Sylvia's Marriage Part 31

Something about the seraphic face of Sylvia, chastened by terrible suffering, must have suggested to Mrs. Chilton the idea of caution.

"Have you thought of the humiliation this must inflict upon your relatives?"

"I have found, Aunt Nannie," said Sylvia, "that there are worse afflictions than being talked about."

"I am not sure," declared the other, "that anything could be worse than to be the object of the kind of gossip that is now seething around our family. It has been the tradition of our people to bear their afflictions in silence."

"In this case, Aunt Nannie, it is obvious that silence would have meant more afflictions, many more. I have thought of my sister--and of all the other girls in our family, who may be led to sacrifice by the ambitions of their relatives." Sylvia paused a moment, so that her words might have effect.

Said the bishop's wife: "Sylvia, we cannot undertake to save the world from the results of its sins. G.o.d has his own ways of punishing men."

"Perhaps so, but surely G.o.d does not wish the punishment to fall upon innocent young girls. For instance, Aunt Nannie, think of your own daughters----"

"My daughters!" broke out Mrs. Chilton. And then, mastering her excitement: "At least, you will permit me to look after my own children."

"I noticed, my dear aunt, that Lucy May turned colour when Tom Aldrich came into the room last night. Have you noticed anything?"

"Yes--what of it?"

"It means that Lucy May is falling in love with Tom."

"Why should she not? I certainly consider him an eligible man."

"And yet you know, Aunt Nannie, that he is one of Roger Peyton's set.

You know that he goes about town getting drunk with the gayest of them, and you let Lucy May go on and fall in love with him! You have taken no steps to find out about him--you have not warned your daughter--"

Mrs. Chilton was crimson with agitation. "Warned my daughter! Who ever heard of such a thing?"

Said Sylvia, quietly: "I can believe that you never heard of it--but you will hear soon. The other day I had a talk with Lucy May--"

"Sylvia Castleman!" And then it seemed Mrs. Chilton reminded herself that she was dealing with a dangerous lunatic. "Sylvia," she said, in a suppressed voice, "you mean to tell me that you have been poisoning my young daughter's mind--"

"You have brought her up well," said Sylvia, as her aunt stopped for lack of words. "She did not want to listen to me. She said that young girls ought not to know about such matters. But I pointed out Elaine, and then she changed her mind--just as you will have to change yours in the end, Aunt Nannie."

Mrs. Chilton sat glaring at her niece, her bosom heaving. Then suddenly she turned her indignant eyes upon Mrs. Castleman. "Margaret, cannot you stop this shocking business? I demand that the tongues of gossip shall no longer clatter around the family of which I am a member! My husband is the bishop of this diocese, and if our ancient and untarnished name is of no importance to Sylvia van Tuiver, then, perhaps the dignity and authority of the church may have some weight----"

"Aunt Nannie," interrupted Sylvia, "it will do no good to drag Uncle Basil into this matter. I fear you will have to face the fact that from this time on your authority in our family is to be diminished. You had more to do than any other person with driving me into the marriage that has wrecked my life, and now you want to go on and do the same thing for my sister and for your own daughters--to marry them with no thought of anything save the social position of the man. And in the same way you are saving up your sons to find rich girls. You know that you kept Clive from marrying a poor girl in this town a couple of years ago--and meantime it seems to be nothing to you that he's going with men like Roger Peyton and Tom Aldrich, learning all the vices the women in the brothels have to teach him----"

Poor "Miss Margaret" had several times made futile efforts to check her daughter's outburst. Now she and Aunt Varina started up at the same time. "Sylvia! Sylvia! You must not talk like that to your aunt!"

And Sylvia turned and gazed at them with her sad eyes. "From now on,"

she said, "that is the way I am going to talk. You are a lot of ignorant children. I was one too, but now I know. And I say to you: Look at Elaine! Look at my little one, and see what the worship of Mammon has done to one of the daughters of your family!"

18. After this, Sylvia had her people reduced to a state of terror. She was an avenging angel, sent by the Lord to punish them for their sins.

How could one rebuke the unconventionality of an avenging angel? On the other hand, of course, one could not help being in agony, and letting the angel see it in one's face. Outside, there were the tongues of gossip clattering, as Aunt Nannie had said; quite literally everyone in Castleman County was talking about the blindness of Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver's baby, and how, because of it, the mother was setting out on a campaign to destroy the modesty of the State. The excitement, the curiosity, the obscene delight of the world came rolling back into Castleman Hall in great waves, that picked up the unfortunate inmates and buffeted them about.

Family consultations were restricted, because it was impossible for the ladies of the family to talk to the gentlemen about these horrible things; but the ladies talked to the ladies, and the gentlemen talked to the gentlemen, and each came separately to Sylvia with their distress.

Poor, helpless "Miss Margaret" would come wringing her hands, and looking as if she had buried all her children. "Sylvia! Sylvia! Do you realise that you are being DISCUSSED?" That was the worst calamity that could befal a woman in Castleman County--it summed up all possible calamities that could befal her--to be "discussed." "They were discussing you once when you wanted to marry Frank Shirley! And now--oh, now they will never stop discussing you!"

Then would come the dear major. He loved his eldest daughter as he loved nothing else in the world, and he was a just man at heart. He could not meet her arguments--yes, she was right, she was right. But then he would go away, and the waves of scandal and shame would come rolling.

"My child," he pleaded, "have you thought what this thing is doing to your husband? Do you realise that while you talk about protecting other people, you are putting upon Douglas a brand that will follow him through life?"

Uncle Mandeville came up from New Orleans to see his favourite niece; and the wave smote him as he alighted from the train, and he became so much excited that he went to the club and got drunk, and then could not see his niece, but had to be carried off upstairs and given forcible hypodermics. Cousin Clive told Sylvia about it afterwards--how Uncle Mandeville refused to believe the truth, and swore that he would shoot some of these fellows if they didn't stop talking about his niece. Said Clive, with a grim laugh: "I told him: 'If Sylvia had her way, you'd shoot a good part of the men in the town.'" He answered: "Well, by G.o.d, I'll do it--it would serve the scoundrels right!" And he tried to get out of bed and get his pants and his pistols--so that in the end it was necessary to telephone for the major, and then for Barry Chilton and two of his gigantic sons from their plantation.

Sylvia had her way, and talked things out with the agonised Celeste.

And the next day came Aunt Varina, hardly able to contain herself.

"Oh, Sylvia, such a horrible thing! To hear such words coming from your little sister's lips--like the toads and snakes in the fairy story! To think of these ideas festering in a young girl's brain!" And then again: "Sylvia, your sister declares she will never go to a party again!

You are teaching her to hate men! You will make her a STRONG-MINDED woman!"--that was another phrase they had summing up a whole universe of horrors. Sylvia could not recall a time when she had not heard that warning. "Be careful, dear, when you express an opinion, always end it with a question: 'Don't you think so?' or something like that, otherwise, men may get the idea that you are 'STRONG-MINDED'!"

Sylvia, in her girlhood, had heard vague hints and rumours which now she was able to interpret in the light of her experience. In her courtship days she had met a man who always wore gloves, even in the hottest weather, and she had heard that this was because of some affliction of the skin. Now, talking with the young matrons of her own set, she learned that this man had married, and had since had to take to a wheel-chair, while his wife had borne a child with a monstrous deformed head, and had died of the ordeal and the shock.

Oh, the stories that one uncovered--right in one's own town, among one's own set--like foul sewers underneath the pavements! The succession of deceased generations, of imbeciles, epileptics, paralytics! The innocent children born to a life-time of torment; the women hiding their secret agonies from the world! Sometimes women went all through life without knowing the truth about themselves. There was poor Mrs. Valens, for example, who reclined all day upon the gallery of one of the most beautiful homes in the county, and showed her friends the palms of her hands, all covered with callouses and scales, exclaiming: "What in the world do you suppose can be the matter with me?" She had been a beautiful woman, a "belle" of "Miss Margaret's" day; she had married a man who was rich and handsome and witty--and a rake. Now he was drunk all the time, and two of his children had died in hospital, and another had arms that came out of joint, and had to be put in plaster of Paris for months at a time. His wife, the one-time darling of society, would lie on her couch and read the Book of Job until she knew it by heart.

And could you believe it, when Sylvia came home, ablaze with excitement over the story, she found that the only thing that her relatives were able to see in it was the Book of Job! Under the burden of her afflictions the woman had become devout; and how could anyone fail to see in this the deep purposes of Providence revealed? "Verily," said "Miss Margaret," "'whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth.' We are told in the Lord's Word that 'the sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the children, even unto the third and fourth generations,' and do you suppose the Lord would have told us that, if He had not known there would be such children?"

19. I cannot pa.s.s over this part of my story without bringing forward Mrs. Armistead, the town cynic, who const.i.tuted herself one of Sylvia's sources of information in the crisis. Mrs. Sallie Ann Armistead was the mother of two boys with whom Sylvia, as a child, had insisted upon playing, in spite of the protests of the family. "Wha' fo' you go wi'

dem Armistead chillun, Mi' Sylvia?" would cry Aunt Mandy, the cook.

"Doan' you know they granddaddy done pick cottin in de fiel' 'long o'

me?" But while her father was picking cotton, Sallie Ann had looked after her complexion and her figure, and had married a rising young merchant. Now he was the wealthy proprietor of a chain of "n.i.g.g.e.r stores," and his wife was the possessor of the most dreaded tongue in Castleman County.

She was a person who, if she had been born a d.u.c.h.ess, would have made a reputation in history; the one woman in the county who had a mind and was not afraid to have it known. She used all the tricks of a d.u.c.h.ess--lorgnettes, for example, with which she stared people into a state of fright. She did not dare try anything like that on the Castlemans, of course, but woe to the little people who crossed her path! She had an eye that sought out every human weakness, and such a wit that even her victims were fascinated. One of the legends about her told how her dearest foe, a dashing young matron, had died, and all the friends had gathered with their floral tributes. Sallie Ann went in to review the remains, and when she came out a sentimental voice inquired: "And how does our poor Ruth look?"

"Oh," was the answer, "as old and grey as ever!"

Now Mrs. Armistead stopped Sylvia in the street: "My dear, how goes the eugenics campaign?"

And while Sylvia gazed, dumbfounded, the other went on as if she were chatting about the weather: "You can't realise what a stir you are making in our little frog pond. Come, see me, and let me tell you the gossip! Do you know you've enriched our vocabulary?"

"I have made someone look up the meaning of eugenics, at least,"

answered Sylvia--having got herself together in haste.

"Oh, not only that, my dear. You have made a new medical term--the 'van Tuiver disease.' Isn't that interesting?"

For a moment Sylvia shrivelled before this flame from h.e.l.l. But then, being the only person who had ever been able to chain this devil, she said: "Indeed? I hope that with so fashionable a name the disease does not become an epidemic!"

Mrs. Armistead gazed at her, and then, in a burst of enthusiasm, she exclaimed: "Sylvia Castleman, I have always insisted that one of the most interesting women in the world was spoiled by the taint of goodness in you."

She took Sylvia to her bosom, as it were. "Let us sit on the fence and enjoy this spectacle! My dear, you can have no idea what an uproar you are making! The young married women gather in their boudoirs and whisper ghastly secrets to each other; some of them are sure they have it, and some of them say they can trust their husbands--as if any man could be trusted as far as you can throw a bull by the horns! Did you hear about poor Mrs. Pattie Peyton, she has the measles, but she sent for a specialist, and vowed she had something else--she had read about it, and knew all the symptoms, and insisted on having elaborate blood-tests! And little Mrs. Stanley Pendleton has left her husband, and everybody says that's the reason. The men are simply shivering in their boots--they steal into the doctor's offices by the back-doors, and a whole car-load of the boys have been shipped off to Hot Springs to be boiled--" And so on, while Mrs. Armistead revelled in the sensation of strolling down Main Street with Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver!

Then Sylvia would go home, and get the newest reactions of the family to these horrors. Aunt Nannie, it seemed, made the discovery that Basil, junr., her fifth son, was carrying on an intrigue with a mulatto girl in the town; and she forbade him to go to Castleman Hall, for fear lest Sylvia should worm the secret out of him; also she shipped Lucy May off to visit a friend, and came and tried to persuade Mrs. Chilton to do the same with Peggy and Maria, lest Sylvia should somehow corrupt these children.

The bishop came, having been ordered to preach religion to his wayward niece. Poor dear Uncle Basil--he had tried preaching religion to Sylvia many years ago, and never could do it because he loved her so well that with all his Seventeenth Century theology he could not deny her chance of salvation. Now the first sight that met his eyes when he came to see her was his little blind grand-niece. And also he had in his secret heart the knowledge that he, a rich and gay young planter before he became converted to Methodism, had played with the fire of vice, and been badly burned. So Sylvia did not find him at all the Voice of Authority, but just a poor, hen-pecked, unhappy husband of a tyrannous Castleman woman.

The next thing was that "Miss Margaret" took up the notion that a time such as this was not one for Sylvia's husband to be away from her.

What if people were to say that they had separated? There were family consultations, and in the midst of them there came word that van Tuiver was called North upon business. When the family delegations came to Sylvia, to insist that she go with him, the answer they got was that if they could not let her stay quietly at home without asking her any questions, she would go off to New York and live with a divorced woman Socialist!

"Of course, they gave up," she wrote me. "And half an hour ago poor dear mamma came to my room and said: 'Sylvia, dear, we will let you do what you want, but won't you please do one small favour for me?' I got ready for trouble, and asked what she wanted. Her answer was: 'Won't you go with Celeste to the Young Matrons' Cotillion tomorrow night, so that people won't think there's anything the matter?'"

20. Roger Peyton had gone off to Hot Springs, and Douglas van Tuiver was in New York; so little by little the storms about Castleman Hall began to abate in violence. Sylvia was absorbed with her baby, and beginning to fit her life into that of her people. She found many ways in which she could serve them--entertaining Uncle Mandeville to keep him sober; checking the extravagrance of Celeste; nursing Castleman Lysle through green apple convulsions. That was to be her life for the future, she told herself, and she was making herself really happy in it--when suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, came an event that swept her poor little plans into chaos.