Chapter VI: News From the West

THE wedding was to be strictly private. This point Gertrude had yielded to her brother, who was unwilling that any stranger's eye should intrude on an occasion so painful to him. The husband elect arrived only the previous evening, and the nuptial ceremony took place at Rose Cottage at nine o'clock in the morning. There was a handsome breakfast at eleven; and the bridal party took the boat for Albany at two.

Directly after the ceremony, Edward invited the wedded pair into the library, where he put into his sister's hand a deed of gift of the house he had purchased, explaining that he had furnished it with her money; and that, on a number of the articles, she would find a mark showing that it could be exchanged if not in accordance with her taste.

Gertrude was wholly overcome at this generous gift, especially as she knew how her wilfulness had grieved her brother. She threw her arms around his neck and begged him always to remember that she loved him next to Paul; and that she never, never would forget his kindness.

The parting between poor Hannah and her darling was so painful that all were glad when it was over; and the self-sacrificing woman was free to give vent to her grief. For Gerty's sake she had put a violent constraint upon her own feelings; dressing her dear child in the bridal garments with her own hands, and decking her fair head with orange blossoms. Indeed, since she had found it must be so;—that no arguments could avail with the self-willed girl, she had abstained from useless reproach, and substituted such counsel as her true woman's heart enabled her to give.

Though her opinion of Mr. Dudley had never changed since she first begged Edward to find some excuse for shortening his friend's visit; yet never after the marriage was settled did she, by word or look, give evidence of her distrust.

Every night she sought Gertrude's couch with the excuse, "I shan't have you with me long darling," and there cautioned her against the indulgence of those traits which would surely wean her husband's affection; or begged her to mark out and continue some course of study such as would fit her to be as useful a woman as her mother was.

Sometimes Gertrude was softened by Hannah's earnestness, and would promise any thing. At other times she would pout, or say:

"You talk as if Paul didn't love me much; but he does; no matter what I do wrong, he says he can't help loving me."

Then Hannah would urge a higher motive for self-discipline, even the favor of God; and the impulsive child would weep and confess:

"I'm sick of being naughty. I wish I could be good always."

Then they both would kneel while Hannah besought the blessing of her heavenly Father upon the child in the untried scenes before her.

Now the pleasure of working for one she loved was over; and there was nothing to do but to weep and pray, that out of seeming ill, (for she could not regard this unseasonable marriage otherwise than an event to be mourned,) God would bring good. Years after she knew that her prayers had been answered, and though she acknowledged that—

"God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform,"

yet with streaming eyes she gave to him all the glory.

Edward, at great inconvenience to himself, had continued to make his home at Rose Cottage while his sister remained. He had taken an office in the city, and had already gained some suits. Now he intended to leave at once, and for the rest of the winter apply himself diligently to business.

Hannah was to remain at Rose Cottage; and Minnie Howard, her niece, to be her guest till spring.

The morning following the wedding, Edward was seated at the table for an early breakfast, when he said:

"I shall run up Saturday night as often as possible, for I shall need cheering; and in the Spring I shall come out every night as I have done this fall."

"I don't look forward to any thing," was the desponding answer. "I have a feeling that Gertrude, poor child, will want me. She'll turn to her old friends when others fail her."

"I hope you don't wish her husband to fail her, that she may come back to you."

"No, Edward, I love her so dearly that though it would be one of the greatest sacrifices, yet I would be willing never to see her again, if I could be sure she would not need me; but I distrust that man, I try not to; but I can't help it."

"Well," he rejoined with a sigh. "They are married and we must hope for the best."

The first letter from Gertrude reached her brother on the last day of the year. It seemed to have been written in great haste, and was full of expressions of affection and gratitude for his kindness in providing her with so beautiful a home.

"Paul is busy all the day," she wrote; "but in the evening helps me arrange the pictures and books I brought from Rose Cottage. We have not changed one article; and we both admire your taste in the selection of every thing. I have been to the theatre twice, and oh, it does seem like heaven! I do hope it isn't wrong to go. I remember Hannah telling me that my mother said it unfitted one for the duties of life; and if I thought it would do that I would stay away, much as I like it. My dear brother, I have made a resolution to be as good a woman as my mother was; and Paul is so kind he helps me a great deal."

Enclosed in this letter was a slip from Paul with these words:

"Gerty says she has told you how much we like the house; but she could not, in one letter, give expression to our grateful sense of your kindness. Your sister has created quite a sensation here by her beauty and artless manners. You would have been proud of her; and I can assure you her husband was, and is."

Edward was delighted at the bright prospects opening before the young couple; but his cheek flushed not a little at Gertrude's almost illegible scrawl, in which the most common words were either misspelled or misused. He had thought the letters he received in college bad enough, but this was much worse.

"Poor, mistaken, child!" he mentally exclaimed. "Instead of passing her evenings in places of amusement, she ought to be studying her spelling book, or reciting grammar to her husband."

He was so much distressed at this exhibition of her ignorance that he took the afternoon boat for Rose Cottage, as fortunately the ice had not yet closed the river. He found Hannah laughing and crying over a letter from her darling, just received.

"Shall I read it?" he asked smiling at her manifestations of delight.

"I will read it to you," was her hesitating reply. "I have read it so many times I can make it out quite well."

I will give my reader's an extract:

"Dear, dear Hannah. Have you longed for your naughty girl, who used to torment you so much? I hope you have missed me a little, for I have wanted you every hour in the day. Now don't you go and marry that funny Mr. Biles who made love to you; for I shall go to Rose Cottage in the summer to bring you to Chicago. Paul told me something about your beau. He rode with him the day he first came to see us, and the man talked so about our never having any visitors; because you wouldn't let any body come, that Paul was almost afraid to venture."

"Dear Hannah, I wish I didn't find it so hard to write for I have so much to ask you. I am very happy indeed, I mean, most of the time, but there are some things which trouble me. The first Sunday I was here, I dressed to go to church; but Paul said he was tired;—that it was his only day of rest, and he'd rather stay at home. I was very much surprised. I told him I had never staid from church in all my life, unless I was sick; but of course I couldn't go alone; so I stayed. I'm almost afraid to tell you that we worked all day arranging rooms, and then in the evening I had to sing and play tunes I never sang before on Sunday. I tried to laugh and be lively, because Paul said it was nonsense to be so squeamish; but I can't think it was right. I wish I knew what I ought to do, for I'm afraid Paul don't mean to go to church at all. He says his father and mother haven't been inside a church for years; and that it costs a great deal to hire such a pew as he would be willing to sit in. I told him I felt wicked all day, working just as if it wasn't Sunday; and he said; 'Pshaw, Gerty! I'll take care of your conscience. Your first duty is to obey your husband.'"

Then followed some lines written later:

"Oh, Hannah! how sorry I am I didn't learn to keep house. Paul loves coffee so dearly; and our servant doesn't know any thing. This morning I tried myself, and instead of being clear like yours; it was just like mud. I tried not to cry; but it was hard to be blamed when I had done my best. There was nothing on the table fit to eat; and so Paul went off to get his breakfast at a restaurant. I'm sorry now we tried to keep house, for the servants here are so ignorant."

"Paul's patience will not last long under such circumstances," remarked young Wallingford gravely; but "Hannah how is it that her letters are so much worse than those she sent me in college."

The woman's cheek flushed; but at last she acknowledged that it was a task Gerty was very unwilling to enter upon. "I insisted." she said, "that she should write all the words on the slate; and then we looked them out in the dictionary. Sometimes it took a day or two before the sheet was ready to send off, she had to copy it so many times."

"And was this what took her so many evenings to Mr. Monroe?"

"Yes, he teaches the school you know; but Gerty wouldn't attend because she was so much behind the rest. He came here one day to buy some fresh butter, and I made bold to talk with him about her education. Finally he agreed to teach her three evenings in a week, on condition she would come regularly and try to improve. I paid him in butter and eggs; and she was getting on finely, till Mr. Dudley came."

Mr. Wallingford paced the floor in great excitement. "It is even worse than I feared," he exclaimed; "but regret is useless now. If I had done my duty,—"

"Don't fret about that, Edward. If you had put her to the best school, she would not have applied herself; now she feels the need of an education, she will turn to her books, and her husband has promised to teach her."

He shook his head.

"I didn't know the dear child had so much conscience," urged Hannah, turning to the letter again.

"You must be careful what you write," was Edward's caution. "Paul will doubtless see the letter. I shall write at once recommending Paul to take a slip in Dr. Gilbert's pew, offering to pay the rent. She can attend then if he does not."