Part 4 (1/2)
”Rather pretty, more character than Katy, but odd, and self-willed, with no kind of style.”
This was Wilford's running comment on Helen as he took her in from the plain arrangement of her dark hair to the fit of her French calico and the cut of her linen Collar.
Fas.h.i.+onable dress would improve her very much, he thought, turning from her with a feeling of relief to Katy, whom nothing could disfigure, and who was now watching the door eagerly for the entrance of her mother.
That lady had spent a good deal of time at her toilet, and she came in at last, flurried, fidgety, and very red, both from exercise and the bright-hued ribbons streaming from her cap and sadly at variance with the color of her dress. Wilford noticed the discrepancy at once, and noticed too how little style there was about the nervous woman greeting him so deferentially and evidently regarding him as something infinitely superior to herself. Wilford had looked with indifference upon Helen, but it would take a stronger word to express his opinion of the mother.
Had he come accidentally upon her without ever having met with Katy, he would have regarded her as a plain, common country woman, who meant well if nothing more; but now, alas! with Katy in the foreground, he was weighing her in a far different balance and finding her sadly wanting.
He had not seen Aunt Hannah, nor yet Aunt Betsy, for they were in the kitchen, making the last preparations for the dinner to which Morris was to remain. He was in the parlor now and in his presence Wilford felt more at ease, more as if he had found an affinity. Uncle Ephraim was not there, having eaten his bowl of milk and gone back to his stone wall, so that upon Morris devolved the duties of host, and he courteously led the way to the little dining-room, which Wilford confessed was not uninviting, with its clean floor and walls, and the table so loaded with the good things Aunt Hannah had prepared, burning and browning her wrinkled face, which nevertheless smiled pleasantly upon the stranger presented as Mr. Cameron.
About Aunt Hannah there was something naturally ladylike, and Wilford saw it; but when it came to Aunt Betsy, of whom he had never heard, he felt for a moment as if by being there in such promiscuous company he had somehow fallen from the Cameron's high estate. By way of pleasing the girls and doing honor to their ”beau,” as she called Wilford, Aunt Betsy had donned her very best attire, wearing the slate-colored pongee dress, bought twenty years before, and actually sporting a set of Helen's cast off hoops, which being quite too large for the dimensions of her scanty skirt, gave her anything but the stylish appearance she intended.
”Oh, auntie!” was Katy's involuntary exclamation, while Helen bit her lip with vexation, for the hoop had been an after thought to Aunt Betsy just before going in to dinner.
But the good old lady never dreamed of shocking any one with her attempts at fas.h.i.+on; and curtseying very low to Mr. Cameron, she hoped for a better acquaintance, and then took her seat at the table, just where each movement could be distinctly seen by Wilford, scanning her so intently as scarcely to hear the reverent words with which Morris asked a blessing upon themselves and the food so abundantly prepared. They could hardly have gotten through that first dinner without Morris, who adroitly tried to divert Wilford's mind from what was pa.s.sing around him. But with all his vigilance he could not prevent his hearing Aunt Betsy as, in an aside to Helen, she denounced the heavy fork she was awkwardly trying to use, first expressing her surprise at finding it by her plate instead of the smaller one to which she was accustomed.
”The land! if you didn't borry Morris' forks! I'd as soon eat with the toastin' iron,” she said, in a tone of distress, but Helen's foot touching hers warned her to keep silence, which she did after that, and the dinner proceeded quietly, Wilford discovering ere its close that Mrs. Lennox, now that she was more composed, had really some pretensions to a lady, while Helen's dress and collar ceased to be obnoxious, as he watched the play of her fine features and saw her eyes kindle as she took a modest part in the conversation when it turned on books and literature.
Meanwhile Katy kept very still, her cheeks flus.h.i.+ng and her eyes cast down whenever she met Wilford's gaze; but when, after dinner was over and Morris had gone, she went with him down to the sh.o.r.e of the pond, her tongue was loosed, and Wilford found again the little fairy who had so bewitched him a few weeks before. And yet there was a load upon his mind--a shadow made by the actual knowledge that between Katy's family and his there was a gulf which never could be crossed by either party.
He might bear Katy over, it was true, but would she not look longingly back to the humble home, and might he not sometimes be greatly chagrined by the sudden appearing of some one of this old-bred family who did not seem to realize how ignorant they were, how far below him in the social scale? Poor Wilford! he winced and s.h.i.+vered when he thought of Aunt Betsy, in her antiquated pongee, and remembered that she was a near relative of the little maiden sporting so playfully around him, stealing his heart away in spite of family pride, and making him more deeply in love than ever. It was very pleasant down by the pond, and Wilford, who liked staying there better than at the house, kept Katy with him until the sun was going down and they heard in the distance the tinkle of a bell as the deacon's cows plodded slowly homeward. Supper was waiting for them, and with his appet.i.te sharpened by his walk, Wilford found no cause of complaint against Aunt Hannah's viands, though he smiled mentally as he accepted the piece of apple pie Aunt Betsy offered him, saying by way of recommendation that ”she made the crust but Catherine peeled and sliced the apples.”
The deacon had not returned from his work, and so Wilford did not see him until he came suddenly upon him, seated in the woodshed door, was.h.i.+ng his feet after the labor of the day. Ephraim Barlow was a man to command respect, and to a certain extent Wilford recognized the true worth embodied in that unpolished exterior. He did not, however, see much of him that night, for, as the deacon said, apologetically: ”The cows is to milk and the ch.o.r.es all to do, for I never keep no boy,” and when at last the ch.o.r.es were done the clock pointed to half-past eight, the hour for family wors.h.i.+p. Unaccustomed as Wilford was to such things, he felt the influence of the deacon's voice as he read from the Word of G.o.d, and involuntarily found himself kneeling when Katy knelt, noticing the deacon's grammar, it is true, but still listening patiently to the rather lengthy prayer which included him as well as the rest of mankind.
There was no chance of seeing Katy alone, and so full two hours before his usual custom Wilford retired to the little room to which the deacon conducted him, saying as he put down the lamp: ”You'll find it pretty snug quarters, I guess, for such a close, muggy night as this, but if you can't stand it you must lie on the floor.”
And truly they were snug quarters, Wilford thought; but there was no alternative, and a few moments found him in the center of two feather beds, neither Helen nor Katy having discovered the addition made by Aunt Betsy, and which came near being the death of the New York guest, who, wholly unaccustomed to feathers, was almost smothered in them, besides being nearly melted. To sleep was impossible, as the September night was hot and sultry, and never for a moment did Wilford lose his consciousness or forget to accuse himself of being an idiot for coming into that heathenish neighborhood after a wife when at home there were so many girls ready and waiting for him.
”I'll go back to-morrow morning,” he said, and, striking a match, he read in his Railway Guide when the first train pa.s.sed Silverton, feeling comforted to think that only a few hours intervened between him and freedom.
But alas! for Wilford. He was but a man, subject to man's caprices, and when next morning he met Katy Lennox, looking in her light muslin as pure and fair as the white blossoms twined in her wavy hair, his resolution began to waver. Perhaps there was a decent hotel in Silverton; he would inquire of Dr. Grant; at all events he would not take the first train as he had intended doing; and so he stayed, eating fried apples and beefsteak, but forgetting to criticise, in his appreciation of the rich thick cream poured into his coffee, and the sweet, golden b.u.t.ter, which melted in soft waves upon the flakey rolls.
Again Uncle Ephraim was absent, having gone to the mill before Wilford left his room, nor was he visible to the young man until after dinner, for Wilford did not go home, but drove instead with Katy in the carriage which Morris sent around, excusing himself from coming on the plea of being too busy, but saying he would join them at tea, if possible.
Wilford's mind was not yet fully made up, so he concluded to remain another day and see more of Katy's family. Accordingly, after dinner, he bent his energies to read them all, from Helen down to Aunt Betsy, the latter of whom proved the most transparent of the four. Arrayed again in the pongee, but this time without the hoop, she came into the parlor, bringing her calico patchwork, which she informed him was pieced in the ”herrin' bone pattern” and intended for Katy; telling him, further, that the feather bed on which he slept was also a part of ”Catherine's setting out,” and was made from feathers she picked herself, showing him as proof a mark upon her arm, left there by the gray goose, which had proved a little refractory when she tried to draw a stocking over its head.
Wilford groaned, and Katy's chance for being Mrs. Cameron was growing constantly less and less as he saw more and more how vast was the difference between the Barlows and himself. Helen, he acknowledged, was pa.s.sable, though she was not one whom he could ever introduce into New York society; and he was wondering how Katy came to be so unlike the rest, when Uncle Ephraim came up from the meadow, and announced himself as ready now to visit, apologizing for his apparent neglect, and seeming so absolutely to believe that his company was, of course, desirable, that Wilford felt amused, wondering again what Juno, or even Mark Ray, would think of the rough old man, sitting with his chair tipped back against the wall, and going occasionally to the outside door to relieve himself of his tobacco juice, for chewing was one of the deacon's weaknesses. His pants were faultlessly clean, and his vest was b.u.t.toned nearly up to his throat, but his coat was hanging on a nail out by the kitchen door, and, to Katy's distress and Wilford's horror, he sat among them in his s.h.i.+rt sleeves, all unconscious of harm or of the disquiet awakened in the bosom of the young man, who on that point was foolishly fastidious, and who showed by his face how much he was annoyed. Not even the presence of Morris, who came in about tea time, was of any avail to lift the cloud from his brow, and he seemed moody and silent until supper was announced. This was the first opportunity Morris had had of trying his powers of persuasion upon the deacon, and now, at a hint from Katy, he said to him in an aside, as they were pa.s.sing into the dining-room: ”Suppose, Uncle Ephraim, you put on your coat for once. It is better than coming to the table so.”
”Pooh,” was Uncle Ephraim's innocent rejoinder, spoken loudly enough for Wilford to hear, ”I don't need it an atom. I shan't catch cold, for I am used to it; besides that, I never could stand the racket this hot weather.”
In his simplicity he did not even suspect Morris' motive, but imputed it wholly to his concern lest he should take cold. And so Wilford Cameron found himself seated next to a man who willfully trampled upon all rules of etiquette, shocking him in his most sensitive parts, and making him thoroughly disgusted with the country and country people generally. All but Morris and Katy--he did make an exception in their favor, leaning most to Morris, whom he admired more and more as he became better acquainted with him, wondering how he could content himself to settle down quietly in Silverton, when he would surety die if compelled to live there for a week. Something like this he said to Dr. Grant when that evening they sat together in the handsome parlor at Linwood, for Morris kindly invited him to spend the night with him:
”I stay at Silverton, first, because I think I can do more good here than elsewhere, and, secondly, because I really like the country and the country people, for, strange and uncouth as they may seem to you, who never lived among them, they have kinder, truer hearts beating beneath their rough exteriors, than are often found in the city.”
This was Morris' reply, and in the conversation which ensued Wilford Cameron caught glimpses of a n.o.bler, higher phase of manhood than he had thought existed, feeling an unbounded respect for one who, because he believed it to be his duty, was, as it seemed to him, wasting his life among people who could not appreciate his character, though they might idolize the man. But this did not reconcile Wilford one whit the more to Silverton. Uncle Ephraim had completed the work commenced by the two feather beds, and at the breakfast, spread next morning in the coziest of breakfast-rooms, he announced his intention of returning to New York that day. To this Morris offered no objection, but asked to be remembered to the mother, the sisters, and little Jamie, and then invited Wilford to stop altogether at Linwood when he came again to Silverton.
”Thank you; but it is hardly probable that I shall be here very soon,”
Wilford replied, adding, as he met the peculiar glance of Morris' eye: ”I found Miss Katy a delightful traveling acquaintance, and on my way from Newport thought I would renew it and see a little of rustic life.”
Poor Katy! how her heart would have ached could she have heard those words and understood their meaning, just as Morris did, feeling a rising indignation for the man with whom he could not be absolutely angry, he was so self-possessed, so pleasant and gentlemanly, while better than all, was he not virtually giving Katy up? and if he did, might she not turn at last to him?