XLTHE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS
A year has passed, and the autumn of 1853 has arrived. It has been a most strenuous twelve months on the Ranch of the Whispering Firs. Rapid changes, unlooked-for vicissitudes, improvements upon the virgin soil, annoying delays, and happy reunions have made the seasons fly.
The house was now surrounded by a cultivated field, through the centre of which a broad, tree-lined avenue wound upward from the grade below. The cattle whose labor had saved the lives of the immigrants the previous year were now sleek and fat.
Behind the dwelling rose the foot-hills of the Cascade Mountains, their sides and summits clothed with the majestic forest of pointed firs from which the ranch had derived its name. Still higher up, and yet up, above the serrated steeps, loomed hoary old Mount Hood, spreading his snowy robes over the misty lesser heights, the top of his white turban hidden among the clouds, his flowing beard resting upon the pointed crests of the most distant trees.
The music of machinery filled the air. The sawmill was at its best, running day and night to supply the ever-increasing demand for lumber. The original plant had already been greatly increased.
“It is a glorious thing to be alive!” said Jean, pausing in the perusal of a letter. “The air is as balmy as springtime. What a blessed change it will be for Ashton, who has seen nothing but sagebrush, bald mountains, jack-rabbits, sage-hens, Indians, immigrants, and cacti the summer long! Oh, my darling, it is a whole year since our first meeting!
“My last day in the schoolroom is over. I have enjoyed my work. Many of the little tots are better for the training I have given them. But best of all is the improvement the experience has brought to me. Every good deed reacts upon the doer. Ashton will hardly realize the progress I have made in education, physical appearance, and culture during the vanished year”; and she smiled approvingly at her reflection in the little mirror. “And to think that to-morrow is our wedding-day!” She resumed the reading of her cherished missive.
“It will interest you to know that the fellow Hankins, whose villany came so near to wrecking our happiness, my beloved, has been sent to the Pen. at Salt Lake for forgery. What a splendid man he might have been if he had improved his opportunities! He still has a penitentiary term to serve in New York, which, added to his twenty years in Utah, will take him into the sere and yellow leaf.”
“And I’d have allowed myself to marry that fellow, I fear, if you had proved false to me, my Ashton,” exclaimed Jean, as she turned from her musings to survey hertrousseau, upon which she and Mary had spent much time and skill.
“Are you at leisure, sister?” asked Mary.
“Of course I am always at leisure to see you, Mary. But what is the matter? You are as red as a rose and bright as a diamond!” and she fondled the sparkling gem upon her own finger lovingly.
“Something sweet and momentous has happened, my dear. Wish me joy! Mr. Buckingham and I are to make the fourth couple to join the matrimonial combination at the fateful hour to-morrow.”
“Isn’t this rather sudden, Mame? Won’t you be leaving Marjorie in the lurch at the cook-house? And, above all, what will you do for atrousseau?”
“No, dear, this change is not sudden. As you know, we have been engaged for over six months. But myfiancé, being under orders from the government, has not been certain of a permanency before. We will take Marjorie with us to Washington, and keep her in school. And now as totrousseau. My white dimity dress is fresh and new, and so is Marjorie’s. When we get to Washington, where Mr. Buckingham must spend the winter under orders from the Land Department, he says we can patronize themodisteto our heart’s content. It was a fortunate day for me when my husband that is to be was sent out to Oregon to investigate alleged land frauds; and more fortunate still that he discovered that fellow Hankins.”
“I wish we’d known this a week ago, Mame. You might have had an ivory-white, all-wool delaine, with lace and satin trimmings, just like mine.”
“My little sister, notwithstanding her reputation for strong-mindedness, is a charming bit of femininity, after all,” laughed Mary, as she hurried away.
The near approach of a creaking wagon caused the sisters to approach the window.
“As I live!” cried Jean, “it’s the Reverend Thomas Rogers coming up the grade. And that is his little doll-faced wife. Wonder where they came from, and what in creation they’re coming here for.”
“You must go out to meet them, Jean,” said Mary. “I never want to see them again; but we mustn’t be remiss in hospitality.”
“He looks as if the world had gone hard with him, poor fellow,” laughed Jean. “Don’t you wish you had to pull in double harness with the like of him for the rest of your life?”
“I would never have fancied him in the first place if I had had any sense,” said Mary. “Wonder who paid their bills,” she cried with a hysterical little laugh, as she watched the preacher’s wife while she alighted over the wagon-wheel without any attention or assistance.
“Yonder goes Mrs. O’Dowd to the rescue. Do you know, Mame, I think it is a wise step for daddie to hitch up with Sally O’Dowd? He might go farther and fare a whole lot worse.”
Although the greeting the Rogers family received from the Ranger household was not exactly in keeping with the open-hearted hospitality of the border, it seemed to satisfy the preacher, who made himself as agreeable as possible.
“I went, Squire, to see your parents and Mrs. Ranger’s a few days before I left the States,” said the preacher. “The dear old people were well and prosperous and contented. They have imbibed a new theory about time and distance. They talk learnedly about vibrations, a fourth dimension in space, and other such nonsense; and they declare that there can be no real separation of souls that are in perfect accord with one another. Their new belief is making them as happy as birds. I would have no objection to such speculations if they didn’t tend to undermine the gospel. All such theories detract from the faith of our fathers.”
“Not necessarily,” said Jean. “I think that we ought always to accept truth for authority; but you want everybody to accept authority for truth.”
“I see it is the same little ‘doubting Thomas’ we used to have in the Pleasant Prairie schoolhouse,” said the minister.
“There is a whole lot of common-sense in Jean’s religion,” cried Hal; “I mean to accept her manufacture of the article as straight goods, full measure and a yard wide.”
“These discussions are not profitable,” said Captain Ranger, dryly.
“Your father and mother are certainly very happy in their theories; I can say that much for them,” said Mrs. Rogers, who, from her nook in the corner, had seldom ventured a word. “Their cottage was as neat as a newpin. It was the springtime, and climbing roses were clambering over the little porch. The old people seemed to lack for nothing but the companionship of their children.” And the little woman, amazed at her own loquacity, shrank back abashed.
“God has been very kind and gracious to both of the good old couples,” said the preacher, in a sonorous voice.
“Some people have an unlimited supply of gall,” said Hal, aside to Mary, alluding to the preacher and his wife.
“I don’t see but they are all right,” was the smiling reply of the rosy-cheeked maiden. “They have placed me under everlasting obligations, I do assure you.” She arose to greet a handsome visitor, whom she proudly introduced to them as “my affianced husband.”
The preacher’s joy was unbounded when Captain Ranger invited him to perform a quadruple marriage ceremony on the morrow,—an incident he hailed as an augury of the further social and financial assistance of which he felt so much in need that he began at once to solicit aid for the erection of a church and parsonage.
“For heaven’s sake, don’t begin to bother us about this innovation for a week or two!” exclaimed the Captain. “I’ll see that you are fed and housed for the present. As Jean will be leaving us, we shall need a school-teacher. My wife will not want an outsider to use our house for the school; so we must make a schoolhouse and meeting-house combined, and let it suffice for the present.”
The morning brought a scene of hurry, bustle, and happiness. Long tables were spread upon the lawn, under the wide-spread branches of the luxuriant fir-tree the woodman had spared when the land was cleared. Flowers and ferns from the wildwood added glow and fragrance to the loaded tables. Mary and Jean, rosy with expectation, flitted everywhere.
“Did you ever in all your born days see such a wonderful man as my daddie?” asked Jean, addressing Sally O’Dowd; and the happy woman answered, “I never did.”
Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Ranger, the latter resplendent in a satin gown of latest fashion, were conspicuous assistants; and their children, all of whom were gotten up for the occasion by their happy mother regardless of expense, were the observed of all observers. These children, added to the younger members of Captain Ranger’s brood, the three children of Mrs. O’Dowd, and Susannah’s “coon,” made a formidable array of young Americans.
At the appointed hour, Mrs. McAlpin, who had arrived early on horseback to assist in the preparations, was joined by Mr. Burns, who brought to her a sealed package, long overdue, concerning which they kept their own counsel. But in anticipation of its arrival, they had allowed a “personal” to appear in the local paper in due season, as follows: “Mrs. Adele Benson, the handsome widow who spent a few days in this city after crossing the plains last year, and whose widowed daughter, Mrs. Daphne McAlpin, is soon to be the bride of our distinguished fellow-citizen, Mr. Rollin Burns, recently astonished her friends in Oregon with the announcement of her marriage in London to the Right Honorable Donald McPherson, only son and heir of Lady Mary McPherson, whose extensive estates are the pride and envy of High-Head on the Thames.”
The appointed hour had come, and the four brides expectant were beaming and beautiful in their simple and becoming array. Mr. Burns and Mr. Buckingham awaited the signal to descend with their brides. But where was Ashton Ashleigh?
Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed, and he did not come. The dinner was spoiling, and Susannah was furious.
“I allus ’lowed dah’d nothin’ come o’ dat co’tship!” she said to Hal.
“Go ahead and get the ceremonies over,” said Jean. “Don’t allow this interruption to mar the enjoyment of anybody.”
And while her father was leading Mrs. O’Dowd to the marriage altar, with Mr. Burns and Mrs. McAlpin following, and Mary and her chosen one bringing up the rear, she sank, white-faced and benumbed upon her bed, and gave no sign of life except in the nervous fluttering of her half-closed eyelids.
For a long time she lay thus, mercifully bereft of the power to suffer. “There is some unavoidable reason for this delay,” she said over and over to herself. “I’ll understand it all in time.”
The afternoon waned, and darkness fell upon the Ranch of the Whispering Firs.
“Jean!”
“Is that you, daddie dear?”
“Yes, darling.”
“What do you think has delayed Ashton?”
“Try to forget him, Jean. His failure to be on hand at his own marriage ought to prove to you that he is faithless. You will live to thank God that the knowledge of Ashton’s faithlessness did not come upon you after marriage.”
“Ashton is not faithless!” she cried, springing to her feet. Then she fell quivering to the floor.
“Run, quick, Hal! Saddle a horse and go for the Little Doctor,” cried Mary.
A heavy mist that had rolled up from the ocean in the afternoon had settled now into a steady downpour. There was no moon, and the dense darkness of the forest through which Hal’s road lay was as black as Erebus. “Jean loves you, Sukie,” he would say, patting the mare on the shoulder. “We must get the Little Doctor at allhazards”; and the mare, as if sensing the importance of her mission, would leap forward with a sympathetic whinny.
The door was opened by Mr. Burns, revealing a scene of domestic comfort.
A little table, covered with a snowy cloth and spread with light refreshments, stood before a blazing fire; and at its head sat Mrs. Burns, daintily attired in a light blue wrapper of exquisite workmanship.
“Why, Harry Ranger!” she exclaimed, as the lad stood inside the door, shaking his dripping garments. “I hope Jean isn’t worse? I left her calm and seemingly out of danger.”
“She’s fallen in a fit! I’ve come for the Doctor!”
The wind had lulled a little as the little party hurried down the muddy highway toward the Ranch of the Whispering Firs. The Little Doctor, nattily arrayed in a rain suit, hood and all, sat her horse securely and plunged headlong through the darkness, while Hal rode by her side, followed at a distance by her husband, who bumped up and down in Scotch-English fashion on a heavy trotter, reminding himself of John Gilpin, as his hat blew off and his stirrup slipped from his foot.
“I’ve heard rumors of the ‘coming woman’ many a time,” he thought, bracing himself by clinging to the horn of his Spanish saddle. “But the deuce take me if I like the article in practice, though I’ve long advocated her cause in theory.”
He said as much in an injured tone to his wife, as they alighted at the Ranger home, and received for answer, “We must always consider what is the greatest good for the greatest number, dear. Won’t we be well repaid for this night’s adventure if Jean is saved?”
The Little Doctor found her patient in a rigid, trance-like state, her eyelids fluttering and her breathing stertorous.
“The heart’s action is fairly good,” she said, after acareful examination. “The most we can do is to keep her quiet. I will administer an opiate, and I think nature will do the rest. Meanwhile, somebody must go after that recalcitrant bridegroom. She would soon recover her tone if she could lose faith in him altogether. It is suspense that kills.”
“Brother Joseph started across the Cascade Mountains after him early in the afternoon,” the Captain explained. “He declared that nothing but foul play or some unavoidable accident could have detained so ardent a suitor.”
At the hour of midnight, when the Ranch of the Whispering Firs was wrapped in silence, Jean awoke, dismissed Susannah, and rose from her bed.
“O my God,” she cried inwardly, “if it be possible, let this cup pass from both of us! I know, O Spirit of Good, that my own has not, of his own accord, deserted his counterpart, his other self. Give me strength equal to my day! Let me not fail him now, when I know he needs me most.
“I must have been in your presence, Ashton, while my body was asleep,” she said half audibly. “For, in spite of my seeming duty to be miserable, I cannot be unhappy or hopeless. I seem to have been on a journey; but my recollection of it is indistinct and disjointed.”
She went to the window and looked out into the night. The clouds had rolled away, the wind had ceased, and the silent stars were looking down.