Chapter VII: Calls at the Park

It was early the next morning when Mildred arose and stepping out upon the balcony looked toward the town which had changed so much since she was there last. Across the noisy little river which went dashing along in its rocky bed at the foot of the mountain, one or two tall stacks of manufactories were belching forth their smoke, while new churches and hotels and villas dotted what had been pasture lands when she went away. Standing upon tiptoe she could see the chimney top of her old home, and just over it, up the mountain road, the evergreens in the cemetery where her father and Charlie were lying.

“I’ll go there some day alone and find their graves,” she was thinking when her husband joined her.

“I am sure you are better, you look so fresh and bright; but it is time you were getting ready for breakfast,” he said, as he gave her a little caress.

And Mildred was very bright when she at last went with her husband to the breakfast-room, a half-opened rose which he had gathered for her at her throat, and another at her belt. It was her first appearance at her own table, and Mr. Thornton led her proudly to her seat behind the coffee urn and looked at her admiringly while she assumed the rôle of mistress as naturally as if she had all her life been accustomed to her present surroundings. Alice had kissed her effusively as she came in, hoping she was quite well and thinking her more beautiful than on the previous day. Gerard, who was less demonstrative but more observant than his sister, greeted her cordially and then sat watching her, curious and puzzled by something in her face or manner or voice which seemed familiar to him.

“She is dazzlingly lovely. I wonder how Bessie will look beside her,” he thought, as after breakfast he started for the farm house as was his daily custom.

It was very warm that morning and Mildred had seated herself with a book upon the shaded balcony opening from her room, when word was brought her that her husband wished to see her on the front piazza.

“There’s a gentleman with him,—Mr. McGregor,” the servant said, and Mildred felt as if her heart had suddenly risen in her throat, making her choke and gasp for breath.

She knew he would come some time, but had not expected him so soon, and she shook like a leaf as she stood a moment before her mirror.

“He will never know me,” she said, as side by side with the reflection of herself she saw the girl of fifteen years ago; sallow and thin and slight, with eyes too big for her face, and hair too heavy for her head; the girl with the faded calico dress and high-necked apron, who seemed to walk beside her as she descended the broad staircase and went through the hall and out upon the piazza, where she heard her husband’s voice, and Hugh’s.

“I came on business, and intended calling later, but I shall be glad to see Mrs. Thornton,” she heard him say, and then the smothered, choking sensation left her, and, with a little unconscious nod to the other Mildred at her side, she whispered:

“I shall pull through.”

Hugh was standing half-way down the piazza, leaning against a column, with his straw hat in his hand, fanning himself, just as she had seen him do a hundred times when they were boy and girl together, and he was looking at the shadowy Mildred at her side just as he now looked at her, the tall, elegant, perfectly self-possessed woman, coming slowly towards him, every movement graceful, and every action that of one sure pf herself, and accustomed to the admiration she saw in his eyes,—the same kind, honest blue eyes which she remembered so well, but which had in them no sign of recognition as he came forward to meet her, and offering her his hand, welcomed her to Rocky Point, “and America,” he added, while a blood-red stain crept up from her neck to her ear as she felt the deception she was allowing. Hugh was not as polished as Mr. Thornton, nor were his clothes as faultless and fashionable, but he was every whit a gentleman, and looked it, too, as he stood for a moment talking to Mildred in the voice she knew so well and which had grown richer and deeper with the lapse of time, and moved her strangely as she listened to it again.

“I think I should have known him anywhere,” she thought, as she answered his remarks, her own voice, in which the English accent was predominant, steady and firm, but having in it occasionally a tone which made Hugh start a little, it was so like something he had heard before, but could not define.

There was nothing in this English woman, as he believed her to be, which could remind him of Mildred Leach, who was never once in his mind during the few minutes he was talking with her. And still she puzzled him, and all that morning, after his return to his office, her lovely face and especially her eyes haunted him and looked at him from every paper and book he touched, and he heard the tone, which had struck him as familiar, calling to him everywhere, and bringing at last a thought of Mildred Leach and the July morning when she had shelled her peas by the door, and given him a pod as a souvenir. Where was she now, he wondered, and would she come back in the autumn? Probably not. She had held out similar promises before only to break them. She was weaned entirely from all her old associations, and it did not matter, he said to himself, wondering, as he often did, why he had so long kept in his mind the little wayward girl, who had never done anything but tease and worry him, and tell him of the great things she meant to do.

“She has been a long time doing it, unless she calls a life of dependence a great thing,” he said, and then his thoughts drifted to Thornton Park and the bride, who was troubled with no more calls that day, and so had time to rest and go about her handsome house and grounds, much handsomer than when she first rang the front door bell and was told to go to the side entrance by the man who was her husband now, and prouder of her than of all his other surroundings.

The next day there were many visitors at the Park, mostly strangers to Mildred, although a few of them had been known to her in childhood, but like Hugh, they saw no resemblance in her to the “oldest Leach girl,” as she was called by the neighbors who remembered her. Of the bride there was but one verdict, “The most elegant and agreeable woman that has ever been in Rocky Point,” was said of her by all, for Mildred, while bearing herself like a princess, was so gracious and friendly that she took every heart by storm.

It was late in the day when Bessie started to make her call with Tom. Dinner was over and Mildred, who, with her husband and Gerard and Alice, was sitting upon the piazza, saw them as they turned an angle in the shrubbery and came up the avenue.

“Oh, there’s Bessie,” Allie cried, springing to her feet, while Mildred’s heart began to beat wildly as she glanced at Mr. Thornton, on whose brow there was a dark frown, the first she had seen since she was his wife, and this quieted her at once, for she readily guessed its cause. She knew he had not married her family, and had begun to suspect that he meant to keep her from them as much as possible.

“But he cannot do it,” she thought, and turning to him she said in a low tone, “They are mine; my own flesh and blood, and for my sake treat them politely. It is the first favor I have asked of you.”

There was something in her eyes which made him think she might be dangerous if roused, and for aught he knew she might bring the whole family there to live, or leave him for them, and swallowing his pride, he went forward to meet his visitors with so much cordiality that Tom, who had never received the slightest civility from the great man, thought, to himself, “By Jove, she’s made him over.”

“My wife, Mrs. Thornton; Miss Leach and Mr. Leach,” Mr. Thornton said, and Mildred’s hand, cold and nerveless, was taken by a hand as white and soft as her own, while Bessie’s blue eyes looked curiously at her, and Bessie was saying the commonplace things which strangers say to each other.

“How lovely she is,” Mildred thought, hardly able to restrain herself from folding the sunny, bright-faced girl in her arms and sobbing and crying over her.

But Tom was speaking to her now, and she was conscious of a feeling of pride as she looked at the tall, handsome, manly fellow, and knew he was her brother. Tom was like his mother, and Bessie like her father, while Mildred was like neither, and one could scarcely have seen any resemblance between them as they sat talking together until the moon came up over the hill and it was time to go. Bessie had devoted herself to Mildred, who fascinated her greatly, and who had adroitly led her to talk of herself and her home and her mother. Mildred spoke of the pinks, her voice trembling as she sent her thanks and love to the blind woman whom she was soon coming to see.

“Oh, I’m so glad,” Bessie exclaimed, in her impulsive way, “and mother will be glad too. She sent the pinks because they are her favorite flowers and she says they remind her of Milly, who used to love them so much; that’s my sister, who has been abroad many years. I scarcely remember her at all.”

“Oh,” came like a moan from Mildred, who felt as if a blow had struck her heart, it throbbed so painfully at the mention of her old name by the sister who did not know her, and for an instant she was tempted to scream out the truth and bring the foolish farce to an end.

Then she felt her husband’s hand on her arm and the power of his will overmastering her, and keeping her quiet. But she was glad when the interview was over and she was free to go by herself and sob out her anguish and shame and regret, that she had ever lent herself to this deception. Of the two, Bessie and Tom, she had felt more drawn toward the latter, of whom any sister might be proud, and when bidding him good-night she had held his hand with a pressure which surprised him, while her lips quivered and her eyes had in them a wistful look, as if she were longing to say, “Oh, Tom; my brother.” And Tom had felt the magnetism of her eyes and manner, and he said to Alice, who, with Gerard, walked with them to the Park gate, “I say, Allie, your stepmother is a stunner, and no mistake, and I do believe she took a fancy to me. Why, I actually thought she squeezed my hand a little, and she looked as if she’d like to kiss me. It wouldn’t hurt me much to kiss her.”

“Oh, Tom; and right before Allie,” Bessie said laughingly, and Tom replied, “Can’t a fellow fall in love with his stepmother-in-law, if he wants to?” and the arm he had thrown around Alice tightened its hold upon her.

Here they all laughed together and went on freely discussing the woman, who, on her knees in her room was praying to be forgiven for the lie she was living, and for strength to meet her mother, as that would be the hardest ordeal of all. Once she resolved to defy her husband and proclaim her identity, but gave that up with the thought that it was not very long until September, and she would wait at least until she had seen her mother.