Rose Mather: A tale

by Mary Jane Holmes

“And your other son, there’s room for him,” he said, looking round in quest of John, who, at the last moment, had obtained permission to visit his bride, and so came on with Isaac.

At a glance his eye had singled out Susan, and the young couple were now standing apart from the rest, exchanging mutual caresses, and words of love, the tall lieutenant kissing fondly the blushing girl who could not realize that she stood in the presence of her husband. After a little it was decided that Tom and Jimmie, Mrs. Simms and Isaac, should occupy the carriage, while John and Susan walked, and so from her lofty stand-point, Rose watched the long procession winding down the streets, amid the strains of music and the cannon’s bellowing roar. It was very exciting to Isaac, and by the time the cottage was reached he was glad to be lifted out by Jimmie, who bore the tired boy tenderly into the house and laid him down on the soft, warm bed he had dreamed about so many nights in the dark, filthy prison corner. How faint and weak he was, and how glad to be home again! Winding his arms around his mother’s neck, he sobbed out his great joy, saying amid his tears, “God was so kind to let me come back to you.”

It was a very happy group the villagers left behind in that humble cottage, and neither John nor Susan thought it out of place when the mother called on them to kneel with her and thank the Giver of all good for his great mercy in granting them this blessing.

Meantime the procession passed on until it reached the Mather mansion, where, with three cheers for Captain Carleton, the crowd dispersed, leaving Tom at liberty to join the mother and sister waiting so impatiently for him, one on the steps, and the other in the parlor just where she had welcomed Jimmie.

“If Will were only here, it would be the happiest day I ever knew,” Rose said, as, seating herself on Tom’s knee with her chubby arm around his neck, she asked him numerous questions concerning her absent husband. Then, as she saw in him signs of weariness she said, “You are tired, I know. Suppose you go to your room till dinner-time. It’s the one right at the head of the stairs,” she continued, and glad of an opportunity to rest, Tom went to the room where Annie Graham just then chanced to be. She had discovered that the servant had neglected to supply the rack with towels, and so she had brought them herself, lingering a moment after they were arranged, to see if everything were in order. She did not hear Tom’s step, until he opened the door upon her, and uttered an exclamation of surprise and apology. He had no idea who the little black-robed figure was, for though he knew the wife of George Graham was an inmate of his sister’s family, he had her in his mind as a very different person from this one before him. Mrs. Graham was young, he supposed, and possibly good-looking, but she did not bear the stamp of refinement and elegance which this graceful creature did, and fancying he had made a mistake and stumbled into the apartment of some city visitor, he was about to withdraw, when Annie came toward him, saying:

“Excuse me, sir, I came in to see that all was right in your room. Mr. Carleton, I presume?”

This last Annie spoke doubtingly, for in the tall, handsome stranger before her there was scarcely a vestige of the “greyish haired, oldish, fatherly-looking man” she had in fancy known as Captain Carleton, and but for the eyes, so much like Mrs. Mather’s, and the unmistakable Carleton curve about the mouth, she would never have dreamed that it was Tom to whom she was speaking. As it was, she waited for him to confirm her suspicions, which he did by bowing in the affirmative to her interrogation, “Mr. Carleton, I presume?”

Then holding the door for her to pass out, he stood watching her till she disappeared at the extreme end of the hall, wondering who she was, and why a mere visitor should take so much interest in his room. Once he thought of Annie Graham; but this could not be a widow, though the deep mourning dress told of recent bereavement. Still Annie Graham was a different personage, he knew; and thus perplexed, Tom, instead of resting, commenced his toilet for dinner, determining, as soon as it was completed, to go down and have the mystery unravelled.

Restless and impatient to know just what his brother thought of his late treachery to the Federal Flag, Jimmie paced the parlors below until he could wait no longer and knowing by the sounds which came from the chamber above, that Tom was not trying to sleep, he finally ran up the stairs, and knocking at the chamber door, was soon closeted with Tom. It was an awkward business to speak of the past, but Jimmie plunged into it at once, stating some reasons which had led him to abjure his own government, expressing his contrition for having done so, and ending by saying he hoped Tom, if possible, would forget that he ever had a rebel brother.

It had taken Tom a long time to recover from the shock of meeting his brother in the Virginia woods, and knowing he was a traitor to his country, but the same generous feeling which led him to refrain from any allusion to that meeting in the messages sent to his mother and sister from his Richmond prison, now prompted him to treat with kind forbearance the brother whom he had loved and grieved over since the days of his mischievous boyhood.