Family Pride Or Purified by Suffering Part 44

Wilford's letters, though not unkind, were never very satisfactory, and always brought on a racking headache, from which she suffered intently.

He had censured her at first for going back to Silverton, when he preferred she should stay in New York, hinting darkly at the reason of her choice, and saying to her once, when she told him how the Sunday before her twenty-first birthday she had knelt before the altar and taken upon herself the vows of confirmation: "Your saintly cousin is, of course, delighted, and that I suppose is sufficient, without my congratulations."

Perhaps he did not mean it, but he seemed to take delight in teasing her, and Katy sometimes felt she should be happier without his letters than with them. He had never said he was sorry he had left her so suddenly--indeed he seldom referred to the past in any way; or if he did it was in a manner which showed that he thought himself the injured party, if either. Once, indeed, he did admit that, in calmly reviewing the whole thing, he saw no reason now to believe that in the matter of Dr. Grant she had been to blame, except in going to him with her trouble and so bringing about the present unfortunate state of affairs. This was the nearest to a concession on his part of anything he made; but it did Katy a world of good, brightening up her face, and making her even dare to meet Morris alone and speak to him naturally. Ever since her return to Silverton she had studiously avoided him, and a stranger might have said they were wholly indifferent to each other; but that stranger would not have known of Morris' daily self-discipline or of the one little spot in Katy's heart kept warm and sunny by the knowing that Morris Grant had loved her, even if the love had died, as she hoped it had. It would be better for them all, and so, lest by word or deed she should keep the germ alive, she seldom addressed him directly, and never went to Linwood unless some one was with her to prevent her being left with him alone. A life like this could not be pleasant for Morris, and as there seemed to be a lack of competent physicians in the army, he, after prayerful deliberation, accepted a situation offered him as surgeon in a Georgetown hospital, and early in June left Silverton for his new field of labor.

True to her promise, Bell came at the last of July to Silverton, proving herself a dreadful romp as she climbed over the rocks in Aunt Betsy's famous sheep pasture, or raked the hay in the meadow, and proving herself, too, a genuine woman, as with blanced cheek and anxious heart she waited for tidings from the battles before Richmond, where the tide of success seemed to turn, and the North, hitherto so jubilant and hopeful, wore weeds of mourning from Maine to Oregon. Lieutenant Bob was there, and Wilford, too; and so was Captain Ray, digging in the marshy swamps, where death floated up in poisonous exhalations--plodding on the weary march, and fighting all through the seven days, where the sun poured down its burning heat and the night brought little rest. No wonder, then, that the three faces at the farmhouse grew white with anxiety, or that three pairs of eyes grew dim with watching the daily papers. But the names of neither Wilford, Mark, nor Bob were ever found among the wounded, dead, or missing, and with the fall of the first autumn leaf Bell returned to the city, more puzzled, more perplexed than ever with regard to Helen Lennox's real feelings toward Captain Ray.

Rapidly autumn went by, bringing at last the week before Christmas, when Mark came home for a few days, looking ruddy and bronzed from exposure and hardship, but wearing the disappointed, listless look which Bell was quick to detect, connecting it in some way with Helen Lennox. Only once did he call at Mr. Cameron's, and then as Juno was not present Bell had him all to herself, talking a great deal of Silverton, of Helen and Katy, in the latter of whom he seemed far more interested than in her sister. Many questions he asked concerning Katy, expressing his regret that Wilford had ever left her, and saying he believed Wilford was sorry, too. He was in the hospital now, with a severe cold and a touch of the rheumatism, he said; but as Bell knew this already she did not dwell long upon that subject, choosing rather to talk of Helen--"as much interested in the soldiers," she said, "as if she had a brother or a lover in the army," and her bright eyes glanced meaningly at Mark, who answered carelessly:

"Dr. Grant is there, you know, and that may account for her interest."

Mark knew he must say something to ward off Bell's attacks, and so he continued talking of Dr. Grant and how much he was liked by the poor wretches who needed some one as kind and gentle as he to keep them from dying of homesickness if nothing else. Once, too, he spoke of a nurse, a second Nightingale, whose shadow on the wall the soldiers had not kissed perhaps, but who was worshiped by the pale, sick men to whom she ministered so tenderly.

"She is very beautiful," he added, "and every man of us would willingly try a hospital cot for the sake of being nursed by her."

Bell thought at once of Marian, but as Mark knew nothing of their private affairs she would not question him, and after a few bantering words concerning Lieutenant Bob and the picture he carried into every battle, b.u.t.toned closely over his heart. Mark Ray took his leave, while Bell, softened by thoughts of Cob, ran upstairs to cry, going to her mother's room, as a seamstress was occupying her own. Mrs. Cameron was out that afternoon, and that she had dressed in a hurry was indicated by the unusual confusion of her room. Drawers were left open and various articles scattered about, while on the floor just as it had fallen from a glove box lay a letter which Bell picked up, intending to replace it.

"Miss Helen Lennox," she read in astonishment. "How came Helen Lennox's letter here in mother's room, and from Mark Ray, too," she continued, still more amazed as she took the neatly folded note from the envelope and glanced at the name. "Foul play somewhere. Can it be mother?" she asked, as she read enough to know that she held in her hand Mark's offer of marriage which had in some mysterious manner found its way to her mother's room. "I don't understand it at all," she said, racking her brain for a solution of the mystery. "But the letter at least is safe with me. I'll send it to Helen this very day and to-morrow I'll tell Mark Ray."

Procrastination was not one of Bell Cameron's faults, and for full half an hour before her mother and Juno came home, the stolen letter had been lying in the mail box where Bell herself deposited it, together with a few hurriedly written lines, telling how it came into her hands, but offering no explanation of any kind.

"Mark is home now on a leave of absence which expires day after to-morrow," she wrote, "but I am going around to see him, and if you do not hear from him in person I am greatly mistaken."

Very closely Bell watched her mother when she came from her room, but the letter had not been missed, and in blissful ignorance Mrs. Cameron displayed her purchases and then talked of Wilford, wondering how he was and if it were advisable for any of them to go to him.

The next day a series of hindrances kept Bell from making her call as early as she had intended doing, so that Mrs. Banker and Mark were just rising from dinner when told she was in the parlor.

"I meant to have come before," she said, seating herself by Mark, "but I could not get away. I have brought you some good news. I think--that is--yes, I know there has been some mistake, some wrong somewhere, whether intended or not. Mark Ray," and the impetuous girl faced directly toward him, "if you could have any wish you might name what would it be? Come now, imagine yourself a Cinderella and I the fairy G.o.dmother. What will you have?"

Mark knew she was in earnest and her manner puzzled him greatly, but he answered, laughingly: "As a true patriot I should wish for peace on strictly honorable terms."

"Pshaw!"

The word dropped very prettily from Bell's lips as with a shrug she continued:

"You men are very patriotic, I know, especially if you wear shoulder straps, but isn't there something dearer than peace? Suppose, for instance, Union between the North and South on strictly honorable terms, as you say, was laid upon one scale and union between yourself and Helen Lennox was laid upon the other, which would you take?"

Mark's lips were very white now, but he tried to laugh as he replied: "I should say the Union, of course."

"Yes, but which union?" Bell rejoined, and then as she saw that Mrs.

Banker was beginning to frown upon her she continued: "But to come directly to the point. Yesterday afternoon I found--no matter where or how--a letter intended for Helen Lennox, which I am positive she never saw or heard of; at least her denial to me that a certain Mark Ray had ever offered himself is a proof that she never saw what was an offer made just before you went away. I read enough to know that, and then I took the letter and--"

She hesitated, while Mark's eyes turned dark with excitement, and even Mrs. Banker, scarcely less interested, leaned eagerly forward, saying:

"And what? Go on, Miss Cameron. What did you do with that letter?"

"I sent it to its rightful owner, Helen Lennox. I posted it myself, so it's sure this time. But why don't you thank me, Captain Ray?" she asked, as Mark's face was overshadowed with anxiety.

"I was wondering whether it were well to send it--wondering how it might be received," he said, and Bell replied:

"She will not answer no. As one woman knows another I know Helen Lennox.

I have sounded her on that point. I told her of the rumor there was afloat, and she denied it, seeming greatly distressed, but showing plainly that had such offer been received she would not have refused it.

You should have seen her last summer, Captain Ray, when we waited so anxiously for news from the Potomac. Her face was a study as her eyes ran over the list of casualties, searching not for her amiable brother-in-law, nor yet for Willard Braxton, their hired man. It was plain to me as daylight, and all you have to do is to follow up that letter with another, or go yourself, if you have time." Bell said, as she arose to go, leaving Mark in a state of bewilderment as to what he had heard.

Who withheld that letter? and why? were questions which troubled him greatly, nor did his mother's a.s.surance that it did not matter so long as it all came right at last, tend wholly to rea.s.sure him. One thing, however, was certain. He would see Helen before he returned to his regiment--he would hear from her own lips what her answer would have been had she received the letter. He would telegraph in the morning to Washington, and then run the risk of being a day behind the time appointed for his return to duty. Never since the day of Aunt Betsy's revelations had Mark felt as light and happy as he did that night, scarcely closing his eyes in sleep, but still not feeling tired when next morning he met his mother at the breakfast table and disclosed in part his plans. He would not tell her all there was in his mind lest it should not be fulfilled, but when at parting with her he did say:

"Suppose you have three children when I return instead of two, is there room in your heart for the third?"

"Yes, always room for Helen," was the reply, as with a kiss of benediction Mrs. Banker sent her boy away.

CHAPTER XLV.

CHRISTMAS EVE AT SILVERTON.

There was to be a Christmas tree at St. John's, and all the week the church had been the scene of much confusion. But all the work was over now; the church was swept and dusted, the tree with its gay adornings was in its place, the little ones, who, trying to help, had hindered and vexed so much, were gone, as were their mothers, and only tarried with the organ boy to play the Christmas carol, which Katy was to sing alone, the children joining in the chorus as they had been trained to do. It was very quiet there, and very pleasant too, with the fading sunlight streaming through the chancel window, lighting up the cross above it, and falling softly on the wall where the evergreens were hung with the sacred words: "Peace on earth and good will toward men." And Helen felt the peace stealing over her as by the register she sat down for a moment ere going to the organ loft where the boy was waiting for her. Not even the remembrance of the dark war cloud hanging over the land disturbed her then, as her thoughts went backward eighteen hundred years to Bethlehem's manger and the little child whose birth the angels sang. And as she thought, that Child seemed to be with her, a living presence to which she prayed, leaning her head upon the railing of the pew in front and asking Him to keep her in the perfect peace she felt around her now.

She had given Mark Ray up, and giving up had made a cruel wound, but she did not feel it now, although she thought of him in that quiet hour, asking G.o.d to keep him in safety wherever he might be, whether in the lonely watch or kneeling as she hoped he might in some house of G.o.d, where the Christmas carols would be sung and the Christmas story told.

A movement of her hand as she lifted up her head struck against the pocket of her dress, where lay the letter brought to her an hour or so ago--Bell's letter--which, after glancing at the superscription, she had put aside until a more convenient season for reading it.

Taking it out, she tore open the envelope, starting suddenly as another letter, soiled and unsealed, met her eye. She read Bell's first, and then, with a throbbing heart, which as yet would not believe, she took up Mark's, and understanding now much that was before mysterious to her.

Juno's call, too, came to her mind, and though she was unwilling to charge so foul a wrong upon that young lady, she could find no other solution to the mystery. There was a glow of indignation--Helen had scarcely been mortal without it; but that pa.s.sed away in pity for the misguided girl and in joy at the happiness opening so broadly before her. That Mark would come to Silverton she had no hope, but he would surely write--his letter, perhaps, was even then on the way; and kissing the one she held she hid it in her bosom and went up to where the organ boy had for several minutes been kicking at stools and books, and whistling "Old John Brown" by way of attracting attention. The boy was in a hurry, and asked in so forlorn a tone: "Is we going to play?" that Helen answered good-humoredly: "Just a few minutes, Billy. I want to try the carol and the opening, which I've hardly played at all."

With an air of submission Bill took his post and Helen began to play, but she could only see before her: "I have loved you ever since that morning when I put the lilies in your hair," and she played so out of time and tune that Billy asked: "What makes 'em go so bad?"

"I can't play now; I'm not in the mood," she said at last. "I shall feel better by and by. You can go home if you like."

Billy needed no second bidding, but catching up his cap ran down the stairs and out into the porch, just as up the step a young man came hurriedly, the horse he had hitched to a tree smoking from exercise and himself looking eager and excited.

"h.e.l.lo, boy," he cried, grasping the collar of Bill's roundabout and holding him fast, "who's in the church?"

"Darn yer, old Jim Sykes, you let me be, or I'll--" the boy began, but when he saw his captor was not Jim Sykes, but a tall, fine-looking man, wearing a soldier's uniform, he changed his tone, and standing still, answered civilly: "I thought you was Jim Sykes, the biggest bully in town, who is allus hectorin' us boys. n.o.body is there but she--Miss Lennox--up where the organ is," and having given the desired information, Bill ran off, wondering first if it wasn't Miss Helen's beau, and wondering next, in case she should some time get married in church, if he wouldn't fee the organ boy as well as the s.e.xton. "He orto," Bill soliloquized, "for I've about blowed my gizzard out sometimes, when she and Mrs. Cameron sings the 'Te Deum.'"

Meanwhile Mark Ray, who had driven first to the farmhouse in quest of Helen, entered the church, glancing in upon the festooned walls, and then as he heard a sound in the loft, stealing noiselessly up the stairs to where Helen sat in the dim light, reading again the precious letter withheld from her so long. She had moved her stool near to the window, and her back was toward the door, so that she neither saw nor heard, nor suspected anything, until Mark, bending over her so as to see what she had in her hand, as well as the tear she had dropped upon it, clasped both his arms about her neck, and drawing her face over back, kissed her fondly, calling her his darling, and saying to her as she tried to struggle from him:

"I know I have a right to call you darling by that tear on my letter and the look upon your face. Dear Helen, we have found each other at last."

It was so unexpected that Helen could not speak, but she let her head rest on his bosom, where he had laid it, and her hot, trembling hand crept into his, so that he was answered, and for a moment he only kissed and caressed the fair girl he knew now was his own. They could not talk together there very long, for Helen must go home; but he made good use of the time he had, telling her many things, and then asking her a question which made her start away from him as she replied: "No, no, oh!

no, not to-night--not so soon as that!"

"And why not, Helen?" he asked, with the manner of one who is not to be denied. "Why not to-night, so there need be no more misunderstanding?

I'd rather leave you as my wife than my betrothed. Mother will like it better. I hinted it to her and she said there was room for you in her love. It will make me a better man, a better soldier, if I can say 'my wife,' as other soldiers do. You don't know what a charm there is in that word, Helen--keeping a man from sin, and if I should die I would rather you should bear my name and share in my fortune. Will you, Helen, when the ceremonies are closed, will you go up to that altar and pledge your vows to me? I cannot wait till to-morrow; my leave of absence expired to-day. I must go back to-night, but you must first be mine."

Helen was shaking as with a chill, but she made him no reply, and wrapping her cloak and furs about her, Mark led her down to the sleigh, and taking his seat beside her, drove back to the farmhouse, where the supper waited for her. Katy, to whom Mark first communicated his desire, warmly espoused his cause, and that went far toward rea.s.suring Helen, who, for some time past had been learning to look up to Katy as to an older sister, so sober, so earnest, so womanly had Katy grown since Wilford went away.

"It is so sudden, and people will talk," Helen said, knowing while she said it how little she cared for people and smiling at Katy's reply: