Part 56 (1/2)
”My care is like my shadow in the sun, Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it; Stands and lies by me, does what I have done, This too familiar care does make me rue it.”
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Late breakfast, long lingering at the table, delay in ordering the horses, lengthened adieux, all combined to r.e.t.a.r.d our starting for home on the following morning. I had stood ready on the piazza, waiting for the others to come out, for fifteen minutes; every new delay increased unbearingly my nervousness. ”Spare that innocent vine,” said Phil, arresting my riding-whip. ”You have beaten that cl.u.s.ter of roses to fragments.”
”Will they never come!” I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. ”It is so tiresome to wait for all those adieux. Can't we start?”
”Certainly,” said he, signalling the man who held our horses. ”We can ride forward; they will soon overtake us, and McGuffy can accompany the carriage as far as the cross-road. He is going to Brandon, I believe, this morning.”
I stepped back. ”After all, it would hardly be polite to go, as he was of the riding party. There they come from the greenhouse. They must be ready now.”
At last, we were mounted, and our companions arranged for the drive, our last good byes said; but the understanding was, as we parted, that the whole party of Masons and Emersons should adjourn to Rutledge for the evening, where a grand finale, in the shape of a supper and a dance, should wind up the festivities of the season. The pretty Janet whispered, as I went down from the saddle to exchange a parting word with her, ”I have not given up the visit yet, Papa promises to take Mrs. Churchill by storm this evening, and you must consent.”
As we rode along, I gave a sigh to the impossibility of this; nothing could give me pleasure now, but this seemed more like it than anything else. To be quietly with Janet, and to learn to love her, and to unlearn the terrible lesson of the last few weeks, looked almost like peace. But I knew too well what my aunt's answer would be, as she was to be appealed to, and without throwing off the mask of deference that I still preserved and wished to preserve, I could not resist her decision. I well knew the programme sketched out for me, for the rest of the summer: in the thrice empty dreariness of Gramercy Park I was to be immured, while the others whiled away the pleasant weeks at Newport and Nahant.
The Wynkars, Capt. McGuffy and Phil had consented to make their plans agree with the Churchills, and Mr. Rutledge had promised to join them in the course of a fortnight. He had made his arrangements to leave home on the same day that we did, and accompany us part of the way; business in the western part of the State would occupy him for some ten days; but, at the end of that time, he proposed rejoining the party at Newport.
Nothing had been said to me about my plans, but I knew from something that escaped inadvertently, that the subject had been canva.s.sed, and it had been decided that the income allowed me would not warrant such an expense, and that, with Frances, I was to be dropped at home, while mamma's maid should serve also for Josephine and Grace for the remainder of the summer. I should have loathed the gaiety of Newport, the crowd and the excitement would have been insupportable to me; but the prospect of being smothered in that silent, dark house in the hot city, hateful with memories of my recent illness, and with trials that I could never forget, was even harder to antic.i.p.ate. But I had to submit. What a future for seventeen.
”Wait till December,” whispered Hope, just stirring his wounded, drooping wings, just trembling with a faint life that for days had seemed extinct. ”Yes,” I thought, with a bitter sigh, ”in December I shall be of age, it will be a glorious thing to be my own mistress! To begin the world when I've lost all interest in it--to do as I please when there's nothing on earth that pleases me--to be free from restraint and authority, and from all human love and care! To be _independent!_ G.o.d help me! What a glorious thing it will be. All hope points to December!”
But my release, such as it was, was nearer than December. I might have spared myself the hateful antic.i.p.ations with which I blackened the fresh summer morning. I had not seen any further into futurity than the rest of the human family, who fret about their fate and look whole years ahead, and put the misery of a lifetime into the present, and torture themselves about what they know is, and fear is to be, till the flood of G.o.d's judgment comes and sweeps all away, and leaves them bewildered in the midst of a strange desolation and a new terror.
”Phil,” said Capt. McGuffy, as we rode slowly along through the loveliest, freshest country, washed by last night's rain; and gleaming in the morning sun--of which I had not seen one beauty, in my absorbing anxiety--”Phil, may I trust this young lady to you, if I leave you at the cross-road? I want to ride over to Brandon for half an hour before dinner.”
”Oh, Captain McGuffy!” I exclaimed, startled out of future fears by present dangers, ”why do you take that tiresome ride this morning? It will be sunny and disagreeable before you get back to Rutledge; wait till after dinner.”
The captain still leaned to the idea of accomplis.h.i.+ng it all ”under one head,” and having the rest of the day at home I didn't dare to press the subject, but seeing my only chance lay in engrossing their attention to the exclusion from their memories of the Brandon project, I worked faithfully to accomplish my design, and succeeded in a great measure.
Before we had gone another half mile, I had enticed the captain into the enthusiastic description of a bull-baiting in Mexico, at which Phil and he had ”a.s.sisted,” and into the recollection of which they both seemed to enter with great ardor. We were on the top of Ridgway Hill--the road for a good mile stretched away at its foot, while on the left, branched off the Brandon turnpike.
”Heaven send they may forget it!” I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, bending forward to renew my questions about the bull-baiting. The carriages were coming close behind--the bull-fight soon began to flag.
”Phil,” began the captain again.
”Capt. McGuffy,” I cried, ”Madge is fairly beside herself this morning, I can hardly hold her; we have been creeping all the way from the Grove, what do you say to a race, a bona fide race, and I'll ask no favor. It's a clear road from here to Rutledge, and he's the best fellow who clears the park gate first!”
”Done!” cried the captain, catching fire from my eyes; and before another minute, we were off on the maddest race I ever ran or hope to run. For a while, the three straining beasts were nearly neck and neck, the three dilated nostrils and fiery eyes were nearly on a line; then gradually, very gradually, Madge's black head gained an inch or so upon them, an inch or so, and then we were a foot in advance. Phil drove the spurs into his horse--he sprang forward, but soon fell back again--the captain urged Vagabond on with lash and oath; I did not move the loosened bridle on Madge's neck--steady and unswerving she kept the road, each spring as even and as sure as if measured and done by rule--no relaxing of the eager neck--no gasping in the even breath. I only saw, with a heartfelt sigh of relief, that the Brandon turnpike lay unnoticed far behind us, and Madge might take us where she liked: but when I dashed through the park gate, half a dozen yards in advance of Phil, and the captain in a fury with Vagabond, perfectly blown, quarter of a mile in the rear, I was quite helpless and weak from excitement.
”I don't know which to be proudest of, the young lady or the mare,” said Stephen, as he lifted me down. ”I wouldn't have missed seeing you come in for considerable money.”
I hurried into the house and upstairs, leaving Phil to make all explanations and apologies: Kitty had seen me, and followed close behind me.
”Well?” I asked, breathlessly, as she closed the door.
”Nothing, Miss, nothing has happened. Do lie down and rest; you look fit to drop.”
”But he is well? What did he say--has nothing happened?”
”Nothing has happened. I only saw him for a moment yesterday. Mrs.
Roberts kept me close at marking linen all the rest of the day and evening; and this morning I had only a few moments to speak to him when I went in, for her door was open a crack, and I didn't dare to stay: you look so tired--won't you let me undress you?”