Tempest and Sunshine Part 41

It was a beautiful sight, and methinks the angels hovered round as that young disciple, apparently so near the portals of heaven, sought to lead her weeping father to the same glad world. Her words were soothing, and o'er his darkened mind a ray of light seemed feebly, faintly shining.

Before the morning dawned he had resolved that if there still was hope for him he would find it. Many a time during the succeeding days he prayed in secret, not that f.a.n.n.y might be spared, but that he might be reconciled to G.o.d. His prayer at length was answered, and Uncle Joshua was a changed man. He showed it in everything, in the expression of his face and in the words he uttered. For his Sunshine he still wept, but with a chastened grief, for now he knew that if she died he would see her in heaven.

Where now was Dr. Lacey? Knew he not of the threatened danger? At his father's bedside, where for many days his place had been, he had received from Mr. William Middleton a letter announcing f.a.n.n.y's illness, which, however, was not then considered dangerous. On learning the contents of the letter, the elder Mr. Lacey said, turning to his son, "Go, George, go; I would not keep you from her a moment." The doctor needed no second bidding, and the first steamer which left New Orleans bore him upon its deck, anxious and impatient.

Fast the days rolled on, and they who watched f.a.n.n.y alternately hoped and feared, as she one day seemed better and the next worst. Of those days we will not speak. We hasten to a night three weeks from the commencement of her illness, when gathered in her room were anxious friends, who feared the next day's sun would see her dead. Florence, Kate and Mrs. Miller were there, with tearful eyes and saddened faces. Frank Cameron, too, was there. Business, either real or fancied, had again taken him to Kentucky, and hearing of f.a.n.n.y's illness, he had hastened to her.

She had requested to be raised up, and now, leaning against her Uncle William, she lay in a deep slumber. In a corner of the room sat Uncle Joshua, his head bowed down, his face covered by his hands, while the large tears fell upon the carpeting, as he sadly whispered, "It'll be lonesome at night; it'll be lonesome in the morning; it'll be lonesome everywhar."

Florence stood by him, and tried by gently smoothing his tangled hair to express the sympathy she could not speak. Suddenly there was the sound of fast-coming wheels, and Kate, thinking it must be Dr. Gordon, whom they were each moment expecting, ran out to meet him. Nearer and nearer came the carriage, and as Kate was peering through the darkness to see if it were the expected physician, Dr. Lacey sprang quickly to her side.

In Frankfort he had heard that f.a.n.n.y could not live, and now he eagerly asked, "Tell me, Mrs. Miller, is she yet alive?"

Kate replied by leading him directly toward the sick chamber. As he entered the room Uncle Joshua burst into a fresh flood of tears, saying as he took the doctor's offered hand, "Poor boy! Poor George. You're losing a great deal, but not as much as I, for you can find another f.a.n.n.y, but for me thar's no more Sunshine, when they carry her away."

Dr. Gordon now came and after feeling her pulse and listening to the sound of her breathing, he said, "When she wakes from this sleep, I think the matter will be decided. She will be better or worse."

And he was right, although the old clock in the hall told the hour of midnight ere she roused from the deep slumber which had seemed so much like the long last sleep of death. Her first words were for "water, water," and as she put up her hand to take the offered gla.s.s, Dr. Gordon whispered to Dr. Lacey: "She is better, but must not see you tonight."

In a twinkling Mr. Middleton's large hand was laid on Dr. Lacey's shoulder, and hurrying him into the adjoining room, he said, "Stay here till mornin', and neither breathe nor stir!"

Dr. Lacey complied with the request as far as it was possible, though never seemed a night so long, and never dawned a morning so bright as did the succeeding one, when through the house the joyous tidings ran that the crisis was past, and f.a.n.n.y would live.

In the course of the morning, f.a.n.n.y asked Kate, who alone was attending her, if Dr. Lacey were not there?

"What makes you think so?" asked Kate.

"Because," answered f.a.n.n.y, "I either heard him or dreamed that I did."

"And if he is here, could you bear to see him now?"

"Oh, yes, yes," was the eager answer, and the next moment Dr. Lacey was by her side.

Intuitively Kate left the room, consequently we have no means of knowing what occurred during that interview, when Dr. Lacey, as it were, received back from the arms of death his f.a.n.n.y, whose recovery from that time was sure though slow. Mr. Middleton, in the exuberance of his joy at having his Sunshine restored, seemed hardly sane, but frequently kept muttering to himself, "Yes, yes, I remember-I'll do it, only give me a little time"; at the same time his elbow moved impatiently, as if nudging off some unseen visitor. What it was that he remembered and would do, was not known for several days and then he informed his wife that when at first he feared that f.a.n.n.y should not live, he had racked his brain to know why this fresh evil was brought upon him, and had concluded that it was partly to punish him for his ill-treatment of Julia when living, and partly because that now she was dead he had neglected to purchase for her any gravestones. "And I promised," said he, "that if she was spar'd, I'd buy as nice a gravestun as I would if 'twas Sunshine." Three weeks from that time there stood by the mound in the little graveyard a plain, handsome monument, on which was simply inscribed, "Julia, aged twenty."

One after another those who had been with f.a.n.n.y during her illness departed to their homes. Frank Cameron lingered several weeks in Frankfort. Florence, too, was there with some relatives. Now, reader, if you value our friendship, you will not accuse him of being fickle. He had loved f.a.n.n.y long and faithfully, but he knew the time was coming when he would see her the wife of another. What wonder was it, then, if he suffered his eye occasionally to rest admiringly upon Florence Woodburn's happy face, or that he frequently found himself trying to trace some resemblance between the dark hazel of Florence's eyes and the deep blue of f.a.n.n.y's?

With woman's quick perception, Florence divined Frank's thoughts, and although she professed herself to be "terribly afraid of his Presbyterian smile and deaconish ways," she took good care not to discourage him. But she teased him unmercifully, and played him many sorry tricks. He bore it all good-humoredly, and when he started for New York he had with him a tiny casing, from which peeped the merry face of Florence, looking as if just meditating some fresh mischief.

And what of Florence? Why, safely stowed away at the bottom of her bureau drawer, under a promiscuous pile of gloves, ribbons, laces and handkerchiefs, was a big daguerreotype; but as Florence guarded that drawer most carefully, always keeping the key in her pocket, we are unable to say anything certain upon the subject. Up to this day we don't know exactly whose face it was that led Florence to the drawer so many times a day, but we are safe in saying that it looked frank enough to be Frank himself!

Here for a time we leave her, and return to Mr. Middleton's where f.a.n.n.y was improving each day. Dr. Lacey watched her recovery anxiously, fearing continually lest some new calamity should happen to take his treasure from him. Owing to the protracted illness of his father, it became necessary that he should go back to New Orleans; but as soon as possible he would return, and then-f.a.n.n.y could have told you what then, and so, too, could we, but we prefer keeping you in suspense.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE WEDDING

The autumn months were gone; December had come and "Christmas was coming."

The negroes far and near had counted the days which must pa.s.s before their expected holidays. In Uncle Joshua's kitchen there was much talking and laughing, fixing and fussing, and some crying. Had you asked the cause of the crying, you would have been told that Miss f.a.n.n.y was to be married Christmas Eve, and the week following she would leave them and start for New Orleans.

Preparations commenced on a large scale; for Uncle Joshua, a little proud, it may be, of his handsome house, had determined on a large party. The old gentleman even went so far as to order for himself a new suit of broadcloth, saying by way of apology that, "though the jeens coat and bagging pants did well enough for Josh, they wouldn't answer nohow for the father of Mrs. Dr. George Lacey."

A week before the wedding Florence, who loved dearly to be in a bustle, came laden with bandboxes and carpet bags. Hourly through the house rang her merry laugh, as she flitted hither and thither, actually doing nothing in her zeal to do everything. She had consented to be bridesmaid on condition that she should choose her own groomsman, who she said should be "Uncle Billy," as she always called Mr. William Middleton, "unless Providence sent her some one she liked better." Whether it were owing to Providence or to an invitation which went from Florence to New York we are unable to say, but two days before the 24th Uncle Joshua surprised Florence and f.a.n.n.y by opening the door of the room where they were sitting, and saying, "Ho, my boy, here they be-come on."

The girls started up, and in a moment Frank stood between them, with an arm thrown around each. "Why, Mr. Cameron," said Florence, "what did you come for, and who knew you were coming?"

"I came to see you, and you knew I was coming," answered Frank.

"Well, then," returned Florence, "if you came to see me, do look at me, and not keep your eyes fixed so continually on f.a.n.n.y. In a few days you will be breaking the commandment which says: 'Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife.'"

"Possibly I might had I never seen you," answered Frank.

At a late hour that night Florence moved with soft footsteps about her sleeping room, fearing lest she should awaken f.a.n.n.y. Her precautions were useless, for f.a.n.n.y was awake; looking at Florence, she said, "Oh, Flory, you naughty girl, what makes you blush so dreadfully?"

The next half hour was spent by Florence in telling f.a.n.n.y what Frank had just asked her in four or five words, and which she had answered in one, viz., if she would be his wife. "But then," said Florence, pretending to pout, "he was so conscientious that he had to tell me what I already knew, which was that he once loved you better than he should ever love another."

Frank had asked Florence to share his lot through life, and she, like any other good, prompt Kentucky girl, had readily answered "yes," although she was frightened next moment for fear she had been too easily won by the "cold Yankee," as she called him, and she proposed taking back what she said just for the sake of being teased. Mr. Woodburn came next day to bring Florence some article of dress, which she would need. He was not surprised when Frank, taking him aside, modestly asked for his daughter; he said, "Yes," almost as readily as Florence had done, and then it was hard telling which seemed most happy-Frank or Dr. Lacey.

The 24th of December came at last. We at the North who, during six months of the year, blow our benumbed fingers, can scarcely imagine how bright and beautiful are some of the clear warm days of a Kentucky winter. On this occasion, as if Nature had resolved to do her best, the day was soft and sunny as in early autumn, presenting a striking contrast to the wild, angry storm which rent the sky when once more 'neath Uncle Joshua's roof a bridal party was a.s.sembled.

As night approached, carriage after carriage rolled up the long, graveled pathway, until Ike declared, "Thar was no more room in the barns, and if any more came he'd have to drive them into the kitchen."

Up and down the broad stairway tripped light and joyous footsteps until the rooms above, which Luce had put in so exact order, presented a scene of complete confusion. Bandboxes were turned bottom-side up and their contents indiscriminately scattered until it was impossible to tell what was yours and what wasn't.

At length through the parlor door came Dr. Lacey and f.a.n.n.y, followed by Frank Cameron and Florence. Throughout the rooms was a solemn hush as f.a.n.n.y was made Dr. Lacey's wife. Firmly Dr. Lacey held her hand until the last word was spoken; then when he felt sure that she was his, he stooped down and whispered in her ear, "Thank G.o.d that you are mine at last."

Three days after the wedding Mr. Middleton's carriage again stood before the door. When all was ready, Uncle Joshua knelt down, and winding his arm around f.a.n.n.y, prayed in simple, touching language that G.o.d would protect his Sunshine, and at last bring them all to the same home. "All of us; and don't let one be missing thar." There was a peculiar pathos in the tone of his voice as he said the last words, and all knew to whom he referred.

Long and wearisome at Mr. Middleton's were the days succeeding f.a.n.n.y's departure, while in Dr. Lacey's home all was joy and gladness.

It was about dark when Dr. Lacey arrived. Happy as a bird, f.a.n.n.y sprang up the steps. Everything about her seemed homelike and cheerful. Kind, dusky faces peered at her from every corner, while Aunt Dilsey, with a complacent smile, stood ready to receive her. f.a.n.n.y was prepared to like everything, but there was something peculiarly pleasing to her in Aunt Dilsey's broad, good-humored face. Going up to her she took both her hands, and said, "I know we shall be good friends. I shall like you and you shall love me a little, won't you, just as the old aunties did I left in Kentucky?"

Aunt Dilsey hadn't expected all this, and the poor creature burst into tears, saying, "Lord bless the sweet miss! I'd die for her this minute, I would."

Rondeau, Leffie and the other blacks belonging to the establishment, now came forward, and in the crowd little Jack's bow was entirely unappreciated; but f.a.n.n.y next day made amends by giving him nearly a pound of candy, which had the effect of making him sick a week, but he got well in time to be present at Leffie's wedding, which took place just a week after Dr. Lacey's return.

Leffie, who chanced to be just the size of her young mistress, was thrown into ecstasies by the gift of a thin pink and white silk dress, which f.a.n.n.y presented to her for a bridal gown. Aunt Dilsey, in order to show her thanks, went down on her knees, a thing she never attempted again, as it took her such an unheard-of length of time to recover a standing posture. Dr. Lacey had made Leffie the present of a pair of gold earrings, so that she was really a pretty bride, and Rondeau was the happiest negro in all New Orleans.

As weddings seem to be the order of this chapter, we may here, as well as anywhere, dispose of Mrs. Carrington, whom, you will remember, Raymond said he would one day marry. When he left Frankfort, he had no definite idea as to what he should do, but after reaching Cincinnati, it occured to him that his mother had a wealthy old bachelor uncle living in St. Louis, and thither he determined to go. This uncle, Mr. Dunlap, received the young man cordially, for he was the first relative he had met with in years. There was something, too, in the manner with which Raymond introduced himself that won for him a place in the crusty old man's good opinion.

"I am Fred Raymond," said he, "your niece Helen's son, and as poor a jack as there is this side of California. They say you are a stingy old customer, but I don't care for that. You have got to give me some business, and a home, too."

Raymond's method of approaching the old gentleman was successful, and he at once gave him a good position, which later developed into a partnership.