CHAPTER XV
THE BEGINNINGS OF ROMANCE
There was Saratoga and Newport; and Long Branch laid claim to somedistinction; even Cape May was not unknown to fame,--still the Jerseycoast, with all its magnificent possibilities, really had not beendiscovered, and was rather contemptuously termed sand wastes. It wasgetting to be quite the thing to go off awhile in the summer. Some ofthe style had spent a "season" in London, and seen the young Queen andthe Prince Consort and the royal children, and gone over to Paris to see"the nephew of his uncle," who was taking a hand in the new FrenchRepublic.
But plain people still visited their relatives a good deal. Ben hadtaken a holiday, and gone up to Tarrytown after Hanny; and they had madepilgrimages along to different cousins. They sat on the old porch atFordham; but one of the cousins was married, and gone to her own home,taken the tall, bright-eyed young man who had been about so much theolden summer.
It was really a delightful walk over there. Ben was finding out oddplaces for Delia, who was now interested in some Revolutionary sketches.They had explored Kingsbridge; they had found Featherbed Lane; theylearned the Harlem River once had borne the Indian name of Umscoota.Here, more than forty years before, Robert Macomb had built his dam, indefiance of certain national laws, as he wanted a volume of water forhis mill.
Many and ineffectual were the efforts made to remove it by thesurrounding property-owners who had large and beautiful estates. For noone dreamed then that the great city would sometime absorb everything,and that here was to stand a beautiful bridge, the pride of the city.But the old dam was one dark night assaulted by a "piratical craft,"that demanded entrance, and, on being refused a right through thewaterway, demolished the old affair; and the freed and happy river wenton to the sea unvexed, and still kept Manhattan an island, to be bridgedover as convenience required.
Down in one of the pretty valleys was the home of Cousin Jennie, thatHanny always connected with Mrs. Clemm and the poet. All about weregreen fields and orchards, hills and valleys. Between them and theHarlem lay a high wooded ridge from whose top you could see the Hudson,and the Harlem was like a cord winding in and out of green valleys.There was Fort George and Harlem plains; and Hanny recalled the two oldUnderhill ladies whose lives had reached back to Revolutionary times.
They rambled about the historic ground, peaceful enough then. There wasthe old Poole house, the De Voe house, and further up the Morrismansion. What names they recalled!--Washington, Rochambeau, the HessianGeneral Knyphausen.
And then Cousin Jennie's husband pointed out a place with a romanticstory. When the Hessian Army had swept on in the steps of GeneralWashington's retreating men, they had been encamped for some time,foraging about for food and demanding supplies of the farmers,--anill-fed, and ill-clothed set of conscripts, without much enthusiasm,many of them torn from home and friends, neither knowing nor caringabout the land where they had gone to fight, and perhaps lay theirbones.
Among them a young fellow, Anthony Woolf by name, whose mother, in adistrict in distant Germany, had yielded to the blandishments of asecond husband, thus rendering her son liable to conscription, as he wasno longer her sole protector. Young Anthony knew his stepfather grudgedhim the broad acres of his patrimony, and guessed whose influence hadsent the press-gang one night, and hurried him off, without even agood-bye to his mother, to the nearest seaport town, and there embarkedhim for a perilous ocean-journey, to fight against people struggling fortheir liberty.
He had fought, like many of the others, under a sort of rebelliousprotest. Several had deserted: some joining the American army fromsympathy. But Anthony was sick of carnage and marching andsemi-starvation. Winter was coming on. So, one night, he stole outunperceived, and hurried down to the river's edge. On the other side,at some distance, he could see a faint gleam of light between theleafless trees. He had watched it longingly. There were many kindlydisposed people who gave shelter to deserters. He threw off his heavycoat, and his boots, with the soles worn through, and made a plunge. Thewater was cold, the way longer than it looked; but he buffeted acrossand crawled out in the autumn blast, dripping and shivering, and ran upto the kitchen steps, that looked more friendly than the great wideporch and stately doorway. The maids were frightened, and a man came, towhom he told his story in broken English, and was taken in, warmed andfed and clothed, and kept out of sight for several days.
In his gratitude and delight, he made himself useful. He had beenaccustomed to farming and herds and flocks. The old Morris estate waslarge; and when the British Army was safely out of the way, there waswork in plenty; and a faithful hand Anthony Woolf proved.
When the long summer days came the next year, there was no end ofspinning in the great house, where linen and woollen were made for thefamily use. The farmers' daughters used to be eager for the chances; andone day, when pretty Phebe Oakley's grandmother was going over to thegreat house, as it was so often called, the young girl begged her tospeak a good word for her, as she could spin both wool and flax.
"They'll be glad to have you," said grandmother on her return. "But,Phebe, they have a young Woolf over there; so look out he doesn't catchyou."
Phebe tossed her head. She was in no hurry to be caught. And yet it sofell out that when Anthony Woolf had saved up a little money, andnegotiated for a farm over in the valley, he caught pretty Phebe Oakley,and built a house for her, and prospered.
They looked at the place where the Hessian Army had been encamped, andtraced the course of the young fellow's daring swim. And here was theold part of the house he had built, and where he had outlived his ownson, but left grandsons behind him, one of whom had married CousinJennie. Grandmother was still alive,--a little, rather-faded, andshrunken old lady who had once been pretty Phebe Oakley, who lived withher daughter in the old part.
"There are lots of romances lying about unused," said Ben. "I shouldlike to have a story-teller's gift myself."
Hanny was so interested in young Mr. Woolf that she had to tell Joe allthe story when she came home; and he said they must go up the historicHarlem some day. And he said Umscoota meant "Stream among the greensedge."
This year it had to be Rutger's Institute for Hanny. There were a greatmany new schools; but Dolly and Margaret carried the day. She thought atfirst she shouldn't like it at all; but when she came to know the girls,she began to feel quite at home, and, in some queer fashion, as if shewere growing up. But she didn't seem to grow very fast.
Ben came to his twenty-first birthday. He was a tall, well-grown youngfellow, and often surprised Jim by the amount of knowledge he possessed.And then he went over to the "Tribune" office, and sometimes tried hishand at queer, out-of-the-way bits of past lore that people were almostforgetting. Just how it came about, he never clearly remembered himself;but one night, when Delia had seemed unusually attractive to three orfour young men who haunted the place, he rose abruptly and said he mustgo. There was a set look in his usually pleasant face, and he shut hislips, as if something had displeased him.
Delia went to the hall door. As he turned, she caught his arm.
"What is it, Ben?" she said in a hurried whisper. "Something hashappened to vex you."
"Something!" with youthful bitterness. "We never have any good times anymore. There's always such a crowd--"
"Oh, Ben! Are you jealous? Why, you know I like you better than any ofthem! Gordon only comes to get ideas; he's so very anxious to dosomething in literature. As if I could help anybody!" and she laughed."The others come for fun. You're worth them all, Ben. Oh, don't go awayangry!" with a voice of tender pleading.
Ben felt suddenly foolish. Was he angry over such a trifle? Then heglanced up in Delia's face; he was on the step below. What was there inher eyes; and she had said she liked him better than any of them, eventhat handsome Van Doren. Well, he was most jealous of Van Doren, who wasin his last year at Columbia, and whose father was rich and indulgent.
"Oh," he said with an indrawn breath, "you must know that I love you.I've always loved you,
I think."
She put her arms about his neck, and kissed him. It was veryreprehensible, I suppose. Young people were honestly friendly in thosedays, and seldom had a chaperone; yet they did not play at love, unlessthey were real flirts; and a flirt soon gained an unenviable reputation.
"Come down a ways with me," he entreated, with a little tremulous soundin his voice that touched her.
The street was very quiet. He put his arm about her, and drew her closeto his side.
"Oh, it's cool out here, and you've no wrap!" He was suddenly verycareful of her. "But I wanted to say--it isn't only a like, but a love.You _do_ love me, Delia?"
"I love you, love you! I love you and yours."
"Of course we will have to wait. We are both young. But I'm doing a bitof outside work, and have a chance to come up--"
"If we did marry, you'd have to come and live with me; for I havepromised Aunt Patty never to leave her. I haven't really thought aboutmarriage. There is so much to my life all the time. Oh, yes, we canwait. But you must not feel afraid, Ben. I like fun and nonsense, andplenty of people to talk to. I'm not sure I shall make a good wife,even, though both of my sisters do."
"I want you, good or bad," said Ben, sturdily.
They both laughed, and then he kissed her again.
"Oh, you must go back! You'll get an awful cold."
"I never do take cold. I'll run like a flash. Come to-morrow night. Oh,Ben!"
"Oh, Delia, my darling!"
Then she flew back. How long had she been gone? She re-entered the roomwith a most nonchalant air; and in two minutes she had them all in awhirl of conversation, even if they did look rather curious.
Ben sauntered up home. It was quite early. Hanny was upstairs reading tograndmother, who went to bed at nine, and liked to have Hanny come inand read to her. Joe sat in his office, poring over an abstruse medicalarticle. He glanced up and nodded.
"Joe," the lad began, with a bright flush that gave a certain tendernessto his eyes, which were dewy sweet,--"Joe, listen a minute. I am engagedto Delia Whitney,--just to-night. But I hate mean, underhand things. Iwanted some one to know it. And--shall I tell mother? Of course shewon't like it; though I don't see why."
"Ben, I don't believe I would just now. You are young, and you won't bemarried under a year or two. No, I would wait a little. She may settleto it presently," said the elder, thoughtfully.
"I don't want her to feel hurt. I'd just like to go and tell her, I amso happy."
He looked so brave and manly that Joe was almost sorry not to send him.But he _did_ know that his mother objected to it strenuously, and mightsay something that would cut Ben to the heart.
Latterly, he had been cherishing a vague belief that the affair wouldend in a sort of a good comradeship.
"Thank you," Ben laid his hand on the elder's shoulder. "You are a deargood brother, Joe. Don't you suppose you will ever marry? No one will bequite good enough for you. You're a splendid fellow."
Joe went back to his book; but it had lost interest. Well--it was ratherqueer. He had been made very welcome in several houses; and Margaret hadgiven delicate little suggestions. But he had never cared for any one.He would be nine and twenty on his next birthday,--quite a bachelor.
It was somewhat curious; but Ben, who had never cared for fixing up,though he was always clean, suddenly developed a new care for his cuffsand collars, and indulged in light-coloured neckties, and gloves that hecould no longer "run and jump in," as Jim had accused him of doing. Hewent out Sunday evening to tea, which was a new thing, though he oftenstayed at the Whitneys' through the week. There was a certain air ofbeing of supreme consequence to some one; Mrs. Underhill rather resentedit.
Jim was very gay this winter. A good-looking young collegian who wasbright and full of fun, and could sing college glees in a fine tenorvoice, tell a capital story, and dance well, was not likely to gobegging.
One evening he stumbled over his old friend Lily Ludlow, whom he had notseen for two years,--a tall, stylish girl, handsome in the ordinaryacceptation of the word, but lacking some of the finer qualities, if youstudied her closely. There had been some great changes in her life. Herfather had died suddenly, leaving but small provision for them. Chrishad her hands full trying to live pretentiously on a rather smallincome.
They had found an elderly aunt of Mr. Ludlow's who, in her day, had beenquite a society woman. She had an old-fashioned but well furnished housein Amity Street, and had not given up all her acquaintances. The housewas to go to her husband's family when she was done with it, there beingno children; and her income ended with her life, so there was nothing toexpect from her.
"But I do want a housekeeper and a nurse, sometimes," she said toMrs. Ludlow. "If you like to fill the place, you will have a good homeand good wages. And Lily's fine looks ought to get her a husband."
Amity Street still had a rather select air, if its fashion was fallingoff a little. The house was old, but not out of date, and quiteimposing; and the big doorplate, with "Nicoll" on it, stamped it asundeniably aristocratic, Miss Lily thought. She urged her mother toaccept it.
"I don't feel as if I could be at that queer old woman's beck and call.I remember when we were first married she said some very mean things. Myfamily was quite as good as your father's, Lily. Neither of his brothersamounted to much, though his sister married a rich Southerner and wentoff to forget all her relatives. We've never asked anything of theLudlows, and I don't want to now."
"But it will only be for a year or two. Of course I shall marry; andthen you will have two homes."
"I'd a sight rather go with Chris. And if you could teach--seems to meyou might, with your education. And you have had two lovers already."
"Who couldn't take care of me. I am not going to marry that way. But, asAunt Nicoll says, 'We shall be sure of a good home.'"
Lily gained her point. Early in the preceding spring they had gone toAmity Street. The spacious, old-fashioned parlours were a little out ofdate, but had been elegant in their day. Lily laid off her mourning, andfell heir to some handsome gowns that Chris helped her remodel. Mrs.Nicoll was queer and bad-tempered; and the difficulty had been to keepservants who would submit to such exactions. Matters went a littlesmoother; but poor Mrs. Ludlow had to suffer.
Lily spent a month at Saratoga with Mrs. Nicoll and the maid. The oldlady was a good deal entertained by the airs and graces and bright waysof her grand-niece. Lily made several conquests; but the desirable offerof marriage was not forth-coming.
Mrs. Nicoll gave a reception early in the season,--a thing she alwaysdid; and her friends attended with a certain kindly feeling that she wasold, and the duty might never be required of them again. Miss Lily madequite an impression; and cards and invitations were left for her. Andwhen she attended a dance at the Apollo Rooms, the height of herambition was reached.
At a pretty private dance she met her school-day admirer again, andtried her charms, which had increased notably since that youthfulperiod. She did dance beautifully, and had no lack of the small talk ofthe day. Jim promised to call, and did so at an early date, rathersurprised at the solid elegance of the place. Lily expatiated skilfullyon dear old Aunt Nicoll, who _would_ have mother come and stay with her;since they were alone it seemed the best thing to do; and Aunt Nicollhad no near relatives of her own. There were plenty of her husband'sfamily "hungry for what she had," said Lily, with a sort of sneer, as ifthey might find themselves mistaken in the end.
Certainly, Jim thought, Lily had dropped in a clover-field. He foundthat Mrs. Nicoll was considered a rich woman. Lily was handsomelydressed, and no doubt she would be kindly remembered in the old lady'swill. Not that Jim was speculating on any part or lot in the matter. Hewas too young; he would have his three years in the law school, andafter that, getting established.
Lily begged him to bring some of his friends. The house was lonely, withno young people for companionship; and she raised her eyes in the oldpleading fashion that even now had quite an effect upon him.
Two of Jim's friends were generously supplied with pocket-money. One wasa young Virginian, Mr. Weir, the other, Harry Gaynor, and both spentlavishly. Flowers were costly then; and Lily was the recipient of many ahandsome bouquet. In return, she now and then gave a dainty supper,simple to be sure, or a card-party, with some delightful confections,and a little coffee or chocolate. Mrs. Nicoll always retired early, andtook some drops to make sure of sleeping the first part of the night, soshe was not easily disturbed.
Then there were stars at the theatres. Parodi was emulating Jenny Lind,who had gone to Havana; and the houses were crowded, if the tickets werenot so high. It was so easy to spend money when an artful girl, withsoftest voice and bewitching eyes, planned for you. And it was so easyto borrow, when you had good friends.
Miss Lily looked carefully over her ground; Harry Gaynor was gay anddelightful, but one couldn't be quite sure he was not flirting. Andthough Mr. Weir had plenty of money, there was a large family ofbrothers and sisters, and they lived on an extensive plantation milesaway from any considerable town. There was a Mr. Lewis, not so young,who had an interest in an old well-established leather firm that hadbeen left him by an uncle. There were some non-eligibles.
Mrs. Nicoll had said, in her caustic way:--
"You make the most of your time, Lily Ludlow. I'm past eighty, and youmay find me dead in my bed some morning. I have not a stiver to leaveany one; so don't you count on that. I can hardly pay my own way."
Still she had every luxury for herself; for years she had considerednothing but her own wants and indulgences.
Poor Jim! In his young mannishness he was quite sure there was no dangerof falling in love; of course such a thing would be wildest folly. ButLily was very fascinating and very flattering. She put it on the scoreof old friendship; but, with a coquette's ardour, she did enjoy theyoung fellow's struggles to keep himself on a firm footing. And when hesaw Gaynor's attentions, and listened to Weir's rhapsodies, a passion ofboyish jealousy sprang up in his heart.
Miss Lily kept her other admirers out of the way, except as she mightmeet them at dances or whist parties. She was not much in love with Mr.Lewis; he was slow and really conceited, and, for a young man, rathercareful of his money. If she only dared run the risk, and take Mr. Weir,who was to finish his college course in the summer! And then arose a newstar on her horizon.
Mr. Williamson was forty and a widower; but he drove an elegant pair ofbays, belonged to a club, and had apartments at a hotel. She triedcaptivating simplicity, and succeeded, to her great surprise, though sheknew his habits were not irreproachable. She had begged of Mr. Lewis alittle time for consideration, when one morning Mr. Williamsonastonished her by a call, and an offer of his hand and fortune.
Miss Ludlow did not show her amazement, neither did she jump at theoffer. She was very delicately surprised. Was he quite certain of hiswishes? And--it was so unexpected!
So certain indeed that he would bring her a ring that very afternoon,and take her out driving,--a man of his years not to know his own mind!
She could hardly believe her good fortune. For a fortnight sheengineered her way skilfully, still keeping Mr. Lewis in reserve. Andthen she was convinced, and dismissed him.
"Guess who is engaged?" Harry Gaynor cried, one morning. "I never was sobeat in my life! Jim, maybe this will hit you hard. Seems to me you'vebeen rather distraught of late and sighing like a furnace."
"These exams are enough to make any one sigh. And I am way behind. Imust study day and night."
"There are always engagements at this season, and weddings at Easter,"returned Weir, laughingly.
"That isn't guessing, Jim!"
"Oh, bother! What do I care?"
"Then your charmer told you last night?"
"My charmer? What are you driving at, Gaynor?"
"Oh, how innocent! Miss Lily Ludlow."
"I've met that Lewis there," returned Jim, with an air of bravado,though he flushed a little. "He's a regular stick."
"But it isn't Lewis. It's that Gerald Williamson,--a man about town. Andthe queer thing is that he thinks he has struck a fortune. Do _you_know, Jim? Is she to be the old lady's heir?"
Jim was silent. What should he say?
"Of course she is," said Weir. "That is--I think it depends on whetherMrs. Nicoll approves of the marriage."
He had turned very pale.
"Are you sure it is Williamson?" asked Jim.
"He announced it himself. My cousin heard him. And as for the oldlady--the house is willed away. I've heard some talk; I can't justremember what. She's been shrewdly giving the impression."
"It would be a shame to sell her to the highest bidder! And Williamson'sdouble her age. No sister of mine would be allowed to do such a thing.She can't love him! Why, she has only been driving out with him a fewtimes."
"If she's sold, she has done the business herself. She's a girl to lookout for the main chance. Weir, I hope you haven't been hovering too nearthe flame. The Ludlow is capital to flirt with,--quick, spicy,sentimental by spells, not the kind of a girl to waste herself on ayoung, impecunious fellow like our friend Jim, here, so he goesscot-free. Weir, I hope you're not hard hit. We've all had a good time;but I think now we must address ourselves to the examinations in hand,and let the girls go. Though I am in for two big weddings, presently."
There was a summons to the class-room that stopped the chaffing. Jimfelt very sober. Lily had indirectly led him to think she cared a greatdeal about him, and if matters only _were_ a little different! He oughtnot to get engaged; but the preference was flattering when a man likeWeir was head over heels in love with her!
But to marry an old man like Gerald Williamson! thought the youngfellow, disdainfully.
A Little Girl of Long Ago; Or, Hannah Ann Page 15
