Rose o' the River
Page 11
ROSE SEES THE WORLD
Was this the world, after all? Rose asked herself; and, if so, what wasamiss with it, and where was the charm, the bewilderment, theintoxication, the glamour?
She had been glad to come to Boston, for the last two weeks in Edgewoodhad proved intolerable. She had always been a favorite heretofore, fromthe days when the boys fought for the privilege of dragging her sled upthe hills, and filling her tiny mitten with peppermints, down to theyear when she came home from the Wareham Female Seminary, anacknowledged belle and beauty. Suddenly she had felt her popularitydwindling. There was no real change in the demeanor of heracquaintances, but there was a certain subtle difference of atmosphere.Everybody sympathized tacitly with Stephen, and she did not wonder, forthere were times when she secretly took his part against herself. Only afew candid friends had referred to the rupture openly in conversation,but these had been blunt in their disapproval.
It seemed part of her ill fortune that just at this time Rufus should bethreatened with partial blindness, and that Stephen's heart, alreadysore, should be torn with new anxieties. She could hardly bear to seethe doctor's carriage drive by day after day, and hear night after nightthat Rufus was unresigned, melancholy, half mad; while Stephen, as thedoctor said, was brother, mother, and father in one, as gentle as awoman, as firm as Gibraltar.
These foes to her peace of mind all came from within; but without wasthe hourly reproach of her grandmother, whose scorching tongue touchedevery sensitive spot in the girl's nature and burned it like fire.
Finally a way of escape opened. Mrs. Wealthy Brooks, who had always beenrheumatic, grew suddenly worse. She had heard of a "magnetic" physicianin Boston, also of one who used electricity with wonderful effect, andshe announced her intention of taking both treatments impartially andalternately. The neighbors were quite willing that Wealthy Ann Brooksshould spend the deceased Ezra's money in any way she pleased,--she hadearned it, goodness knows, by living with him for twenty-fiveyears,--but before the day for her departure arrived her right arm andknee became so much more painful that it was impossible for her totravel alone.
At this juncture Rose was called upon to act as nurse and companion in afriendly way. She seized the opportunity hungrily as a way out of herpresent trouble; but, knowing what Mrs. Brooks's temper was in time ofhealth, she could see clearly what it was likely to prove when pain andanguish wrung the brow.
Rose had been in Boston now for some weeks, and she was sitting in theJoy Street boarding-house,--Joy Street, forsooth! It was nearly bedtime,and she was looking out upon a huddle of roofs and back yards, upon alandscape filled with clothes-lines, ash-barrels, and ill-fed cats.There were no sleek country tabbies, with the memory in their eyes oftasted cream, nothing but city-born, city-bred, thin, despairing cats ofthe pavement, cats no more forlorn than Rose herself.
SHE HAD GONE WITH MAUDE TO CLAUDE'S STORE]
She had "seen Boston," for she had accompanied Mrs. Brooks in thehorse-cars daily to the two different temples of healing where that ladyworshipped and offered sacrifices. She had also gone with MaudeArthurlena to Claude Merrill's store to buy pair of gloves, and hadoverheard Miss Dix (the fashionable "lady-assistant" before mentioned)say to Miss Brackett of the ribbon department, that she thought Mr.Merrill must have worn his blinders that time he stayed so long inEdgewood. This bit of polished irony was unintelligible to Rose atfirst, but she mastered it after an hour's reflection. She wasn'tlooking her best that day, she knew; the cotton dresses that seemed sopretty at home were common and countrified here, and her best blackcashmere looked cheap and shapeless beside Miss Dix's brilliantine. MissDix's figure was her strong point, and her dressmaker was particularlyskillful in the arts of suggestion, concealment, and revelation. Beautyhas its chosen backgrounds. Rose in white dimity, standing knee deep inher blossoming brier bushes, the river running at her feet, dark pinetrees behind her graceful head, sounded depths and touched heights ofharmony forever beyond the reach of the modish Miss Dix, but she wasout of her element and suffered accordingly.
Rose had gone to walk with Claude one evening when she first arrived. Hehad shown her the State House and the Park Street Church, and sat withher on one of the benches in the Common until nearly ten. She knew thatMrs. Brooks had told her nephew of the broken engagement, but he made noreference to the matter, save to congratulate her that she was rid of aman who was so clumsy, so dull and behind the times, as StephenWaterman, saying that he had always marveled she could engage herself toanybody who could insult her by offering her a turquoise ring.
Claude was very interesting that evening, Rose thought, but rathergloomy and unlike his former self. He referred to his graveresponsibilities, to the frail health of Maude Arthurlena, and to thevicissitudes of business. He vaguely intimated that his daily life inthe store was not so pleasant as it had been formerly; that there were"those" (he would speak no more plainly) who embarrassed him withundesired attentions, "those" who, without the smallest shadow of right,vexed him with petty jealousies.
Rose dared not ask questions on so delicate a topic, but she rememberedin a flash Miss Dix's heavy eyebrows, snapping eyes, and high color.Claude seemed very happy that Rose had come to Boston, though he wassurprised, knowing what a trial his aunt must be, now that she was sohelpless. It was unfortunate, also, that Rose could not go on excursionswithout leaving his aunt alone, or he should have been glad to offer hisescort. He pressed her hand when he left her at her door, telling hershe could never realize what a comfort her friendship was to him; couldnever imagine how thankful he was that she had courageously freedherself from ties that in time would have made her wretched. His heartwas full, he said, of feelings he dared not utter; but in the nearfuture, when certain clouds had rolled by, he would unlock itstreasures, and then--but no more to-night: he could not trust himself.
Rose felt as if she were assuming one of the characters in a mysteriousromance, such as unfolded itself only in books or in Boston; but,thrilling as it was, it was nevertheless extremely unsatisfactory.
Convinced that Claude Merrill was passionately in love with her, one ofher reasons for coming to Boston had been to fall more deeply in lovewith him, and thus heal some, at least, of the wounds she had inflicted.It may have been a foolish idea, but after three weeks it seemed stillworse,--a useless one; for after several interviews she felt herselfdrifting farther and farther from Claude; and if he felt any burningambition to make her his own, he certainly concealed it with admirableart. Given up, with the most offensive magnanimity, by Stephen, and notgreatly desired by Claude,--that seemed the present status of proud RoseWiley of the Brier Neighborhood.
It was June, she remembered, as she leaned out of the open window; atleast it was June in Edgewood, and she supposed for convenience's sakethey called it June in Boston. Not that it mattered much what the poorcity prisoners called it. How beautiful the river would be at home, withthe trees along the banks in full leaf! How she hungered and thirstedfor the river,--to see it sparkle in the sunlight; to watch themoonglade stretching from one bank to the other; to hear the soft lap ofthe water on the shore, and the distant murmur of the falls at thebridge! And the Brier Neighborhood would be at its loveliest, for thewild roses were in blossom by now. And the little house! How sweet itmust look under the shade of the elms, with the Saco rippling at theback! Was poor Rufus still lying in a darkened room, and was Stephennursing him,--disappointed Stephen,--dear, noble old Stephen?