Family Pride; Or, Purified by Suffering

by Mary Jane Holmes

Mrs. Cameron had at first been greatly shocked at Katy's want of propriety, looking on aghast when she wound her arms around Wilford's neck, or sat upon his knee; but to the elder Cameron the sight was a pleasant one, bringing back sunny memories of a summer time years ago, when he was young, and a fair bride had for a few brief weeks made this earth a paradise to him. But fashion had entered his Eden—that summer time was gone, and only the dim leaves of autumn lay where the buds which promised so much had been. The girlish bride was a stately matron now, doing nothing amiss, but making all her acts conform to a prescribed rule of etiquette, and frowning majestically upon the frolicsome, impulsive Katy, who had crept so far into the heart of the eccentric man that he always found the hours of her absence long, listening intently for the sound of her bounding footsteps, and feeling that her coming to his household had infused into his veins a better, healthier life than he had known for years. Katy was very dear to him, and he felt a thrill of pain, while a shadow lowered on his brow when first the toning down process commenced. He had heard them talk about it, and in his wrath he had hurled a cut-glass goblet upon the marble hearth, breaking it in atoms, while he called them a pair of precious fools, and Wilford a bigger one because he suffered it. So long as his convalescence lasted, he was some restraint upon his wife, but when he was well enough to resume his duties in his Wall Street office, there was nothing in the way, and Katy's education progressed accordingly. For Wilford's sake, Katy would do anything, and as from some things he had dropped she guessed that her manner was not quite what suited him, she submitted to much which would otherwise have been excessively annoying. But she was growing tired now, and it told upon her face, which was whiter than when she came to New York, while her figure was, if possible, slighter and more airy; but this only enhanced her loveliness, Wilford thought, and so he paid no heed to her complaints of weariness, but kept her in the circle which welcomed her so warmly, and would have missed her so much.

Little by little it had come to Katy that she was not quite as comfortable in her husband's family as she would be in a house of her own. The constant watch kept over her by Mrs. Cameron and Juno irritated and fretted her, making her wonder what was the matter, and why she should so often feel lonely and desolate when surrounded by every luxury which wealth could purchase. "It is his folks," she always said to herself when cogitating upon the subject. "Alone with Wilford I shall feel as light and happy as I used to do in Silverton."

And so Katy caught eagerly at the prospect of a release from the restraint of No. ——, seeming so anxious that Wilford, almost before he was aware of it himself, became the owner of one of the most desirable situations on Madison Square; and Katy was the envy of the belles, who had copied and imitated her, even to the cutting off their hair, which fashion may be fairly said to have originated from Katy herself, whose short curls had ceased to be obnoxious to the fastidious Mrs. Cameron, for Juno had tried the effect, looking, as Bell said, "like a fool," while Juno would have given much to have again the long black tresses, the cutting of which did not make her look like Katy. Of all the household, after Katy, Juno was perhaps the only one glad of the new house. It would be a change for herself, for she meant to spend much of her time on Madison Square, where everything was to be on the most magnificent scale. Fortunately for Katy, she knew nothing of Juno's intentions and built many a castle of her new home, where mother could come with Helen and Dr. Grant. Somehow she never saw Uncle Ephraim, nor his wife, nor yet Aunt Betsy there. She knew how out of place they would appear, and how they would annoy Wilford: but surely to her mother and Helen there could be no objection, and when she first went over the house, she designated mentally this room as mother's, and another one as Helen's, thinking how each should be fitted up with direct reference to their tastes, Helen's containing a great many books, while her mother's should have easy-chairs and lounges, with a host of drawers for holding things. And Wilford heard it all, making no reply, but considering how he could manage best so as to have no scene, for he had not the slightest intention of inviting either Mrs. Lennox or Helen to visit him, much less to become a part of his household. That he did not marry Katy's relatives was a fact as fixed as the laws of the Medes and Persians, and Katy's anticipations were answering no other purpose than to divert her mind for the time being, keeping her bright and cheerful.

Very pleasant indeed were the pictures Katy drew of the new house where Helen was to come, but pleasanter far were her pictures of that visit to Silverton, to occur in April, and about which she thought so much, dreaming of it many a night, and waking in the morning with the belief that she had actually been where the young buds were swelling and the fresh grass was springing by the door. Poor Katy, how much she thought about that visit when she should see them all and go again with Uncle Ephraim down into the meadows, making believe she was Katy Lennox still—when she could climb the ladder in the barn after new-laid eggs, or steal across the fields to Linwood, talking with Morris as she used to talk in the days which seemed so long ago. Morris she feared was not liking her as well as of old, thinking her very frivolous and silly, for he had only written her one short note in reply to the letter she had sent, telling him of the opera, the parties she attended, and the gay, happy life she led, for to him she would not then confess that in her cup of joy there was a single bitter dreg. All was bright and fair, she said, and Morris had replied that he was glad. "But do not forget that death can find you even there amid your splendor, or that after death the judgment comes, and then what shall it profit you if you gain the whole world and lose your own soul."

These words had rung in Katy's ears for many a day, following her to the dance and to the opera, where even the music was drowned by the echo of the words, "lose your own soul." But the sting grew less and less, till Katy no longer felt it, and now was only anxious to talk with Morris and convince him that she was not as thoughtless as he might suppose, that she still remembered his teachings, remembered the Sunday school and the little church in the valley, preferring it to the handsome, aristocratic house where she went with the Camerons once on every Sunday, and would willingly go twice if Wilford would go with her. But the Camerons were merely fashionable churchgoers, and so their afternoons were spent at home, Katy enjoying them vastly because she usually had Wilford all to herself in her own room, a thing which did not often occur during the weekdays.

There was a kind of peace to be made with Helen, too, Katy feared; for Helen had sent back the diamond ring, saying it was not suitable for her, but never hinting that she had drawn from Morris the inference that Wilford was not well pleased at having his wife thus dispose of his costly presents. Katy had cried when she received the ring, feeling that something was wrong and longing so much for the time when she could make it right.

"One more week and then it is April," she said to Wilford one evening after they had retired to their room, and she was talking of Silverton. "I guess I had better go about the tenth. Shall you stay as long as I do?"

Wilford bit his lip, and after a moment replied:

"I have been talking with mother, and we think April is not a good time for you to be in the country; it is so wet and cold. You had better not till summer, and then I want you here to help order our furniture."

"Oh, Wilford," and Katy's voice trembled, for from past experience she knew that for Wilford to object to her plans was equivalent to a refusal, and her heart throbbed with disappointment as she tried to listen while Wilford urged many reasons why she should not go, convincing her at last that of all times for visiting Silverton spring was the worst, that summer or autumn were better, and that it was her duty to remain where she was until such time as he saw fit for her to do otherwise.