Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe

by Harriet Beecher Stowe

  “Why, it’s such a nice thing. Why, there’s no end to it,” said Mrs. Betsey, whose cheerfulness increased with reflection. “A real live man in the house! — and a young man, too! — and such a nice one; and dear Miss Alice — why, only think, bringing all her wedding clothes to the house, and I don’t doubt she’ll show them all to me — and it’ll be so nice for Jack! won’t it, Jack?”

  Jack barked his assent vigorously, and a second explosive chuckle from the china-closet betrayed Dinah’s profound sympathy. The faithful creature was rolling and boiling in waves of triumphant merriment behind the scenes. The conversation of her mistresses in fact appeared to be a daily source of amusement to her, and Miss Dorcas was forced to wink at this espionage, in consideration of Dinah’s limited sources of entertainment, and generally pretended not to know that she was there. On the present occasion, Dinah’s contribution to the interview was too evident to be ignored, but Miss Dorcas listened to it with indulgence. A good prospect of regular income does, after all, strengthen one’s faith in Providence, and dispose one to be easily satisfied with one’s fellows.

  CHAPTER L

  EVA TO HARRY’S MOTHER

  DEAR MOTHER, — You’ve no idea how things have gone on within a short time. I have been so excited and so busy, and kept in such a state of constant consultation, for this past week, that I have had no time to keep up my bulletins to you.

  Well, dear mother, it is at last concluded that we are to have two weddings on one day, the second week after Easter, when Alice is to be married to Jim Fellows, and Angie to Mr. St. John.

  Easter comes this year about the latest that it ever does, so that we may hope for sunny spring weather, and at least a few crocuses and hyacinths in the borders, as good omens for the future. I wish you could choose this time to make your long-promised visit and see how gay and festive we all are. Just now, every one is overwhelmed with business, and the days go off very fast.

  Aunt Maria is in her glory, as generalissimo of the forces and dictator of all things. It is for just such crises that she was born; she has now fairly enough to manage to keep her contented with everybody, and everybody contented with her — which, by the bye, is not always the case in her history.

  It is decreed that the wedding is to be a morning one, in Mr. St. John’s little chapel; and that, after the reception at mamma’s, Jim will start with Alice to visit his family friends, and Angie and St. John will go immediately on the steamer to sail for Europe, where they will spend the summer in traveling and be back again in the autumn. Meanwhile, they have engaged a house in that part of the city where their mission work lies, and of course, like ours, it is on an unfashionable street — a thing which grieves Aunt Maria, who takes every occasion to say that Mr. St. John, being a man of independent fortune, is entitled to live genteelly. I am glad, because they are within an easy distance of us, which will be nice. Aunt Maria and mamma are to see to getting the house all ready for them to go into when they return.

  Bolton is going over with them, to visit Paris! The fact is since I opened communication between him and Caroline, her letters to me have grown short and infrequent, and her letters to him long and constant, and the effect on him has been magical. I have never seen him in such good spirits. Those turns of morbid depression that he used to have seem to be fading away gradually. He has been with us so much that I feel almost as if he were a member of our family, and I cannot but feel that our home has been a shelter and a strength to him. What would it be to have a happy one of his own? I am sure he deserves it, if ever kindness, unselfishness, and true nobleness of heart deserved it: and I am sure that Caroline is wise enough and strong enough to give him just the support that he needs.

  Then there’s Alice’s engagement to Jim. I have long foreseen to what her friendship for him would grow, and though she had many hesitations, yet now she is perfectly happy in it; and only think how nice it is! They are to take half the old Vanderheyden house, opposite to us, so that we can see the lights of each other’s hearths across from each other’s windows. Mother, doesn’t it seem as if our bright, cosy, happy, free-and-easy home was throwing out as many side-shoots as a lilac bush?

  Just think; in easy vicinity, we shall have Jim and Alice, Angie and St. John, and, as I believe, Bolton and Caroline. We shall be a guild of householders, who hold the same traditions, walk by the same rule, and mind the same things. Won’t it be lovely? What nice “droppings in” and visitings and tea-drinkings and consultings we shall have! And it is not merely having good times either; but, mother, the more I think of it, the more I think the making, of bright, happy homes is the best way of helping on the world that has been discovered yet. A home is a thing that can’t be for one’s own self alone — at least the kind of home we are thinking of; it reaches out on all sides and helps and shelters and comforts others. Even my little experiment of a few months ago shows me that; and I know that Angie’s and St. John’s home will be even more so than ours. Angie was born to be a rector’s wife; to have a kind word and a smile and a good deed for everybody; to love everybody dearly, and keep everybody bright and in good spirits. It is amazing to see the change she has wrought in St. John. He was fast getting into a sort of stringent, morbid asceticism; now he is so gracious, so genial, and so entertaining, — he is like a rock, in June, all bursting out with anemones and columbines in every rift.

  As to Jim and Alice, you ought to see how happy they are in consulting me about the arrangements of their future home in the Vanderheyden house. And the best of it is, to see how perfectly delighted the two old ladies are’ to have them there. You must know that there was a sudden failure in Miss Dorcas’s income which would have made it necessary to sell the house had it not been for just this arrangement. But they are as gracious and kind about it as if they were about to receive guests; and every improvement and every additional touch of brightness to the rooms seems to please them as much as if they were going to be married themselves.

  Miss Dorcas said to me that our coming to live in their neighborhood had been the greatest blessing to them that ever had happened for years — that it had opened a new life to them.

  As to Maggie, dear mother, she is becoming a real comfort to me. I do think that all the poor girl’s sorrows and sufferings have not been in vain, and that she is now a true and humble Christian. She has been very useful in this sudden hurry of work that has fallen upon us, and seems really delighted to be so. In our group of families, Maggie will always find friends. Angie wants her to come and live with them when they begin housekeeping, and I think I shall let her go.

  I shall never forget the dreadful things I saw the night I went after her. They have sunk deep into my heart; and I hope, mother, I see more clearly the deepest and noblest purpose of life, so as never again to forget it. But, meantime, a thousand little cares break and fritter themselves on my heart, like waves on a rock. Everybody is running to me, every hour. I am consulter and sympathizer and adviser, from the shape of a bow and the positions of trimming up to the profoundest questions of casuistry. They all talk to me, and I divide my heart among them all, and so the days fly by with frightful rapidity, and I fear I shall get little time to write, so pray come and see for yourself.

  Your loving — EVA.

  CHAPTER LI

  THE HOUR AND THE WOMAN

  IT is said that Queen Elizabeth could converse in five languages, and dictate to three secretaries at once, in different tongues, with the greatest ease and composure. Perhaps it might have been so — let us not quarrel with her laurels; it only shows what women can do if they set about it, and is not a whit more remarkable than Aunt Maria’s triumphant management of all the details of two weddings at one time.

  That estimable individual has not, we fear, always appeared to advantage in this history, and it is due to her now to say that nobody that saw her proceedings could help feeling the beauty of the right person in the right place.

  Many a person is held to be a pest and a nuisance because there i
sn’t enough to be done to use up his capabilities. Aunt Maria had a passion for superintending and directing, and all that was wanting to bring things right was an occasion when a great deal of superintendence and direction was wanting. The double wedding in the family just fulfilled all the conditions. It opened a field to, her that everybody was more than thankful to have her occupy.

  Lovers, we all know, are, ex officio, ranked among the incapables; and if, while they were mooning round in the fairy land of sentiment, some good, strong, active, practical head were not at work upon the details of real life, nothing would be on time at the wedding. Now, if this be true of one wedding, how much more of two! So Aunt Maria stepped at once into command by acclamation and addressed herself to her work as a strong man to run a race; and while Angie and St. John spent blissful hours in the back parlor, and Jim and Alice monopolized the library, Aunt Maria flew all over New York, and arranged about all the towels and table-cloths and napkins and doilies, down to the very dish-cloths. She overlooked armies of sewing women, milliners, and mantua-makers, — the most slippery of all mortal creatures, — and drove them all up to have each her quota in time. She, with Mrs. Van Arsdel, made lists of people to be invited, and busied herself with getting samples and terms from fancy stationers for the wedding cards. She planned in advance all the details of the wedding feast, and engaged the cake and fruit and ice cream.

  Nor did she forget the social and society exigencies of the crisis.

  She found time, dressed in her best, to take Mrs. Van Arsdel in full panoply to return the call of Mrs. Dr. Gracey, who had come, promptly and properly, with the doctor, to recognize Miss Angelique and felicitate about the engagement of their nephew.

  She arranged for a dinner-party to be given by Mrs. Van Arsdel, where the doctor and his lady were to be received into family alliance, and testimonies of high consideration accorded to them. Aunt Maria took occasion, in private converse with Mrs. Dr. Gracey, to assure her of her very great esteem and respect for Mr. St. John, and her perfect conviction that he was on the right road now, and that, though he might possibly burn a few more candles in his chapel, yet, when he came fully under family influences, they would gradually be snuffed out, — intimating that she intended to be aunt, not only to Arthur, but to his chapel and his mission work.

  The extraordinary and serene meekness with which that young divine left every question of form and etiquette to her management, and the sort of dazed humility with which he listened to all her rulings about the arrangements of the wedding day, had inspired in Aunt Maria’s mind such hopes of his docility as led to these very sanguine anticipations.

  It is true that, when it came to the question of renting a house, she found him quietly but unalterably set on a small and modest little mansion in the unfashionable neighborhood where his work lay.

  “Arthur is going on with his mission,” said Angelique, “and I’m going to help him, and we must live where we can do most good” — a reason to which Aunt Maria was just now too busy to reply, but she satisfied herself by discussing at length the wedding affairs with Mrs. Dr. Gracey.

  “Of course, Mrs. Gracey,” she said, “we all feel that if dear Dr. Gracey is to conduct the wedding services, everything will be in the good old way; there’ll be nothing objectionable or unusual.”

  “Oh, you may rely on that, Mrs. Wouvermans,” replied the lady. “The doctor is not the man to run after novelties; he’s a good old-fashioned Episcopalian. Though he always has been very indulgent to Arthur, he thinks, as our dear bishop does, that if young men are left to themselves, and not fretted by opposition, they will gradually outgrow these things.”

  “Precisely so,” said Aunt Maria; “just what I have always thought. For my part I always said that it was safe to trust the bishop.”

  Did Aunt Maria believe this? She certainly appeared to. She sincerely supposed that this was what she always had thought and said, and quite forgot the times when she used to wonder “what our bishop could be thinking of, to let things go so.” It was one blessed facility of this remarkable woman that she generally came to the full conviction of the axiom that “whatever is, is right,” and took up and patronized anything that would succeed in spite of her best efforts to prevent it. So, in announcing the double wedding to her fashionable acquaintance, she placed everything, as the popular saying is, best foot foremost.

  Mr. Fellows was a young man of fine talents, great industry, and elegant manners, a great favorite in society, and likely to take the highest rank in his profession. Alice had refused richer offers — she might perhaps have done better in a worldly point of view, but it was purely a love match, etc., etc. And Mr. St. John, a young man of fine family and independent fortune, who might command all the elegances of life, was going to live in a distant and obscure quarter, to labor in his work. These facts brought forth, of course, bursts of sympathy and congratulation, and Aunt Maria went off on the top of the wave.

  Eva had but done her aunt justice when she told her mother that Aunt Maria would be all the more amiable for the firm stand which the young wife had taken against any interference with her family matters. It was so. Aunt Maria was as balmy to Eva as if that discussion had never taken place, though it must be admitted that Eva was a very difficult person to keep up a long quarrel with.

  But just at this hour, when the whole family were at her feet, when it was her voice that decided every question, when she knew where everything was and was to be, and when everything was to be done, she was too well pleased to be unamiable. She was the spirit of the whole affair, and she plumed herself joyously when all the callers at the house said to Mrs. Van Arsdel, “Dear me! what would you do, if it were not for your sister?” Verily she had her reward.

  CHAPTER LII

  EVA’S CONSULTATIONS

  “Now see here,” said Jim, coming in upon Eva as she sat alone in her parlor, “I’ve got something on my mind I want to talk with you about. You see, Alice and I are to be married at the same time with Angie and St. John.”

  “Yes, I see it.”

  “Well, now, what I want to say is, that I really hope there won’t be anything longer and harder and more circumlocutory to be got through with on the occasion than just what’s in the Prayer-Book, for that’s all I can stand. I can’t stand Prayer-Book with the variations, now I really can’t.”

  “Well, Jim, what makes you think there will be Prayer-Book with the variations?”

  “Oh, well, I attended a ritualistic wedding once, and there was such an amount of processing and chanting, and ancient and modern improvements, that it was just like a show. There were the press reporters elbowing and pushing to get the best places to write it up for the papers, and, for my part, I think it’s in confounded bad taste, and I couldn’t stand it; you know, now, I’m a nervous fellow, and if I’ve got to take part in the exercises, they’ll have to ‘draw it mild,’ or Allie and I will have to secede and take it by ourselves. I couldn’t go such a thing as that wedding; I never should come out alive.”

  “Well, Jim, I don’t believe there’s any reason for apprehension. In the first place, the ceremony, as to its mode and form, always is supposed to be conducted according to the preferences of the bride’s family, and we all of us should be opposed to anything which would draw remark and comment, as being singular and unusual on such an occasion.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” said Jim.

  “And then, Jim, Mr. St. John’s uncle, Dr. Gracey, is to perform the ceremony, and he is one of the most respected of the conservative Episcopal clergymen in New York; and it is entirely out of the question to suppose that he would take part in anything of the sort you fear, or which would excite comment as an innovation. Then, again, I think Mr. St. John himself has so much natural refinement and just taste that he would not wish his own wedding to become a theme for gossip and a gazing stock for the curious.”

  “Well, I didn’t know about St. John; I was a little afraid we should be obliged to do something or other, because
they did it in the catacombs, or the Middle Ages, or in Edward the Sixth’s time, or some such dodge. I thought I’d just make sure.”

  “Well, I think Mr. St. John has gone as far in those directions as he ever will go. He has been living alone up to this winter. He has formed his ideas by himself in solitude. Now he will have another half to himself; he will see in part through the eyes, and feel through the heart, of a sensible and discreet woman — for Angie is that. The society he has met at our house in such men as Dr. Campbell and others has enlarged his horizon, — given him new points of vision, — so that I think the too great tendencies he may have had in certain directions have been insensibly checked.”

  “I wish they may,” said Jim, “for he is a good fellow, and so much like one of the primitive Christians that I really want him to get all the credit that belongs to him.”

  “Oh, well, you’ll see, Jim. When a man is so sincere and good, and labors with a good wife to help him, you’ll see the difference. But here comes little Mrs. Betsey, Jim. I promised to get her up a cap for the occasion.”

  “Well, I’m off; only be sure you make matters secure about the ceremony,” and off went Jim, and in came little Mrs. Betsey.

  “It’s so good of you, dear Mrs. Henderson, to undertake to make me presentable. You know Dorcas hasn’t the least interest in these things. Dorcas is so independent, she never cares what the fashion is. Now, she isn’t doing a thing to get ready. She’s just going in that satin gown that she had made twenty years ago, with a great lace collar as big as a platter; and she sits there just as easy reading Pope’s ‘Essay on Man,’ and here I’m all in a worry; but I can’t help it. I like to look a little like other folks, you know. I don’t want people to think I’m a queer old woman.”