early in march, as i was one saturday morning seated with my aunt in her pleasant, cozy sewing-room, a little boy brought me a note from dell clayton, in which she requested me, if possible, to spend the afternoon with her. she was sick, she wrote, unable to sit up, and what was worse than all, she was homesick and unhappy! her aunt, she said, was out of the city, and as she had no acquaintance, she thought the sight of a familiar face would do her good.
aunt charlotte, to whom i handed the note, consented to my going, and immediately after dinner, which that day was served at an earlier hour than usual, i started. long and daily walks have always been to me a luxury, and so, though i had been but a few months in boston, i was tolerably well acquainted with most of its localities, and had no trouble in finding the once stylish, but now rather dilapidated and gloomy looking block, in one part of which dr. clayton was keeping house. since the night when i met him at the theatre, i had never seen him, and all that i knew of him was that he had left the tremont. subsequently, however, i heard the whole history of their proceedings—partly from the doctor, partly from dell, and partly from other sources, and as a recital of it may not be wholly uninteresting to my readers, i will give it before proceeding with a description of my call.
157it seems that boarding at the tremont was rather too expensive for a physician, whose patients were not so numerous as to be troublesome, and several times had the doctor proposed returning to his old place in sturbridge, where everything was cheaper; but to this dell objected, for she well knew it would be an admission that they could not succeed in boston, and against this her pride revolted. “people at home,” she reasoned, “would never know how matters really were, and as long as she could keep up an appearance of gentility and upper-ten-dom with her former friends, she should do so,” preferring, like many others, almost absolute want in the city, to plenty in the country. from this, the reader is not to infer that the doctor was extremely poor; for when he first went to boston he was worth about fifteen hundred dollars, which, in a country village, with a prudent wife, would have surrounded him with all the comforts of life, besides leaving him with something for that “rainy day,” about which everybody blessed with a careful grandmother has heard more or less.
in the city, of course, it needed a great deal of money to keep up the kind of style upon which dell insisted, and which, after all, was far from satisfying her—it was so much inferior to the elegance she saw around her; and as check after check of the doctor’s little hoard was drawn from the bank to meet their expenses, while but few would get sick, or being so would send for him, his heart sank within him, and without really meaning to do so, he began to wonder “when that old grandmother would die!” finding that he could not much longer pay the enormous bills, which were presented to him weekly at the tremont, he decided at last upon housekeeping, and exercising in this case his own judgment, in spite of the tears, sulks, and remonstrances of his wife, he hired a house in an obscure street, where the rents were much 158lower than in the more fashionable part of the city. very neatly he fitted it up, going rather beyond his means, it is true, but depending a great deal upon the fast failing health of grandmother barton, to set all things right.
everything was at last arranged, and with that comfortable feeling which other men have experienced in similar circumstances, he took his seat for the first time at his own table, forgetting in his happiness that the smiling, handsome face of the lady opposite, in blue merino morning gown and clean white linen collar, had ever worn any look save that which now sat upon it. breakfast was hardly over, when the door bell rang violently and a man appeared telling the doctor that his services were required immediately by the wealthy mrs. archer, who lived in an adjoining street, and who owned the entire block in which he lived.
mrs. archer belonged to that class of people who are always dying, first with one fancied disease and then with another, in the end, however, living much longer than those whose business it is to minister to their wants. being freakish and whimsical, she seldom employed the same physician longer than a year, but during that time a man with limited wants was sure of a livelihood, for his services were required every day, and the remuneration for the same was so prompt and liberal as to make her patronage much sought after, particularly by new practitioners. having taken a violent fancy to dr. clayton when he bargained with her for the house, she had decided henceforth to employ him, if on trial he proved to be all she wished.
the doctor was well aware of her peculiarities, and for several days past had indulged a faint hope that she might favor him with a call. this she had now done, and very eagerly he prepared to visit her. as he reached his gate, he was met by a boy who brought a telegraphic 159dispatch from wilbraham, saying that grandma barton was dead! yes, the old lady was gone, and dell was undoubtedly the heiress of ten thousand dollars at least, and probably more, for her grandmother bore the reputation of being miserly, and rumor said that twice ten thousand was nearer the actual sum of her possessions. to ascertain the truth as soon as possible was the doctor’s great desire, and as the next train bound for the east started in about two hours, he decided to go at once, though the funeral was not to take place for two or three days.
suddenly mrs. archer’s message occurred to him, but matters were now changed—he was a rich man, and as such mrs. archer’s patronage was not of vital importance. still it would hardly do to slight her, and rather unwillingly he bent his steps towards her dwelling. when there he appeared so abrupt and absent-minded, telling her there was nothing whatever the matter with her as he could see, that the good lady was wholly disgusted, and the moment he was gone, she dispatched the servant for another physician, who, possessing more tact, and not having recently come into the possession of a fortune, told her with a grave, concerned look, that “he never saw anything like her case—it really baffled his skill, though he thought he could cure her, and it would give him pleasure to try.”
of course he was employed, and just as dr. clayton and dell were stepping into the omnibus, which took them to the dépôt, a note was handed to the former, saying his services were no longer needed by mrs. archer. without giving it a thought, the doctor crushed the note into his pocket, and then springing into the carriage, took his seat by dell, to whom he was unusually attentive, for she had risen in his estimation full ten thousand dollars’ worth, and what man, for that sum of money, would not occasionally endure a cross look, or 160a peevish word! not the doctor most certainly; and when on reaching the dépôt, they found that the cars would not leave for half an hour or more, he could not resist her entreaties to go with her to a jeweller’s, on —— street, where the day before she had seen “such a beautiful set of cameos, earrings, bracelet, and pin to match—then, too, they were so cheap, only $50. she knew he would buy them!”
’twas in vain for him to say that he had not fifty dollars for she replied, that “he could take it from the bank and replace it when she got her fortune;” adding, “i’ll give you a hundred in place of it: so gratify me this once, that’s a dear, good man.”
of course, the dear good man was persuaded as many an other dear good man has been, and will be again by a coaxing woman. the cameos were bought, and in the best of humor the young couple took their seats in the cars, which were soon bearing them swiftly towards the house of death. very pleasant were the doctor’s reflections as the train sped on over valley and plain: he was a fortunate, happy man, and if when they paused at the meadow brook station he thought for an instant of the girl rosa lee, her memory was to him like an idle dream, which had passed away in the golden beams of day. arrived at wilbraham dépôt, they took a carriage for the village, which is about two miles or more from the railroad.
the old brown shutters of the large wooden building, where mrs. barton had lived and died, were closed, and about the house there was no sign of life. but this was hardly different from what it had been during the old lady’s life, for she was one who lived mostly within herself, seldom seeing company, though always sure to go whenever she was invited. exceedingly penurious, she stinted her household to the last degree of endurance, and denied herself even the 161comforts of life, while her last request had been that her body might be suffered to remain in her sleeping-room, so as not to litter the parlor, or wear the carpet!
at the head of the family was mabel warrener, a poor young girl, who for the three years had lived with mrs. barton in the capacity of half waiting-maid, half companion, and to her the neighbors now looked for directions. anxious to pay all due deference to the wishes of her late mistress, mabel at first said, “let the body remain where it is;” but when she reflected that “the fashionable mrs. clayton from boston,” with her proud husband (for so were they considered), would probably be there, she changed her mind, and the deceased was carried into the dark, damp parlor, where a fire had not been kindled for more than a year. the same was also true of the chamber above, which was designed for the doctor and his lady, the latter of whom shivered as she entered it, rather haughtily bidding mabel, who accompanied her, “to make a fire there as soon as possible, for she was not accustomed to cold rooms, and should freeze to death.”
very meekly mabel complied, not only with this requisition, but with fifty others, from the same source; for dell, thinking she was now mistress of the house, took upon herself many airs, ordering this, that and the other, until the neighbors, quite disgusted, left poor mabel alone, with the exception of the deaf old woman, who ruled in the kitchen as cook. the morning following the arrival of the doctor, capt. thompson, wife, and son came out from sturbridge to attend the funeral; for though they were in no way connected with mrs. barton, they knew her well, and wished to pay her this last tribute of respect. then, too, mrs. thompson was very desirous of seeing dell, who was now an heiress, and as such entitled to attention. long they 162talked together concerning the future, dell telling how she meant “to fix up the old rookery for a summer residence,” and inviting her sister-in-law to spend as much time with her as she possibly could. the cameos were next duly inspected, admired, tried on, and then the two went down to the room below, and turning back the thin muslin which shaded the face of the dead, gazed upon the pinched, stony features which seemed so much to reproach them for their cold-hearted selfishness, in thus planning ways and means by which to spend her hoarded wealth even before she was buried from their sight.
that afternoon there was heard a tolling bell, and a long procession moved slowly to the churchyard, where the words “ashes to ashes—dust to dust,” and the sound of the hard frozen earth, rattling upon the coffin-lid, broke the solemn stillness, but disturbed not the rest of those, who, henceforth, would be the fellow-sleepers of her now committed to the grave. when the party of mourners had returned to the house, the doctor began to speak of the necessity there was for his returning immediately to the city, at the same time hinting to capt. thompson that “if there was a will he would like to see it.”
mabel warrener, who was supposed to know more than any one else concerning mrs. barton’s affairs, was called in and questioned, she replying that her mistress, one day, about two weeks before her death, had said to her that if, after her death, any inquiry should be made concerning her will, it could be found in the private drawer of her secretary, where was also a letter for mrs. clayton. both of these were brought out, and with her handkerchief over her eyes, dell listened while capt. thompson read aloud the astounding fact that the entire possessions of mrs. barton, amounting to $15,000, were given to mabel warrener, 163who, having had no suspicion whatever of the fortune in store for her, fainted away, and was borne from the room, as was also dell; while the doctor, it was confidently asserted, went out behind the woodshed and actually vomited, so great was his disappointment! soon rallying, however, both he and his wife declared it a fraud, accusing the still unconscious mabel of treachery, and it was not until the lawyer who had drawn the will was produced, that they could be convinced. suddenly remembering her letter, dell broke it open and found therein the reasons for this most unaccountable freak. always peculiar and naturally jealous, mrs. barton had felt piqued that she was not invited to dell’s wedding, which, considering that she was spending the summer in albany at the time when it took place, was not very remarkable. then, too, she was not consulted, and she didn’t believe in doctors, they killed more than they cured; but the head and front of the offence seemed to be that instead of hiring two or three rooms and keeping house in a small, economical way, they boarded at the tremont, where dell had nothing to do but “to change her dress, eat, sleep, and laze”—so the letter ran—“and she (mrs. barton) would not suffer a penny of her money to go for the support of such extravagance: she preferred giving it to mabel warrener, who was a prudent, saving girl, and would take care of it; while the paltry doctor would spend it for cigars, fast horses, patent leather boots, and all sorts of fooleries.”
the letter ended with an exhortation to dell to “go to work and earn her own living, as her grandmother had done before her.”
the doctor’s reflections, as he rode back to boston, were not of the most enviable nature; and who can wonder if he was rather testy towards his wife, who retorted so 164angrily as to bring on quite a sharp quarrel, which was prevented from being heard by the roar of the machinery; and if at meadow brook he did think again of rosa lee, half fancying that 5,000 divided by 13, if shared with her, might be preferable to nothing divided by nothing, shared with dell; who can blame him? not i, most certainly. wasn’t he terribly disappointed? hadn’t he just lost $15,000, to say nothing of a patient, whose patronage would have insured him a living for at least a year, besides introducing him into a broader field of practice; and if the cameo earrings were rather becoming to the dark hair and black eyes of his wife, did that in any way compensate him for the fifty dollars which stood on the cr. side of his bank-book? still, i see no good reason why, after their arrival home at a late hour of the night, they should sit up for more than an hour in a cold, cheerless room, telling each other—the one that she wished she had never married him, for “he alone stood in the way of her inheritance;” while the other replied, that “but for her extravagance he should now have had $1,500 in the bank instead of five hundred.”
wretched couple! their history is like that of many others, who marry without a particle of love, or at most, only a passing fancy. had dell chosen, she could in time have won the affection of her husband, but being naturally selfish and exacting, she expected from him every attention; while in return she seldom gave him aught save cross looks and peevish words, complaining that he did not treat her now as he once had done. as long as the doctor had a fortune in expectancy, he bore his wife’s ill humor tolerably well, but now that hope was gone, his whole being seemed changed, and dell was not often obliged to quarrel alone.
at last, broken in spirits, and being really sick, she had sent for me, as i have before stated. i found her in bed, 165propped up on pillows, her shining hair combed back, and her large black eyes seeming blacker than ever, from contrast with her colorless cheek. all her old haughtiness was gone, and the moment she saw me she stretched her arms towards me, and bursting into tears, exclaimed, “oh, rose, i am so glad you have come. i was afraid you wouldn’t, for i knew your aunt was very aristocratic, and i thought she might not be willing to have you visit poor, obscure people like us.”
there was much of bitterness in the last part of this speech, and it grated harshly upon my feelings; but it was like her, i knew, and she had only judged my aunt by what she well knew she should herself be in a similar position; so i took no notice of it, save to assure her that aunt charlotte was perfectly willing i should come, while at the same time i expressed my sorrow at finding her so unwell, and asked “what was the matter.”
“oh, nothing much,” said she. “i have no particular disease, unless it be one of the mind, and that you know is not easily cured.”
i made no answer to this; but after a moment’s silence, i ventured to inquire for her husband. instantly there came a bright glow to her cheek, as she replied, “oh, he is as well as could be expected, considering his terrible disappointment.”
of course i asked what disappointment, whereupon she proceeded to narrate a part of what i have already told to my readers, withholding nearly all the points wherein she had been to blame, and dwelling with apparent delight upon the faults of her husband, who, she protested, was wholly selfish and avaricious. “i know,” said she, “why he married me; ’twas for the sake of the few dollars he thought my grandmother would leave me, and now being disappointed in that, 166he cares no more for me than he does for you—no, nor half so much, for he always preferred you to me, and i wish i had let you have him, for you liked him, i know, better than i did.”
as she said this, she looked me steadily in the face, as if to read my inmost soul. i felt provoked, for i now thought of my former affection for the doctor as something of which i was a little ashamed, and i did not much like to be reminded of it by his wife. so i ventured to say that “whatever i might once have felt for her husband, it was all over now, and i could think of no greater misfortune than that of being his wife!”
now, i should know better than to speak thus to any woman concerning her husband, for however much she may talk against him herself, she certainly has no desire or expectation that her listener will agree with her. on this occasion, dell grew angry at once, telling me “i needn’t speak so lightly of her husband—he was good enough for anybody,” while at the same time she muttered something about “sour grapes!”
i was taken quite aback, and remained silent, until she at last said, laughingly, “i don’t wish to quarrel with you, rose. pardon any ill humor i may have manifested. i get nervous and fidgety staying here alone so much.”
“is not the doctor with you sometimes?” i inquired.
“oh, yes; once in a great while,” said she; “but he can bear the atmosphere of any other sick-room better than mine. so he’s off—hunting up patients, i suppose. i tell him he gets his living that way, and a poor living it bids fair to be. between you and me, rose,” she continued, growing excited, “he is shiftless, if you know what that means, and we are worth to-day just as much as we ever shall be.”
i felt that she wronged him, and told her so, at the same 167time enumerating his many good qualities, while she listened, evidently better pleased than when i had spoken lightly of him. in the midst of our conversation there was a familiar step in the hall, and a moment after the doctor himself entered the room. he looked careworn and haggard; but at the sight of me, whose presence surprised him, his face quickly lighted up, and there was much of his olden manner as he took my hand and expressed his pleasure at finding me there. ’twas but a for moment, however, for catching the eye of his wife, he became almost instantly reserved, and seating himself near a window, he pretended to be much occupied with a book, which i accidentally discovered was wrong side up! it was strange how much waiting-upon dell suddenly needed. heretofore she had been very quiet, saying she did not wish for anything, but now that he was there, her pillows must be turned, her head must be bathed, the window must be open and then shut, while with every other breath, she declared him to be “the awkwardest man she ever saw,” saying once, “she didn’t wonder he had no more practice if he handled all his patients as roughly as he did her.”
after this unkind speech, the doctor made no farther attempt to please her, but left her side and returned to his seat by the window. ere long the supper bell rang. i had not supposed it was so late, and starting up announced my intention of going home, but to this neither the doctor nor dell would listen, both of them insisting upon my staying to tea; she, because she felt that common civility required it, and he, because he really wished it. once out of her sight, he was himself again, and playfully drawing my arm within his, he led me to the dining-room, placing me at the head of the table, where dell was accustomed to sit, while he took the seat opposite. as we sat there thus, i shall not say that there came to my mind no thought of what might 168have been, but i can say, and truthfully too, that such thoughts brought with them naught of pain; for though dr. clayton had once possessed the power of swaying me at his will, that time had gone by, and he was to me now only a friend, whom i both liked and pitied, for i knew he was far from being happy. once, when i handed him his second cup of tea, he said, smiling upon me, “it makes me very happy to see you there—in that seat.”
i made no answer; and, as if thinking he had said what he ought not, he immediately changed the conversation, and began to question me of my studies, etc., asking me among other things, if i went to dancing school. instantly i remembered mrs. ross’s slippers with the little wads of cotton, and i laughed aloud. it seems his thoughts took the same direction, for he, too, laughed so loudly that when we returned to dell’s room, she rather pettishly inquired what we found to amuse us so much, saying “she hadn’t seen the doctor look so pleased since—since, well, since grandma’s death,” she finally added, at the same time glancing at him to witness the effect of her words.
he turned very white about the mouth, and i am quite certain i heard the word “thunder!” at all events, his eyes flashed angrily upon the provoking woman, who again inquired at what we were laughing. when i told her, she too laughed, saying, “oh, yes, i remember it well, and have sometimes thought that i owe my present position to that awkward misstep of yours.”
“i am very glad i fell, then,” said i, rather impatiently, while i threw on my hood and shawl, preparatory to going home.
“hadn’t you better call an omnibus for her?” asked dell of her husband, who was putting on his overshoes.
“i am going round with her myself,” he answered. “i 169have a patient on the way,” and he hurried from the room ere she could say anything further.
it was a beautiful moonlight night, and as i took his arm i recalled the time when once before we had walked thus together. i think he remembered it too, for he asked me “if i ever visited pine district?”
“not often,” i replied; and he continued to say, that “notwithstanding that it was little more than a year and a half since he first saw me there, it seemed to him an age,” adding; “and it is not strange neither, for i have passed through many trials since then.”
to this i made no reply, and ere long he proceeded to speak further of himself, and of his disappointment, first with regard to his business, and next with regard to his domestic relations, which he gave me to understand were not particularly happy. very delicately and carefully he handled the latter subject, speaking not one half so harshly of dell as she had spoken of him. still i felt that he had no right thus to speak to me, and so i told him.
“i know it, rose,” he returned. “i know it all; but for this once you must hear me, and i will never trouble you again. i committed a great error in marrying one, while my heart belonged to another—stay,” he continued, as i was about to interrupt him. “you must hear me out. it is not of my love for that other that i would speak; but, rose, i would know how far i have wronged you. did you love me, and had i asked you to share my home, when at a suitable age, would you have done so?”
he was very pale, and the arm on which my hand was resting, trembled violently, but grew still when he heard my answer, which was, “i did love you, but ’twas a childish love and quickly passed away. and were you now free as you once were, i could be to you nothing save a friend.”
170there was a mixture of disappointment and pleasure on his face; but he replied, “i am glad that it is so, and shall now feel happier, for the hardest part of all was the thought that possibly you, too, might suffer.”
“not at all,” i answered, adding, “it would be foolish to break my heart for one man, when there are so many in the world.”
this i said with bitterness, for i remembered the time when i had wept in the shadowy woods of meadow brook, and if for a moment i experienced a feeling of satisfaction in knowing that what i suffered then, he was suffering now, i can only plead woman’s nature as an apology. ’twas but for a moment, however, and then, casting off all such feelings, i spoke to him kindly of his wife, telling him he could be happy with her if he tried, and that if he were not, it was probably as much his fault as hers. brighter days, too, would come, i said, when his practice would not be limited to three patients, one of whom was too poor to pay, and another was already convalescent, while the third was in the last stages of her disease, and would need his services but a few days longer.
“you are my good angel, rose,” said he, when at last we reached my uncle’s door, “and your words inspire me with courage. come and see us often, for the sight of you does me good, and god knows how much i stand in need of sympathy. farewell.”
he pressed my hand, and hastily raising it to his lips, turned away, dreading, as i well knew, a return to the sick-room, where naught would greet him save reproachful complaints, and where the dark eyes, which had first won his admiration, would flash angrily upon him. in the hall, i stood for a time, pondering in my mind some way by which i could assist him, and i even thought of feigning sickness 171myself for the sake of adding another patient to his list! but this, i knew, he would easily detect, and possibly he might misconstrue my motive for so doing, and this project was abandoned, and i entered the parlor in quest of my aunt, who, i learned from one of the servants, was in her own room, suffering from a severe headache. she had taken a violent cold, which, by the next morning, had developed itself into a species of influenza, at that time prevailing in the city. added to this was a general debility and prostration of the nerves, brought on by her recent trouble and anxiety concerning herbert.
my uncle, who was always alarmed when she was ill, wished for medical advice; but to this she objected, as dr. mott, the family physician, was absent, and she knew of no other, whom she dare trust. instantly i thought of dr. clayton. if she could be prevailed upon to employ him, i knew she would like him, for i could testify to his extreme kindness in a sick-room, and good nursing was what she most needed. when i suggested that he should be called, she at first refused; but before night, being much worse, she consented, and never had i experienced a moment of greater happiness than when i hastened to the kitchen with a message for john, who was to go immediately for dr. clayton. then taking my uncle aside, i explained to him the straitened circumstances of the young physician, hinting to him, that prompt remuneration for his services would undoubtedly be acceptable.
“yes, yes, i understand,” said he; “you want me to pay him to-day.”
here we were interrupted by the ringing of the door-bell. dr. clayton had come, and the result was as i had hoped. my aunt was greatly pleased—he was so kind and gentle, humoring all her fancies, and evincing withal so much judgment 172and skill, that she felt confidence in his abilities; and when he was gone, expressed herself as preferring him even to dr. mott, “who,” she said, “was getting old and cross.”
as he was leaving the house, my uncle placed in his hand a five dollar bill, whereupon the doctor turned very red, and asked if he were not expected to call again.
“certainly, certainly,” said my uncle, who, manlike, hadn’t the least bit of tact; “keep coming until charlotte is well. i only paid you for this call to please rosa.”
instead of the displeased, mortified look, which i expected to see on the doctor’s face, there was an expression of deep gratitude, as he turned his eyes towards me; and i thought there was a moisture in them, which surprised me, for i did not then know how much that five dollars was needed: it being the exact amount requisite for the payment of the girl, who refused to remain with them another day unless her wages were forthcoming. to such straits are people, apparently in easy circumstances, sometimes reduced.
for more than a week my aunt was confined to her room, while the doctor came regularly, always staying a long time, and by his delicate attentions winning golden laurels from his patient, who was far better pleased with him than with the fussy old man, who, being always in a hurry, only stopped for a moment, while he looked at her tongue, felt her pulse, and recommended blistering and bleeding, with a dose of calomel, neither of which dr. clayton believed to be a saving ordinance, and indispensable to the comfort and recovery of his patients. by this, i do not mean anything derogatory to the good old custom of tormenting folks to death before their time, but having a faint remembrance of certain blisters, which, together with cabbage leaves and the tallowed rags, once kept me in a state of torture for nearly a week, to say nothing of the sore mouth, the loose teeth, and the 173tightly-bandaged arm, i cannot help experiencing a kind of nervous tremor at the very mention of said prescriptions.
dr. clayton’s attendance upon my aunt was a great benefit to him, as, through its means, he became known to several of the higher circle, who began to employ him, so that by the last of may, the time when i left boston for meadow brook, he had quite a large practice. for some reason or other, mrs. archer, too, sent for him again; and as he had now no ten thousand dollars in prospect, he succeeded in pleasing the whimsical lady, thereby securing her patronage for a year at least. here, for a time, i leave him, while i go back to the dear old home at meadow brook, over which a shadow, dark and heavy, was brooding.
