The Gold Brick Part 25

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE GRANDMOTHER RELENTING.

The widow Allen sat by her kitchen fire, and a sterner, sadder woman never drew breath than she appeared on the day after that stormy visit from the doctor. She was waiting for him now. Her eyes, full of sullen thought, dwelt on the fire. Her feet were planted hard on the hearth--every thing about her looked unyielding and stiff--the high-backed chair, the full borders of her cap, and the white kerchief folded over her bosom--the very grief in her features seemed frozen there.

"Mother!"

This voice came from an inner room, the one which Mrs. Allen had occupied during her sickness. Its faint sweetness drew the old woman from her sombre mood. She arose and entered the apartment where her daughter lay.

The room was dimly lighted, for besides the usual blinds, a patch-work quilt, glowing with gorgeous colors, had been stretched across the only window it contained. As a great proportion of scarlet and green predominated in the quilt, it gave a richness to the atmosphere somewhat like that which streams through stained gla.s.s in a chancel window.

Katharine lay upon the bed among pillows, white as the snow drifting outside, and with a pretty cap shading her delicate features.

"Did you call, Katharine?" questioned the mother, in her clear, cold way.

"Yes, mother; my head begins to ache. A little while ago I was cold, now hot flushes are running all over me. Is this fever, do you think?"

The old woman lifted a corner of the quilt from over the window, and looked in her daughter's face.

Katharine shrunk from the glance.

"Oh, mother, don't look at me so--it makes me tremble!"

Mrs. Allen dropped the quilt, and, ignoring the fears of her child, answered to the first question.

"You are getting excited, but I think not feverish."

"Mother."

"Well, Katharine."

"I want--I wish--"

The poor thing made an effort to pull down the bed-clothes, but her hand trembled so violently that she could only make a faint signal before it fell.

The mother was touched. What woman, however aggrieved, would have resisted those mournful eyes? She went close to the bed, and turned down the blanket. A babe lay sleeping on that young creature's bosom, its little hand resting like a rose leaf, on her neck. A cloud of soft, golden hair covered its head. Mrs. Allen turned her face away, but the magnetism of those blue eyes drew it softly toward the child.

"You are its grandmother--and oh, tell me if I am your child yet?"

The young creature began to tremble as she uttered these words. This disturbed the infant, and the grandmother found a pair of soft, dreamy eyes looking into hers. The angels who guard little children may have thrown a heavenly earnestness into the child's look; I do not know--but it touched that stern heart more than the young mother's appeal had done. She stooped and took the babe in her arms; a thousand sweet, maternal recollections rose in her bosom as she pillowed it there, and laid her face against its velvet cheek.

Katharine smiled. "Mother, is it like me--like what I was once?"

"Yes."

The woman could not utter another word. When a rock is cleft, the fragments half choke up the waters that gush through them.

"Mother, my head troubles me, and I'm afraid if fever comes I may lose my senses; but I know every thing now, and want you to believe me. All that I have told you is true. It isn't because I am ashamed, but he will be here in a few days--I am sure of that. It is now more than three months, and he promised solemnly to come by that time. This is why we must not say any thing to the neighbors; they might not credit me, you know; but when he is here, who will dare turn against me? You believe that we are married, dear mother?"

"Yes, I believe it, Katharine."

"If I should be worse, you will find the paper in the garret, between one of the rafters and the s.h.i.+ngles. n.o.body must be allowed to say a word against this child when I am dead."

"Nor against _my_ child while I live!" answered Mrs. Allen. "For this reason, it must be made known in the neighborhood that you are that man's wife."

"Not quite yet. It will be time enough when some one comes," pleaded the young creature. "Nelson may be on the road now. The doctor won't tell, he promised me."

She was getting excited with opposition; her cheeks were scarlet. The soft blue eyes began to glitter.

"Promise, mother! It kills me to think what the neighbors will say; but when he comes, I shall be so proud to take my baby in my arms--and--and--" She broke off, and lifting one hand to her head, began waving it to and fro.

Mrs. Allen saw that there was great danger in this agitation, and attempted to soothe it.

"Promise not to tell! promise not to tell!" cried the invalid, panting for breath, and moving restlessly on her pillow.

"Yes, Katharine; I promise not to say any thing for a week at least."

"He will be here in a week! he will be here in a week."

Katharine kept whispering this over and over again, until she fell asleep from pure exhaustion. It was some time before the crimson flush left her face, or the quick breath subsided to the calm respiration that followed; but at last she slept tranquilly as the infant which still lay on its grandmother's bosom.

Mrs. Allen sat down by the kitchen fire. She could not find it in her heart to put the babe away after its little face had once touched her own. Seating herself in the high-backed chair, she began rocking to and fro--and as the love of that little child crept, like a perfume, to her heart, hatred to its father slowly disappeared, as a kingly essence destroys all evil odors. She began to think how pleasant it would be to live in closer connection with the good old couple over the hill, and how much she had to be thankful for, that her daughter was not, in fact, the outcast she had almost believed her. As this spirit of grat.i.tude took possession of her heart, she began to hum over a cradle song, which had almost died out of her memory, and tender dews stole into her eyes, of which she was quite unconscious, until the fire began to look hazy under her steady glance.

Our G.o.d uses little children as instruments of great tenderness. They want no key to the hardest heart; but go in, without knocking, and nestle themselves like birds in a strange nest, carrying gentleness and blessings with them. So it was with this little mite of humanity. In the helplessness of its animal life, it appealed to the stern woman's heart without challenging the stubborn pride that nothing could conquer. So she softened down, and from touching the little face, began to kiss it, and finally converted her lap into a cradle and commenced trotting the baby on her knees with the most womanly gentleness.

The doctor found her in this condition when he came in the afternoon.

Katharine was still asleep, and the two held a confidential talk on the hearth-stone, in which the young creature's condition was thoroughly discussed. When told of the great dread which the young mother felt regarding any present publicity being given to her marriage, or the existence of the child, the doctor rather sided with that view of the question.

"The truth is," he said, "we should have gossip and questions, guesses and scandal, running through the neighborhood like wildfire. Let the young fellow come back and settle the whole matter for himself. There is no reason on earth why you should see company. Besides, the state of the roads will keep everybody away."

"I never have much company, and don't want any just now; as for explaining what----"

"Is n.o.body's business; why, it's just what you dislike, and the thought of it has, by your own account, driven the young creature half beside herself. Just let the thing alone, Mrs. Allen; where there is no one to talk with, there is nothing to tell."

"I will neither seek my neighbors, nor withhold the truth if they demand it of me," said the widow.

The doctor gathered up his crutches, with a show of impatience, and muttered something not over complimentary to the sea, and all that followed it.

His voice aroused the patient in the next room, who called out:

"Who is there, mother? Has he come?"

The doctor stumped across the room, and stood balanced on his crutches looking at her.

"Oh, is it you, doctor?" she said, in a voice that plainly spoke the disappointment that she felt.