What Answer?
CHAPTER VII
"_The plain, unvarnished tale of my whole course of love._"
Shakespeare
"What a handsome girl that is who always waits on us!" Francesca hadonce said to Clara Russell, as they came out of Hyacinth's with somedainty laces in their hands.
"Very," Clara had answered.
The handsome girl was Sallie.
At another time Francesca, admiring some particular specimen of thepomps and vanities with which the store was crowded, was about carryingit away, but first experimented as to its fit.
"O dear!" she cried, in dismay, "it is too short, and"--rummagingthrough the box--"there is not another like it, and it is the only one Iwant."
"How provoking!" sympathized Clara.
"I could very easily alter that," said Sallie, who was behind thecounter; "I make these up for the shop, and I'll be glad to fix this foryou, if you like it so much."
"Thanks. You are very kind. Can you send it up to-morrow?"
"This evening, if you wish it."
"Very good; I shall be your debtor."
"Well!" exclaimed Clara, as they turned away, this is the first time inall my shopping I ever found a girl ready to put herself out to serveone. They usually act as if they were conferring the most overwhelmingfavor by condescending to wait upon you at all."
"Why, Clara, I'm sure I always find them civil."
"I know they seem devoted to you. I wonder why. Oh!"--laughing andlooking at her friend with honest admiration,--"it must be because youare so pretty."
"Excellent,--how discerning you are!" smiled Francesca, in return.
If Clara had had a little more discernment, she would have discoveredthat what wrought this miracle was a friendly courtesy, that neverfailed to either equal or subordinate.
Six weeks after the Seventh had marched out of New York, Francesca,sitting in her aunt's room, was roused from evidently painful thought bythe entrance of a servant, who announced, "If you please, a young womanto see you."
"Name?"
"She gave none, miss."
"Send her up."
Sallie came in. "Bird of Paradise" Francesca had called her more thanonce, she was so dashing and handsome; but the title would scarcely fitnow, for she looked poor, and sad, and woefully dispirited.
"Ah, Miss Sallie, is it you? Good morning."
"Good morning, Miss Ercildoune." She stood, and looked as though she hadsomething important to say. Presently Francesca had drawn it fromher,--a little story of her own sorrows and troubles.
"The reason I have come to you, Miss Ercildoune, when you are so nearlya stranger, is because you have always been so kind and pleasant to mewhen I waited on you at the store, and I thought you'd anyway listen towhat I have to say."
"Speak on, Sallie."
"I've been at Hyacinth's now, over four years, ever since I left school.It's a good place, and they paid me well, but I had to keep two peopleout of it, my little brother Frank and myself; Frank and I are orphans.And I'm very fond of dress; I may as well confess that at once. So theconsequence is, I haven't saved a cent against a rainy day. Well,"blushing scarlet, "I had a lover,--the best heart that ever beat,--but Iliked to flirt, and plague him a little, and make him jealous; and atlast he got dreadfully so about a young gentleman,--a Mr. Snipe, who wasvery attentive to me,--and talked to me about it in a way I didn'tlike. That made me worse. I don't know what possessed me; but after thatI went out with Mr. Snipe a great deal more, to the theatre and thelike, and let him spend his money on me, and get things for me, asfreely as he chose. I didn't mean any harm, indeed I didn't,--but Iliked to go about and have a good time; and then it made Jim show howmuch he cared for me, which, you see, was a great thing to me; and sothis went on for a while, till Jim gave me a real lecture, and I gotangry and wouldn't listen to anything he had to say, and sent him awayin a huff"--here she choked--"to fight; to the war; and O dear! O dear!"breaking down utterly, and hiding her face in her shawl, "he'll bekilled,--I know he will; and oh! what shall I do? My heart will break, Iam sure."
Francesca came and stood by her side, put her hand gently on hershoulder, and stroked her beautiful hair. "Poor girl!" she said, softly,"poor girl!" and then, so low that even Sallie could not hear, "Yousuffer, too: do we all suffer, then?"
Presently Sallie looked up, and continued: "Up to that time, Mr. Snipehadn't said anything to me, except that he admired me very much, andthat I was pretty, too pretty to work so hard, and that I ought to livelike a lady, and a good deal more of that kind of talk that I was sillyenough to listen to; but when he found Jim was gone, first, he made funof him for 'being such a great fool as to go and be shot at fornothing,' and then he--O Miss Ercildoune, I can't tell you what hesaid; it makes me choke just to think of it. How dared he? what had Idone that he should believe me such a thing as that? I don't know whatwords I used when I did find them, and I don't care, but they must havestung. I can't tell you how he looked, but it was dreadful; and he said,'I'll bring down that proud spirit of yours yet, my lady. I'm notthrough with you,--don't think it,--not by a good deal'; and then hemade me a fine bow, and laughed, and went out of the room.
"The next day Mr. Dodd--that's one of our firm--gave me a week's noticeto quit: 'work was slack,' he said, 'and they didn't want so manygirls.' But I'm just as sure as sure can be that Mr. Snipe's at thebottom of it, for I've been at the store, as I told you, four years andmore, and they always reckoned me one of their best hands, and Mr. Doddand Mr. Snipe are great friends. Since then I've done nothing but try toget work. I must have been into a thousand stores, but it's true work isslack; there's not a thing been doing since the war commenced, and Ican't get any place. I've been to Miss Russell and some of the ladieswho used to come to the store, to see if they'd give me some finesewing; but they hadn't any for me, and I don't know what in the worldto do, for I understand nothing very well but to sew, and to stand in astore. I've spent all my money, what little I had, and--and--I've evensold some of my clothes, and I can't go on this way much longer. Ihaven't a relative in the world; nor a home, except in a boarding-house;and the girls I know all treat me cool, as though I had done somethingbad, because I've lost my place, I suppose, and am poor.
"All along, at times, Mr. Snipe has been sending me things,--bouquets,and baskets of fruit, and sometimes a note, and, though I won't speak tohim when I meet him on the street, he always smiles and bows as if hewere intimate; and last night, when I was coming home, tired enough frommy long search, he passed me and said, with such a look, 'You've gonedown a peg or two, haven't you, Sallie? Come, I guess we'll be friendsagain before long.' You think it's queer I'm telling you all this. Ican't help it; there's something about you that draws it all out of me.I came to ask you for work, and here I've been talking all this whileabout myself. You must excuse me; I don't think I would have said somuch, if you hadn't looked so kind and so interested"; and so shehad,--kind as kind could be, and interested as though the girl whotalked had been her own sister.
"I am glad you came, Sallie, and glad that you told me all this, if ithas been any relief to you. You may be sure I will do what I can foryou, but I am afraid that will not be a great deal, here; for I am astranger in New York, and know very few people. Perhaps--Would you goaway from here?"
"Would I?--O wouldn't I? and be glad of the chance. I'd give anything togo where I couldn't get sight or sound of that horrid Snipe. Can't I gowith you, Miss Ercildoune?"
"I have no counter behind which to station you," said Francesca,smiling.
"No, I know,--of course; but"--looking at the daintily arrayedfigure--"you have plenty of elegant things to make, and I can do prettymuch anything with my needle, if you'd like to trust me with some work.And then--I'm ashamed to ask so much of you, but a few words from you toyour friends, I'm sure, would send me all that I could do, and more."
"You think so?" Miss Ercildoune inquired, with a curious intonation toher voice, and the strangest expression darkening her face. "Very well,it shall be tried."
Sallie was nonplussed by the tone and look, but she comprehended theclosing words fully and with delight. "You will take me with you," shecried. "O, how good, how kind you are! how shall I ever be able to thankyou?"
"Don't thank me at all," said Miss Ercildoune, "at least not now. Waittill I have done something to deserve your gratitude."
But Sallie was not to be silenced in any such fashion, and said her saywith warmth and meaning; then, after some further talk about time andplans, went away carrying a bit of work which Miss Ercildoune had found,or made, for her, and for which she had paid in advance.
"God bless her!" thought Sallie; "how nice and how thoughtful she is!Most ladies, if they'd done anything for me, would have given me somemoney and made a beggar of me, and I should have felt as mean asdish-water. But now"--she patted her little bundle and walked down thestreet, elated and happy.
Francesca watched her out of the door with eyes that presently filledwith tears. "Poor girl!" she whispered; "poor Sallie! her lover has goneto the wars with a shadow between them. Ah, that must not be; I must tryto bring them together again, if he loves her dearly and truly. He mightdie,"--she shuddered at that,--"die, as other men die, in the heat andflame of battle. My God! my God! how shall I bear it? Dead! and withouta word! Gone, and he will never know how well I love him! O Willie,Willie! my life, my love, my darling, come back, come back to me."
Vain cry!--he cannot hear. Vain lifting of an agonized face, beautifulin its agony!--he cannot see. Vain stretching forth of longing hands andempty arms!--he is not there to take them to his embrace. Carry thyburden as others have carried it before thee, and learn what multitudes,in times past and in time present, have learned,--the lesson ofendurance when happiness is denied, and of patience and silence when joyhas been withheld. Go thou thy way, sorrowful and suffering soul, alone;and if thy own heart bleeds, strive thou to soothe its pangs, bymedicining the wounds and healing the hurts of another.
A few days thereafter, when Miss Ercildoune went over to Philadelphia,Sallie and Frank bore her company. She had become as thoroughlyinterested in them as though she had known and cared for them for a longwhile; and as she was one who was incapable of doing in an imperfect orpartial way aught she attempted, and whose friendship never stoppedshort with pleasant sounding words, this interest had already bloomedbeautifully, and was fast ripening into solid fruit.
She had written in advance to desire that certain preparations should bemade for her _proteges_,--preparations which had been faithfullyattended to; and thus, reaching a strange city, they felt themselves notstrangers, since they had a home ready to receive them, and thisexcellent friend by their side.
The home consisted of two rooms, neat, cheerful, high up,--"the airierand healthier for that," as Sallie decided when she saw them.
"I believe everything is in order," said the good-natured-looking oldlady, the mistress of the establishment. "My lodgers are all gentlemenwho take their meals out, and I shall be glad of some company. Any onewhom Friend Comstock recommends will be all right, I know."
As Mrs. Healey's style of designation indicated, Friend Comstock was aQuakeress, well known, greatly esteemed, an old friend of MissErcildoune, and of Miss Ercildoune's father. She it was to whomFrancesca had written, and who had found this domicile for thewanderers, and who at the outset furnished Sallie with an abundance offine and dainty sewing. Indeed, without giving the matter specialthought, she was surprised to discover that, with one or two exceptions,the people Miss Ercildoune sent her were of the peaceful and quietsect. This bird of brilliant plumage seemed ill assorted with thesober-hued flock.
She found in this same bird a helper in more ways than one. It was notalone that she gave her employment and paid her well, nor that she senther others able and willing to do the same. She found Frankie a goodschool, and saw him properly installed. She never came to themempty-handed; through the long, hot summer-time she brought them fruitand flowers from her home out of town; and when she came not herself, ifthe carriage was in the city it stopped with these same delightfulburdens. Sallie declared her an angel, and Frank, with his mouth stuffedfull, stood ready to echo the assertion.
So the heated term wore away,--before it ended, telling heavily onSallie. Her anxiety about Jim, her close confinement and constant work,the fever everywhere in the spiritual air through that first terriblesummer of the war, bore her down.
"You need rest," said Miss Ercildoune to her one day, looking at herwith kindly solicitude,--"rest, and change, and fresh air, and freedomfrom care. I can't give you the last, but I can the first if you willaccept them. You need some country living."
"O Miss Ercildoune, will you let me do your work at your own home? Iknow it would do me good just to be under the same roof with you, andthen I should have all the things you speak of combined and another oneadded. If you only will!"
This was not the plan Francesca had proposed to herself. She hadintended sending Sallie away to some pleasant country or seaside place,till she was refreshed and ready to come to her work once more. Salliedid not know what to make of the expression of the face that watchedher, nor of the exclamation, "Why not? let me try her." But she had notlong to consider, for Miss Ercildoune added, "Be it so. I will send infor you to-morrow, and you shall stay till you are better and stronger,or--till you please to come home,"--the last words spoken in a bitterand sorrowful tone.
The next day Sallie found her way to the superb home of her employer.Superb it was, in every sense. Never before had she been in such adelightful region, never before realized how absolutely perfect breedingsets at ease all who come within the charm of its magicsphere,--employed, acquaintance, or friend.
There was a shadow, however, in this house,--a shadow, the premonitionof which she had seen more than once on the face of its mistress ere sheever beheld her home; a shadow to which, for a few days, she had noclew, but which was suddenly explained by the arrival of the master ofthis beautiful habitation; a shadow from which most people would havefled as from the breath of a pestilence, or the shade of the tomb; nay,one from which, but a few short months before, Sallie herself would havesped with feet from which she would have shaken the very dust of thethreshold when she was beyond its doors,--but not now. Now, as shebeheld it, she sat still to survey it, with surprise that deepened intoindignation and compassion, that many a time filled her eyes with tears,and brought an added expression of respect to her voice when she spoketo these people who seemed to have all the good things that this worldcan offer, upon whom fortune had expended her treasures, yet--
Whatever it was, Sallie came from that home with many an old senselessprejudice destroyed forever, with a new thought implanted in her soul,the blossoming of which was a noxious vapor in the nostrils of some whowere compelled to inhale it, but as a sweet-smelling savor to more thanone weary wayfarer, and to that God to whom the darkness and the lightare alike, and who, we are told by His own word, is no respecter ofpersons.
"Poor, dear Miss Ercildoune!" half sobbed, half scolded Sallie, as shesat at her work, blooming and, fresh, the day after her return. "What atangled thread it is, to be sure," jerking at her knotty needleful."Well, I know what I'll do,--I'll treat her as if she was a queen bornand crowned, just so long as I have anything to do with her,--so Iwill." And she did.