CHAPTER XI—HILDA’S LETTERS TO HER OLD HOME
Hilda, in the meantime, was pursuing the even tenor of her way. Her church and Sabbath school duties were faithfully performed; she went daily to the Woodmont high school, enjoyed her music and art lessons, and took interest in the minor employments of the home which would have naturally devolved upon a daughter of the house. Always busy, cheerful, amiable and affectionate, she endeared herself more and more to the motherly heart of Mrs. Warfield.
Paul had taken upon himself the charge of the farm, thus relieving his mother of all care, and Ben Duvall, his efficient foreman and all-around helper, was living happily with his wife and children in their little home in the village, walking out to the Warfield farm in the morning and back in the evening, satisfied with the world and all it contained.
One morning a few weeks after Hilda’s engagement to Fred, she set out for a walk to the village, having several little commissions on hand, among them to call upon Mrs. Duvall with a message from Mrs. Warfield. Her heart was buoyant with the thought of the festivities that were to follow Paul’s wedding, now near at hand, and her frequent meetings with the young people of the neighborhood in consequence. Her gown was being made by the village dressmaker and her first call was there, and all being satisfactory, she passed on to the neat home of Mrs. Duvall.
“Something told me that you would be here to-day, Miss Hilda,” said Susie cordially, as she opened the door; “the chickens keep crowing and a little black spider came down from the ceiling, which is a sure sign of a visitor, and I said to myself, ‘That is Miss Hilda.’”
“I am very glad you thought of me, Mrs. Duvall,” smiled Hilda, amused at the superstition, as she took the proffered seat. “Here is a package of cake Aunt Sarah sent to the children, and she told me to ask if it would be convenient for you to come three days of next week to help Angie. You know that Cousin Paul is to be married on Tuesday, and on Thursday evening we are to have a reception, and hope you can come on Tuesday morning.”
“Nothing but sickness will prevent me, Miss Hilda,” said Susie, warmly; “Mrs. Warfield has always been a kind friend to me and I love the two boys as if they were my own. You know I lived with Mrs. Warfield for years, and the farmhouse was a real home to me, and she was always good and kind to me.”
“Yes, and aunt said she could always count upon you, and is quite sure you will come and help.”
“I wish she could always count so surely upon that wife Paul is getting. I am fearful of it, Miss Hilda. Lura De Cormis has a temper, and what is more, she doesn’t try to curb it.”
“She is an only child,” remarked Hilda, “and her mother died while she was very young and I suppose her father indulged her too much.”
“Well, I reckon he thought he ought to put up with her bad temper, knowing that she got it from him. People that know him say that his high temper has been a terrible trial and cross to him, and he has grieved so much over it and over his unforgiving nature that he has bettered himself in both ways, as a minister ought to, if he expects to be an example for the people who hear him preach.”
“I do hope for Aunt Sarah’s sake that Lura will try to improve her temper; they are, as you know, to live together.”
“Yes, and Miss Lura will be boss. Mrs. Warfield will have to give the right of way to her, if I know anything about Miss Lura De Cormis. It makes me sorry to think of it, for a sweeter, nobler Christian woman does not live than Mrs. Warfield, and everybody that knows her loves her.
“People in Springfield who knew her and her sister Janette when they were young said they were rich orphan girls, and that they and their brother Herbert lost nearly all through the failure of people who had their money in trust, but that did not spoil their sweet dispositions. Just think how Mrs. Warfield struggled along and kept that farm for the boys, and with it her generous nature that oppresses nobody but helps everybody along! I do wish that Miss Lura had her sweet, kind disposition,” she concluded.
“Have you had any evidence of her temper, Mrs. Duvall?”
“Indeed I have! The last Sabbath school celebration we had, she had charge of one of the dinner tables, and my Johnny broke a tea cup. She was so angry at his carelessness, as she called it, that she shook him, and her black eyes fairly blazed. She made him pick up every scrap on a newspaper. She said that if I would make him behave himself at home, he would do so when out in company.”
Hilda had heard the subject of Miss Lura’s temper discussed, but not so freely as by Susie, and knew that what she said was entirely correct. In her own mind she believed that no one could resemble Jerusha Flint so closely without partaking of her nature. “I do hope that Cousin Paul has made a good choice,” she said sadly.
“I hope that both boys will make good choices. Folks say that Fred has a notion of getting married, too.”
“Do they?” asked Hilda, her face flushing.
“Yes, to a girl in Springfield,” continued Mrs. Duvall, not noticing her visitor’s embarrassment. “She is a great friend of Miss Lura’s and of course will be at the wedding and you will have a chance to see her.”
“I never heard that Cousin Fred was waiting upon anyone in Springfield,” said Hilda faintly.
“No, I reckon not. Fred Warfield waits upon so many girls it is hard to keep track of him. It was about a month ago that I heard it, so most likely he has dropped the Springfield girl and is in love with another. He always had a sweetheart, sometimes one, and sometimes another, ever since I first knew him.”
Hilda breathed more freely. It had been a fort-night since Fred had engaged himself to her, and Mrs. Duvall evidently knew nothing of his attachment. Fred had told her of the girl in Springfield that last time he was at home, and in his happy-go-lucky manner had made merry over the flirtation between them, at which Mrs. Warfield had reproved him while she vainly tried to conceal her amusement at his travesty of the affair.
“That Fred Warfield was always the best-natured fellow that ever lived,” resumed Mrs. Duvall. “Paul would get mad sometimes, but Fred you couldn’t make mad no matter what happened. He just made merry over everything and was the kindest, tenderest-hearted boy that ever lived, and wouldn’t hurt the feelings of a fly.”
“I must go now, Mrs. Duvall,” said Hilda, rising. “Aunt Sarah will be glad to know that you can come. I have to call at Uncle Herbert’s store for spices and other things, and will ask him to send them here for Mr. Duvall to bring out in the morning if convenient for him to do so.”
“Certainly, Miss Hilda! Nothing pleases him better than to oblige Mrs. Warfield or any of the family. I will be sure to come early, and please tell Mrs. Warfield that I can stay as long as she needs me.”
“She will be glad to know that, and Aunt Sarah requests you not to walk to the farmhouse, for I am to drive to the dressmaker’s in the village on Tuesday morning for my gown and will take you home with me.”
“What kind of a gown are you having made, Miss Hilda, if I may be so bold as to ask?”
“A white silk, and the bride’s is white satin. It was made in Philadelphia and is very elegant.”
“They can well afford to have fine clothes for Miss Lura,” commented Mrs. Duvall. “People who know them in Springfield say that Mr. De Cormis got a fortune from France, where his grandfather came from. He needn’t preach if he don’t want to, but he likes to live in the country, and wants only a small church, so has here what suits him.”
“It would interest you to go to the church on Tuesday evening and see them married, Mrs. Duvall?”
“It certainly would, and I’ll go. A cat can look at a queen, I reckon, whether the queen looks at her or not.”
Hilda laughed, and then nodding good-morning to Mrs. Duvall, drove to the store, made her purchases and went home.
Tuesday evening came, the church was filled to overflowing, and Rev. Horace De Cormis gave his daughter to the one above all others whom he would have selected had he done the choosing.
Beautiful as was Hilda at all times, she never looked more lovely than upon that occasion, and Mrs. Duvall was not the only one whose gaze wandered to the handsome attendants, who expected to be only secondary objects of interest.
The evening reception at the parsonage was followed by that given by Mrs. Warfield, and this in turn by friends of the bride among her father’s congregation. The quiet neighborhood had never known such a festive time.
Fred was always mentioned as Hilda’s escort to these festivities and was an attentive and courtly cavalier. Hilda’s confidence in him became firmly established and confidence became esteem, which she mistook for love.
Mrs. Lura Warfield remained several weeks at the parsonage, then became one of the home circle of the Warfield farmhouse. Yet her taking up her abode in a new home did not prevent her from keeping her place as head of her father’s household. She attended to his wardrobe, visited the poor and ailing of his congregation, purchased the supplies, answered his letters, and in every way in her power kept him from realizing the loss he had sustained in her marriage and her removal to another home.
Mrs. Lura was a good, dutiful daughter, and there was scarcely a day passed that she was not engaged upon some work for him, and Hilda was glad that there was something to interest her outside the farmhouse. Sometimes by invitation she accompanied her, driving Planchette to Mrs. Lura’s phaeton, and could not help admiring the executive ability of the brilliant little woman.
Although she had seen but little exhibition of a Jerusha Flint temper, Hilda never gave up the conviction that it was there, only waiting occasion to be called forth. Many traits which she remembered as being possessed by the adversary of her childhood were noticeable in this fair and refined-looking prototype.
Mrs. Paul Warfield resembled Jerusha Flint in her untiring industry and her methodical habits, her uncompromising neatness, her ability, her satirical opinion of anything that failed to agree with her ideas and her extreme selfishness. She had a much better education than had Jerusha and her environment had been of the best, but the texture of her mind was no finer; she was cold, calculating and heartless. In short, Mrs. Lura was so much like the one with whom part of her childhood had passed that, try as she might, Hilda could not persuade herself to love her.
Happy as was the young girl in her Ohio home, and tenderly kind as were Mrs. Warfield and her sons to her, she did not forget her Dorton friends. She looked eagerly for letters from them, and the most trifling incidents which interested her Maryland acquaintances were full of interest to her, and knowing this, Mrs. Merryman let nothing which came to her notice pass unmentioned.
Hilda was informed of Erma attending school in Baltimore, staying five days out of the week with her grandparents there, of Norah’s faithfulness, and Perry’s improvement in all branches of farm work, of everything in fact that would keep up Hilda’s interest and affection for those who loved her and held her in remembrance.
It was the rule from the beginning that after the Merryman household had read Hilda’s letters, they were passed on to “Friedenheim,” for the Courtneys had always evinced much interest in her, and she had made no restrictions in regard to her letters.
When Mrs. Courtney had read them aloud to her family they were sent the same evening by Mose to “My Lady’s Manor,” and in this way Mr. Valentine Courtney was kept in touch with Hilda’s everyday life.
When she left Dorton “My Lady’s Manor” lost its charm for him. He missed the gentle girl more than he had ever before missed a human being, and felt that life was scarcely worth living when she was not there to brighten it.
He tried to arouse himself from what he considered unmanly weakness, but without avail. He went from his home each morning disconsolate, and returned to it despairing. Had it not been for the efficient management of Mrs. Flynn within doors and Sandy MacQuoid without, home life would have been at low ebb. But these faithful servitors, without appearing to notice the changed manner of their once cheerful employer, attended to their allotted duties, enjoyed each other’s society, fed the terrier and the parrot, entertained the Courtney boys and Ralph and James Rivers, and Norah and Archie, to the best of their ability, when they gave “My Lady’s Manor” the pleasure of their company.
The first gleam of comfort which Mr. Courtney received lay in the knowledge of Paul Warfield’s engagement. Each succeeding letter of Hilda’s spoke of Fred, dwelt much upon him, but for months it did not occur to Mr. Courtney to fear a rival in him. Hilda was so unrestrained in speaking of him, even making merry over his love affairs, more as an older sister would jest of a young brother or some other jolly companion than a maiden of a lover. Then came a time when Fred’s name dropped from her letters, and a grave maturity came into them, unnoticed by any reader save Mr. Courtney; and then it dawned upon him that he had indeed a rival. His heart ached with its burden of unrest; his home had grown into a prison; he felt that he must leave it and seek change from the thoughts which oppressed him; he resolved to close “My Lady’s Manor” and pass at least a year in travel. Ralph and James Rivers could attend to the law business, and if it suffered financial loss in their hands it was of but little moment to one of Mr. Courtney’s wealth and disposition.
One evening after coming to this decision, he sat alone in his library. It was cool for the season and Chloe had made a glowing fire upon the hearth before which he sat, lost in thought.
Rich curtains hung in heavy folds over the windows, the glow of an astral lamp on the table beside him gave light for reading, but books had lost their charm. Pictures with sunny Italian skies, of Alpine peaks, of arctic snows, of fair English landscapes, lined the walls. Comfort and beauty was on every hand, but they brought him no happiness.
Chloe came with a letter upon a silver waiter, presented it and quietly withdrew. And Mr. Courtney, with a presentiment of further unrest in store for him, opened it and read to the end. It was from Hilda to Mrs. Merryman, and as Mr. Courtney finished it he contrasted his feelings with those of light-headed, light-hearted Mose, who had brought it, and whose boyish laughter was heard from the kitchen where he was recounting to Chloe some of the adventures in which he was, as usual, the hero.
There was no mention of Fred throughout the letter, but a postscript was added which thrilled his heart with pain.
“Dear Aunt Grace,” it said, “I feel that it would not be right not to tell you, my dear second mother, that Cousin Fred has asked me to be his wife and I have accepted him. Aunt Sarah says it is what she has hoped for, and in this way Aunt Ashley’s prayer will be answered.”
Mr. Courtney knew the trial it had been to Hilda to write this. He was glad at the prospect of happiness for her in her future home, but he groaned in spirit at the thought of his own loneliness. How was he to pass the years of life allotted to him? After a time he rang the bell and Sandy appeared.
“I wish to have a few minutes conversation with you, Sandy,” he said, as his stately Scotch servitor stood respectfully beside his chair. “Take a seat.”
Sandy obeyed, his well-trained countenance showing no surprise.
“When I employed you,” said Mr. Courtney, “I did not foresee that I would wish to leave ‘My Lady’s Manor.’ Circumstances have made it necessary that I should seek change. I have sent for you to tell you this, and to express my hope that this sudden resolve may not inconvenience you. I shall advance you three months’ salary for any disappointment it may be to you, and will do the same by Mrs. Flynn when I speak to her, which will be this evening. Chloe can go back to her old home at ‘Friedenheim.’”
“Excuse me, sir, for asking, but do you expect to return here sometime?”
“I may, Sandy; I cannot say.”
“I do not wish to pry into your affairs, sir, but do you intend renting this place?”
“No, it will be closed for the time I am absent.”
“You have encouraged me, sir, to make free to tell you my plan,” said Sandy, gravely. “Perhaps you will do us a greater favor than to advance three months’ salary.”
“Us?” echoed Mr. Courtney, looking up in surprise.
“Yes, sir; Mrs. Flynn and myself are intending to marry.”
Mr. Courtney smiled almost cheerfully.
“That is news indeed, Sandy, and very agreeable news,” he said. “She will make you a good wife.”
“And she will have a good husband,” responded Sandy.
“You are right. What do you propose as to housekeeping?”
“I am not sure as yet, sir. We had intended, if you were willing, to remain here with you in the same positions we now occupy. We know that we could find no better home than this. Now that you are going away, no coachman or housekeeper will be needed by you, but perhaps you will let us stay and take care of ‘My Lady’s Manor’ while you are away.”
“I will be more than willing; it will relieve me of a great care,” replied Mr. Courtney cordially.
“If there is nothing in Dorton for me to do, I can, I think, get some employment in the neighborhood,” continued Sandy, reflectively.
“I am not anxious to dispose of the horses, Sandy. If you can get any employment in which you can make use of them, you are more than welcome to them until my return.”
“Thank you, sir! I am sure I can, and am more grateful than I can say for your kindness.”
“It will not be necessary now for me to speak to Mrs. Flynn. You have taken that out of my hands,” smiled Mr. Courtney. “I wish you every happiness in your married life.”
“Thank you, sir, we will try to deserve it.”
The next evening in the presence of the Courtneys, Mrs. Merryman, the delighted Norah, and a few of the villagers, the Rev. Carl Courtney performed the ceremony which made Mrs. Flynn Mrs. Sandy MacQuoid, much to the astonishment of Roy and Cecil, who had never suspected any love-making between the dignified Mrs. Flynn and the more dignified Sandy.
As nothing remained to prevent, the following week saw Mr. Valentine Courtney upon the Atlantic, bound for he knew not and cared not where.