“Only did my duty. If that torment had lasted much longer I might have been as bad as poor Barry and the boatswain. Wasn’t that an awful night?” And Emil shuddered as he recalled it.
“Don’t think of it, dear. Tell about the happy days on the Urania, when papa grew better and we were all safe and homeward bound,” said Mary, with the trusting look and comforting touch which seemed to banish the dark and recall the bright side of that terrible experience.
Emil cheered up at once, and sitting with his arm about his “dear lass”, in true sailor fashion told the happy ending of the tale.
“Such a jolly old time as we had at Hamburg! Uncle Hermann couldn’t do enough for the captain, and while mamma took care of him, Mary looked after me. I had to go into dock for repairs; fire hurt my eyes, and watching for a sail and want of sleep made ’em as hazy as a London fog. She was pilot and brought me in all right, you see, only I couldn’t part company, so she came aboard as first mate, and I’m bound straight for glory now.”
“Hush! that’s silly, dear,” whispered Mary, trying in her turn to stop him, with English shyness about tender topics. But he took the soft hand in his, and proudly surveying the one ring it wore, went on with the air of an admiral aboard his flagship.
“The captain proposed waiting a spell; but I told him we weren’t like to see any rougher weather than we’d pulled through together, and if we didn’t know one another after such a year as this, we never should. I was sure I shouldn’t be worth my pay without this hand on the wheel; so I had my way, and my brave little woman has shipped for the long voyage. God bless her!”
“Shall you really sail with him?” asked Daisy, admiring her courage, but shrinking with cat-like horror from the water.
“I’m not afraid,” answered Mary, with a loyal smile.
“I’ve proved my captain in fair weather and in foul, and if he is ever wrecked again, I’d rather be with him than waiting and watching ashore.”
“A true woman, and a born sailor’s wife! You are a happy man, Emil, and I’m sure this trip will be a prosperous one,” cried Mrs Jo, delighted with the briny flavour of this courtship. “Oh, my dear boy, I always felt you’d come back, and when everyone else despaired I never gave up, but insisted that you were clinging to the main-top jib somewhere on that dreadful sea” and Mrs Jo illustrated her faith by grasping Emil with a truly Pillycoddian gesture.
“Of course I was!” answered Emil heartily; “and my ‘main-top jib’ in this case was the thought of what you and Uncle said to me. That kept me up; and among the million thoughts that came to me during those long nights none was clearer than the idea of the red strand, you remember—English navy, and all that. I liked the notion, and resolved that if a bit of my cable was left afloat, the red stripe should be there.”
“And it was, my dear, it was! Captain Hardy testifies to that, and here is your reward” and Mrs Jo kissed Mary with a maternal tenderness which betrayed that she liked the English rose better than the blue-eyed German Kornblumen, sweet and modest though it was.
Emil surveyed the little ceremony with complacency, saying, as he looked about the room which he never thought to see again: “Odd, isn’t it, how clearly trifles come back to one in times of danger? As we floated there, half-starved, and in despair, I used to think I heard the bells ringing here, and Ted tramping downstairs, and you calling, ‘Boys, boys, it’s time to get up!’ I actually smelt the coffee we used to have, and one night I nearly cried when I woke from a dream of Asia’s ginger cookies. I declare, it was one of the bitterest disappointments of my life to face hunger with that spicy smell in my nostrils. If you’ve got any, do give me one!”
A pitiful murmur broke from all the aunts and cousins, and Emil was at once borne away to feast on the desired cookies, a supply always being on hand. Mrs Jo and her sister joined the other group, glad to hear what Franz was saying about Nat.
“The minute I saw how thin and shabby he was, I knew that something was wrong; but he made light of it, and was so happy over our visit and news that I let him off with a brief confession, and went to Professor Baumgarten and Bergmann. From them I learned the whole story of his spending more money than he ought and trying to atone for it by unnecessary work and sacrifice. Baumgarten thought it would do him good, so kept his secret till I came. It did him good, and he’s paid his debts and earned his bread by the sweat of his brow, like an honest fellow.”
“I like that much in Nat. It is, as I said, a lesson, and he learns it well. He proves himself a man, and has deserved the place Bergmann offers him,” said Mr Bhaer, looking well pleased as Franz added some facts already recorded.
“I told you, Meg, that he had good stuff in him, and love for Daisy would keep him straight. Dear lad, I wish I had him here this moment!” cried Mrs Jo, forgetting in delight the doubts and anxieties which had troubled her for months past.
“I am very glad, and suppose I shall give in as I always do, especially now that the epidemic rages so among us. You and Emil have set all their heads in a ferment, and Josie will be demanding a lover before I can turn round,” answered Mrs Meg, in a tone of despair.
But her sister saw that she was touched by Nat’s trials, and hastened to add the triumphs, that the victory might be complete, for success is always charming.
“This offer of Herr Bergmann is a good one, isn’t it?” she asked, though Mr Laurie had already satisfied her on that point when Nat’s letter brought the news.
“Very fine in every way. Nat will get capital drill in Bachmeister’s orchestra, see London in a delightful way, and if he suits come home with them, well started among the violins. No great honour, but a sure thing and a step up. I congratulated him, and he was very jolly over it, saying, like the true lover he is: ‘Tell Daisy; be sure and tell her all about it.’ I’ll leave that to you, Aunt Meg, and you can also break it gently to her that the old boy had a fine blond beard. Very becoming; hides his weak mouth, and gives a noble air to his big eyes and ‘Mendelssohnian brow’, as a gushing girl called it. Ludmilla has a photo of it for you.”
This amused them; and they listened to many other interesting bits of news which kind Franz, even in his own happiness, had not forgotten to remember for his friend’s sake. He talked so well, and painted Nat’s patient and pathetic shifts so vividly, that Mrs Meg was half won; though if she had learned of the Minna episode and the fiddling in beer-gardens and streets, she might not have relented so soon. She stored up all she heard, however, and, womanlike, promised herself a delicious talk with Daisy, in which she would allow herself to melt by degrees, and perhaps change the doubtful “We shall see” to a cordial “He has done well; be happy, dear”.
In the midst of this agreeable chat the sudden striking of a clock recalled Mrs Jo from romance to reality, and she exclaimed, with a clutch at her crimping-pins:
“My blessed people, you must eat and rest; and I must dress, or receive in this disgraceful rig. Meg, will you take Ludmilla and Mary upstairs and see to them? Franz knows the way to the dining-room. Fritz, come with me and be made tidy, for what with heat and emotion, we are both perfect wrecks.”
CHAPTER 19
WHITE ROSES
WHILE THE travellers refreshed, and Mrs President struggled into her best gown, Josie ran into the garden to gather flowers for the brides. The sudden arrival of these interesting beings had quite enchanted the romantic girl, and her head was full of heroic rescues, tender admiration, dramatic situations, and feminine wonder as to whether the lovely creatures would wear their veils or not. She was standing before a great bush of white roses, culling the most perfect for the bouquets which she meant to tie with the ribbon festooned over her arm, and lay on the toilette tables of the new cousins, as a delicate attention. A step startled her, and looking up she saw her brother coming down the path with folded arms, bent head, and the absent air of one absorbed in deep thought.
“Sophy Wackles,” said the sharp child, with a superior smile, as she sucked her thumb just pricke
d by a too eager pull at the thorny branches.
“What are you at here, Mischief?” asked Demi, with an Irvingesque start, as he felt rather than saw a disturbing influence in his day-dream.
“Getting flowers for ‘our brides’. Don’t you wish you had one?” answered Josie, to whom the word “mischief” suggested her favourite amusement.
“A bride or a flower?” asked Demi calmly, though he eyed the blooming bush as if it had a sudden and unusual interest for him.
“Both; you get the one, and I’ll give you the other.”
“Wish I could!” and Demi picked a little bud, with a sigh that went to Josie’s warm heart.
“Why don’t you, then? It’s lovely to see people so happy. Now’s a good time to do it if you ever mean to. She will be going away for ever soon.”
“Who?” and Demi pulled a half-opened bud, with a sudden colour in his own face; which sign of confusion delighted little Jo.
“Don’t be a hypocrite. You know I mean Alice. Now, Jack, I’m fond of you, and want to help; it’s so interesting—all these lovers and weddings and things, and we ought to have our share. So you take my advice and speak up like a man, and make sure of Alice before she goes.”
Demi laughed at the seriousness of the small girl’s advice; but he liked it, and showed that it suited him by saying blandly, instead of snubbing her as usual:
“You are very kind, child. Since you are so wise, could you give me a hint how I’d better ‘speak up’, as you elegantly express it?”
“Oh, well, there are various ways, you know. In plays the lovers go down on their knees; but that’s awkward when they have long legs. Ted never does it well, though I drill him for hours. You could say, ‘Be mine, be mine!’ like the old man who threw cucumbers over the wall to Mrs Nickleby, if you want to be gay and easy; or you could write a poetical pop. You’ve tried it, I dare say.”
“But seriously, Jo, I do love Alice, and I think she knows it. I want to tell her so; but I lose my head when I try, and don’t care to make a fool of myself. Thought you might suggest some pretty way; you read so much poetry and are so romantic.”
Demi tried to express himself clearly, but forgot his dignity and his usual reserve in the sweet perplexity of his love, and asked his little sister to teach him how to put the question which a single word can answer. The arrival of his happy cousins had scattered all his wise plans and brave resolutions to wait still longer. The Christmas play had given him courage to hope, and the oration today had filled him with tender pride; but the sight of those blooming brides and beaming grooms was too much for him, and he panted to secure his Alice without an hour’s delay. Daisy was his confidante in all things but this; a brotherly feeling of sympathy had kept him from telling her his hopes, because her own were forbidden. His mother was rather jealous of any girl he admired; but knowing that she liked Alice, he loved on and enjoyed his secret alone, meaning soon to tell her all about it.
Now suddenly Josie and the rose-bush seemed to suggest a speedy end to his tender perplexities; and he was moved to accept her aid as the netted lion did that of the mouse.
“I think I’ll write,” he was slowly beginning, after a pause during which both were trying to strike out a new and brilliant idea.
“I’ve got it! perfectly lovely! just suit her, and you too, being a poet!” cried Josie, with a skip.
“What is it? Don’t be ridiculous, please,” begged the bashful lover, eager, but afraid of this sharp-tongued bit of womanhood.
“I read in one of Miss Edgeworth’s stories about a man who offers three roses to his lady—a bud, a half-blown, and a full-blown rose. I don’t remember which she took; but it’s a pretty way; and Alice knows about it because she was there when we read it. Here are all kinds; you’ve got the two buds, pick the sweetest rose you can find, and I’ll tie them up and put them in her room. She is coming to dress with Daisy, so I can do it nicely.”
Demi mused a moment with his eyes on the bridal bush, and a smile came over his face so unlike any it had ever worn before, that Josie was touched, and looked away as if she had no right to see the dawn of the great passion which, while it lasts, makes a young man as happy as a god.
“Do it,” was all he said, and gathered a full-blown rose to finish his floral love-message.
Charmed to have a finger in this romantic pie, Josie tied a graceful bow of ribbon about the stems, and finished her last nosegay with much content, while Demi wrote upon a card:
Dear Alice, You know what the flowers mean. Will you wear one, or all tonight, and make me still prouder, fonder, and happier than I am?
Yours entirely,
John
Offering this to his sister, he said in a tone that made her feel the deep importance of her mission:
“I trust you, Jo. This means everything to me. No jokes, dear, if you love me.”
Josie’s answer was a kiss that promised all things; and then she ran away to do her “gentle spiriting”, like Ariel, leaving Demi to dream among the roses like Ferdinand.
Mary and Ludmilla were charmed with their bouquets; and the giver had the delight of putting some of the flowers into the dark hair and the light as she played maid at the toilettes of “our brides”, which consoled her for a disappointment in the matter of veils.
No one helped Alice dress; for Daisy was in the next room with her mother; and not even their loving eyes saw the welcome which the little posy received, nor the tears and smiles and blushes that came and went as she read the note and pondered what answer she should give. There was no doubt about the one she wished to give; but duty held her back; for at home there was an invalid mother and an old father. She was needed there, with all the help she could now bring by the acquirements four years of faithful study had given her. Love looked very sweet, and a home of her own with John a little heaven on earth; but not yet. And she slowly laid away the full-blown rose as she sat before the mirror, thinking over the great question of her life.
Was it wise and kind to ask him to wait, to bind him by any promise, or even to put into words the love and honour she felt for him? No; it would be more generous to make the sacrifice alone, and spare him the pain of hope deferred. He was young; he would forget; and she would do her duty better, perhaps, if no impatient lover waited for her. With eyes that saw but dimly, and a hand that lingered on the stem he had stripped of thorns, she laid the half-blown flower by the rose, and asked herself if even the little bud might be worn. It looked very poor and pale beside the others; yet being in the self-sacrificing mood which real love brings, she felt that even a small hope was too much to give, if she could not follow it up with more.
As she sat looking sadly down on the symbols of an affection that grew dearer every moment, she listened half unconsciously to the murmur of voices in the adjoining room. Open windows, thin partitions, and the stillness of summer twilight made it impossible to help hearing, and in a few moments more she could not refrain; for they were talking of John.
“So nice of Ludmilla to bring us all bottles of real German cologne! Just what we need after this tiring day! Be sure John has his! He likes it so!”
“Yes, mother. Did you see him jump up when Alice ended her oration? He’d have gone to her if I hadn’t held him back. I don’t wonder he was pleased and proud. I spoilt my gloves clapping, and quite forgot my dislike of seeing women on platforms, she was so earnest and unconscious and sweet after the first moment.”
“Has he said anything to you, dear?”
“No; and I guess why. The kind boy thinks it would make me unhappy. It wouldn’t. But I know his ways; so I wait, and hope all will go well with him.”
“It must. No girl in her senses would refuse our John, though he isn’t rich, and never will be. Daisy, I’ve been longing to tell you what he did with his money. He told me last night, and I’ve had no time since to tell you. He sent poor young Barton to the hospital, and kept him there till his eyes were saved—a costly thing to do. But the man can work now and care
for his old parents. He was in despair, sick and poor, and too proud to beg; and our dear boy found it out, and took every penny he had, and never told even his mother till she made him.”
Alice did not hear what Daisy answered, for she was busy with her own emotions—happy ones now, to judge from the smile that shone in her eyes and the decided gesture with which she put the little bud in her bosom, as if she said: “He deserves some reward for that good deed, and he shall have it.”
Mrs Meg was speaking, and still of John, when she could hear again:
“Some people would call it unwise and reckless, when John has so little; but I think his first investment a safe and good one, for ‘he who giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord’ and I was so pleased and proud, I wouldn’t spoil it by offering him a penny.”
“It is his having nothing to offer that keeps him silent, I think. He is so honest, he won’t ask till he has much to give. But he forgets that love is everything. I know he’s rich in that; I see and feel it; and any woman should be glad to get it.”
“Right, dear. I felt just so, and was willing to work and wait with and for my John.”
“So she will be, and I hope they will find it out. But she is so dutiful and good, I’m afraid she won’t let herself be happy. You would like it, mother?”
“Heartily; for a better, nobler girl doesn’t live. She is all I want for my son; and I don’t mean to lose the dear, brave creature if I can help it. Her heart is big enough for both love and duty; and they can wait more happily if they do it together—for wait they must, of course.”
“I’m so glad his choice suits you, mother, and he is spared the saddest sort of disappointment.”
Daisy’s voice broke there; and a sudden rustle, followed by a soft murmur, seemed to tell that she was in her mother’s arms, seeking and finding comfort there.