Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe

by Harriet Beecher Stowe

  CHAPTER V

  HARRY AND HIS WIFE

  SEVERAL miles from the Gordon estate, on an old and somewhat decayed plantation, stood a neat log cabin, whose external aspect showed both taste and care. It was almost enveloped in luxuriant wreaths of yellow jessamine, and garlanded with a magnificent lamarque rose, whose cream-colored buds and flowers contrasted beautifully with the dark, polished green of the finely cut leaves. The house stood in an inclosure formed by a high hedge of the American holly, whose evergreen foliage and scarlet berries made it, at all times of the year, a beautiful object. Within the inclosure was a garden, carefully tended, and devoted to the finest fruits and flowers.

  This little dwelling, so different in its air of fanciful neatness from ordinary southern cabins, was the abode of Harry’s little wife. Lisette, which was her name, was the slave of a French creole woman, to whom a plantation had recently fallen by inheritance. She was a delicate, airy little creature, formed by a mixture of the African and French blood, producing one of those fanciful, exotic combinations that give one the same impression of brilliancy and richness that one receives from tropical insects and flowers. From both parent races she was endowed with a sensuous being exquisitely quick and fine, — a nature of everlasting childhood, with all its freshness of present life, all its thoughtless, unreasoning fearlessness of the future.

  She stands there at her ironing-table, just outside her cottage door, singing gayly at her work. Her round, plump, childish form is shown to advantage by the trim blue basque, laced in front, over a chemisette of white linen. Her head is wreathed with a gay turban, from which escapes, now and then, a wandering curl of her silky black hair. Her eyes, as she raises them, have the hazy, dreamy languor which is so characteristic of the mixed races. Her little, childish hands are busy, with nimble fingers adroitly plaiting and arranging various articles of feminine toilet, too delicate and expensive to have belonged to those in humble circumstances. She ironed, plaited, and sung, with busy care. Occasionally, however, she would suspend her work, and running between the flower borders to the hedge, look wistfully along the road, shading her eyes with her hand. At last, as she saw a man on horseback approaching, she flew lightly out, and ran to meet him.

  “Harry, Harry! You’ve come, at last. I’m so glad! And what have you got in that paper? Is it anything for me?”

  He held it up, and shook it at her, while she leaped after it.

  “No, no, little curiosity!” he said gayly.

  “I know it’s something for me,” said she, with a pretty, half-pouting air.

  “And why do you know it’s for you? Is everything to be for you in the world, you little good-for-nothing?”

  “Good-for-nothing!” with a toss of the gayly turbaned little head. “You may well say that, sir! Just look at the two dozen shirts I’ve ironed, since morning! Come, now, take me up; I want to ride.”

  Harry put out the toe of his boot and his hand, and with an adroit spring, she was in a moment before him, on his horse’s neck, and with a quick turn, snatched the paper parcel from his hand.

  “Woman’s curiosity!” said he.

  “Well, I want to see what it is. Dear me, what a tight string! Oh, I can’t break it! Well, here it goes; I’ll tear a hole in it, anyhow. Oh, silk, as I live! Aha! tell me now this isn’t for me, you bad thing, you!”

  “Why, how do you know it isn’t to make me a summer coat?”

  “Summer coat! — likely story! Aha! I’ve found you out, mister! But, come, do make the horse canter! I want to go fast. Make him canter, do!”

  Harry gave a sudden jerk to the reins, and in a minute the two were flying off as if on the wings of the wind. On and on they went, through a small coppice of pines, while the light-hearted laugh rang on the breeze behind them. Now they are lost to view. In a few minutes, emerging from the pine woods in another direction, they come sweeping, gay and laughing, up to the gate. To fasten the horse, to snatch the little wife on his shoulder, and run into the cottage with her, seemed the work only of a moment; and as he set her down, still laughing, he exclaimed, —

  “There, go, now, for a pretty little picture, as you are! I have helped them get up les tableaux vivans, at their great houses; but you are my tableau. You aren’t good for much. You are nothing but a humming-bird, made to live on honey!”

  “That’s what I am!” said the little one. “It takes a great deal of honey to keep me. I want to be praised, flattered, and loved, all the time. It isn’t enough to have you love me. I want to hear you tell me so every day, and hour, and minute. And I want you always to admire me, and praise everything that I do. Now” —

  “Particularly when you tear holes in packages!” said Harry.

  “Oh, my silk — my new silk dress!” said Lisette, thus reminded of the package which she held in her hand.

  “This hateful string! How it cuts my fingers! I will break it! I’ll bite it in two. Harry, Harry, don’t you see how it hurts my fingers? Why don’t you cut it?” And the little sprite danced about the cottage floor, tearing the paper, and tugging at the string, like an enraged humming-bird. Harry came laughing behind her, and taking hold of her two hands, held them quite still, while he cut the string of the parcel, and unfolded a gorgeous plaid silk, crimson, green, and orange.

  “There, now, what do you think of that? Miss Nina brought it, when she came home, last week.”

  “Oh, how lovely! Isn’t she a beauty? Isn’t she good? How beautiful it is! Dear me, dear me! how happy I am! How happy we are! — ain’t we, Harry?”

  A shadow came over Harry’s forehead as he answered, with a half-sigh, —

  “Yes.”

  “I was up at three o’clock this morning, on purpose to get all my ironing done to-day, because I thought you were to come home to-night. Ah! ah! you don’t know what a supper I’ve got ready! You’ll see, by and by. I’m going to do something uncommon. You mustn’t look in that other room, Harry — you mustn’t!”

  “Mustn’t I?” said Harry, getting up, and going to the door.

  “There, now! who’s curiosity now, I wonder!” said she, springing nimbly between him and the door. “No, you sha’n’t go in, though. There, now; don’t, don’t! Be good now, Harry!”

  “Well, I may as well give up first as last. This is your house, not mine, I suppose,” said Harry.

  “Mr. Submission, how meek we are, all of a sudden. Well, while the fit lasts, you go to the spring and get me some water to fill this teakettle. Off with you now, this minute! Mind you don’t stop to play by the way!”

  And while Harry is gone to the spring we will follow the wife into the forbidden room. Very cool and pleasant it is, with its white window-curtains, its matted floor, and displaying in the corner that draped feather bed, with its ruffled pillows and fringed curtains, which it is the great ambition of the southern cabin to attain and maintain.

  The door, which opened on to a show of most brilliant flowers, was overlaid completely by the lamarque rose we have before referred to; and large clusters of its creamy blossoms, and wreaths of its dark green leaves, had been enticed in and tied to sundry nails and pegs by the small hands of the little mistress, to form an arch of flowers and roses. A little table stood in the door, draped with a spotless damask table - cloth, fine enough for the use of a princess, and only produced by the little mistress on festive occasions. On it were arranged dishes curiously trimmed with moss and vine leaves, which displayed strawberries and peaches, with a pitcher of cream and one of whey, small dishes of curd, delicate cakes and biscuit, and fresh golden butter.

  After patting and arranging the table-cloth, Lisette tripped gayly around, and altered here and there the arrangement of a dish, occasionally stepping back, and cocking her little head on one side, much like a bird, singing gayly as she did so; then she would pick a bit of moss from this, and a flower from that, and retreat again, and watch the effect.

  “How surprised he will be!” she said to herself. Still humming a tune in a low, gurgling u
ndertone, she danced hither and thither, round the apartment. First she gave the curtains a little shake, and unlooping one of them, looped it up again, so as to throw the beams of the evening sun on the table.

  “There, there, there! how pretty the light falls through those nasturtions! I wonder if the room smells of the mignonette. I gathered it when the dew was on it, and they say that will make it smell all day. Now, here’s Harry’s bookcase. Dear me! these flies! How they do get on to everything! Shoo, shoo! now, now!” and catching a gay bandana handkerchief from the drawer, she perfectly exhausted herself in flying about the room in pursuit of the buzzing intruders, who soared and dived and careered, after the manner of flies in general, seeming determined to go anywhere but out of the door, and finally were seen brushing their wings and licking their feet, with great alertness, on the very topmost height of the sacred bed-curtains; and as just this moment a glimpse was caught of Harry returning from the spring, Lisette was obliged to abandon the chase, and rush into the other room, to prevent a premature development of her little tea tableau. Then a small pug-nosed, black teakettle came on to the stage of action, from some unknown cupboard; and Harry had to fill it with water, and of course spilt the water on to the ironing-table, which made another little breezy, chattering commotion; and then the flat-irons were cleared away, and the pug-nosed kettle reigned in their stead on the charcoal brazier.

  “Now, Harry, was ever such a smart wife as I am? Only think, besides all the rest that I’ve done, I’ve ironed your white linen suit, complete! Now, go put it on. Not in there! not in there!” she said, pushing him away from the door. “You can’t go there, yet. You’ll do well enough out here.”

  And away she went, singing through the garden walks; and the song, floating back behind her, seemed like an odor brushed from the flowers. The refrain came rippling in at the door —

  “Me think not what to-morrow bring;

  Me happy, so me sing!”

  “Poor little thing!” said Harry to himself; “why should I try to teach her anything?”

  In a few minutes she was back again, her white apron thrown over her arm, and blossoms of yellow jessamine, spikes of blue lavender, and buds of moss-roses peeping out from it. She skipped gayly along, and deposited her treasure on the ironing-table; then, with a zealous, bustling earnestness, which characterized everything she did, she began sorting them into two bouquets, alternately talking and singing, as she did so, —

  “‘Come on, ye rosy hours,

  All joy and gladness bring!’

  “You see, Harry, you’re going to have a bouquet to put into the buttonhole of that coat. It will make you look so handsome! There, now — there, now, —

  ‘We’ll strew the way with flowers,

  And merrily, merrily sing.’”

  Suddenly stopping, she looked at him archly, and said, “You can’t tell, now, what I’m doing all this for!”

  “There’s never any telling what you women do anything for.”

  “Do hear him talk — so pompous! Well, sir, it’s for your birthday, now. Aha! you thought, because I can’t keep the day of the month, that I didn’t know anything about it; but I did. And I have put down now a chalk-mark every day, for four weeks, right under where I keep my ironing-account, so as to be sure of it. And I’ve been busy about it ever since two o’clock this morning. And now — there, the teakettle is boiling!” — and away she flew to the door.

  “Oh, dear me! — dear me, now! — I’ve killed myself now, I have!” she cried, holding up one of her hands, and flirting it up in the air. “Dear me! who knew it was so hot?”

  “I should think a little woman that is so used to the holder might have known it,” said Harry, as he caressed the little burnt hand.

  “Come, now, let me carry it for you,” said Harry, “and I’ll make the tea, if you’ll let me go into that mysterious room.”

  “Indeed, no, Harry — I’m going to do everything myself;” and forgetting the burnt finger, Lisette was off in a moment, and back in a moment with a shining teapot in her hand, and the tea was made. And at last the mysterious door opened, and Lisette stood with her eyes fixed upon Harry, to watch the effect.

  “Superb! — magnificent! — splendid! Why, this is good enough for a king! And where did you get all these things?” said Harry.

  “Oh, out of our garden — all but the peaches. Those old Mist’ gave me — they come from Florida. There, now, you laughed at me, last summer, when I set those strawberry vines, and made all sorts of fun of me. And what do you think now?”

  “Think! I think you’re a wonderful little thing — a perfect witch.”

  “Come, now, let’s sit down, then — you there, and I here.” And opening the door of the bird-cage, which hung in the lamarque rose-bush, “Little Button shall come, too.”

  Button, a bright yellow canary, with a smart black tuft upon his head, seemed to understand his part in the little domestic scene perfectly; for he stepped obediently upon the finger which was extended to him, and was soon sitting quite at his ease on the mossy edge of one of the dishes, pecking at the strawberries.

  “And now, do tell me,” said Lisette, “all about Miss Nina. How does she look?”

  “Pretty and smart as ever,” said Harry. “Just the same witchy, willful ways with her.”

  “And did she show you her dresses?”

  “Oh yes; the whole.”

  “Oh, do tell me about them, Harry — do!”

  “Well, there’s a lovely pink gauze, covered with spangles, to be worn over white satin.”

  “With flounces?” said Lisette earnestly.

  “With flounces.”

  “How many?”

  “Really, I don’t remember.”

  “Don’t remember how many flounces? Why, Harry, how stupid! Say, Harry, don’t you suppose she will let me come and look at her things?”

  “Oh yes, dear, I don’t doubt she will; and that will save my making a gazette of myself.”

  “Oh, when will you take me there, Harry?”

  “Perhaps to-morrow, dear. And now,” said Harry, “that you have accomplished your surprise upon me, I have a surprise, in return, for you. You can’t guess, now, what Miss Nina brought for me.”

  “No, indeed! What?” said Lisette, springing up; “do tell me — quick.”

  “Patience — patience!” said Harry, deliberately fumbling in his pocket, amusing himself with her excited air. But who should speak the astonishment and rapture which widened Lisette’s dark eyes when the watch was produced? She clapped her hands, and danced for joy, to the imminent risk of upsetting the table, and all the things on it.

  “I do think we are the most fortunate people — you and I, Harry! Everything goes just as we want it to — doesn’t it, now?”

  Harry’s assent to this comprehensive proposition was much less fervent than suited his little wife.

  “Now, what’s the matter with you? What goes wrong? Why don’t you rejoice as I do?” said she, coming and seating herself down upon his knee. “Come, now, you’ve been working too hard, I know. I’m going to sing to you, now; you want something to cheer you up.” And Lisette took down her banjo, and sat down in the doorway under the arch of lamarque roses, and began thrumming gayly.

  “This is the nicest little thing, this banjo!” she said; “I wouldn’t change it for all the guitars in the world. Now, Harry, I’m going to sing something specially for you.” And Lisette sung: —

  “‘What are the joys of white man, here,

  What are his pleasures, say?

  He great, he proud, he haughty fine

  While I my banjo play:

  He sleep all day, he wake all night;

  He full of care, his heart no light;

  He great deal want, he little get;

  He sorry, so he fret.

  “‘Me envy not the white man here,

  . Though he so proud and gay;

  He great, he proud, he haughty fine,

  While I my banjo play
:

  Me work all day, me sleep all night;

  Me have no care, me heart is light;

  Me think not what to-morrow bring;

  Me happy, so me sing.’”

  Lisette rattled the strings of the banjo, and sang with such a hearty abandon of enjoyment that it was a comfort to look at her. One would have thought that a bird’s soul put into a woman’s body would have sung just so.

  “There,” she said, throwing down her banjo, and seating herself on her husband’s knee, “do you know, I think you are like white man in the song? I should like to know what is the matter with you. I can see plain enough when you are not happy; but I don’t see why.”

  “Oh, Lisette, I have very perplexing business to manage,” said Harry. “Miss Nina is a dear, good little mistress, but she doesn’t know anything about accounts, or money; and here she has brought me home a set of bills to settle, and I’m sure I don’t know where the money is to be got from. It’s hard work to make the old place profitable in our days. The ground is pretty much worked up; it doesn’t bear the crops it used to. And then, our people are so childish, they don’t, a soul of them, care how much they spend, or how carelessly they work. It’s very expensive keeping up such an establishment. You know the Gordons must be Gordons. Things can’t be done now as some other families would do them; and then, those bills which Miss Nina brings from New York are perfectly frightful.”

  “Well, Harry, what are you going to do?” said Lisette, nestling down close on his shoulder. “You always know how to do something.”

  “Why, Lisette, I shall have to do what I’ve done two or three times before — take the money that I have saved, to pay these bills — our freedom money, Lisette.”

  “Oh, well, then, don’t worry. We can get it again, you know. Why, you know, Harry, you can make a good deal with your trade, and one thing and another that you do; and then, as for me, why, you know, my ironing, and my muslins, how celebrated they are. Come, don’t worry one bit; we shall get on nicely.”