Books: Cousin Maude
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Mary J. Holmes >> Cousin Maude
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CHAPTER XIV.
THE DARK HOUR.
Dr. Kennedy had been to Buffalo, and taken the smallpox, so his
attending physician said, and the news spread rapidly, frightening
nervous people as they never were frightened before. Nellie had been
home for a week or two, but at the first alarm she fled, rushing
headlong through the hall and down the stairs, unmindful of the
tremulous voice, which cried imploringly, "Don't leave me, daughter,
to die alone!"
Hannah followed next, holding the camphor bottle to her nose, and
saying to John when he expostulated with her, "I reckon I's not
gwine to spile what little beauty I've got with that fetched
complaint."
"But, mother," persisted John, "may be it's nothin' but vary-o-lord
after all, and that don't mark folks, you know."
"You needn't talk to me about your very-o-lord," returned Hannah. "I
know it's the very-o-devil himself, and I won't have them pock-ed
marks on me for all the niggers in Virginny."
"Then go," said John, "hold tight to the camphire, and run for your
life, or it may cotch you before you git out of the house."
Hannah needed no second bidding to run, and half an hour later she
was domesticated with a colored family who lived not far from the
Hill. Thus left to themselves, Louis and John, together with the
physician, did what they could for the sick man, who at last
proposed sending for Maude, feeling intuitively that she would not
desert him as his own child had done. Silent, desolate, and forsaken
the old house looked as Maude approached it, and she involuntarily
held her breath as she stepped into the hall, whose close air seemed
laden with infection. She experienced no difficulty in finding the
sick-room, where Louis' cry of delight, John's expression of joy,
and the sick man's whispered words, "God bless you, Maude," more
than recompensed her for the risk she had incurred. Gradually her
fear subsided, particularly when she learned that it was in fact the
varioloid. Had it been possible to remove her brother from danger
she would have done so, but it was too late now, and she suffered
him to share her vigils, watching carefully for the first symptoms
of the disease in him.
In this manner nearly two weeks passed away, and the panic-stricken
villagers were beginning to breathe more freely, when it was told
them one day that Maude and Louis were both smitten with the
disease. Then indeed the more humane said to themselves, "Shall they
be left to suffer alone?" and still no one was found who dared to
breathe the air of the sick-room. Dr. Kennedy was by this time so
much better that Louis was taken to his apartment, where he
ministered to him himself, while the heroic Maude was left to the
care of John. Everything he could do for her he did, but his heart
sunk within him when he saw how fast her fever came on, and heard
her, in her sleep, mourn for her mother, to hold her aching head.
"She mustn't die," he said, and over his dark skin the tears rolled
like rain, as raising his eyes to the ceiling he cried imploringly,
"Will the good Father send someone to help?"
The prayer of the weak African was heard, and ere the sun went down
a man of noble mien and noble heart stood at the maiden's bedside,
bathing her swollen face, pushing back her silken curls, counting
her rapid pulses, and once, when she slept, kissing her parched
lips, e'en though he knew that with that kiss he inhaled, perhaps,
his death! James De Vere had never for a day lost sight of Maude.
Immediately after her return he had written to the physician
requesting a daily report, and when, at last he learned that she was
ill, and all alone, he came unhesitatingly, presenting a striking
contrast to the timid J.C., who had heard of her illness, and at
first, dared not open the letter which his cousin wrote, apprising
him of Maude's affliction. But when he reflected that he could be
re-vaccinated, and thus avert the dreaded evil, he broke the seal
and read, commenting as follows: "Jim is a splendid fellow, though I
can't see why he takes so much interest in her. Don't I have
confounded luck, though? That will first, the five thousand dollars
next, and now the smallpox, too. Of course she'll be marked, and
look like a fright. Poor girl! I'd help her if I could," and, as the
better nature of J.C. came over him, he added mournfully: "What if
she should die?"
But Maude did not die; and at the expiration of ten days she was so
far out of danger that James De Vere yielded to the importunity of
his mother, who, in an agony of terror, besought him to return. When
first he came to her bedside Maude had begged of him to leave her
and not risk his life in her behalf; but he silenced her objections
then, and now when he bade her adieu he would not listen to her
protestations of gratitude.
"I would do even more for you if I could," he said. "I am not afraid
of the varioloid, and henceforth I shall think gratefully of it for
having dealt so lightly with you."
So saying, he turned away, feeling happier than he could well
express, that Maude had not only escaped from death, but that there
would be no marks left to tell how near the ravager had been.
Scarcely had the door closed on him when, emboldened by his last
words to ask a question she greatly wished, yet dreaded to ask,
Maude turned to John and said, "Am I much pitted?"
Rolling up his eyes and wholly mistaking her meaning, John replied,
"I aint no great of a physiognomer, but when a thing is as plain as
day I can discern it as well as the next one, and if that ar' chap
haint pitied you, and done a heap more'n that, I'm mistaken."
"But," continued Maude, smiling at his simplicity, "I mean shall I
probably be scarred?"
"Oh, bless you, not a scar," answered John, "for don't you mind how
he kep' the iled silk and wet rags on yer face, and how that night
when you was sickest he held yer hands so you couldn't tache that
little feller between yer eyes. That was the spunkiest varmint of
'em all, and may leave a mark like the one under yer ear, but it
won't spile yer looks an atom."
"And Louis?" said Maude, "is he disfigured?"
"Not a disfigurement," returned John, "but the ole governor, he's a
right smart sprinklin' of 'em, one squar' on the tip of his nose,
and five or six more on his face."
Thus relieved of her immediate fears Maude asked many questions
concerning Louis, who she learned had not been very sick.
"You can see him afore long, I reckon," said John, and in a few days
she was able to join him in the sitting room below.
After a while Hannah returned to her post of duty, her beauty
unimpaired, and herself thoroughly ashamed of having thus
heartlessly deserted her master's family in their affliction. As if
to make amends for this she exerted herself to cleanse the house
from everything which could possibly inspire fear on the villagers,
and by the last of August there was scarce a trace left of the
recent scourge, save the deep scar on the end of the doctor's nose,
one or two marks on Louis' face, and a weakness of Maude's eyes,
which became at last a cause of serious alarm.
It was in vain that Louis implored his father to seek medical aid in
Rochester, where the physicians were supposed to have more
experience in such matters. The doctor refused, saying, "'twas a
maxim of his not to counsel with anyone, and he guessed he knew how
to manage sore eyes."
But Maude's eyes were not sore--they were merely weak, while the
pain in the eyeball was sometimes so intense as to wring from her a
cry, of suffering. Gradually there crept into her heart a horrid
fear that her sight was growing dim, and often in the darkness of
the night she wept most bitterly, praying that she might not be
blind.
"Oh, Louis," she said to her brother one day, "I would so much
rather die than to be blind, and never see you any more--never see
the beautiful world I love so much. Oh, must it be? Is there no
help? "
"James De Vere could help us if he were here," answered Louis, his
own tears mingling with his sister's.
But James De Vere had left Hampton for New Orleans, where he would
probably remain until the winter, and there could be no aid expected
from him. The doctor, too, was wholly absorbed in thoughts of his
approaching nuptials, for Maude Glendower, failing to secure the
wealthy bachelor, and overhearing several times the remark that she
was really getting old, had consented to name the 20th of October
for their marriage. And so the other Maude was left to battle with
the terrible fear which was strengthened every day.
At length J.C., roused not so much by the touching letter which she
wrote him as by the uncertain handwriting, came himself, bringing
with him a physician, who carefully examined the soft black eyes,
which could not now endure the light, then shaking his head he said
gravely, "There is still some hope, but she must go to the city,
where I can see her every day."
J.C. looked at Dr. Kennedy, and Dr. Kennedy, looked at J.C., and
then both their hands sought their pockets, but came out again--
empty! J.C. really had not the ready means with which to meet the
expense, while Dr. Kennedy had not the inclination. But one there
was, the faithful John, who could not stand by unmoved, and darting
from the room, he mounted the woodshed stairs, and from beneath the
rafters drew out an old leathern wallet, where from time to time he
had deposited money for "the wet day." That wet day had come at
last; not to him, but to another--and without a moment's hesitation
he counted out the ten golden eagles which his purse contained, and,
going back to Maude, placed them in her hand, saying: "Go to
Rochester, Miss Maude. I saved 'em for you, for I wouldn't have the
light squenched in them shinin' eyes for all the land in old
Virginny."
It was a noble act, and it shamed the paler faces who witnessed it,
but they offered no remonstrance, though Maude did, refusing to
accept it, until Louis said: "Take it, sister--take it, and when I'm
twenty-one I'll give to him ten times ten golden eagles."
The necessary arrangements were quickly made, and ere a week was
passed Maude found herself in Rochester, and an inmate of Mrs.
Kelsey's family; for, touched with pity, that lady had offered to
receive her, and during her brief stay treated her with every
possible attention. Nellie, too, was very kind, ministering
carefully to the comfort of her stepsister, who had ceased to be a
rival, for well she knew J.C. De Vere would never wed a penniless
bride and blind!
CHAPTER XV.
THE NEW MISTRESS AT LAUREL HILL.
The 20th of October came, and with a firm hand Maude Glendower
arrayed herself for the bridal, which was to take place at an early
hour. The scar on the end of the doctor's nose had shaken her
purpose for an instant, but when she thought again of the unpaid
bills lying in her private drawer, and when, more than all, the
doctor said, "We greatly fear Maude Remington will be blind," her
resolution was fixed, and with a steady voice she took upon herself
the marriage vows.
They were to go to Laurel Hill that day, and when the doctor saw
that the handsome furniture of her rooms was still untouched, he
ventured to ask "if she had left orders to have it sent."
"Oh, I didn't tell you, did I, that my furniture was all mortgaged
to Mrs. Raymond for board and borrowed money, too; but of course you
don't care; you did not marry my furniture," and the little soft,
white hands were laid upon those of the bridegroom, while the
lustrous eyes sought his face, to witness the effect of her words.
The dent on the nose grew red a moment, and then the doctor,
perfectly intoxicated with the beauty of his bride, answered, "No,
Maude, I married you."
A rap at the door, and a note from Messrs. Barnabas Muggins & Brown
"hoped Miss Glendower would not forget to settle her bill."
"It's really quite provoking to trouble you with my debts so soon,"
said the lady, "but I dare say it's a maxim of yours that we should
have no secrets from each other, and so I may as well show you these
at once," and she turned into his lap a handful of bills, amounting
in all to four hundred dollars, due to the different tradesmen of
Troy.
The spot on the nose was decidedly purple, and had Katy or Matty
been there they would surely, have recognized the voice which began,
"Really, I did not expect this, and 'tis a max--"
"Never mind the maxim," and the mouth of the speaker was covered by
a dimpled hand, as Maude Glendower continued, "It's mean, I know,
but four hundred dollars is not much, after all, and you ought to be
willing to pay even more for me, don't you think so, dearest? "
"Ye-es," faintly answered the doctor, who, knowing there was no
alternative, gave a check for the whole amount on a Rochester bank,
where he had funds deposited.
Maude Glendower was a charming traveling companion, and in listening
to her lively sallies, and noticing the admiration she received, the
doctor forgot his lost four hundred dollars, and by the time they
reached Canandaigua he believed himself supremely happy in having
such a wife. John was waiting for them, just as thirteen years
before he had waited for blue-eyed Matty, and the moment her eye
fell upon the carriage he had borrowed from a neighbor, the new wife
exclaimed, "Oh, I hope that lumbering old thing is not ours. It
would give me the rickets to ride in it long."
"It's borrowed," the doctor said, 'and she continued, "I'll pick out
mine, and my horses, too. I'm quite a connoisseur in those matters."
John rolled his eyes toward his master, whose face wore a look never
seen there before.
"Henpecked!" was the negro's mental comment, as he prepared to
start.
When about three miles from the village the lady started up, saying,
"she had left her shawl, and must go back immediately."
"There is not time," said the doctor, "for the sun is already nearly
set. It will be perfectly safe."
"But it's my India shawl. I must have it," and the lady's hand was
laid upon the reins to turn the horses' heads.
Of course they went back, finding the shawl, not at the hotel, but
under the carriage cushions, where the lady herself had placed it.
"It's a maxim of mine to know what I'm about," the doctor ventured
to say, while a silvery voice returned, "So do I ordinarily, but it
is not strange that I forget myself on my wedding day." This was
well timed, and wrapping the garment carefully round her to shelter
her from the night air, the doctor bade the highly amused John to
drive on. They were more than halfway home when some luscious
oranges in a small grocery window, caught the bride's eye, and "she
must have some, she always kept them in her room," she said, and to
the grocer's inquiry, "How many, madam?" she answered, "Two dozen,
at least, and a box of figs, if you have them. I dote on figs."
It was the doctor's wedding day. He could not say no, and with a
mental groan he parted company with another bill, while John, on the
platform without, danced the "double shuffle" in token of his
delight. There was a second grocery to be passed, but by taking a
more circuitous route it could be avoided, and the discomfited
bridegroom bade John "go through the Hollow."
"Yes, sar," answered the knowing negro, turning the heads of the
unwilling horses in a direction which would not bring them home so
soon by one whole hour.
But the grocery was shunned, and so the doctor did not care even if
the clock did strike nine just as they stopped at their own gate.
The night was dark and the bride could not distinguish the exterior
of the house, neither was the interior plainly discernible, lighted
as it was with an oil lamp, and a single tallow candle. But she
scarcely thought of this, so intent was she upon the beautiful face
of the crippled boy, who sat in his armchair, eagerly awaiting her
arrival.
"This is Louis," the father said: and the scornful eyes which with
one rapid glance had scanned the whole apartment filled with tears
as they, turned toward the boy.
Dropping on one knee before him, the lady, parted the silken hair
from his forehead, saying very gently, "You must be like your
mother, save that your eyes are brown, and hers were blue. May I be
your mother, Louis?"
Very wonderingly the child gazed into her face. It was radiantly
beautiful, while the dreamy eyes rested upon him with such a
yearning look that his heart went out toward her at once, and
winding his arms around her neck, he murmured, "I shall love you
very much, my mother."
For a moment Maude Glendower held him to her bosom, while her
thoughts went back to the long ago when another face much like his
had rested there, and another voice had whispered in her ear, "I
love you, Maude Glendower." That voice was hushed in death, but
through the child it spoke to her again, and with a throbbing heart
she vowed to be to the crippled boy what Matty herself would well
approve, could she speak from her low bed beneath the willows.
"What of your sister?" the lady said at last, rising to her feet.
"Is she recovering her sight?"
"Nellie writes there is hope," said Louis, "though she did not
receive attention soon enough, the physician says."
There was reproach, contempt, and anger in the large black eyes
which sought the doctor's face, but the light was dim, and he did
not see it.
"It will be a great misfortune to her, and very hard on me if she is
blind, for of course I must take care of her," he said at last,
while his wife indignantly replied, "Take care of her! Yes, I'd sell
my diamonds rather than see her suffer!"
Supper was now announced, and in examining the arrangement of the
table and inspecting the furniture of the dining room, the bride
forgot everything save the novelty of her situation. Mentally
styling the house "an old rookery," she forced back the bitter
feelings which would rise up when she thought how unlike was all
this to what she had been accustomed. It needed but one glance of
her keen eyes to read the whole, and ere the close of the next day
she understood her position perfectly, and summoning to her aid her
iron will, she determined to make the most of everything. She knew
the doctor had money, aye, and she knew, too, how to get it from
him, but she was too wary to undertake it in any of the ordinary
ways. She did not tell him how desolate the old house seemed, or
that she was homesick because of its desolation; but after she had
been there a few days she sat down by his side, and told him that
with a few improvements it could be made the most delightful spot in
all the country, and she was glad she had come there to help him to
fix it up. She knew he had exquisite taste, and as he was now at
leisure they would contrive together how their parlors could be
improved. She didn't quite like them as they were, the window lights
were too small, and they must have the large panes of glass. Then
satin paper on the walls would look so much better, and the carpets,
though really very nice, were hardly good enough for a man of Dr.
Kennedy's standing in society.
"But," gasped the doctor, "the one in the back parlor is brand new--
has scarcely been used at all and it is a maxim of mine--"
"Your maxim is good, undoubtedly," interrupted the lady, "but the
chambers all need recarpeting, and this will exactly fit Maude's
room, which I intend fixing before she returns."
The doctor looked aghast, and his wife continued: "The season is so
far advanced that it is hardly worth while to make any changes now,
but next spring I shall coax you into all manner or repairs. I do
wonder what makes that spot on your nose so red at times. You are
really very fine looking when it is not there. It is gone," she
continued, and smoothing away a wrinkle in his forehead, she said,
"We won't talk of the future now, but seriously, we must have some
new Brussels carpets, and a furnace to warm the whole house."
Here she shivered and coughed quite naturally after which she
returned to the charge, saying, "her family were consumptive, and
she could not endure the cold."
"But, my dear," said the doctor, "it will cost a great deal of money
to carry out your plans."
"Oh, no, not much," she answered, "give me five hundred dollars and
I will do everything necessary to make us comfortable for the
winter."
"Five hundred dollars, Mrs. Kennedy!" and the doctor's gray eyes
looked as they used to look when Katy and Matty asked him for five.
"Five hundred dollars! Preposterous! Why, during the seven years I
lived with your predecessor she did not cost me that!"
From old Hannah Mrs. Kennedy had, learned how her predecessor had
been stinted by the doctor, and could he that moment have looked
into her heart he would have seen there a fierce determination to
avenge the wrongs so meekly borne. But she did not embody her
thoughts in words, neither did she deem it advisable to press the
subject further at that time, so she waited for nearly a week, and
then resumed the attack with redoubled zeal.
"We must have another servant," she said.
"Old Hannah is wholly inefficient, and so I have engaged a colored
woman from the hotel; and did I tell you, I have spoken to a man
about the furnace we are going to have, and I also told Mr. Jenks to
buy me one hundred yards of Brussels carpeting in New York. He's
gone for goods, you know."
"Really, Mrs. Kennedy, this exceeds all. My former companions saw
fit to consult me always. Really, one hundred yards of carpeting and
a black cook! Astonishing, Mrs. Kennedy! "
The doctor was quite too much confounded to think of a single maxim,
for his wife's effrontery took him wholly by surprise. She was a
most energetic woman, and her proceedings were already the theme of
many a tea-table gossip, in which the delighted villagers exulted
that Dr. Kennedy had at last found his match. Yes, he had found his
match, and when next day the black cook, Rose, came, and Mr. Brown
asked when he would have the furnace put in his cellar, there was
that in the eye of his better half which prompted a meek submission.
When the bill for the new carpets was handed him he again rebelled,
but all to no purpose. He paid the requisite amount, and tried to
swallow his wrath with his wife's consolatory remark, that "they
were the handsomest couple in town, and ought to have the handsomest
carpets!"
One day he found her giving directions to two or three men who were
papering, painting, and whitewashing Maude's room, and then, as John
remarked, he seemed more like himself than he had done before since
his last marriage.
"If Maude is going to be blind," he said, "it can make no difference
with her how her chamber looks, and 'tis a maxim of mine to let well
enough alone."
"I wish you would cure yourself of those disagreeable maxims," was
the lady's cool reply, as, stepping to the head of the stairs, she
bade John "bring up the carpet, if it were whipped enough."
"Allow me to ask what you are going to do with it?" said the doctor,
as from the windows he saw the back parlor carpet swinging on the
line.
"Why, I told you I was going to fit up Maude's room. She is coming
home in a week, you know, and I am preparing a surprise. I have
ordered a few pieces of light furniture from the cabinet-maker's,
and I think her chamber would look nicely if the walls were only a
little higher. They can't be raised, I suppose?"
She was perfectly collected, and no queen on her throne ever issued
her orders with greater confidence in their being obeyed; and when
that night she said to her husband, "These men must have their pay,"
he had no alternative but to open his purse and give her what she
asked. Thus it was with everything.
"Ki, aint him cotchin' it good?" was John's mental comment, as he
daily watched the proceedings, and while Hannah pronounced him "the
hen-peck-ed-est man she had ever seen," the amused villagers knew
that will had met will, and been conquered!
CHAPTER XVI.
THE BLIND GIRL.
Maude's chamber was ready at last, and very inviting it looked with
its coat of fresh paint, its cheerful paper, bright carpet, handsome
bedstead, marble washstand, and mahogany bureau, on which were
arranged various little articles for the toilet. The few pieces of
furniture which Mrs. Kennedy had ordered from the cabinet-maker's
had amounted, in all, to nearly one hundred dollars, but the bill
was not yet sent in; and in blissful ignorance of the surprise
awaiting him the doctor rubbed his hands and tried to seem pleased
when his wife, passing her arm in his, led him to the room, which
she compelled him to admire.
"It was all very nice," he said, "but wholly unnecessary for a blind
girl. What was the price of this?" he asked, laying his hand upon
the bedstead.
"Only twenty-five dollars. Wasn't it cheap?" and the wicked black
eyes danced with merriment at the loud groan which succeeded the
answer.
"Twenty-five dollars!" he exclaimed. "Why, the bedstead Matty and I
slept on for seven years only cost three, and it is now as good as
new."
"But times have changed," said the lady. "Everybody has nicer
things; besides, do you know people used to talk dreadfully about a
man of your standing being so stingy? But I have done considerable
toward correcting that impression. You aint stingy, and in proof of
it you'll give me fifty cents to buy cologne for this." And she took
up a beautiful bottle which stood upon the bureau.
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