Alice Wilde: The Raftsman's Daughter. A Forest Romance

by Metta Victoria Fuller Victor

  CHAPTER VIII.

  AWAY FROM HOME.

  A quaint party were to be seen passing through some of the streetsof Center City one April day of the following spring. A tall andvigorous man, with a keen, intelligent face, clad in a calico shirt,a blue-woolen hunter's frock and buckskin breeches, strode on as ifanxious to reach his destination; or, rather, as if used to makinggood time over endless prairies and through unsurveyed forests. By hisside walked a young girl whose dress, though of the best materials,was antique as our grandmothers'; a broad-brimmed hat shaded a facethe loveliest ever beheld in that city; her little slippers with theirsilver buckles peeped out from beneath her short frock. Those who werefortunate enough to see her as she passed did not know which to admiremost--the exquisite, unstudied grace of her manners, which was aspeculiar as her beauty, or the seraphic innocence of her expression.She kept pace with her companion, looking gravely forward with thosegreat blue eyes, only occasionally giving the crowd a fawn-like,startled look, when it pressed too near. A few paces behind trudged anancient colored couple, the man short, and white-eyed, rolling smilesas he passed, evidently supposing all the attention of the lookers-onto be concentrated on his flaming vest, his flowered coat, and bran-newboots; the woman a perfect black Juno, really superb in her air andphysique, wearing her neatly-folded yellow turban as if it were agolden crown. She seldom took her eyes off the young mistress whom shefollowed, except occasionally to frown at some impudent fellow whostared too hard.

  The group wended their way onward until they read the names of "Raymond& Moore," in gilt letters over a new four-story brick store of thisthriving new town, and here they disappeared from the view of outsiders.

  "Captain Wilde! how do you do? you're down early this spring. Well, themill's waiting for you to feed it. Come down on a raft?"

  "Yes, Mr. Raymond, a thundering big one. Brought my family this time togive 'em a chance to pick out a few things for themselves. My daughter,sir."

  The merchant gave the young lady a chair. She took it, mechanically,but her heart, her eyes, were asking one question of the smiling,curious man, the friend and partner of her own Philip, who for thefirst time began to suspect the cause which had kept the latter solong, "hunting and fishing" up at Wilde's mill. Could he look sosmiling, so assured, and her Philip be dead? The cry: "Where is he?"trembled silently on her lips.

  "Yes, a thundering big raft we got out this spring. Wood-choppers towork all winter," continued the raftsman, walking along farther fromhis daughter, and speaking with apparent carelessness. "By the way,where's Mr. Moore? did he get home safe, after his spell of sickness,at our house last fall?"

  "Oh, yes! he got home safe and in fine spirits. He was soon as well orbetter than ever. I expect he got pretty good care," and the merchantglanced over at the young girl respectfully.

  Mr. Raymond was a good-hearted, refined young married man; but ifhe had been gross or impure, or not over-fastidious, or fond of ajest, there was something about both father and child to suppress allfeelings but those of respect and wondering admiration, Alice Wilde'sbeauty was of a kind to defy criticism. She might have worn sackclothand ashes, or flannel and thick boots, or a Turkish dress, or a Puritanmaiden's, or a queen's robe, it would have made but small difference;her loveliness was of that overmastering kind which draws the hearts ofhigh and low, and makes every man feel in her presence, forgetful ofevery lesser consideration--lo! here is a beautiful woman! Such charmsas hers have had great power whenever they have been found--they haveexalted peasant women to thrones, and led men of genius and rank, as ifthey were children, hither and thither. It is not strange that Alice'spersonal loveliness, added to her still more unusual unconsciousnessof it, and infantile innocence, should at once have commanded thereverence of people of the world, in spite of the quaintness of mannerand attire, in themselves pretty and piquant.

  Although her father had spoken in a low voice, Alice had heard hisquestion and the answer. The splendor of happiness broke over hercountenance--blushes rose to her cheeks and smiles to her eyes; shehardly dared to glance in any direction lest she should see her loverunexpectedly, and betray her joy to strangers.

  "Is he about the store this morning; or will I have to go to the millto see him?" asked the raftsman.

  "You will not see him at all, this trip, I'm afraid. Mr. Moore hasgone on East; he's been away several weeks now, and I hardly know whento expect him. He was called there quite unexpectedly, upon businessconnected with his uncle, and their relatives in England. It would notsurprise me at all if he should bring a bride home--that is, if he canpersuade his fair cousin that the West is not such a terrible savagewilderness as she supposes."

  Mr. Raymond was perfectly honest in this remark. He knew that VirginiaMoore used to be the idol of his friend; and as Philip had notcommunicated the change in his ideas, he still supposed that Philip wasonly waiting to get rich enough to go home and marry her; and as Philipwas now doing so well with his western enterprises, he had planned itall out in his own imagination--fortune, acceptance, and the happy_finale_ of a grand wedding. He could not help looking over at thepretty forester to see how she received the news, but the portly personof the old colored woman had come between them, and he could not seeher face.

  "Laws, Miss Alice, do see them yere calikers--they're sruperb! Lookat that red one with the blue flowers--'tain't so handsome though, asthis with the yaller. My! my! thar's a jewerlly shop across the way.Yer fadder ought to take yer in dar', fust place. Young gals likes themplaces. Laws, darlin', dis don't compare wid New York City. Le's have adrink of water, and step over de street."

  All this volubility was to screen the young girl from scrutiny. Apitcher of water stood on the counter, near her, and she poured a glassfor her mistress. But Alice waved the glass away, and arose without anysigns of grief and pain in her face; but the expression had changed--anicy pride composed every feature; she asked the merchant to show hersome of his goods in a clear, low tone as sweet as it was passionless.Her hand did not tremble as she turned over silks and laces.

  "Good for her! She's got her father's grit," thought the raftsman tohimself, while his own throat swelled almost to choking with anger andgrief, and he felt that if he only had Philip Moore within sight hewould have the satisfaction of thrashing a little conscience into him.

  Neither he nor Alice any longer doubted the statements of BenPerkins. Mr. Moore _had_ ridiculed them--_had_ mockingly givenanother permission to console her whom he had forsaken--_had_ saidthat he was going East to marry a more fit companion. As the raftsmanlooked in the quiet face of his child which repelled sympathy with awoman's pride--that pride so terrible because it covers such torturedsensibilities--his blood boiled up with ungovernable rage. He was notaccustomed to concealing his sentiments upon any subject.

  "Let them finnified fixin's alone, Alice," he said, taking her hand anddrawing her away. "Men that make it a business to handle that sort ofthing, grow about as flimsy as their wares. I despise 'em. I want youto understand, Mr. Raymond, that all connection between me and thisfirm, business or other, is dissolved. I won't even take your cussedmoney. When Mr. Moore returns, tell him that the laws of hospitalitypractised by your four-story-bricks ain't known in squatters' cabins,and if he ever comes on my premises again I'll consider myself atliberty to shoot him down for a dog;" and before the surprised merchantcould reply he had strode forth.

  "Come 'long, Saturn! don' stan' dar' starin'; don't yer see masser'sgone? I shall be sorry I brought yer 'long ef yer don't behabe wid morepropisciousness. What der s'pose folks 'll tink your missus and masseris, ef you don't act like a fust-family nigger? Ef yer don't do creditto Miss Alice, I'll nebber bring you 'way from home agin;" and Pallastook "her nigger" by the elbow and drew him away from the fascinatingarray of dry-goods and ready-made clothing.

  That afternoon Captain Wilde and his daughter sat in a little privatesitting-room of the hotel, overlooking the street. Every thing wasnovel to Alice. This was absolutely her first experience away fro
m herforest home. Yet upon all the busy, bustling scene beneath her shegazed with vacant eyes.

  About the rapid rise and growth of some of our western cities there isan air peculiar to themselves--an experience unique in the history ofcivilization. Situated amid scenes of unparalleled beauty, they seemto jar upon and disturb the harmony of their surroundings; brick andplaster, new shingles, and glowing white paint, unsubdued by time, riseup in the midst of fairy-land; rude wharves just over the silver waterswhere erst the silent canoe of the Indian only glided; wild roses flushthe hill-sides crowned with sudden dwellings; stately old forests loomup as backgrounds to the busiest of busy streets. The shrill cry ofthe steam-whistle startles the dreamy whippoorwill; the paddle-wheelof the intrusive steamboat frightens the indolent salmon from hisvisions of peace. As the landscape, so the people; curiously mixed ofrough and refined. Center City was one of the most picturesque of theseyoung towns; and, at present, one of the most prosperous. Broken-downspeculators from the East came thither and renewed their fortunes; andenterprising young men began life with flattering prospects.

  It was upon the principal street that Alice sat and looked. Streams ofpeople hurried by, like the waves of the river past her cabin in thewood. She saw ladies dressed in a fashion differing widely from herown; across the way, in a suite of parlors in the second story, shesaw, through the open blind, a young girl of about her own age sittingat a musical instrument, from which she drew, as if by magic, musicthat held her listener as by golden chains. New thoughts and aims cameinto the mind of the raftsman's daughter. Pride was struggling to healthe wounds which love had made.

  "Father, will you send me to school?"

  For a long time there was no answer; his head was bent upon his hand.She crept upon his knee, in her little-girl way, and drew away the hand.

  "It'll be undoin' the work of sixteen year to send you to one of themboarding-schools. They'll learn you plenty of vanity and worse things,my child; they'll make you unfit to be happy and contented with yerplain old father. But that you are already. I've made a failure. You'retoo good for them that's about you, and not good enough for them youwish to be like. Go to school if you want to, child; go, and learn toput on airs and despise those who would give their heart's blood forye. I shall make no objections."

  "Do you think I could learn to be so very bad, father? If you can nottrust me, I will not go. So let us say no more about it," and shekissed him.

  "Thar', thar', child, I didn't mean to deny ye. But I feel bitterto-day--hard and bitter--as I used to in days gone by, when yourmother died, turned off by them that were ashamed of yer father. Ifyou'll only keep like yer mother, you may do what you will. _She_ wentto school, and she knew more than a dozen fine-lady scholars; but itdidn't spoil her. May be I've done wrong to bring you up the way Ihave--to visit my experience and my doubts on your young head. We mustall live and learn for ourselves. Go to school, if you want to. I'lltry and get along without my little cubbie for a year or two."

  "It's hard, father--hard for me--but I wish it." Pride was steeling theheart of the forest maiden. "But are you able, father; can you pay theexpense."

  This thought never came to her until after she had his promise.

  "Yes, I'm able--and if it's done, it shall be done in the best style.I haven't cut down all the pine timber I've set afloat for the lastfifteen year, without laying up something for my cub. I want you todress as well as any you see, and study whatever you like, and playlady to yer heart's content. You'd better find a dress-maker, the firstthing, and not be stared at every time you step out of the door. Getyourself silks and satins, girl, and hold your head up like the queenof the prairie."

  When Captain Wilde returned up the river, he and his sable suite madea melancholy journey; for the light of their eyes, the joy of theirhearts, was left behind them.

  A young ladies' seminary, "a flourishing young institution, beautifullylocated in a healthy region, with spacious grounds enjoying thesalubrious river-breezes," etc., etc., held prisoner, the wild bird ofthe forest.

  "Where's your daughter?" asked Ben Perkins of his employer, when hesaw the returning party land without Alice. His face was blanched toa dead-white, for he expected certainly to hear that she had beenclaimed as his bride by Philip Moore.

  "Yer story was true, Ben, though I did ye the wrong to doubt it. Alicewill never be the wife of that counter-jumper. But she'll never beyours, neither; so you might as well give up, first as last. Go offsomewhere, Ben, and find somebody else; that's my advice."

  "Look-a-here, Captain Wilde, I know you mean the best, and that mychance is small; but I tell you, sir, jest as long as Alice is free tochoose, and I've got breath and sense to try for her, I shan't give herup. Never, sir! I'll work my fingers off to serve you and her--I'llwait years--I'll do any thing you ask, only so you won't lay any thingin my way."

  The raftsman looked pityingly in the haggard face of the speaker--theface which a year ago was so bright and boyish. He saw working in thosedark lineaments, in the swart blood coursing under the olive skin, inthe gleam of the black eyes, passions difficult to check, which mighturge him in future years to yet other crimes than the one into which hehad already been betrayed.

  "You're high-tempered, Ben, my boy, and a little too rough to suit agirl like mine. She knows what your temper has already led you to do;"and he looked straight at the youth as he spoke, whose eyes waveredand sunk to the ground--it was the first intimation he had had thathis guilt was suspected. "Why not go off, and find some one more likeyourself--some pretty, red-cheeked lass who'll think you the best andhandsomest fellow on the earth, and be only too happy to marry you?Thar's plenty such chances--and you'd be a deal happier."

  "Don't, _don't_ talk so!" burst forth Ben, impetuously. "I _can't_ doit, and that's the end on 't. I've tried to get away, but I'm boundhere. It's like as if my feet were tied to this ground. I've done badthings in my determination to keep others away. I know it, and I ownup to it. I've been desp'rate-crazy! But I ain't a bad fellow. If MissAlice would smile upon me, 'pears to me I _couldn't_ be bad--'pearsto me I'd try to get to be as good as she is. Even if she never wouldmarry me, if she'd let me stay 'round and work for you, and she didn'ttake up with nobody else, I'd be content. But if I have to give herup entirely, I expect I'll make a pretty bad man, cap'n. I've allkinds of wicked thoughts about it, and I can't help it. I ain't madeof milk-and-water. I'd rather fight a bar' than court a girl. I shan'tnever ask another woman to have me--no, sir! I'd 'ave made you a goodson, if all hands had been willin'. But if Miss Alice means to makeherself a fine lady to catch some other sweet lady-killer like theone that's given her the mitten, it's her choice. She'll up and marrysomebody that won't speak to her old father, I s'pose."

  "Thar's no telling," answered the raftsman, sadly; for, in truth, thechanged manner of his darling before he left her, lay like a weightupon his memory and heart. He felt a chord of sympathy binding him tothe young man, as if theirs was a common cause. Alice seemed to havereceded from them, as in a dream, growing more cold and reserved, asshe glided into the distance. Her trouble, instead of flinging hermore closely into her father's arms, had torn her from him, and taughther self-control. She had deserted her home, had left him to care forhimself, while she fitted herself for some sphere into which he couldnot come. That "sharper than a serpent's tooth--a thankless child,"he was tempted to call her. Yet his heart refused such an accusation.She had been suddenly shaken in her innocent faith in others, had beenwounded in pride and deserted in love--and her present mood was thehigh reaction of the blow. Presently she would be herself again, wouldcome back to her home and her humble friends with the same modest,affectionate, gentle character as of old.

  But he would treat her differently; he would gratify her love ofthe beautiful. She should have books, music, fine furniture, fineclothes. He did not ask himself what all these would be worth withoutthat paramount necessity of the youthful mind--companionship. Alas!the raftsman, bringing up his idol in seclusion, had foolishly andse
lfishly thought to fix her heart only upon himself; but the littlebird had learned to fly and had gone out of the parent nest, flutteringout into the untried world, impelled by the consciousness of wings.