Read Ebook: Rose Mather: A tale by Holmes Mary Jane

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Ebook has 1199 lines and 120179 words, and 24 pages

There was a ringing of the bell, a sudden puffing of the engine, a straining of machinery, a sweeping backward of the wreaths of smoke, and then, where so lately one hundred soldiers had been, there was nothing left save an open space of frozen ground and iron rails, as cold and as empty as the hearts of those who watched until the last curling ring of vapor died amid the eastern woods, and then went sadly back to the homes left so desolate.

Gradually, however, there came a shadow over her face, and her husband saw the tears gathering slowly in her eyes, and dropping upon the letter she had been "dying to get."

"What is it, Rose?" Mr. Mather asked, as a sob met his ear.

"Oh, Will," and Rose cried outright, "I didn't believe Tom would do that! I thought people like him never went to the war. I 'most know he'll be killed. Oh, dear, dear. What shall I do?" and Rose hid her face in the lap of her husband, who fondly caressed her chestnut hair as he replied,

"You'll bear it like a brave New England woman. We need just such men as your brother Tom, and I never respected him one half so much as now that he has shown how truly noble he is. He was greatly opposed to Lincoln, you know, and worked hard to defeat him; but now that our country is in danger, he, like a true patriot, has thrown aside all political feeling and gone to the rescue. I honor him for it, and may success attend him."

"Yes," interrupted Rose, as a new idea struck her, "but what will his Southern friends think of him? and he has got a heap of them. There are the Birneys and Franklins from New Orleans, the Richardsons in Mobile, and those nice people in Charleston,--what will they say when they hear he has taken up arms against them? and he always used to quarrel so with those stiff Abolitionists in Boston, when they said the Southerners had no right to their slaves. Tom insisted they had, and that the North was meddling with what was none of its business, and now he's turned abolitionist, and joined too,--dear, dear."

Mr. Mather smiled at Rose's reasoning, and after a moment, replied, "I have no idea that Tom has changed his mind in the least with regard to the negroes, or that he loves his Southern friends one whit the less than when defending them from abuse. Negroes and Southern proclivities have nothing to do with it. A blow has been struck at the very heart of our Union, and Tom feels it his duty to resent it. It's just like this: suppose you, in a pet, were trying to scratch your mother's eyes out, and Tom should try to prevent it. Would you think him false to you, because he took the part of his mother? Would you not rather respect him far more than if he stood quietly by and saw you fight it out?"

"It is not very likely I should try to scratch out mother's eyes," said Rose, half laughing at her husband's odd comparison, and adding, after a moment, "I don't see how folks can fight and love each other too."

Mr. Mather didn't quite see it either, and without directly replying to Rose, he asked, by way of diverting her mind from the subject of her brother's volunteering, if she noticed what Tom said about the Rockland Company in general, and George Graham and Isaac Simms in particular?

This reminded Rose of Annie, who had been ill most of the time since her husband's departure.

"I meant to have called on Mrs. Graham right away," she said. "The poor creature has been so sick, they say, but would not let them send for George, because it was his duty to stay where he was. I'd like to see duty or anything else make me willing to part with you. I don't believe Mrs. Graham loves her husband as I do you, or she would never consent to be left alone," and Rose nestled closer to her husband, who could not find courage to tell her what he meant to do when he handed her Tom's letter. It would be too much for her to bear at once, he thought, as he saw how greatly she was pained because her brother had joined the army, and was even then in Washington.

Again remembering Annie Graham, she sprang up, exclaiming to herself,

"I'll go this very afternoon. She'll be so glad to know what Tom thinks of George!" and ere long Rose was picking her way daintily through the narrow street which led to the cottage in the Hollow. It was superior to most of the dwellings upon that street, and Rose was struck at once with the air of neatness and thrift apparent in everything around it, from the nicely painted fence to the little garden with its plats of flowers just budding into beauty.

"They have seen better days, I am sure, or else Mrs. Graham's social position was above her husband's," was Rose's mental comment, as she lifted the gate latch and passed up the narrow walk, catching a glimpse, through the open window, of a sweet, pale face, and of a thick stout figure, flying through the opposite door, as if anxious to avoid being seen.

Poor Annie had been very sick, and more than once the physician who attended her had suggested sending for her husband, but Annie, though missing him sadly, and longing for him more than any one could guess, always opposed it, begging of Widow Simms, who of her own accord went to nurse her, not to write anything which would alarm him in the least. So George, ever hopeful, ever looking on the sunny side, thought of his blue-eyed wife as a little bit sick, and nervous it might be, but not dangerous at all, and wrote to her kind, loving, cheering letters, which did much to keep her courage from dying within her. Annie was better now,--was just in that state of convalescence when she found it very hard to lie all day long, watching Widow Simms as she bustled out and in, setting the chairs in a row with their six backs square against the wall, and their six fronts opposite the table, stand and bureau, also in a row. She was just wishing some one would come, when the swinging of the gate and the widow's exclamation, "Oh, the land, if that stuck up thing ain't comin'," announced the approach of Rose Mather.

Not waiting for her knock to be answered, Rose entered at the open door, and advanced at once into the room where Annie was, her fair hair pushed back from her forehead, her blue eyes unusually brilliant, and her face scarcely less white than the pillow on which it lay.

Rose had an eye for the beautiful, and after the first words of greeting were over, she broke out in her impulsive way--

"Why, Mrs. Graham, how handsome you are looking! just like the apple blossoms. I wish your husband could see you now. I'm sure he wouldn't stay there another hour. I think it's cruel in him, don't you?"

The tears came at once to Annie's eyes, and her voice was very low as she replied:

"George does not know how sick I have been, neither do I wish to have him. It would only make his burden heavier to bear, and I try to care more for his comfort than my own."

This was a phase of unselfishness wholly new to Rose, and for an instant she was silent, then remembering Tom's letter, she seated herself upon the foot of the bed, and throwing aside her bonnet, took the letter from her pocket, telling Annie as she did so that she, too, was now interested in the war, and in every one whose friends had gone.

"Simpleton, simpleton!" muttered Widow Simms, listening through the keyhole in the kitchen, while Annie whispered:

"Please don't talk that way, Mrs. Mather. I know George is very tall, but unless God wills it otherwise, the bullets will pass by him as well as others."

Rose saw she had done mischief again, by her thoughtless way of speaking, and eager to repair the wrong, she bent over Annie and said:

"I am sorry. I'm always doing something foolish. You are faint; shan't I tell the servant to bring you some water? She's in the kitchen, I suppose," and ere Annie could explain, Rose had darted into the neat little kitchen where Widow Simms was stooping over the stove and kindling a fire, with which to make the evening tea.

"Girl, girl, Mrs. Graham wants some water. Hurry and bring it quick, will you?"

Rose called out a little peremptorily, for there was something rather suggestive of defiance in the square, straight back which never moved a particle in answer to the command.

"Deaf or hateful," was Rose's mental comment, and as it might possibly be the former, she wished she knew the girl's name, as that would be more apt to attract her. "Most every Irish girl is Bridget," she thought to herself, "and I guess this one is. Any way she acts like the girl that used to order mother out doors, so I'll venture upon that name."

"Bridget, Bridget!" and this time the voice was decidedly authoritative in its tone, but what more Rose might have added was cut short by the widow, who dropped the griddle with a bang, and turning sharply round, replied:

Rose had good reason for remembering Mrs. Simms, and coloring crimson, she tried to apologize:

"Don't make the matter any worse," interrupted the widow, smiling in spite of herself at Rose's attempt to excuse her blunder. "You thought from my dress that I was a hired girl, and so I was in my younger days, and I don't feel none the wus for it neither. Miss Graham's faint, is she? She's had time to get over it, I think. Here's the water," and filling a gourd shell she handed it to Rose, who, in her admiration of the novel drinking cup, came near forgetting Annie.

But Annie did not care, for the rencounter between the widow and Rose had done her quite as much good as the water could, and Rose found her laughing the first really hearty laugh she had enjoyed since George went away.

"It's just like me," Rose said, as she resumed her seat by Annie, listening intently while she told how kind the Widow Simms had been, coming every day to stay with her, and only leaving her at night because Annie insisted that she should.

"I like Mrs. Simms!" was Rose's vehement exclamation, "and I am glad Tom said what he did about Isaac, who used to saw our wood. I did not tell you, did I? And there's something real nice about your husband, too. I mean to call her in while I read it," and Rose ran out to the wood-shed, where the widow was now splitting a pine board for kindling, the newspaper she at first had used, having burned entirely out.

Rose's manner and voice were very conciliatory as she said:

"Please, Mrs. Simms, come in and listen while I read what brother Tom has written about Mr. Graham and your Isaac,--something perfectly splendid. Tom has volunteered and gone to Washington, you know."

It was strange how those few words changed the widow's opinion of Rose. The fact that Thomas Carleton, whom the Rockland people fancied was a Secessionist, had joined the Federal army, did much toward effecting this change, but not so much as the fact that he had actually noticed her boy, and spoken of him in a letter.

"Miss Mather ain't so bad after all," she thought, and striking her axe into the log, she followed Rose to the sitting-room, listening eagerly while she read the few sentences pertaining to George and Isaac. They were as follows:

"That's George, you know," and Rose, quite as much pleased as Annie herself, nodded toward the latter, whose pale cheek flushed with pride at hearing her husband thus spoken of by Rose Mather's brother.

"Yes, but Isaac," interrupted the widow. "Whereabouts does he come in?"

"Oh, pretty soon I'll get to him. There's more about George yet," answered Rose, as she resumed her reading.

"I had the pleasure of talking with him yesterday, and found him very intelligent and sensible. If we had more men like him, success would be sure and speedy. He has about him a great deal of fun and humor, which go far toward keeping up the spirits of his company, and some of the poor fellows need it sadly. There's a young boy in the ranks, Isaac Simms, who interests me greatly."

"Oh-h!" and the widow drew a long sigh as Rose continued:

"I wonder he was ever suffered to come, he seems so young, so girl-like and so gentle. Still he does a great deal of good, Lieut. Graham tells me, by visiting the sick and sharing with them any delicacy he happens to have. He's rather homesick, I imagine, for when I asked him if he had a mother, his chin quivered in a moment, and I saw the tears standing in his eyes. Poor boy, I can't account for the interest I feel in him. Heaven grant that if we come to open fight he may not fall a victim."

"Yes, yes, my boy, my darling boy," and burying her face in her hard hands, the widow sobbed aloud. "I thank you, Miss Mather, for reading me that," she said, "and I thank your brother for writing it. Tell him so will you. Tell him I'm nothing but a cross, sour-grained, snappish old woman, but I have a mother's heart, and I bless him for speaking so kindly of my boy."

Rose's tears fell fast as she folded up the letter, and Annie's kept company with them. There was a bond of sympathy now between the three, as they talked together of the soldiers, Mrs. Simms and Annie devising various methods by which they might be benefited, and Rose wishing she, too, could do something for them.

"But I can't," she said, despairingly. "I never did anybody any real good in all my life,--only bothered them," and Rose sighed as she thought how useless and aimless was her present mode of life.

"You'll learn by and by," said the widow, in a tone unusually soft for her; then, as if the sock she held in her lap had suggested the idea, she continued, "Can you knit?"

Rose shook her head.

"Nor your mother, neither?"

Again Rose shook her head, feeling quite ashamed that she should lack this accomplishment.

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