CHAPTER XXXIX.WHAT FOLLOWED.
When Wilford left Katy so abruptly he had no definite purpose in his mind. He was very sore with the remembrance of all that had passed since baby’s death, and very angry at his wife, who he believed preferred another to himself, or who would have done so had she known in time what she did now. Like most angry people, he forgot wherein he had been in fault, but charged it all to Katy as he went down Broadway that spring morning, finding on his table a letter from an old classmate, who was then in Washington getting up a company, and who wrote urging his friend to join him at once, and offering him the rank of First Lieutenant. Here was a temptation,—here an opportunity to revenge himself on Katy, against whom he wrote a sad list of errors, making it sadder by brooding over and magnifying it until he reached a point from which he would not swerve.
“I shall do it,” he said, and his lips were pressed firmly together, as in his private office he sat revolving the past, and then turning to the future, opening so darkly before him, and making him shudder as he thought of what it might bring. “I will spare Katy as much as possible,” he said, “for hers is a different nature from Genevra’s. She cannot bear as well,” and a bitter groan broke the silence of the room as Katy came up before him just as she had looked that very morning standing by the window, with tears in her eyes, and a wistful, sorry look on her white face.
But Wilford was not one to retract when a decision was reached, and so he arranged his business matters as well as his limited time would allow; then, after the brief note to his father, wrote the letter to Katy, and then followed to the Jersey ferry a regiment of soldiers who were going on to Washington that night. Four daysmore and Lieutenant Wilford Cameron, with no regret as yet for the past, marched away to swell the ranks of men who, led by General McClellan, were pressing on, as they believed, to Richmond and victory. A week of terrible suspense went by, and then there came a letter to Mr. Cameron from his son, requesting him to care for Katy, but asking no forgiveness for himself. There were no apologies, no explanations, no kind words for Katy, whose eyes moved slowly over the short letter, and then were lifted sadly to her father’s face as she said,
“I will write to him myself, and on his answer will depend my future course.”
This she said referring to the question she had raised as to whether she should remain in New York or go to Silverton, where the family as yet knew nothing except that Wilford had joined the army. And so the days went by, while Katy’s letter was sent to Wilford, together with another from his father, who called his son a “confounded fool,” telling him to throw up his shoulder straps, which only honest men had a right to wear, and come home where he belonged.
To this there came an indignant answer, bidding the father attend to his own business, and allow the son to attend to his. To Katy, however, Wilford wrote in a different strain, showing here and there marks of tenderness and relenting, but saying what he had done could not now be helped,—he was in for a soldier’s life for two years, and should abide his choice.
This was the purport of Wilford’s letter, and Katy, when she finished reading it, said sorrowfully,
“Wilford never loved me, and I cannot stay inhishome, knowing that I am not trusted and respected as a wife should be. I will go to Silverton. There is room for me there.”
Meanwhile at Silverton there was much anxiety for Katy, and many doubts expressed lest something was wrong. That Wilford should go away so suddenly, when he had never been noted for any very great amount of patriotism, seemed strange, and Uncle Ephraim at last made up his mind to the herculean task of going to New York to see what was the matter.
Presuming upon her experience as a traveler, Aunt Betsy had proffered sundry pieces of advice with reference to what it was best for him to do on the road, telling him which side of the car to sit, where to get out, and above all things not to shake hands with the conductor when asked for his ticket.
Uncle Ephraim heard her good-humoredly, and stuffing into his pocket the paper of ginger-snaps, fried cakes and cheese, which Aunt Hannah had prepared for his lunch, he started for the cars, and was soon on his way to New York.
In his case there was no Bob Reynolds to offer aid and comfort, and the old man was nearly torn in pieces by the hackmen, who, the moment he appeared to view, pounced upon him as lawful prey, each claiming the honor of taking him wherever he wished to go, and raising such a din about his ears that he turned away thoroughly disgusted, telling them—
“He had feet and legs, and common sense, and he guessed he could find his way without ’em. ’Bleeged to you, gentlemen, but I don’t need you,” and with a profound bow the honest looking old deacon walked away, asking the first man he met the way to Madison Square, and succeeding in finding the number without difficulty.
With a scream of joy Katy threw herself into Uncle Ephraim’s arms, and then led him to her own room, while the first tears she had shed since she knew she was deserted rained in torrents over her face.
“What is it, Katy-did? I mistrusted something was wrong. What has happened?” Uncle Ephraim asked; and with his arm around her, Katy told him what had happened, and asked what she should do.
“Do?” the old man repeated. “Go home with me to your own folks until he comes from the wars. He is your husband, and I shall say nothing agin him; but if it was to go over I would forbid the banns. That chap has misused you the wust way. You need not deny it, for it’s writ all over your face,” he continued, as Katy tried to stop him, for sore as was her heart with the great injustice done her, she would not have Wilford blamed, andshe was glad when dinner was announced, as that would put an end to the painful conversation.
Leading Uncle Ephraim to the table, she presented him to Juno, whose cold nod and haughty stare were lost on the old man, bowing his white head so reverently as he asked the first blessing which had ever been asked at that table.
It had not been a house of prayer—no altar had been erected for the morning and evening sacrifice. God had almost been forgotten, and now He was pouring His wrath upon the handsome dwelling, making it so distasteful that Katy was anxious to leave it, and expressed her desire to accompany Uncle Ephraim to Silverton as soon as the necessary arrangements could be made.
“I don’t take it she comes for good,” Uncle Ephraim said that evening, when Mr. Cameron opposed her going. “When the two years are gone, and her man wants her back, she must come of course. But she grows poor here in the city. It don’t agree with her like the scent of the clover and the breeze from the hills. So, shet up the house for a spell, and let the child come with me.”
Mr. Cameron knew that Katy would be happier at Silverton, and he finally consented to her going, and placed at her disposal a sum which seemed to the deacon a little fortune in itself.
To Mrs. Cameron and Juno it was a relief to have Katy taken from their hands, and though they made a show of opposition, they were easily quieted, and helped her off with alacrity, the mother promising to see that the house was properly cared for, and Juno offering to send the latest fashions which might be suitable, as soon as they appeared. Bell was heartily sorry to part with the young sister, who seemed going from her forever.
“I know you will never come back. Something tells me so,” she said, as she stood with her arms around Katy’s waist, and her lips occasionally touching Katy’s forehead. “But I shall see you,” she continued; “I am coming to the farm-house in the summer, and you may say to Aunt Betsy that I like her ever so much, and”—Bell glanced behind her, to see that no one was listening,and then continued—“tell her a certain officer was sick a few days in a hospital last winter, and one of his men brought to him a dish of the most delicious dried peaches he ever ate. That man was fromSilverton, and the fruit was sent to him, he said, in a salt bag, by a nice old lady, for whose brother he used to work. Just to think that the peaches I helped to pare, coloring my hands so that the stain did not come off in a month, should have gone so straight toBob!” and Bell’s fine features shone with a light which would have told Bob Reynolds he was beloved, if the lips did refuse to confess it.
“I’ll tell her,” Katy said, and then bidding them all good-bye, and putting her hand on Uncle Ephraim’s arm, she went with him from the home where she had lived but two years, and those the saddest, most eventful ones of her short life.