Read Ebook: Nancy first and last by Blanchard Amy Ella Stecher William F William Frederick Illustrator

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Ebook has 1481 lines and 71840 words, and 30 pages

"He has gone!" quavered Nancy. "Gone without a word!"

Mrs. Loomis laid down the paper with a troubled look, but presently her habit of taking the easiest way out, asserted itself. "Oh, well, Nancy," she said, "I wouldn't take it to heart. There are as good fish in the sea as ever yet were caught. You are very young and there are plenty of nice young men in the world."

"Not for me," responded Nancy, gloomily.

"Of course you think so now; that is perfectly natural. Every girl feels so at first, till some one else comes along. Of course I haven't a word against Terrence, and his people are all right, but for my own part I'd much rather see you settled in this neighborhood, than to see you married to some one who would take you away off to New York or some other big city. There are a number of nice boys whose families have lived here for generations; there's Patterson Lippett, for instance."

"Pat Lippett!" exclaimed Nancy with fine disdain. "He is no more to be compared to Terrence than an earth worm is to a jewelled humming-bird; besides, I have known him all my life."

"I don't see why that isn't so much the better. I am sure Pat has been to college, and so have several of the other boys you know. The Lippetts are a good old family, so are the Carters and the Gordons. Don't look so tragic, dear. I declare when those big eyes of yours get that expression you fairly frighten me. Why I had had half a dozen affairs before I met Mr. Loomis and I am sure no one could have been happier than we were. There is no more beautiful memory to me than our honeymoon in Cuba and Mexico. Everyone has said they never knew anything more romantic." She sighed a little.

"That is why you love Spanish, isn't it mamma?" said Nancy. "I wish I had studied it."

"It is not too late now," returned Mrs. Loomis. "I could help you. Why don't you take it up this summer, Nancy? It would occupy your time and perhaps take your mind away from this affair."

"It might help," returned Nancy, in a melancholy tone, "but nothing could make me forget."

"Not at once, of course, but you might gain quite a good knowledge in a year's time and then we might make a visit to Cuba."

This prospect appealed to Nancy, and she showed enough interest in the proposition to say: "Mademoiselle said I had a gift for languages."

"Naturally," responded Mrs. Loomis, with a thoughtful look.

"Do you think that I inherited the gift from you or from my father?"

Mrs. Loomis started. "From your father," she said, and immediately changed the subject.

Nancy took the paper she had brought in, meaning to preserve the notice of Terrence Wirt's departure. So did she mean to preserve any word of him. She found an ancient vellum-bound album in a pile of books packed away in the attic, appropriated it and dedicated it to her lost lover with a queer ceremony of her own invention, in which a dead rose, broken heart and a dying candle figured. No consolatory words of Mrs. Loomis's availed to change her conviction that the separation was final, and for the first time in her life she turned a shrinking front toward the future.

The summer days dragged on monotonously. The gallants who rode that way rode off again, for Nancy would have none of their invitations to picnics, dances or tournaments. She always had a flimsy excuse: she was tired; she didn't care for picnics; she was busy; her mother might need her, and so the offended young squires finally turned their attentions to more complaisant maidens. The Loomis homestead stood a couple of miles out of the small town, upon an unfrequented road, so that visitors were rather rare, even at best, and it might be said that they were not encouraged, if one judged by the infrequency of Mrs. Loomis's calls upon her neighbors. She was naturally indolent, and in the past few years had been warned by her doctor not to exert herself unnecessarily, so she was quite content to sit on the porch with a book or with fancy work, while Nancy wandered about at will, or spent her time poring over some old volume of poetry. Many of the more prosperous neighbors, the Lindsays among them, had gone to the Springs to enjoy greater gayeties, so there were few young persons left, and these Nancy declared she did not miss.

It grew hotter and hotter. Nancy's pallor increased day by day, and at last Mrs. Loomis noticed it and looked at the girl with concern.

"I wish I felt able to make the journey to the North," she said. "This excessive heat is pulling us both down. I feel as limp as a rag and you look as if you had been drawn through a knot-hole. I hope you haven't been poring over those Spanish books too steadily. Perhaps we'd better stop the lessons till it grows cooler. Would you like to join the Lippetts at Greenbriar, Nancy?" she inquired with a half hope of bringing Nancy into the daily society of Patterson.

"I shouldn't care a rap about it," returned Nancy, quickly nipping the hope in the bud. "I would much rather stay alone with you than be thrust into a little hot room and have to dress half a dozen times a day, and for what purpose?" she added sighing.

Mrs. Loomis laid her cheek against the girl's slim hand. "After all," she said, "I suppose one is more comfortable at home, and I must confess I feel like undertaking anything but a journey, myself. Any exertion makes me feel as if I should collapse utterly."

Nancy bent to kiss her. "Perhaps you need a tonic. Shall I call up Dr. Turner and ask him to stop in?"

Mrs. Loomis shook her head. "No, it isn't worth while. I know exactly what he would say. It is the same old trouble. He wouldn't give me anything new. I am out of the drops he ordered the last time, but I will send for them to-morrow."

"Ma?ana; that old ma?ana," returned Nancy, playfully. "Why not send at once?"

"One more day will not make any difference," protested Mrs. Loomis. "Iry is busy cutting the grass and I don't want to take him away from his work."

"I could go."

"In this heat? No, indeed. I should be afraid of sunstroke, and should be so worried every minute you were gone that it would do me twice the harm it would to wait."

So Nancy yielded, but told herself that she would take an early morning ride into the town and bring out the medicine before breakfast the next morning.

But the dawning of the morning was not on this earth for Virginia Loomis, for, while the world was yet in half light, old Parthy came to Nancy's door, tears rolling down her dark cheeks. "De white hoss done been hyar, honey," she said. "I been a-lookin' fo' him. Udder day a li'l buhd fly into Miss Jinny's room, an' a dawg been howlin' uvver night fo' a week."

Nancy, sitting up in bed, gazed at the woman with startled eyes. "What? Who?" she began, but could not go on, feeling the weight of some tragedy imminent.

"Las' night 'pears lak Miss Jinny skeerce kin drag huhse'f up stairs," Parthy went on, "an' dis mawnin' airly when de roosters a-crowin', three o'clock, I reckons, I jes' kaint sleep, an' wakes up Iry an' says ef dat dawg don' stop dat howlin' I los' my min', an' Iry gits up, too, fo' I feels sumpin bleedged mek me go up an' see ef Miss Jinny want nothin' I dunno de whys an' wharfores of dat but I feels lak I bleedged ter go." She paused and Nancy, never moving, kept her eyes fixed in the same startled gaze.

"Go on," she whispered. Faint light was creeping into the room. A gentle breeze drifted in through the open windows, swaying the curtains ever so gently. There were one or two twittering cheeps from newly awakened birds. A wagon rattled clumsily along the stony road. "Go on," again whispered Nancy.

"I goes up an' knocks at Miss Jinny's do', but she ain' give no 'sponse, den I opens de do' an' goes in, an'--an'" Parthy broke off short in her speech and, burying her face in her apron, she rocked back and forth moaning.

Nancy slipped out of bed and crept toward her. "If mamma is ill, send for the doctor at once," she said, in a strained voice.

"Iry done been, but 'tain' no use, 'tain' no use. Po' li'l chile. Po' li'l chile," she wailed.

Nancy darted from the room to be met at her mother's door by the old doctor. "Go back, my child," he said, tenderly. "Go back, you can be of no use now. She is safe."

"Safe fo' evahmo'," chanted Parthy, who had followed Nancy. "She happy an' safe. She done gone to meet Mars Jeems."

With one wild cry Nancy flung herself upon Parthy's broad breast, was picked up in her strong arms and carried back to her room.

The days that followed passed for Nancy she scarce knew how. Kind neighbors tried to comfort her; the good old doctor spared no pains to ease her grief, telling her that if her mother had lived she would have suffered greatly. "It was her heart, my child," the doctor said, "and it is a merciful Providence who has allowed her to leave this world so peacefully."

But Nancy would not be comforted. She felt that Heaven had dealt her a double blow, that in her cup of bitterness had been mixed still more bitter draughts till it overflowed.

It was not till the lean old lawyer, Silvanus Weed, came to consult her about her mother's affairs that Nancy realized that she must rouse herself and make an effort to understand what he was trying to say.

She met him in the library, a room seldom used, for Mrs. Loomis had always preferred her own more cheerful sitting-room upstairs. On this occasion Nancy felt that its memories were too tender, its associations too dear to be desecrated by discussions such as she knew must take place, so to the sombre library she went and established herself in a stiff chair facing the table. She looked very wan, very young and helpless, and Mr. Weed felt that seldom had a more difficult duty been assigned to him.

He cleared his throat once or twice after he sat down and turned over the papers he drew from his bag, then he said suddenly, "You know, Miss Nancy, Mrs. Loomis had only a life interest in this estate in the event of her dying without issue. Should such be the case the estate would revert to the Loomis heirs, nieces and nephews of the late Mr. James Loomis. Beyond this in her own right she had not a large income. This, of course, is left by will to you. I cannot state the exact sum at this moment, as there are some stocks which I have not looked into; they might realize you more if well handled."

"But,--but,--" Nancy roused herself to say, "as I am the only child, surely I inherit all. You meant that it--the place--my father's property, would go to his family only in case there were no children, wasn't that what you meant, Mr. Weed?" She fixed her great, mournful eyes upon his face and his own gaze fell.

"I meant," he said hesitatingly, "that if there were no legal heirs, all Mr. Loomis's property would go to his family. Yes, that is what I meant." He fidgeted with the papers on the table and seemed unable to go on although Nancy waited expectantly.

"I wished to say," he spoke again after what seemed an unnecessarily long pause, "that Mrs. Weed, at least we both would feel gratified if you would come to us until all these legal matters are settled. You will scarcely wish to remain alone with servants, and we would be much gratified to receive you under our roof till your plans are made."

"But, Oh, Mr. Weed, I would so much rather stay right here. It would break my heart to go away so soon. I could get some one, some nice, quiet, respectable person to stay with me, couldn't I?"

"No doubt, no doubt," Mr. Weed answered nervously. "I think perhaps," he added, "that the next thing to be done is to go over such papers of Mrs. Loomis's as have not been entrusted to me. There may be matters which need legal attention, and we would best see to such as soon as possible. You have the keys, of course."

"Yes. At least I know where they are," Nancy replied in a disheartened voice. Why all this red tape, this caution when it seemed a very simple thing that she be allowed to retain what was hers, her inheritance by right of descent? "I suppose there has to be something done about a will," she said, "it has to be--probated, do they call it? Does it take long?"

"Not so very, and an estate is usually settled up within the year."

"Oh, a year, then I need not hurry."

The lawyer gave his dry little cough as he began to gather up his papers. He had an angular face, square forehead, blocked in nose, and eyes which seemed like two triangles set beneath indefinite brows, but his smile was kindly as he said: "Now, don't worry, Miss Nancy. There will probably be no objection to your staying here as long as you wish, though I wish to impress it upon you that our home is open to you at any time that you may feel you would be ready to come to it."

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