The Life and Beauties of Fanny Fern Part 14

"Fair and bright shone the sun on Helen's bridal morning! No father, nor mother, nor brother, nor sister, were there to give the young bride away. She had yielded her innocent and guileless heart without a fear for the future. Her simple toilette required little care. The golden tresses, the graceful, symmetrical figure, the sweet face, over which the faint blush flitted with every pa.s.sing emotion, could gain nothing by artificial adornment.

"Helen could have been happy with her husband in a far less costly, less luxurious home; but well did she grace its fair halls. Her perfect and intuitive tact served her in place of experience of the gay world. Her husband was amused as well as gratified at her ease and self-possession, and marked with pride the world's admiration of his choice.

"It is needless to say how the orphan's heart went out to him who was _all_ to her. With what fond pride she looked up to him whom she believed to be all that was n.o.ble, good and true--how delicately she antic.i.p.ated every wish, and dissipated by her sunny brightness every cloud of care.

"How perfect and far-sighted that Wisdom that shrouds the future from our sight! Who among us, with rude hand, would willingly draw back the dark curtain, and palsy the hearts now beating high with hope and promise?

"Time pa.s.sed on, and Helen had another claimant for her love. Never was infant so caressed by a doating mother; never one whose little lamp of life needed such careful watching lest it should be extinguished.

"Helen looked in vain to read in her husband's eyes the love she felt for her child. Its cries were intolerable to him, and the quiet and tedium of a sick-room annoying to the last degree. He missed the light step that bounded to meet him on his return, the bright face that smiled upon him at their quiet meal, the touch of fairy fingers on his heated brow. He thought not of a mother's pain; he felt no grat.i.tude for the life that had been spared him; he had no admiration for the patient devotion of the young mother. He took not into account the monotony of a sick-room to a nervous, excitable temperament like Helen's; he looked not beyond his own selfish feelings.

"Helen was grieved, yet she would not admit to herself that Harry had changed. She made an effort to appear stronger and brighter than she really was, and in the unselfishness of her love she said, 'It must be _I_ who have changed; I will yet win him back to me.' But her babe was feeble, and required much of her time, and Harry's brow would cloud with displeasure when the eyes of his gentle wife would fill with tears; then with an impatient 'pshaw!' he would leave the room, 'wondering what nurses were made for, if they couldn't keep babies from being a bore.'

"Poor Helen! All this told upon her feeble health and spirits; she became nervous and hysterical, and trembled when she heard Harry's footsteps. She consulted her gla.s.s to see if sickness had robbed her of the charms that had won him. Still it reflected back the same wealth of golden hair, the fair, pure brow, the sweet blue eyes. The rose had faded from her cheek, 'tis true, but that would bloom again with exercise and fresh air; and so she redoubled her attentions, patiently counting the tedious hours of his unwonted absence, nor met him with an ungentle word or look of reproach on his return.

"Helen had often met, at the house of a friend of Harry's, a young widow lady by the name of Melville. One day her husband told her that he wished an invitation to be sent to her to make them a visit, adding, 'she will cheer you up and help you appear more like yourself again.'

"The next week found Norah Melville their guest. Married at the age of nineteen to a man the age of her father, she found herself a year after a widow, with unimpaired beauty, and a fortune sufficiently ample to cover every want or desire. She had a thorough knowledge of human nature, and was a perfect woman of the world. Her figure was tall and queenly, she had large liquid black eyes, a complexion of marble paleness, a profusion of raven black hair, and a voice like the wind-harp in its sweetness. She knew that eyes like hers were made for _use_, and she _acted upon that principle_.

"Nothing could exceed her kindness to Helen, who only saw that her husband's old glad smile had come back again, and that he was once more gay and cheerful.

"Mrs. Melville sang them all her choicest songs, always appeared in an unexceptionable toilette, displayed a foot equal to Cinderella's, and was, by turns, pensive or gay, thoughtful or witty, brilliant or sad; but in all _bewitching_!

"Helen could see nothing exceptionable in her manners or conversation, and agreed with the rest of her admirers that she was a 'splendid woman.'

"One day, as they sat at dinner, a proposal was made by Harry that they should attend the theatre that evening. Helen dared not leave her child until so late an hour, but begged them not to stay at home on her account. When the hour arrived she herself placed the spotless camellia in Mrs. Melville's raven hair, clasped the glittering diamond bracelet upon her fair, round arm, and went back, in the guilelessness of her trusting heart, to her child's cradle.

"At length, weary with its restlessness, she threw herself upon the bed and sank into a deep slumber. She dreamed of the flower-wreathed cottage where her childhood was pa.s.sed, and in fancy she roamed with Harry in the sweet meadows, and revisited the old trysting-place under the trees by the river side, and heard his words of pa.s.sionate love as in those golden days. She awoke and found the hour was late for Harry's return. Descending the stairs, she bent her footsteps toward the parlor.

"Transfixed, spell-bound, what has hushed the tread of those tiny, slipperless feet upon the soft carpet?

"The moonbeams fell brightly through the large bay window upon the fair Norah. Her opera-cloak had fallen carelessly at her side, displaying her matchless neck and snowy arms. Her eyes, those speaking, _bewildering_ eyes, were bent upon Harry, who sat on a low ottoman at her feet. His hair was pushed carelessly back from his broad white brow, and Helen was no stranger to the look with which he gazed upon Mrs. Melville. Musically slow, but with dreadful distinctness, fell upon her ear the words,

"'Norah, I love you.'

"In that short sentence was compressed for the gentle wife the agony of death. None but those who have given a warm, living heart into unworthy keeping, may know such torture.

"Helen spoke not, nor gave other sign of her presence. Slowly, mechanically, she returned to her room, and, as she sank into a chair, the words 'My G.o.d, pity me!' were wrung from her soul's anguish.

"When Harry returned, she sat cold and pale, swaying her figure gently to and fro, slowly repeating,

"'Norah, I love you! Norah, I love you!'

"In the lunatic asylum of ----, may now be seen 'the Village Rosebud.'

G.o.d forgive the careless hand that so rudely plucked its fresh beauty, but to blight its fair promise, and cast it aside as a withered thing.

"The world still takes by the hand, as an honorable man, the gay Harry Lee; but, in the still midnight hour, a gentle, tearful voice, slowly repeats to his ear alone, amid unquiet slumbers, the words,--'_Norah, I love you!_'"

XLIV.

SINGLE BLESSEDNESS.

What a cheerful, happy, self-congratulating old maid was lost when f.a.n.n.y became a wife. Only read this extract:--

"'All articles of gentlemen's wearing apparel made--TO ORDER.'

"Saints and angels! only think of that! Well, thank a kind Providence I never was married. No tyrannical frock-coats, or 'dress-coats,' or Petershams, profane my closets. No vests, or stocks, or d.i.c.kies crowd my nice laces, and ribbons, and muslins. No overbearing cane keeps company with my silken parasolette. No lumbering great boots tread on the toes of my little slippers and gaiters. n.o.body kicks my spinster foot under the table to stop me in the middle of a sentence that I'm bent upon finishing. Nothing on the wide earth that's '_made to order_,' finds admittance into my single-blessed territories. I should be all teeth and claws if there did!"

XLV.

THAT MRS. JONES.

We don't quite agree with f.a.n.n.y in thinking women ought to bear all the blame. Eve never would have thought of stealing apples, if Adam hadn't been in a hurry for his supper. But in this instance Mrs. Jones _was_ wrong. This is the story, as f.a.n.n.y tells it:

"'Heaven be praised for Sunday,' said Mrs. Jones; 'when omnibus horses and women can rest from their labors. Mr. Jones? Bless my soul, the man has gone;' and she raised herself on her elbow, and pushed back the ruffled border of her nightcap, as if to make quite sure of her single blessedness. 'Tommy?' said she, to a little trundle-bed occupant; 'here, Tommy, you always know everything you ought _not_ to; where's your father?'

"'Oh, he went off an hour since,' said the urchin; 'took his money-trunk and went down street.'

"Mrs. Jones leaped into the middle of the floor, examined the contents of wardrobe and closets. Yes--his clothes were all there; she couldn't decide whether she was a 'California widow' or not; the chances were about even.

"'Six little mouths to feed,' said she; 'house-rent to pay, and myself to keep out of mischief. Shouldn't have minded _his_ going, if he hadn't kidnapped that money-trunk; he was getting dyspeptic and fussy, _rather_ inclining to be _ancient_;' and she shook out her curls from under her cap, and attempted to finish her breakfast toilette.

"'T-o-m-m-y Jones,' said she; 'leave off shaving that cat, with your father's razor. Do you know what day it is?'

"'Well, you'd better ask father,' said the young hopeful. 'There he is, coming up the street with a money-trunk in his hand, of a Sunday morning.'

"'M-r. Jo-n-e-s,' said his spouse, as that gentleman came in, and walking so close up to him that their noses touched--'_have you been imbibing?_ What did you get up so early for? and where on earth have you been? and which way did you go? and what have you been about? Make haste, and tell me! Pretty example for you to set this baptized Tommy--to be running round, Sunday morning, before sunrise, with a money-trunk under your arm. What do you suppose our minister'll think?'

"'_Sunday morning!_' said Jones, rubbing his forehead--'Sunday morning! That accounts! Couldn't think, for the life of me, why there wasn't a window-shutter taken down in the street. Been down to the store, as true as I'm a sinner; made the fire; opened the shutters, and hung out all the calicoes and ribbons and streamers I could find.

_Sunday Morning!_ Well, it's all _your_ fault, Mrs. Jones; how was _I_ to know? You didn't have _salt fish for dinner, yesterday, though it was Sat.u.r.day_--that's the only way I know when Sunday comes. Shouldn't make innovations, Mrs. Jones; it's all your fault. There never was a commandment broke yet, that a _woman_ wasn't at the bottom of it.'"

XLVI.

MRS. JUPITER'S SOLILOQUY, TAKEN DOWN IN SHORT-HAND.--BY f.a.n.n.y FERN.