FAMILY MYSTERIES
Mondreer was one of the finest old places on the western shore of
Maryland. The estate covered fifteen hundred acres of richly cultivated,
heavily wooded and well-watered land, running back from the Chesapeake.
The manor house stood upon rising ground, facing the east, and commanding
a fine sea view in front, while it was sheltered on the north and west by
a heavy growth of trees.
Mondreer had been in the possession of the Forces from the year 1634, when
Aaron Force came over with the flower of the British Catholic gentry who,
with Leonard Calvert, founded the province of Maryland.
They had prospered in every generation, and now owned more land and money
than they had possessed when they first settled on the soil.
Although there was no entail of the manor, yet the estate had, as a matter
of custom, always come down through the eldest son of the family, though
all the younger sons and daughters were almost equally well provided for.
Usually the Forces had married among their own people, according to the
time-honored custom of the country. Indeed, they had invariably done so up
to the present generation, when young Abel Force was master of Mondreer.
Great, therefore, was the consternation of the whole community when the
heir of Mondreer, the handsomest, the wealthiest and the most accomplished
among the young men of the county, if not of the whole State, instead of
marrying some cousin or companion whom everybody knew all about, had,
while on his travels abroad, forgotten all the venerable traditions of his
native place, and "gone and wedded a stranger and foreigner" whom no one
knew, or could find out anything about, except that she was as handsome as
Juno, as haughty as Lucifer, and as poor as Lazarus.
However, as soon as it was ascertained that the newly married couple were
quite established at Mondreer, the county people began to call on
them--some from curiosity, some from etiquette, some from neighborly
kindness, others because Mondreer was one of the pleasantest houses in the
world to visit, and many from a mixture of several or of all these
motives.
And every one who went to see the bride came back with such accounts of
her grace, her beauty and her elegance that she became the standing theme
of conversation at all the tea tables and bar rooms of the county.
They were certainly a very handsome couple. He was a tall, finely formed,
stately man, with a Roman profile, brown complexion, dark eyes and
jet-black hair and beard. She was a tall, elegant and graceful blonde,
with Grecian features, a blooming complexion, dark blue eyes, and rich,
sunny, golden-brown hair.
Theirs had evidently been a love match--a real, poetic, romantic,
sentimental love match of the oldest-fashioned pattern.
He thought that he had found in her the very pearl, or rose, or star of
womanhood--and so even thought many other men, when basking in her smiles,
to be sure.
She thought that she had discovered in him the man of men.
In a word, they really adored one another. Each lived only for the other.
Each would have suffered or died to save the other a single pang.
Even when, in time, children came to them, though they loved the little
ones with more than usual parental affection, yet they loved them less
than they loved each other.
Yet, with everything to make them blessed, it was cautiously whispered in
the neighborhood that the household of Mondreer was not a happy one; that
the beautiful mistress was subject to occasional periods of such profound
depression--such intense gloom--as filled her husband's heart with alarm,
and shadowed even her physician's mind with forebodings that these
symptoms indicated the approach of that worst and most hopeless form of
mental disease, melancholia.
Her devoted husband often proposed to take her, during the summer, to
Saratoga or Newport; or, during the winter, to Washington or to Baltimore;
he even urged her at all times to let him take her to Europe. But she
firmly objected to leaving Mondreer, insisting that she was happier there
than she could be anywhere else.
And, in truth, as years passed on, and children came, her melancholy
seemed gradually to wear off, until in time it wholly disappeared.
Three children were born to them--all girls.
Odalite, the eldest, was thought to resemble both parents, having the
Grecian profile and the fair complexion of her mother, and the black eyes
and black hair of her father.
Wynnette, the second girl, was a perfect brunette, with a saucy snub nose,
brown complexion, and black eyes and black hair.
Elfrida, or Elva, was all her mother--a faultless blonde--with fair
complexion, blue eyes, and golden-brown hair.
Failing male heirs, Odalite, the eldest daughter of the house, would, not
from any law of primogeniture, but merely by the custom of the country, be
the heiress of the manor, though Wynnette and Elva would be very well
endowed.
Very early in his married life, while his eldest daughter was still a babe
in arms, and his younger ones were not yet in existence, Abel Force had
been intrusted with the guardianship of a five-year-old boy--young
Leonidas Force, the orphan son of his second cousin of the same name.
When several years had passed, and all hope of a male heir to send on the
name with his old ancestral manor had faded away, it became the dearest
wish of Abel Force's heart to unite his eldest daughter and his orphan
cousin in marriage, so that Mondreer should not pass into another family.
With this object in view, he encouraged the affection that soon began to
show itself between the boy and girl who were being brought up and
educated in his home together.
He even sought to lead them to believe that they were destined for each
other.
It is true that such a plan very seldom succeeds, perhaps not more than
once in a hundred times, since the boy and girl so trained will, through
the very perversity of human nature, if from no other cause, fall in love
with any other boy or girl whom he or she may happen to meet, rather than
with each other.
But in the case of these two young ones, Leonidas and Odalite, the plan
succeeded to perfection.
The two children were attracted to each other, grew very fond of each
other, became inseparable companions--seemed to have but one life between
them.
Even total strangers, who knew nothing whatever of the family arrangements
in regard to these children, observing their devotion to each other, would
say:
"This boy and girl were made for one another. It would be a sin ever to
part them. They are a perfect pair."
And Abel Force would smile and say nothing.
No one objected to his plan. But the faithful guardian, in justice to his
ward, would not allow him to grow up with the demoralizing anticipation of
marrying an heiress to live on her fortune.
After the boy had passed out of the hands of the family governess, and had
taken a course in Charlotte Hall College, his guardian called on him to
make choice of some profession.
Le unhesitatingly chose the navy.
So, after some considerable trouble and expense, Mr. Force succeeded in
getting the youth sent to the Naval Academy at Annapolis.
It happened about the same time that Abel Force was elected as a State
senator, and went with his family to spend the winter in the State
capital. So the young people were not separated. The end of the
legislative session was, also, so near the commencement of the long
summer's vacation of the Naval Academy, that Mr. Force, with his family,
always remained over in the city for the exercises, at the close of which
he took his ward with him to Mondreer.
This habit continued year after year, until Leonidas Force had completed
his course at the academy, and had graduated with honors.
Then he accompanied his guardian and the family home for the last time, to
spend a brief leave of absence before starting on his first long sea
voyage.
Leonidas was now about eighteen years of age, and Odalite about thirteen.
During that short visit home the two young people became more inseparable
companions than ever.
That they were destined for each other was well known to everybody, and so
well understood by themselves that no formal word on the subject was
spoken between them, or thought necessary to be spoken.
They seemed to know and feel that they belonged to each other forever and
ever.
Only when the day of parting came--of parting "for three eternal years,"
as they put it in their despair--Odalite cried as if her heart would
break, and refused to be comforted; and Midshipman Leonidas Force, U. S.
N., disgraced his uniform by crying a little for company. But then, "the
bravest are the tenderest."
This was just three years before the opening of our story.
After their separation the young pair corresponded as frequently as
possible under the circumstances.
Their letters were not love letters, in the usual acceptation of that
term. They were frank, outspoken, affectionate letters, such as might have
passed between a brother and sister who loved one another faithfully, and
knew no fonder ties; letters which Odalite read with delight to father and
mother, governess and sisters.
All went on in this way for the first two years.
The third year was an eventful one in the destiny of the young pair.
Early in the spring of that year occurred the death of Miss Laura Notley,
a very aged lady, great-aunt of young Leonidas Force, to whom by will she
left her large plantation, known as Greenbushes, appointing Mr. Abel Force
trustee of the estate during the minority of the heir.
This rich inheritance constituted the young midshipman a much more
eligible _parti_ for the youthful heiress of Mondreer than he had
previously been considered.
Even Mrs. Force acknowledged that she was satisfied as she had never quite
been before this.
The two plantations of Mondreer and Greenbushes joined, both fronting on
the bay, and together would form perhaps the richest estate in the
commonwealth.
And now, when Leonidas should return from his voyage, he might resign from
the navy, and, as he would by that time have reached his majority, he
might marry Odalite, after which the young couple might take up their
residence at Greenbushes and live there during the lifetime of their
parents.
This would certainly be a most delightful arrangement for all parties.
Letters were promptly written to Leonidas, both by his guardian and by his
sweetheart, informing him of his good fortune and congratulating him on
his happy prospects.
Odalite, in her crazy letter, wrote:
"I am so wild with delight that I am dancing when I am not writing, and
the reason why is this--that now you need never go to sea again, and we
shall never, never, never part more this side of heaven!
"You will give up your profession, but you need not be idle. You must not
be, father says. You must look after the plantation, which has been
neglected during the dear old lady's life; you must reclaim the worn-out
soil; farm the land on scientific principles, with the aid of chemistry
and machinery and things, and improve the stock by importing new
what's-er-names. Oh, you will have plenty to do to keep you from moldering
away alive, if you look after your estate as father does after his.
"And neither shall I be idle. I shall look after the house, the servants,
the kitchen, the dairy, the poultry yard and the garden, as mother--no--as
mother does not look after hers--but, then, I am a plain, country girl,
and mamma is a grand duchess, or she ought to be. I must now stop to
dance. I can't keep still any longer. When I have done dancing I will
finish this letter."
The remainder of Odalite's epistle need not be quoted. It may be guessed.
Every one was perfectly satisfied. No one dreamed of suggesting or even
desiring the slightest change in these perfect arrangements.
The spring passed in delightful anticipations.