CHAPTER V.
And so after a few days of bustle and hurry, Victoria once more took up her wanderings. Her uncle was her constant companion, and when he bade her adieu at the station, she felt as if everything which she had been obliged to leave undone would be looked after as conscientiously as if she were by his side. She had pleaded to be allowed to take Dora with her, and James Vale consented most willingly. She needed a woman’s care, who else could care for her as tenderly as Victoria who loved her most dearly, and Dora clung to her new found friend as if she had discovered in her a second mother.
Victoria had decided to visit some parts of Scotland, and having heard much of the beauties of the Firth of Forth, she decided to go there for a time and take up her residence at Leith; but she had not been there long when she saw a decided change for the worse in Roger. The air did not agree with him, so of course she must find some other place in which the invalid could be comfortable. He always seemed better when at sea, so she decided to try sailing for a time. A slow sailing vessel was to start for Aberdeen in a few days, and she engaged passage for her party on the ship. At Aberdeen she would rest for a few days until she had determined where to go and what to do; but before the ship reached Aberdeen she had decided. On the voyage she overheard two sailors talking. They were evidently strangers, and were forming each other’s acquaintance.
“Wheer do’est the hail fra’ lad?” asked one.
“Fra’ Duncausby Head, mon,” replied the other, “an’ a’ wish a’ ha’ neer left it.”
“Duncausby Head! Duncausby Head! Wheer be thot noo? Be et far fra’ here?”
The other laughed uproarously. “Weel thou art fash, I ween. Wheer ha’ thee lived all tha’ life?”
“I’ Edinburgh,” replied the first sailor, rather testily. He did not enjoy the teasing laugh of his companion.
“Eh, mon, tha’ should coom wi’ me ti’ my hame. I’ll be gooin’ back soon. Theer I can be free an’ happy.”
“But wheer be it? Do goold grow on trees theer? thou art so fast ti goo back.”
“Noo goold grows on trees anywheer’s, tha’ fule, but Duncausby Head ha’ buried treasures, an I know et. Ha’ ye neer heerd tell o’ John de Groot, a man wi’ a nasty temper, wha’ could na’ live peaceably wi’ his seven brothers, so he built a house wi’ eight sides till it; every side wi’ its own dure, so tha’ eight brothers could na’ quarrel one wi’ tha’ ither?”
“A tale o’ tha’ fairies,” exclaimed the listener incredulously.
“It be no idle tale I say. Coom wie me an’ I show it thee. I ha’ been in it mony a time. It be tha’ ferryhouse wheer thee lands fra’ t’ Orkney Isles, i’ Pentland Firth. Theer be gude fishin’ for all who may wish, an’ I like fishin’ better nor sailin’, so I be gooin’ bock soon, an’ thee be welcome ti’ coom along wi’ me. Nae sickness ever cooms theer. We ha’ nae docther i’ tha’ place.”
Victoria listened at first languidly to the two men’s conversation, and then with interest. Why would not Duncausby Head be a safe retreat for her, and healthgiving to Roger. She resolved to question this sailor at the first opportunity. She did so, and his answers were so satisfactory that she decided to push right on to Duncausby Head, and there abide. Upon arriving at Aberdeen she staid long enough to get a good Scotch woman, and traveling leisurely she at last reached the place where we now find her, five years after leaving America.
Little Dora was now eight years old, and had grown stout and robust, with a Scotch color in her cheeks which would have delighted her grandfather could he have seen it. But for this child Victoria must have gone mad. Her sweet coaxing ways kept green the heart-starving for those it so dearly loved in old Virginia. There were days when the winds and tempests raged about the little point; when it was not safe for man or beast to venture out. On such days when Victoria was housed with Roger, whose health was slowly failing, and who was pevish and sometimes ugly in consequence, the presence of the sweet child with her wise babblings, was like a ray of brightest sunshine to the heart-sick woman, and she lavished all the pent-up love which had waited so long upon Dora, who returned Victoria’s caresses a thousand fold.
As Roger grew weaker he became more exacting. He knew Victoria’s voice and touch from any other, and if she left him for even a moment, he would howl and beat the air with his fists until she again appeared, and laid her hands upon him. She had sent for a physician, who told her that no change of climate would be beneficial to the invalid. He was as well off in one place as another. It was only a question of time.
“Only a question of time.” Those had been Dr. Harrison’s words five years ago; still Roger was living, and how long, perhaps another five years. Victoria can hardly be blamed for the thoughts which would come to her. She did not wish for Roger’s death, but she wondered how long she could endure this, to her, living death. Every day the question occurred to her, and every night when she retired she had a fear that when the morning should dawn, it would find her insane. She felt little Dora to be her guardian angel, and many a time after a hard battle with Roger—who showed wonderful strength for one so weak—she would take the child in her arms and sob her heart out on the tender little breast. Ah, yes! She was being punished for the guilty thoughts which once had possessed her for Andrew’s sake.
The mail came very uncertain to Duncausby Head. Sometimes for weeks Victoria did not hear from home, but she did not rebel at that. If any of her dear ones died she could not reach them in time to once more gaze upon their faces. If they were ill she did not wish to know of it. Better death and the knowledge of it, than illness with uncertainty, but every letter brought nothing but good news. All were in the best of health. Mary was a big girl now, and printed her letters no more. She wrote with a bold, free hand, which told Victoria of that other hand which had been her tutor. Nothing went on at home of the least moment but that was told in graphic language to Victoria, who sometimes closed her eyes and imagined herself back at “the Five Gables,” seated beside the lake, with Andrew by her side, and Mary at her feet.
To waken from that dream so real; to waken with Roger’s wild cries ringing in her ears, as he struggled with Adam in mad frenzy over the bug bugging in his head; this was her trial which sometimes she bore with resignation, and again with bitter complainings to God, asking upon her knees if her punishment was to endure forever.
Victoria had changed, and who could wonder that she had. She was not quite forty in years, but she felt aged to twice that number, because of the many trials through which she had passed. Time had dealt lightly with her beautiful hair. The same sunny sheen was upon it as in her younger days, but the sweet laughing mouth had grown serious, while little lines had formed around the full lips, as if they had often been drawn with pain and suffering. But the eyes told of what Victoria had endured more than all else about the face. A stranger, meeting her as she was walking on the sands, would know at a glance that some great grief had come to this woman. Some terrible agony had she passed through which had left its imprint in the sorrowful eyes with a nameless something in their depths hard to define but touching in the extreme.
The rough sailors and fishermen bowed before her chastened beauty, as a devotee bows before a shrine. To them she was a ministering angel, who had known sorrow and grief. She had come among them a stranger, but she had soon endeared herself to every man, woman and child. Many a widow, whose husband slept under the turbulent Firth, had cause to bless the sweet lady whose few spoken words, and tender hand clasp, won their hearts far more than the generous roll of bills left behind as she departed from their homes.
Many an old decrepid whose days of usefulness were done, living in his lonely hut, counted the hours till the fair, sad-eyed lady should come to read or talk with him, and who never left without some substantial reminder of her coming. There was not a man among that little community, but what if called upon, would have cheerfully laid down his life in her behalf, for at all times since her advent had she proved a lady bountiful to the whole village. To her this was a restful haven, and although separated far from those she loved, yet in the spirit she was always with them, and they with her.
One day there came a letter from the doctor, and the news it contained made her sorrowful for many a day. It said: “Some startling news has come to Andrew, verified by papers and affidavits. The mulatto, who has been Roger’s attendant, is Bella’s boy, and Andrew’s half brother; and what is more he knows it, and has kept it to himself. The old woman who took him away when but a little lad, told him of his parentage when on her deathbed, and bade him seek his kindred, giving him the necessary credentials to establish his birth without a doubt. His tongue was cut out by a cruel overseer, for Adam was of a hot, passionate temperament, as who could doubt, knowing his parentage, and brooding over some wrong would have killed the overseer if he had not been caught before he had accomplished his purpose. While Andrew was in doubt as to the best way of bringing Roger home—after he had sufficiently recovered from the railroad accident to be removed with safety—Adam appeared to him as he was riding home from the plantation. By Adam’s signs Andrew soon discovered his misfortune, and he saw how he could make good use of this tongueless man. He immediately took him to the old monastery, and left him to care for Roger while he hastened home, and under cover of the night, with his own hands, arranged the book-case which stood before the closed door leading to the gabled room. It was all easily accomplished without suspicion, for you of course, was prostrated with grief, and took heed of nothing; and two month’s after Roger’s supposed death, Andrew, with the assistance of Adam, had transferred his brother from the monastery to the gabled room. Question Adam. Tell him you know the secret of his birth.”
It was some days ere Victoria could bring herself to question Adam. The letter had again brought Andrew’s crime most vividly before her, and if such a thing were possible, there seemed to have come an added sorrow into the sad depths of her mournful eyes, but one day when Roger’s chair had been wheeled out upon the sands, and Adam, who was a most tireless attendant, was stretched full length beside the invalid, then did Victoria with a tremor in her voice, tell Adam of the letter which had come from old Virginia. He did not seem surprised but smiled and nodded his head, while he touched the breast pocket of his coat.
“Have you something there telling who you are?” she asked.
With another smile he drew forth papers, yellow with age, and gave them to Victoria. She perused them with bitter tears. Yes, indeed, here was evidence in plenty, and as she finished reading she looked up to find the mulatto’s eyes bent upon her, questioningly, and, as she thought, pleadingly.
“Do you wish to be acknowledged as this man’s brother?” she asked, pointing to Roger.
Adam shook his head frowning slightly, while he motioned first to himself and then out to sea.
“Do you wish to be free?” she asked again. “Do you want your freedom papers with plenty of money?”
This time Adam laughed and bowed, then turning to Roger he placed his hand upon his arm and shook his head pointing to the ground solemnly, while he looked sadly at Victoria.
“I understand,” she said, “you wish to remain with us until—until Roger shall be laid away. Then you will, in spite of your misfortune, seek a new land where you may find a wife perhaps?”
Here Adam gesticulated violently, pointing to Victoria, then to some little children playing on the beach, then folding his arms he rocked gently to and fro while a bright smile irradiated his face.
“Ah, you are already married and have children?” exclaimed Victoria, while Adam, delighted that his mistress had understood him, knelt and kissed the hem of her gown.
“Very well Adam, I will see that all your wishes are complied with,” she said, gently placing her hand upon his shoulder. “You have been faithful and devoted. For many years you have been separated from your family. You may never find them.”
He quickly drew from his pocket another paper, and Victoria, upon opening it, found it to be a roughly drawn affidavit, that before Justice McEuen, Adam Spencer, bond servant of George Spencer, of Raleigh, N. C., and Rosa Jefferson, bond servant of James Jefferson, of Raleigh, N. C., had been made man and wife according to the laws of North Carolina regarding the marrying of slaves.
“Is this George Spencer the master from whom you ran away?” asked Victoria.
Adam again nodded his head.
“Would you like to have me write to him and buy you from him, and find out if Rosa Jefferson and her children still live in Raleigh; for, of course, your former master could claim you if you did not show freedom papers from him.”
Adam delightedly danced upon the sands, extravagantly waving his hands and trying vainly to articulate his pleasure at Victoria’s words, and that same night Victoria wrote to the doctor all she had learned, and begged him without delay to do everything necessary to free Adam.
Shortly after this another letter came, this time from James Vale, who, yielding to her frequent pleadings, was about to take a needed and well-deserved vacation, and would follow his letter as fast as land and water would permit, and who would be with her ere she knew.
Victoria was glad. The kindly compassionate face of her uncle would be most strengthening to her fast-failing courage. His wise counsel a safe prop on which to lean. How she longed this moment for a sight of him. Ah, she wished the letter had not come, but that he had taken her by surprise.
The next day James Vale arrived, and Victoria had need of his strengthening arm; his calm quiet voice; his never-failing wise judgment, for a grim messenger had arrived before him, and had summoned Roger to that land, where once more he should see, and the poor head should again be made clear. He had retired apparently in no worse health than usual, and Adam had watched beside him till he fell asleep. In the morning when Adam awoke, surprised at not having been disturbed through the night, as usual; he arose from his couch and approached the bed. Roger lay with a sweet peaceful smile on his face, at rest at last. Something in the quiet form struck a chill to Adam’s heart, and placing his hand upon Roger’s forehead, he found it quite cold. He had gone away forever.
When Victoria was told no gladness mingled with her grief; only a thankfulness that at last the poor clouded brain was at rest. She did not sorrow for him, he was infinitely better off, but she sorrowed for the Roger of by-gone days, and for herself she wept. She went and stood beside the silent form; she gazed at the quiet face which seemed to her to take on the youthful look when first she had known him, and tears for her young husband, for her first love, flowed unrestrainedly. The past twenty years seemed but a dream. She was once more a youthful bride, and Roger, her beloved, was again all in all to her. Raining kisses on his peaceful face, she whispered words of love into his ears, closed forever, and when James Vale arrived, it was to find Victoria beside the bier of Roger, and talking to him as if he could hear and understand. The brave woman who had suffered her trials for so many years with such rare endurance, had at last succumbed.
Roger had been laid away for quite three weeks ere Victoria regained her reason. At times the angel of death hovered very near, and James Vale thought he could even hear the flutter of his wings, but to Victoria was yet reserved, much of joy, and much of sorrow. The time had not come for her to depart. When she had become convalescent, then, and not till then, did James Vale tell her of another death, her mother’s. It had come suddenly—a paralytic stroke. She died as she had lived, unforgiving, and little Dora was heir to what was left, which had proved but little after all had been settled.
Victoria wept for the mother who had been a loving, indulgent parent until her child had crossed her will, and who had proved so unforgiving to the end. The tears were more for the parent of her childhood. How else could she mourn.
James Vale had written to America of Roger’s death. In those days news traveled slowly, and it was fully six weeks after Victoria’s illness, that one day, with Dora as companion, she went to visit Roger’s grave. A rustic bench had been fashioned by one of the villagers, and presented to Victoria, whose sorrow was respected by every rough man in the village. She seated herself, and drew Dora to her side. The quietness of the place soothed her, and her thoughts turned to the dear old home far, far away. What was Mary doing at this moment, and Andrew, where was he? Ah, if she only had wings to fly, how quickly would she traverse the distance, and alight at the door of her home—the home where all her great sorrows had been born, and where most exquisite joys had been hers. Hark! She thought she heard her name breathed softly, tenderly. Dora had heard it too, and had started from Victoria’s encircling arm.
“Cousin Victoria,” she whispered, “look there, the other side of cousin Roger’s grave!”
Before Victoria raised her eyes she knew what she was about to behold. A delicious tremor shook her frame. She felt as if her heart was being drawn from her body. She lifted her trembling eyelids, and a cry burst from her lips. Andrew, holding Mary by the hand, stood beside Roger’s grave. His eyes were fastened upon her. His heart spoke through his eyes. It said: “Come to me!” One hand he held outstretched.
Victoria arose. She placed her hands upon her eyes, then withdrew them. The vision was still there. She stepped hesitatingly forward, her eyes fixed upon Andrew; then, her form bending like a reed, swayed to and fro, and Andrew, unloosing Mary’s clasp, sprang forward and caught the fainting form of her who never more should leave him, in his arms.
FINIS.
MRS. MARY J. HOLMES’ PUBLICATIONS.
ASHES,
THE SINS OF THE FATHERS,
A FAIR PURITAN,
THE HOUSE OF FIVE GABLES.
READ THE FOLLOWING OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
The “Bridgeport Standard,” writing of the “Sins of the Fathers,” says:
This new work by Mrs. Holmes will, we think, continue and increase the favorable opinions of her literary capacity made by her first book, and the many readers of that will find the same qualities strengthened somewhat perhaps in this. Mrs. Holmes has chosen what might be called a “domestic theme,” for the lives and sufferings, the plots and successes, the faults and failures of character entirely in the private sphere of life, would bring the story within that designation. In the portrayal of character, the weaving of plot and counter-plot, the injection of action which awakens interest, and in the general unfolding of a tale which keeps one reading unwearied to the end, Mrs. Holmes is surely successful, and her rank is destined to be no mean one among the acknowledged novelists of our time.
The “Albany Journal,” speaking of “Ashes,” writes:
This is a tale of a weak, frail girl, guided by her impulses, through trouble and sorrow, until she was brought to see the folly of acting on the spur of the moment. This book has many good points, and the author has worked with a good purpose to good results.
A Fair Puritan, by Mary Johnson Holmes, author of Ashes; The Sins of the Fathers, &c., &c. New York: Hurst & Co., pub.; paper, 50 cents.
This story is one of Mrs. Holmes’ best, and it will possess an additional interest to readers in this vicinity, from the fact that the scene is laid in Connecticut, and that Bridgeport and the surrounding towns are a part of its stage setting. The story is well told, full of interesting incident and analysis of character, never dropping below the safe moral standards which Mrs. Holmes always follows, and keeping up the interest of the reader to the end. The plot is well laid and effectively worked out, and the details are studied with a care and faithfulness which is characteristic of the author. It will add to her reputation as a writer and increase the circle of her appreciative readers.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
- Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling.
- Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.