“It is good advice, madam, and I shall follow it. I have begun to understand that I must win Rhoda’s head before she will give up her heart. But I shall win them both, and call you ‘mother’ yet!”
“Heaven grant it, dear boy, for you were made for each other, you and my dear girl!”
She rose to take her leave, but Charlotte came with fresh medicines for the invalid and bustled about the room preparing his draughts. Mrs. Ware, with an eye upon her daughter’s graceful movements, sat down again and talked of ordinary affairs until she thought Charlotte had spent as much time there as was needful. Then she summoned that young lady to go with her and assist at certain rites in the kitchen.
But Rhoda would not visit the sick-chamber through all the forenoon. Why she was staying away she scarcely knew, except that she said to herself several times during the long hours of the morning, “He won’t miss me if Charlotte’s there.” Jeff had obeyed her injunction that he must not speak of love, and during the last two days had kept careful curb upon his tongue and close watch upon the language of his eyes. And she missed more than she would admit to herself the outbreaks of those heretofore unruly members. She shared her father’s suspense over the election that was going on and during the forenoon, whenever he was alone in his office, she went in to ask him if he had heard any news and to talk over the situation.
More than ever, this fall, he was making a companion of her and discussing with her as freely as he did with Horace Hardaker and his other anti-slavery friends, the plans and movements of the anti-slavery people, and the prospects of the Republican party. She was a good listener, rarely making comments unless she had something worth while to say, and usually he found what she did say clear-thoughted and sensible.
On this morning it was not only her interest in what was going on in Pennsylvania that sent her every now and again to seek her father’s society. Of equal force was her desire to escape from the tormenting questions that filled her mind as to what Jeff was doing, whether Charlotte was with him, and whether or not he was wishing she were there. And so, between her political zeal and her love, she passed a restless, fruitless morning.
Her mother noted her frequent visits to her father’s office and, coupling with these the fact that she had all the morning ignored Delavan’s presence in the house, made instant inference. “It’s Amos’s influence over her,” she told herself, resentment rising bitter in her heart. “He’s urging her against it and spoiling my dear girl’s life, just for the sake of his own whims! It’s most selfish of him—and wicked. But I’ll see what I can do!”
Knocking at Rhoda’s bedroom door after dinner she found her daughter sitting at the eastern window, hands idly folded in her lap, and eyes upon the wooded hills, whose autumn colors glowed softly through the gray, dripping mist. It was so unusual to see her doing absolutely nothing that Mrs. Ware stared at her in blank surprise.
“Why, Rhoda, you look lonely sitting here all by yourself,” she said briskly. “Why don’t you go in and stay with Jeff for a while?”
“I don’t know—I guess I don’t feel like it,” Rhoda responded, a forlorn note in her voice.