CHAPTER VIII.
GETTING READY TO BE MARRIED.
“Miss Helen Lennox, Silverton, Mass.”
This was the superscription of a letter, postmarked New York, and brought to Helen within a week after Wilford’s departure. It was his handwriting, too; and wondering what he could have written to her, Helen broke the seal, starting as there dropped into her lap a check for five hundred dollars.
“What does it mean?” she said, her cheek flushing with anger and insulted pride as she read the following brief lines:
“Miss Helen Lennox: Please pardon the liberty I have taken in enclosing the sum of $500 to be used by you in procuring whatever Katy may need for present necessities. Presuming that the country seamstresses have not the best facilities for obtaining the latest fashions, my mother proposes sending out her own private dressmaker, Mrs. Ryan. You may look for her the last of the week.
It would be impossible to describe Helen’s indignation as she read this letter, which roused her to a pitch of anger such as Wilford Cameron had never imagined when he wrote the offensive lines. He had really no intention of insulting her. On the contrary, the gift of money was kindly meant, for he knew that Uncle Ephraim was poor, while the part referring to the dressmaker was wholly his mother’s proposition, to which he had acceded, knowing how much confidence Juno had in her taste, and that whatever she might see at the farm-house would remain a secret with her, or at most be confined to the ears of his mother and sisters. He wished Katy to look well, and foolishly fancying that no country artiste could make her look so, he consented to Mrs. Ryan’s going, never dreaming of the effect it would have upon Helen, whose first impulse was to throw the check into the fire. Her second, however, was soberer. She would not destroy it, nor tell any one she had it, but Morris—he should know the whole. Accordingly, she repaired to Linwood, finding Morris at home, and startling him with the vehemence of her anger as she explained the nature of her errand.
“If I disliked Wilford Cameron before, I hate him now. Yes, hate him,” she said, stamping her little foot in fury.
“Why, Helen!” Morris exclaimed, laying his hand reprovingly on her shoulder; “is this the right spirit for one who professes better things? Stop a moment and think.”
“I know it is wrong,” Helen answered, “but somehow since he came after Katy, I have grown so hard, so wicked toward Mr. Cameron. He seems so proud, so unapproachable. Say, Cousin Morris, do you think him a good man, that is, good enough for Katy?”
“Most people would call him too good for her,” Morris replied. “And, in a worldly point of view, she is doing well. Cameron, I believe, is better than three-fourths of the men who marry our girls. He is very proud: but that results from his education and training. Looking only from a New York standpoint he misjudges country people, but he will appreciate you by and by. Do not begin by hating him so cordially.”
“Yes, but this money. Now, Morris, we do not want him to get Katy’s outfit. I would rather go without clothes my whole life. Shall I send it back?”
“I think that the best disposition to make of it,” Morris replied. “As your brother, I can and will supply Katy’s needs.”
“I knew you would, Morris. And I’ll send it to-day, in time to keep that dreadful Mrs. Ryan from coming; for I won’t have any of Wilford Cameron’s dressmakers in the house.”
Morris could not help smiling at Helen’s energetic manner, as she hurried to his library and taking his pen wrote to Wilford Cameron as follows:
Mr. Wilford Cameron:—I give you credit for the kindest of motives in sending the check which I now return to you, with my compliments. We are not as poor as you suppose, and would almost deem it sacrilege to let another than ourselves provide for Katy so long as she is ours. And furthermore, Mrs. Ryan’s services will not be needed, so it is not worth her while to make a journey here for nothing.
Helen felt better after this letter had gone, wondering often how it would be received, and if Wilford would be angry. She hoped he would, and his mother too. “The idea of sending that Ryan woman to us, as if we did not know anything!” and Helen’s lip curled scornfully as she thus denounced the Ryan woman, whose trunk was packed with paper patterns and devices of various kinds when the letter arrived, saying she was not needed. Being a woman of few words, she quietly unpacked her patterns and went back to the work she was engaged upon when Mrs. Cameron proposed her going into the country. Juno, on the contrary, flew into a violent passion to think their first friendly advances should be thus received. Bell laughed immoderately, saying she liked Helen Lennox’s spirit, and wished her brother had chosen her instead of the other, who, she presumed, was a milk and water thing, even if Mrs. Woodhull did extol her so highly. Mrs. Cameron felt the rebuke keenly, wincing under it, and saying “that Helen Lennox must be a very rude, ill-bred girl,” and hoping her son would draw the line of division between his wife and her family so tightly that the sister could never pass over it. She had received the news of her son’s engagement without opposition, for she knew the time for that was past. Wilford would marry Katy Lennox, and she must make the best of it, so she offered no remonstrance, but, when they were alone, she said to him, “Did you tell her? Does she know it all?”
“No, mother,” and the old look of pain came back into Wilford’s face. “I meant to do so, and I actually began, but she stopped me short, saying she did not wish to hear my faults, she would rather find them out herself. Away from her it is very easy to think what I will do, but when the trial comes I find it hard, we have kept it so long; but I shall tell her yet; not till after we are married though, and I have made her love me even more than she does now. She will not mind it then. I shall take her where I first met Genevra, and there I will tell her. Is that right?”
“Yes, if you think so,” Mrs. Cameron replied.
Whatever it was which Wilford had to tell Katy Lennox, it was very evident that he and his mother looked at it differently, he regarding it as a duty he owed to Katy not to conceal from her what might possibly influence her decision, while his mother only wished the secret told in hopes that it would prevent the marriage; but now that Wilford had deferred it till after the marriage, she saw no reason why it need be told at all. At least Wilford could do as he thought best, and she changed the conversation from Genevra to Helen’s letter, which had so upset her plans. That her future daughter-in-law was handsome she did not doubt, but she, of course, had no manner, no style, and as a means of improving her in the latter respect, and making her presentable at the altar and in Boston, she had proposed sending out Ryan; but that project had failed, and Helen Lennox did not stand very high in the Cameron family, though Wilford in his heart felt an increased respect for her independent spirit, notwithstanding that she had thwarted his designs.
“I have another idea,” Mrs. Cameron said to her daughters that afternoon, when talking with them upon the subject. “Wilford tells me Katy and Bell are about the same size and figure, and Ryan shall make up a traveling suit proper for the occasion. Of course there will be no one at the wedding for whom we care, but in Boston, at the Revere, it will be different. Cousin Harvey boards there, and she is very stylish. I saw some elegant grey poplins, of the finest lustre, at Stewart’s yesterday. Suppose we drive down this afternoon.”
This was said to Juno as the more fashionable one of the sisters, but Bell answered quickly, “Poplin, mother, on Katy? It will not become her style, I am sure, though suitable for many. If I am to be fitted, I shall say a word about the fabric. Get a little checked silk, as expensive as you like. It will suit her better than a heavy poplin.”
Perhaps Bell was right, Mrs. Cameron said; they would look at both, and as the result of this looking, two dresses, one of the finest poplin, and one of the softest, richest, plaided silk, were given the next day into Mrs. Ryan’s hands, with injunctions to spare no pains or expense in trimming and making both. And so the dress-making for Katy’s bridal was proceeding in New York, in spite of Helen’s letter; while down in Silverton, at the farm-house, there were numerous consultations as to what was proper and what was not, Helen sometimes almost wishing she had suffered Mrs. Ryan to come. Katy would look well in anything, but Helen knew there were certain styles preferable to others, and in a maze of perplexity she consulted with this and that individual, until all Silverton knew what was projected, each one offering the benefit of her advice until Helen and Katy were nearly distracted. Aunt Betsy suggested a blue delaine and round cape, offering to get it herself, and actually purchasing the material with her own funds, saved from drying apples. That would answer for one dress, Helen said, but not for the wedding; and she was becoming more undecided, when Morris came to the rescue, telling Katy of a young woman who had for some time past been his patient, but who was now nearly well and was anxious to obtain work again. She had evidently seen better days, he said; was very lady-like in her manner, and possessed of a great deal of taste, he imagined; besides that, she had worked in one of the largest shops in New York. “As I am going this afternoon over to North Silverton,” he added, in conclusion, “and shall pass Miss Hazelton’s house, you or Helen might accompany me and see for yourself.”
It was decided that Helen should go, and about four o’clock she found herself ringing at the cottage over whose door hung the sign, “Miss M. Hazelton, Fashionable Dressmaker.” She was at home, and in a few moments Helen was talking with Marian Hazelton, whose face showed signs of recent illness, but was nevertheless very attractive, from its peculiarly sad expression and the soft liquid eyes of dark blue, which looked as if they were not strangers to tears. At twenty she must have been strikingly beautiful; and even now, at thirty, few ladies could have vied with her had she possessed the means for gratifying her taste and studying her style. About the mouth, so perfect in repose, there was when she spoke a singularly sweet smile, which in a measure prepared one for the low, silvery voice, which had a strange note of mournful music in its tone, making Helen start as it asked, “Did you wish to see me?”
“Yes; Dr. Grant told me you could make dresses, and I drove round with him to secure your services, if possible, for my sister, who is soon to be married. We would like it so much if you could go to our house instead of having Katy come here.”
Marian Hazelton was needing work, for there was due more than three months’ board, besides the doctor’s bill, and so, though it was not her custom to go from house to house, she would, in this instance, accommodate Miss Lennox, especially as during her illness her customers had many of them gone elsewhere, and her little shop was nearly broken up. “Was it an elaborate trousseau she was expected to make?” and she bent down to turn over some fashion plates lying upon the table.
“Oh, no! we are plain country people. We cannot afford as much for Katy as we would like; besides, I dare say Mr. Cameron will prefer selecting most of her wardrobe himself, as he is very wealthy and fastidious,” Helen replied, repenting the next instant the part concerning Mr. Cameron’s wealth, as that might look like boasting to Miss Hazelton, whose head was bent lower over the magazine as she said, “Did I understand that the gentleman’s name was Cameron?”
“Yes, Wilford Cameron, from New York,” Helen answered, holding up her skirts and s-s-kt-ing at the kitten which came running toward her, evidently intent upon springing into her lap.
Fear of cats was Helen’s weakness, if weakness it can be called, and in her efforts to frighten her tormentor she did not look again at Miss Hazelton until startled by a gasping cry and heavy fall. Marian had fainted, and Helen was just raising her head from the floor to her lap when Morris appeared, relieving her of her burden, of whom he took charge until she showed signs of life. In her alarm Helen forgot entirely what they were talking about when the faint came on, and her first question put to Marian was, “Were you taken suddenly ill? Why did you faint?”
There was no answer at first; but when she did speak Marian said, “I am still so weak that the least exertion affects me, and I was bending over the table; it will soon pass off.”
If she was so weak she was not able to work, Helen said, proposing that the plan be for the present abandoned, but to this Marian would not listen; and her great eager eyes had in them so scared a look that Helen said no more on that subject, but made arrangements for her coming to them at once. Morris was to leave his patient some medicine, and while he was preparing it, Helen had time to notice her more carefully, admiring her lady-like manners, and thinking her smile the sweetest she had ever seen. Greatly interested in her, Helen plied Morris with questions of Miss Hazelton during their ride home, asking what he knew of her.
“Nothing, except that she came to North Silverton a year ago, opening her shop, and by her faithfulness, and pleasant, obliging manners, winning favor with all who employed her. Previous to her sickness she had a few times attended St. Paul’s at South Silverton, that being the church of her choice. Had Helen never observed her?”
No, Helen had not. And then she spoke of her fainting, telling how sudden it was, and wondering if she was subject to such turns. Marian Hazelton had made a strong impression on Helen’s mind, and she talked of her so much that Katy waited her appearance at the farm-house with feverish anxiety. It was evening when she came, looking very white, and seeming to Helen as if she had changed since she saw her first. In her eyes there was a kind of hopeless, weary expression, while her smile made one almost wish to cry, it was so sad, and yet so strangely sweet. Katy felt its influence at once, growing very confidential with the stranger, who, during the half hour in which they were accidentally left alone, drew from her every particular concerning her intended marriage. Very closely the dark blue eyes scrutinized little Katy, taking in first the faultless beauty of her face, and then going away down into the inmost depths of her character, as if to find out what was there.
“Pure, loving innocent, and unsuspecting,” was Marian Hazelton’s verdict, and she followed wistfully every movement of the young girl as she flitted around the room, chatting as familiarly with the dressmaker as if she were a friend long known instead of an entire stranger.
“You look very young to be married,” Miss Hazelton said to her once, and shaking back her short rings of hair Katy answered, “Eighteen next Fourth of July; but Mr. Cameron is thirty.”
“Is he a widower?” was the next question, which Katy answered with a merry laugh. “Mercy, no! I marry a widower! How funny! I don’t believe he ever cared a fig for anybody but me. I mean to ask him.”
“I would,” and the pale lips shut tightly together, while a resentful gleam shot for a moment across Marian’s face; but it quickly passed away, and her smile was as sweet as ever as she at last bade the family good night and repaired to the little room where Wilford Cameron once had slept.
A long time she stood before the glass, brushing her dark abundant hair, and intently regarding her own features, while in her eyes there was a hard, terrible look, from which Katy Lennox would have shrunk in fear. But that too passed, and the eyes grew soft with tears as she turned away, and falling on her knees moaned sadly, “I never will—no, I never will. God help me to keep the promise. Were it the other one—Helen—I might, for she could bear it; but Katy, that child—no, I never will,” and as the words died on her lips there came struggling up from her heart a prayer for Katy Lennox’s happiness, as fervent and sincere as any which had ever been made for her since she was betrothed.
They grew to liking each other rapidly, Marian and Katy, the latter of whom thought her new friend greatly out of place as a dressmaker, telling her she ought to marry some rich man, calling her Marian altogether, and questioning her very closely of her previous life. But Marian only told her that she was born in London; that she learned her trade on the Isle of Wight, near to the Osborne House, where the royal family sometimes came, and that she had often seen the present Queen, thus trying to divert Katy’s mind from asking what there was besides that apprenticeship to the Misses True on the Isle of Wight. Once indeed she went farther, saying that her friends were dead; that she had come to America in hopes of doing better than she could at home; that she had stayed in New York until her health began to fail, and then had tried what country air would do, coming to North Silverton because a young woman who worked in the same shop was acquainted there, and recommended the place. This was all Katy could learn, and Marian’s heart history, if she had one, was guarded carefully.
They had decided at last upon the wedding dress, which Helen reserved the right to make herself. Miss Hazelton must fit it, of course, but to her belonged the privilege of making it, every stitch; Katy would think more of it if she did it all, she said; but she did not confess how the bending over the dress, both early and late, was the escape-valve for the feeling which otherwise would have found vent in passionate tears. Helen was very wretched during the pleasant May days she usually enjoyed so much, but over which now a dark pall was spread, shutting out all the brightness and leaving only the terrible certainty that Katy was lost to her forever—bright, frolicsome Katy, who, without a shadow on her heart, sported amid the bridal finery, unmindful of the anguish tugging at the hearts of both the patient women, Marian and Helen, who worked on so silently, reserving their tears for the night-time, when Katy was dreaming of Wilford Cameron. Helen was greatly interested in Marian, but never guessed that her feelings, too, were stirred to their very depths as the bridal preparations progressed. She only knew how wretched she was herself, and how hard it was to fight her tears back as she bent over the silk, weaving in with every stitch a part of the clinging love which each day grew stronger for the only sister, who would soon be gone, leaving her alone. Only once did she break entirely down, and that was when the dress was done and Katy tried it on, admiring its effect and having a second glass brought that she might see it behind.
“Isn’t it lovely?” she exclaimed; “and the more valuable because you made it. I shall think of you every time I wear it,” and the impulsive girl wound her arms around Helen’s neck, kissing her lovingly, while Helen sank into a chair and sobbed aloud, “Oh, Katy, darling Katy! you won’t forget me when you are rich and admired, and can have all you want? You will remember us here at home, so sad and lonely? You don’t know how desolate it will be, knowing you are gone, never to come back again, just as you go away.”
In an instant Katy was on her knees before Helen, whom she tried to comfort by telling her she should come back,—come often, too, staying a long while; and that when she had a city home of her own she should live with her for good, and they would be so happy.
“I cannot quite give Wilford up to please you,” she said, when that gigantic sacrifice suggested itself as something which it was possible Helen might require of her; “but I will do anything else, only please don’t cry, darling Nellie—please don’t cry. It spoils all my pleasure,” and Katy’s soft hands wiped away the tears running so fast over her sister’s face.
After that Helen did not cry again in Katy’s presence, but the latter knew she wanted to, and it made her rather sad, particularly when she saw reflected in the faces of the other members of the family the grief she had witnessed in Helen. Even Uncle Ephraim was not as cheerful as usual, and once when Katy came upon him in the wood-shed chamber, where he was shelling corn, she found him resting from his work and looking from the window far off across the hills, with a look which made her guess he was thinking of her, and stealing up beside him she laid her hand upon his wrinkled face, whispering softly, “Poor Uncle Eph, are you sorry, too?”
He knew what she meant, and the aged chin quivered, while a big tear dropped into the tub of corn as he replied. “Yes, Katy-did—very sorry.”
That was all he said, and Katy, after smoothing his silvery hair a moment, kissed his cheek and then stole away, wondering if the love to which she was going was equal to the love of home, which, as the days went by, grew stronger and stronger, enfolding her in a mighty embrace, which could only be severed by bitter tears and fierce heart-pangs, such as death itself sometimes brings. In that household there was, after Katy, no one glad of that marriage except the mother, and she was only glad because of the position it would bring to her daughter. But among them all Morris suffered most, and suffered more because he had to endure in secret, so that no one guessed the pain it was for him to go each day where Katy was, and watch her as she sometimes donned a part of her finery for his benefit, asking him once if he did not wish he were in Wilford’s place, so as to have as pretty a bride as she should make. Then Marian Hazelton glanced up in time to see the expression of his face, a look whose meaning she readily recognized, and when Dr. Grant left the farm-house that day, another than himself knew of his love for Katy, drawing her breath hurriedly as she thought of taking back the words, “I never will,”—of revoking that decision and telling Katy what Wilford Cameron should have told her long before. But the wild wish fled, and Wilford’s secret was safe, while Marian watched Morris Grant with a pitying interest as he came among them, speaking always in the same kind, gentle tone, and trying so hard to enter into Katy’s joy.
“His burden is greater than mine. God help us both,” Marian said, as she resumed her work.
And so amid joy and gladness, silent tears and breaking hearts, the preparations went on until all was done, and only three days remained before the eventful tenth. Marian Hazelton was going home, for she would not stay at the farm-house until all was over, notwithstanding Katy’s entreaties were joined to those of Helen.
“Perhaps she would come to the church,” she said, “though she could not promise;” and her manner was so strange that Katy wondered if she could have offended her, and at last said to her timidly, as she stood with her bonnet on, waiting for Uncle Ephraim, “You are not angry with me for anything, are you?”
“Angry with you!” and Katy never forgot the glitter of the tearful eyes, or their peculiar expression as they turned upon her. “No, oh, no; I could not be angry with you, and yet, Katy Lennox, some in my position would hate you, contrasting your prospects with their own; but I do not; I love you; I bless you, and pray that you may be happy with your husband; honor him, obey him if need be, and above all, never give him the slightest cause to doubt you. You will have admirers, Katy Lennox. In New York others than your husband will speak to you words of flattery, but don’t you listen. Remember what I tell you; and now, again, God bless you.”
She touched her lips to Katy’s forehead, and when they were withdrawn there were great tears there which she had left! Marian’s tears on Katy’s brow; and it was very meet that just before her bridal day Wilford Cameron’s bride should receive such baptism from Marian Hazelton.