter herself under
Charlie's wing, or her father's, or Joe's. And when she felt really safe
she was so merry and enchanting!
It was a day in August, rather warm, to be sure; but Polly Odell had
come down just on purpose to go, "for now that Janey was married and
gone the house was too horrid lonesome!" They stopped for Josie. Doctor
Joe brought Daisy up in the afternoon, and they were all in the
picture-gallery, where they were ever finding something new. Perhaps
Polly had made big eyes at Peter; perhaps Peter liked her because she
talked so much about Hanny. Anyhow, they had rambled off way at one end.
Daisy was resting, and telling the doctor about some pictures in the
Berlin gallery. Hanny moved up and down slowly, not getting very far
away. She was fond of interiors, and the homely Dutch or French women
cooking supper, or tending a baby, or spinning. And there were two
kittens she had never seen before, scampering about an old kitchen where
a man in his shirt-sleeves had fallen asleep over his paper. It seemed
to her she could see them move.
A man of six or seven and twenty, young for his years, yet with a
certain stamp of the world and experience, went slowly along, glancing
at the visitors in a casual manner. Of course he would know Miss Jasper
and Dr. Underhill. It was like looking for a needle in a hay-stack; but
Mrs. Jasper had suggested the picture-gallery; and suddenly he saw a
small figure and fair face under a big leghorn hat full of wild roses
and green leaves. She was smiling at the playful kittens. Oh, it surely
was Miss Nan Underhill!
He came nearer; and she looked startled, as if she might fly. What a
delicious colour drenched her face!
"Oh, you surely haven't forgotten me!" he cried. "I should remember you
thousands of years, and I could pick you out of a world full of women."
"I--" Then she gave her soft little laugh, and the colour went
fluttering all over her face in a startled, happy manner. "But I
thought--"
"Did you think me a fixture in German wilds? Well, I am not. It's a
long, long story; but I have come over now for good, to be a true
American citizen all the rest of my days. The steamer arrived last
night; but I couldn't get off until nearly noon. Then I went to a hotel
and had some dinner, and came up to see Mrs. Jasper. She sent me here.
Where are the others?"
"Daisy is--" she glanced about--"oh, down there with my brother,--and
Miss Odell"--how queer that sounded!
"Let us stop here and rest until I get my breath and summon enough
fortitude to encounter them. You are dreadfully surprised, I see by your
face, I don't wonder. I must seem to you dropped from the clouds."
She wasn't a bit afraid, and sat down beside him. And she wondered if he
had married the German cousin and brought her over; but it was strange
not to mention her. It must be, however, if he was going to live in
America.
"Oh, do you remember that night and the Spanish dance? I have shut my
eyes and danced it ever so many times in memory. And you sent me
away,"--with a soft, untranslatable laugh.
"I--" She looked amazed. She seemed caught and held captive in the swirl
of some strange power. The colour fluttered up and down her sweet face,
and her eyelids drooped, their long, soft lashes making shadows.
"Yes, you said I ought to go; and I shall always be glad I went,"--in a
confident tone.
"Your cousin?" she said inquiringly, with no consciousness that a word
would swerve either way.
"Yes. You know I told you my father's wishes. That sort of thing doesn't
seem queer to continental people. But it was not so much his as the
aunt's,--the relation is farther back than that; but it serves the same
purpose. She had known about my father, and was desirous of being
friends. So after I was home about a week, and had confessed to my
father that the prospect of the marriage was not agreeable to me, he
still begged me to go."
Hanny looked almost as if she was disappointed. He smiled and resumed:--
"It is a lonely spot on the Rhine, not far from Ebberfeld. We will look
it up some day. I don't know how people can spend their lives in such
dreary places. I do not wonder my grandmother ran away with her brave
lover. The castle is fast going to ruins. There was a brother who wasted
a great deal of the patrimony before he died. The Baroness is the last
of her race. There is a poor little village at the foot of the mountain,
and some peasants who work the land; and then the cousin, who is
expected to rehabilitate the race by marrying a rich man."
"Yes." There was such a pretty, eager interest and pity in her eyes that
he smiled.
"She is six and twenty; tall, fair, with a sorrowful kind of face, that
has never been actually happy or pretty. Who could be happy in that
musty old rookery! The father, I believe, did very little for their
pleasure, but spent most of his time in town, wasting their little
substance."
"Oh, poor girl!" cried Hanny, thinking of her own father, so loving and
generous.
"She seemed to me almost as old as her mother. And then she told me her
troubles, poor thing, and I found her in heart and mind a sort of
inexperienced child. She has had a lover for two years; an enterprising
young man, who is superintendent of an iron mine some fifty miles
distant. It is the old story over again. I wish he had my grandfather's
courage and would run away with her. He has no title nor aristocratic
blood, and the mother will not consent. But I had made up my mind before
I went there, and even if I had been fancy free, I couldn't resign
myself to live in that old ruin."
"Oh, what will she do?"
"I advised her to run away." Herman Andersen laughed softly. "But I
think I persuaded them both to come to the city and visit my father.
They will find business isn't so shocking. They have lived in loneliness
until they know very little of the real world. The old castle is not
worth saving. Then I went home, and after a good deal of talking have
arranged my life in a way that is satisfactory to my father, and I hope
will be eminently so to myself. Some day I will tell you about that. Now
where shall we find the others?" and he rose.
"Daisy is down here." Hanny rose also; but she had a queer sort of
feeling, as if the world was turning round.
It seemed to Doctor Joe that he so rarely had a good talk with Daisy
now, that he would make the most of this opportunity. Jim was always
hovering about her. It was natural she should like the younger people.
He was like a very much older brother. She was looking pale and tired.
She could not stand continual dissipation. And while she often had a
brilliant color and Hanny very little, the latter possessed by far the
most endurance.
She liked to be alone with Doctor Joe. There was something restful and
inspiriting, as if she absorbed his generous, superabundant strength.
So they almost forgot about Hanny, or thought her with the others. And
now she came walking slowly down to them with a strange young man.
"Why, who can it be?" in a tone of surprised inquiry.
Daisy Jasper studied a moment. "Why, it looks like--no, it cannot
be--yes, it is Mr. Andersen."
"I thought he was in Germany."
Daisy looked puzzled. Then she sprang up with a quick colour and a smile
of pleasure, stretching out both hands.
"Oh, Miss Jasper!" and Mr. Andersen took her hands in a fervent clasp.
"Do you know this is going to be a red-letter day in my life,--one of
the happiest of days? Your mother sent me up here on a venture. First, I
found Miss Underhill, and now you. And one might go all over the world
and miss one's best friends. Ah, Dr. Underhill!"
A curious shock went over Dr. Underhill. He had to compel himself to
take the outstretched hand. For what had this young man "crossed the
seas?" He was not going to marry the cousin.
"But when did you come?" inquired Daisy. It was odd, but he took the
seat the other side of her, and Hanny was by Joe.
Then Mr. Andersen told his voyage all over again, and that he had come
for good. He was to take his father's money share in the house here, and
his father's was to be transferred to Paris, where one of the elderly
partners was in failing health and wished to retire.
"I am just delighted," exclaimed Daisy, enthusiastically. "If you would
only come and board at our house! There are some people going away.
Wouldn't it be splendid, Hanny?"
Hanny assented with a smile.
"I will see if I can find the others," said the doctor, rising and
looking at his watch. "Father was to drive up with the Surrey at
half-past five. Don't go away from here."
He walked slowly, looking a few moments in every room. Yes--there was
Charles. He caught his eye and beckoned.
The estrays soon rejoined the others. Then they went out to the
southern entrance, and so along to the gateway.
Yes, there was Mr. Underhill. He would take the four girls, and one
more, as he had a team. This was decided to be Mr. Andersen, as he was
to go to the Jaspers' to tea. The others would ride down in the stage.
The doctor said he must make a few calls. Mr. Beekman expressed his
intention of coming up in the evening, as Miss Odell was going to stay;
and Miss Odell's eyes shone with delight.
Daisy having a lover! Dr. Underhill had not felt alarmed about Jim's
attentions, he had so many fancies. But this young man--
Would it be best or wise for Daisy to marry? She appeared quite well,
but she was not strong, and there was a remnant of the old spinal
trouble that came out now and then in excruciating nervous headaches.
Somehow she had seemed his especial property since she had cried in his
arms with all the pain and suffering, and he had encouraged her to bear
the little more. He had meant always to stand her friend. It wasn't
likely he would marry, for he had seen no one yet that he wanted. But if
this child went out of his life! For, alas! the child had grown to
womanhood.