Queenie Hetherton

by Mary Jane Holmes

It was very hot in Florida that summer, but it suited Queenie, who, like some tropical plant, seemed to thrive under the burning sun which affected even the negroes, accustomed to it as they were. Physically she had never been better than she was at Magnolia Park, or prettier either, for the bright color had crept back to her cheeks and her eyes had in them a look of softness and humility, while the expression of her face was ineffably sweet and gentle like the faces of some of the Madonnas. She had suffered terribly, and the fierce storm through which she had passed had left its marks upon her so that she would never again be quite the same dashing, impetuous girl she once had been. Margery wrote to her often,—long letters full of tenderness and affection, and entreaties for her to return to the home which was not the same without her.

From Grace and Ethel Rossiter she also heard frequently, and their letters touched her closely, as they always addressed her as their cousin, ignoring altogether the terrible thing which had separated her from them. Once in speaking of Margery Ethel said: “She is very lonely at Hetherton Place, though we go there often, and Mr. Beresford, we hear, is there every day.”

This was underscored, and conveyed to Queenie’s mind just the meaning Ethel meant it to convey. Mr. Beresford was daily growing more and more interested in Margery, and Queenie rejoiced that it was so. She was so glad for Margery to be happy in a good man’s love, though her own sun had set in deepest gloom, and there was a ceaseless moan in her heart for poor Phil, while the load of humiliation which had come so suddenly upon her seemed sometimes greater than she could bear.

“If I only had something to do which would make me forget myself a little I should be happier,” she thought, as morning after morning she awoke to the same monotonous round of duties, or, rather, occupation of trying to kill the time.

She had no real duties, for everything pertaining to the household arrangements was managed by Aunt Judy, who petted her young mistress as if she had been a queen, while both Pierre and Axie, watched vigilantly to anticipate every want before it was framed in words.

Mrs. Strong was absent on her plantation near Lake Jackson, and thus Queenie was left almost entirely alone and free to let her morbid fancies feed upon themselves. She did need something to do, and at last the something came, though in a very different form from what she would have chosen had it been hers to choose.

As the summer advanced it grew hotter and hotter until the nights were like the days, and there came no breath of air to relieve the dreadful heat. There were rumors of sunstroke here and there, and talk of the sickness which must ensue if the state of things continued. And still in middle Florida it was comparatively healthy, and the air was free from malaria; but farther to the north, where a city spread itself over miles of territory, an ominous cloud was gathering. Once before the town had been scourged as with the plague, and the terror-stricken inhabitants had fled to the country for refuge from the pestilence, which oftentimes overtook them on the road and claimed them for its victims. And now it was coming again—was lurking in the corners of the lanes and alleys, where poverty and filth held high carnival—was breathed in the poisonous air which brooded over the doomed city like a pall, until at last it was there, and men spoke the awful word to each other in whispers, while their voices shook with fear and their hearts sank as they remembered the past and thought of the possible future. The yellow fever was in their midst, and though as yet confined to the poorer classes and the unfrequented parts of the city, the people knew too well that, like fire applied to cotton, it would spread until there was no house however grand, or spot however exclusive, which its shadow would not reach, its horrid presence threaten. The city was doomed, and as the days went by and the disease and danger grew, and the death roll increased, and men who walked the streets to-day were dead to-morrow, a panic seized upon the terror-stricken inhabitants, who fled before the horror as those who live on a frontier in time of war flee from the rapidly advancing enemy. Then it was, when the city was almost deserted, that the cry went up for help for the sick and the dying. And the North heard that cry as well as the South, and poured out her treasures with a most liberal hand, and “help for Memphis” was the watchword everywhere. Physicians were wanted, with nurses for the sick and deserted ones, and this demand it was which tried to the very quick the courage of those on whom it was made.

It was an easy matter to give of one’s substance to the needy, to drop the money into the boxes placed everywhere for that purpose, but to take one’s life in his hands and go into the very jaws of death, where the air was full of infection and the very flowers seemed to exhale a deadly poison, was a different thing. But there were hundreds of brave men and women who, from the New England hills, and the prairies of the West, and the pine glades of the South, went to the rescue, and by their noble heroism proved themselves more Christ-like than human. In her far-off Florida home Queenie heard the cry for help, and to herself she said:

“Here is something for me to do. Here is my chance, and I’ll take it.”

Had she known just what yellow fever was, she might have hesitated ere she made her decision, or having made it, might have drawn back from it at the frantic entreaties of Pierre, who, when she communicated her intention to him, fell upon his knees and with blanched face and chattering teeth begged her not to go where there was certain death for them both, for his place was with her: if she went, he must go also. Axie, too, tried to dissuade her from her purpose, but Queenie would not listen.