Hugh Worthington

The warm still days of September were gone and a wild October storm was dying out in a gentle shower, when Hugh awoke from the sleep which had so long hung over him, and listened, with a vague kind of delicious happiness, to the lulling music of the rain falling so softly upon the window sill, and sifting through the long boughs of the trees, visible from where he lay. Gazing about him in a maze of perplexity, he wondered what had happened, or where he could be.

“I must have been sick,” he whispered, and pressing his hand to his head, he tried to recall and form into some definite shape the events which had seemed, and which seemed to him still, like so many phantoms of the brain.

Was it a dream—his mother’s tears, upon his face, his mother’s sobs beside him? Was it a dream that Adah had bent over him with words of tenderness, praying for him that he might not die, as he was sure he had heard her? And,—oh how Hugh started as he thought this;—Was it all a dream that the Golden Haired had been with him constantly?

No, that was not a dream, and Hugh lay panting on his pillow, as gleam after gleam flashed across his mind, bringing remembrance of the many times when another voice than Adah’s had asked that he might live, had pleaded as only Golden Hair could plead with God for him. She did not hate him, else she had not prayed, and words of thanksgiving were going up to Golden Hair’s God, when a footstep in the hall announced the approach of some one. Alice perhaps, and Hugh lay very still, with half shut eyes, until Muggins, instead of Alice, appeared. She had been deputed to watch by her master while the family were at dinner, pleased with the confidence reposed in her, determined strictly to obey Alice’s injunction to be very quiet, and not wake him if he were sleeping.

He was asleep, she said, as, standing on tiptoe, she scanned his face, in her own dialect, Muggins talked to herself about him as he lay there so still, not a muscle moving, save those about the corners of his mouth, where a smile was struggling for life, as Hugh listened to Mug’s remarks.

“Nice Mas’r Hugh—most as white as Miss Alice. De sweat has washed de dirt all off. Pretty Mas’r Hugh!” and Mug’s little black hand was laid caressingly on the face she admired so much. “I mean to ask God about him, just like I see Miss Alice do,” she continued, and stealing to the opposite side of the room, Muggins kneeled down, and with her face turned towards Hugh, she said, first, the prayer taught by Alice after an immense amount of labor and patience, after which she continued, “If God is hearin’ me, will he please do all dat Miss Alice ax him ’bout curin’ Mas’r Hugh, only not take him to heaven as she say, and scuse Mug, who is nothin’ but poor little lazy nigger, all-us round under foot.”

This was too much for Hugh. The sight of that ignorant negro child, kneeling by the window, with her hands clasped supplicatingly together, as she prayed for him in imitation of the Golden Haired, unmanned him entirely, and hiding his head beneath the sheets, he sobbed aloud. With a nervous start, Mug arose from her knees, and coming towards him, stood for an instant gazing in mute terror at the trembling of the bed-clothes which hid her master from sight.

“I’ll bet he’s in a fit. I mean to screech for Miss Alice,” and Muggins was about darting away, when Hugh’s long arm caught and held her fast. “Oh, de gracious, Mas’r Hugh,” she cried, “you skeers me so. Does you know me, Mas’r Hugh?” and somewhat relieved by the expression of his face, she took a step towards him.

“Yes, I know you, and I want to talk a little. Where am I, Mug? What room, I mean?”

“Why, Miss Alice’s in course. She ’sisted, and ’sisted till ’em brung you in here, ’case she say it cool and nice. Oh, Miss Alice so fine.”

“In Miss Johnson’s room,” and Hugh looked perfectly bewildered, while Mug explained how Miss Alice “had prayed for Mas’r Hugh, and cried for Mas’r Hugh, and she didn’t know but she had actually kissed Mas’r Hugh; any way, she got mighty clus to him sometimes. “Where is she now?” Hugh asked, and Mug replied, “Eatin her dinner, she watched las’ night and bimeby she’s gwine to lie down. I hearn her say so, an’ old Miss comin’ to set long of you!”

Hugh felt a pang of disappointment that he should not probably see Alice that afternoon. But she needed sleep, he knew, and he was mentally chiding himself for his selfishness, when his mother stepped into the room. She looked so pale and thin that Hugh involuntarily groaned as he thought how she had grown weary and worn for him who had sometimes accused her of indifference. The groan caught Mrs. Worthington’s ear, and bending over him she said,

“What is it, Hugh?” “Are you worse? Do you want anything?”

“No, I’m better—the cobwebs are gone. I am myself again—dear, darling mother,” and Hugh stretched his hands towards her.

“Oh, my boy, I am so glad, so glad! God is good to give you back, when I’ve never served Him all my life, but I’m trying to now. Oh, Hugh, my heart is so full,” and Mrs. Worthington’s tears dropped fast, as like a weary child, which wanted to be soothed, she laid her head upon his bosom, crying quietly.

And Hugh, stronger now than she, held the poor, tired head there, and kissed the white forehead, where there were more wrinkles than when he last observed it.

Folding his weak arms about her, mother and son wept together in that moment of perfect understanding and union with each other. Hugh was the first to rally. It seemed so pleasant to lean on him, to know that he cared so much for her, that Mrs. Worthington would gladly have rested on his bosom longer, but Hugh who noticed that she held an open letter in her hand brought her back to something of the old, sad life, by asking.

“If the letter were from ’Lina?”

“Yes, and I can’t make it all out you know she writes so blind.”

“It never troubles me, and I feel perfectly able to read it,” Hugh said, and taking the letter from her unresisting hand, he asked that another pillow should be placed beneath his head, while he read it aloud.

The pillow was arranged, and then Mrs. Worthington sat down upon the bed to hear the letter, which read as follows:

“Dear Mother,—

“What a little eternity it is since I heard from you, and how am I to know that you are not all dead and buried. Were it not that no news is good news, I should sometimes fancy that Hugh was worse, and feel terribly for not having gone home when you did. But of course if he were worse, you would write, and so I settle down upon that, and quiet my troublesome conscience.

“Now, then, to business, I want Hugh to send me some money, or all is lost. Let me explain.

“Here I am at Fifth Avenue Hotel, as good as any lady, if my purse is almost empty. Plague on it, why didn’t that Mrs. Johnson send me two thousand instead of one? It would not hurt her, and then I should get through nicely.”

“You see that thousand is almost gone and as board is two and a half dollars per day, I can’t stay long and shop in Broadway with old Mrs. Richards as I am expected to do in my capacity of heiress. There never was so lucky a hit as that, or anything that took so well, just think—I, Adeline Worthington, nee Adeline Murdoch, who used to help wash her own clothes in Elmwood, and who once talked of learning a vulgar trade, and did sew a week for old Aunt Jerusha Tubbs, here am I, metamorphosed into a Kentucky heiress, who can say and do anything she pleases on the strength of being an heiress, and hailing from a State where folks own niggers. I tell you, Spring Bank, Kentucky—has done wonders for me in the way of getting me noticed.

“You see I am a pure Southern woman here; nobody but Mrs. Richards knows that I was born, mercy knows where. But for you, she never need have known it either, but you must tell that we had not always lived in Kentucky. Honestly, I was glad when you left.

“But to do Mrs. Richards justice, she never alludes to my birth, and you ought to hear her introduce me to some of her friends, ‘Mrs. So and So, Miss Worthington from Spring Bank, Kentucky,’ then in an aside, which I am not supposed to hear, she adds, ‘A great heiress of a very respectable family. You may have heard of them.’ Somehow, this always makes me uncomfortable, as it brings up certain cogitations touching that scamp you were silly enough to marry, thereby giving me to the world, which my delectable brother no doubt thinks would have been better off without me. But to proceed—

“We left Saratoga a week ago—old lady Richards wanted to go to Terrace Hill awhile and show me to Anna who it seems is a kind of family oracle. If she approve Johnny’s choice, it is all right.”

“Who is Johnny?” Hugh asked, his face a purplish hue and contrasting strangely with the ashen one resting on his shoulder.

Mrs. Worthington explained to him what she knew of Dr. Richards, and Hugh went on:

“After counting the little gold eagles in my purse, I said perhaps I’d go for a few days, though I dreaded it terribly, for the doctor had not yet bound himself fast, and I did not know what the result of those three old maid sisters, sitting on me, would be. Old lady was quite happy in prospect of going home, when one day a letter come from Anna. I happened to have a headache, and was lying on madam’s bed, when the dinner bell rang. Of course I insisted that madam should go down without me, and of course she went. It was tedious lying there alone, and to pass away the time I just peeped into the letter, feeling amply rewarded by the insight I obtained into the family secrets.

“They are poorer than I supposed, but that does not matter, position is what I want. Anna has an income of her own, and, generous soul that she is, gives it out to her mother. You see there had been some talk of her coming to Saratoga, and in referring to it, said, ‘Much as I might enjoy it, I cannot afford to come, I can pay your bills for some time longer, if you really think the water a benefit, but my presence would just double the expense. Then, if brother does marry, I wish to surprise him with a handsome set of pearls for his bride, and I am economizing to do so.’ (Note by ’Lina)—Isn’t she a clever old soul? Don’t she deserve a better sister-in-law than I shall make her, and won’t I find the way to her purse often?”

Hugh groaned aloud, and the letter dropped from his hand.

“Mother,” he gasped, “it must not be. ’Lina shall not thrust herself upon them. This Anna shall not be so cruelly deceived. I don’t care a picayune for the doctor or the old lady. They are much like ’Lina, I reckon, but this Anna awakens my sympathy. I mean to warn her.”

“Hugh,” and in the mother’s voice there was a tone which startled him, “Hugh, let her alone. Let Dr. Richards marry her if he will. You and I shall be——”

The trembling voice faltered, for it could not say “happier without her,” but Hugh understood it, and smoothing the soft, thin hair of the head nestling close to him, he replied,

“Yes we should be happier with ’Lina gone, but there’s a right and there’s a wrong, which is it best to choose?”

“I don’t know. Oh, I don’t know. The right, I suppose. We’ll decide by and by. Read on.”

And Hugh did read on, feeling as if he, too were guilty, thus to know what Anna Richards had intended only for her mother’s eye.

“‘From some words you have dropped, I fancy that Miss Worthington does not suit you in all respects, and you wish me to see her. Dear mother, John marries for himself, not for us, and though I could wish my new sister to be every way congenial, I shall try to like her, even if there are certain little coarse points about her. These may result from education rather than bad blood, and if so, they can easily be rubbed off. If she is bright and observing she will soon learn that slang phrases together with loud talking and laughing, are not lady-like or marks of cultivation. But we must be very cautious not to let her know what we are doing. Extreme kindness and affection must mark every action, and in the end we shall succeed. If John is satisfied and happy, that is all I ask. Asenath and Eudora think you had better persuade her to come home with you for a few days before going to New York and I concur in their wishes. The house will seem dull to her, no doubt, after Saratoga gayeties but we will make it as pleasant as possible.

“‘When will you come? Asenath has sent the curtains in the north chamber to the laundress, but will go no farther until we hear for certain that Miss Worthington is to be our guest. Write immediately.

“There then, this is what I read, lying on madam’s bed, and it decided my future course. Do you suppose I’m going to Terrace Hill to be watched by that trio of old maids? No, ma’am, not by a ——, I was going to say ‘jug full,’ but remembered slang phrases just in time. Anna would be delighted with that improvement.

“I am resolved now to win Dr. Richards at all hazards. Only let me keep up the appearance of wealth, and the thing is easily accomplished; but I can’t go to Terrace Hill yet, cannot meet this Anna, for, I dread her decision more than all the rest, inasmuch as I know it would have more weight with the doctor.

“But to come back to madam. I was fast asleep when she returned. Had not read Anna’s letter, nor anything! You should have seen her face when I told her I had changed my mind, that I could not go to Terrace Hill, that mamma (that’s you!) did not think it would be proper, inasmuch as I had no claim upon them. You see, I made her believe I had written to you on the subject, receiving a reply that you disapproved of my going, and brother Hugh, too, I quote him a heap, making madam laugh till she cries with repeating his odd speeches, she does so want to see that eccentric Hugh, she says.”

Another groan from Mrs. Worthington—something sounding like an oath from Hugh, and he went on:

“I said, brother was afraid it was improper under the circumstances for me to go, afraid lest people should talk; that I preferred going at once to New York. So it was finally decided, to the doctor’s relief, I fancied, that we come here, and here we are—hotel just like a beehive, and my room is in the fifth story.

“It is very expensive staying here at two dollars and a half per day, and I want so much to see England’s future king. Then, too, I am determined to bring the doctor to terms, and so rid you and Hugh of myself, but to do this, I must have more money, and you must manage some way to get it. Beg, borrow, pawn, or steal, any thing to get it at once.

“P. S. One day later. Rejoice, oh, rejoice! and give ear. The doctor has actually asked the question, and I blushingly referred him to mamma, but he seemed to think this unnecessary, took alarm at once, and pressed the matter until I said yes. Aren’t you glad? But one thing is sure—Hugh must sell a nigger to get me a handsome outfit. There’s Mug, always under foot, doing no one any good. She’ll bring six hundred any day, she’s so bright and healthy. Nobody will think of abusing her either, she’s so cunning, and thus Hugh can swallow his Abolition principles for once, and bestir himself to find a buyer for Muggins. Lulu he must give me out and out for a waiting-maid. There’s no other alternative.”

So absorbed were Hugh and his mother, as not to hear the low howl of fear echoing through the hall, as Mug fled in terror from the dreaded new owner to whom Master Hugh was to sell her. Neither did they hear the cat-like tread with which Lulu glided past the door, taking the same direction Mug had gone, namely, to Alice Johnson’s room.

Lulu had been sitting by the open window at the end of the hall, and had heard every word of this letter, while Mug, sent by Chloe on some errand to Mrs. Worthington, had reached the threshold in time to hear all that was said about selling her. Instinctively both turned for protection to Alice, but Mug was the first to reach her. Throwing herself upon her knees and hiding her face in Alice’s dress she sobbed frantically,

“You buys me, Miss Alice. You give Mas’r Hugh six hundred dollars for me, so’t he can get Miss ’Lina’s weddin’ finery. I’ll be good, I will. I’ll learn de Lord’s prar, ebery word on’t; will you, Miss Alice, say?”

In amazement Alice tried to wrest her muslin dress from the child’s grasp, asking what she meant.

“I know, I’ll tell,” and Lulu scarcely less excited, but more capable of restraining herself, advanced into the room, and ere the bewildered Alice could well understand what it all meant, or make more than a feeble attempt to stop her, she had repeated rapidly the entire contents of ’Lina’s letter, omitting nothing of any consequence, but, as was quite natural, dwelling longest upon the engagement, as that was the point which particularly concerned herself and Muggins.

Too much amazed at first to speak, Alice sat motionless, then rallying her scattered senses, she said to Lulu,

“I am sorry that you told me this, sorry you knew it to tell. It was wrong in you to listen, and you must not repeat it to any one else. Will you promise?”

Lulu would do anything which Alice asked, and she gave the required promise, then with terror in every lineament of her face she said,

“But, Miss Alice, must I be Miss ’Lina’s waiting-maid? Will Master Hugh permit it?”

Alice did not know Hugh as well as we do, and in her heart there was a fear lest for the sake of peace he might be overruled, resolving in her mind that Lulu and Muggins should change owners ere the capricious ’Lina’s return, and endeavoring as far as she could to quiet both. It was no easy task, however, to soothe Muggins, and only Alice’s direct avowal that if possible she would herself become her purchaser, checked her cries at all, but the moment this was said her sobbing ceased, and Alice was able to question Lulu as to whether it was really Hugh who had read the letter.

Lulu assured her that it was, and feeling that he must be better, Alice dismissed both Lulu and Mug, and then sat down to reflect as to her next best course of action.

Adah must go to Terrace Hill, and if Alice’s suspicions were correct the projected marriage would be prevented without further interference, for ’Lina was not bad enough deliberately to take for a husband one who had so cruelly wronged another, and even if she were, Anna had power to stop it. Adah must go, and Alice’s must be the purse which defrayed all the expense of fitting her up. If ever Alice felt thankful to God for having made her rich in this world’s goods, it was that morning when so many calls for money seemed crowding on her at once. Only the previous night she had heard from Col. Tiffton that the day was fixed for the sale of his house, that he had no hope of redeeming it, and that Nell had nearly cried herself into a second fever at the thoughts of leaving Mosside. “Then there’s Rocket,” the colonel had said, “Hugh cannot buy him back, and he’s so bound up in him too, poor Hugh,” and with quivering lip the colonel had wrung Alice’s hand, hurrying off ere she had time to suggest what all along had been in her mind.

“It does not matter,” she thought. “A surprise will be quite as pleasant, and then Mr. Liston may object to it as a silly girl’s fancy.”

This was the previous night, and now this morning another demand had come in the shape of Muggins weeping in her lap, and Lulu begging to be saved from ’Lina Worthington.

Meantime in the sick room there was a consultation between mother and son, touching the money for which ’Lina had asked, and which Hugh declined sending to her. She had shown herself too heartless for any thing, he said, and were it not for Anna, who was too good to be so terribly duped, he should be glad when that Dr. took her off his hands; then he spoke of Alice asking many questions concerning her, and at last expressing a wish to see, and talk with her. This wish Mrs. Worthington at once communicated to Alice, who rather reluctantly went to his room, feeling that it was to all intents and purposes her first meeting with Hugh.

“This is Miss Johnson,” Mrs. Worthington said, as Alice drew near, a bright flush spreading over her face as she met Hugh’s look, expressive of more than gratitude.

“I fancy I am to a certain degree indebted to Miss Johnson for my life,” Hugh said, offering her his hand, while he thanked her for her kindness to him during the long weeks of his illness.

“I was not wholly unconscious of your presence,” he continued, still holding her hand. “There were moments when I had a vague idea of somebody different from those I have always known bending over me, and I fancied, too, that this somebody was sent to save me from some great evil. I am glad you were here, Miss Johnson; I shall not forget your kindness.”

He dropped her hand then, while Alice attempted to stammer out some reply.

“Adah, too, had been kind,” she said, “quite as kind as herself.”

“Yes, Adah is a dear, good girl,” Hugh replied. “She is to me all a sister could be. Do you like Adah?”

“Yes, very much.”

“I’m glad, for she is worthy of your love. She has been terribly wronged, sometime she may tell you.”

“She has told me,” Alice replied, while Hugh continued, “I am sure you will respect her just the same.”

Alice had not intended to talk with him of Adah then, but he had introduced the subject and so she said to him,

“I had thought to tell you of a plan which Mrs. Hastings has in view, but perhaps, I had better wait till you are stronger.”

“I am strong enough now—stronger than you think. Tell me of the plan,” and Hugh urged the request until Alice told him of Terrace Hill and Adah’s wish to go there.

For a few minutes Hugh lay perfectly still. Once he would have spurned the idea, for Spring Bank would be so lonely without Adah and the little boy, but Alice was there now; Alice was worth a dozen Adahs, and so he said at last, “I have heard of the Richards family before. You know the Dr. I believe. Do you like him? Is he a man to be trusted?”

“Yes, I know Dr. Richards,” Alice replied, half resolving to tell Hugh all she feared, but feeling that possibly she might be wrong in her suspicions, she concluded not to do so, Adah’s presence at Terrace Hill would settle that matter, and she asked again if he did not think it well for her to go.

“Yes, on some accounts,” Hugh answered, thinking of ’Lina. “But it looks too much like sending her out alone into the world. Does she wish to go? Is she anxious? Call her please. I would hear from her what she has to say.”

Adah came at once, advancing so many reasons why she should go that Hugh consented at last, and it was finally settled that she should leave as soon as the necessary additions could be made to her own and Willie’s wardrobe.

This being arranged, Alice and Adah withdrew, and Hugh was left alone to think over the incidents of his interview with Alice. He had not expected her to recognize him by his name, because she had not learned it when on board the steamer, neither did he really expect her to recognize his features, for he knew he had changed materially since that time, still he was conscious of a feeling of disappointment that she did not remember him, and once he thought to tell her who he was, but he would rather she should find that out herself; and while wondering what she would do and say when it did come to her knowledge that he was the lad who tried to save her life, he fell away to sleep.

Three weeks later there came another letter from ’Lina, and with his mother sitting beside him, Hugh read it aloud, learning “that Irving Stanley’s widowed sister, Mrs. Carrie Ellsworth, was in New York and had come to the hotel with her brother, that having an object in view ’Lina had done her best to cultivate Mrs. Ellsworth, presuming a great deal on their relationship, and making herself so agreeable to her child, a most ugly piece of deformity, that cousin Carrie, who had hired a furnished house for the winter, had invited her to spend the season with her, and she was now snugly ensconced in most delightful quarters on Twenty-second street, between Fifth and Sixth avenues. Sometimes,” she wrote, “I half suspect Mrs. Ellsworth did not think I would jump at her invitation so quick, but I don’t care. The doctor, for some reason or other, has deferred our marriage until spring, and dear knows I am not coming to Spring Bank any sooner than I can help. The doctor, of course, would insist upon accompanying me, and that would explode my bubble at once. When I am ready to return, Hugh must do the brotherly, and come for me, so that the first inkling the doctor gets of Spring Bank will be when he comes to have tied the nuptial knot. I’m half sorry to think how disappointed he will be, for I begin to like him, and mean to make up in goodness what I lack in gold.

“By the way, Adah must not go to Terrace Hill as you wrote she thought of doing. You are crazy to think of it, of course they would quiz her to death about me and Spring Bank. So tie her up, or throttle her, or do some thing if she persists in going.

“I shall buy my bridal trousseau under Mrs. Ellsworth’s supervision. She has exquisite taste, and Hugh must send the money. As I told him before, he can sell Mug. Harney will buy her. He likes pretty darkies.”

“Oh, horror! can Ad be a woman, with womanly feelings!” Hugh exclaimed, as he deliberately tore the letter in fragments, and scattered them over the floor, feeling for a moment as if he hated his sister.

But he struggled hard to cast the bitterness away, and after a moment was able to listen and answer calmly, while his mother asked if it would not be better to persuade Adah not to go to Terrace Hill.

“It may interfere with ’Lina’s plans,” she said, “and now it’s gone so far, it seems a pity to have it broken up. I know it is not right to deceive him so, but—but—I don’t know what. It’s—it’s very pleasant with ’Lina gone,” and with a choking sob, Mrs. Worthington laid her face upon the pillow, ashamed and sorry that the real sentiments of her heart were thus laid bare.

It was terrible for a mother to feel that her home would be happier for the absence of an only daughter, but she did feel so, and it made her half willing that Dr. Richards should be deceived. But Hugh shrank from the dishonorable proceeding. He would not interfere himself, but if Adah could be the agent through whose instrumentality the fraud was prevented, he would be glad, and he answered decidedly that “She must go.”

Mrs. Worthington always yielded to Hugh, and she did so now, mentally resolving, however, to say a few words to Adah, relative to her not divulging anything which could possibly harm ’Lina, such as telling how poor they were, or anything like that. This done, Mrs. Worthington felt easier, and as Hugh looked tired and worried, she left him for a time, having first called Muggins to gather up the fragments of ’Lina’s letter which Hugh had thrown upon the carpet.

“Yes, burn every trace of it,” Hugh said, watching the child as she picked up piece by piece, and threw them into the grate.

“I means to save dat ar. I’ll play I has a letter for Miss Alice,” Mug thought, as she came upon a bit larger than the others, and when she left the room there was hidden in her bosom that part of ’Lina’s letter relating to herself and Harney.