CHAPTER II.
THE SOLDIERS’ AID SOCIETY.
The new-comers were at length settled in their pleasant home. The neighbors had all called, and were received with a courtesy and kindness which won golden opinions from every one.
Mrs. Fenton was a confirmed invalid, never leaving her apartment; but the peace of God, which like a river flowed through her soul, filled the room with sunshine. In early life she had been a proud, ambitious woman, valuing wealth and social distinction above all things else, and anxious only that her children should shine in the circles of fashion to which she belonged. But in the midst of her career the hand of God was laid upon her, and in the solitude of a sick-room she was forced to think. Through the prayers and efforts of a faithful Christian friend she was brought to look to Jesus for pardoning and healing mercy, and after a season of deep mental anguish, during which all the waves and billows of divine wrath seemed rolling over her, she found refuge at last at the foot of the cross, and was enabled to say from the heart, “I know in whom I have believed.”
For ten years since that hour she had been confined to her couch with a hopeless disease, often racked with intense agony, yet always the same patient, uncomplaining sufferer, always calm and happy, with a heart full of love and pity for every form of human sorrow. By her household she was looked upon as a guardian spirit, rather than a helpless dependent. Every disputed question was referred to her decision, and whatever storms invaded the domestic circle, “mother’s room” was always a place of refuge, which seemed to her children the dearest spot on earth.
Elinor Fenton the daughter was a delicate, graceful girl, inheriting her mother’s gentleness and refinement, but with the shadow of a deep sorrow always visible on her sweet face. That there was a son we knew, but nothing was ever said of him, and we could easily believe that his desertion of the Union cause, the uncertainty of her father’s fate, and the illness of her mother, must exert a depressing influence on one so young, even before we heard the saddest part of her story. The wealth of her affections had been bestowed on one who seemed fully worthy of them, but when the day of trial came he was found wanting. He was one of the first to enter the rebel army, and his influence over young Fenton had led the latter to adopt the same course. Thus doubly bereft of lover and brother, the young girl devoted herself to her suffering mother; but her heart was open as the day “to melting charity,” and none ever appealed to her in vain for sympathy or relief.
When I first went to the house, I saw only Mrs. Fenton and Elinor, but my interest in both was so much excited that the call was soon repeated, and on my second visit Mrs. Fenton said to her daughter,
“Elinor, where is your cousin? Go, my love, and tell Lilian I wish to see her here.”
Elinor left the room, and soon returned, accompanied by a young girl whom she introduced as Miss Grey, and in whom I recognized the original of the pleasing portrait I had seen. She was indeed most attractive in face and person; bright, sparkling, and intellectual, with a world of thought and feeling in her full hazel eye, shaded by long silken lashes, and an equal amount of firmness and energy indicated by the finely moulded mouth and chin.
After paying her respects to me as a stranger, she seated herself on an ottoman by the side of the couch, and taking one thin, white hand of the invalid, laid her cheek on it in a caressing way, which was evidently the expression of a tender and loving nature.
“And what has my Lilian been about all the morning,” said Mrs. Fenton, “that I have seen nothing of her before?”
“Oh, dear aunt, I have been very busy, I assure you. Venus wanted me in the kitchen a while, for she was afraid her preserves were in danger of spoiling. Then I gave little Pete his daily lesson; and last, not least, had to prepare some work to take to the society to-morrow.”
“Then you are going to our meeting?” I said; “I am very glad to hear that, for somehow I feared we should not have the pleasure of seeing you young ladies there.”
“You do not know our Lilian,” said her aunt fondly, “or you would have no doubts on such a subject. She is a perfect enthusiast in the Union cause, and I am afraid she has almost wished herself capable of bearing arms in its defence. However that may be, she honors a soldier with all her heart, and would gladly devote herself in any way to do him good. As for my Elinor,” she added, turning with a smile to her daughter, “she is no less loyal than her cousin, though not quite so demonstrative naturally, and tied to a sick mother who can hardly live without her. But you will see them both to-morrow, for the cause is dear to us all.”
When I left the house, Lilian Grey accompanied me to the door, and taking my hand, said with a frankness that was very captivating,
“Mrs. Glenn, my aunt has taken a great fancy to you; and if there were no other reason, we should love you for that. Now I want to ask as a great favor, that you will take Elinor and myself under your wing to-morrow, for we cannot help dreading the battery of eyes and tongues that we must encounter. I dare say you are no worse here than other people, and perhaps a great deal better, but as Venus says, ‘There’s no accounting for human nature,’ and strangers usually have to run the gauntlet in order to gain the freedom of any country town.”
I kissed the fair cheek that was glowing like a rose, and promised my best services on the morrow.
There was a very full meeting of the Soldiers’ Aid Society, for it was hoped that the strangers would attend, and all were anxious to meet them. I went early, and found Mrs. Ryder, our president, and Miss Letty Brown busied in cutting and fitting garments; while in the two rooms needles and tongues were equally active.
It was not long before Miss Fenton and her cousin came in, for they had none of that petty pride which leads its possessor to despise punctuality as a vulgar virtue. They were both more plainly dressed than most of the young ladies present; but though simple and unaffected in manner, there was an innate dignity and refinement about them which effectually repelled impertinence, and disappointed a few who were prepared, in their own elegant phraseology, “to find out all about them.” There was one woman, however, who was not to be foiled in this determination.
Mrs. Flint was the widow of a worthy man, who is said to have been worried out of existence by his disconsolate partner, and none who knew her could question the probability of such a catastrophe. Her manner was always deprecating; her step, true to her nature, was soft and stealthy, and her voice carefully modulated to express only amiability; but there was a rigidity about the thin lips and a sharp glitter in the cold blue eye which told quite another story.
Greatly to the annoyance of our good pastor and his wife, Mrs. Flint arrogated to herself the office of adviser in all matters relating to the church; and as she could talk fluently, and call up tears from some hidden fountain on all proper occasions, some ignorant people looked on her as quite a saint, while those who knew her best regarded her as a scheming, dangerous woman, the female counterpart of Bunyan’s Talkative. She had exerted herself to the utmost to get the management of the Society, and especially of its funds, into her own hands; and failing in this, had left us in disgust, and for months had not attended our meetings, until brought out by curiosity on the present occasion.
Mabel Ryder had drawn Elinor away into a circle of young ladies; but Lilian, who had been consulting Miss Letty about her work, was sitting alone, and to her Mrs. Flint cautiously made her way. After a few commonplace remarks, she said in her softest tone, “I am very happy to see you here, of course, but I hardly expected that you Southerners would be willing to help us fight against your own brethren.”
“I don’t know,” was the spirited reply, “whom you mean by my brethren. I am an American, and love my whole country and the dear old flag better than my life. There is as much Northern blood in my veins as Southern, and if it were not so, I should feel just as I do now. No one could be any thing to me who wished to break up and destroy the best government ever formed by man. I never see a soldier who has fought for his country without feeling as if I wished to speak to him as a friend; and I count it an honor to do any thing, no matter how humble, that can add to his comfort.”
The dark eyes flashed and the red lips trembled with the earnestness of her feelings; and any one but Mrs. Flint would have retired from the field; but she only answered with perfect coolness,
“I admire your patriotism, but when we think what a terrible thing war is, and how many precious lives are thrown away, we cannot help being willing to do any thing for peace.”
“I do not consider war as the worst of all evils,” replied Lilian, “dreadful as it is. There are times in the history of all nations, when liberty can only be preserved by fighting for it, and I believe God hates a guilty peace, even more than the desolations of war. Storms are very useful and salutary things,” she added with a smile, “though they often make sad havoc of property and life. None can mourn more than I do the loss of the glorious dead, who have fallen in the cause of freedom; but it is far better to die so than to live cowards or traitors.”
Clearly there was nothing to be made out of Lilian Grey, and Mrs. Flint looked about for Elinor; but Mabel Ryder was on her guard, and gave no opportunity for an attack in that direction. So our Beach Hill diplomat was silent for a time, but during the afternoon I heard her in discussion with Miss Letty on some subject which seemed to interest the latter very deeply. I only caught the conclusion of Mrs. Flint’s remarks. “Such things seem to me very singular, to say the least.”
“Well, I’m very thankful that I haven’t the faculty of seeing singular things that some folks seem to have. I always thought that this was a land of liberty, and that men could go into the army and fight, or stay at home and help others to go, just as they thought right, without being called to an account for it. Mr. Lester is able to take care of himself, and doesn’t need my help; but I hate this mousing round after characters, just as if they were bits of cheese.”
“But you must acknowledge,” answered the purring voice again, “that there’s a mystery about this young man, and that is always against any one.”
“Fiddlesticks on your mystery. I sha’n’t acknowledge any such thing. In the first place, I don’t call every thing a mystery that I can’t see through; for if I did, there’d be no end of mysteries, seeing I can understand but very little. In the next place, supposing there is a mystery, it may be a good one; for I suppose there can be good mysteries as well as bad ones in this world.”
“I have been told on very good authority,” persisted Mrs. Flint, “that Mr. Lester has been much at the South, and he may have his own private reasons for not wishing to fight the rebels.”
“And if he has,” replied Miss Letty, “I dare say they are honorable ones, and if they satisfy him, I don’t see what business ’tis of ours. When I get a person marked down in my book as pure gold, I a’n’t always going over them with a magnifying-glass to see if I can’t find a flaw somewhere. If there are things about them I don’t understand, I take it for granted they’re of a piece with those that I do understand, and so it never troubles me a bit.”
“I know he is a great favorite of yours, and you can’t see any faults in him; but for my part, I never had clear evidence of his being a Christian.”
“And pray, what kind of evidence do you want?” inquired Miss Letty, with more asperity of tone than I had ever heard from her before. “If humbly trusting in Christ, feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, and taking care of widows and orphans, isn’t religion, what is? Mr. Lester is always on hand when any thing good is going forward in the church, though he doesn’t pray at the corners of the streets, like the Pharisees, nor say to everybody, by his looks and actions, ‘See how good I am.’ I think though, that he follows his Master a great deal nearer than some who try to make out that their little tallow dip is a splendid Drummond light. But bless me, Mrs. Flint, you’re sewing that sleeve in wrong-side out. It wont do to talk about our neighbors and sew for the soldiers at the same time.”
With this home-thrust Miss Letty left the room, while we all inwardly rejoiced that Mrs. Flint had been silenced by one whom she regarded as so greatly her inferior.
After tea all work was laid aside, and the gentlemen one after another came in, until the rooms were filled, and the evening was spent in social enjoyment. It was remarked by all that Robert Lester and Miss Grey did not meet as strangers, though there was evident constraint in the manner of both. Lilian changed color, and seemed about to retreat when he approached her; and on his part, though remarkable for his power of self-control, there was something in his appearance none had ever seen before. They had evidently known each other previously, and met now on a different footing from that of mere acquaintance. A dozen pair of eyes were upon them, and the situation was becoming embarrassing enough, when Elinor Fenton came to the rescue of her cousin, and entering into conversation with Mr. Lester, drew attention from Lilian, who took refuge among a group of young persons surrounding the piano.
When the company were about to separate, I chanced to be in the dressing-room, when as Lilian entered the hall I heard Mr. Lester say to her,
“Lilian, will you not allow me to accompany you home?”
“Certainly not,” was the hasty reply; “my aunt has sent the carriage for us, and I prefer riding with Elinor.”
“Permit me at least to see you to the carriage,” he said almost humbly, and I felt hurt at her cold rejection of his offer.
“There is no necessity for it,” she said. “Pete is here, and he is accustomed to the duty.”
What could this mean? Of all the young men I had ever known, I should have selected Robert Lester as the one best fitted to win the heart of such a young lady as Lilian; yet she shunned him and repelled his attentions. My thoughts were painfully occupied with the subject as I returned home, and in my dreams that night the two were strangely blended, though always with some invisible barrier between them, which I sought in vain to discover and remove.