Read Ebook: Tibby: A novel dealing with psychic forces and telepathy by Gilchrist Rosetta Luce
Font size: Background color: Text color: Add to tbrJar First Page Next PageEbook has 2020 lines and 78001 words, and 41 pagesStreet had an establishment for making and selling ready-made clothing, so that I felt sure she did sewing, and I followed her home one day and saw her enter a stairway leading up over Mrs. Dray's hairdressing rooms. I accordingly asked Mrs. Dray if she could tell me where I might find a woman to do plain sewing or embroidery, and she spoke at once of a worthy woman in the block who wanted to get work, and directed me to her rooms. She is on the third floor, in wretched little quarters, but she has pretty things about her. She met me kindly, and when I made known my business, seemed glad to get work. I'm thankful that I went, for, if you will believe me, Horace, she had been making buttonholes for Darkson at a quarter of a cent apiece, supporting herself and child upon that." "Such things are painful to hear of," said Mr. Wylie, shaking his head again. "I trust you will pay her better." "Of course. And, Horace, she has been making cotton blouses and overalls for workmen for eighty-five cents a dozen. Think of it." "I suppose you learned her name and history?" he interrogated. "Yes--no--" hesitated Mrs. Wylie. "I learned her name was, or at least she told me to call her Mrs. Lucien, and the child's name is Dolores. Odd, isn't it? She nicknames her Dolly. Such a sweet little creature, too. I wonder if that is Mrs. Lucien's real name?" she continued musingly as she toyed with a tassel of the upholstering. Mr. Wylie sank into the depths of his chair and studied the opposite wall intently for several moments. "I wish," he said, "I could think of whom it is she reminds me. I believe if I could see her gowned in white silk and diamonds I should remember." "What an idea," laughed his wife. "I should like to see her so dressed, I confess. She should have more color in that pale face and less sadness in those dark eyes, then she would shine in such a brilliant setting. Yes, I am sure she has a history." "Which you did not learn?" "Which I did not learn." Again Mr. Wylie sat wrapped in thought, stroking his massive chin softly. "More nearly four, I think. Why, there was Judge Matthews and wife; the Misses Eldridge--just think, Fannie is married; Mrs. Harmon and her brother; Tiny Lewis, Dr. Bessemer, and Cousin Harry and Lottie,--and--no--let me see! That was all that there were at Paul Smith's, I believe, except the time that we went to Au Sable Chasm we met Major--oh--what was his name, that Major Somebody and his wife, that Cousin Harry was so taken with at the fancy ball? Don't you remember her, Horace? They went to Childwold with us, too." Mr. Wylie started. "Ah, I remember! He went West. He did have a lovely wife. I wonder if she is the one I am reminded of." "And then there were the Pemberton girls who went to Saranac with us, and old Professor Sawyer with his bugs and beetles, hunting specimens. What a perfectly lovely time we had that summer." "Yes," dreamily. "We'd better be planning a trip for next season. This fad of staying in the city because it's cooler won't last, I fancy. I've been thinking of Ocean Beach," tentatively. "And I of Bar Harbor; but it doesn't matter. We've been most everywhere," Mrs. Wylie said with a little sigh. "I don't know but what I have enjoyed Forest City as much as I should any other place. It has been delightfully cool here on the lake." "Yes, but I suspect that my little Nell has a hankering for the moon, just the same. I reckon we'd better go to the seashore for a little while next month, just to break the monotony of life. And if you go, you'll want to take Tibby with you, I suppose." "Most assuredly. She's a perfect treasure. I couldn't get along without her." "I see you are becoming much attached to her." "Indeed I am. I never had a maid before so deft and pleasing." "I'm afraid she's too pretty for her position." "That is the way of womankind," said Mr. Wylie, smiling. "They laugh at our downfalls, unless we drag them down with us, which we're apt to do. Tibby is no exception; but seriously, do not pet her too much, or she may forget what is due to her position in life. She must not appear impertinent." "I'm sure she behaves well. Tibby is not ill-bred. Her parents were quite superior people, if they did live on a farm. Tibby boasts that her mother was a Devereaux, grand-niece to an earl," said Mrs. Wylie, laughing. "The little minx! She has pride enough, no doubt, and who cannot boast of ancestors in America! She certainly is a bright girl, and has a remarkably pretty face. She cannot fail to attract attention, especially as you treat her like a younger sister, rather than like a servant. It is really unfortunate for her that she is so unlike the ordinary maid." "I have thought of all this, Horace, and I mean to make more of her than simply a servant. In time she will grow to be my trusted friend and companion, I am sure. Why may she not? She is well-born; better than many in our best society." And now, as the exhibitor of a panorama might say, it becomes necessary to introduce our readers or audience to new scenes and stranger people. But these strangers being near and dear to the heart of the writer, if not yet to the reader, become in their lives so intermingled and interwoven in the lives and histories of the persons first introduced that we can no longer allow them to remain behind the scenes. The place, a small town in western Iowa, and a country farm-house, nestles down in one of the horse-shoe coves formed by the bluffs above the eastern border of the Missouri River. There are no neighboring dwellings in sight, though but a few rods away are other houses situated also in coves in the bluffs, forming quite a large community, living near but out of sight of each other. Large herds of horses and cattle are seen grazing upon the unfenced pasture land, and a small schoolhouse standing out like a beacon from a ridge of highland is the only building visible, except the barns and corn-cribs belonging to the farms. The house itself is low and long, with several additions or lean-tos, but has an air of comfort and hospitality, looking out as it does upon the many acres of rolling plateau, where far away is seen the dark line of the country road winding about the base of the bluffs or climbing steeply up the sides of them. A long lane branches from the main road and leads up to the house, and affords a view of any coming visitor for some distance away, and lines of cowpaths thread the steep hills at the back of the dwelling. Thus sequestered and hill-environed lived Squire Bartram with his wife and two sons, enjoying the peace and plenty of the average well-to-do farmer, with none of the business care and excitements which a life in town might bring. Squire Bartram was one of those who had the good fortune to have been born in that most coveted birth-place, Massachusetts, and perhaps, better than all, he first opened his eyes upon the renowned and beautiful Berkshire Hills. In early childhood he had been taught the religion and creed of those Puritan fathers who founded the first homes there, and had been brought up to a most strict observance of all moral and evangelical law. His life had been frugally and honestly spent upon a farm up to the time when, listening to the preaching of the early apostles of Mormonism, he felt himself called to a priesthood among the Saints. As he learned more of the newly taught creed of modern spiritism, he began to give it credence, the more so as he believed he could understand, from such a standpoint, the life of the prophet Joseph Smith. Was not Smith a spirit-medium and were not the trances and visions which he claimed to have had similar or identical with those mediumistic exhibitions which he now witnessed? Might not the prophet himself have been deceived and the revelation which he supposed to have come from God been but the communication of a false and dangerous spirit? In this way, only, could he find an apology for the prophet, whom he had loved and believed in as little less than a god. Squire Bartram's sons had grown up stalwart, brainy lads, ambitious and capable. Nathan, the elder, who had lately brought to his father's home a bright little sixteen-year-old wife, with black eyes, shining ringlets and bird-like movements, had prepared a home on the Nebraskan prairies, to which he was soon to take his bride. He had preempted a homestead, bought another one hundred and sixty acres, and thus secured a nice farm on the plain some distance north of the Platte River. He had, after the manner of the pioneers of the country, built himself an adobe house, and was now ready to begin life in earnest. His wife, Lissa, whose sister lived in that locality, was possessed of the delighted eagerness of a child to see and occupy the new home and was almost impatient of the delay which Nathan insisted upon, namely, the visit of a few weeks at his father's house. The sun had already been hidden from view by the huge bluff behind the house, though it was still broad daylight at the homestead, and good Mrs. Bartram had dallied in her supper work to talk with Nathan's wife, when the Squire put his head in at the door to announce that Professor Russell, the noted seer, medium, and clairvoyant, would honor them with a visit and give them proof of his supernatural powers. "For the land's sake," exclaimed Mrs. Bartram, "why didn't you tell us before! Here I hain't got my work done up yet. How long before he'll be here, I wonder?" "O, not for a half hour or so; he stopped down to Job Atkins to help find them that colt that was lost," replied the Squire. "Wait until after you see the Professor, before you judge," said the Squire. "And so we are to be entertained to-night by one who is in league with the powers of darkness," said Donald, a young man of eighteen years, as he entered the family room and seated himself by the side of his new sister-in-law. "Lissa, don't you tremble at the thought of the evil wraiths that are to fill this room?" "I fear more the evil spirit that shall animate your Professor, Donald," replied Melissa, who in her Eastern home had imbibed a deep prejudice against the so-called spiritualists. "How absurd," laughed Lissa. "You won't say so after to-night. I'll wager the best pony on the ranch you'll be a firm convert before the evening is over. Maybe I'll add a side-saddle, too. Eh, Lissa?" "I'm afraid I can't gratify you by accepting any such foolishness as that, even for the sake of the saddle, or permit you to wager upon a certainty of losing." "Did I ever tell you how the Professor found his wife?" Donald asked. "No, but I suppose you'll tell me through some celestial matrimonial agency," she replied. "Sure! His wife was a strongly developed medium living in London, England. One day, while in a trance, the Professor, here in the United States, was made cognizant of the existence of this lady by spirit agency, and instructed to write to her, which he did. It seems she had received a communication concerning him at about the same time and in the same manner, with the same instructions, which she also followed. The two letters reached their destinations simultaneously, and each person, with the other's letter in hand, could summon the writer's materialized spirit before him. In this way they communicated with each other at will, and finally the lady embarked for this country at his request. He was kept daily informed as to her whereabouts, and when she arrived at New York he was there to meet her, and they were married speedily, only one letter from each having passed between them, and yet each was well acquainted with the past history of the other." "Impossible! You must be very credulous, Donald, to believe such a story as that." "Quite convenient, wasn't it? If the black powers would deal as kindly with me I should not long remain a bachelor. This knowing to a certainty all about the lady of one's choice would remove the fear of flying into the dangers we know not of. One could be certain then if she did up her hair on curl-papers." And Donald glanced significantly at Lissa's shining ringlets. "Surely, you don't pretend to believe such a preposterous story, Donald," she said, laughing. Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page |
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