A Little Girl in Old Salem

A >> Amanda Minnie Douglas >> A Little Girl in Old Salem

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

"What a pity!"

It was a beautifully engraved gold case, set with jewels.

"Well, you are a lucky girl! And you can have all these yourself. You
just don't have to share them with anybody. Is the room truly yours?"

"Why, it is to put my things in, but anybody can come in it, and we can
go in the other room. Most of those articles were Cousin Chilian's
father's and mother's, and the great clock in the hall came over in
1640. It's funny;" and she laughed. "Old furniture and quilts and things
never get cross and queer as folks sometimes do."

"Well, they're not really alive."

"And they last so much longer than folks."

They had not inspected all the things when Miss Winn invited them out to
supper. She took the head of the table, and began to talk so that they
should not feel embarrassed. The lovely old china was on the table, and
two vases of flowers that looked as if they were set with gems. 'Mimy
passed the plates of bread and butter and cold meats and cottage cheese,
and after a little they all began to talk as if it was recess at
school.

Mr. Chilian Leverett passed through the sitting-room and thought it was
really an enchanting sight, and that Cynthia was the prettiest girl of
them all.

People had not thought up ice cream in those days, but they made lovely
custards, baked in cups with handles, and a tiny spoon to eat them with.
They were the last of the tea.

Then they went into the front parlor, which was the larger and played
fox and geese, and blind-man's buff in a ring. Oh, Elizabeth, it was
enough to disturb your rest to have those merry feet twinkle over the
beautiful rug, when you scarcely dared walk tiptoe for fear of crushing
the soft pile. But they had a grand, good time.

Then Mr. Leverett brought in Cousin Eunice, who had a bit of white at
her neck and wrists, and a lavender bow on her cap. She had protested
against the bow, but Miss Winn had carried her point.

Mr. Leverett set them to doing some amusing things he had resurrected
from his own boyhood. Catches on words, such as "Malaga grapes are very
good grapes, but the grapes of Oporto are better." And then, "A hen, a
hen, but not a rooster. Can you say _that_?" They were greatly puzzled
and looked at Cynthia, who was silently smiling, saying it over in every
manner, until at last one girl almost shrieked out, "_That_," and there
was a chorus of laughter.

At nine o'clock they were bidden to come home. Some of them were sent
for and those who lived near together went in a group. Ben Upham came
for his sisters.

"I don't see why they couldn't have had boys," said Ben to Polly. "Ever
so many of us would have been glad to come."

"Well, we didn't have any real boys' plays. But the supper was elegant.
And 'Mimy waited so nicely. Cynthia's going to have the back parlor for
hers, and Mr. Leverett has bought a new spinet. And she has the most
beautiful things----"

"Oh, yes, I've seen those;" rather impatiently.

"And Mr. Leverett's just splendid!"

"I always told you so;" somewhat grumpily. "But I'd rather be up in the
study with him and Cynthy than to go to half a dozen parties."

"Oh, we weren't in the study at all."

"No, that isn't for girls." So he had scored one, after all.

It was the general verdict when the tea party was talked over that
Cynthia Leverett was in a fair way of being spoiled. A man didn't know
how to bring up a girl, and, of course, Miss Winn let her have her own
way. Miss Eunice had given in to her sister so long that she gave in to
every one else.

Friends went to call and found the children had not exaggerated. Now and
then a neighbor was asked in to supper, and found Cynthia a nice, modest
girl, with no airs of superiority.

They had some journeys about. They went up to the bay of Fundy and
cruised around, chatting with fishermen and French settlers in their odd
costumes, looked at their funny little huts, and were amazed at the
children rolling round in the sand and the sun. Cousin Chilian talked to
them, but their language was a sort of patois difficult to understand.

After that Cynthia was much interested in the French and English war.
And the whole country was watching the Corsican who had made himself
master of half of Europe.

"It is a wonderful world," Cynthia said when they were safe in the study
again. "And I wonder if it is narrow and selfish to be glad that you are
just you?"

He was amused at the idea. But he couldn't recall that he had ever been
anxious to change with any one.

"And that _you_ are just _you_. I couldn't like any one else as well,
not even Cousin Giles, and I do like him very much."

Chilian felt a rise of color stealing up his cheek. The preference was
sweet, for Cousin Giles was extremely indulgent to her, and he was not a
child enthusiast either.

In those days no one supposed parents and friends were put in the world
purposely for children's pleasure. They didn't even consider they came
for _their_ pleasure. It was right to have them, they were to be the
future men and women, workers, legislators, and homemakers. They didn't
always have easy times, nor their own way, and they were not thought to
be wiser than their parents, even in the choice of professions for life.
But there were many fine brave fellows among the boys, and the girls
went on, making pretty good wives and mothers. If life did not bring
them just what they wished, they accepted it and did the best they
could.

Anthony Drayton came to make Cousin Chilian a visit and pass an
examination for Harvard. With a little help he had worked his way
through the academy. He was one of the brave, resolute boys, and, though
it grieved him to go against his father's wishes, he had decided for
himself.

"I really could not bury myself on a farm," he confessed. "I want a
wider life, I want to mix with men and take an interest in the country.
Not that I despise farming, and if one could branch out and do many new
things, but to keep on year after year in the old rut, corn and
potatoes, wheat and rye--just as grandfather did. What is the use of a
man living if he can't strike out some new ways? Maybe I'd been willing
to go to the new countries, but father was just as opposed to that."

He was a fresh, fair lad, with eyes of the Leverett blue, a strong, fine
face, not delicate as Cousin Chilian's. His hair was not very dark, but
his brows well defined, and with the eyelashes much darker than the
hair. His voice had such a cheerful uplift.

"You have quite decided then?" Chilian wondered if he could ever have
gone against his father's wishes, but in that case father and son had
similar tastes.

"Oh, yes; I've nothing farther to look for, and I'm willing to leave my
share to the other children. I know I can make my way, and I'm ready to
work and wait."

His voice had such a nice wholesome ring that it inspired you with faith
in him.

Cousin Eunice took a great fancy to him. They talked over the visit of
years ago. It seemed to her as if it had just been the beginning of
things.

One sister was grown up and "keeping company," the other a nice handy
girl. The next brother would be a great help--he cared nothing for
books. Both of the Brent cousins were married, one living on the farm
with his mother, the other having struck out for himself. And Miss Eliza
Leverett was weakly. Like many women of that period, when all hope of
marrying and having a home of her own was past, she sank down into a
gentle nonentity and dreamed of Cousin Chilian. Not that she had
expected to captivate him, but life with some one like that would set
one on the highest pinnacle.

He thought Cousin Cynthia--they were always cousins, to the fourth
generation--was the sweetest, daintiest, and most winsome thing he had
ever seen--and so she was, for his acquaintance with girls had been
limited. They looked over the old treasures in the house and thought it
wonderful any one should ever go to India and return without being
wrecked. They walked about the lovely garden, and he was amazed at her
familiarity with flowers and plants he had never seen.

Then she took him over to the Uphams, for an old friend came in to play
checkers with Cousin Chilian. Polly was bright and merry, but somehow
Ben seemed rather captious. Anthony listened with surprise at the bright
sayings they flung at one another.

The next day he and Cousin Chilian went over topics for examination. His
reading had not been extensive but thorough. In mathematics he was
excellent. But he found some time to chat with Cynthia, and they both
walked down to the warehouse with Cousin Chilian.

What a sight it was! He had read of such things, but to see the hundreds
of busy men, the great fleet of vessels, the docks piled with all kinds
of wares, the boxes and bales lying round in endless confusion. And the
great ocean, lost over beyond in the far-off sky.

When the two had gone up to Boston, Cynthia felt very lonely. She had
been sipping the sweets of unspoken admiration. She saw it in the eyes,
in the deference, as if he was almost afraid of her, in the sudden flush
when she turned her eyes to him. It was a new kind of worship.

She went over to the Uphams. Polly had been having her sampler framed.
The acorn border was very pretty in its greens and browns. Then a stiff
little tree grew up both sides, about like those that came in the Noah's
Ark later on. And between these two trees was worked in cross-stitch:

"Mary Upham is my name,
America is my nation;
Salem is my dwelling place,
And Christ is my salvation."

"Isn't the frame nice?" she asked. "I made father two shirts and he gave
me the frame and the glass. Peter Daly made it. And the frame is oiled
and polished until the grain shows--well, almost like watered silk.
Gitty Sprague has a beautiful pelisse of gray watered silk. And now I
have one thing for my house. I'm beginning to lay by."

"Your house!" Cynthia ejaculated in surprise.

"Why, yes--when I'm married. You have such lots of things, you'll never
have to save up."

Cynthia was wondering what she could give away. Not anything that was
her father's or her mother's.

"I'll paint you a picture. You do so much better needlework than I that
I should be ashamed to offer you any."

"And the girls will give me some, I know. I'd fifty times rather have
the picture. What a nice young fellow that cousin is! I'm glad his name
isn't Leverett. There's such a host of them. But I don't like Anthony so
well."

"That was father's name. It's quite a family name. It always sounds good
to me."

"And is he going to Harvard?"

"Yes; even if he can't get in right away."

"That's nice, too. It's quite the style for young men to go to college.
Some of them put on a sight of airs, though. He doesn't look like that
kind."

"He isn't," she returned warmly. "He is going to work his way through."

"Oh! Hasn't he any father?"

"Yes; but his father will not do anything for him. I think it is real
grand of him."

Polly nodded, but she lost interest in the young man.

Bentley walked home with Cynthia. It was afternoon, so he did not really
need to.

"I suppose that cousin isn't going to live with you?" he asked
presently.

"Oh, no; he will have to live in Boston."

"And come up here for Sundays?"

"Why, I don't know. That would be nice. I think I am growing fond of
company."

"Well, I can come over;" half jocosely.

"Oh, I meant other people;" innocently.

"Then you don't care for my coming?"

"Yes, I do. Oh, do you remember that winter I was half sick and how you
used to come over and read Latin? And I used to say it to myself after
you."

That delighted him. He didn't feel so cross about the young fellow, but
he half hoped he wouldn't pass, and have to go back to New Hampshire for
another year.

They sat on the stoop and chatted until the old stage stopped and
Chilian alighted.

"Oh!" the young girl cried, "where did you leave Anthony?"

"With Cousin Giles. The examinations will begin to-morrow."

It was near supper-time and Ben rose to go. Sometimes they asked him to
stay to supper, but to-night they did not.

Then an event happened that took Cynthia's entire interest for a while.
This was the return of Captain Corwin. He came up the walk one
day--quite a grizzled old fellow it seemed, with the sailor's rolling
gait--and looked at her so sharply that she had a mind to run away.

"Oh, Captain Anthony's little girl," he cried. "You have forgotten me.
And it ain't been so long either."

She thought a moment and turned from red to white. Then she stretched
out both hands and cried, her eyes and voice full of tears:

"Oh, you couldn't bring him back!"

"No, little Missy. He'd shipped for the last time before I'd reached
there and gone to a better haven. He was the best friend I ever had. But
he knew it long afore, and that was why he wanted you safe with
friends."

"I know now." She brushed the tears from her eyes.

"And I hope you've been happy."

"I waited and waited at first. Sometimes I wished I was a bird. Oh,
wouldn't we have a lovely time if we could fly? And one time in the
winter I was quite ill--it was so cold and I did get so tired of
waiting. Then Cousin Chilian told me he had gone to mother and I knew
how glad she would be to see him. I had some nice times. Cousin Chilian
loved me very much. So did Cousin Eunice. I think Cousin Elizabeth would
if she had lived longer, but she went away, too. Oh, I've done so many
things--studied books, and taken journeys, and made friends, and painted
pictures, flowers, and such. And I've tried to paint the sea, but I
can't make it move and seem like a real sea."

"Oh, Missy, how smart you must be!"

"There are so many things I don't know," she laughed. "And now tell me
about yourself and why you did not come back."

"We had a pretty fair journey all along first. But as we were nearing
Torres Strait an awful storm took us, and we were driven ashore almost a
wreck and lost two of our men. After a while we got patched up and set
sail again, but I was afraid we would never reach harbor. Howsomever we
did, in a pretty bad condition. Poor _Flying Star_ seemed on its last
legs and 'twasn't sea legs either. Then I went up to Hong Kong and
cruised around, buying stuff and selling it elsewhere. The _Flying Star_
was patched up again, but she wasn't thought safe for a long journey.
But there was plenty of work near at hand. Of course, I knew all about
your father, and that the word must have reached you, but I hated
mortally to come back and face you. But after a while the hankerin' for
old Salem grew upon me. And there was the _Aurora_ wantin' a captain,
for the man who brought her out died of a fever. So says I, 'I'm your
man, and I've been over often enough to know the ropes, the islands, and
p'ints of danger and safe sailing.' So here I be once more. But jiminy
Peter! I should hardly 'a' knowed little old Salem. Why, she looks as if
she was going to outsail all creation!"

"Oh, we're getting very grand. New streets, and splendid new houses, and
stores, and churches. Why, Boston isn't very much finer."

"Don't b'lieve Boston harbor can show tonnage with her! And where's
first mate?"

"I don't know, but he will be in soon. Oh, there's Rachel. Rachel, come
here to an old friend."

The captain shook hands heartily. "Why, you don't seem to have changed a
mite, only to grow younger and plump as a partridge."

It had all to be talked over again and in the midst of it supper was
ready, and there was Miss Eunice's surprise. Cynthia could hardly eat,
the long journey and the dangers seemed such a strange thing now. Had
she really come from India, or was it all a dream?

Yes, old Salem was almost fading out of the minds of even middle-aged
people. There were curious stories told about witches and ghosts, but
the real witchcraft was dying out of mind and the old houses that had
been associated with it were looked upon as curiosities. Public spirit
was being roused. In 1804 the East India Marine Society left the Stearns
house and moved to the new Pickman Building in Essex Street. People
began to send in curiosities that had been stored away in garrets:
models of early vessels, articles from Calcutta, from the islands about
the Central and South Pacific, cloths, and cloaks, and shawls, and
implements.

The captain was quite sure Winter Island had grown larger--perhaps it
had, by docking out. And he declared the streets looked like London,
with the gayly gowned women, the stores, the carriages, for a number of
handsome late ones were to be seen. There were a few fine young men on
the promenade and they were attired in the height of fashion, as the
society men of New York and Philadelphia. They were still paying
attention to business and devoting the evenings to pleasure. Descendants
of the strict old Puritans met to play cards and have dances and gay
times with the young ladies. In the afternoon a cup of tea would be
offered to callers, or a piece of choice cake and a glass of
wine--often home-made. There were few excesses.

Many were still wearing the old Continental attire, yet you saw an old
Puritan gentleman, with his long coat, his high-crowned hat, black silk
stockings, and low shoes with great steel buckles.

Anthony was very much interested in the captain, whose best friend had
been Anthony Leverett. He was proud of the name, and Cynthia's story was
like a romance to him. He was taken up quite cordially by Cousin Giles,
and very cordially by Mrs. Stevens, who had a liking for young men when
they were well-mannered. He had managed to enter Harvard, with some
studies to make up. Chilian Leverett insisted he should do no teaching
this year, and offered him enough to see him through, but he would only
accept it as a loan.

Bentley Upham was a year ahead and had a good standing, but he felt a
little jealous of the young country fellow--"bumpkin" he would have
liked to call him, but he was not that. A young man received at Mr.
Giles Leverett's, and who sometimes escorted Mrs. Stevens to an
entertainment, was not to be ignored.

The captain staid in port nearly two months and Cynthia experienced her
old fondness for him, if he was a little uncouth and rough. They went
down to see the _Aurora_ off and she recalled the day she had said
good-bye to the _Flying Star_, that was to bring back her father.

As for her she was very busy learning to play and to paint. It was a
young lady's accomplishment, but she really did very well. There were
girls' teas, and now and then a small dance that began at seven and
ended at nine, but boys were invited generally. Miss Polly Upham was
quite in the swim, as we should say now. Mothers expected their
daughters to marry, and how could they if they did not see young men?
But there was a certain propriety observed, and very little playing fast
and loose with the most sacred period of life, with the greatest
God-given blessing--Love.

CHAPTER XIV

IN GAY OLD SALEM

The next winter Cynthia was fairly launched on society. There was no
regular coming out in almost bridal array, with a grand tea and a
houseful of flowers. When a girl left school she expected to be invited
out and to give little companies at home. Almost the first thing, she
was asked to be one of the six bridesmaids at Laura Manning's wedding.

The Mannings had one of the splendid new houses on Chestnut Street, with
spacious grounds before the houses grew so close together. Avis Manning
was still in school, Cynthia was between the two in age. Mr. Manning was
connected with the East India trade and an old friend of the Leverett
family. It had begun by Cynthia being invited to a girls' tea, and Mrs.
Manning had taken a great fancy to her. Laura was not very tall, and
they did not want any one to dwarf the bride.

Every one was to be in white, the bride in a soft, thick silk, and she
was to have a court train. The maids were to be in mull or gauze, as a
very pretty thin material was called. The Empress Josephine had brought
in new styles that certainly were very becoming to young people. The
short waist and square neck, the sleeve puffs that had shrunk so much
they no longer reached the ears, the short curls around the edge of the
forehead arranged so the white parting showed, the dainty feet in
elegant slippers and choice silk stockings that could not help showing,
for the skirts were short. Pretty feet and slim ankles seemed to be a
mark of good family.

"Will I do?" Cynthia stood before Cousin Chilian with a half-saucy
smile. Around her throat she wore a beautiful Oriental necklace, with
pendants of different fine stones that sparkled with every turn of the
head. There were match pendants in her ears, and just back of the rows
of curls was a jewelled comb.

She was a pretty girl without being a striking beauty. But her eyes
would have redeemed almost any face, and now they were all aglow with a
wonderful light.

He looked his admiration.

"Because if _you_ don't like me----"

There was a charming half-coquettish way about her, but she never made a
bid for compliments.

"What then?" laughing.

"I'd stay home and spoil the wedding party. I know they couldn't fill my
place on a short notice."

He thought they couldn't fill it at all, but he said almost merrily,
"You need not stay at home."

Cousin Eunice said she looked pretty enough for the bride. Miss Winn had
attended to her toilette, and now she wrapped a soft silken cloak about
her and Cousin Chilian put her in the carriage. He was all in his best,
ruffled shirt-front, light brocaded silk waist-coat, and there were lace
ruffles about his hands.

One feels inclined to wonder at the extravagance of those days, when one
sees some of the heirlooms that have come down to us. But their handsome
gowns went through several seasons, and then were made over for the
daughters. And they did not have their jewels reset every few months.

Such a roomful of pretty girls! Youth and health and picturesque
dressing make almost any one pretty. Miss Laura looked fine, but she
paused to say, "Oh, Cynthia, what an elegant necklace!"

"Father had it made for mother," she replied simply.

They patted and pulled a little, powdered, too.

Miss Willard, the great mantua-maker of that day, who superintended the
dressing of brides, saw that everything was right. The young men came
from their dressing-room, and they began to form the procession. Both
halls were illuminated with no end of candles, and guests were standing
about. Mr. Lynde Saltonstall took his bride-to-be, and they let the
white train sweep down the broad stairway, then Avis Manning and Ed
Saltonstall followed. They were not much on knick-names in those days,
but he had been called Ed to distinguish him from some cousins.

Cynthia and a cousin came next, and there were several other relatives.
It was a beautiful sight. The bride walked up to the white satin cushion
on which the couple would kneel during the prayer, the maids and
attendants made a semicircle around her, and then the nearest relatives.
The old white-haired minister had married her mother.

Then there was kissing and congratulation and Mrs. Saltonstall had her
new name, though Avis said she liked Manning a hundred times better.

"Then you wouldn't accept my name?" said Ed, but he looked laughingly at
Cynthia.

"Indeed I wouldn't! I don't want any one's name at present. I'm going to
be the only daughter of the house a while," she returned saucily.

"I wonder if I ought to go on and ask all the maids?" There was such a
funny anxiety in his face that it added to the merriment.

"You needn't ask this one," said Ward Adams, and Cousin Lois Reade
blushed scarlet, though they all knew she was engaged.

"But I'm going to dance with every maid. And just at twelve I'm going to
hunt for a glass slipper."

His look at Cynthia said he needn't hunt very far, and she blushed,
which made her more enchanting than before.

They all laughed and talked, the older men teasing the bride a little
and giving her advice as to how she should break in her new husband.
Young people's weddings were expected to be gay and every one added his
or her mite. The fine new house was duly admired. On one side it was all
one long room, beautifully decorated. On the other a library, for books
were beginning to come in fashion, even if you were not a clergyman or a
student. Then a kind of family sitting-room, with a large dining-room at
the back. Some of the fine old houses were taken for public purposes
later on.

They went out to refreshments and the bride cut the cake with a silver
knife. Large suppers were no longer considered the style, but there was
a bountiful supply of delicacies. They drank health and long life to the
bride and groom, and good wishes of all kinds.

The black waiter, in white gloves and white apron, stood in the hall to
deliver boxes of wedding cake as the older people took their departure.
And then the fiddlers began to tune up. There were two minuets to take
in all the party. Cynthia and Mr. Jordan were in the head one, with the
bride. He was a little stiff and excused himself, as he wasn't much
given to dancing. It didn't matter so much in the minuet.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16