A Forest Hearth: A Romance of Indiana in the Thirties Part 26

"Do you see a resemblance in the miniature to--to any one you know?"

asked Billy Little.

"By George!" exclaimed Dic, holding the picture at arm's length, "Rita--her mouth, her eyes; the same name, too," and he kissed the miniature rapturously.

"Look here, young fellow," cried Billy Little. "Hand me that miniature.

You shan't be kissing all my female friends. By Jove! if she were to come over here, I'd drive you out of the settlement with a shot-gun, 'deed if I wouldn't. Now you will probably change your mind about unselfishly surrendering Rita to Williams. I tell you, Dic, a fool conscience is more to be dreaded than a knavish heart."

"You are always right, Billy Little, though, to tell you the truth, I had no intention whatever of surrendering Rita to any one," returned Dic.

"I know you hadn't. Of course I knew you could not even have spoken about it had you any thought that it might be possible."

A KISS AND A DUEL

CHAPTER XI

A KISS AND A DUEL

I shall not attempt to give you an account of Dic's numerous journeyings to Indianapolis. With no abatement in affection, the period of his visits changed from weekly to fortnightly, and then to monthly.

Meantime, Williams was adroitly plying his suit; and by convincing Rita that he had abandoned the role of lover for that of friend, he succeeded in regaining her confidence. As agent for his father's products, he had an office at Indianapolis, and large sums of money pa.s.sed through his hands. He and Tom became great cronies, for it was Williams's intention to leave no stone unturned, the turning of which might a.s.sist him in winning Rita. His pa.s.sion for the girl became almost desperate at times, and her unmistakable coldness added fuel to the flame. He well knew she did not love him; but, like many another mistaken man, he believed he could teach her that great lesson if she were his wife, and could not believe that she entertained either a serious or a lasting sentiment for so inferior a person as Diccon Bright. Williams had invariably found smooth sailing with other young ladies; and head winds in Rita's case caused the harbor to appear fairer than any other for which he had ever trimmed his sails.

Soon after Rita's entrance into Indianapolis society she became popular with the fair s.e.x and admired of the unfair; that condition, in my opinion, being an unusual triumph for any young woman. To that end Williams was of great a.s.sistance. A rich, cultured society man of Boston was sure to cut a great figure among the belles and mothers of a small frontier town. The girl whom Williams delighted to honor necessarily a.s.sumed importance in the eyes of her sisters. In most cases they would have disliked her secretly in direct ratio to the cube of their outward respect; but Rita was so gentle and her beauty was so exquisite, yet una.s.sertive, that the girl soon numbered among her friends all who knew her. There were the Tousy and the Peasly girls, the Wright girls and the Morrisons, to say nothing of the Smiths, Browns, and Joneses, many of whom were the daughters of cultured parents. If any one nowadays believes that Indianapolis--little spot in the wilderness though it was--lacked refined society during the thirties, he is much mistaken.

Servants were scarce, and young ladies of cultured homes might any day be called upon to cook the dinner or the supper, and afterward to "do up" the work; but they could leave the kitchen after preparing a good meal, walk into the parlor and play Beethoven and Mozart with credit to themselves and their instructors, and pleasure to their audience. They could leave the piano and discuss Shakespeare, Addison, d.i.c.k Steele, Provost, and Richardson; and, being part of the immutable feminine, could also discuss their neighbors upon occasion, and speak earnestly upon the serious subject of frocks and frills. As to beauty--but that is a benediction granted to all times and places, creating more or less trouble everywhere.

The Tousy girls, having wealth, beauty, and numbers--there were five of them, ranging in years from fifteen to twenty-five--led the social march; and they at once placed the stamp of unqualified approval upon our little country girl from Blue. The eldest of the Tousy brood was, of course, Miss Tousy; then came Sue, Kate, and the others, both of whom, naturally, had names of their own. Miss Tousy will soon make her appearance again in these pages for a short time. Her own romance I should like to tell you some day.

The firm of Fisher and Fox thrived famously during the first few months of their partnership, and that Tom might not be ashamed of Rita when in society, Mrs. Bays consented that she should have some new gowns, hats, and wraps. All this fine raiment pleased Dic for Rita's sake, and troubled him for his own.

The first he saw of the new gowns was on a certain bright Sunday afternoon in spring. Rita's heart had been divided between two desires: she longed to tell Dic in her letters of her beautiful new gowns, but she also wished to surprise him. By a masterful effort she took the latter course, and coming downstairs after dinner upon the Sunday mentioned she burst suddenly upon Dic in all her splendor. Her delight was so intense that she could not close her lips for smiling, and Dic was fairly stunned by her grandeur and beauty. She turned this way and that, directing him to observe the beautiful tints and the fashionable cut of her garments, and asked him if the bonnet with its enormous "poke," filled with monster roses, was not a thing of beauty and a joy so long as it should last. Dic agreed with her, and told her with truth that he had never seen a fashion so sweet and winsome. Then he received his reward, after being cautioned not to disturb the bonnet, and they started out for a walk in the sunshine.

Dic's garments were good enough,--he had bought them in New York,--but Rita's outfit made his clothes look poor and rusty. Ever since her residence in Indianapolis he had felt the girl slipping away from him, and this new departure in the matter of dress seemed to be a further departure in the matter of Rita. In that conclusion he was wrong. The girl had been growing nearer to him day by day. Her heart belonged to him more entirely than it had even on the banks of Blue, and she longed for the sycamore divan and the royal canopy of elm. Still, she loved her pretty gowns.

"I am almost afraid of you," said Dic, when he had closed the gate and was taking his place beside her for the walk.

"Why?" asked Rita, delightedly. Her heart was full of the spring and Dic; what more could she desire?

"Your gown, your bonnet, your dainty shoes, your gloves, your beauty, all frighten me," said Dic. "I can't believe they belong to me. I can't realize they are mine."

"But they are," she said, flashing up to him a laughing glance from her eyes. "My new gown should not frighten you."

"But it does," he returned, "and you, too."

"I am glad if I frighten you," she answered, while lacing her gloves. "I have been afraid of you long enough. It is your turn now."

"You have been afraid of me?" asked Dic in surprise.

"Yes," she returned quite seriously. "I have always been slightly afraid of you, and I hope I always shall be. The night of Scott's social I was simply frightened to death, and before that night for a long, long time I was in constant fear of you. I was afraid you would speak of--you know--and I was afraid you would not. I did not know what terrible catastrophe would happen if you did speak, and I did not know what would happen to me if you did not. So you see I have always been afraid of you," she said laughingly.

"Why, Rita, I would not harm a hair of your head."

"Of course not. I did not fear you in that way. You are so strong and big and masterful; that is what frightens me. Perhaps I enjoy fearing you just a bit."

"But you are so much grander than I," returned Dic, "that you seem to be farther from me than ever before."

"Farther?" she asked in surprise.

"Yes, you seem to be drifting from me ever since you came to Indianapolis," he returned.

"Ah, Dic, I have been feeling just the reverse," and her eyes opened wide as she looked into his without faltering. There was not a thought in all their gentle depths she would not gladly have him know. A short silence ensued, during which she was thinking rapidly, and her thoughts produced these remarkable words:--

"You should have taken me long ago." Dic wondered how he might have taken her; but failing to discover any mistake, he went on:--

"I am going to New York again this spring and,--and you will be past eighteen when I return. You can then marry me without your mother's consent, if you will. Will you go home with me when I return?"

The eyes and the face were bent toward the ground, but the lips whispered distinctly, "Yes, Dic," and that young man bitterly regretted the publicity of their situation.

Soon our strollers met other young persons, and Dic was presented. All were dressed in holiday attire, and the young man from Blue felt that his companion and her friends outshone him completely. Rita was proud of him, and said as much in reply to Dic's remark when they resumed their walk.

"You might come to see me during the week, when the stores are open,"

she said, "and you might buy one of the new-fashioned hats. If you can afford it, you might order a long coat for Sunday. Polished shoes would look well, too; but I am satisfied with you as you are. I only suggest these purchases because you seem to feel uncomfortable."

After Rita's suggestion he did feel uncomfortable. He had earned no money since his return from New York, and Rita's fine feathers had been purchased by the proceeds of his twenty-six hundred dollars invested in her father's business. Therefore, hat, coat, and shoes were not within his reach unless he should go into debt, and that he had no thought of doing.

With her husband's increasing prosperity, Mrs. Bays grew ever more distant in her manner toward Dic. Rita, having once learned that rebellion did not result in instant death to her or to her parent, had taken courage, and governed her treatment of Williams by her mother's conduct toward Dic. Therefore Justice, though stern, was never insulting.

After Rita's suggestion bearing upon the coat, Dic, though ardently desiring to see her, dreaded to go to Indianapolis, and at that time his visits became monthly, much to Rita's grief. She complained in her letters, and her gentle reproaches were pathetic and painful to Dic.

Tom frequently visited the old home, and, incidentally, Sukey Yates, upon whom his city manner and fashionable attire made a tremendous impression. Returning home from his visits to Sukey, Tom frequently spoke significantly of Dic's visits to that young lady's ciphering log, and Rita winced at her brother's words, but said nothing. Miss Yates probably multiplied the number of Dic's visits by two or more in speaking of them to Tom, having in mind the double purpose of producing an effect upon that young man and also upon his sister. But there was too much truth in her boasting, since our hero certainly submitted himself to Sukey's blandishments and placed himself under the fatal spell of her dimples with an increasing frequency which was to be lamented. Especially was it lamented by Billy Little. Sukey was so perfect a little specimen of the human animal, and her heart was so p.r.o.ne to tenderness, that she became, upon intimate acquaintance, the incarnation of that condition into which the right sort of people pray kind Providence to lead them not. The neighborhood gossips and prophets freely predicted that Rita would marry Williams, in which case it was surmised Miss Yates would carry her dimples into the Bright family. This theory Sukey encouraged by arch glances and shy denials.

Tom had become a great dandy, and considered himself one of the commercial features of the Indiana metropolis. He would have his old home friends, including Sukey, believe that he directed the policy of Fisher and Fox, and that he was also the real business brain in the office of Roger Williams, where he occupied the position of confidential clerk. He was of little real value to Williams, save in the matter of wooing Tom's sister. Tom knew that he held his clerkship only by the tenure of Rita's smiles, and Williams, by employing him, gained an ally not at all to be despised.

On a certain Monday morning, after Rita had the day previous shown marked preference to Dic, Williams said:--

"Tom, father orders me to cut down expenses, and I fear I shall be compelled to begin with your salary. I regret the necessity, but the governor's orders are imperative. We will let it stand as it is for this month and will see what can be done afterward."

This gentle hint was not lost on Thomas. He went home that day to dinner, and Rita felt the heavy hand of her brother's displeasure.

"You are the most selfish, ungrateful girl living," said Tom, who honestly thought his fair sister had injured him. Tom's sense of truth, like his mother's, ran parallel to his wishes.

"Why?" asked Rita, wonderingly. Had the earth slipped from its axis, Tom and his mother would have placed the blame on Rita.

"Why?" repeated Tom. "Because you know I have a good position with Williams. He pays me a better salary than any one else would give me; yet you almost insulted him yesterday and went off for a walk with that country jake."

"Isn't Dic your friend?" asked Rita.