A Romance of the Republic Part 20

A few hours after, she asked, with head averted from her attendant, "Has any one been here since I have been ill?"

Anxious to soothe the wounded heart as much as possible, Tulee answered: "Ma.s.sa Gerald come to ask how ye did; and when he went to Savannah, he left Tom and Chloe at the plantation to help me take care of ye."

She manifested no emotion; and after a brief silence she inquired for letters from Madame. Being informed that there were none, she expressed a wish to be bolstered up, that she might try to write a few lines to her old friend. Chloe, in reply, whispered something in her ear, which seemed to surprise her. Her cheeks flushed, the first time for many a day; but she immediately closed her eyes, and tears glistened on the long, dark lashes. In obedience to the caution of her nurses, she deferred any attempt to write till the next week. She remained very silent during the day, but they knew that her thoughts were occupied; for they often saw tears oozing through the closed eyelids.

Meanwhile, her friends in New Orleans were in a state of great anxiety. Mr. Fitzgerald had again written in a strain very similar to his first letter, but from Rosa herself nothing had been received.

"I don't know what to make of this," said Madame. "Rosa is not a girl that would consent to a secondary position where her heart was concerned."

"You know how common it is for quadroons to accede to such double arrangements," rejoined the Signor.

"Of course I am well aware of that," she replied; "but they are educated, from childhood, to accommodate themselves to their subordinate position, as a necessity that cannot be avoided. It was far otherwise with Rosa. Moreover, I believe there is too much of Grandpa Gonsalez in her to submit to anything she deemed dishonorable.

I think, my friend, somebody ought to go to Savannah to inquire into this business. If you should go, I fear you would get into a duel.

You know dear Floracita used to call you Signor Pimentero. But Mr.

Fitzgerald won't fight _me_, let me say what I will. So I think I had better go."

"Yes, you had better go. You're a born diplomate, which I am not,"

replied the Signor.

Arrangements were accordingly made for going in a day or two; but they were arrested by three or four lines from Rosa, stating that she was getting well, that she had everything for her comfort, and would write more fully soon. But what surprised them was that she requested them to address her as Madame Gonsalez, under cover to her mantuamaker in Savannah, whose address was given.

"That shows plainly enough that she and Fitzgerald have dissolved partnership," said Madame; "but as she does not ask me to come, I will wait for her letter of explanation." Meanwhile, however, she wrote very affectionately in reply to the brief missive, urging Rosa to come to New Orleans, and enclosing fifty dollars, with the statement that an old friend of her father's had died and left a legacy for his daughters. Madame had, as Floracita observed, a talent for arranging the truth with variations.

The March of the Southern spring returned, wreathed with garlands, and its pathway strewn with flowers. She gave warm kisses to the firs and pines as she pa.s.sed, and they returned her love with fragrant sighs.

The garden at Magnolia Lawn had dressed itself with jonquils, hyacinths, and roses, and its bower was a nest of glossy greenery, where mocking-birds were singing their varied tunes, moving their white tail-feathers in time to their music. Mrs. Fitzgerald, who was not strong in health, was bent upon returning thither early in the season, and the servants were busy preparing for her reception. Chloe was rarely spared to go to the hidden cottage, where her attendance upon Rosa was no longer necessary; but Tom came once a week, as he always had done, to do whatever jobs or errands the inmates required.

One day Tulee was surprised to hear her mistress ask him whether Mr. Fitzgerald was at the plantation; and being answered in the affirmative, she said, "Have the goodness to tell him that Missy Rosy would like to see him soon."

When Mr. Fitzgerald received the message, he adjusted his necktie at the mirror, and smiled over his self-complacent thoughts. He had hopes that the proud beauty was beginning to relent. Having left his wife in Savannah, there was no obstacle in the way of his obeying the summons.

As he pa.s.sed over the cottage lawn, he saw that Rosa was sewing at the window. He slackened his pace a little, with the idea that she might come out to meet him; but when he entered the parlor, she was still occupied with her work. She rose on his entrance, and moved a chair toward him; and when he said, half timidly, "How do you do now, dear Rosa?" she quietly replied, "Much better, I thank you. I have sent for you, Mr. Fitzgerald, to ask a favor."

"If it is anything in my power, it shall be granted," he replied.

"It is a very easy thing for you to do," rejoined she, "and very important to me. I want you to give me papers of manumission."

"Are you so afraid of me?" he asked, coloring as he remembered a certain threat he had uttered.

"I did not intend the request as any reproach to you," answered she, mildly; "but simply as a very urgent necessity to myself. As soon as my health will permit, I wish to be doing something for my own support, and, if possible, to repay you what you expended for me and my sister."

"Do you take me for a mean Yankee," exclaimed he indignantly, "that you propose such an account of dollars and cents?"

"I expressed my own wishes, not what I supposed you would require,"

replied she. "But aside from that, you can surely imagine it must be painful to have my life haunted by this dreadful spectre of slavery."

"Rosa," said he earnestly, "do me the justice to remember that I did not purchase you as a slave, or consider you a slave. I expended money with all my heart to save my best-beloved from misfortune."

"I believe those were your feelings then," she replied. "But let the past be buried. I simply ask you now, as a gentleman who has it in his power to confer a great favor on an unprotected woman, whether you will manumit me."

"Certainly I will," answered he, much discomposed by her cool business tone.

She rose at once, and placed the writing-desk before him. It was the pretty little desk he had given her for a birthday present.

He put his finger on it, and, looking up in her face, with one of his old insinuating glances, he said, "Rosa, do you remember what we said when I gave you this?"

Without answering the question, she said, "Will you have the goodness to write it now?"

"Why in such haste?" inquired he. "I have given you my promise, and do you suppose I have no sense of honor?"

A retort rose to her lips, but she suppressed it. "None of us can be sure of the future," she replied. "You know what happened when my dear father died." Overcome by that tender memory, she covered her eyes with her hand, and the tears stole through her fingers.

He attempted to kiss away the tears, but she drew back, and went on to say: "At that time I learned the bitter significance of the law, 'The child shall follow the condition of the mother.' It was not mainly on my own account that I sent for you, Mr. Fitzgerald. I wish to secure my child from such a dreadful contingency as well-nigh ruined me and my sister." She blushed, and lowered her eyes as she spoke.

"O Rosa!" he exclaimed. The impulse was strong to fold her to his heart; but he could not pa.s.s the barrier of her modest dignity.

After an embarra.s.sed pause, she looked up bashfully, and said, "Knowing this, you surely will not refuse to write it now."

"I must see a lawyer and obtain witnesses," he replied.

She sighed heavily. "I don't know what forms are necessary," said she.

"But I beg of you to take such steps as will make me perfectly secure against any accidents. And don't delay it, Mr. Fitzgerald. Will you send the papers next week?"

"I see you have no confidence in me," replied he, sadly. Then, suddenly dropping on his knees beside her, he exclaimed, "O Rosa, don't call me Mr. again. Do call me Gerald once more! Do say you forgive me!"

She drew back a little, but answered very gently: "I do forgive you, and I hope your innocent little wife will never regret having loved you; for that is a very bitter trial. I sincerely wish you may be happy; and you may rest a.s.sured I shall not attempt to interfere with your happiness. But I am not strong enough to talk much. Please promise to send those papers next week."

He made the promise, with averted head and a voice that was slightly tremulous.

"I thank you," she replied; "but I am much fatigued, and will bid you good morning." She rose to leave the room, but turned back and added, with solemn earnestness, "I think it will be a consolation on your death-bed if you do not neglect to fulfil Rosa's last request." She pa.s.sed into the adjoining room, fastened the door, and threw herself on the couch, utterly exhausted. How strange and spectral this meeting seemed! She heard his retreating footsteps without the slightest desire to obtain a last glimpse of his figure. How entirely he had pa.s.sed out of her life, he who so lately was _all_ her life!

The next day Rosa wrote as follows to Madame and the Signor:--

"Dearest and best friends,--It would take days to explain to you all that has happened since I wrote you that long, happy letter; and at present I have not strength to write much. When we meet we will talk about it more fully, though I wish to avoid the miserable particulars as far as possible. The preparations I so foolishly supposed were being made for me were for a rich Northern bride,--a pretty, innocent-looking little creature. The marriage with me, it seems, was counterfeit. When I discovered it, my first impulse was to fly to you.

But a strange illness came over me, and I was oblivious of everything for four months. My good Tulee and a black woman named Chloe brought me back to life by their patient nursing. I suppose it was wrong, but when I remembered who and what I was, I felt sorry they didn't let me go. I was again seized with a longing to fly to you, who were as father and mother to me and my darling little sister in the days of our first misfortune. But I was too weak to move, and I am still far from being able to bear the fatigue of such a journey. Moreover, I am fastened here for the present by another consideration. Mr. Fitzgerald says he bought us of papa's creditors, and that I am his slave. I have entreated him, for the sake of our unborn child, to manumit me, and he has promised to do it. If I could only be safe in New Orleans, it is my wish to come and live with you, and find some way to support myself and my child. But I could have no peace, so long as there was the remotest possibility of being claimed as slaves. Mr. Fitzgerald may not mean that I shall ever come to harm; but he may die without providing against it, as poor papa did. I don't know what forms are necessary for my safety. I don't understand how it is that there is no law to protect a defenceless woman, who has done no wrong. I will wait here a little longer to recruit my strength and have this matter settled. I wish it were possible for you, my dear, good mother, to come to me for two or three weeks in June; then perhaps you could take back with you your poor Rosa and her baby, if their lives should be spared. But if you cannot come, there is an experienced old negress here, called Granny Nan, who, Tulee says, will take good care of me.

I thank you for your sympathizing, loving letter. Who could papa's friend be that left me a legacy? I was thankful for the fifty dollars, for it is very unpleasant to me to use any of Mr. Fitzgerald's money, though he tells Tom to supply everything I want. If it were not for you, dear friends, I don't think I should have courage to try to live.

But something sustains me wonderfully through these dreadful trials.

Sometimes I think poor Chloe's prayers bring me help from above; for the good soul is always praying for me.

"Adieu. May the good G.o.d bless you both.

"Your loving and grateful

"ROSABELLA."

Week pa.s.sed after week, and the promised papers did not come. The weary days dragged their slow length along, unsoothed by anything except Tulee's loving care and Madame's cheering letters. The piano was never opened; for all tones of music were draped in mourning, and its harmonies were a funeral march over buried love. But she enjoyed the open air and the fragrance of the flowers. Sometimes she walked slowly about the lawn, and sometimes Tulee set her upon Thistle's back, and led him round and round through the bridle-paths. But out of the woods that concealed their nest they never ventured, lest they should meet Mrs. Fitzgerald. Tulee, who was somewhat proud on her mistress's account, was vexed by this limitation. "I don't see why ye should hide yerself from her," said she. "Yese as good as she is; and ye've nothin' to be shamed of."

"It isn't on my own account that I wish to avoid her seeing me,"

replied Rosa. "But I pity the innocent young creature. She didn't know of disturbing my happiness, and I should be sorry to disturb hers."