Chapter Ten.
A Bad Dream.
“Eunice,” said Mrs Stone, “there is something I want to say to you, only I am afraid you won’t like it.”
“Even if I shouldn’t like it, I don’t know that that would be a good reason why you shouldn’t say it,” responded Eunice, with a smile.
They were sitting together in the front porch, into which the sun was shining brightly; and in September days, when the afternoons are shortening, the sunshine is welcome among these hills, for warmth as well as brightness. They had been sitting there for an hour or two, sometimes exchanging a word about their work, or their neighbours, or the passers-by, but on the whole inclined to silence. Eunice had a book on her lap, and her sewing also, but they had both been neglected for a while. Mrs Stone was knitting steadily on, as if there were nothing more interesting to her at the moment than her monotonous work.
Fidelia had gone with the Everett children and their mother, and several other young people, on the long-talked-of blackberrying expedition, which had been delayed so often for one reason and another that the chances were against success, as far as the fruit was concerned. There had been some discussion as to the wisdom of calling it a nutting expedition instead, though it was early yet to think of getting nuts. But it did not really matter about either the one or the other. The chances were they would find that which they were seeking, though they should get neither nuts nor berries.
The young people had gone in Deacon Ainsworth’s hay-cart, seated on a pile of fragrant hay, and with Jabez in charge of the oxen. Mrs Stone had been invited to go with them, but she had declined.
“Mother is coming in the chaise, and Uncle Justin,” said Susie Everett. “Mother was afraid of the hay-cart. If you can drive, you might go with mother, Mrs Stone. Uncle Justin wouldn’t mind going in the cart, I am sure.”
“No, I don’t much believe he would, under the circumstances,” Mrs Stone had answered; but she still declined. The invitation had been renewed when the chaise passed half-an-hour afterwards, but had been again declined.
“I should have liked to go, just to know how it would seem to be there again,” said she. But she had a stronger reason for staying than for going. She had something to say to Eunice which it would be as well to say when Fidelia was not within call.
“Well?” said Eunice, after a pause.
“Well; it isn’t so much that I am afraid you won’t like it, as that I shall hurt you.”
“But if it is to do me good, I shall not mind the hurt after a little.”
“But then I should feel dreadfully if you were to turn round and tell me I’d better mind my own business.”
“A good deal of my business is yours now, Ruby,” said Eunice, smiling still, but with a slow rising of colour to her cheeks.
“Well, I don’t know, certainly, that you will think this is; but I know that I mean you nothing but good, and her too.”
“Fidelia! Say what you have to say, Ruby.”
“Well, I will. Hasn’t it ever come into your mind that Justin Everett was letting his thoughts turn towards Fidelia?”
“Justin Everett!—Fidelia!”
There was not another word spoken for a good many minutes. Eunice sat with her eyes cast down and with her colour coming and going; and Mrs Stone, seemingly intent on her knitting, noted every change on the beautiful face. But she waited for Eunice to speak first, and in a little she did so quietly enough.
“I cannot say that I have never thought such a thing possible; but I have never seen any reason to make me think that it had happened. Have you, Ruby?”
“Well, if anybody—say Mrs Holt or Mrs Ainsworth—were to come and tell me all that I could tell you, I expect as likely as not I should tell them that all that amounted to nothing. It does not seem anything to tell. Well, a glance maybe, or a long look at her when he never supposed there was any one to take notice! It does not seem much to tell it, but the thought has come into my mind.”
“And Fidelia?”
“Oh, as to Fidelia—I guess she’s all right! I can’t tell you anything about Fidelia. She didn’t like him at first—anybody could see that. They are friendly now. Oh, yes, quite friendly! but I guess, Eunice, it is as your friend that Fidelia thinks of Justin Everett.”
“He is my friend,” said Eunice gravely. And after a little she added—“We will not speak any more about this just now, Ruby. By-and-by perhaps I may. No, you haven’t hurt me. And I could bear to be hurt by you, Ruby, for my good or for Fidelia’s.”
And not another word was spoken on the subject for a long time after that.
The sun was set, but the moon was up before the young people came home. The chaise came first, and was stopped a minute at the gate. Eunice stayed in the porch, but Mrs Stone went down to speak to Mrs Everett at the gate.
“I have got Fidelia with me,” said Mrs Everett. “I wanted Justin to stay to take care of the young people. I should have been troubled about them; they are so full of frolic that they forget to take care of themselves. And I knew I should feel safe with Fidelia driving.”
“I am going to drive Mrs Everett all the way home, Eunice,” said Fidelia.
“There is no need. I guess I can drive myself the rest of the way.”
But, knowing the lady’s timidity, Eunice told Fidelia she had better go on.
“And I will send Jotham back with her at once,” said Mrs Everett.
And so she did; and the chaise had not gone again before the sound of voices singing told that the party in the hay-cart were drawing near. There was a general outcry when it was discovered that Fidelia had not remained at Dr Everett’s, where the young people were to have tea, and spend the evening. She was intreated to return with them. Dr Justin had gone to the door to speak to Eunice, and Susie followed him, begging him to ask permission for Fidelia to go. But Eunice said, in her gentlest voice, that she would like Fidelia to stay at home; and Dr Justin said nothing.
“Would you like to have gone, Fidelia?” asked Eunice, as they went into the house.
“No; I didn’t care about going. I have had enough of noise and nonsense for one day. Oh, yes, I enjoyed it! We didn’t get many berries; and—there!—they have carried mine off with them. I am hungry. I will tell you all about it by-and-by.”
But there was nothing of very much interest to tell. Dr Justin’s name came in with the rest, rather more readily than had been the case when she first came home, and neither of her listeners lost word, or tone, or gesture. But Fidelia had nothing of special interest to tell, and certainly she had nothing to conceal.
“She does not care for him. She is not thinking about him,” said Eunice to herself.
“She does not care for him, or she does not know it,” thought Mrs Stone; and both women were glad in their hearts that Dr Justin’s visit was drawing to a close.
And so were others among his friends. At that moment Dr Everett and his wife were saying a few words to one another on the same subject.
“I am afraid he is thinking about her—that he does care for her,” said the gentle little lady, who, much against her will, had been induced to go with the young people in the afternoon, because her husband had said it was the right thing to do. “No; I am quite sure he has not spoken, and I don’t think Fidelia has the least thought of such a thing.”
“And he mustn’t speak. I would not have Miss Eunice troubled now for more than I can say. No he must not speak; and yet I don’t see how I can tell him so, unless he first speaks to me.”
“But, husband, do you think it would trouble her? I think Eunice Marsh is far beyond all such trouble now. And if—”
“We will not speak about it. Eunice is very near heaven, as I believe; but she can never be beyond caring for what must affect her sister’s happiness. Justin must not speak. It would be the same sad story over again. Fidelia would never leave her sister if she knew her state. And she would have to know it. I do not think Justin will speak—now—unless he should be betrayed into it. But one can never tell. I am thankful he has but another day.”
“But another day!” Dr Justin had said those words a good many times to himself during the afternoon, but he had not said them, as his brother did, with thankfulness. He did not mean to speak to Fidelia. He told himself that he must not speak; that speaking to her now could do no good—only evil. He wished the day well over, and for the moment he did not care to look beyond it.
They all said—“Only another day!” But much, either for good or ill, may happen in one day—even in one moment. And the next day it happened to Fidelia that the knowledge came to her, not of Justin Everett’s secret, but of her own. It was nobody’s fault, but it was a great misfortune; and it happened in this way.
In the afternoon, while the sisters and Mrs Stone were sitting in the porch in the sunshine, Jabez Ainsworth passed in the doctor’s chaise, and he stopped to tell them that he was going down to the depôt to see about Dr Justin’s filly.
“Dr Justin will be along in a few minutes riding her. She must be aboard the cars to-night, they say, and I am to stay with her to see that she doesn’t get scared or anything. Dr Justin will drive home in the chaise.” And Jabez went on.
Before a word was spoken Dr Justin came in sight.
“Eunice,” said Fidelia eagerly, “come down to the gate and see Dolly. She is the most beautiful creature, and gentle as a lamb. She minds Dr Justin’s least word.”
They went down to the gate, and Mrs Stone followed, much interested for various reasons. A beautiful brown creature was Dolly, gentle and full of spirit, with shy, bright eyes, and a mouth which answered to the slightest touch. She was duly praised and petted, and all expressed the hope that she might reach her new home in safety, and be happy there.
“You are not in danger of being too late, are you?” asked Mrs Stone, in a tone which might imply that she thought the danger certain.
“We don’t go to-night—I mean Dolly does not go to-night. Miss Eunice, you promised to give me the address of your friend,” said Dr Justin, taking his note-book and pencil from his pocket. He was riding his beautiful mare as he used to ride the horses in the pasture when he was a boy—with a bridle, but with no saddle, and he dropped the rein on the creature’s neck as he prepared to write.
“There come the cars!” said Mrs Stone in a whisper, and the shriek of the engine rose and echoed and re-echoed among the hills. Neither of the women for months heard the sound without a thrill of pain. For it startled the pretty, gentle creature into terror which the loose rein gave Dr Justin no power for the moment to soothe or to control, and she sprang forward with a bound which, happily, failed to unseat her rider, and was out of sight round the corner of the road in a moment.
“Come, Aunt Ruby! No—stay with Eunice!” cried Fidelia; and she flew rather than ran up the hill, and out of sight. To see—what? Dr Justin standing with his arm thrown over the neck of his favourite, while, with hand and voice, he soothed her into quiet again.
The sudden relief moved Fidelia as the sight of no catastrophe could have moved her. With a cry she sprang forward, clasping with both hers the hand he held out to her; and, in the single instant of meeting, his eyes read in hers the secret which she herself had not known.
“My Faithful!” he breathed. She cared for him. He had but to speak the word, and she would be his for ever.
But he did not speak it. Something—was it a sense of honour, or an old memory, or was it the sudden change in the beautiful moved face that kept him silent?
“Eunice!—I must go and tell Eunice! We were all so frightened,” she said hurriedly.
“I was in no danger. I hope your sister has not been startled. I will go back with you.”
“No, no! There is no need;” and she waited to hear no more. She was out of sight in a moment. She met Mrs Stone toiling slowly up the hill.
“It is all right,” said Fidelia. “He is walking and leading Dolly up the hill. We got our fright for nothing.”
“And a good thing, thank God!” said Mrs Stone. “Now, Eunice, hadn’t you better go and lie down? You have had enough excitement for one night,” she added, as they entered the gate.
Eunice was pale, but quite calm. She was thinking, not of herself, but of her sister.
“You ran too fast, Fidelia.”
“A great deal too fast. And up the hill too. And then to see him standing there—all right—with his arm over Dolly’s neck, as cool as a cucumber! It was an anti-climax, Aunt Ruby, if you know what that is.”
“Well, you didn’t stay long to sympathise with him, did you?” said Mrs Stone.
“He didn’t need it; and it was Eunice I was thinking of;” and Fidelia, who did not yet understand what had happened to her, looked at her sister with wondering eyes. “Were you frightened, Eunice? Is your heart beating in that uncomfortable way again? Come in and lie down, as Aunt Ruby says.”
They went in, but Eunice did not lie down. They had tea as usual, and then Fidelia moved about, a little restless for a time; and then she sat down quietly with her work, and a book on the table beside her. It was Mrs Stone who went to the door when Jabez stopped to ask for Miss Eunice, and to explain that it had been thought best to give the mare a quiet night after her fright before beginning her journey, and that she was to leave at four the next day, and that Dr Justin was to travel a certain distance in the slow train with her, till he saw how it was to be.
“To-morrow afternoon they go. Were you scared Mrs Stone? And how is Miss Eunice?”
“Miss Eunice is all right, and so is Fidelia. Yes, I was scared a little, but not enough to hurt me; and I hope this is the last of Dr Justin for to-night anyway.”
But it was not. Fidelia heard his voice at the door after she had gone to her room for the night. She did not hear what he said, but she heard Mrs Stone’s answer.
“Yes, you did give us a scare. But there is no harm done. At least I hope not. They’ve both gone to bed anyhow. You can’t very well see either of them to-night.”
“I will call to-morrow, if possible. But if I should not see them again to-morrow—”
That was all Fidelia heard.
“Not see him to-morrow! No, nor the next day, nor the next—nor ever again, I hope and pray,” said Fidelia, hiding her face in her hands. For she was beginning to understand what had come upon her. And had she been a traitor to herself as well as to Eunice? Had she read aright the triumph in his eyes? And was he a traitor too?
“And, oh, Eunice—Eunice—Eunice!”
That was the burden of her thoughts, through many weary hours. She slept towards morning, and woke with a burden of shame and anger, and sorrow and dread, which made all trouble which she had passed through; or which she dreaded, seem as nothing to her.
But one night of sleepless misery does not pale the face, or dim the eye, or quell the courage of a healthy girl of eighteen; and she rose early and did all that she usually did in the morning, and, for all that Mrs Stone’s watchful eyes could see, enjoyed her breakfast as usual.
The morning passed as other mornings had, except that, perhaps, the time given upstairs to her books was a little longer than she gave on most days. But she came down in the middle of her work to read a bit to Eunice, as she sometimes did, either that she might claim admiration for something which she herself admired, or to ask an explanation of something which she did not quite understand. After dinner, she declared herself inclined to go and see old Mrs Belknap, which, she owned, she ought to have done long ago.
“Will you go with me, Mrs Stone?”
Mrs Stone hesitated.
“Well, no; I guess I’ll stay with Eunice. Oh, yes, she’s well enough!—but I guess I’ll stay. If you’ll wait till to-morrow I’ll try to go.”
“But I am going somewhere else to-morrow. I guess I’ll go.”
“You’ll miss seeing the last of Dr Justin if you go. He goes at five.”
“Oh, I can be back long before five! I don’t mean to stay to tea, even if she should ask me, which is not likely. I wonder if there is anything I could carry to the poor old lady.”
“I thought of sending her the stockings I finished last. And you might take her a bottle of pickles. I’ll put them in the basket if you are bound to go.”
“Why, Fidelia, you’ll miss saying good-bye to Dr Justin,” said Eunice also, when Fidelia went into her room before starting.
“I can be back before five. Three hours—nearly four. Oh, yes, I can be back! If I don’t go to see the old lady to-day I can’t this week, and perhaps not at all. I think I had better go, Eunice. I’ll take the near way through the woods.”
She went slowly up the hill, pausing a moment before passing the big rock, then hurried on till she came to the place where she entered the woods. She lingered there, making believe that she was enjoying the sunshine and the pleasant air, and singing as she crossed the level to the grey solitary house standing where two roads met.
Her visit was as successful as visits to Mrs Belknap usually were, but she did not linger over it. She should have taken sweetmeats instead of pickles to the old lady, she told Mrs Stone afterwards, for she was sharp and sour enough by nature. But she told her a good many things about the seminary, and about her visit at Dr Austin’s, and about getting lost on the mountain with Mrs Stone. She answered many questions also, some of which were not very easy to answer, and on the whole mollified the old lady before she went away.
“And how is Eunice these days? Yes, I know she looks pretty well. I worried considerable about her when I heard that Justin Everett was coming home. But I always thought she showed her sense by letting him go away, and staying herself. I guess she’ll let him go again. What do you think of him? Has he changed any? He hasn’t as much as looked at my place since he came.”
“That is strange!” said Fidelia. “I don’t remember him before he went away. Yes, he is going away pretty soon. Mrs Belknap, when are you coming over to see Eunice and Mrs Stone?”
“Ruby Peck that was? She was a pretty smart girl when I used to know her, and I expect she did a pretty smart thing when she married Ezra Stone. Folks say she’s got enough to keep her all her life, which is more than can be said of me; and Ezra Stone could not hold a candle to the kind of man my husband was!” and so on.
Fidelia heard it all, and remembered it, and made Eunice and Mrs Stone smile by repeating some of the old lady’s words, but all the time she was saying to herself—
“Shall I hurry home—or shall I stay till it is too late? Oh, I must go! No, I must not go.”
She went at last hurrying over the meadow and through the wood, till she came breathless to the gap in the fence by the road, and then she sat down to rest. And then slowly up the hill came the doctor’s old Grey, as usual, choosing his own pace. She did not see him, but she knew it was old Grey, and then she heard a voice say—“Let him breathe a minute;” and the old horse stood still.
Fidelia held her breath lest she should be discovered, then watched them as they went on, till the old chaise passed out of sight. Then she turned homewards, pausing at the spot near the big rock where last night she had seen Justin Everett soothing his frightened mare with hand and voice.
“Only last night!” she repeated. “It was a dream—only a dream; and everything shall be as before—yes, everything! Only I wish Eunice would tell me—”
To outward seeming, all was as before. And, though every thought of Dr Justin hurt her, it was chiefly because of her own treachery to Eunice, as she angrily called it. And so a few days passed, and she grew afraid of the dull, persistent pain at last, and said—“I will speak to Eunice.”