MARY HOLT'S ENGAGEMENT
BY CATHERINE OWENS
'And I am really engaged! I can hardly believe it. How often I have thought and wondered who my husband would be, or if I ever should marry. But I suppose all girls have the same thoughts; at all events my future is now settled. I wonder if Tom will always care as much for me as he does now?'
Mary Holt sat in the bright firelight, watching the flickering flames, and thinking of her new position.
She was very young and inexperienced, and Tom Cowell's declaration of love and somewhat masterful wooing had taken her by storm. She had hardly realized that he was dear to her beyond friendship, when he asked her to be his wife, and, in spite of the suddenness of her betrothal, if the bright, dimpling smile and sunny eyes might be taken as a sign, she was a very happy little woman indeed.
Tom had not been very long in Mapleton when he met and fell in love with Mary, who, for her part, much as she liked his great broad shoulders and honest, handsome face, was long before she could believe that she, who was said to be the prettiest and most admired girl in that part of Pennsylvania, could ever love such a very different man from the one she had pictured as her conquering hero.
Her ideal had been such a very superior creature—quite unlike good-natured, handsome, but, to Mary's eyes, who judged by the Mapleton standard, somewhat common-place Tom Cowell.
He had seemed to her, too, to have an unpleasantly good opinion of his own people and his home, which was Limeton—as every one knows, much behind Mapleton in culture and refinement, although it could boast of its greater wealth; but wealth in such a sooty atmosphere lost all attraction for Mary. Yet he quoted Limeton, and, what the Limetonians did, thought, and intended to do, and the effect of their intentions on the coming election for President, which was exasperating to Mary, who, like all loyal Mapletonians, was quite sure their own city was the brain of the State, even if Limeton did represent its wealth; so that what the former said and thought was of far more importance to the country, and she would smile at the purse-proud ignorance of Limeton.
Even when she saw Tom's honest admiration for herself, and found that she enjoyed his visits and attentions, she believed it was only the magnetism of his good humour, and breezy, healthy nature that pleased her; she was sure it was nothing more.
And yet the day came, as we see, when she had been brought to know that she loved him, and to look forward to being his wife as her greatest good. But then, in his growing affection for her, and his absorbing anxiety as to its being returned, he had left off quoting 'my mother' and Limeton quite so often; and Mary flattered herself it was because he was beginning to see the superiority of Mapleton, and thus tacitly acknowledged it.
A few days after her betrothal she received a letter from Mrs. Cowell, inviting her to go and stay with her for a few weeks, in order that they might become better acquainted.
The letter was kind and motherly, and Mary felt that it was so: but although there were no actual faults of spelling, it was evidently not the production of a cultured woman, and she thought with some dread of her future mother-in-law. It would all be very tolerable if Tom did not think so over much of his own kin, but he evidently looked on his women-folk as the most superior of their kind.
However, she had to meet them sooner or later, and as Tom was so anxious, it was best to go.
Tom was delighted when she told him she would accept his mother's invitation. His face glowed with satisfaction as he expressed his thanks.
'You will like my dear mother so much, Mary, and Louise will be a delightful companion for you, darling. She is such a sweet, sensible girl, and a prodigious housekeeper. You will learn a great deal from her.'
'I have no doubt I shall like your mother,' says Mary, not very enthusiastically, it must be confessed.
Tom's face falls.
'And Limeton, Mary; it's such a splendid city—quite different from this place.'
Mary fancies she detects a slight deprecatory tone in the way he says 'this place.'
'Yes, I suppose it is very different. Horridly dirty, isn't it?
'Not more dirty than a prosperous manufacturing city must inevitably be, and within a mile all round there is the loveliest scenery you can imagine. Our place is about a mile from the city, so the dirt will not annoy you; and you will meet such pleasant people there that you will not mind the smoke. I am sure, Mary, you will come away quite in love with Limeton, and prefer it to this prim old place.'
'Prefer it to Mapleton? Never.'
'Well, well, we'll see;' and in his proud confidence he kissed her and left her.
Mary felt indignant.
'I'm sure we shall never get along if Tom remains so wrapped up in his mother, and sister, and Limeton. A great deal to learn from Louise, indeed!'
Mary could not get it through her little Mapleton head hut that she was about to honour Limeton infinitely by going there, and that her Mapleton manners and dress would be envied and copied by its unsophisticated people and now to be told that she was to learn from Louise!
Of course, she had a little cry, and made several foolish resolutions, and then set about her preparations for an early departure with a heavy heart.
A week later Mary was whirling along to Limeton, wondering what Tom's relations would be like, and whether they were like him—unpolished diamonds. Could he think so much of them if they were not very nice? And although the people she knew from Limeton except Tom, had been suggestive of smoke and petroleum to her, they surely would be exceptions.
Mary's heart sank within her as the train neared the depot; such miserable shanties formed the outskirts, such gloom hung in the air, that she shuddered at the thought of having to stay even a week in such a place. Her spirits did not revive when she saw Mrs. Cowell and Louise, who were waiting to receive her, and welcomed her with much cordiality.
As they rode home in the dusty 'carry-all,' Mrs. Cowell was evidently studying Mary's elegant and expensive travelling-dress, from her Russia leather satchel to her dainty boots and gloves, while Mary had taken in at a glance the terribly dowdy appearance of Louise and her mother—the old lady's black alpaca suit, made evidently at home and Louise's Scotch plaid dress, and dyed, and too scant silk overekirt; and yet, with such toilets, it was a relief to her to find they were not coarse.
As they passed through the town Mrs. Cowell and Louise pointed out some of the attractions, which they considered must astonish their visitor, and were evidently disappointed at the equanimity with which she regarded them. Mary, however, could be very sweet; and, although an idea was forming in her mind that Mrs. and Miss Cowell could never become relatives of hers, she exerted herself to charm them, and succeeded. The old lady thought she was a giddy young thing, quite unused to travelling, or she would never wear a dress beautiful enough for gala day attire on the cars, but that when she became toned down by Louise's example all would come right; but at the same time she determined herself to give her a few hints on extravagance, especially on the folly of wearing an Irish poplin dress to travel in.
The Cowells lived in a large, comfortable house, with fine old trees around it, and Mary began to hope, when she saw the wealth of sylvan beauty, that her visit might not be so unbearable as she had feared.
The interior was not so promising; it was Mrs. Cowell and Louise over again—plain, sensible, thrifty, but perfectly unendurable to luxurious Mary, who was accustomed to elegance and loved it.
She sighed as she sat on the hard, hair-cloth easy-chair, and trying the harder sofa, found it utterly impossible to adapt her round little figure to its angles.
No wonder Louise was so prim if she had been brought up amid such furniture! And then her thoughts turned to Tom. He was not prim. But even in that short time she had come to the conclusion that he was not like the rest of his family. Then why, oh! why, did he quote them so often? Could it be possible that he would expect her to live in a similar fashion? Perhaps that was why he had told her she could learn housekeeping from Louise.
Whatever Tom's idea on the subject may have been, it was evident that his mother meant to make her visit an apprenticeship to the future life she expected her son to lead.
Conversation had not been very brisk hitherto, and when tea was announced, Mary, determined to make talk, praised the biscuit, the cake, and the delicious butter.
'Yes, my dear, Louise's butter is excellent, although I say it. I suppose you know how to make butter? But I could take a hint myself from Louise, and it will do you no harm to learn some of her housekeeping wrinkles. Tom has always been accustomed to fine butter, and I hear in Mapleton they churn up the milk with the cream.'
'I am sure I know nothing about it,' said Mary, forgetting her resolve to be amiable.
However, Mrs. Cowell seemed almost pleased to know that Louise's instructions would be given where they were most needed.
'Never mind, my dear; you are quick, I'll be bound, and we'll soon make a good housekeeper of you. There's one thing to begin on: if you travel in your handsome dresses you will never have anything decent to wear. Get yourself a nice, neat black alpaca, that will never show dirt, and last for years.'
Mary listened for a moment in speechless indignation, and then said:
'But I wish to be as well dressed when I travel as at home; any lady must do so.'
'Ah! you will soon lose that notion when you are married. Limeton ladies are much more sensible.'
Mary was prudently silent. It was evidently useless to argue with the old lady. After tea Mrs. Cowell went to sleep in her chair, and Louise took her visitor to Tom's own room, showed her his wonderful juvenile achievements in drawing and calligraphy, and seeing Mary was somewhat silent, said suddenly:
'You most not mind what mamma says, dear Mary; she is old-fashioned in her ideas, and I have been brought up to be something-like her, but we can't expect every one to be cut out after our own pattern. Tom is not.'
The intention was, no doubt, very kind, but the tone seemed to Mary one of tolerance. She fancied Louise meant to patronize her, making allowance for her short-comings, and she could not brook that in her present mood, so she answered, somewhat tartly:
'I am afraid I should not meet the expectations of any of you, not having been cut out by any pattern at all, that I know of.'
'There, you are offended, and I am sorry. But mamma meant well, and so do I,' she added, after a pause.
Now, Mary prided herself upon being exceedingly reasonable, and so she reflected that Mrs. Cowell and Louise had acted according to their lights. It was not to be expected that they should understand her, so she graciously said:
'Don't speak of it any more. We see things from such different points of view that it is scarcely likely we could agree on such a subject I can see that you are very kind, Louise,' she added, putting forth her little white hand, which Louise clasped in her shapely brown ones; and then they joined Mrs. Cowell, who had just awakened from her nap.
During the next few days Mary learned to appreciate the character of Louise, without being in the least desirous of emulating her housewifely virtues. Limeton did not meet with her approval. She could scarcely repress her disgust as she walked the grimy streets, saw the pretentious, over-dressed people, who thus flaunted their wealth in the faces of their less fortunate neighbours, and then thought It might have been her home. To change clean, beautiful Mapleton for Limeton!
Tom had told her he would like their home Limeton, but had said that if she would be happier in Mapleton he would forego his wish. His business permitted him to live in either place. Not to be outdone in generosity, Mary had declared her happiness was to be with him, no matter where. The subject had not been renewed, but Mary had now quite decided that Limeton could never be her home. She had, indeed, balanced whether Mrs. Cowell could ever be her mother-in-law, but as she thought of Tom, she felt that infliction could be borne—away from Limeton.
Tom was to come the following Saturday, and spend a few days at home before she went back to Mapleton, and she awaited his coming with eagerness. She wanted to let him know that she could never make her home in Limeton, before he could make any plans with his mother.
When Saturday came, she told Louise she thought of going to the depot to meet Tom; and Louise, with more delicacy than Mary had given her credit for, said:
'Oh! that is just the thing. I have so many things to see to that I would rather not go, and yet we could not let him arrive without some of us going.'
She also managed to keep Mrs. Cowell at home, feeling sure that Tom would enjoy Mary's company alone better than with them.
Mary almost forgot all about Mrs. Cowell in the pleasure of meeting Tom, but after he had asked her a dozen questions, about herself, he said:
'And how do you like Limeton, Mary?'
'Oh, perfectly detestable! I cannot think how anybody can live there.'
'Ah! I see you have still those Mapleton ideas, Mary. Now, I hate Mapleton, and am always glad to get out of it, the people are such snobs. You are the only pleasant person I ever met there. Limeton people are substantial, true-hearted, and—and, in short, Mary, I am much disappointed that you don't like the finest city in the State.'
'Finest city in the State, indeed!' says Mary, stung by his disparagement of her native city. 'It is a most unpleasant place, smoky, grimy, and unhealthy, and the people, as far as I have met them, may be substantial enough, but they are dreadfully tiresome and uninteresting. I don't mean you, Tom,' she adds, seeing him glare down upon her in angry astonishment.
'I am much obliged, I am sure, that you make an exception in my favour, but I cannot take credit myself at the expense of my mother and Louise.'
'Oh! I like Louise.'
'And not my mother, I infer?
'No.'
Mary had not intended to tell him this point-blank, but he had taken such a line with her for not liking Limeton that she felt indignant, and not inclined to mince the facts at all. The result was what may have been expected: Tom stalked on in solemn silence, while she, all of resentment, held her little head very much in the air.
When they arrived at the house, Louise saw, notwithstanding Mary's unusual animation, that something had gone wrong between them, but chose the wise part of silence. Mrs. Cowell saw nothing but that her son was not much in love, as she feared he would be, with Mary. She had not found the latter as tractable as she had hoped in the way of imitating Louise, and had discovered that she had not that admiration of frugality and thrift, that befitted the future wife of her son; therefore she was contented to see that son's cool politeness to Mary, which she took as a proof that he was not likely to be led away by her caprices.
The next morning Tom joined Mary in the garden, and said:
'Under the impression that you would like Limeton, I had written about a place here I wanted to buy, but from what you said last night I conclude that any plan of that sort is useless.'
'Quite useless,' said Mary decidedly; 'and I really think, Tom, that you had better decide your future without reference to me. I—that is—there are several things that would, I think, prevent our being happy together.'
'In short, you are tired of our engagement?'
'If you take it that way, yes.'
'Oh, you women, you women!' said Tom, bitterly; 'but Mary had walked off, and he did not follow her.
Later that day Mary said she thought her presence was required at home. Louise looked sad, but no one made any remark on her sudden leave-taking. Only Tom, when he drove her to the depot, talking painfully small talk as they went, to avoid past and gone topics, wringing her hands as the train moved off, said:
'Heaven bless you, Mary; I hope one of your Mapleton fellows will make you as good a husband as I should have wished to be.'
'Thank you; I must take my chance,' says Mary, forcing back her tears till he is gone; then, dropping her veil, she cries her way home.
* * * * *
A year later Mary is alone in the world. She has lost her father, and as she sits in her mourning dress she thinks of the past, and is not afraid to tell herself now, that but for her own folly she might have had good, true-hearted Tom Cowell to help her in her trouble; that, grieved as she would have been at her father's loss, she could never have been alone in the world as long as Tom had lived; and now she would be alone for ever, for, disguise it from herself as she had tried to do, she knew she loved Tom still; all other men seemed poor, weak things to her, and for Tom's sake even Mapleton did not seem such a very superior place as it had done, and in consequence, Limeton was not so horrible. She knew in her heart she had been somewhat prejudiced, and told herself that the unpleasantness of it should have counted as nothing compared with Tom's love, All this she had seen long before she confessed it even to herself; probably, but for the grief that had lowered her pride, she never would have so confessed.
She sat musing in the firelight as she had done a year ago, when a card was brought to her.
'Mrs. Henry Carlton! I know no one of that name. Show the lady in.'
A lady, dressed handsomely, but with Quaker-like simplicity, then entered, and Mary recognised Louise Cowell.
After the first embarrassment of meeting had passed, Louise told Mary of her marriage with one of the 'dearest men in the world,' that they had just returned from their wedding trip, and had so timed their arrival as to meet Tom on his return from Europe.
'It was only last night we heard of your father's death, and then, dear Mary, I could not refrain from coming to tell you how sorry I am.'
'Tears filled Mary's eyes at the mention of her father.
'I am very much obliged to you, Louise, and heartily glad to see you. Are you going to stay here long?'
'Yes, we shall pass the winter in Mapleton, and being a stranger here, I shall often inflict my company on you if you will have me.'
'The oftener the better, dear Louise,' replied Mary, sincerely.
She liked Louise. At the same time, she thought with some trepidation that these visits from Louise must result in her meeting Tom again, which she felt very reluctant to do; but pride came to her aid, and she asked herself why she could not meet a man with indifference, who could so meet her?
And so she resolved to avoid neither Louise nor him.
Perhaps Louise had a little project of her own. At all events, she appeared to have much satisfaction when she found Mary did not shrink from the mention of Tom's name, and accordingly he became her chief topic of conversation. She even hinted at his unhappiness, and her fears that his disappointment would be a life-long sorrow.
'Ah! you dear, innocent Louise. Shakespeare knew men better than you, and he says:
"Men have died from time to time,
And worms have eaten them, but not for love."'
Mary said, with forced gaiety.
At last Tom and Mary did meet, and then Mary found all her fortitude necessary, for Tom evidently had no intention of carrying matters off with dignity, but rather showed her in every word and look that she was the one woman in the world for him.
Can't everyone guess the end? That Tom took an early opportunity of calling himself a fool and begging Mary's forgiveness, and Mary contradicted him, and with many tears shed on his vest declared herself an unreasonable little vixen, not worth his love, and that she was willing to live in the very heart of Limeton if necessary.
'Too late, my dear,' says Tom, merrily, 'for I have my eye on a lovely little nest in Mapleton, and I am not going to have my plans upset a second time.'
Then Louise came into the room.
'Blessed are the peace-makers,' said Tom, going to his sister and kissing her.