A Story of Four Mormon Girls.
By Sarah E. Pearson
Chapter 6
Two years had passed away. The lovely mountains and vales of Utah were clothed in brilliant autumn tints, and an Indian summer haze hung over the landscape, softening the rugged outlines and making it seem an enchanted land, when Douglas again walked through the dear, familiar streets of his native village.
He had fulfilled an honorable mission, obtaining an experience gold could not buy, and it was with feelings of profound thankfulness to God that he once more greeted his beloved kindred and friends.
All the members of the family were again gathered together to meet him, but though he had been partially prepared for it by the letters written from home, he was greatly shocked and pained by the change in the gentle face and form of his sister Agnes.
Pale and emaciated, her large eyes brilliant and glittering with the fires of fever which were swiftly burning her life away, and a bright crimson spot on either cheek, like twin roses on a bed of snow, she sat in her mother’s large arm chair, a tiny babe upon her bosom. Too weak to rise to greet him, he had knelt beside her chair, and her transparent hands pressed the brown and bearded face, which was dripping with tears against her own.
Sobs shook the frame of the dear old mother at sight of her darling children thus reunited, for she realized that the reunion would be short, and Jean quietly led her away, while Brother Stuart laid his hand on his son’s shoulder, as a warning that he must not linger too long lest the excitement prove too much for her feeble strength.
And what had wrought the awful change in the blooming bride of four years ago?
Drink! That accursed demon which yearly destroys the lives of thousands, had proved the downfall of another brilliant and promising man, and the destroyer of another noble and innocent woman.
Drink! With its attendant evils of gambling, idleness and bad company! And she, who had knelt before the altar of high heaven and pledged herself for time and eternity to one whom she believed a very king among men, had lived to see him staggering home, in broad daylight from one of the worst dens of infamy which blot the face of this fair land.
Do you think the picture overdrawn?
No, indeed it is not, for it is true.
In a frenzy of outraged pride and despair, and of utter loathing for the man who had thus dragged her fair name with his through the slime of disgrace, she had flown back to the dear old home, to sob her life out on the tender, pitying breast of her mother.
Could they have roused in her any desire of life, her naturally strong constitution and abundant vitality would have doubtless carried her safely through the crisis of motherhood, but not even the mother love, awakened by the presence of the wailing baby, could inspire her with sufficient courage to face life again, and ten days after Douglas’s return, they laid her tenderly away in the village churchyard with her tiny baby by her side.
The years had brought their sad changes to Chatty as well, for the darling mother had passed away within six months after Chatty had gone to Idaho, and about a year and a half later her husband was killed by a fall from his horse, while under the influence of his old enemy liquor; so that now, a widow with two little children, she was again at the old home keeping house for her father and the younger children.
She had been in and out at Brother Stuart’s, rendering every assistance in her power in their time of trouble, and it was thus that Douglas had met her for the first time since her marriage.
She had greeted him with the same candid friendliness of yore, and he was surprised that he could meet her just as frankly with no feeling in his heart for her but friendship and pity.
Time and prayer work wonders, he said to himself, for he had earnestly prayed that he might be able to get over his infatuation, when he knew he no longer had any right to think of her.
Rintha had never been in N— since her father and herself had moved to Salt Lake, so when a telegram reached her from Brother Stuart informing her of the death of his daughter, she determined to attend the funeral services.
She did not know of Douglas’ return, and walked up the path to the house, on the morning preceding the funeral, believing him three thousand miles away; and when, in answer to her low knock, he had opened the door for her, the surprise of seeing him almost took her breath away.
She staggered a little, and every bit of blood in her body seemed to rush to her heart, leaving the lovely face as white as the cold, marble face within.
She bit her lip in an endeavor to steady herself and by a supreme effort controlled herself sufficiently to take his proffered hand.
He looked into her eyes, sadly wondering if she could find it in her heart to hate him now, in this great trouble, but their expression was more timid and appealing than angry, of that he was sure.
Jamie had witnessed their meeting and he now came forward, taking her hand and leading her into the house, and it was with a feeling of undisguised relief that she surrendered herself to him.
She staid in N— nearly two weeks after the funeral, comforting her dear old friend Sister Stuart with her sympathy and rendering the broken hearted Jean welcome assistance in her effort to make the home a little more cheerful to the melancholy parents, and also visiting with Chatty and other friends in the neighborhood.
It was the last night of her stay and she and Jean had spent the greater part of the afternoon under the dear old grapevine, sadly recounting the changes the years had brought, and planning for the future.
Jean had read a letter from her professor, stating that an application from a southern settlement had been made to him for a good teacher, and that he had recommended her tor the position.
She should be sorry to have her revered preceptor disappointed in her, but how could she ever bring herself to go away and leave her father and mother now?
Douglas and Jamie have just driven into the yard with their hayrack as they did when we were first introduced to them. Let us draw near and hear what they are saying:
“Rintha is going away in the morning is she not?” Jamie is saying as we approach.
“I believe she is. “ Douglas responds, with a scrutinizing look at his brother.
“You believe!” Jamie repeats, jokingly. “I should think you ought to know”
“ Why, Jamie, how unreasonable you are. What’s the matter with you? Can’t you spunk up courage enough to propose?”
“I propose! Well, that is rich! I did all the proposing she would allow me to do years ago. She wouldn’t have me for anything but a brother, and I’m not sure that she would have me for that.”
“Well, I should say not!” laughed Douglas. “You would have to have my help to accomplish that, and she has hated me so for years she has hardly been able to treat me decently.”
“Say, Douglas, if it were not for the sad trouble we are in I think I should be tempted to punch your head.”
“Jamie, what do you mean?” said Douglas half angrily.
“I mean that of all the wooden-headed fellows I have ever met that you take the lead. Do girls turn red and then white, and tremble like a leaf in a storm, and nearly faint in their tracks, when they are suddenly confronted by a fellow they hate, especially if that same fellow is in trouble and she is feeling so sorry for him she don’t know what to do?”
They are standing hy the hay rack by this time, and Douglas is getting too fidgety to hear him through.
He grasped him almost roughly by the shoulders, saying:
“Jamie Stuart, I thought you loved her, and I have been trying to make myself believe that I was willing. How could I have the face to try to stand in my brother’s light? Especially when she was always so friendly to him, and so cold to me.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me, Douglas, I have a ‘light’ somewhere else.”
“Jamie, if you realize what this means to me, don’t trifle with my feelings. Are you sure of what you are saying?”
“Go and ask her, if you can spunk up courage enough,” retorted Jamie.
Douglas turned on his heel and strode away toward the house, hope and fear struggling in his heart.
“Mother, do you know where the girls are?”
“Out in the grapevine arbor, I think. I wish you would tell Jean I want her.”
“That is just the kind of an errand I am hunting,” and he smiled to himself.
“Jean,” he said, as he approached the door, “mother wants you.”
Both girls arose but Douglas laid his hand on Rintha’s arm saying:
“Oh, she didn’t send for you, Rintha. Jean, run along. “
Jean needed no second bidding for a glad suspicion had entered her heart.
Rintha looked from side to side as though she were hunting a means of escape.
“Don’t run away from me, little woman, unless you really do hate me.”
“Hate you?” and she sank again into the little rustic seat. “Why Douglas, what put such an idea as that into your head?”
He sat down beside her, and throwing his arm over her shoulder he drew her chin up so as to compel her eyes to meet his.
“Tell me, Rintha, is it hate or is it love?” but she said never a word, only seeking to cover her eyes with her hands.
He imprisoned them both in one of his, still gazing into her eyes.
Two big tears welled up into the sweet brown orbs, rolling down over the blushing cheeks, but she did not further resist him as he drew the dainty form into the close embrace of his big, strong arms, and pillowed the dear head on his tender heart.
Her arm fluttered timidly, like a bird to its resting place, around his neck, and a glad smile of triumph lighted his eyes as he stooped and took his first kiss from her trembling, though smiling lips.
Half an hour later his mother approached as near as she deemed advisable, and called:
“Douglas, my boy, the night air is too chilly for Rintha to be out here without any wrap. You must bring her in at once.”
He arose and led his blushing companion to where his mother stood.
“Dear mother, I have brought you another precious daughter to comfort you for the loss of our darling Agnes.”
Sister Stuart took the girl in her motherly arms, weeping tears of happiness over her.
“Oh, I never believed I could again be as happy, as the knowledge that you are to have this dear girl for your wife makes me. “
Rintha returned her caresses with interest.
“And who could have thought that the lonely, motherless girl would ever be blessed with you for her mother.”
Jamie beamed upon them as they all three entered the house, and walking up to Rintha said: “I have waited a long time for that sisterly kiss, madam; may I have it now?”
“Indeed you may,” and she put up her rosy mouth for his salute.
“I owe him one Rintha. You give it to him for me,” and Jamie received a kiss from her, while a look of smiling intelligence passed between the two brothers, and even Brother Stuart claimed the privilege of a kiss from the new daughter.
Jean spent the happiest night she had known for many months with her arms clasped around the new-found sister.
“Oh, I have prayed for this for years,” she whispered, earnestly, “for I think you and Douglas are just made for each other,” and Rintha confided to her the struggles and humiliations of the years she had been trying to root the love for Douglas from her heart.
Douglas did not feel that he could be parted from his sweetheart so soon after finding her, so he returned with her to Salt Lake, to ask her father for his dearest treasure; and Brother Rivers in turn, sprung a profound surprise upon them by informing them that there was a most estimable lady of his acquaintance whom he desired to make his wife if his beloved daughter was willing.
Rintha readily expressed her pleasure at receiving a second new mother, and the arrangement proved most satisfactory all round, for it enabled Douglas to so far set aside the conventionalities, as to insist on an early, quiet wedding, taking his bride home to his mother to cheer and comfort her, and it also enabled lean to accept the appointment she had received for teaching school.
To be continued