CHAPTER XVIII.HOW DAN GOT MARRIED.
With October, came busy days for Clara. Her mother was in a fever from the fear that the weddingtrousseauwould not be ready by the middle of November, when the wedding was to take place. The twins sewed very cleverly when the fit was on; but the fits were very uncertain, and Dr. Delano very imprudently, as Mrs. Forest thought, would call every evening of his life; but then, men were always so very inconsiderate, she said. Little bundles of linen exquisitely made up, kept constantly coming home from some mysterious laboratory. Mrs. Forest was silent, though she recognized at a glance the deft fingers of Susie; but Clara said they were made by her good fairy. One day, to facilitate the sewing operations, Mrs. Forest offered the twins money if they would do certain work. It had not the least effect. Leila explained shrewdly:
“You know, mamma, you will tell us just how to spend the money—so it would be just like having you buy things for us.”
“It would be nice,” said Linnie, “to have just a little money to squander.”
“And what do you do, pray, with all the immense sums you have wheedled out of your father?” asked the doctor, laughing.
“I hope you are not so spooney, papa”—(spooney was a pet word of Leila’s)—“as to think we squander it. Why, mamma always directs just what we shall do with our money. She admits it is our money, and we can do as we like with it; but you see, papa,” continued Leila, with a sly little wink at her mother’s expense, “we don’t ever like, you know!”
The doctor laughed, and said: “Now, then, we’ll change the venue. How much will you sew for by the yard—measuring every inch fairly with your tape measure—provided you can do just what you like with your money?”
“Will five cents be too much, mamma?” asked both the girls in a breath.
“Not if you pay your board out of it, I think,” said Mrs. Forest, smiling sweetly.
“No, no,” said the doctor, “we owe you board, and comfortable clothing and education, from the fact that you were not consulted in the unimportant matter of being born or not born. I assure you, it is folly to squander money; but that is one of the things you must learn by experience. I make you both this offer: five cents for every yard well done and measured by your mother; and no one shall question what you do with your earnings; five cents for every yard well done, and for every dollar earned I will add fifty cents, because this is not shop-work, but what would come under the head of ‘fine sewing,’ I believe.”
The effect was astounding. Mrs. Forest, before a week ended, had positively to scold both girls for their assiduity, and Clara’s sewing went on like magic.
On one of the Sundays between these busy days, Dancame home. He looked worn and sad, Clara thought, and this was enough to move her gentle heart. She sang to him a new song, and when she found a moment alone with him, began to probe him in regard to his sentiments for Susie. She thought the best thing in the world that could happen, would be the marriage of him and Susie, being in a condition of mind herself to consider marriage a panacea and the divinest of all blessings. Dan expressed a desire to “do the right thing.” Clara snapped at this like a hungry little fish at a bait. “Why not marry her at once, then?” Dan’s reply was not wholly satisfactory, but sufficient to induce her to keep Dr. Delano waiting for her that evening a full half hour, while she was away, no one knew where, but in fact closeted with Mrs. Buzzell. The next Sunday, finding home a little more pleasant, Dan appeared again, and Clara was not long in bringing about a private talk. She repeated her question, “Why not marry Susie?” Dan had, in fact, been thinking of Susie with less hard feelings for her crime of loving him too well, and standing between him and Miss Marston, as he thought. But Susie was the only woman who had ever loved him, and he was tempted to do the “right thing” if only to have some one to adore him! Generous man! But then it must be admitted that he was under a spell he had no power to shake off. Miss Marston had inspired a stronger passion in him than any one else ever had, or perhaps could. He could not appreciate the latent qualities in Susie’s character, and if he could, love does not deal with qualities, as such. It is mind that does this, and Dan was a creature of feeling, impulse, rather than of reason. Susie had loved him too fondly, and onlywith very superior natures does excess of fondness make the subject dearer. The great charm in Miss Marston was the impassable barrier of her total indifference to him; but he could not see the cause. She was superior to him, and that he knew; so, indeed, was Susie, and just as far out of his reach by the superiority of her nature, though not by circumstances.
Dan said this time, in answer to his sister’s question, half in fun, half in earnest, that Susie didn’t care much for him, and that he had “had about enough snubbing lately from women.”
“Oh, how little you know of women!” was Clara’s response.
Dan defended himself, and a lively discussion ensued, in which Clara illustrated her position by an allusion to his old habit of holding her hands and laughing at her helpless rage. “If you had known the nature of girls you would never have done such a thing,” she said, “for it made me hate you, and to this day I cannot think of it without indignation, though we should not remember wrongs done us by children.”
“You were pert and saucy,” said Dan, “and put on airs of superiority, because you got your lessons and were petted by the teachers.”
“And you wished to show your superiority in something, I suppose. Well, we will not think of disagreeable things. You are my only brother, and are going to be just and kind to Susie, so we shall never quarrel any more;” and Clara, putting down all hard feelings caused by Dan’s betrayal and desertion of Susie, passed her hand affectionately through his arm, and then submitted to being hugged, though she could not forbear a littleresentment at his roughness. “No woman of refinement will ever love such a bear,” she said.
“Nonsense! women like to be handled roughly.”
“That shows how much you know about it—about refined women, at least. Do you think Miss Marston—”
“D—n Miss Marston!”
“I am ashamed of you.”
“Of course: you always were. Your big snob, Delano, would not say ‘mill-dam,’ I suppose. You’ll get enough of him, or I’m greatly mistaken.Heis one of the kind that understands women, no doubt.”
Clara was very angry, but for Susie’s sake and the object she had set her heart upon, she controlled the expression of it. She had succeeded in making Dan promise to call on Susie that very evening, and both she and Mrs. Buzzell had urged Susie to marry Dan if he proposed it, and he had already assented. Clara went over to Mrs. Buzzell’s with Dan, and, leaving him in the parlor, sent Susie to him, kissing her, and saying, “You know it is not wholly for your own sake, dear, or we would not have urged it.”
As Susie entered, he rose and took her hand. She gave his the faintest little pressure, and left him no time for preliminaries, but said at once, “You know the one cause that has made me yield, against my better judgment, to the desire of your sister and my good friend, Mrs. Buzzell. Understand well, I do so on this condition, which I imagine,” she added, a little bitterly, “you will have no objection to—that you never recognize me as your wife in any way. I, on my part, shall never claim any legal rights any more than if you were actually dead.”
“That seems to me all bosh. We are not to live together, and that is enough. Of course, I marry you because I wish to save you from bearing all the brunt of the battle.”
“The worst is over. All that I can suffer from disgrace I have already suffered; but I have not lost my self-respect, low as I may be in your esteem; and I shall not, thanks to the noble hearts that came to me when I thought God had forsaken me as well as you.”
When Susie said, “low as I am in your esteem,” she had had a sudden hope that it might reveal his unnatural conduct toward her in so terrible a light that he would hate himself, and exhibit some sorrow for the misery he had caused, if not a desire to atone by trying to call back to her his wandering heart—love is so blind, so foolish, in its way of hoping against hope! She had decided that the marriage should be only a legal act, to make her child what society calls legitimate; but oh! it would have been so sweet to her to be forced to change that decision through a tender appeal from Dan—through anything that showed he held her love precious, and would not lose it after all; but no such sign came. He only said, in a way that wounded her deeply, “I don’t see the use of harping on what is past, nor in getting married, if you are not to have the advantage of being known as a wife.”
It cost Susie a terrible effort to not spurn him and his offer with contempt, for her mood was rapidly passing from the negative to the positive; but she was in a peculiar position. Clara and Mrs. Buzzell expected her to take a certain course, and she could make any sacrifice rather than disappoint them. She said, therefore, verycalmly, “I have said that it is not for myself that I assent to your marrying me; the child might not live; and then I should regret that you were obliged to be known as the husband of Susie Dykes. Unless it lives, this ceremony will never be made known by my consent.”
“No danger of its not living. That is not the kind that has a weak hold on life. Well, have it all your own way,” he added, cowardly letting every responsibility fall upon her.
Susie was sick at heart, and longed to end the meeting. She had heard enough. She rose, to signify the fact. Dan took his hat, and, as he did so, said, “There’s no use crying over spilled milk. We will be friends, at least. Kiss me, Susie.”
“Why should I kiss the lover of Miss Marston? I confess I had rather not. But do not think me angry, or that I have any desire to reproach you. I know you could not resist a powerful attraction like that, and from my very soul, Dan, I wish I were dead and you her husband;” and controlling her emotion, she smiled and gave him her hand cordially. He was tempted greatly to draw her towards him and kiss her, whether she desired it or not; but something in her face he had never seen there before—something of firmness and womanly dignity that awed him—prevented him, and, pressing her hand hurriedly, he left the house. When he was gone, of course Susie gave way utterly to her sorrow. She had thought lately, that in her reading and study, in her work and in present and prospective cares, she had finally escaped most of her suffering; but this evening had revealed more clinging to straws, more feeding the hungry heart upon dry husks, to use the doctor’s words. Theprocess of robbing the heart of its illusions is long and tedious. Let us have patience with Susie. There is something rare and fine in her nature that begins to show itself through all her hard conditions; and despite the low surroundings of her childhood, she has grown already above that, like the sacred lotus above the mud; and as the mud nourishes and develops the beautiful lily under the sunbeam, so the sad memories of Susie’s early life, aided by the vivifying influence of the kindly human sympathy she has won, will nourish and develop a grace and beauty of soul that will fit her for the work she has to do.
Passively, Susie submitted to the judgment of Clara and Mrs. Buzzell, and a day or two later the marriage was to take place, in a distant town at the terminus of Dan’s railroad route, where he had “six hours off,” he said, and that was “time enough to do considerable damage.” Clara was to accompany her friend, and to see her safely home again. She arrived at Mrs. Buzzell’s some time before the train left, but found Susie ready, even to her hat and gloves, but looking, as she declared, a picture of gloom. She was dressed entirely in black.
“Well, then,” said Susie, trying to smile, “my looks do not belie my feelings. I feel a presentiment that something bad is going to happen.”
“I begin to think,” remarked Mrs. Buzzell, as she insisted upon Susie’s swallowing a glass of her currant wine, “that we have done wrong to urge the poor child to this step. I’m afraid no good will come of it.”
“Come! let us be off at once,” said Clara, gayly. “I don’t like this aspect of indecision in Mrs. Buzzell. It means anything but business.”
Dan came occasionally and sat near them during the journey. He said he had “seen the parson and arranged everything all right.” Susie kept her veil down all the time. On arriving at the terminus, Dan sent them to the ladies’ room in the station, having some matter of business to attend to, and then joined them and conducted them in a carriage to a hotel, though the distance was exceedingly short, and into a fine private room, where an elegant dinner for three was already waiting. Clara tried to be gay, and really could have been so but for Susie, who trembled like a leaf and looked very pale. Clara removed Susie’s hat and shawl, and said a thousand reassuring words. Susie tried hard to respond. Clara saw with pain the effort, and pitied Susie more than ever. Here the waiter appeared, his napkin over his arm, and asked if he should serve the dinner. Clara whispered to Dan to put it off, if he could, a few minutes, and for mercy’s sake to say something comforting to Susie.
“You may wait ten minutes,” said Dan to the waiter; “but bring the wine at once.”
“Gay wedding, sis. Don’t you think so?”
“Oh, don’t mind my feeling a little ill,” said Susie, with an effort. “I feel a little better already.” Dan expressed himself as being “hungry as a wolf,” and no doubt he was. He had, in the simple ignorance of his nature, thought a nice dinner would please Clara and Susie, and felt a little savage to have it put off; therefore, more perhaps from hunger than anything else, he went and sat down by Susie, and took her hand in his. Tears, tears forever! What could the poor child do but cry? Dan was a little touched, and made a very praiseworthy attempt to soothe her.
“Oh, I wish I could cry them all out,” said Susie, wiping her eyes. “You are so good, both of you, to have so much patience with me. There!” she said, laughing dismally, “I believe there are no more.”
When the champagne came—of course Dan had provided that—he poured it out copiously and dismissed the waiter. He insisted upon both Susie and Clara drinking, and, fearing to displease him, they assented. No sooner were their glasses half empty than he refilled them; and then the soup was served. With the second course the waiter brought more champagne, and when he left Clara exclaimed, good-naturedly, “Mercy! Dan, you are not expecting us to drink any more?”
“Why not? It seems we need something to keep our courage screwed up to the sticking point.”
“Oh, our courage is in no danger of failing, is it, Susie? Think of it! In an hour or so you will be a lawful and wedded wife; and oh! you don’t know how much moreIshall respect you! Only a nice little bit of juggling, and honor will come out of dishonor, like Jack out of his box.” After awhile Susie talked a little, though she could eat nothing after the soup. Dan’s spirits rose mightily with the second bottle of champagne, and he began to be even sentimental to Susie, who took the liberty, after a while, to beg him to not drink any more champagne.
“What’s two bottles of champagne on your wedding-day?” he roared. “Did you ever hear how they drink whisky in Texas? A friend of mine was traveling out there last winter, and he stopped at a half-way house, and found they had not a drop; but they told him the widow Smith, living a mile further on, had a barrel theSaturday before. He would get plenty there. So he rode on, and driving up to the door, sung out. A woman poked her head out of the door and asked what he wanted. He told her he wanted something to drink. She told him she had not a thing to drink in the house. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘they told me back here that you had a barrel of whisky last Saturday.’
“‘Well, so I did; but what’s one barrel of whisky with five little children and the cow dry?’” Dan laughed vociferously at his story, and his guests laughed also, but more to please him, for they were both a little serious over his drinking. They kept him, however, from ordering a third bottle; but in revenge he visited the bar-room on their way to the carriage, which was waiting at the door. On the way to the minister’s house Susie whispered to Clara, without Dan’s perceiving it, “I should have heeded my presentiment, and stayed at home.”
At the minister’s house they were shown into the parlor, where they were kept waiting some time, Susie growing more and more agitated every moment; but Dan seemed to be quite sober, and behaved very well until the minister came. He was a tall, fat, pompous man, with a face that repelled Clara instinctively. He noticed Susie’s agitation, and asked some questions that Dan took offence at, but he really only remonstrated, Clara thought, in quite proper terms, under the circumstances; but the functionary grew very red in the face, and said: “Your conduct, sir, allow me to say, is exceedingly improper. Allow me to say, sir, I doubt if you are a fit subject for this solemn service.”
“I know my own business, and don’t want any palavering.You do your own business, and I’ll do mine, without your preaching.”
“My business, as you call it, is not at your service to-day,” he said, rising. “I order you to leave the house. I have nothing to do with low ruffians.”
“You shall have something to do with a gentleman though, once in your life,” said Dan, approaching him threateningly. Clara and Susie were already in the hall. Clara called Dan imperatively, and proceeded to the door, supporting Susie, who was ready to faint. They heard the minister say a very insulting thing in reply to Dan’s threat, and the next moment a fall like a sack of wheat was easily interpreted. Dan had applied his “science,” and the fat man was sprawling on the carpet. Before any of the family appeared, the carriage drove off. Dan raved and swore, though he was sober enough so far as the effects of his drinking went. To Clara’s utter astonishment, Susie seemed perfectly recovered from all her anxiety, and even smiled.
“We can get the four o’clock train,” said Clara, looking at her watch. “We will not wait for yours, as we intended.” Dan savagely changed the order to the coachman. At the station Clara would not speak nor look at her brother, with whom she was infinitely disgusted; but Susie shook hands with him, and said, “I was ashamed of you for being so violent, Dan, but I am happier than I have been since I saw you last.”
“I think you are a fool,” he said, sullenly.
“May be I am, dear, but I am not your wife.” She said this without the slightest anger, and smiled on him like a seraph, as she entered the car which was just moving.
Thus ended Dan’s marriage.