CHAPTER XII.GETTING READY.
“Oh, I’ve such perfectly splendid news this morning. We are going to Washington right away, you and I, for Will says so in his letter. You see George is a great deal,—George can’t,—well,George isn’t very well;” and quite delighted with the happy turn she had given her words, Rose skipped around Annie’s cottagelike a bird, lighting at last upon a stool at Annie’s feet, and asking if she were not glad. “Why, how white you are!” she exclaimed, as she observed the paleness of Annie’s cheek. “What makes you? Don’t you want to go?”
Annie was not deceived by Rose’s abrupt turn. She knew that George was worse, else he had never sent for her: and hence the sudden faintness, which Rose’s gay badinage could not shake off at once.
“Did your husband write, or mine?” she asked, and Rose replied,
“Will, of course. George has never written, you know.”
“Yes, I know;” and in Annie’s voice there was a tone approaching nearer to bitterness than any that Rose had ever heard from her. “Where is the letter? Let me read it for myself.”
But Rose had found it convenient to leave the letter at home, and so she answered,
“I did not bring it with me. I can tell you all there is in it.”
“But will you?” and Annie grasped her shoulder firmly. “Win you tell me all? Tell me what it is about my husband, and why he never writes? Is George dying, and is that the reason why he sends for me? Tell me, Mrs. Mather, for I will not be put off longer.”
There was a look in the blue eyes before which Rose fairly quailed, and turning her face away she answered truthfully,
“Yes, George is very sick. He will never come home again; and he wants you there when he dies.”
Softly the quivering lips repeated, “When he dies!” poor Annie wondering if it could be George who was meant.Hadthe evil she most dreaded come upon herat last? Must she give her husband up and live without him? How dark, how cheerless the future looked, stretching before her through many years it might be! Was there no hope,—no help? It was Annie’s darkest hour of trial, and for a moment the spirit fainted, refusing to bear the load which, though more than half-expected, had come so sudden at the last. But Annie was not one to murmur long, and Rose Mather never forgot the sweet submissive smile which played over her white face as she said,
“Whether George lives or dies, God will do all things well.”
After this there was no more repining, no more bitterness of tone, nothing save humble submission to whatever might be in store for her.
Rose was very enthusiastic on the subject of the Washington trip, and Annie listened eagerly to her suggestions.
“It is absurd for two young ladies like us to travel alone,” Rose said. “We must have some nice elderly woman to matronize the party. I mean to write to mother to send up one from Boston.”
“Miss Marthers,” interrupted the Widow Simms, who sat by the window knitting for some soldier boy, “Miss Marthers, don’t be a simpleton, a sendin’ down to Boston for somebody to marternize you and Miss Graham, when you can find forty of ’em nearer home. Letmego. Eli and John are there, you know; and ’tain’t such a great ways to Richmond, where my poor Isaac is. Did I tell you I got a letter last night from a strange woman up in New Hampshire, whose boy was in the battle? The rascals let your brother write to her, because there was something between her Charlie and a rebel officerwho was good to the child, when he was dyin’. There’s now and then a streak of good amongst ’em.”
“Yes; but what ofTom?” Rose asked eagerly, forgetting Washington in her anxiety to hear from her brother, of whom not one word had been known after his name had appeared in the paper as one of the prisoners at Richmond, together with that of a boy called “Isaac Simpson.”
The more humane of Captain Carleton’s captors had repeated what the dying officer said of Tom’s kindness to him, and for this Tom had at last found opportunity for sending a note to Charlie’s mother, telling her how her darling died, and asking her to write for him to his mother, his sister and the Widow Simms. This the grateful woman had done, but Rose had not received her letter yet, and she listened eagerly while the widow read the very words which Tom had written concerning himself and Isaac. There was but little said of suffering or privation. Tom, it would seem, was tolerably well cared for, but he told of days and nights when his heart went out in earnest longings for the loved ones at home, and then he spoke of Isaac, saying,
“Tell his mother that he does not bear prison confinement well, and she would hardly know her boy. He is very popular among his fellow prisoners, and does more good, I verily believe, than half our army chaplains. One poor fellow, who died the other day, blessed Isaac Simms as the means of leading him to Heaven.”
“Oh, I’m so glad he’s there, ain’t you?” and the tears shone in Rose’s eyes as she involuntarily paid this tribute to Christianity.
“On some accounts I am, and then again I ain’t,” was the widow’s reply, as she wiped the moisture from her glasses and returned them to her pocket. “I’m gladhe’s doing good, but I don’t want him sick there alone, without his mother. It’s hard to see why these things are so, but that’s nothin’ to do with the goin’ to Washington. Will you take me, Mrs. Marthers? I know I’m homespun and ignorant, but you may call me waitin maid, or anything you like, if you’ll only take me.”
The widow’s voice was full of entreaty, and Rose could not resist it. It would begrander, she thought, to have a woman from Boston, but then Mrs. Simms wanted to go so badly, while Annie, too, preferred her, she was sure. So it was settled that as soon as the necessary arrangements could be made, Mrs. Simms, Annie and Rose were to start for the Federal Capital. Had the care of an entire regiment devolved upon Rose, she could not have been busier or have felt a greater responsibility than she did in planning and arranging the journey, and between times trying to initiate Widow Simms into the mysteries of travelling, telling her not to be frightened and think they’d run off the track each time the whistle blew,—not to show undue anxiety about her baggage, as she—Rose—should hold the checks, little brass pieces, which they would get at the depot,—not to bother the conductor by asking questions, or let the people know that she had never been further in the cars than Rochester.
To all these directions the widow gravely promised compliance, saying, in an aside to Annie, “It does me good to see the little critter patternize me, as if she s’posed I was a tarnal fool, and didn’t know a steamlocofocofrom a canal boat.”
The day before the one appointed for the commencement of the journey came at last. Rose’s three trunks, of the size which makes the portersswear, were packed to their utmost capacity, for Rose meant to make a winter’scampaign, and display her numerous dresses at parties and levees. So everything which she could possibly and impossibly need, even to her skating dress, was stowed away in the huge boxes, together with various luxuries for her husband and George, and then, as the afternoon was drawing to a close, she started for the cottage in the Hollow, to see that everything there was in readiness.
It had not taken the widow long to pack up her three dresses, and her small, old-fashioned hair trunk, locked and tied round with a bit of rope, was standing near the door ready for the morrow’s early train. On Annie’s face there was a hopeful, expectant expression, which told how glad she was at the prospect of meeting her husband so soon.
“Two days more and I shall see him,” she thought, picturing to herself the meeting, and fancying what she would do, what she would say, and how carefully she would nurse him when once she was there with him. It was a bright picture she drew of that meeting with her husband,—of the kisses, the caresses, she would lavish upon him, and she was almost as impatient as Rose herself to have the November day come to an end, knowing that with the darkness she was nearer to the asked-for to-morrow.
Just as the sun was setting, Rose took her leave, saying, as she bade Annie good-bye, “I mean to drive round by the depot and get the tickets to-night, so as to save time in the morning.”
Annie smiled at the little lady’s restlessness, and after kissing her good-night, stood by the window watching her, as she drove down the street, and thinking to herself,
“When I see her again it will beto-morrow.”
Rapidly Rose Mather’s iron greys bore her to the depot, where but a few idlers were lounging, as it was past the hour for the cars. The window between the ladies’ sitting-room, and the office was closed, and Rose knocked against it in vain. The ticket agent had gone to his tea, and with a feeling of dissatisfaction Rose was turning away, when a sharp, clicking sound from an adjoining apartment reached her ear, and stepping to the open door, she stood looking in, while the telegraphic operator received a communication. What was it that made him start so, and utter an exclamation of surprise? Was it bad news the wires had brought to him? Had there been another battle? Was Washington in danger? Rose wished she knew, and she was about to inquire, when the operator turned upon her, and asked if she knewMrs. Graham, wife of the Lieutenant?
“Yes, yes; has anything happened to him?” she answered, grasping the now written message, which the agent handed her, saying:
“Break it to her as gently as possible. He was the finest fellow in all the company,” and the kind-hearted man, not yet accustomed to the horrors entailed by the war, wiped a tear away, as he muttered to himself, “Poor George!”
There was no need for Rose to open the envelope, for she knew well enough what it contained, but her fingers mechanically tore it apart, and with streaming eyes she read the fatal message which would break poor Annie’s heart.
“Oh, Icannottell her,” she cried, sinking down upon the hard settee, and sobbing bitterly. “How can I take this to her, when I left her so happy half an hour ago?”
But it must be done, and summoning all her courage she bade Jake drive back to the Hollow, shivering as she saw the cheerful light shining from the window, and shrinking more and more from the task imposed upon her, when, as she drew nearer, she saw Annie’s bright, joyous face as she put together the garments for to-morrow, pausing occasionally to speak to Widow Simms, who sat before the blazing fire, dreaming visions of what might be could she but get a pass to Richmond!
“Don’t you hear wheels?” the widow asked as the carriage stopped before the gate.
Annie thought she did, and going to window she saw Rose as she came up she walk.
“Why, it’s Mrs. Mather,” she cried. “What can have brought her back to-night?” and hastening to the door she led Rose in, asking why she was there.
“Oh, Annie,” Rose replied, winding her arms around Annie’s neck, “I wish I did not have to tell, but I must, and I know it will kill you dead. I’m sure it would me, and I don’t see why you should be served so either. We shall not go to-morrow, for Will is going to bring him home. Don’t you know now? Can’t you guess?” and Rose thrust the dispatch into the hands of the bewildered Annie, who clutched it eagerly, and bending to the lamplight, read what Rose had read before her.
It came to her like a thunderbolt, striking all the deeper because it found her so full of eager expectation; and the November wind, as it swept past the door, and down the lonely Hollow, took with it one wailing cry of anguish, and then all was still within the cottage, save the sobbing whispers of Widow Simms and Rose bending over the unconscious form which lay upon the bed, so white and still that a terrible fear entered the hearts of both lest the stricken Annie, too, were dead.