Books: Cousin Maude
M >>
Mary J. Holmes >> Cousin Maude
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14 This etext was produced by Charles Franks and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
COUSIN MAUDE.
by Mary J. Holmes
To
Morris W. Smith,
of New Orleans,
This story of life among the Northern
Hills is repectfully dedicated
by his friend
The Author
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. DR. KENNEDY
II. THE JOURNEY
III. THE NEW HOME
IV. LITTLE LOUIS
V. MRS. JANET BLODGETT
VI. THE MOTHER
VII. PAST AND PRESENT
VIII. JAMES AND J.C.
IX. THE MILKMAN'S HEIRESS
X. THE ENGAGEMENT, REAL AND PROSPECTIVE
XI. MAUD GLENDOWER
XII. HOW THE ENGAGEMENTS PROSPERED
XIII. HAMPTON
XIV. THE DARK HOUR
XV. THE NEW MISTRESS AT LAUREL HILL
XVI. THE BLIND GIRL
XVII. NELLIE°S BRIDAL NIGHT
XVIII. COUSIN MAUDE
XIX. A SECOND BRIDAL
XX. THE SEXTON
XXI. HOME AGAIN
CHAPTER I.
DR. KENNEDY.
"If you please, marm, the man from York State is comin' afoot. Too
stingy to ride, I'll warrant," and Janet, the housekeeper,
disappeared from the parlor, just as the sound of the gate was
heard, and an unusually fine-looking middle-aged man was seen coming
up the box-lined walk which led to the cottage door.
The person thus addressed was a lady, whose face, though young and
handsome, wore a look which told of early sorrow. Matilda Remington
had been a happy, loving wife, but the old churchyard in Vernon
contained a grass-grown grave, where rested the noble heart which
had won her girlish love. And she was a widow now, a fair-haired,
blue-eyed widow, and the stranger who had so excited Janet's wrath
by walking from the depot, a distance of three miles, would claim
her as his bride ere the morrow's sun was midway in the heavens. How
the engagement happened she could not exactly tell, but happened it
had, and she was pledged to leave the vine-wreathed cottage which
Harry had built for her, and go with one of whom she knew
comparatively little.
Six months before our story opens she had spent a few days with him
at the house of a mutual friend in an adjoining State, and since
that time they had written to each other regularly, the
correspondence resulting at last in an engagement, which he had now
come to fulfill. He had never visited her before in her own home,
consequently she was wholly unacquainted with his disposition or
peculiarities. He was intelligent and refined, commanding in
appearance, and agreeable in manner whenever he chose to be, and
when he wrote to her of his home, which he said would be a second
Paradise were she its mistress, when he spoke of the little curly-
headed girl who so much needed a mother's care, and when, more than
all, he hinted that his was no beggar's fortune, she yielded; for
Matilda Remington did not dislike the luxuries which money alone can
purchase. Her own fortune was small, and as there was now no hand
save her own to provide, she often found it necessary to economize
more than she wished to do. But Dr. Kennedy was rich, and if she
married him she would escape a multitude of annoyances, so she made
herself believe that she loved him; and when she heard, as she more
than once did hear, rumors of a sad, white-faced woman to whom the
grave was a welcome rest, she said the story was false, and, shaking
her pretty head, refused to believe that there was aught in the
doctor of evil.
"To be sure, he was not at all like Harry--she could never find one
who was--but he was so tall, so dignified, so grand, so particular,
that it seemed almost like stooping, for one in his position to
think of her, and she liked him all the better for his
condescension."
Thus she ever reasoned, and when Janet said that he was coming, and
she, too, heard his step upon the piazza, the bright blushes broke
over her youthful face, and casting a hurried glance at the mirror,
she hastened out to meet him.
"Matty, my dear!" he said, and his thin lips touched her glowing
cheek, but in his cold gray eye there shone no love,--no feeling,--
no heart.
He was too supremely selfish to esteem another higher than himself,
and though it flattered him to know that the young creature was so
glad to meet him, it awoke no answering chord, and he merely thought
that with her to minister to him he should possibly be happier than
he had been with her predecessor.
"You must be very tired," she said, as she led the way into the cozy
parlor. Then, seating him in the easy chair near to the open window,
she continued: "How warm you are. What made you walk this sultry
afternoon?"
"It is a maxim of mine never to ride when I can walk," said he, "for
I don't believe in humoring those omnibus drivers by paying their
exorbitant prices."
"Two shillings surely is not an exorbitant price," trembled on Mrs.
Remington's lips, but she was prevented from saying so by his asking
"if everything were in readiness for the morrow."
"Yes, everything," she replied. "The cottage is sold, and--"
"Ah, indeed, sold!" said he, interrupting her. "If I mistake not you
told me, when I met you in Rome, that it was left by will to you.
May I, as your to-morrow's husband, ask how much you received for
it?" And he unbent his dignity so far as to wind his arm around her
waist.
But the arm was involuntarily withdrawn when, with her usual
frankness, Matty replied; "I received a thousand dollars, but there
were debts to be paid, so that I had only five hundred left, and
this I made over to my daughter to be used for her education."
Dr. Kennedy did not say that he was disappointed, and as Matty was
not much of a physiognomist she did not read it in his face, and she
continued: "Janet will remain here a while, to arrange matters,
before joining me in my new home. She wished me to leave my little
girl to come with her, but I can't do that. I must have my child
with me. You've never seen her, have you? I'll call her at once."
And stepping to the door she bade Janet bring "Maude" into the
parlor.
"Maude!" How Dr. Kennedy started at the mention of a name which
drove all thoughts of the five hundred dollars from his mind. There
was feeling--passion--everything, now, in his cold gray eye, but
quickly recovering his composure, he said calmly: "Maude, Matty--
Maude, is that your child's name?"
"Why, yes," she answered laughingly. "Didn't you know it before? "
"How should I," he replied, "when in your letters you have always
called her 'daughter'? But has she no other name? She surely was not
baptized Maude?"
Ere Mrs. Remington could speak, the sound of little pattering feet
was heard in the hall without, and in a moment Maude Remington stood
before her stepfather-elect, looking, as that rather fastidious
gentleman thought, more like a wild gipsy than the child of a
civilized mother. She was a fat, chubby child, not yet five years
old; black-eyed, black-haired, black-faced, with short, thick curls,
which, damp with perspiration, stood up all over her head, giving
her a singular appearance. She had been playing in the brook, her
favorite companion, and now, with little spatters of mud ornamenting
both face and pantalets, her sun-bonnet hanging down her back, and
her hands full of pebble-stones, she stood furtively eyeing the
stranger, whose mental exclamation was: "Mercy, what a fright!"
"Maude!" exclaimed the distressed Mrs. Remington, "where have you
been? Go at once to Janet, and have your dress changed; then come
back to me."
Nothing loath to join Janet, whose company was preferable to that of
the stranger, Maude left the room, while Dr. Kennedy, turning to
Mrs. Remington, said: "She is not at all like you, my dear."
"No," answered the lady; "she is like her father in everything; the
same eyes, the same hair, and--"
She was going on to say more, when the expression of Dr. Kennedy's
face stopped her, and she began to wonder if she had displeased him.
Dr. Kennedy could talk for hours of "the late Mrs. Kennedy,"
accompanying his words with long-drawn sighs, and enumerating her
many virtues, all of which he expected to be improved upon by her
successor; but he could not bear to hear the name of Harry Remington
spoken by one who was to be his wife, and he at once changed the
subject of Maude's looks to her name, which he learned was really
Matilda. She had been called Maude, Matty said, after one who was
once a very dear friend both of herself and her husband.
"Then we will call her Matilda," said he, "as it is a maxim of mine
never to spoil children by giving them pet names."
"But you call your daughter Nellie," suggested the little widow, and
in her soft, blue eye there shone a mischievous twinkle, as if she
fancied she had beaten him with his own argument.
But if she thought to convince that most unreasonable man, she was
mistaken. What he did was no criterion for others, unless he chose
that it should be so, and he answered, "That is sister Kelsey's
idea, and as she is very fond of Nellie I do not interfere. But,
seriously, Matty, darling,"--and he drew her to his side, with an
uncommon show of fondness,--" I cannot call your daughter Maude; I
do not like the name, and it is a maxim of mine, that if a person
dislikes a name, 'tis an easy matter to dislike the one who bears
it."
Had Mrs. Remington cared less for him than she did, she might have
wondered how many more disagreeable maxims he had in store. But love
is blind, or nearly so; and when, as if to make amends for his
remarks, he caressed her with an unusual degree of tenderness, the
impulsive woman felt that she would call her daughter anything which
suited him. Accordingly, when at last Maude returned to the parlor,
with her dress changed, her curls arranged, and her dimpled cheeks
shining with the suds in which they had been washed, she was
prepared to say Matilda or whatever else pleased his capricious
fancy.
"Little girl," he said, extending his hand toward her, "little girl,
come here. I wish to talk with you."
But the little girl hung back, and when tier mother insisted upon
her going to the gentleman, asking if she did not like him, she
answered decidedly, "No, I don't like him, and he shan't be my pa,
either!"
"Maude, daughter!" exclaimed Mrs. Remington, while Dr. Kennedy,
turning slightly pale, thought "wretch!" but said, "Matilda, come
here, won't you?"
"I aint Matilda," she answered. "I won't be Matilda--I'm Maude," and
her large black eyes flashed defiantly upon him.
It was in vain that Dr. Kennedy coaxed and Mrs. Remington
threatened. Maude had taken a dislike to the stranger, and as he
persisted in calling her Matilda, she persisted in refusing to
answer, until at last, hearing Janet pass through the hall, she ran
out to her, sure of finding comfort and sympathy there.
"I am afraid I have suffered Maude to have her own way too much, and
for the future I must be more strict with her," said Mrs. Remington
apologetically; while the doctor replied, "I think, myself, a little
wholesome discipline would not be amiss. 'Tis a maxim of mine, spare
the rod and spoil the child; but, of course, I shall not interfere
in the matter."
This last he said because he saw a shadow flit over the fair face of
the widow, who, like most indulgent mothers, did not wholly believe
in Solomon. The sight of Janet in the hall suggested a fresh subject
to the doctor's mind, and, after coughing a little, he said, "Did I
understand that your domestic was intending to join you at Laurel
Hill?"
"Yes," returned Mrs. Remington, "Janet came to live with my mother
when I was a little girl no larger than Maude. Since my marriage she
has lived with me, and I would not part with her for anything."
"But do you not think two kinds of servants are apt to make trouble,
particularly if one is black and the other white?" and in the
speaker's face there was an expression which puzzled Mrs. Remington,
who could scarce refrain from crying at the thoughts of parting with
Janet, and who began to have a foretaste of the dreary homesickness
which was to wear her life away.
"I can't do without Janet," she said; "she knows all my ways, and I
trust her with everything."
"The very reason why she should not go," re turned the doctor." She
and old Hannah would quarrel at once. You would take sides with
Janet, I with Hannah, and that might produce a feeling which ought
never to exist between man and wife. No, my dear, listen to me in
this matter, and let Janet remain in Vernon. Old Hannah has been in
my family a long time. She was formerly a slave, and belonged to my
uncle, who lived in Virginia, and who, at his death, gave her to me.
Of course I set her free, for I pride myself on being a man of
humanity, and since that time she has lived with us, superintending
the household entirely since Mrs. Kennedy's death. She is very
peculiar, and would never suffer Janet to dictate, as I am sure,
from what you say, she would do. So, my dear, try and think all is
for the best. You need not tell her she is not to come, for it is a
maxim of mine to avoid all unnecessary scenes, and you can easily
write it in a letter."
Poor Mrs. Remington! she knew intuitively that the matter was
decided, and was she not to be forgiven if at that moment she
thought of the grass-grown grave whose occupant had in life been
only too happy granting her slightest wish? But Harry was gone, and
the man with whom she now had to deal was an exacting, tyrannical
master, to whose will her own must ever be subservient. This,
however, she did not then understand. She knew he was not at all
like Harry, but she fancied that the difference consisted in his
being so much older, graver, and wiser than her husband had been,
and so with a sigh she yielded the point, thinking that Janet would
be the greater sufferer of the two.
That evening several of her acquaintances called to see the
bridegroom-elect, whom, in Mrs. Remington's hearing, they pronounced
very fine looking and quite agreeable in manner; compliments which
tended in a measure to soothe her irritated feelings and quiet the
rapid beatings of her heart, which for hours after she retired to
rest would occasionally whisper to her that the path she was about
to tread was far from being strewn with flowers.
"He loves me, I know," she thought, "though his manner of showing it
is so different from Harry; but I shall become accustomed to that
after a while, and be very, very happy." And comforted with this
assurance she fell asleep, encircling within her arms the little
Maude, whose name had awakened bitter memories in the heart of him
who in an adjoining chamber battled with thoughts of the dark past,
which now on the eve of his second marriage passed in sad review
before his mind.
Memories there were of a gentle, pale-faced woman, who, when her
blue eyes were dim with coming death, had shudderingly turned away
from him, as if his presence brought her more of pain than joy.
Memories, too, there were of another--a peerlessly beautiful
creature who, ere he had sought the white-faced woman for his wife,
had trampled on his affections and spurned as a useless gift his
offered love. He hated her now, he thought; and the little black-
haired child, sleeping so sweetly in its mother's arms, was hateful
in his sight, because it bore that woman's name. One, two, three--
sounded the clock, and then he fell asleep, dreaming that underneath
the willows which grew in the churchyard, far off on Laurel Hill,
there were two graves instead of one; that in the house across the
common there was a sound of rioting and mirth, unusual in that
silent mansion. For she was there, the woman whom he had so madly
loved, and wherever she went crowds gathered about her as in the
olden time.
"Maude Glendower, why are you here?" he attempted to say, when a
clear, silvery voice aroused him from his sleep, and starting up, he
listened half in anger, half in disappointment, to the song which
little Maude Remington sang as she sat in the open door awaiting the
return of her mother, who had gone for the last time to see the
sunshine fall on Harry's grave.
CHAPTER II.
THE JOURNEY.
Mrs. Kennedy looked charming in her traveling dress of brown, and
the happy husband likened her to a Quakeress, as he kissed her
blushing. cheek and called her his "little wife." He had passed
through the ceremony remarkably well, standing very erect, making
the responses very, loud, and squeezing very becomingly the soft
white hand on whose third finger he placed the wedding ring--a very
small one, by the way. It was over now, and many of the bridal
guests were gone; the minister, too, had gone, and jogging leisurely
along upon his sorrel horse had ascertained the size of his fee,
feeling a little disappointed that it was not larger--five dollars
seemed so small, when he fully expected twenty from one of Dr.
Kennedy's reputed wealth.
Janet had seen that everything was done for the comfort of the
travelers, and then out behind the smokehouse had scolded herself
soundly for crying, when she ought to appear brave, and encourage
her young mistress. Not the slightest hint had she received that she
was not to follow them in a few, weeks, and when at parting little
Maude clung to her skirts, beseeching her to go, she comforted the
child by telling her what she would bring her in the autumn, when
she came. Half a dozen dolls, as many pounds of candy, a dancing
jack, and a mewing kitten were promised, and then the faithful
creature turned to the weeping bride, who clasped her hard old hand
convulsively, for she knew it was a long good-by. Until the carriage
disappeared from view did Mrs. Kennedy look back through blinding
tears to the spot where Janet stood, wiping her eyes with a corner
of her stiffly starched white apron, and holding up one foot to keep
her from soiling her clean blue cotton stockings, for, in accordance
with a superstition peculiar to her race, she had thrown after the
travelers a shoe, by way of insuring them good luck.
For once in his life Dr. Kennedy tried to be very kind and attentive
to his bride, who, naturally hopeful and inclined to look upon the
brighter side, dried her tears soon after entering the cars, and
began to fancy she was very happy in her new position as the wife of
Dr. Kennedy. The seat in front of them was turned back and occupied
by Maude, who busied herself a while in watching the fence and the
trees, which she said were "running so fast toward Janet and home!"
Then her dark eyes would scan curiously the faces of Dr. Kennedy and
her mother, resting upon the latter with a puzzled expression, as if
she could not exactly understand it. The doctor persisted in calling
her Matilda, and as she resolutely persisted in refusing to answer
to that name, it seemed quite improbable that they would ever talk
much together. Occasionally, it is true, he made her some advances,
by playfully offering her his hand, but she would not touch it, and
after a time, standing upon the seat and turning round, she found
more agreeable society in the company of two boys who sat directly
behind her.
They were evidently twelve or thirteen years of age, and in personal
appearance somewhat alike, save that the face of the brown-haired
boy was more open, ingenuous, and pleasing than that of his
companion, whose hair and eyes were black as night. A jolt of the
cars caused Maude to lay her chubby hand upon the shoulder of the
elder boy, who, being very fond of children, caught it within his
own, and in this way made her acquaintance. To him she was very
communicative, and in a short time he learned that "her name was
Maude Remington, that the pretty lady in brown was her mother, and
that the naughty man was not her father, and never would be, for
Janet said so."
This at once awakened an interest in the boys, and for more than an
hour they petted and played with the little girl, who, though very
gracious to both, still manifested so much preference for the brown-
haired, that the other laughingly asked her which she liked the
best.
"I like you and you," was Maude's childlike answer, as she pointed a
finger at each.
"But," persisted her questioner, "you like my cousin the best. Will
you tell me why?"
Maude hesitated a moment, then laying a hand on either side of the
speaker's face, and looking intently into his eyes, she answered,
"You don't look as if you meant for certain, and he does!"
Had Maude Remington been twenty instead of five, she could not
better have defined the difference between those two young lads, and
in after years she had sad cause for remembering words which seemed
almost prophetic. At Albany they, parted company, for though the
boys lived in Rochester they were to remain in the city through the
night, and Dr. Kennedy had decided to go on. By doing so he would
reach home near the close of the next day, beside saving a large
hotel bill, and this last was with him a very weighty reason. But he
did not say so to his wife; neither did he tell her that he had left
orders for his carriage to be in Canadaigua on the arrival of the
noon train, but he said "he was in haste to show her to his
daughter--that 'twas a maxim of his to save as much time as
possible, and that unless she were very anxious to sleep, he would
rather travel all night." So the poor, weary woman, whose head was
aching terribly, smiled faintly upon him as she said, "Go on, of
course," and nibbled at the hard seedcakes and harder crackers which
he brought her, there not being time for supper in Albany.
It was a long, tedious ride, and though a strong arm was thrown
around her, and her head was pillowed upon the bosom of her husband,
who really tried to make her as comfortable as possible, Mrs.
Kennedy could scarcely refrain from tears as she thought how
different was this bridal tour from what she had anticipated. She
had fully expected to pass by daylight through the Empire State, and
she had thought with how much delight her eye would rest upon the
grassy meadows, the fertile plains, the winding Mohawk, the drone-
like boats on the canal, the beautiful Cayuga, and the silvery water
so famed in song; but, in contrast to all this, she was shut up in a
dingy car, whose one dim lamp sent forth a sickly ray and sicklier
smell, while without all was gloomy, dark, and drear. No wonder,
then, that when toward morning Maude, who missed her soft, nice bed,
began to cry for Janet and for home, the mother too burst forth in
tears and choking sobs, which could not be controlled.
"Hush, Matty--don't," and the disturbed doctor shook her very
gently; "it will soon be daylight, and 'tis a max--" Here he
stopped, for he had no maxim suited to that occasion; and, in a most
unenviable frame of mind, he frowned at the crying Maude, and tried
to soothe his weeping wife, until at last, as the face of the latter
was covered, and the former grew more noisy and unmanageable, he
administered a fatherly rebuke in the shape of a boxed ear, which
had no other effect than the eliciting from the child the outcry,
"Let me be, old doctor, you!" if, indeed, we except the long scratch
made upon his hand by the little sharp nail of his stepdaughter.
At that moment Matty lifted up her head, but as Maude was no tale-
bearer, and the doctor hardly dared to tell her that he had thus
early taken upon himself the government of her child, she never knew
exactly what it was which made Maude's ear so red or her liege
lord's face so dark.
It was nearly noon when they arrived at Canandaigua, where the first
object which caught Mrs. Kennedy's eye was an old-fashioned
carryall, which her husband honored with the appellation of
carriage, said carriage being drawn by two farm-horses, which looked
as if oats and corn were to them luxuries unknown.
"I must have a cup of tea," said Mrs. Kennedy, as she saw the black
man, John, arranging the baggage upon the rack of the carryall, and
heard her husband bid him hurry, as there was no time to lose. "I
must have a cup of tea, my head is aching dreadfully," and her white
lips quivered, while the tears rolled down her cheeks.
"Certainly, certainly," answered the doctor, who was in unusually
good spirits, having just heard from an acquaintance whom he chanced
to meet that a lawsuit which had long been pending was decided in
his favor, and that the house and lot of a widow would probably come
into his possession. "Certainly, two cups if you like; I should have
proposed it myself, only I knew old Hannah would have dinner in
readiness for us, and 'tis a maxim of mine, that fasting provokes an
appetite."
"Hang dis nigger, if he aint a-maxin' her so quick!" muttered the
darkey, showing his teeth from ear to ear; and, coaxing Maude away
from her mother, he took her to a restaurant, where he literally
crammed her with ginger-bread, raisins, and candy, bidding her eat
all she wanted at once, for it would be a long time, maybe, ere
she'd have another chance!
"If you please, sar," he said, when at last he had returned to his
master, "if you please, Miss Nellie say how you must fotch her
somethin', and the old woman spec's a present in honor of de
'casion."
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14