University of Virginia Library

39. CHAPTER XXXIX.
WHAT FOLLOWED.

WHEN Wilford left Katy so abruptly he had no
definite purpose in his mind. He was very sore
with the remembrance of all that had passed
since baby's death, and very angry at his wife,
who he believed preferred another to himself, or who
would have done so had she known in time what she did
now. Like most angry people, he forgot wherein he had
been in fault, but charged it all to Katy as he went down
Broadway that spring morning, finding on his table a
letter from an old classmate, who was then in Washington
getting up a company, and who wrote urging his friend to
join him at once, and offering him the rank of First
Lieutenant. Here was a temptation,—here an opportunity
to revenge himself on Katy, against whom he wrote
a sad list of errors, making it sadder by brooding over
and magnifying it until he reached a point from which
he would not swerve.

“I shall do it,” he said, and his lips were pressed firmly
together, as in his private office he sat revolving the past,
and then turning to the future, opening so darkly before
him, and making him shudder as he thought of what it
might bring. “I will spare Katy as much as possible,”
he said, “for hers is a different nature from Genevra's.
She cannot bear as well,” and a bitter groan broke the

silence of the room as Katy came up before him just as
she had looked that very morning standing by the window,
with tears in her eyes, and a wistful, sorry look on
her white face.

But Wilford was not one to retract when a decision
was reached, and so he arranged his business matters as
well as his limited time would allow; then, after the brief
note to his father, wrote the letter to Katy, and then followed
to the Jersey ferry a regiment of soldiers who
were going on to Washington that night. Four days
more and Lieutenant Wilford Cameron, with no regret
as yet for the past, marched away to swell the ranks of
men who, led by General McClellan, were pressing on,
as they believed, to Richmond and victory. A week of
terrible suspense went by, and then there came a letter
to Mr. Cameron from his son, requesting him to care for
Katy, but asking no forgiveness for himself. There were
no apologies, no explanations, no kind words for Katy,
whose eyes moved slowly over the short letter, and then
were lifted sadly to her father's face as she said,

“I will write to him myself, and on his answer will
depend my future course.”

This she said referring to the question she had raised
as to whether she should remain in New York or go to
Silverton, where the family as yet knew nothing except
that Wilford had joined the army. And so the days
went by, while Katy's letter was sent to Wilford, together
with another from his father, who called his son a “confounded
fool,” telling him to throw up his shoulder
straps, which only honest men had a right to wear, and
come home where he belonged.

To this there came an indignant answer, bidding the
father attend to his own business, and allow the son to
attend to his. To Katy, however, Wilford wrote in a
different strain, showing here and there marks of tenderness
and relenting, but saying what he had done could
not now be helped,—he was in for a soldier's life for two
years, and should abide his choice.

This was the purport of Wilford's letter, and Katy,
when she finished reading it, said sorrowfully,

“Wilford never loved me, and I cannot stay in his
home, knowing that I am not trusted and respected as a

wife should be. I will go to Silverton. There is room
for me there.

Meanwhile at Silverton there was much anxiety for
Katy, and many doubts expressed lest something was
wrong. That Wilford should go away so suddenly, when
he had never been noted for any very great amount of
patriotism, seemed strange, and Uncle Ephraim at last
made up his mind to the herculean task of going to New
York to see what was the matter.

Presuming upon her experience as a traveler, Aunt
Betsy had proffered sundry pieces of advice with reference
to what it was best for him to do on the road, telling
him which side of the car to sit, where to get out,
and above all things not to shake hands with the conductor
when asked for his ticket.

Uncle Ephraim heard her good-humoredly, and stuffing
into his pocket the paper of ginger-snaps, fried cakes
and cheese, which Aunt Hannah had prepared for his
lunch, he started for the cars, and was soon on his way
to New York.

In his case there was no Bob Reynolds to offer aid
and comfort, and the old man was nearly torn in pieces
by the hackmen, who, the moment he appeared to view,
pounced upon him as lawful prey, each claiming the
honor of taking him wherever he wished to go, and raising
such a din about his ears that he turned away
thoroughly disgusted, telling them—

“He had feet and legs, and common sense, and he
guessed he could find his way without 'em. “Bleeged to
you, gentlemen, but I don't need you,” and with a profound
bow the honest-looking old deacon walked away,
asking the first man he met the way to Madison Square,
and succeeding in finding the number without difficulty.

With a scream of joy Katy threw herself into Uncle
Ephraim's arms, and then led him to her own room,
while the first tears she had shed since she knew she was
deserted rained in torrents over her face.

“What is it, Katy-did? I mistrusted something was
wrong. What has happened?” Uncle Ephraim asked;
and with his arm around her, Katy told him what had
happened, and asked what she should do.

“Do?” the old man repeated. “Go home with me to

your own folks until he comes from the wars. He is
your husband, and I shall say nothing agin him; but if it
was to go over I would forbid the banns. That chap has
misused you the wust way. You need not deny it, for
it's writ all over your face,” he continued, as Katy tried
to stop him, for sore as was her heart with the great injustice
done her, she would not have Wilford blamed, and
she was glad when dinner was announced, as that would
put an end to the painful conversation.

Leading Uncle Ephraim to the table, she presented him
to Juno, whose cold nod and haughty stare were lost on
the old man, bowing his white head so reverently as he
asked the first blessing which had ever been asked at
that table.

It had not been a house of prayer—no altar had been
erected for the morning and evening sacrifice. God had
almost been forgotten, and now He was pouring His wrath
upon the handsome dwelling, making it so distasteful that
Katy was anxious to leave it, and expressed her desire to
accompany Uncle Ephraim to Silverton as soon as the
necessary arrangements could be made.

“I don't take it she comes for good,” Uncle Ephraim said
that evening, when Mr. Cameron opposed her going.
When the two years are gone, and her man wants her back,
she must come of course. But she grows poor here in the
city. It don't agree with her like the scent of the clover
and the breeze from the hils. So, shet up the house for
a spell, and let the child come with me.”

Mr. Cameron knew that Katy would be happier at Silverton,
and he finally consented to her going, and placed
at her disposal a sum which seemed to the deacon a little
fortune in itself.

To Mrs. Cameron and Juno it was a relief to have Katy
taken from their hands, and though they made a show of
opposition, they were easily quieted, and helped her off
with alacrity, the mother promising to see that the house
was properly cared for, and Juno offering to send the
latest fashions which might be suitable, as soon as they appeared.
Bell was heartily sorry to part with the young
sister, who seemed going from her forever.

“I know you will never come back. Something tells me
so,” she said, as she stood with her arms around Katy's

waist, and her lips occasionally touching Katy's forehead.
“But I shall see you,” she continued; “I am coming to
the farm-house in the summer, and you may say to Aunt
Betsy that I like her ever so much, and”—Bell glanced behind
her, to see that no one was listening, and then continued—“tell
her a certain officer was sick a few days in a
hospital last winter, and one of his men brought to him
a dish of the most delicious dried peaches he ever ate.
That man was from Silverton, and the fruit was sent
to him, he said, in a salt bag, by a nice old lady, for whose
brother he used to work. Just to think that the peaches
I helped to pare, coloring my hands so that the stain did
not come off in a month, should have gone so straight to
Bob!” and Bell's fine features shone with a light which
would have told Bob Reynolds he was beloved, if the lips
did refuse to confess it.

“I'll tell her,” Katy said, and then bidding them all
good-bye, and putting her hand on Uncle Ephraim's arm,
she went with him from the home where she had lived
but two years, and those the saddest, most eventful ones
of her short life.