Ester Ried Part 6

To go to New York, to her uncle's house, to see and be with Cousin Abbie, had been the one great dream of Ester's heart--as likely to be realized, she could not help acknowledging, as a journey to the moon, and no more so. New York was at least five hundred miles away; and the money necessary to carry her there seemed like a small fortune to Ester, to say nothing of the endless additions to her wardrobe which would have to be made before she would account herself ready. So she contented herself, or perhaps it would be more truthful to say she made herself discontented, with ceaseless dreams over what New York, and her uncle's family, and, above all, Cousin Abbie, were like; and whether she would ever see them; and why it had always happened that something was sure to prevent Abbie's visits to herself; and whether she should like her as well, if she could be with her, as she did now; and a hundred other confused and disconnected thoughts about them all.

Ester had no idea what this miserable, restless dreaming of hers was doing for her. She did not see that her very desires after a better life, which were sometimes strong upon her, were colored with impatience and envy.

Cousin Abbie was a Christian, and wrote her some earnest letters; but to Ester it seemed a very easy matter indeed for one who was surrounded, as she imagined Abbie to be, by luxury and love, to be a joyous, eager Christian. Into this very letter that poor Julia had sent sailing down the stream, some of her inmost feelings had been poured.

"Don't think me devoid of all aspirations after something higher,"

so the letter ran. "Dear Abbie, you, in your sunny home, can never imagine how wildly I long sometimes to be free from my surroundings, free from petty cares and trials, and vexations, which, I feel, are eating out my very life. Oh, to be free for one hour, to feel myself at liberty, for just one day, to follow my own tastes and inclinations; to be the person I believe G.o.d designed me to be; to fill the niche I believe He designed me to fill! Abbie, I _hate_ my life. I have not a happy moment. It is all rasped, and warped, and unlovely. I am nothing, and I know it; and I had rather, for my own comfort, be like the most of those who surround me--nothing, and not know it. Sometimes I can not help asking myself why I was made as I am. Why can't I be a clod, a plodder, and drag my way with stupid good nature through this miserable world, instead of chafing and bruising myself at every step."

Now it would be very natural to suppose that a young lady with a grain of sense left in her brains, would, in cooler moments, have been rather glad than otherwise, to have such a restless, unhappy, unchristianlike letter hopelessly lost. But Ester felt, as has been seen, thoroughly angry that so much lofty sentiment, which she mistook for religion, was entirely lost Yet let it not be supposed that one word of this rebellious outbreak was written simply for effect. Ester, when she wrote that she "hated her life," was thoroughly and miserably in earnest. When, in the solitude of her own room, she paced her floor that evening, and murmured, despairingly: "Oh, if something would _only_ happen to rest me for just a little while!" she was more thoroughly in earnest than any human being who feels that Christ has died to save her, and that she has an eternal resting-place prepared for her, and waiting to receive her, has any right to feel on such a subject. Yet, though the letter had never reached its destination, the pitying Savior, looking down upon his poor, foolish lamb in tender love, made haste to prepare an answer to her wild, rebellious cry for help, even though she cried blindly, without a thought of the Helper who is sufficient for all human needs.

"Long looked for, come at last!" and Sadie's clear voice rang through the dining-room, and a moment after that young lady herself reached the pump-room, holding up for Ester's view a dainty envelope, directed in a yet more dainty hand to Miss Ester Ried. "Here's that wonderful letter from Cousin Abbie which you have sent me to the post-office after three times a day for as many weeks. It reached here by the way of Cape Horn, I should say, by its appearance. It has been remailed twice."

Ester set her pail down hastily, seized the letter, and retired to the privacy of the pantry to devour it; and for once was oblivious to the fact that Sadie lunched on bits of cake broken from the smooth, square loaf while she waited to hear the news.

"Anything special?" Mrs. Ried asked, pausing in the doorway, which question Ester answered by turning a flushed and eager face toward them, as she pa.s.sed the letter to Sadie, with permission to read it aloud. Surprised into silence by the unusual confidence, Sadie read the dainty epistle without comment:

"MY DEAR ESTER:

"I'm in a grand flurry, and shall therefore not stop for long stories to-day, but come at the pith of the matter immediately. We want you.

That is nothing new, you are aware, as we have been wanting you for many a day. But there is new decision in my plans, and new inducements, this time. We not only want, but _must_ have you. Please don't say 'No' to me this once. We are going to have a wedding in our house, and we need your presence, and wisdom, and taste. Father says you can't be your mother's daughter if you haven't exquisite taste.

I am very busy helping to get the bride in order, which is a work of time and patience; and I do so much need your aid; besides, the bride is your Uncle Ralph's only daughter, so of course you ought to be interested in her.

"Ester, _do_ come. Father says the inclosed fifty dollars is a present from him, which you must honor by letting it pay your fare to New York just as soon as possible. The wedding is fixed for the twenty-second; and we want you here at least three weeks before that. Brother Ralph is to be first groomsman; and he especially needs your a.s.sistance, as the bride has named you for her first bridesmaid. I'm to dress--I mean the bride is to dress--in white, and mother has a dress prepared for the bridesmaid to match hers; so that matter need not delay or cause you anxiety.

"This letter is getting too long. I meant it to be very brief and pointed. I designed every other word to be 'come;' but after all I do not believe you will need so much urging to be with us at this time.

I flatter myself that you love me enough to come to me if you can. So, leaving Ralph to write directions concerning route and trains, I will run and try on the bride's bonnet, which has just come home.

"P.S. There is to be a groom as well as a bride, though I see I have said nothing concerning him. Never mind, you shall see him when you come. Dear Ester, there isn't a word of tense in this letter, I know; but I haven't time to put any in."

"Really," laughed Sadie, as she concluded the reading, "this is almost foolish enough to have been written by me. Isn't it splendid, though?

Ester, I'm glad you are _you_. I wish I had corresponded with Cousin Abbie myself. A wedding of any kind is a delicious novelty; but a real New York wedding, and a bridesmaid besides--my! I've a mind to clap my hands for you, seeing you are too dignified to do it yourself."

"Oh," said Ester, from whose face the flush had faded, leaving it actually pale with excitement and expected disappointment, "you don't suppose I am foolish enough to think I can go, do you?"

"Of course you will go, when Uncle Ralph has paid your fare, and more, too. Fifty dollars will buy a good deal besides a ticket to New York.

Mother, don't you ever think of saying that she can't go; there is nothing to hinder her. She is to go, isn't she?"

"Why, I don't know," answered this perplexed mother. "I want her to, I am sure; yet I don't see how she can be spared. She will need a great many things besides a ticket, and fifty dollars do not go as far as you imagine; besides, Ester, you know I depend on you so much."

Ester's lips parted to speak; and had the words come forth which were in her heart, they would have been sharp and bitter ones--about never expecting to go anywhere, never being able to do any thing but work; but Sadie's eager voice was quicker than hers:

"Oh now, mother, it is no use to talk in that way. I've quite set my heart on Ester's going. I never expect to have an invitation there myself, so I must take my honors secondhand.

"Mother, it is time you learned to depend on me a little. I'm two inches taller than Ester, and I've no doubt I shall develop into a remarkable person when she is where we can't all lean upon her. School closes this very week, you know, and we have vacation until October.

Abbie couldn't have chosen a better time. Whom do you suppose she is to marry? What a queer creature, not to tell us. Say she can go, mother--quick!"

Sadie's last point was a good one in Mrs. Ried's opinion. Perhaps the giddy Sadie, at once her pride and her anxiety, might learn a little self-reliance by feeling a shadow of the weight of care which rested continually on Ester.

"You certainly need the change," she said, her eyes resting pityingly on the young, careworn face of her eldest daughter. "But how could we manage about your wardrobe? Your black silk is nice, to be sure; but you would need one bright evening dress at least, and you know we haven't the money to spare."

Then Sadie, thoughtless, selfish Sadie, who was never supposed to have one care for others, and very little for herself--Sadie, who vexed Ester nearly every hour in the day, by what, at the time, always seemed some especially selfish, heedless act--suddenly shone out gloriously. She stood still, and actually seemed to think for a full minute, while Ester jerked a pan of potatoes toward her, and commenced peeling vigorously; then she clapped her hands, and gave vent to little gleeful shouts before she exclaimed "Oh, mother, mother! I have it exactly. I wonder we didn't think of it before. There's my blue silk--just the thing! I am tall, and she is short, so it will make her a beautiful train dress. Won't that do splendidly!"

The magnitude of this proposal awed even Ester into silence. To be appreciated, it must be understood that Sadie Ried had never in her life possessed a silk dress. Mrs. Ried's best black silk had long ago been cut over for Ester; so had her brown and white plaid; so there had been nothing of the sort to remodel for Sadie; and this elegant sky-blue silk had been lying in its satin-paper covering for more than two years. It was the gift of a dear friend of Mrs. Ried's girlhood to the young beauty who bore her name, and had been waiting all this time for Sadie to attain proper growth to admit of its being cut into for her. Meantime she had feasted her eyes upon it, and gloried in the prospect of that wonderful day when she should sweep across the platform of Music Hall with this same silk falling in beautiful blue waves around her; for it had long been settled that it was to be worn first on that day when she should graduate.

No wonder, then, that Ester stood in mute astonishment, while Mrs.

Ried commented:

"Why, Sadie, my dear child, is it possible you are willing to give up your blue silk?"

"Not a bit of it, mother; I don't intend to give it up the least bit in the world. I'm merely going to lend it. It's too pretty to stay poked up in that drawer by itself any longer. I've set my heart on its coming out this very season Just as likely as not it will learn to put on airs for me when I graduate. I'm not at all satisfied with my attainments in that line; so Ester shall take it to New York; and if she sits down or stands up, or turns around, or has one minute's peace while she has it on, for fear lest she should spot it, or tear it, or get it stepped on, I'll never forgive her."

And at this harangue Ester laughed a free, glad laugh, such as was seldom heard from her. Some way it began to seem as if she were really to go, Sadie had such a brisk, business-like way of saying "Ester shall take it to New York." Oh, if she only, _only_ could go, she would be willing to do _any thing_ after that; but one peep, one little peep into the beautiful magic world that lay outside of that dining-room and kitchen she felt as if she must have. Perhaps that laugh did as much for her as any thing. It almost startled Mrs. Ried with its sweetness and rarity. What if the change would freshen and brighten her, and bring her back to them with some of the sparkles that continually danced in Sadie's eyes; but what, on the other hand, if she should grow utterly disgusted with the monotony of their very quiet, very busy life, and refuse to work in that most necessary treadmill any longer. So the mother argued and hesitated, and the decision which was to mean so much more than any of those knew, trembled in the balance; for let Mrs. Ried once find voice to say, "Oh, Ester, I don't see but what you will _have_ to give it up," and Ester would have turned quickly and with curling lip, to that pan of potatoes, and have sharply forbidden any one to mention the subject to her again. Once more Sadie, dear, merry, silly Sadie, came to the rescue.

"Mother, oh, mother! what an endless time you are in coming to a decision! I could plan an expedition to the North Pole in less time than this. I'm just wild to have her go. I want to hear how a genuine New York bride looks; besides, you know, dear mother, I want to stay in the kitchen with you. Ester does every thing, and I don't have any chance. I perfectly long to bake, and boil, and broil, and brew things. Say yes, there's a darling."

And Mrs. Ried looked at the bright, flushed face, and thought how little the dear child knew about all these matters, and how little patience poor Ester, who was so competent herself, would have with Sadie's ignorance, and said, slowly and hesitatingly, but yet actually said:

"Well, Ester, my daughter, I really think we must try to get along without you for a little while!"

And these three people really seemed to think that they had decided the matter. Though two of them were at least theoretical believers in a "special providence," it never once occurred to them that this little thing, in all its details, had been settled for ages.

CHAPTER VII.

JOURNEYING.

"Twenty minutes here for refreshments!" "Pa.s.sengers for New York take south track!" "New York daily papers here!" "Sweet oranges here!"

And amid all these yells of discordant tongues, and the screeching of engines, and the ringing of bells, and the intolerable din of a merciless gong, Ester pushed and elbowed her way through the crowd, almost panting with her efforts to keep pace with her traveling companion, a nervous country merchant on his way to New York to buy goods. He hurried her through the crowd and the noise into the dining-saloon; stood by her side while, obedient to his orders, she poured down her throat a cup of almost boiling coffee; then, seating her in the ladies' room charged her on no account to stir from that point while he was gone--he had just time to run around to the post-office, and mail a forgotten letter; then he vanished, and in the confusion and the crowd Ester was alone. She did not feel, in the least, flurried or nervous; on the contrary, she liked it, this first experience of hers in a city depot; she would not have had it made known to one of the groups of fas.h.i.+onably-attired and very-much-at-ease travelers who thronged past her for the world--but the truth was, Ester had been having her very first ride in the cars!

Sadie had made various little trips in company with school friends to adjoining towns, after school books, or music, or to attend a concert, or for pure fun; but, though Ester had spent her eighteen years of life in a town which had long been an "Express Station," yet want of time, or of money, or of inclination to take the bits of journeys which alone were within her reach, had kept her at home. Now she glanced at herself, at her faultlessly neat and ladylike traveling suit. She could get a full view of it in an opposite mirror, and it was becoming, from the dainty vail which fluttered over her hat, to the s.h.i.+ning tip of her walking boots; and she gave a complacent little sigh, as she said to herself: "I don't see but I look as much like a traveler as any of them. I'm sure I don't feel in the least confused.

I'm glad I'm not as ridiculously dressed as that pert-looking girl in brown. I should call it in very bad taste to wear such a rich silk as that for traveling. She doesn't look as though she had a single idea beyond dress; probably that is what is occupying her thoughts at this very moment;" and Ester's speaking face betrayed contempt and conscious superiority, as she watched the fluttering bit of silk and ribbons opposite. Ester had a very mistaken opinion of herself in this respect; probably she would have been startled and indignant had any one told her that her supposed contempt for the rich and elegant attire displayed all around her, was really the outgrowth of envy; that, when she told herself _she_ wouldn't lavish so much time and thought, and, above all, _money_, on mere outside show, it was mere nonsense--that she already spent all the time at her disposal, and all the money she could possibly spare, on the very things which she was condemning.

The truth was, Ester had a perfectly royal taste in all these matters.

Give her but the wherewithal, and she would speedily have glistened in silk, and sparkled with jewels; yet she honestly thought that her bitter denunciation of fas.h.i.+on and folly in this form was outward evidence of a mind elevated far above such trivial subjects, and looked down, accordingly, with cool contempt on those whom she was pleased to denominate "b.u.t.terflies of fas.h.i.+on."

And, in her flights into a "higher sphere of thought," this absurdly inconsistent Ester never once remembered how, just exactly a week ago that day, she had gone around like a storm king, in her own otherwise peaceful home, almost wearing out the long-suffering patience of her weary mother, rendered the house intolerable to Sadie, and actually boxed Julia's ears; and all because she saw with her own common-sense eyes that she really _could_ not have her blue silk, or rather Sadie's blue silk, trimmed with netted fringe at twelve s.h.i.+llings a yard, but must do with simple folds and a seventy-five-cent heading!

Such a two weeks as the last had been in the Ried family! The entire household had joined in the commotion produced by Ester's projected visit. It was marvelous how much there was to do. Mrs. Ried toiled early and late, and made many quiet little sacrifices, in order that her daughter might not feel too keenly the difference between her own and her cousin's wardrobe. Sadie emptied what she denominated her finery box, and donated every article in it, delivering comic little lectures to each bit of lace and ribbon, as she smoothed them and patted them, and told them they were going to New York. Julia hemmed pocket handkerchiefs, and p.r.i.c.ked her poor little fingers unmercifully and uncomplainingly. Alfred ran of errands with remarkable promptness, but confessed to Julia privately that it was because he was in such a hurry to have Ester gone, so he could see how it would seem for everybody to be good natured. Little Minie got in everybody's way as much as such a tiny creature could, and finally brought the tears to Ester's eyes, and set every one else into bursts of laughter, by bringing a very smooth little handkerchief about six inches square, and offering it as her contribution toward the traveler's outfit. As for Ester, she was hurried and nervous, and almost unendurably cross, through the whole of it, wanting a hundred things which it was impossible for her to have, and scorning not a few little trifles that had been prepared for her by patient, toil-worn fingers.

"Ester, I _do_ hope New York, or Cousin Abbie, or somebody, will have a soothing and improving effect upon you," Sadie had said, with a sort of good-humored impatience, only the night before her departure.

"Now that you have reached the summit of your hopes, you seem more uncomfortable about it than you were even to stay at home. Do let us see you look pleasant for just five minutes, that we may have something good to remember you by."

"My dear," Mrs. Ried had interposed, rebukingly, "Ester is hurried and tired, remember, and has had a great many things to try her to-day. I don't think it is a good plan, just as a family are about to separate, to say any careless or foolish words that we don't mean. Mother has a great many hard days of toil, which Ester has given, to remember her by." Oh, the patient, tender, forgiving mother! Ester, being asleep to her own faults, never once thought of the sharp, fretful, half disgusted way in which much of her work had been performed, but only remembered, with a little sigh of satisfaction, the many loaves of cake, and the rows of pies, which she had baked that very morning in order to save her mother's steps. This was all she thought of now, but there came days when she was wide-awake.

Meantime the New York train, after panting and snorting several times to give notice that the twenty minutes were about up, suddenly puffed and rumbled its way out from the depot, and left Ester obeying orders, that is, sitting in the corner where she had been placed by Mr.

Newton--being still outwardly, but there was in her heart a perfect storm of vexation. "This comes of mother's absurd fussiness in insisting upon putting me in Mr. Newton's care, instead of letting me travel alone, as I wanted to," she fumed to herself. "Now we shall not get into New York until after six o'clock! How provoking!"