CHAPTER IV—A VISIT TO FRIEDENHEIM
Anna Ashburton’s parting with her Dorton friends, especially Mrs. Ashley, was a trial to her, but their sympathy cheered and strengthened, and in comparatively good spirits she set out for Springfield.
She felt self-condemned that she had been reluctant to accept Mrs. Lacy’s offer of a home when she saw the genuine pleasure with which she was welcomed by the sister of her foster mother.
The young people of Mrs. Lacy’s large circle of friends rejoiced that an amiable, attractive girl was added to their list, and the festivities at the Lacy mansion were a delight to all.
Mr. Valentine Courtney, Mrs. Ashley and other intimate friends wrote to her in response to her letters, telling of her safe arrival and cordial reception, and congratulated her heartily upon having another mother in Mrs. Lacy and pleasant companionship in the young people of Springfield.
They kept her apprised of all the happenings in Dorton and its neighborhood, told her of the grief of Lois, Phebe and Judy who could not speak without tears of the absence of their young mistress, but of the spectre that had frightened the superstitious from “My Lady’s Manor” they made no mention.
Had the apparition taken any other form than that of Mrs. Joshua Farnsworth, they might have mentioned it in a spirit of jesting; as it was, no one in Dorton would thus wound her.
She was aware that Mr. Reginald Farnsworth had remained but a few months at “My Lady’s Manor,” but had heard that his wife insisted upon going to Philadelphia, and from thence to California, her widowed mother accompanying her.
That “My Lady’s Manor” was unoccupied she attributed to a rich man’s indifference. That the servants remained in their quarters was no surprise to her, well knowing that Mr. Farnsworth could find no better care-takers.
It was therefore a great surprise to her when one day the Baltimore lawyer called to inform her that Mr. and Mrs. Farnsworth asked her as a favor to them to accept “My Lady’s Manor” as a gift.
It was not until she read their letter in which they besought her pardon for the injustice done her, that she realized that the dear home of her childhood was restored to her, and with happy tears she thanked the one who brought the good news to her.
Visits had been frequent between Anna and Mrs. Warfield during the winter and early spring, Mrs. Ashley being the tie that bound them in close friendship, and Anna lost no time in going to the farmhouse to impart the information that “My Lady’s Manor” was again in her possession; and before she left, it was decided that they would go to Dorton the following week as a surprise to their Maryland friends.
Mrs. Warfield was as eager for this visit as was Anna; for Norman Ashley had fallen in battle, and she hoped to bring her sister and Hilda Brinsfield to make their home with her in the farmhouse.
Mrs. Lacy had never admired Anna more than upon the morning she and Mrs. Warfield set out for Maryland. The light of happiness beamed in her brilliant eyes, for she was returning to her childhood’s home, doubly prized because once lost and mourned.
Mr. Valentine Courtney was on a business trip to Europe, but she would visit his sister at “Friedenheim,” see the places where he had been, would again be with her loved Mrs. Ashley and Hilda, see again the Lattingers and the Merrymans, sit again in Dorton church, and walk again on the banks of the clear flowing stream, the favorite walk of the villagers.
Mrs. Warfield had reached the station at Springfield and was waiting her arrival. Soon the Lacy carriage drew up to the spot where she stood, the footman opened the door, and Anna stepped out as radiant as a May morning.
Together they entered the car, the whistle sounded, they were on their way, and had nearly reached the next halting place when there was a collision, then wails of mortal pain and Mrs. Warfield knew no more.
When consciousness returned she found herself in the waiting-room of the depot, and near her lay Anna Ashburton, dying, but rational, and dictating to an attorney her wishes in regard to the disposal of her property, Mrs. Warfield and others witnessing her signature to the document written by him.
“My Lady’s Manor” was bequeathed to her intended husband, Valentine Courtney, and the will was given in charge of Mrs. Warfield to deliver to Mrs. Lacy.
A few hours after the bright young life was ended and Mrs. Warfield accompanied all that remained of the lovely Anna Ashburton to the sorrow-stricken home in Springfield.
Mr. Valentine Courtney was on the eve of returning from London when Mrs. Lacy’s cablegram apprizing him of the accident reached him and as soon as he landed in America he went to her home. From her he learned the details of the calamity; of the will which had made him owner of “My Lady’s Manor,” and of the illness of Mrs. Warfield; and so far as Mrs. Lacy knew, no word of these things had reached Dorton.
She was correct in this; no one there knew of the intended visit of Anna Ashburton, and it was left to Mr. Courtney to take the sad news to “Friedenheim.”
Only to the Rev. Carl and Mrs. Courtney did he impart the information that “My Lady’s Manor” had been restored to Anna Ashburton, and she had bequeathed it to him.
His reticence was not owing to any wish to keep it a secret, but the subject was painful to him; it concerned no one but himself, and even in the home circle was seldom mentioned. Beyond it, no one in the neighborhood knew that Reginald Farnsworth was not the owner of the property.
The place had lost all interest to Valentine Courtney; the sight of it brought sad remembrance, and for that reason he took up his residence in Baltimore, making occasionally short visits to “Friedenheim.”
The first time he came out to remain over night he brought with him Ralph and James Rivers, the sons of a deceased college friend for whom he was guardian.
This first visit was one long to be remembered by the boys, everything was so new to them and enchanting; their journey on the train and arrival at Dorton Station, their walk in the glowing sunset across the flowery meadow to “Friedenheim,” the warm welcome to that beautiful home, the joyous greeting of Roy and Cecil, the supper of fried chicken, oysters, Maryland biscuits and waffles, and after it, a visit to orchards, woods and brook, accompanied by Mose, the colored waiter, and by the pet dogs of Roy and Cecil; then their return to the piazza, where sat the elders of the family, enjoying the serene beauty of the evening. All was a delight to the two city boys who had never had so many pleasant things crowded into one evening.
They were on the piazza but a short time when Mose, who had left them at the gate to go to his place in the kitchen, came to the lattice and whispered to Cecil, who happened to be nearest, “Ax your mother if you can’t come out in de kitchen. Aunt Kitty will give us roasted apples and cream, and pop-corn, and Aunt Chloe will have molasses candy for us, and bline Israel is comin’ and will sing.”
“All right, I know she will let us,” was the response, and Mose hurried back to give notice, that preparations for the entertainment of the visitors might be quickly commenced.
“Who is Aunt Kitty and Chloe and Israel?” inquired James.
“Kitty is the cook and is Moses’ grandmother. Chloe was our nurse, but is now helper in everything, and Israel is an old man who goes from house to house to saw wood. He lives in the alms-house in winter and works all summer, and is the tallest and blackest person I ever saw. He is blind, does not know darkness from daylight, but sings. You never heard such a grand voice as Israel has. Mamma says it is so mournfully sweet that she feels like weeping when she hears it.”
“Who else is out there?”
“No one but Uncle Andy; he is the oldest person in the neighborhood. Papa and Uncle Val say that he was the best servant on the place when able to work.”
“What does he do now?”
“He brings in cobs and shells peas, and other light work to help Kitty. He loves to count his coins, and we all give him the new, bright pieces we get. He sings hymns and nothing pleases him better than to admire his coins and praise his singing.”
Mrs. Courtney gave consent and when the four boys reached the kitchen there was a general stir among their dusky entertainers until their guests had the best places about the great stone-flagged hearth, and although not more than two hours since they had finished supper, the impromptu cookery was relished.
In the most comfortable corner of the hearth sat Uncle Andy, his white wool glistening in the firelight, and which illumined every corner of the large kitchen. It was the first hickory wood and cob fire the boys had ever seen, and they admired it greatly.
“We have told Ralph and James how well you sing, Uncle Andy,” said Roy; “we told them you are fond of music.”
“’Deed I is, honey; ’deed I is!” confirmed Andy gleefully, “’kase dar is a promise, honey, dar suttinly is a promise to dem dat likes music.”
“Won’t you sing something, Uncle Andy? We all want to hear you.”
“Suttinly, honey, suttinly!” and leaning his head upon the back of his high chair he sang a favorite hymn, adding stanza after stanza of his own improvising, and keeping time with his foot, Kitty, Chloe and Mose joining in the chorus. The boys expressed such genuine pleasure in the concert that hymn followed hymn, Andy reviving the melodies of his boyhood for their entertainment.
“Yes, honey, yes;” he commented after pausing for breath, “music an’ love is what heaven is made of; it wouldn’t be heaven widout music an’ love.”
“But there are people who don’t like music, Uncle Andy,” remarked Roy.
“Den, honey, ol’ Andy wouldn’t gib much for der chance for heaven, ’deed he wouldn’t, honey. What’ll dey do because of de music if dey does git to heaven? Mind I says if, honey; mind I says if.”
Before the magnitude of this query could be lessened, a shuffling of feet was heard outside, followed by a knock upon the door.
“It’s Israel!” ejaculated Mose jubilantly, “Marse Merryman’s Perry said he had done sawed all their wood, an’ he was gwine to bring him over here this evenin’.”
He hurried to the door, and reaching out a helping hand, brought the blind wood-sawer in triumph to the hearth, followed by Perry, who was expected by Mrs. Merryman to return home immediately, but who remained all evening.
“These here two boys is our boys, Israel,” said Mose, as master of ceremonies, “and these two other boys is visitin’ us from Baltimore; and, boys, this here man is bline Israel.”
“Dat is jist like you, Mose, ’mindin’ folks ob der ’flictions. What’s de use of sayin’ ’bline Isrel’!” rebuked Uncle Andy.
“Israel don’t keer, he says so his own self,” replied Mose nonchalantly.
“Of course I does, Brudder Andy,” said Israel, towering above them and removing his pipe to his left hand to give his right to the old man.
“Don’t let him off so easy, Brudder Isrel,” said Andy, in high good humor, “or he’ll be sayin’ yer is deaf an’ dumb.”
“Words speak louder dan actions, Brudder Andy,” replied Israel, benignly.
“Take this chair, Israel,” said Roy, leading him to one. “We staid here to see you and hear you talk and sing.”
“Mighty kind in you, I’m shore, young marsters.”
“’Pears like ol’ times to see yer, Brudder Isrel,” said Andy, preparing to fill his pipe. “Kitty done say dis mornin’, she did, ‘whar’s Uncle Isrel, dat he ain’t been round dis fall?’”
“It’s mighty comfotable here, Brudder Andy, that is a fac’,” asserted Israel as Roy gently relieved him of his cane and placed it in a corner.
“Put some more cobs on the fire, you Mose, and hand Uncle Isrel a coal to light his pipe; it is done gone out,” said Chloe, hospitably.
“Maybe the young marsters don’t like the smell of the pipe?” suggested Israel, hesitating between respect for them and his longing for a smoke.
“Oh, don’t mind us,” said the boys cordially, “we want you to feel at home.”
“Dey is all well-mannered boys,” remarked Uncle Andy complacently; “I has done a heap towards trainin’ our two. I allus says, ‘Boys, let us ol’ culled folks hab de dirty pipes, ’kase we can’t be spiled; but don’t yer sile yer nice clean mouves wid no whiskey nor terbaccy.’ An’ dey has promised; an’ ol’ Andy kin trust ’em.”
“Gabe promised too, but he smoked and chawed all the same,” remarked Chloe as she took her pipe and tobacco from her pocket.
“Oh, dat Gabe is a hippercrite, I allus knowd’d dat; not like dese yer boys nohow,” replied Andy, between puffs of his pipe.
“I ain’t never gwine to smoke,” interposed Mose, not willing to be overlooked.
“Better wait ’till yer axed,” suggested Kitty.
“Well, how was dey gittin’ along in de porehouse when yer lef’, Brudder Isrel?” inquired Andy.
“Oh, fust-rate, what is left of de old stock, but dar is a heap of changes in the pore-house as well as in other places, Brudder Andy. Some of the ol’ residenters have gone to dar long home, and dar places are done filled. Gabe Websta was one of de late arrivals.”
“What is dat?” cried Andy in amazement, while Aunt Kitty and Mose gazed upon him in consternation, and Chloe removed her pipe to listen. “Yer suttenly don’t mean our Gabe Websta?” he questioned.
“I is sorry to inform you, Brudder Andy, that Gabe is at this moment in the pore-house; he was took up as a wagrant early this fall.”
“As a wagrant!” echoed Andy, rolling up his eyes and shaking his frosty head. “Now ain’t it too bad dat anybody dat had de raisen dat boy had wid ol’ Marse Courtney, has done gone an’ disgraced hisself?”
“You know that he never would work, Uncle Andy,” remarked Kitty. “Ol’ missus used to say that it was more bother to make Gabe work than his work was wuth.”
“Dat boy was born on Christmas day, an’ has been keepin’ Christmas ebber since,” commented Andy; “he’d jist like to set by de cob fire all winter, an’ go ter sleep in de sun all summer, an’ let de hoein’ take keer of itself. I allus tole him dat his laziness would done fotch him to jail, but I never mistrusted dat he would stop at de pore-house on his way.”
“Dar is wus places than the pore-house, Brudder Andy,” remarked Israel with dignity.
“Dat’s so, Brudder Isrel; ’deed dat is jis’ so! I is makin’ no deflections on de pore-house, but on dat misable Gabe Websta. De pore-house is fur ’flicted pussons an’ dem dat is too ol’ ter work, not for sich as Gabe.”
“Gabe says he is not able to work; he done says he has the rheumatiz,” supplemented Israel.
“He allus had som’thin’ or ’nother all his days, ’cept on Sattuday afternoons an’ Sundays, an’ ’lection days an’ Christmas week; at dem times Gabe was allus in a good state ob health.”
“Maybe he has the rheumatiz for certain to pay him up for play in’ ’possum so many times,” suggested Chloe.
“Maybe Chloe is right, Uncle Andy,” interposed Roy. “Let Israel, when he goes back, ask the overseer to get a doctor to investigate.”
“If Gabe wants to stay in de pore-house dar had better be no ’westigations,” said Uncle Andy with energy. “He’ll get turned out fo’ shore; he can’t fool dem doctahs like he fooled ol’ missus.”
“Gabe has had spells of rheumatiz afore, has he, Brudder Andy?” asked Israel.
“Yes, every time dar was a big job ob work on hand.”
“Ol’ missus used to send him to hunt eggs,” said Chloe, “and he’d just lay down on the hay and go to sleep. He’d go to sleep standin’ up keepin’ the flies off the table, that Gabe would.”
“Nobody could do nothin’ wid dat boy noways,” said Uncle Andy, reflectively; “he’ll hab to wait till all de folks dat know him is gone dead afore he plays dat game ob de rheumatiz an’ de pore-house. Jis’ now he’s like de folks dat wear eye-glasses to pop on an’ off as suits de ’casion; when he done gits de rheumatiz right, he’ll be like de people dat wears specs; dat means business.”
“Uncle Andy, won’t you sing, and let the others join in the chorus?” asked Cecil. “It will be splendid now that Israel is here.”
“To be shore we will sing, honey! What will you hab?”
Before Cecil could make choice Uncle Andy broke into that melody so dear to his race—“Roll, Jordan, Roll,” and Israel’s deep, pathetic voice thrilled the hearts of the city boys as no other had done; no noted concert singer had tones so full and grand as issued from his powerful chest without effort or thought that he was making an impression upon his listeners.
“There is one thing that Gabe could do,” remarked Kitty, when the last notes died away in perfect accord, “he could sing like a seraphim; that ‘Roll, Jordan, Roll’ was his favorite.”
“Dat is so; dat is jis’ so!” agreed Uncle Andy, whose feelings were softened by the melody, “and I’ll tell yer what was passin’ in my mind while we was singin’. I is gwine to write a letter to Gabe dis yer berry night. Roy, honey, bring de pen; Kitty, clar dat table; I’s gwine ter write dis yer hour an’ tell Gabe Websta ter gib up de rheumatiz an’ go ter work.”
“Oh, Uncle Andy, Gabe won’t be in a hurry to get that letter; wait till mornin’,” said Kitty.
“No, now is de ’cepted time, Kitty. If de doctahs git to ’westigatin’ it’ll knock Gabe higher ’n a kite; he’ll git well ob dat rheumatiz, an’ be popped out ’n dat pore-house whar my letter will nebber jine him. No, sah! Dat letter has done got ter be writ dis yer ebenin’.”
“To-morrow would be airly enough,” said Kitty, preparing to arrange the table for the writing materials.
“You is allus puttin’ off, Kitty. Dat is de way ol’ Satan gits de souls ob sinners; dey help him dar ownselves by puttin’ off. Git de writin’ utenshils, Roy, honey.”
While Roy was gone, Andy had the table rolled to his chair and was ruminating over the prospective contents of the epistle when he returned.
“How shall I commence it, Uncle Andy?” Roy asked.
“Dear Gabe,” suggested Chloe.
“No, I is gwine ter say no sich thing!” said Andy irately, the softening influence of the music having lost its effect when he had reflected upon Gabe’s delinquencies. “He’s not ‘dear Gabe’ ter onybody but de pore-house and dem dat has him ter keep; mighty cheap Gabe in my mind.”
“‘Respected Gabe,’ or ‘Esteemed Gabe’” suggested Roy, with waiting pen in hand.
“No, he is none ob dat! ‘Lazy Gabe’ is de only ’pendix dat fits him.”
“But it would not look well to commence a letter that way,” said Roy.
“No, honey, ol’ Andy knows dat. Folks hab to be ’ceitful in dis yer wicked world. I suppect yer’ll hab ter say, ‘dear Gabe,’” he agreed regretfully.
Roy jotted it down quickly, thinking another discussion might arise.
“It’ll be berry short, honey, jes’ say ‘You Gabe Websta, come out ’en dat pore-house afore de doctahs hab a chance to ’westigate, an’ gib yer wuthless place to some ’flicted creetur dat ain’t playin’ ’possum, an’ go ter work an’ airn your livin’, an’ may de Lord hab mercy on yer soul.’”
“But Uncle Andy,” said Roy, when the old man paused for breath, “that is what a judge says when a person is sentenced to the gallows.”
“Dat tex’ ’plies to anybody, honey, ’kase we is all sinnahs, an’ we’se all got ter die.”
Roy proceeded with the epistle, softening it as much as possible, signed Andy’s name to it, stamped and addressed it, and Andy gave it to Perry to mail.
“Thanky, thanky, honey! If Gabe goes ter sleep ober dat letta I done hope de doctahs will ’westigate an’ pop him out ’n dat pore-house;” and, serenity restored, Andy was ready to sing and as soon as the sweet notes of “I’ve Been Redeemed” died away Mrs. Courtney rang the bell for prayers. Israel went to the library with the others and Perry went home.
When Ralph and James went to their room that night they stood gazing for some time from their windows upon “My Lady’s Manor,” beautiful under the light of the full moon. From the servants’ quarters could be heard the same plaintive airs to which they had listened that evening, accompanied by banjo and violin, and they expressed to each other the wish that they might see the place before returning to Baltimore.
“Uncle Val,” said Cecil the next morning, “may we go to ‘My Lady’s Manor?’ Ralph and James would like to see it.”
A look of pain crossed Mr. Courtney’s face, but he gave permission. “I have a message,” he continued, “and now is perhaps the best time to send it; while there, please tell the servants of the death of Miss Anna Ashburton; they loved her and should no longer be kept in ignorance of it.”
Breakfast finished, the four boys hurried away, and as they drew near Mrs. Ashley’s cottage they saw Hilda Brinsfield standing at the gate with a white rabbit in her arms.
“What a beautiful little girl,” said Ralph in a low tone; “she is the loveliest creature I ever saw.”
“That is what we all think,” responded Cecil. “Mother says that with her blue eyes and golden hair she reminds her of the angels we see in pictures.”
The fishpond, the dove-cote and orchard belonging to “My Lady’s Manor” were visited, then they halted at the servants’ quarters and obtained the key, unlocked the front door, passed in and closed it behind them.
With almost awe at the silence, they went through the dim, richly furnished rooms, then mounted the stairs to have a view from the roof.
So full of interest was the sight of their native city to Ralph and James that it was near noon when they descended. Talking gaily, they reached the attic, and were surprised to see a little old lady in black slowly receding toward the back room.
Roy and Cecil had heard through the colored people of the apparition which made them afraid to pass the mansion late at night, but had been trained to have no belief in the supernatural, so without hesitation followed.
The spectre had glided through the door of the back attic room, but when they reached it, it was empty and silent; and perplexed, they descended to the quarters to give up the key and to deliver the message in regard to Miss Ashburton.
The boys were aware of the servants’ attachment to their young mistress, but were not expecting the outburst of grief the disclosure of her death called forth, as they sobbed and moaned in the abandonment of woe, genuine and awe-stricken from the suddenness with which a long cherished hope had been shattered.
“We can’t stay here no more,” cried Lois with streaming eyes, “we only stayed to keep the place nice for Miss Anna; she is done gone! She will never, never come, and we must go.”
“Perhaps the owner of ‘My Lady’s Manor’ will like you to stay,” suggested Roy, deeply touched, as were the other boys.
“No, we can’t stay; Miss Anna is done gone, this is no home for us no more! Pore Miss Anna that was kept out of the home that ol’ missus done give her! She was so pretty and sweet and kind and would have been living and well and happy if she hadn’t been turned out of her home. Pore Miss Anna!”
When the boys returned to “Friedenheim” they gave a full account of their visit, and after they had gone to the lawn for a game of ball, their elders sat in the seclusion of the library and wondered, as they had always done, over the mystery of the apparition.
The servants left the next day for one of the lower counties of Maryland, and “My Lady’s Manor” was deserted. Silence reigned in the servants’ quarters as well as in the spacious rooms of the mansion; sunlight was shut out and spiders spun their webs in the door-ways of the cabins, as well as between the lofty pillars of the piazza.