University of Virginia Library

8. 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:

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 dress-maker
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 stand-point 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 dress-makers
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:

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 anxious to obtain
work again. She had evidently seen better days, he
said; was very ladylike 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; beside, 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 ladylike
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 Hazleton
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 happniess, as fervent and sincere as
any which had ever been made for her since she was betrothed.

They gre 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 Osburne 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 that 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
woodshed 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, on; 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.