CHAPTER XVII.
THE FLAG OF VICTORY.
It was true that the victories did go far toward healing dissensions.While the indignation against England had run high, there was a bitteropposition in some quarters to every act of the administration. Therewas jarring in the Cabinet as well as outside. The larger cities hadnever cordially approved of the Capital at Washington. They had hadrejoicing over successes, and now it was the turn of the newer city.
Mrs. Madison's drawing room always presented a gay and beautifulaspect. Many strangers came to the city. Washington Irving paid asecond visit, and was most graciously received and became a greatfavorite. Society took on a finer aspect. Poets appeared, mostlypatriotic ones; and though to-day we may smile over them, theirsincerity moved the hearts of their readers and won applause, inspiredenthusiasm.
Jaqueline Mason had taken another ramble around the room when she sawRoger Carrington talking to her sister. The band played a grand march,and everybody fell into line, as this seemed to befit the occasion.Then some of the guests began to disperse, as the President, who lookedvery weary, and his smiling, affable wife, with so many more years ofyouth on her side, set the example.
Carrington loitered with the Collaston party, debating whether heshould meet Jaqueline. It would break the ice, perhaps. Patty hadbeen so cordial. She had taken on so many pretty married airs thatwere charming. She talked about her house and her lovely baby, howAnnis had grown, and how sweet it was of her to be content without hermother, and how sad it was about Charles. Louis joined them, full ofenthusiasm. And at last Jaqueline and her escort came up.
"We thought we should have to go home without you," Patty said gayly."Come; it is late. The carriage has been here waiting ever so long."
Jaqueline bowed to her old lover. Major Day, in his military trappings,was quite an imposing figure, and how beautiful she was! She had beena pretty young girl when he first met her; she was young still, inthat early dawn of womanhood before the bud had quite unfolded. Had heexpected to see her faded and worn in this brief period?
They all wished each other good-night.
Why did he not "ask Jaqueline to love him again"? He was not as sureas Annis had been. And now everything was different. Patty was alreadyquite a figure in society, and Jaqueline could have her choice oflovers, husbands.
Annis longed to tell over her little episode of the meeting, but thereseemed no time. Jaqueline was always going out and having company.Louis teased Annis when he saw her.
"Two conquests in one night for a little girl!" he exclaimed. "Oh, Isaw you dancing with the young midshipman, and then on high parade withMr. Carrington, who looked grave and grand, as if he was escortingabout a lady of high degree. I am afraid Madame Badeau will make awoman of you too fast. Do you not think it would be better to send herover to the convent to steady her, Patty?"
"Oh, I don't want to be shut up! I should run away. And I like thegirls so much. The convent looks dreary. And they can walk only in thathigh-walled garden. I want the whole big outside world."
Louis laughed and pinched her cheek.
If Mr. Carrington wouldn't come and ask Jaqueline again, no one coulddo anything. Annis sighed in her tender heart, and felt that it wasbetter not to retail the confidence.
Mrs. Madison's dinners were quite the events of the winter, and herlevees were delightful entertainments. All parties began to harmonizemore warmly; perhaps it was the gracious tact and affability ofthe hostess. The _National Intelligencer_ espoused the cause ofthe Madisons enthusiastically, and congratulated the nation on hisre-election. Roger Carrington began to haunt the entertainments he hadso long shunned, or at the utmost merely devoted a few moments to them.Of course he met Jaqueline, who was simply indifferent, a much hardercondition to overcome than if she had shown hauteur or resentment. And,then--in a worldly point of view she could do better.
For Washington, in a certain way, was prospering in spite of the warand privations. There was a feeling of permanence, as if the Capitalreally would be great some day. Houses were springing up, streetslengthening out, mudholes being filled up, pavements placed, and everyyear a little was added to the home of the nation.
The time ran gayly around. The winter had seemed unusually brief. Marchcame in again, and with it the second inauguration of James Madison,when the Capitol grounds were thronged as never before. The Presidentwas paler and thinner, and though it had been a triumph for his party,he sighed often for the quiet and rest of Montpellier.
Mrs. Madison, in rose-colored satin and ermine, looked "every inch aqueen," said the papers of the day. And happier than some of the queensoff or on European thrones, even if she had carried a great burden thelast two years. And the ladies of the republican court certainly werenot lacking in beauty or grace. The foreign ministers and their wives,in all their brave array, hardly excelled them; and the army and navywere in force.
Annis went to the levee. It was quite a crush, but a pleasure to thechild to see the brilliant throng. Louis was her escort, and he wasproud of her refined and lady-like manners. The French grace in hernature had been assiduously cultivated by the woman who still thoughtthere was no place like France.
"We will go home early," Patty said. "Jaqueline is to stay and helpentertain. She's getting to be such a grand lady that I suppose shewill be marrying a senator or a secretary next, and perhaps be Mrs.President herself. She and Mrs. Seaton are hand and glove." Mrs. Seatonwas the pretty wife of the editor of the _National Intelligencer_. "ButI am tired, and the doctor will be out all night, so we will get somebeauty sleep."
She sent the servant for the carriage. One of the guests escorted themthrough the spacious hall and out on the portico. A merry party werecoming up, and Annis, turning aside for them, slipped, landing in alittle heap on the stone pavement. Patty uttered a cry.
A gentleman at the foot of the steps picked her up before Patty or Mr.Fenton could reach her.
"Oh, Mr. Carrington!" cried Patty; and now the other guests ran down tosee what injury they had done, quite alarmed at the incident.
Annis drew a long sigh and flung her arms about her rescuer's neck,quite ignorant who it might be, but still frightened.
"No, I do not think I am hurt," in a shaken voice.
"Take her to the carriage, please," entreated Patty. "And, Mr. Fenton,do not mention it to my sister nor my brother, if you see them.Good-night, and thanks."
Mr. Carrington carried her to the edge of the walk and then put herdown.
"I feel shaky," she began, with a tremulous laugh. "But I am quite sureI have not broken any bones."
Patty stepped in first. Mr. Carrington assisted Annis, and then studiedthe pale face.
"Do you not think I had better accompany you?" he asked solicitously.
"But you were just going in to pay your respects to Mrs. Madison----"declared Patty.
"I shall have four years more to do it in," he returned. "Where is thedoctor? Yes, I had better be sure of your safety."
"He is out on business. Really, he is getting to be quite hard-worked.And if you would not mind. I should take it as a favor. Then we can seeif Annis is really injured."
He sprang in, and the coachman closed the door.
"It was very funny to take that flying leap, as if I were a bird," andAnnis could not forbear laughing. "What did I look like, dropping atyour feet? I was so bundled up that I couldn't save myself. There is abump swelling up on my forehead."
"Lucky if there is nothing worse," responded Patty.
Annis was carried up the steps and deposited on the drawing-room sofa.Patty took off her wraps, and made her stand up and try all her limbs.She began to feel quite natural and over her fright. There was a lumpon her forehead, but her hood had protected the skin.
"I am delighted to think it is no worse," the gentleman said.
"And it is a pity to have disturbed you. But the doctor being out, Ifelt nervous; and a friend is so good at such a time. I am sure we aremuch indebted for your kindness."
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sp; Annis put out her hand and clasped his. "I am glad it was you," shesaid with simple thankfulness.
Then they talked of Charles. He had been put in a plaster jacket.Dr. Collaston was quite sure the best was being done, but it would bespring before he could be brought home.
Patty was very cordial at the parting, and invited him to call.
"And see what happens to me next," said Annis.
"You may be sure I shall want to know."
He did not go back to the levee. Jaqueline was there, being admiredand flattered. Now and then he heard complimentary things said abouther, and young men sent her verses, quite an ordinary event at thattime. She had forgotten, and he remembered only too well. Annis musthave been wrong, yet he had hugged the child's innocent prattle to hisheart. He knew now he had not ceased to love her, yet he had thought inhis pride that if she could love Ralston he would not stand in the way.His jealousy had been of the larger, finer type.
With all these opportunities she had accepted no lover. Her attractionswere of a more refined kind than when she had made her first plungeinto gayety. Was there something----No, he hardly dared believe it. Hehad been imperious and arbitrary.
He had not the courage to go the next day and inquire after Annis. Heknew it was a polite duty. He walked down past Madame Badeau's littlegray house when school was being dismissed. There was no Annis amongthe girls. What if she had been injured more than they thought! Hewould stop and inquire at the office. There were several men talkingeagerly with the doctor, so he strolled around the corner. Yes, thatwas Jaqueline sitting with her face turned from the window, chattingto someone. The proud poise of the head, the shining dark curls justshadowing her white neck, the pink ear like a pearly sea shell, andthen her slim white hand held up in some gesticulation, and the smilethat made a dainty dimple. No, he would not interrupt her; so he walkedon. If she had turned her head--but she did not.
He was very busy the next day. When he left the office a carriage fullof young girls passed him. Some of them nodded; he was not quite surewhether _she_ did or not. Now was his opportunity.
The day had been rather raw, with a fitful sunshine, but now it wasclouding over. He walked briskly, and held his head erect, although hefelt rather cowardly at heart. Why should he not put his fate to thetouch, like a man, or dismiss her from his mind? He sauntered up thestoop and touched the knocker lightly--so lightly, indeed, that Julius,amid the clatter of Dinah's pots and pans, did not hear it.
The carriage stopped. It was rather dusky now, and a tree hid thefigure at the door until Jaqueline was coming up the steps. His heartbeat furiously. He turned, and they faced each other.
Her hat, with the great bow on the top, was tied under her chin withrose-colored ribbons. A satin collar edged with swan's down stood uparound her throat and almost touched the pink cheeks. The great soft,dark eyes glanced out in surprise--they could flame in anger too, heknew that.
He had thought more than once how gradually he would lead up to thatold time, and learn if she still loved him. And she had resolved upona becoming humility on his part. He should admit that he had misjudgedher, that he had been selfish, arbitrary, suspicious, jealous, and--oh,how many faults she had counted upon her white fingers!
"Jaqueline," he said almost under his breath--"Jaqueline!"--and itseemed as if his voice had never been so sweet, a fragrant showerfalling on a long-parched heart. He was trying to find her hand; did itcome out of the great muff quite as broad as her slim figure, all softand warm, to be pressed to his lips?
"Are you very angry still?" she inquired in the dearest, mostbeseeching tone.
"Angry?" He had forgotten all about it. He had been fatuous, senseless,to think of such a thing!
"Because--" in a fascinating cadence of pardon.
"I have not had a happy moment." His voice was husky with emotion,with the love that he had told himself a hundred times was dead, and ahundred times had disbelieved.
"I had given you up. Not that I had ceased--to care. And that nightof the ball, when the flags came, I was quite sure you loved me nolonger."
"I shall love you always. I was mad, foolish, jealous----"
"And I did flirt. Oh, I was such a vain little thing then! I am betternow. I do not think it so fine to have a host of men making love toyou. Only you were wrong about----"
"Ralston? Yes."
"But you must know, he _did_ ask me to marry him. I do not think it wasfor love."
"I am glad it was not. I told him he owed you an offer of marriage."
"But he did not. There had never been any foolish softness between us.A Virginian girl may flirt, but she doesn't give away the sweetnessthat only a lover is entitled to. And what if I _had_ loved him?"
"If you had loved him I should have wished you Godspeed, after a while."
"But you couldn't have done it at first?"
"No, I couldn't." The hearty tone was convincing.
It was quite dark now. He put his arm about her and drew her nearer,nearer, and ceased to kiss her hand.
"Oh, my darling; here I am keeping you out in the cold! Are you almostfrozen? And I came to hear about Annis. I have been wondering if Ishould ever meet you where I could say a word----"
"Annis is your very good friend. So was Charles. And papa was fearfullyangry at my folly. They were all on your side."
"And now you are on my side?"
"Yes," with a soft, happy little laugh.
Then he knocked again. This time Julius heard, and answered.
Annis was sitting on the floor, playing with the baby, who was laughingand cooing.
"I thought you wouldn't come--ever!" she said vehemently. "I hada headache yesterday, and Patty wouldn't let me go to school, butthe doctor said it didn't amount to anything. It was funny, though.Jaqueline, where did you find him?"
"On the stoop," and Jaqueline gave a queer little laugh. How softand shining her eyes were, and her cheeks were like pink roses justin bloom. Annis felt something mysterious stirring in the air. ThenJaqueline ran away.
"Did you ask her?" Annis raised her clear eyes with a sweet, solemnlight.
"Yes. Annis, you are to be my little sister."
"I shall grow big, more's the pity," she said sententiously. "And Ihate to be big!"
He laughed at that.
The doctor had taken his wife over to Arlington, for he disliked toride alone except when he was in great haste; and just as Dinah hadbegun to fume about supper they came in. Mr. Carrington had a warmwelcome from them, and they all laughed over Annis' mishap. But whenJaqueline entered the story was told, as love stories always are; andthey kept Roger to tea. No one came, for a cold, drizzling rain set in,and he had Jaqueline to himself.
"Still, she might have done a great deal better," said Dr. Collaston."Jaqueline ought to go to some foreign court as the wife of a minister,she is so elegant. Or the wife of a secretary of state."
He had his desire years afterward, when Jaqueline and her husband wentto the French court. Napoleon had been swept away by the hand of fate,and royalty sat on the throne.
Roger said they must go over and tell his mother the joyful news.Ralph's wife was a sweet home body, and she had a thriving son thatwas his great-grandmother's pride. But the mother's heart was stronglycentered in her firstborn, and she had suffered keenly in his sorrows,though they had never talked them over. They had been too deep, toosacred.
"Only love him, my dear," she said to Jaqueline. "There are somepeople who think you can love a person too much; but when they havegone beyond your ken you are most glad of the times you gave themoverflowing measure." The young girl knew then she was forgiven.
Jaqueline was not less a favorite in society because she was an engagedyoung lady, but she was more circumspect; and certainly now Roger hadnothing to complain of. Only life seemed too short ever to make up thelost months.
Annis was as happy as the lovers themselves. She was very companionableand never in the way. There was a curious ingrained delicacy about her.Dr. Collaston dec
lared he was jealous. He and little Bessy ought tooutweigh the regard for Mr. Carrington.
"But I knew him first. It's the longest friendship," glancing up archly.
"I have taken you to my heart and home--doesn't that count? And Mr.Carrington has no home."
Annis was not prepared for that argument. She could not seem ungrateful.
Spring came on apace. What a lovely season it was! Beautiful wildflowers sprang up at the roadsides, the trees and shrubbery put oninfinite tints of green. The river, really majestic then, making abroad lake after its confluence with the eastern branch; the marshyshores, dotted with curious aquatic plants that had leave to growundisturbed and bloom in countless varieties, if not so beautiful;the heights of Arlington, with the massive pines, hemlocks, and oaks,and flowering trees that shook great branches of bloom out on the airlike flocks of flying birds, and filled every nook and corner withfragrance. And as the season advanced the apricot, pear, and peachcame out, some of them still in a comparatively wild state, finer as tobloom than fruit.
There lay pretty Alexandria, with the leisurely aspect all towns woreat that day. Great cultivated fields stretched out as far as the eyecould see. Diversified reaches in hill and woodland broke the surfaceinto a series of beguiling pictures, as if one could wander on for everand ever.
And then, at the bend of the river, Mount Vernon in its peacefulsilence; a place for pilgrimages even at that time, and destined, likeArlington, to become more famous as the years rolled on. But whilethe former was shrouded in reverent quiet, Arlington was the scene ofmany a gay gathering. If Mrs. Madison sometimes wearied of the whirlof pleasure so different from her Quaker girlhood and early marriedlife, the ease with which she laid down the trappings and ceremoniesof state and adapted herself to the retirement of Montpellier showedthat she had not been wedded to the glitter and adulation, and that theease and comfort of country life were not distasteful to her. Whilenot a strongly intellectual woman, nor the mother of heroes, thereis something exquisitely touching in her devotion to her husband'smother in her old age, and then to her husband through the years ofinvalidism. It seems a fitting end to a well-used life that in her lastyears she should come back to the dear friends of middle-life, stillready to pay her homage, and to the new city that had run through onebrief career, to be as great a favorite as ever.
And now, when balls and assemblies began to pall on thepleasure-seekers,--and one wonders, in the stress of thewar, how so much money could have been spent on pleasure andfine-dressing,--excursions up the Potomac to the falls, so beautiful atthat time, were greatly in vogue. Carriages and equestrians throngedthe road, followed by great clumsy covered wagons and a regiment ofslaves, who built fires and cooked viands that were best hot, or madedelicious drinks, hot and cold.
About fifteen miles above were the Great Falls. In the early season,when spring freshets gathered strength and power in the mountain rangeof the Alleghanies, the river swelled by the affluents in its course,and bursting through the Blue Mountains at Harper's Ferry, swept onwardwith resistless force until it came to this natural gorge, where itfell over a declivity of some thirty to forty feet. Indeed, this wasone of the great natural curiosities of the time, and foreigners madethe pilgrimage with perhaps as much admiration as Niagara elicits frommore jaded senses.
Nearer the City, and convenient for an afternoon drive, were theCascades, some five or six miles above Georgetown--a series of rushingstreams divided by rocks, tumbling, leaping, quivering in the sunshine,and sending out showers of spray full of iridescent gleams and bitsof rainbows that danced around like fays in gorgeous robes. Here merryparties laughed and chatted, ate, and drank each other's healths, andtripped lightly to the inspiriting music of black fiddlers, who threwtheir very souls as well as their swaying bodies into the gay tunes.
Others, lovers most frequently, rambled about in the shady dells andexchanged vows--gave promises that were much oftener kept than broken,to their credit be it said. Though at that time there was much merrybadinage and keen encounters of wits. Reading was not so greatlyin vogue; women spent no time at clubs or over learned essays. "Anew-fashioned skirt of emerald-green sarcenet faced with flutings ofwhite satin with pipings of green, and a fine white mull tunic trimmedwith fringes of British silk, with green satin half-boots and longwhite gloves stitched with green," filled many souls with envy at oneof the assemblies, says an old journal.
Patterns were borrowed, and poor maids sometimes were at their wits'ends to copy them. Most households had two or three women who weredeft with the needle, and who were kept pretty busy attending to theirmistresses' wardrobes. Occasionally a happy blunder brought in a newstyle. Privateers sometimes captured cargoes of finery and smuggledthem into some unguarded port, and already manufacturers were beginningto copy foreign goods with tolerable success.
As for the living, there was an abundance of everything in the moresouthern provinces. Fruits of all kinds seemed to grow spontaneously,crops were simply magnificent, poultry, game, fish, and oysters wereused without stint. They were wise, these people who had not driftedto the bleak New England shores, where the living was wrested from thesoil and consciences were not yet sufficiently free to unite happinesswith goodness.
A Little Girl in Old Washington Page 17