Читать книгу Wives and Widows; or, The Broken Life - Ann S. Stephens - Страница 6

Table of Contents

The next morning, Miss Olmsly came into my room and helped me arrange my little mementos in a homelike fashion. My work-box was brought forth and placed on the little table provided for it. My pretty writing-desk was unlocked and placed convenient for use. Brackets were ready for the ornaments that had been so dear that I could not leave them behind. From that hour, this room became in fact my home; the old stone farm-house receded into the shadows of the past. I thought of it sometimes sadly, as I thought of the graves where my parents lay. The sight of an old-fashioned damask-rose has still power to bring tears into my eyes, and my heart would thrill if I passed a white clover-patch, years and years after that I left at home had been ploughed out of existence. But after all, the brightest sunshine of my life fell through the latticed windows of my room on the Ridge.

No humming-bird ever loved flowers as I did;—no artist ever gave himself up to the enjoyment of a fine landscape more completely than it was in my nature to do. I have no doubt that the beauty that surrounded me was one great cause of the tranquil happiness which settled upon my whole being as I became accustomed to the place. I loved to spend whole mornings alone on the Ridge, collecting mosses and searching for birds'-nests, which were abundant in the pines and the drooping hemlock boughs. Among Miss Olmsly's old school-books I found one that gave me an elementary knowledge of botany; I did not consider it a dry study, but loved to sit upon a rock carpeted with moss, and look into the fragrant hearts of the wild-flowers, searching out their sweet secrets with a feeling of profound sympathy in their loveliness and in the races to which they belonged. Child as I was, these things satisfied me, and I wanted no other companionship.

Mr. Olmsly's land covered extensive woods beside those on the Ridge. There was nothing likely to harm me anywhere in the grounds, and I was allowed to run wild out of doors wherever I pleased. Thus I made acquaintance with many things beside the flowers; gray squirrels and pretty striped chipmunks, with bushy tails curled over their backs, would sit upon the tree-boughs just over my head and look at me with shy friendliness. Now and then, I saw a rabbit peeping at me through the ferns. These pretty creatures were not afraid, for no sportsman was ever allowed to bring his gun into those woods, and I think they knew how far I was from wishing to harm them.

My mother had been a timid woman, and her love for me always rendered her unduly careful. She had a terror of allowing me out of her sight, and being feeble herself, kept me mostly indoors, where I had learned to content myself in a passionate love of my dolls, that really seemed to me like living creatures capable of loving me as I worshipped them.

But at the Ridge I really did enjoy living companionship. Nature lay all before me, wild as the first creation; or so blended with art that its richest beauties were enhanced threefold. There was also vitality and intelligence in these living creatures that stirred my heart with a strange sympathy.

My dog Fanny sometimes troubled me a little: she would insist upon routing the ground-birds from their nests, and in an effort to become friendly with the rabbits, would send them scampering wildly into the underbrush. I loved Fanny dearly, but it was not pleasant to see my pets driven off by her frolicsome way of making herself agreeable.

One day I had gone farther than usual into the woods, and come out upon the outer verge of Mr. Olmsly's estate. Here the trees grew thin and scattered off into a pasture, where a flock of sheep was grazing; beyond that, some fine meadow sloped down toward the valley, cut in two by the highway, on which a large stone house was visible through the trees growing thickly around it.

A flat rock, half in sunshine, half in shadow, lay hidden in the grass close by the footpath I had been pursuing, and I sat down upon it, somewhat tired from my long walk in the woods. Fanny was with me and sprang with a leap to my side, but kept moving restlessly about, as if she did not quite like the position, or saw something that displeased her.

I had gathered some spotted leaves of the adder's-tongue, with a few of its golden flowers, and had found some lovely specimens of cup-moss on an old stump, which nature was embellishing like a fairy palace, and sat admiring them in the pleasant sunshine, when Fanny gave a sudden yelp, and bounded from the rock, barking furiously.

I dropped the flowers into my lap, half frightened by her sudden outburst; but as she continued wheeling around the rock, darting off and back again, yelping like a fury, I ordered her to be quiet, and fell to arranging my treasures once more.

All at once Fanny ceased barking, but crept close to me, seized upon my dress with her teeth and began to pull backward, almost tearing the fabric. Just then I heard a rustling sound on the rock behind me; forcing my dress from the dog's teeth, I sprang up, and saw quivering upon the moss what seemed to be a dusky shimmer of jewels all in motion. In an instant the glitter left my eyes. I felt myself turning into marble. There, coiled up ready for a spring, its head flattened, its eyes glittering venomously, was a checkered adder preparing to lance out upon me.

I could not move, I could not scream; my strained eyes refused to turn from the reptile, who, quivering with its own poison, seemed to draw me toward him. For my life I could not have moved; my lips seemed frozen—a fearful fascination possessed me utterly. It was broken by the rush of a fragment of rock, under which I saw the reptile writhing fiercely. Then my faculties were unchained, and a shriek broke from my cold lips. I sprang from the rock and was running madly away, when Mr. Lee caught me in his arms, and I shuddered into insensibility there.

When I came to, the crushed adder lay dead upon the rock, from a crevice of which he had crept forth upon me. Fanny was barking furiously around it, and Mr. Lee had carried me to a spring close by, where he was bathing my face with water.

I looked around in terror. "Is it gone? is it dead?" I questioned, shuddering.

He pointed out the adder, which hung supine and dead over the edge of the rock, and attempted to soothe my fears, but I trembled still, and could hardly force myself to take a second look at my dead foe.

How kind Mr. Lee was then; how tenderly he compassionated my terror, and assured me of safety. Fanny, too, forgot her rage, and came leaping around me. Oh, how grateful I was to that man. My heart yearned to say all it felt, but found no language. I could only lift my eyes to him now and then in dumb thankfulness, wondering if he cared that I was so grateful, or dreamed how much a girl of my years could feel.

How foolish all these thoughts were; of course, he only thought of me as a frightened child. From that day I never knelt to God, morning or evening, without asking some blessing on the head of Mr. Lee. Gratitude had deepened my reverence for that man into such worship as only a sensitive child can feel. Yes, worship is the word, for this young man in the grandeur of his fine person, gentle manners, and superior age, seemed as far above me as the clouds of heaven are above the daisies in a meadow. Even now I cannot comprehend the feelings with which I regarded him.

Have I said that Mr. Lee was a partner in the Olmsly Iron Works, and though he boarded in town, half his time was of necessity spent at the Ridge? My guardian only attended to business through him, and expected a report at least twice a week.

Many and many a time, when I knew that he was coming, have I wandered down the carriage-road to the grove where it curved off from the highway, and was closed into our private ground by a gate. There, sheltered by the spruce-trees and hidden by the laurel-bushes, I have waited hours, listening for the tread of his horse, and feeling supremely rewarded by a brief glimpse of his manly figure, as it dashed up the road, unconscious alike of my presence and my worship.

I never mentioned these feelings, or all the secret sources of happiness to which my soul awoke, not even to Miss Olmsly. I would have died rather than breathe them to any human being; they were sacred to me as my prayers. Sometimes I would be days together without speaking to Mr. Lee, but I was seldom out of the sound of his voice when he visited the Ridge, and would follow him and Miss Olmsly like a pet dog about the garden, glad to see her brighten and smile when he looked upon her, and loving them both with my whole heart.

Sometimes other company came from the town. We frequently drove over there and brought Mr. Lee home with us; indeed, he was one of the family in every respect, save that he did not sleep at the Ridge, and called himself a visitor. One thing is very certain—on the days he did not come Miss Olmsly was sure to grow serious, almost sad; only there never was any real sadness at our house in those days.