 | Clovernook, or, Recollections of our
neighborhood in the West |  |
THE STRANGE GARRET.
“Let me see—it is now twelve or thirteen years since Mr.
Harmstead first came to our neighborhood—I remember well
the first time I ever saw him. We were coming from school,
Rebecca and I, and barefooted rustics we were, when he overtook
us, and, adopting what he supposed to be western manners,
I suspect, began talking with us: first of our master, then of
the village, its scenery, and the character of the people about
us. I had never seen any one before who was so well bred, so
refined, so gentlmanly as he; and I remember well how mortified
I was for our bare feet, and our rustic appearance altogether.
Even what I knew, I could not say half so well as
though I had been talking with Mr. Hill or Uncle Dale, whom
I had always known. In short, my idea of perfection was
realized, when I saw him.
“Sometimes I saw him passing afterward, and sometimes
when going to or returning from the village, for he was always
busy overseeing his workmen, and it required a good many to
transform Mr. Hinton's brier-smothered farm into Willow Dale.
He had always a smile and a kind word when near enough
to speak. Sometimes we saw Mrs. Harmstead, a pale delicate
looking woman, but she never smiled or seemed to notice us in
any way. She was rather a pretty woman, but in declining
health, when I first knew her, or rather when first I saw her. Her
dress was of some dark material; and as she walked about the
yard and garden, she was always enveloped in a crimson shawl.
She had been, as rumor said, an heiress, yet through failure of
some speculations her husband had lost not only his own
estate but the greater part of hers; and their removal to our
loss of wealth involved also the loss of position in their native
city.
“And, in our little democracy, you know, more than now,
they were thought very great people at the time of their coming
among us. Many persons indeed thought it well enough
to be on terms of friendship with the nursery girls, and through
them to obtain occasional glimpses into the drawing-room, or
to purloin the fashion of Mrs. Harmstead's caps and wrappers.
Others only ventured a timid rap on the kitchen door—
placing themselves on terms of social equality with the lower
servants for the sake of saying they had called at Mr.
Harmstead's.
“There were some few rich or stylish families about here at
that time, but they were exceptions—not enough to redeem
the general character of the society, which was in truth, sufficiently
uncultivated; and it is no great marvel that Mrs. Harmstead
thought us little better than barbarians. I think, however,
I may claim for our village even at that time a semi-civilization;
but she could not or would not place herself on a level
with her neighbors, with any sort of grace; and though she
sometimes tried to be cordial, it amounted to nothing more
than affability, implying always something of condescension.
The obtuse perceptions of most of her visitors—and for their
own happiness this obtuseness was no misfortune—prevented
their apprehension of things, so that tea-drinking with the fine
lady was of frequent, and on one side at least, of happy
occurrence.
“ `What a charming person Mrs. Harmstead is,' said one and
another, `you don't know how much you lose in not making
her acquaintance;' but notwithstanding their entreaties, we
were not prevailed upon to call, close neighbors as we were.
My mother, who was as decided in her ways of thinking as
Mrs. Harmstead was in hers, could not conceive of the possibility
of there being any oneness of feeling between city bred
people and plain farmer folks, unmindful that human nature
knows no barriers, and that however different our circles of
thought, there are always points that will touch. I was young
the amenities of educated manners, should fail to see through
the husk of awkward rusticity that enveloped my intellect—
any intellect at all. How could she separate me from the class
to which by birth and education and manner I belonged when
I had given and could give no evidence of superiority; indeed,
there was no mechanic's daughter nor a milk-maid in the neighborhood
whose advantages and opportunities were not greatly
above mine; and yet even I can scarcely lay my forgiveness
on the grave of the innocent offender.
“I think, now, she must have been a kind and really obliging
woman. When Rebecca was sick, she came, without ceremony,
bringing her many little delicacies, and showing her gentle
attentions, for which I fear she received less gratitude than she
merited. She brought some conserve of roses once, I remember,
and it was remarked by some of our folks, that she doubtless
wished to exhibit her silver cup. I mention this, to show
you how every thing which came within the range of luxury
was regarded. These little attentions of Mrs. Harmstead quite
won my love, and but for one untoward circumstance we might
have been friends. When Rebecca was gone, I cannot tell you
how lonely I was, my life had become a blank, and I never
prayed so earnestly as I did when the clods rattled heavily
down on her coffin. We had been always together, and now
there was no sympathy for me in the world. Henceforward, I
must go to school alone, sleep alone, be alone everywhere.
My new dress and bonnet and slippers were first worn at her
funeral, and I had no pleasure in them.
“One night, as I was returning from school, Mr. Harmstead
overtook me; he was alone in his carriage, and asked me to
ride. My new slippers had not been obtained to wear, of
course, and my feet looked red and cold, for the frosts were
come; and Mr. Harmstead, greatly to my mortification, told
me I must be more careful of my health, and not neglect to
wear my shoes any more. Ah me! it was not my fault that
I did not wear my shoes. He talked to me very kindly, and
when we reached the graveyard, and I said `Let me get out here,'
for I had never gone by without stopping, he seemed to feel
saw the high-heapt grave, the tears would not stay back, and
reining in his horse, he lifted me out, and opening the gate
for me, said, `Don't stay long, and don't cry, my dear little
girl.'
“I think he was really interested by what he knew of my
deep sorrow, and that his wife at least pitied me. A day or
two after this, she came to our house and asked for me. I
trembled as I presented myself: no man nor woman had proffered
a similar request before. A half-dozen young ladies were
to take tea with her in a day or two, and she wished me to be
of the number; no doubt the little party was made with special
reference to me. I was still half a child, and had always been
regarded as quite one. I knew neither how to decline nor
accept her invitation, and stammered something to the effect,
that I should like to come if I could; and Mrs. Harmstead left
me, saying, she was sure I could come, and she would confidently
expect me. The young women, she had asked to her
house were noisy, confident, and ill-bred persons, whom I but
slightly knew and liked not at all; nevertheless I felt that her
intentions were kindly, and that I should so consider them; but
I received no encouragement about going, and when the day came
round, and I said, `What shall I wear, mother?' she answered,
`Wear where, my child?' as though she had no thought of my
going any where; and when I explained, she added, `If you are
going into fashionable society, I have nothing to say, except
that I think you will make but a poor show there.' I had cried
for an hour, passed another in wishing myself out of the world
and was just tying on my sun-bonnet to go out to Rebecca's
grave, when I was told that Mr. Harmstead was come for me,
and that I could go if I wished.
“Drying my tears as well as I could, I made myself ready.
The arts of the toilette I understood but imperfectly, as you
may conceive, but if I had been an adept it would have been
all the same, for my limited wardrobe admitted of no variation.
Before descending, I surveyed myself in the little broken glass
that hung on one side of my chamber, and even with no contrasts
at hand unfavorable to myself, was but ill satisfied.
in that transition period most awkward of all—my hands and
feet overgrown and distorted with toil and exposure, the wide
hands converting the glove's length into breadth, and leaving
the upper portion uncovered, and the feet, unaccustomed to
such confinement, quite over-running the delicate slippers I had
brought from town.”
“Oh, Ellie, do show yourself some mercy!” exclaimed Zoe,
changing her position uneasily; but the elder sister was in no
mood to spare herself, and without making any reply, continued—
“Constant and careless exposure had ruined my complexion,
never fair, and my dress was as ill-selected and ill-made as
you can imagine. On this occasion, I wore a coarse cotton
fabric of flashing colors, and without cape, collar or ribbon to
relieve it. But my bonnet I looked to as the redeeming
feature; it had cost enough to have made my whole dress, in
elegant simplicity, yet it was a great deal too large for me, a
great deal too stylish for me, and its purple ribbons and flowers
did not suit the olive tint of my face. The traces of
tears were still distinctly visible, and a bitter consciousness of
all this restrained every word and action; still, I tried to smile,
hoping Mr. Harmstead would not see me as I saw myself.
“I do not flatter myself now that he did not. He had made
no effort with a view to his appearance, but his black gloves
and gracefully fitting gray sack rendered him unlike the farmers
I was accustomed to see. The day was pleasant, and he did all
in his power for my enjoyment. Almost any one else would
have been pleased and flattered, but I was neither. On arrival
at his house the little self-possession I set out with nearly
deserted me—partly that a black boy took charge of the horse,
and partly that Mr. Harmstead conducted me, as politely as
though I were some great lady, toward the piazza where Mrs.
Harmstead was waiting to receive me, gaily mantled in silks
and furs.
“The girls were already assembled—every one in holiday
attire, and seemingly in the pleasantest spirits imaginable. I
felt none of their happiness, and could not join in their sprightly
of with them. And yet I appeared no better than they; I could
not talk so well; and what right had I to think of being singled
from them? None, certainly. This I knew, but it only added
to my vexation. I was annoyed at being there at all, and angry
with myself that the thought and feeling which were in me
were so completely hidden by my rusticity. I might have
done well enough if I had acted naturally, and spoken simply
of the things I knew; but supposing I had a great part to perform
I went through a course of acting which was foreign to
me—adopting stately silence for the most part, and speaking in
high-sounding phrases, which neither my habits nor education
warranted. I had conceived the notion, common enough to
ignorance, that in the better circles of society every thing was
done and said by rule and measurement.
“Mr. Harmstead, after jesting for a time with the girls, threw
aside his coat, like a native countryman, and went out to some
rural employment, and Mrs. Harmstead played the humble
hostess to admiration. She talked familiarly of the making of
custards and puddings; the times and methods of gardening;
the best systems of household economy; and many other
things which she never practiced and never expected to practice.
I think, however, she was resolved to make the best of
circumstances, and in fact did attempt cheese and butter making,
as well as placing herself on a level with her neighbors. On
this memorable occasion she mingled with children and nursery
girls and kitchen girls and ill-bred women, as though our
being born free and equal were the highest and most unquestioned
truth of her creed.
“Apples and cider and nuts were given us in true country
style, with the exception of the silver service. The young
ladies who thought they were conferring as much pleasure as
they received, and failed to see how much that was so pleasing
to them was assumed merely for effect, felt so entirely at home
presently as to criticise the carpet, curtains, busts, and other
furniture within their observation, with a freedom and coolness
quite interesting. It had not been thought necessary to open
the parlor for our accommodation, and an apartment, used
of the little party.
“The cloth was laid betimes, that we might have the twilight
for homeward walks, and some of the girls who were most
expert and at ease, assisted in arranging the table, and even
kindly lightened the labors of the cook. In short, all was going
merry as was possible, when the sudden rattle of carriage
wheels before the door, in the gravel-way, caused a new sensation.
A glimpse sufficed to show that the newly-arrived guests
were not spirits of our order. For myself, I had a confused
vision of silks and furs, and plumes and ribbons, and black
broadcloth and gay shawls, and then a more dread consciousness
of my red calico and white cotton hose, before the parlor
received them. Mrs. Harmstead found her situation embarrassing,
very evidently. With both orders she could have
done well enough on separate occasions, but they would no more
mingle than oil and water.
“Mr. Harmstead came in and put on his coat, saying, laughingly,
as he passed into the parlor, “How blest you are who
have no city friends to bore you; but I must submit with as
good a grace as possible.” So he bowed himself out and in.
She, to her guests, said her nurse-girls and the children were
having a little jubilee, which in accordance with the habits of
the country must now and then engage her a moment; and
thus continued to give us a little of her society. We should
have our tea first, she said familiarly: her other friends would
want little but bread and milk; and so the nursery maids and
kitchen girls and children and country girls sat down together,
Mrs. Harmstead doing part of the honors and consigning a
part to the upper domestic.
“After tea it was evidently expected that the little party
would disperse; but for some cause I was invited to remain—
perhaps that I had farther to go than the rest. At any rate, I
was asked to stay, and did stay; for feeling that I had not
made the impression I wished, I was glad of an extended opportunity
to retrieve myself. I need not say how miserably I
failed. In the midst of a company of fashionable and educated
people, I appeared shockingly out of place: my dress
had never felt so ungainly, so embarrassed, or such utter detestation
of myself and the whole world. Their discourse was
chiefly of some new discovery in science, and for all I knew of
it they might as well have talked in Greek. No one however
paid any attention to me, except to look at me sometimes, as
I tried to shrink from observation, in a way that seemed to
question, How on earth did you chance to be here? One of
the gentlemen, indeed, asked me whether I had ever been in
the city, and if I best loved milk or cider; and sometimes Mr.
Harmstead spoke to me aside, as it were, and of matters familiar
to me, such as whether we kept a large dairy, whether I
knew how to sew, and whether I liked best to work or to play.
“I cannot tell all my humiliation and mortification. I wished
I was in the barn, in the woods, in the depths of the sea—anywhere
except there; but how should I get out of the room?
I could not, and so remained until the company withdrew to the
piazza, to witness some wonderful feat of Master Harry Harmstead's
dog. Now is my time, I thought, and seizing my fine
bonnet, I made my escape through a side-door; but as the gate
closed behind me I heard some one call, `Miss Hadly! Miss
Hadly!' I quickened my pace, however, and did not look
back. In a moment Mr. Harmstead was at my side, urging the
impropriety of my walking home alone, and requesting that he
might be permitted either to go himself or to send Cæsar with
me.
“My eyes were full of tears and my voice trembling, as I
declined his civilities, and through the gathering darkness, and
under the storm which had commenced falling, I walked home
alone.
“You may smile, but the sufferings of that day were terrible,
and I have not since crossed Mr. Harmstead's threshold—not
even for the funeral of Mrs. Harmstead or little Harry; and
when you spoke of a bright dress, and proposed to call there,
I was reminded but too sensibly of all these little incidents.”
The rain had long ceased to beat against the windows; the
clouds were flying wildly along the sky, their torn edges glittering
with moonlight, and the cutting wind came sharply from
the polite note in the fire, Zoe lighted the night lamp in silence,
and the two sisters retired to their chamber—neither speaking—
both thinking bitterly of the past, hopelessly of the future.
Little thought Ellie, as she mused in the darkness, that neither
the plummet of joy or sorrow had as yet sounded the depths of
her heart. Little thought she that her hitherto clear vision
could so easily be obscured.
| Clovernook, or, Recollections of our
neighborhood in the West | |