 | CHAPTER XXXVI.
ARRIVAL AT WOODLAWN. 'Lena Rivers |  |
36. CHAPTER XXXVI.
ARRIVAL AT WOODLAWN.
It was a warm September night at Woodlawn. The
windows were open, and through the richly-wrought curtains
the balmy air of evening was stealing, mingling its
delicious perfume of flowers without with the odor of
those which drooped from the many costly vases which
adorned the handsome parlors. Lamps were burning,
casting a mellow light over the gorgeous furniture, while
in robes of snowy white the mistress of the mansion flitted
from room to room, a little nervous, a little fidgety, and,
without meaning to be so, a little cross. For more than
two hours she had waited for her husband, delaying the
supper, which the cook, quite as anxious as herself, pronounced
spoiled by the delay.
According to promise, the party from Maple Grove had
remained with his grandmother, she having been
purposely omitted in the invitation. From the first, Mrs.
Graham had decided that Mrs. Nichols should never live
at Woodlawn, and she thought it proper to have it understood
at once. Accordingly, as she was conducting
Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie to 'Lena's room, she casually
remarked, “I've made no provision for Mrs. Nichols, except
as an occasional visitor, for of course she will remain
with her son. She is undoubtedly much attached to your
family, and will be happier there!”
“This 'Lena's!” interrupted Carrie, ere her mother
had time to reply. “It's the very best chamber in the
house—Brussels carpets, marble and rosewood furniture,
damask curtains. Why, she'll hardly know how to act,”
she continued, half unconsciously, as she gazed around the
elegant apartment, which, with one of her unaccountable
freaks, Mrs. Graham had fitted up with the utmost taste.
“Yes, this is 'Lena's,” said Mrs. Graham, complacently.
“Will it compare at all with her chamber at Maple Grove?
I do not wish it to seem inferior!”
“Carrie bit her lip, while her mother very coolly replied,
“Ye-es, on the whole quite as good, perhaps better,
as some of the furniture is new!”
“Have I told you,” continued Mrs. Graham, bent on
tormenting them, “Have I told you that we are to spend
the winter in New Orleans, where 'Lena will of course be
the reigning belle? You ought to be there, dear,” laying
her hand on Carrie's shoulder. “It would be so gratifying
to you to witness the sensation she will create!”
“Spiteful old thing—she tries to insult us,” thought Carrie,
her heart swelling with bitterness toward the ever-hated
'Lena, whose future life seemed so bright and joyous.
The sound of wheels was now heard, and the ladies
been sent to the station at Midway, drove up at a side
door. Carrie's first thought was for Durward, and shading
her eyes with her hand, she looked anxiously out.
But only Mr. Graham alighted, gently lifting out his
daughter, who was still an invalid.
“Mighty careful of her,” thought Mrs. Livingstone, as
in his arms he bore her up the marble steps.
Depositing her in their midst, and placing his arm
around her, he said, turning to his wife, “Lucy, this is my
daughter. Will you receive and love her as such, for my
sake?”
In a moment 'Lena's soft, white hand lay in the fat,
chubby one of Mrs. Graham, who kissed her pale cheek,
calling her “'Lena,” and saying “she was welcome to
Woodlawn.”
Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie now pressed forward, overwhelming
her with caresses, telling her how badly they
had felt at her absence, chiding her for running away,
calling her a naughty puss, and perfectly bewildering her
with their new mode of conduct. Mr. Livingstone's turn
came next, but he neither kissed nor caressed her, for
that was not in keeping with his nature, but very, very
tenderly he looked into her eyes, as he said, “You know,
'Lena, that I am glad—most glad for you.”
Unostentatious as was this greeting, 'Lena felt that
there was more sincerity in it than all that had gone before,
and the tears gushed forth involuntarily. Mentally
styling her, the one “a baby,” and the other “a fool,”
Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie returned to the parlor, while
Mrs. Graham, calling a servant, bade her show 'Lena to
her room.
“Hadn't you better go up and assist your cousin,”
whispered Mrs. Livingstone to Carrie, who forthwith departed,
never before thought it necessary to offer 'Lena. But
she was an heiress, now, fully, yes, more than equal, and
that made a vast difference.
“I came to see if I could render you any service,” she
said, in answer to 'Lena's look of inquiry.
“No I thank you,” returned 'Lena, beginning to get an
inkling of the truth. “You know I'm accustomed to
waiting upon myself, and if I wan't anything, Drusa can
assist me. I've only to change my soiled dress and smooth
my hair,” she continued, as she shook out her long and now
rather rough tresses.
“What handsome hair you've got,” said Carrie, taking
one of the curls in her hand. “I'd forgotten it was so
beautiful. Hasn't it improved during your absence?”
“A course of fever is not usually very beneficial to
one's hair, I believe,” answered 'Lena, as she proceeded
to brush and arrange her wavy locks, which really had
lost some of their luster.
Foiled in her attempt at toadyism, Carrie took another
tack. Looking 'Lena in the face, she said, “What is it?
I can't make it out, but—but somehow you've changed;
you don't look so—so—”
“So well you would say, I suppose,” returned 'Lena,
laughingly, “I've grown thin, but I hope to improve by-and-by.”
Drusa glanced at the two girls as they stood side by
side, and her large eyes sparkled as she thought her young
mistress “a heap the best lookin' now.”
By this time Carrie had thought to ask for Durward.
Instantly 'Lena turned whiter, if possible, than she was
before, and in an unsteady voice she replied, that “she
did not know.”
“Not know!” repeated Carrie, her own countenance
he at that funny, out-of-the-way place, where you were?”
“Yes, but he left before I saw him,” returned 'Lena, her
manner plainly indicating that there was something wrong.
Carrie's spirits rose. There was a chance for her, and
on their way down stairs she laughed and chatted so familiarly,
that 'Lena wondered if it could be the same
haughty girl who had seldom spoken to her except to repulse
or command her. The supper-bell-rang just as they
reached the parlor, and Mr. Graham, taking 'Lena on his
arm, led the way to the dining-room, where the entire silver
tea-set had been brought out, in honor of the occasion.
“Hasn't 'Lena changed, mother?” said Carrie, feeling
hateful, and knowing no better way of showing it. “Hasn't
her sickness changed her?”
“It has made her grow old; that's all the difference I
perceive,” returned Mrs. Livingstone, satisfied that she'd
said the thing which she knew would most annoy herself.
“How old are you, dear,” asked Mrs. Graham, leaning
across the table.
“Eighteen,” was 'Lena's answer, to which Mrs. Graham
replied, “I thought so. Three years younger than
Carrie, I believe.”
“Two, only two,” interrupted Mrs. Livingstone, while
Carrie exclaimed, “Horrors! How old do you take me
to be.”
Adroitly changing the conversation, Mrs. Graham made
no reply, and soon after they rose from the table. Scarcely
had they returned to the parlor, when John Jr. was
announced. “He had,” he said, “got his grandmother to
sleep and put her to bed, and now he had come to pay his
respects to Miss Graham.”
Catching her in his arms, he exclaimed, “Little girl! I'm
as much delighted with your good fortune as I should be
continued, looking about the room.
Mr. Graham replied that he was not there.
“Not here?” repeated John Jr. “What have you done
with him, 'Lena?”
Lifting her eyes, full of tears, to her cousin's face, 'Lena
said, softly, “Please don't talk about it now.”
“There's something wrong,” thought John Jr. “I'll
bet I'll have to shoot that dog yet.”
'Lena longed to pour out her troubles to some one, and
knowing she could confide in John Jr., she soon found an
opportunity of whispering to him, “Come to-morrow, and
I will tell you all about it.”
Between ten and eleven the company departed, Mrs.
Livingstone and Carrie taking a most affectionate leave
of 'Lena, urging her not to fail of coming over the next
day, as they should be expecting her. The ludicrous expression
of John Jr.'s face was a sufficient interpretation
of his thoughts, as whispering aside to 'Lena, he said, “I
can't do it justice if I try!”
The next morning Mr. Graham got out his carriage to
carry 'Lena to Maple Grove, asking his wife to accompany
them. But she excused herself, on the plea of a headache,
and they set off without her. The meeting between 'Lena
and her grandmother was affecting, and Carrie, in order
to sustain the character she had assumed, walked to
the window, to hide her emotions, probably—at least
John Jr. thought so, for with the utmost gravity, he
passed her his silk pocket handkerchief! When the first
transports of her interview with 'Lena were over, Mrs.
Nichols fastened herself upon Mr. Graham, while John
Jr. invited 'Lena to the garden, where he claimed from
her the promised story, which she told him unreservedly.
“Oh, that's nothing, compared with my experience,”
hung in heavy clusters above his head. “That's easily
settled. I'll go after Durward myself, and bring him
back, either dead or alive—the latter if possible, the former
if necessary. So cheer up. I've faith to believe that
you and Durward will be married about the same time
that Nellie and I are. We are engaged—did I tell you?”
Involuntarily 'Lena's eyes wandered in the direction of
the sunny slope and the little grave, as yet but nine
months made.
“I know what you think,” said John Jr. rather testily,
“but hang me if I can help it. Meb was never intended
for me, except by mother. I suppose there is in the world
somebody for whom she was made, but it wasn't I, and
that's the reason she died. I am sorry as anybody, and
every night in my life I think of poor Meb, who loved me
so well, and who met with so poor a return. I've
bought her some grave-stones, though,” he continued, as
if that were an ample atonement for the past.
While they were thus occupied, Mr. Graham was discussing
with Mrs. Nichols the propriety of her removing
to Woodlawn.
“I shan't live long to trouble anybody,” said she, when
asked if she would like to go, “and I'm nothin' without
'Leny.”
So it was arranged that she should go with him, and
when 'Lena returned to the house, she found her grandmother
in her chamber, packing up, preparatory to her
departure.
“We'll have to come agin',” said she, “for I've as much
as two loads.”
“Don't take them,” interposed 'Lena. “You won't
need them, and nothing will harm them here.”
After a little, grandma was persuaded, and her last
keep the dum niggers from her things.”
Habit with Mrs. Nichols was everything. She had
lived at Maple Grove for years, and every niche and corner
of her room she understood. She knew the blacks
and they knew her, and ere she was half-way to Woodlawn,
she began to wish she had not started. Politely,
but coldly, Mrs. Graham received her, saying, “I thought,
perhaps, you would return with them to spend the day!”
laying great emphasis on the last words, as if that, of
course, was to be the limit of her visit. Grandma understood
it, and it strengthened her resolution of not remaining
long.
“Miss Graham don't want to be pestered with me,”
said she to 'Lena, the first time they were alone, “and I
don't mean that she shall be. 'Tilda is used to me, and
she don't mind it now, so I shall go back afore long. You
can come to see me every day, and once in a while I'll
come here.”
That afternoon a heavy rain came on, and Mrs. Graham
remarked to Mrs. Nichols that “she hoped she was
not homesick, as there was every probability of her being
obliged to stay over night!” adding, by way of comfort,
that “she was going to Frankfort the next day to make
purchases for 'Lena, and would take her home.”
Accordingly, the next morning Mrs. Livingstone was
not very agreeably surprised by the return of her mother-in-law,
who, Mrs. Graham said, “was so homesick they
couldn't keep her.”
That night when Mrs. Graham, who was naturally generous,
returned from the city, she left at Maple Grove a
large bundle for grandma, consisting of dresses, aprons,
caps, and the like, which she had purchased as a sort of
peace-offering, or reward, rather, for her having decamped
not live to wear them. Both her mind and body were
greatly impaired, and for two or three years she had been
failing gradually. There was no particular disease, but a
general breaking up of the springs of life, and a few
weeks after 'Lena's arrival at Woodlawn, they made another
grave on the sunny slope, and Mabel no longer
slept alone.
| CHAPTER XXXVI.
ARRIVAL AT WOODLAWN. 'Lena Rivers | |