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

Then they paired off any way. Mr. Ed Saltonstall caught Cynthia's hand.

"I'm just dying to dance with you, and this is the basket quadrille.
Jordan dances like a pump handle, but he's a good fellow. Now let us
have something worth while. I know you dance beautifully."

"How do you know?" piquantly.

"I'd like to be nautical and impertinent, but I'm afraid you'd report
me to Mr. Leverett. Oh, it's in you, in every motion. Aren't you glad
you didn't live in those old Puritan days when you would have been put
in the stocks if you had skipped across the room? Come."

That _was_ dancing. Not a halt nor an ungraceful turn, but every curve
and motion was as perfect as if they had danced together all their
lives. She gave two or three happy sighs. Her cheeks were like the heart
of a blush rose; she never turned very red when she ran or skipped, and
never looked blowsy.

Another person watched and thought her the prettiest thing in the room,
and was very glad she belonged to him.

"I'm sorry I have to dance with some one else and it's Lois Reade. Adams
would like to kick me, I know, and she would be twice as happy with him.
That is the price you pay for assisting your brother into matrimony.
Next time there shall not be but one bridesmaid, and I'll dance with her
all the evening."

"Next time? Will he be married twice?" she asked demurely.

"Oh, you witch! You are the most delicious dancer--it almost seems as if
you were sipping some very fine wine----"

"And it went to your head," she laughed.

"Head and heels both. I'm extravagantly fond of it with a partner like
you. You'll go to the assemblies this winter?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"Is Mr. Leverett very--he's your guardian, and somehow I stand just a
little in awe of him. He is so polished, and knows so much, and is he
going to be very exclusive?"

"Why----" She didn't quite understand, but she looked out of such lovely
eyes that all his pulses throbbed.

"Take your places."

She was standing there alone when Mr. Adams asked her. That was only
fair play. Mr. Saltonstall was in the same set and he gave her hand a
squeeze when he took her, crumpled it all up in his, and she flushed
daintily.

He could not dance with her again until the very last. That was a
"circle" in which you balanced and turned your partner and went to the
next couple, but some way you returned to your own. There were various
pretty figures in it. Once or twice she was a little confused, but he
seemed always on the watch for her.

The music stopped and the fiddlers were locking their cases. The dancers
went out to the supper-room again.

"I'd rather dance than eat. I believe I could dance without music. Would
you like to try?" he asked.

"Oh, no!" with a frightened look that made him laugh.

Mr. Leverett came, and Mr. Saltonstall was all polite deference. He
wished he could be invited to call, but how was it to be managed?

Then Cynthia went upstairs to put on her cloak. The bride kissed her,
and said she was glad to have had her, and when they gave their
house-warming she must be sure to come.

"I've had such a lovely time. Thank you ever so much."

"I'm the obliged one," was the reply.

If she had not been in the carriage she must have danced all the way
home. There was music in her head and a "spirit in her feet." She hardly
heard what Cousin Chilian was saying, only after they entered the house
and she slipped out of her wrap, with his good-night, he said, "You are
a very pretty girl, Cynthia." Of course, he should have had more sense
than to foster a girl's vanity.

The next morning she asked him about the assemblies.

"They are very nice dancing parties. Only the best people go and no sort
of freedom or misbehavior is tolerated. I think I'll take out a
membership."

"Oh, do, please do," she entreated.

The elegant wedding was talked of for days. Girls called on Miss
Leverett--it seemed funny to be called that. She was asked to join a
sewing society that made articles of clothing for the widows and
children of drowned sailors, and there were many of them on the New
England coast. Her tender heart was moved by the pathetic tales she
heard.

"Dear Cousin Eunice," she said one day, "I went with one of the
committee to see a poor sick woman who is in awful destitution. There
are three small children, and when she is well she goes out washing.
They send her driftwood and old stuff from the ship-yards, and one of
the companies pays her rent. But you should see the things! Such ragged
quilts that hardly hold together, and one little boy was without
stockings. There are so many things up in the garret that you will never
use----"

"Likely, dear, but they are Chilian's."

"He said I might ask you, that he was willing. Can't we go up and find
some? What is the use of their being piled up year after year, and
people in need? Ah, if you could see the poor place!"

Miss Eunice went unwillingly. The thrift of New England did often
shrivel into penuriousness. She and Elizabeth were in the habit of
putting away so many partly worn articles for the time of need.

"Those old blankets and quilts----"

"Elizabeth thought they would do to cover over."

"But there are so many better ones. And some on the closet shelves that
have never been used. Why, there is enough to last a hundred years."

"Oh, no;" with an alarmed expression.

"And even I shall not last a hundred years. No one does."

"Oh, yes. I knew a woman who lived to be one hundred and four."

"Did she come to want?"

"She had a good son to take care of her."

"And you have Cousin Chilian. I read somewhere in the Bible--I wish I
could remember the chapters and verses, 'While we have time let us do
good unto _all_ men.' I suppose that means those who haven't been frugal
and careful, as well as the others."

"We can't tell just what every sentence means."

"But we can help them. And here is a poor woman who doesn't go to
taverns;" smiling tenderly and with persuasive eyes.

They picked out enough for a wagon-load. Some of Cousin Chilian's
clothes that would do to cut over, old woollen blankets, and a variety
of articles.

"Let us put them all in this chest."

"We might need the chest."

"Oh, no, we won't. They will be so much easier to carry that way. Silas
could drive down there. And, oh, you can't imagine how much good they
will do."

Cynthia went down to see afterward, and the poor woman's gratitude
brought tears to her eyes.

"They will be a perfect God-send this winter," she said. "I've been
frettin' as to what we should do. I've never begged yet. Well, the Lord
is good."

Then there came another source of interest. Polly Upham was "keeping
company." A nice, steady young man in the ship-chandlery business, with
a little money saved up, whose folks lived at Portsmouth. He came
regularly on Wednesday night and Sundays to tea. They went to church in
the evening, and that certified it to the young people. Betty had left
school and was trying her hand at housekeeping. Louis, the little
fellow, was a big boy.

Alice Turner was engaged also, and certainly very much in love if she
considered the young man a paragon. Cynthia compared them all with
Cousin Chilian, and it wasn't a bit fair.

She met Mr. Saltonstall at a small party, where they played games and
had forfeits.

It was odd, she thought, how the girls chose him in everything. She
didn't choose him once. He spoke of it afterward.

"Why, I thought some of the others ought to have a chance," she
explained with winning sweetness. "But if it had been dancing!" and she
laughed, and that reconciled him.

Then Mrs. Lynde Saltonstall gave her house-warming. It was a simple
dwelling and not very large, but it was pretty as a picture. And young
people didn't expect to rival their fathers and mothers in the start.

They had dancing, and that was enough. They were all young people, and
two of the fiddlers were there. They had a gay time and a nice supper.

"I think Ed is smitten with Cynthia Leverett," Laura remarked to her
husband. "He seemed to feel annoyed that they had sent Miss Winn in the
carriage for her. She's a lovely dancer."

"It wouldn't be a bad thing for Ed. She has lots of money that just
turns itself over on interest. And her trustee has been buying up some
choice Boston property for her. She's pretty and has charming manners
and comes of a good family."

Then Mrs. Stevens asked her to come in to Boston for a few days. She was
going to have a little dancing party.

"My dear, you'll dance yourself to death," said Cousin Eunice.

"Oh, no. It isn't as hard as cleaning house or washing, as some of the
poor women do. And it is tiresome to practise on the spinet, hour after
hour--counting time and all that. If I was a girl of twenty years ago
I'm afraid I should be chasing up and down some old garret, spinning on
the big wheel."

Cousin Eunice laughed, too. Cynthia always made commonplaces seem
amusing, she accented them so with her bright face.

They were very glad to have her in Boston. Chilian took her in on
Saturday and staid with her until Monday morning. On Sunday Anthony
Drayton was invited in to dinner. He had improved very much. The country
air had been effaced. And he was a gentleman by instinct, and acquired
cultivation readily.

"And a fine fellow!" said Cousin Giles, rubbing his hands. "He's decided
to go in for law presently, and it will be a most excellent thing. I
don't know but I'll have to adopt him, as you did Cynthia."

Anthony hovered about the young girl. She had been cultivating her voice
the last year. It was a sweet parlor voice, adapted to the old-time
songs. Mrs. Stevens had a book of them and she sang most cheerfully.

"Oh, I wish you were going to stay over another Sunday," he exclaimed
wistfully. "But I shall come in on Tuesday evening. I don't dance, but
Mrs. Stevens is so kind to me, I've met several of the first men in the
city here."

"Oh, I am glad you are coming."

It was a very sincere joy and she could not keep it out of her face, did
not try to. And it was such a sweet face that she raised to his. He had
a sudden unreasonable wish that he was five years older and settled in
business, but then--she was very young.

Mrs. Stevens said to her on Monday, after she had read a note over and
glanced up at her rather furtively, "There's a friend of yours coming
Tuesday night--a friend from Salem that I hope you will be glad to see."

"From Salem----"

"Mr. Saltonstall. He was in here a fortnight or so ago. His mother and I
used to be great friends. I happened to ask him if he knew the
Leveretts, and he told me about his brother's marriage, that you were
one of the bridesmaids."

"Oh, yes. Laura Manning was one of the older girls at Madam Torrey's.
They had just gone in their new house and the wedding was splendid. And
I liked Mr. Edward Saltonstall so much. He is a most beautiful dancer.
I'm so glad he is coming. You see I don't know many of the new dances,
and I shouldn't so much mind making a break with him."

She looked up in her sweet, brave innocence as she uttered it.

"You are not in love with him, little lady, and he is very much smitten
with you," Mrs. Stevens ruminated. "But you shall have the chance."

"I've always liked Ed," she continued. "He's a nice, frank, honest
fellow, pretty gay at times, but not at all in the dissipated line, just
full of fun and frolic. So I asked him down, and here he says he will
come," waving her note. "I look out for men who dance. I do like to see
young folks have a good time. The older people can play cards."

It seemed rather odd that at eight o'clock not a soul had come. At home
they would be beginning the fun by this time. Then a sudden influx of
girls, some she had met before--two or three young men--and then young
Saltonstall, who had been counting the moments the last half hour.

"I am so glad to see you. It was such a surprise."

He could see it in her face, hear it in her voice. He really was afraid
of saying something foolish--something that would be no harm if they
were alone.

"I've known Mrs. Stevens a long while. And Mr. Giles Leverett. It's
queer--well, not quite that either--that I've known you such a little
while. I always thought of you as a child, though I've seen you drive
your pony carriage."

"Mrs. Stevens is delightful."

Then there was another relay, quite a number of young gentlemen. The
black fiddlers in the hall began to tune up.

There were two very handsome girls and beautifully gowned. All of them
looked pretty in dancing attire. Then a quadrille was called. There were
just eight couples.

Of course, Mr. Saltonstall took her. The rug was up and the floor had
been polished. The dancing was elegant, harmonious.

"The next is the Spanish dance. You will like that. The windings about
are like the song words to the music."

"But--I don't know it;" and she shrank back.

"Oh, you'll get into it. You are the kind that could pick up any step.
You make me think of a swallow as it darts round. If it made a mistake
no one would know it."

"Oh, I'd rather not;" entreatingly.

"Don't spoil the set."

She rose up and let him lead her out. She had a way of yielding so
quickly, when it was right and best, very flattering to a man in love
and easily misread.

If dancing had been art instead of nature, something by rote instead of
a segment of inner harmony, she could not have succeeded so well. He
warded off the few blunders, and at the third change she had another
well-bred partner. But she was glad to get back to him. The joy shone in
her dangerous eyes.

There were some new dances coming in. One of the girls from New York and
her escort waltzed up and down the room in a slow-gliding manner that
was the poetry of motion. She was fascinated, enchanted, and she knew
she could do it herself.

"We'll try it sometime," Saltonstall said.

Mr. Leverett came in, bringing Anthony Drayton with him. He knew he was
late, but he didn't dance, and he had earned five dollars copying that
evening. But he must see Cynthia.

"Oh, I thought you would not come!"

Then she had been giving a thought to him out of her happy time!

"I was detained. Are they all well, or didn't Cousin Chilian come down?"

"Oh, no."

They were being marshalled out to supper.

"You'll have to content yourself with me," said Mrs. Stevens to Anthony,
and he accepted smilingly. But she placed Cynthia next, so he could have
a little talk with her. He was getting on so well, and she was glad for
him.

Some one wanted Miss Tracy to waltz again. Then they had a galop, and
the party broke up. Anthony said good-night, and that he was coming up
on Saturday. Then Saltonstall drew her into a little nook in the hall
that made a connection with another room when it was open. Mrs. Stevens
had smiled over its uses.

"Cynthia, my darling, I must tell you this," and his voice seemed to
throb with emotion. "I want the right to come and visit you as lovers
have, for I love you, love you! I am coming to see Mr. Leverett and ask
his permission. I do nothing but dream of you day and night. You are the
sweetest, dearest----"

"Oh, don't! don't!" She struggled in the clasp. "Oh, I can't--I----" and
he felt her slight body tremble, so he loosed it.

"Forgive me. I wanted you to know so no one can take you from me. I want
to see you often. Oh, love, good-night, good-night!"

He pressed a rapturous kiss upon her hand and was gone. She slipped
through to the dining-room and took a glass of water.

"You look tired to death, little country girl," said Uncle Giles, and he
kissed her on the forehead.

CHAPTER XV

LOVERS AND LOVERS

"Take me home with you, Cousin Chilian," she pleaded, when he came in
the next day.

"But I thought"--he studied her in surprise.

"I want to go home," she interrupted, and her under lip had a quiver in
it that would have disarmed almost any one, persuaded as well.

"Why, yes. Didn't you enjoy the party?" He felt suddenly at loss, he was
not used to translating moods with all his knowledge.

"Oh, it was delightful! And some such pretty girls. There were new
dances. And Mrs. Stevens _is_ charming. Anthony came over a little
while."

In spite of inducements held out, she would go. Cousin Giles was almost
cross about it.

"I'm so glad to get back," she said to Rachel. "One feels so safe here."

"Was there any danger?" laughed the elder.

Cynthia's face was scarlet. It wasn't danger exactly, but she felt
better under Cousin Chilian's wing. And she was her bright gay self all
the evening.

But how to get her story told? For if Mr. Saltonstall came and asked for
her company, as they termed it then, and not being warned, he should
consent----

They sat by the study fire. It had turned out cold and cloudy, with
indications of snow. He had a lamp near him on the small table, and read
and thought, as his glance wandered dreamily over the leaping flashing
blue and yellow flames. If it stormed for one or two days, she could not
have come home.

She rose presently and came and stood by him, laid her hand lightly on
his shoulder. She was a young lady now, and it was hardly proper to draw
her down on his knee.

"Cousin Chilian;" hesitatingly.

"Well, dear?" in an inquiring tone.

"There is something I ought to tell you, and I want to ask you--to--to
do--oh, I hardly know how to say it. Mr. Saltonstall came down; he and
Mrs. Stevens are old friends----"

Ah, he knew now. This young man had dared to invade the virginal
sweetness of her soul, to trouble the quiet stream of girlhood. He was
roused, strangely angry, for all his placid temperament.

"I couldn't help it--just before he went away--and I couldn't have
dreamed of such a thing----"

Then she hid her head down on his shoulder and cried.

"Dear--my dear little girl--oh, yes, it would have to happen sometime.
And--he loves you."

"Oh, that isn't the worst;" illogically, between her sobs. "He is coming
to ask you if he may--and I don't want him to come that way. I just want
it as it was before. Polly Upham can't think or talk of anything but her
intended, and it gets tiresome. He doesn't seem so very wonderful to me.
And wouldn't it weary you to hear me praising some one all the time?"

"I think it would," he answered honestly, yet with some confusion of
mind.

"So I don't want it;" with more courage in her voice. "I want good times
with them all. And I don't see how you can come to love any one all in a
moment."

Was he hearing aright? Didn't she really want the young man for a lover?
He was unreasonably, fatuously glad, and the pulses, that were chilled a
moment ago, seemed to race hot through his body.

"It was not quite marriage?" a little huskily.

"He wanted to ask if he might have the right to come, and he said he
loved me, and, oh, I am afraid----"

She was trembling. He could feel it where she leaned against him. He
took sudden courage.

"And you do not want him to come in that way? It would most likely lead
to an engagement. And then I should have to listen to his praises
continually. Yes, it would be rather hard on me;" and he laughed with a
humorous sound.

It heartened her a good deal. She was smiling now herself, but there
were tears on her cheek.

"And you won't mind telling him; that is not _very_ much, that----"

"I think you are too young to decide such a grave matter, Cynthia," he
began seriously. "And you ought to have a glad, sweet youth. There is no
reason why you should rush into marriage. You have a pleasant home with
those that love you----"

"And I don't want to go away. I feel as if I would like to live here
always. You are so good and indulgent, and Cousin Eunice is so nice, now
that she doesn't seem afraid of any one. Were we all afraid of Cousin
Elizabeth? And we have such nice talks. She tells me about the old times
and what queer thoughts people had, and how hard they were. And about
girls whose lovers went away to sea and never came back, and how they
watched and waited, and sometimes we cry over them. And the house is so
cheerful, and I can have all the flowers I want, and friends coming in,
and, oh, I shall never want to go away, because I shall never love any
one as well as you."

That was very sweet, but it was a girl's innocence, and her face did not
change color in the admission.

"Well, I will explain the matter to Mr. Saltonstall. I am glad you told
me, otherwise I should hardly have known your wishes on the subject. And
now we will go on having good times together, and count out lovers."

"Yes, yes." She gave his hand a squeeze and was her own happy self, not
feeling half as sorry for the man who would come to be denied as he did.

It snowed furiously the next morning, and sullenly the day after. Then
it was cold, and she said half a dozen times a day she was so glad she
came home.

She did not see Mr. Saltonstall when he called, and she really did miss
him at two little companies. Then she wondered if she oughtn't give one,
she had gone to so many.

"Why, yes," Cousin Chilian answered. She might have turned the house
upside down so long as she was going to stay in it.

Then she wondered if she ought to invite _him_. Mrs. Lynde and she were
very good friends, and she should ask Avis, of course. They spoke--they
were not ill friends.

Chilian considered. "Yes, I think I would," he made answer.

They had a merry time and danced on the beautiful rugs, and had a fine
supper. And Mr. Saltonstall was glad to be friends. She _was_ young and
presently she might think of lovers. He would try and keep his chance
good.

_Anthony came now_ and then and spent a Sunday with them. He loved to
hear Cousin Chilian read Greek verses, but the pretty love odes seemed
to mean Cynthia, and he used to watch her. Then Ben Upham was a visitor
as well, and used to play checkers with her, as that was considered
quite a good exercise for one's brains.

Polly would be married in the spring, Alice Turner in June. The Turners
were always besieging her for a two or three days' visit, and the Turner
young men hovered round her. She never seemed to do anything, she never
demanded attention, but when she glanced up at them, or smiled, they
followed her as the children did the Pied Piper. She might have led them
into dangerous places, but she was very simple of heart. Yet the danger
was alluring to them.

Polly came to her for a good deal of counsel. When there were two
patterns of sleeves, which should she take?

"Why, I'd have the India silk made with this and the English gingham
with that--you see it will iron so much easier. Miss Grayson does up the
puffs on a shirring cord, then you can let them out in the washing."

"That's a fine idea. You do have such splendid ideas, Cynthy."

"They are mostly Rachel Winn's," laughed the young girl.

They had a capable woman in the kitchen now. Cynthia should have been
mastering the high art of housekeeping, people thought, instead of
running about so much and driving round in the pony carriage with Miss
Winn, or a girl companion. Of course, there was plenty of money, but one
never quite knew what would happen.

John Loring was building his house as people who could did in those
days. They would not be able to finish it all inside, and there was a
nook left for an addition when they needed it. Polly was to have some of
grandmother's furniture, and John's mother would provide a little.
Corner cupboards were quite a substitute in those days for china
closets, and window-seats answered for chairs. But there was bedding and
napery, and no one thought of levying on friends. Relatives looked over
their stock and bestowed a few articles. Cynthia thought of the stores
in the old house and wished she might donate them. She did pick out some
laces from her store, and two pretty scarfs, one of which Polly declared
would be just the thing to trim her wedding hat, which was of fine
Leghorn. So she would only have to buy the feather.

They haunted the stores and occasionally picked up a real bargain. Even
at that period shoppers did not throw their money broadcast.

"Cynthia Leverett is the sweetest girl I know," Polly said daily, and
Bentley was of the same opinion.

They were to stand at the wedding.

"And I want you to wear that beautiful frock that you had when Laura
Manning was married. I shall only have two bridesmaids, you and Betty,
but I want you to look your sweetest."

And surely she did. They had a very nice wedding party and the next day
Polly went to her own house and had various small tea-drinkings, and she
arranged them for Saturday so Bentley could come up. They were
wonderfully good friends, but Cynthia felt as if she had outgrown him.
In her estimation he was just a big friendly boy that one could talk to
familiarly. Anthony was more backward in the laughter and small-talk.

Then there was the college degree. There was no such great fuss made
over commencement then, no grand regattas, no inter-collegiate
athletics, for it was a rather serious thing to begin a young man's life
and look forward to marriage.

He went straight to Mr. Chilian. It was the proper thing to be fortified
with the elders' consent. Of course, he would not marry in some time
yet, but if he could be her "company" and speak presently--they had been
such friends.

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