| | 1 | Author: | Holmes
Mary Jane
1825-1907 | Requires 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. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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