Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe

by Harriet Beecher Stowe

  In short, I could see that for pretty Miss Sophie, at present, croquet was, to all intents and purposes, the whole game of life, that every spangle and every hairpin about her was vital with excitement to win.

  After lunch came the ballot for the combatants who were to play the deciding game, and the parties elected were: Miss Sophie Elmore, Miss Eva Van Arsdel, Mr. Sydney, and myself.

  “Miss Van Arsdel,” said Mr. Sydney, “you must be my captain. After the feats that you and Mr. Henderson have been performing it would be impossible to allow you both on one side.”

  “I think just as likely as not you will be worsted for your pains,” said Eva. “I know Sophie of old for a terrible antagonist, and when she pulls on her croquet gloves like that, it means war to the knife, and no quarter. So, my dear, begin the tournament.”

  The wickets were arranged at extra distances upon this trial ground, and it was hardly prudent to attempt making two wickets at once, but Miss Sophie played in the adventurous style, and sent her ball with a vigorous tap not only through both the first wickets, but so far ahead that it was entangled in the wires of the middle wicket, in a way that made it impossible to give it a fair stroke.

  “Now, how vexatious!” she cried.

  “I have two extra strokes for my two wickets, but I shall make nothing by it.” In fact, Miss Sophie, with two nervous hits, succeeded only in placing her ball exactly where with fair luck the next player must be sure to get it.

  Eva now came through the first two wickets, one at a time, and with a well-directed tap took possession of Miss Sophie, who groaned audibly, “Oh, now she’s got me! well, there’s no saying now where she’ll stop.”

  In fact, Miss Eva performed very skillfully the rôle of the “cat who doth play, and after — slay.” She was perfect mistress of the tactics of split-shots, which sent her antagonist’s ball one side the wicket and hers the other, and all the other mysteries of the craft, and she used them well, till she had been up and hit the stake and come down to the middle wicket, when her luck failed.

  Then came my turn, and I came through the first two wickets, struck her ball and used it for the next two wickets, till I came near my partner, when with a prosperous split-shot I sent her off to distant regions, struck my partner’s ball, put it through its wicket, and came and stationed myself within its reach for future use.

  Then came Mr. Sydney with a vigorous succession of hits, and knocked us apart; sent one to one side of the ground, and one to the other, and went gallantly up to his partner. By this time our blood was thoroughly up, and the game became, as Eva prophesied, “war to the knife.” Mohawk Indians could not have been more merciless in purposes of utter mischief to each other than we, and for a while it seemed as if nothing was done but to attack each other’s balls, and send them as far as possible to the uttermost part of the grounds. As each had about equal skill in making long shots the reunion, however, was constantly effected, and thus each in turn was beaten back from the wickets, till it seemed for a while that the game would make no progress.

  At last, however, one slip of our antagonists threw the power into our hands, and Miss Sophie used it to take herself and me up through three wickets to the stake, and thence down again till the intricate middle wicket stopped our course.

  A burst of cheering greeted her success, and the dark little lady seemed to glow like a coal of fire. I wasn’t sure that sparks did not snap from her eyes as she ended her performance with a croquet that sent Eva’s ball spinning to the most inaccessible distance.

  A well-pointed shot from Wat Sydney again turned the tide of battle, and routed the victors, while he went to the rescue of the banished princess, and took her back to position.

  Every turn of the tide and every good shot were hailed with cheers, and the excitement became intense. There were points in the battle as hard to carry as the Malakoff, and we did nothing but fight, without advancing a step. It seemed for a while that none of us would ever so far get the advantage of another as to pass that downward middle wicket. Every successive step was won by battles. The ladies were so excited that they seemed two flames of fire. Every nerve in them was alive, and we men felt ourselves only clumsy instruments of their enkindled ardor. We were ordered about, commanded, rebuked, encouraged, and cheered on to the fray with a pungency and vigor of decision that made us quite secondary characters in the scene. At last a fortunate stroke gave Miss Sophie the command of the game, and she dashed through the middle wicket, sent Eva’s ball to farthest regions up, and Mr. Sydney’s down to the stake, took mine with her in her victorious race through wicket after wicket, quite through to the stake, and then leaving me for a moment she croqueted Sydney’s ball against the stake, and put it out. A general cheer and shouts of “Victory” arose.

  “We’ve got it! We’re quite sure to go out the next move!” she said, in triumph, as she left her ball by my side. “She never can hit at that distance.”

  “I can try, though,” said Eva, walking across the ground, and taking her place by her ball, pale and resolved, with a concentrated calmness. She sighted the balls deliberately, poised her mallet, took aim, and gave a well-considered stroke. Like a straight-aimed arrow the ball flew across the green, through the final wicket, and struck Sophie’s ball!

  A general cheering arose, and the victorious markswoman walked deliberately down to finish her work. One stroke put Sophie out of the combat, the next struck upon me, and then from me up to the head of the last two wickets that yet remained to be made. She came through these with one straight stroke, and hit me again.

  “Now for it,” she said, setting her red-booted foot firmly on the ball, and with one virulent tap, away flew my ball to the other end of the ground, while almost immediately hers hit the stake and the victory was won.

  A general shout, and three cheers, and all the spectators started from their seats like a troop of gay tropical birds, and came flocking around the victors.

  I knelt down, and laid my mallet at her feet. “Beautiful princess!” said I, “behold your enemies, conquered, await your sentence.”

  “Arise, Sir Knight,” she said, laughing; “I sentence you to write a ballad describing this battle. Come, Sophie,” she added, turning gayly to the brunette, “let’s shake hands on it. You shall have your revenge of me at Newport this summer,” and the two rival fair ones shook hands in all apparent amity.

  Wat Sydney now advancing presented the prize with a gallant bow, and Eva accepted it graciously, and fastened the blue scarf that floated over her shoulder with it, and then the whole party adjourned to another portion of the lawn, which had been arranged for dancing; the music struck up, and soon we were all joining in the dance with a general hilarity.

  And so ended the day at Clairmont, and we came home under a broad full moon, to the sound of music on the waters.

  CHAPTER XXXIII. LETTER FROM EVA VAN ARSDEL

  My DEAREST BELLE, — Since I last wrote you wondrous things have taken place, and of course I must keep you au courant.

  In the first place Mr. Sydney came back to our horizon like a comet in a blaze of glory. The first harbinger of his return was not himself in propria, but cards for a croquet fête up at Clairmont got up with the last degree of elegance.

  Mr. Sydney, it appears, understands the effect of a gilded frame to set off a picture, and so resolved to manifest himself to us in all his surroundings at Clairmont.

  The party was to be very select and recherche, and of course everybody was just wild to go, and the Elmores in particular were on the qui vive to know if we had invitations before them. Sophie Elmore called down for nothing but to see. We had all the satisfaction there was to be got in showing her our cards and letting her know that they had come two days sooner than theirs. Aunt Maria contrived to give them to understand that Mr. Sydney gave the entertainment mostly on my account, which I think was assuming quite too much in the case. I am positively tired of these mean little rivalries and these races that are run between families.

/>   It is thought that Sophie Elmore is quite fascinated by Mr. Sydney. Sophie is a nice, spirited girl, with a good, generous heart as I believe, and it’s a thousand pities she shouldn’t have him if she cares for him.

  But, to my story. You may imagine the fuss at Tullegig’s. Of course, we belong to the class who live in the enjoyment of “nothing to wear,” and the first result of a projected entertainment is to throw us all on our knees before Tullegig, who queens it over us accordingly.

  I was just dying to find out if a certain person was to be there. Of late our intercourse has been so very stately and diplomatic that it really becomes exciting. He has avoided every appearance of intimacy, every approach to our old confidential standing, and yet apparently for the life of him cannot keep from taking views of me at safe distance; so, as I said, it was something to see if he would be there.

  As to Clairmont, I think in the course of my life I have seen fine grounds, fine houses, fine furniture, and fine fêtes before. Nevertheless, I must do Sydney the justice to say that he gave a most charming and beautiful entertainment, where everything was just as lovely as could be. We went up on a splendid boat to the sound of music. We had a magnificent lunch under the trees, and there were arrangements for four games to go on at once, which made a gay and animated tableau. All the girls wore the prettiest costumes you can imagine, each one seeming prettier than the other; and when they were all moving about in the game it made a bright, cheerful effect. Mr. Henderson was there and distinguished himself to such a degree that he was appointed one of the four who were to play a match game, in conclusion, for a prize. Curiously enough he played with Sophie against Sydney and myself. How we did fight! Sophie is one of those girls that feel everything to the tips of their fingers, and I am another, and if we didn’t make those men bestir themselves! I fancy they found women rulers were of a kind to keep men pretty busy.

  I can imagine the excitement we women would make of an election if we should ever get into politics. Would we not croquet our adversaries’ balls, and make stunning split-shots in parties, and wire ourselves artfully behind wickets, and do all sorts of perplexing things? I confess if the excitement should get to be half as great as in playing croquet, I should tremble to think of it.

  Well, it was some excitement at all events to play against each other, he and I. Didn’t I seek out his ball, didn’t I pursue it, beat it back from wickets, come on it with most surprising and unexpected shots? Sophie fought with desperation on the other side, and at last they seemed to have carried the day, there was but one stroke wanting to put them out; they had killed Sydney at the stake and banished me to the farthest extremity of the ground. Mamma always said I had the genius for emergencies, and if you’ll believe me I struck quite across the ground and hit Sophie’s ball and sent it out, and then I took his back to make my two last wickets with, and finally with an imposing coup de théâtre I croqueted him to the other end of the ground, and went out amid thunders of applause. He took it with great presence of mind, knelt down and laid the mallet handsomely at my feet, and professed to deliver himself captive, and I imposed it on him as a task to write a ballad descriptive of the encounter. So he was shut up for about half an hour in the library, and came out with a very fine and funny ballad in Chevy Chace measure describing our exploits, which was read under the trees, and cheered and encored in the liveliest manner possible.

  On the whole, Mr. Henderson may be said to have had quite a society success yesterday, as I heard him very much admired, and the Elmores overwhelmed him with pressing invitations to call, to come to their soirees, etc., etc. You see, these Elmores have everything money can buy, and so they are distracted to be literary, or at least to have literary people in their train, and they have always been wanting to get Henderson and Jim Fellows to their receptions. So I heard Mrs. Elmore overwhelming him with compliments on his poem in a way that quite amused me, for I knew enough of him to know exactly how all this seemed to him. He is of all persons one of the most difficult to flatter, and has the keenest sense of the ridiculous; and Mrs. Elmore’s style is as if one should empty a bushel basket of peaches or grapes on your head instead of passing the fruit dish.

  But I am so busy traducing my neighbors that I forgot to say I won the croquet prize, which was duly presented. It was a gold croquet mallet set as a pin with four balls of emerald, amethyst, ruby, and topaz depending from it. It had quite an Etruscan effect and was very pretty, but when I saw how much Sophie really took the defeat to heart my soul was moved for her, and I made a peace-offering by getting her to accept it. It was not easy at first, but I made a point of it and insisted upon it with all my logic, telling her that in point of skill she had really won the game, that my last stroke was only a lucky accident, and you know I can generally talk people into almost anything I set my heart on, and so as Sophie was flattered by my estimate of her skill, and as the bauble is a pretty one I prevailed on her to take it. I am tired and sick of this fuss between the Elmores and us, and don’t mean to have more of it, for Sophie really is a nice girl, and not a bit more spoiled than any of the rest of us, notwithstanding all the nonsense of her family, and she and I have agreed to be fast friends for the future whatever may come.

  I had one other motive in this move. I never have accepted jewelry from Sydney, and I was quite willing to be rid of this. If I could only croquet his heart down to Sophie to use, it might be a nice thing. I fancy she would like it.

  I managed my cards quite adroitly all day to avoid a tête-à-tête interview with Sydney. I was careful always to be in the centre of a group of two or three, and when he asked me to walk through the conservatories with him I said, “Come, Susan and Jane,” and took them along.

  As to somebody else, he made no attempt of the kind, though I could see that he saw me wherever I went. Do these creatures suppose we don’t see their eyes, and fancy that they conceal their feelings? I am perfectly certain that whatever the matter is, he thinks as much of me as ever he did.

  Well, it was moonlight and music all the way home, the band playing the most heart-breaking, entrancing harmonies from Beethoven and melodies from Schubert, and then Wat Sydney annoyed me beyond measure by keeping up a distracting chit-chat when I wanted to be quiet and listen. He cares nothing for music, and people who don’t are like flies, they have no mercy and never will leave you a quiet moment. The other one went off by himself, gazed at the moon and heard the music all in the most proper and romantic style, and looked like a handsome tenor at an opera.

  So far, my dear, the history of our affairs. But something more surprising than ever you heard has just happened, and I must hasten to jot it down.

  Yesterday afternoon, being worried and wearied with the day before, I left your letter, as you see, and teased Ida to go out driving with me in the Park. She had promised Effie St. Clere to sketch some patterns of arbors and garden seats that are there, for her new place at Fern Valley, and I had resolved on a lonely ramble to clear my heart and brain. Moreover, the last time I was there I saw from one of the bridges a very pretty cascade falling into a charming little wooded lake in the distance. I resolved to go in search of this same cascade which is deep in a shady labyrinth of paths.

  Well, it was a most lovely perfect day, and we left our carriage at the terrace and started off for our ramble, Ida with her sketch-book in hand. She was very soon hard at work at a rustic summer-house, while I plunged into a woody tangle of paths guided only by the distant sound of the cascades. It was toward evening and the paths seemed quite solitary, for I met not a creature. I might really have thought I was among the ferns and white birches up in Conway, or anywhere in the mountains, it was so perfectly mossy and wild and solitary. A flock of wild geese seemed to be making an odd sort of outlandish noise, far in a deep, dark tangle of bushes, and it appeared to me to produce the impression of utter solitude more than anything else. Evidently it was a sort of wild lair seldom invaded. I still heard the noise of the cascade through a thicket of leaves, but could not
get a sight of it. Sometimes it seemed near and sometimes far off, but at last I thought I hit upon a winding path that seemed to promise to take me to it. It wound round a declivity, and I could tell by the sound I was approaching the water. I was quite animated, and ran forward till a sudden turn brought me to the head of the cascade where there was a railing and one seat, and as I came running down I saw suddenly a man with a book in his hand sitting on this seat, and it was Mr. Henderson.

  He rose up when he saw me and looked pale, but an expression of perfectly rapturous delight passed over his face as I checked myself astonished.

  “Miss Van Arsdel!” he said. “To what happy fate do I owe this good fortune?”

  I recovered myself and said that “I was not aware of any particular good fortune in the case.”

  “Not to you, perhaps,” he said, “but to me. I have seen nothing of you for so long,” he added rather piteously. “There has been nothing that I am aware of to prevent your seeing me,” I said. “If Mr. Henderson chooses to make himself strange to his friends it is his own affair.” He looked confused and murmured something about “many engagements and business.”

  “Mr. Henderson, you will excuse me,” said I, resolved not to have this sort of thing go on any longer. “You have always been treated at our house as an intimate and valued friend; of late you seem to prefer to act like a ceremonious stranger.”

  “Indeed, you mistake me entirely, Miss Van Arsdel,” he said eagerly. “You must know my feelings; you must appreciate my reasons; you see why I cannot and ought not.”

  “I am quite in the dark as to both,” I said. “I cannot see any reason why we should not be on the old footing, I am sure. You have acted of late as if you were afraid to meet me; it is all perfectly unaccountable to me. Why should you do so? What reason can there be?”