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UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 (1)
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University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875[X]
University of Virginia Library, Text collection (1)
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1Author:  Holmes Mary Jane 1825-1907Requires cookie*
 Title:  Edna Browning  
 Published:  2003 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: ROBERT, son of Arthur and Anna Leighton, born April 5th, 18—,” was the record which the old family Bible bore of our hero's birth, parentage, and name, but by his mother and those who knew him best, he was always called Roy, and by that name we introduce him to our readers on a pleasant morning in May, when, wrapped in a heavy shawl, he sat in a corner of a car with a tired, worn look upon his face, and his teeth almost chattering with the cold. “And now, Roy, I want some money,—there's a good fellow. You remember you spoke of my marrying Maude Somerton, and said you'd give me money and stand by me, too. Do it now, Roy, and when mother goes into hysterics and calls Edna that creature, and talks as if she had persuaded me, whereas it was I who persuaded her, say a word for me, won't you? You will like Edna,—and, Roy, I want you to ask us to come home, for a spell, anyway. The fact is, I've romanced a little, and Edna thinks I am heir, or at least joint heir with you, of Leighton Homestead. She don't know I haven't a cent in the world but what comes from you, and I don't want her to. Set me up in business, Roy, and I'll work like a hero. I will, upon my word,—and please send me five hundred at once to the care of John Dana, Chicago. I shall be married and gone before this reaches you, so there's no use for mother to tear her eyes out. Tell her not to. I'm sorry to vex her, for she's been a good mother, and after Edna I love her and you best of all the world. Send the money, do. “I cannot help feeling that if she had known this fact, your unfortunate entanglement would have been prevented. “Oh, Roy, my Charlie is dead,—my Charlie is dead!” “Mr. Robert Leighton: Dear Sir,—Please find inclosed $300 of the $500 you sent to Charlie. “For value received I promise to pay to Robert Leighton, or bearer, the sum of two hundred dollars, with interest at seven per cent per annum, from date. “Perhaps you will get a wrong impression if I do not make some explanation. I did not care one bit for the money I supposed Charlie had, but maybe if I had known he had nothing but what you gave him, I should not have been married so soon. I should have told him to wait till we were older and had something of our own. I am so sorry, and I wish Mrs. Churchill had Charlie back and that I was Edna Browning. I don't want her to hate me, for she is Charlie's mother, and I did love him so much. MRS. CHURCHILL was better, and Georgie was talking again of going to Chicago, and had promised to find Edna and render her any service in her power. Roy had written to Edna at last, but no answer had come to him, and he was beginning to wonder at her silence and to feel a little piqued, when one day early in December Russell brought him a letter mailed in Canandaigua and directed to his mother in a bold, angular handwriting, which stamped the writer as a person of striking originality and strongly marked character. In his mother's weak state it would not do to excite her, and so Roy opened the letter himself and glanced at the signature: “Dear Madam—I've had it on my mind to write to you ever since that terrible disaster by which you were deprived of a son, who was taken to eternity without ever the chance for one last prayer or cry to be saved. Let us hope he had made his prayers beforehand and had no need for them. He had been baptized, I suppose, as I hear you are a church woman, but are you High or Low? Everything to my mind depends upon that. I hold the Low to be purely Evangelical, while the High,—well, I will not harrow up your feelings; what I want to say is, that I do not and never have for a single moment upheld my niece, or rather my great niece, Edna, in what she has done. I took her from charity when her father died, although he was higher than I in his views, and we used to hold many a controversial argument on apostolic succession, for he was a clergyman and my sister's son. His wife, who set up to be a lady and taught music in our select school, died when Edna was born, and I believe went to Heaven, though we never agreed as to the age when children should be confirmed, nor about that word regeneration in the baptismal service. I hold it's a stumbling block and ought to be struck out, while she said I did not understand its import, and confounded it with something else; but that's neither here nor there. Lucy was a good woman and made my nephew a good wife, though she would keep a girl, which I never did. DEAR Sister:—I write in great haste to tell you of little Annie's accident, and that you must come out and see her, if only for a few days. It happened the week after mother died. Her foot must have slipped, or hit on something, and she fell from the top of the stairs to tbe bottom, and hurt her back or hip; I hardly think the doctor knew which, or in fact what to do for her. She cannot walk a step, and lies all day in bed, or sits in her chair, with no other company than old Aunt Luna, who is faithful and kind. But Annie wants you and talks of you all the time, and last night, when I got home from the store, she told me she had written to you, and gave me this bit of paper, which I inclose. “Dear sister Gorgy,” the note began, “mother is dead and I've hurted my back and have to ly all day stil, and it do ake so hard, and I'me so streemly lonesome, and want to see my sweet, pretty sister so much. I ask Jack if you will come and he don't b'leeve you will, and then I 'members my mother say, ask Jesus if you want anything, and I does ask him and tell him my back akes, and mother's gone to live with him. And I want to see you, and won't he send you to me for Christ's sake, amen. And I know he will. Come, Gorgy, pleas, and bring me some choklets. “There has been a railroad accident, and your niece Edna's husband was killed. They were married yesterday morning in Buffalo. “Philip Overton:—I dare say you think me as mean as pussley, and that I kept that money Edna sent for my own, but I assure you, sir, I didn't. I put every dollar in the bank for her, and added another hundred besides. “Miss Jerusha Pepper:—Well done, good and faithful servant. Many daughters have done well, but you excel them all. Three cheers and a tiger for you. “I'd so much rather you would not,” he wrote; “I do not need the money, and it pains me to think of my little sister working so hard, and wearing out her young life, which should be happy, and free from care. Don't do it, Edna, please; and I so much wish you would let me know where you are, so that I might come and see you, and sometime, perhaps, bring you to Leighton, where your home ought to be. Write to me, won't you, and tell me more of yourself, and believe me always, “`Philip Overton, forward the enclosed to Edna, and oblige, Jerusha Amanda Pepper.' “According to orders, I send this to your Uncle Philip, and s'pose you'll answer through the same channel and tell if you'll come home about your business, and teach school for sixteen dollars a month, and I board you for the chores you'll do night and morning. “Don't for goodness' sake come here again on that business, and do let Edna alone. She nor no other woman is worth the powder you are wasting on her. If she don't answer your letter, and tell you she's in the seventh heaven because of your engagement, it's pretty likely she ain't thrown off her balance with joy by it. She didn't fancy that woman with a boy's name none too well when she saw her in Iona, and if I may speak the truth, as I shall, if I speak at 13* all, it was what she overheard that person say to her brother about you and your mother's opinion of poor girls like her, that kept her from going to Leighton with the body, and it's no ways likely she'll ever go now, so long as the thing with the boy's name is there as mistress. So just let her alone and it will work itself out. Anyway, don't bother me with so many letters, when I've as much as I can do with my house-cleaning, and making over comforters, and running sausages. “If you wish to avoid exposure, meet me to-night at twelve o'clock in the woodbine arbor at the foot of the garden. I have no desire to harm you, or spoil the fun to-morrow, but money I must have, so bring whatever you have about you, or if your purse chances to be empty, bring jewelry. I saw you with some superb diamonds on one night at the opera last winter. Don't go into hysterics. You've nothing to fear from me if you come down generous and do the fair thing. I reckon you are free from me, as I've been gone more than seven years. “Don't be a fool, but come. I rather want to see if you look as bad as I do.
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