The house of five gables

by Mary Johnson Holmes

“That went with the rest. An old aunty and her husband, who were going to Raleigh to find their children who had been sold away from them, took the boy with them. We have never heard from them since. My mother gave them plenty of money and promised to send them more if they needed it, but they never applied for more. No doubt they are dead.”

“No doubt,” replied Victoria, looking dreamily out over the fair lands of which her husband was the sole possessor, “but I have a feeling, a presentiment, that some day you will hear from this Ishmael who really ought to receive some share of what was his father’s.”

Andrew smiled. “Don’t let any such foolish fancies linger in your mind, dear wife. The laws of Virginia were made for just such cases as his. He could not claim so much as a stone from off this plantation.”

“But, Andrew, laying all race prejudice aside, and speaking from your heart, tell me honestly, would you not feel guilty of keeping all? Is not a share of it your brother’s?”

“Never,” spoke Andrew decidedly. “Victoria, you are a queen among women. You are more intelligent than any woman I know, but on such questions allow me to be the judge. You certainly are not capable.”

He arose and paced the room excitedly. “There is one person whose society I wish you to avoid Victoria, and that is Mrs. Bradley. When she calls here again treat her very ceremoniously, and please do not return her call. That woman gives me a creeping sensation whenever she come near me. She is a human snake. Leave her entirely alone, I beg of you. But for her this disagreeable conversation would not have occurred. Unpleasant things like these must not come up between us, my wife. They are sure to leave thoughts in the mind which cannot easily be forgotten. Am I right?” He stooped and kissed her.

“Yes, Andrew, you are always right. I will drop Mrs. Bradley from my calling-list, and you shall never hear me speak again of this skeleton in your family closet unless you first mention it. Will my doing so please you?”

“Most certainly, Victoria. We have never had a word of disagreement since our marriage. Do not let us begin now.”

So the subject from that day was not again referred to by either Victoria or Andrew, but it cannot be said that neither thought of it afterward, for Victoria, although she had none but loyal thoughts for her husband, could not help her mind occasionally turning toward that mysterious western gable, in which were the beautifully decorated rooms which must now be in a state of utter decay after having been closed for so many years. Victoria was not without her full share of curiosity, and she often longed to speak with Andrew, and implore him to find some way of opening a passage to the western gable, so that they might visit those rooms and gaze upon the treasures supposed to be still there. Of course it was a sad story, but then nearly every old family had a skeleton of some kind in their closets, and now that the principal actors in this tragedy were long since mouldered into dust, what harm could be done by opening the rooms and making use of what must be the pleasantest gable of all the five. She resolved, when the proper time should present itself, to broach the subject to Andrew. He could only refuse.

After this conversation Andrew spent more of his time than he had ever done in his study. After breakfast he would repair to his study and give orders that he was not to be disturbed by anybody unless he himself should signify to the contrary, and often Victoria did not see him again until the luncheon hour. Then for a few hours, usually until dinner, he rode or drove with herself and Mary, and seemed for the time being to throw off the melancholy which was becoming more noticeable every day, and which Victoria gazed upon with alarm. Then shortly after dinner, when Victoria would have prized his society the most, he again repaired to his study, there to remain until the wee small hours, and it had become a regular nightly habit for him to have a repast served to him usually at midnight. Victoria had remonstrated with him until she had become weary. She told him that his health could not always remain perfect when subjected to such a strain; that he was growing aged far beyond his years; but he only laughed, and stopped her mouth with a kiss, and continued as before to immure himself within his den where Mary alone was admitted, and she not at all times, for she often knocked and even kicked at the closed door, and could get not so much as a word from her father who, when she told him hours after, would reply: “Papa cannot talk when he is writing or very busy, chickie.”