Tempest and Sunshine

by Mary Jane Holmes

Fanny did not reply, and after a moment's silence Julia said, "Sister, if I were you I would keep all this a secret, and even if I were unhappy, I would try to assume a forced cheerfulness, for fear people would suspect the truth, and call me lovesick."

Fanny did not reply to this either. She was trying to still the painful throbs of her aching heart. Through all the long, weary hours of that night she was awake. Sometimes she would watch the myriad host of stars, as they kept on their unwearied course through the clear, blue sky, and would wonder if there was room beyond them for one so unhappy as she was, and would muse on the past days of happiness now forever gone, and although a choking sensation was in her throat, not a tear moistened her cheek. "I shall never weep again," thought she, "and why should I? The world will not know what I suffer. I will be as gay and merry as ever." And a fearful laugh rang through the room as she said, "Yes, how gayly I'll dance at the wedding. I'll hold my heart so fast that none shall ever know in how many pieces it is broken."

Thus she talked on. Delirium was stealing over her, and when morning broke, the rapid moving of her bright eye, and the crimson spot which burned on either cheek, showed that brain fever was doing its work.

A physician was immediately called and by the means of powerful remedies the progress of the disease was checked, so that Fanny was seriously ill for only a week. She was delirious a great part of the time, but Julia was delighted to find out that not one word of Dr. Lacey ever passed her lips. At the commencement of her illness her father and mother were sent for. The old man came quickly, for Fanny was his idol, and if she should die, he would be bereaved indeed. With untiring love he watched by her bedside until the crisis was passed. He would fan her fevered brow, moisten her parched lips, chafe her hot, burning hands, smooth her tumbled pillow, and when at last he succeeded in soothing her into a troubled slumber, he would sit by her and gaze on her wan face with an earnestness which seemed to say that she was his all of earth, his more than all of heaven. Julia too was all attention. Nothing tired her, and with unwearied [pg 099] patience she came and went at her father's bidding, doing a thousand little offices pertaining to a sick chamber. For once her father's manner softened toward her and the tones of his voice were gentle and his words kind while speaking to his first born. Could he have known what part she had in causing the illness of his "darling Sunshine," all Frankfort would have shaken with the heavy artillery of oaths and execrations, which would have been disgorged from his huge lungs, like the eruption of some long pent-up volcano! But he did not suspect the truth, and in speaking of Fanny's illness, he said, "It is studyin' so close that ailed her. As soon as ever she can bar to be moved, we will carry her home, and Aunt Katy'll nuss her up quicker."

Accordingly, as soon as the physician pronounced it safe to move her, she was taken home, and by her mother's assiduous care, and Aunt Katy's skilful nursing, her physical health was soon much improved. But no medicine could reach the plague spot which preyed upon her heart and cast a dark shadow over every feeling of pleasure. As soon as her health was fully restored, she asked permission to return to school. At first Mr. Middleton refused, but not long did he ever withstand any request which "Sunshine" made. So at last he consented, on condition that she would give up the study of Latin, and promise not to apply herself too closely to anything. To this Fanny readily agreed, and in a few days she was in Frankfort, occupying her accustomed seat at Mrs. Crane's and bending over her task in the old schoolroom, which seemed suddenly illuminated by her presence.

The schoolgirls welcomed back their young companion with many demonstrations of joy, for they said, "the schoolroom seemed dark and lonely when she was absent." Dear little Fanny! There was love enough left for her in the hearts of all who knew her, but it did not satisfy. There was still an aching void, which one love alone could fill, and that love she thought was lost to her forever. She was mistaken.

During her illness she thought much of what Julia had said relative to concealing her disappointment with an assumed gayety, and she resolved to do so, partly from wounded pride, and partly from love of her dear old father, who seemed distressed whenever anything troubled his "Sunshine." When she returned to Frankfort none but the most acute observer would have suspected that the sparkling eye and dancing footstep were the disguise of a desolate, aching heart and that the merry laugh and witty repartee were but the echoes of a knell of sadness, whose deepest tones were stifled ere they reached [pg 100] the ear of the listener. In the darkness of night however, all was changed. The Sunshine was obscured, and Julia alone knew what anguish Fanny endured. Still the cruel girl never wavered in her purpose. "The worst is over," said she. "She will not die now, even if she saw him wedded to me." So she suffered her sister's cheek to grow paler, and her delicate form thinner, at the supposed desertion of her lover. Little did Fanny think that he, whose false-heartedness she deplored, dreamed each night of his distant dear one, and that each day his warm heart beat more quickly, because no tidings came from her.

A few days after Fanny's return there came cards of invitation for a large party at the residence of a Mr. C——. The evening was propitious, and at the usual hour Mrs. C——'s parlors were filled with the beauty and fashion of the city. Among all the belles who that evening graced the brilliantly lighted drawing rooms, none was so much admired as Julia Middleton, who appeared dressed in a rich crimson velvet robe, tastefully trimmed with ermine. Magnificent bracelets, which had cost her father almost as many oaths as dollars, glittered on her white, rounded arms. Her snowy neck, which was also uncovered, was without ornament. Her glossy hair, dark as night, was arranged in the most becoming manner.

At the time Mr. Middleton had given Julia her bracelets, he had presented Fanny with a bandeau of pearls. But Julia found it an easy task to persuade her sister that pearls were not becoming to her style of beauty; so on the evening of the party they gleamed amid the heavy braids of Julia's hair. Wherever she went she was followed by a train of admirers, who had little thought that that soft smile and beautiful face concealed a heart as hard as the flinty rock.

Contrary to all the rules of propriety, the heartless Mrs. Carrington was there, dealing out her fascinating smiles and bland words. She had thrown aside her mourning for the occasion and was arrayed in a dress of black velvet. An elegant lace bertha covered her white, beautiful neck, while one of her fair arms was clasped by a diamond bracelet. To this bracelet was attached a small locket which contained the daguerreotype of him, upon whose quiet grave the suns of scarce five months had risen and set. Amid that brilliant scene she had no thought for the dead, but others wondered much that he should be so soon forgotten. She was attended by Raymond, who scarcely left her side during the whole evening, although she made several ineffectual attempts to [pg 101] shake him off, for she did not care to be too much noticed by a "poor Yankee schoolmaster."