Rose Mather: A tale

by Mary Jane Holmes

Although making due allowance for the widow’s prejudice, these remarks were not without their effect upon Annie, who, imperceptibly to herself, began to feel that probably Jimmie did regard her as merely a poor dependent on his sister’s bounty, and she unconsciously assumed toward him a cool reserved manner, which led him to fancy that she entertained for him a deep-rooted prejudice on account of his past error. Twenty times a day he said to himself he did not care what she thought of him, and as many times a day he knew he did care much more than was at all conducive to his peace of mind. Where this caring might end he never stopped to consider. He only felt now that he respected the Quaker-like Annie more than he ever respected a woman before, and coveted her good opinion more earnestly than he ever remembered to have coveted anything in his life, unless, indeed, it were his freedom when a prisoner in Bill Baker’s power.

In this state of affairs it required all Rose’s tact to sustain anything like sociability between her brother and Annie, and the little lady was perfectly delighted when the joyful tidings was received that Tom was coming home. Annie would like Tom, for everybody did; besides, Tom had written as if he were almost a good man himself, and Annie was sure to be pleased with that; they, at least, would be fast friends; and secure on this point. Rose, with her usual impulsiveness, plunged into the preparations for Tom’s reception. Even Annie did not think any reasonable honor too great for him, particularly after Isaac wrote from Washington to his mother, telling her of Tom’s generous sacrifice, and how he might have been home long before if he had not chosen to stay and care for a poor, sick boy. How the widow’s heart warmed toward the Carletons, taking the whole family into its hitherto rather limited dimensions. Even Jimmie was not excluded, the widow admitting to Mrs. Baker, between whom and herself there had been many a hot discussion touching the so-called Rebel, that when he laughed, “he was uncommon handsome for a Secessioner,” and she presumed that “at the bottom he was as good they would average.”

But if the widow were thus affected by Tom’s kind act, how much more were the mother and sister pleased to know how noble and good he was, while Annie, amid the tears she could not repress, said to Rose,

“You should be proud of such a brother! There are few like him, I am sure!”

How Jimmie envied Tom, as he heard, on all sides, praises for his noble unselfishness, and the resolution to welcome him and Isaac with military honors. Once more in his element, Bill Baker industriously drilled his clique, who were to answer no earthly purpose save to swell the throng and prolong the deafening cheers. Bill began to feel related to the Carletons, and regularly each day he called at the Mather mansion to keep Rose posted with regard to the progress of affairs. They were to bring out the new gun, he said, and as it was minus a name, the villagers had concluded to call it the “Thomas Carleton,” asking “how she thought the ’Square would like it, and how many times it ought to be fired. The band would serenade Tom in the evening,” he said, “and we shall have bonfires kindled in the streets,” talking as if instead of being merely cannon-tender, he were head manager of the whole, and that all the responsibility was resting on himself. Rose understood him perfectly, and with the utmost good nature listened to his suggestions, and scolded Jimmie for calling him her prime minister and confidant.

From the cupola of the Mather mansion the Stars and Stripes were to be hung out, and on the morning of Tom’s expected arrival, Jimmie and Annie climbed the winding stairs and fastened the staff securely to its place. There were tears in Annie’s eyes as the graceful folds shook themselves to the breeze, for she remembered the coming of another soldier when this same banner was wrapped around a coffin. Across the valley and beyond the confines of the village she could see where that coffin with its loved inmate was buried, and as the past came rushing over her, she suddenly gave way, and sitting down beneath the flag wept bitterly, while Jimmie, with a vague idea as to what might have caused her tears, stood looking at her, wishing he could comfort her. But what should he say? As yet they had scarcely passed the bounds of the most scrupulous politeness to each other, and for him to attempt to comfort her seemed preposterous, while to leave her without a word, seemed equally unkind. Perhaps it was the beautiful glossy braids of hair which brought him at last to a decision, causing him to lay his hand involuntarily upon the bowed head, while he said:

“I am sorry for you, Mrs. Graham, for I know how much the contrast between my brother’s return and that of your husband must affect you, and gladly would I spare you the pain, if I could. I am not certain but the good people of Rockland, in their intended kindness to Tom, are doing you an injury, and surely Lieutenant Graham, having been a resident of this place, should receive their first thought with all pertaining to him.”

There was no mistaking the genuine sympathy which thrilled in every tone of Jimmie’s voice, and for a moment Annie wept more passionately than before. It was the first time he had ever spoken to her of her husband, and his words touched a responsive chord at once.

“It is not that so much,” she answered, at last. “I am glad they are honoring your brother thus; he richly deserves it for his noble adherence to his country in her hour of peril, and for his generous treatment of poor Isaac Simms. I would do much myself to show him my respect; but oh, George, George, I am so desolate without him!” and covering her face with her hands, Annie wept again, more piteously than before.

Here was a point which Jimmie could not touch, and an awkward silence ensued, broken at last by Annie, who, resuming her usual calm demeanor, frankly offered Jimmie her hand, saying: