Amaranth's Garden

by Margaret S. Haycraft

  "Because my father's sin has disgraced our name," she says, with burning cheeks, "and I am no longer fitted to belong to you. Do you think, Ardyn, I care nothing about your career? Do you think it would be no hindrance to you to be the son-in-law of... of... one whom some call a criminal? Ardyn, I don't know if it grieves or gladdens me most to know you are still the same; but you must learn to forget me, Ardyn. Fate does not mean us for each other."

  "I know nothing about Fate," he says; "but I believe in God, and I cannot think, my darling, He takes back that which He gives. I know you loved me once. I looked upon that love as Heaven's most glorious gift. Your pride is parting us, not the hand of God. I trust Him, I pray to Him, in His own way and in His own time, to give you back to me one day. In time or eternity, Amaranth, my love is yours. God will give you back to me at last."

  The tears are struggling in her sad, dark eyes; but she only says with a sad, fleeting smile, "Yes, Ardyn, when my father is innocent again."

  "And there is One who can wash every sin away, and blot out the stain. Leave Him to deal with the guilty," says Ardyn, softly, hearing the half-contempt with which she names her father.

  "Here's where we live," cries Eddie. "Ardyn, come in and see the toad."

  But Amaranth holds out her hand in farewell, and makes no sign of yielding. She would like to show Ardyn her picture, and the little arrangements that have made a studio of her room; but her heart is so twined with his that she knows not how long she may be strong enough, if near his side, to bid him go.

  For a moment she feels that Ardyn is resolved on a goodbye kiss, and his eyes tell her she will have to gather up all her determination to resist it. But Mrs. Banks appears just then up the area steps, and overwhelms him with questions as to Bryantwood, and in the presence of this portly chaperone, he foregoes the kiss.

  Amaranth watches him out of sight from the landing window, drinks some cold water in her bedroom, and bathes her face and then hurries to the studio to see what is causing Eddie to shout and cough in such agitation. The boy is wild with excitement, and Tim is shrieking and barking at his loudest. The canary is in full song, and Susan, sunburnt and dusty, takes Amaranth, Eddie, and Tim into her arms.

  "Well, Miss Amaranth, and if you haven't grown that good-looking, I'd scarce have known you! Hush, my precious boy, you'll break a vessel. I've got some lozenges in my bag as will stop the tickling in your throat, Master Eddie. Yes, Miss Amaranth, I've found you at last. And now sit down, my pets, and let me look at you, and I'll just cover up the canary. And now I'll tell you all the news, and you shall read your dear mamma's letter."

  Chapter 8

  Mrs. Glyn's Travels

  Amaranth stretches out her hand for her mother's letter, and sits looking at the familiar writing, dazed, incredulous, faint with surprise and relief. She has scarcely dared to think of late that the world can still hold her mother; and now the burden of dread and suspense has been rolled away, and she is to hold communion with the patient, precious mother again!

  Surely this must be one of the many dreams in which she has seen her mother's face, and trodden again, between eyebright and cowslip and wild hyacinth, the forest ways leading up to the dear home garden!

  But Susan, brown, travel-stained, and affectionate, is before her in the flesh, and Eddie looks better already as his blue eyes light up with the thought that perhaps his parents may not be far behind.

  "Where is she, Susan?" asks Amaranth, grasping her precious letter as a coming joy that she holds to her heart.

  "They're at Cama, Miss Amaranth -- leastways they was when I left them -- and there's insects and vipers enough to keep the master there a good bit yet, I reckon."

  "Cama? Why, where is Cama, Susan? "

  "In Peru, Miss Amaranth, in the south parts of America."

  "But, Susan, you never can have come from Peru?"

  "Indeed, Miss Amaranth, I have, and glad enough am I to get here. I would never have left the mistress but that she hung about me, and fretted and cried for me to come back and look after you two blessed children. Says she, 'I'm all right, Susan, now I've found him; and he'll be safe with me. But I'm worrying day and night about the children. If only you were with them, to look after Miss Amaranth and Master Eddie as you've been a-looking after me! I know, wheresoever they may have moved to, you'll track them out, and watch over them till we come back, and we can all be together again.' And when I saw her worrying and fretting on your account, says I, 'There's Mrs. Johns, the wife of an indigo-planter away out over the water, is going to England before long, missus. I'll offer myself for her service.' And so I did, and Mrs. Johns accepted me for to look after her babies onboard ship, and six days later I turned my back on Cama. I never wants to see no more of America, not if I lives to be a second Methuselah."

  "Susan," says Amaranth, in a whisper, half afraid that the dream may dissolve, "we've heard nothing from Mother since she started from Newhaven. Tell me... tell me... has Mother been ill? Tell me all that's happened, from the beginning."

  Her heart smites her that she could give place to the thought that her mother had forgotten her -- the mother whose heart has been sore and grieved for the sake of her absent children.

  "Well, Miss Amaranth," says Susan, as Eddie hugging Tim, nestles contentedly in her lap, "no more Channel crossings for me. Not if you paid me a hundred pound! Mistress and me were took dreadful bad, for it was wonderful rough. The stewardess had enough to do, I tell you, and I thought every minute 'twas all over with me. But your dear ma, she was worser still. She was more dead than alive when we landed among them furriners, and says she, 'I won't write to the children till I've got good news to tell them, for I'm that depressed and weak, it would only be adding to their troubles.' Well, miss, 'twere a matter of three weeks before she felt strong on her legs, for you know the mistress was always a delicate one. It was not only the stormy passage we'd had, it was all she'd gone through, as seemed to come over her and keep her low. But just as soon as she begun to get up her strength, she went here and there a-parley-vooing and making of inquiries about the master, and I will say that for the furriners -- they're wonderful polite in answering questions, and they seemed real sorry for her.

  "Well, miss, not to make too long a story of it -- for I think they're bringing up your dinner, and I'll have to clear the table of these paint brushes and get the room a bit square -- mistress, she got wind that a gentleman, as seemed just like the master as to face and beard and clothes, had gone on towards Paris, wandering by the ponds and streams, making investigations as to some olive green frogs with yellow stripes down their backs. Says I, 'That's the master, sure enough, for give him a beetle or anything as is nasty and creepy, and all the rest of the world will go out of his head.'

  "Well, it took us a long while and a good bit of our money before we traced him, and when we got on his track it was not your papa after all! It was a Russian professor, with a name as it's no good asking me to tell you. But he was very polite to the mistress, and told her of a gentleman who had crossed with him from Newhaven, as seemed dreadful low in his mind, and only revived when the Professor got telling him about a place in Italy called Metano, where the frogs have got toes like cushions, and are wonderful pretty. So off we started, and we did get some clue to the master there, for some said he'd gone on to Rome to see a priest that had got some wonderful choice pet snakes.

  "So we didn't stop long at Metano; but off we goes to Rome, and there, if the mistress didn't get laid up with fever. And when she got better I had a turn of it too! Well, we won't talk no more of that time, Miss Amaranth. I got a bit of cleaning to do for some English ladies as liked their rooms scrubbed out regular; and they got real interested in mistress, and helped her to discover the friar as kept the snakes. He was as pleasant a gentleman as you'd care to see -- a deal pleasanter to my mind than Mr. Bigham, down at Bryantwood. And to see him quite at home with all them snaky creatures that he'd got in his museum, was wonderful interesting.

  "He
gave mistress but very little hope, though he said that a gentleman did come and see him one day, nigh three months since, for some information for a book he was writing, and we made out it was the master, for the friar was sure he stammered, like your papa does, and he'd got 'S. G.' plain enough on his bag. But he told the friar as he'd got no settled home anywhere, and he was going to Rio de Janeiro to make some observations for his book about the frogs as lows like cattle, and croaks so as you'd think it was the clanging of a blacksmith's hammer."

  "Oh, poor Mother!" cries Amaranth. "However could she, in her weakness, get to Rio de Janeiro?"

  "She was strong, Miss Amaranth, whenever she got wind of even a hint. Bit by bit we got nearer and nearer to America, for them ladies as I worked for in Rome lent the mistress a little money, and told her to pay it back when she could. We had some adventures, Miss Amaranth. Once we were nearly robbed, and I all but lost my paisley shawl that has been so many years in our family. Mistress, too, was dreadful near getting the cholera once; and as for the mosquitoes, don't talk to me about English insects for biting anymore! But at last we did get near Rio de Janeiro, and then we got scent of your papa in Cama, in Peru. And there he was right enough, Miss Amaranth, writing another book about the Trapicltero or some such name as that, as makes a grating noise like a sugar-mill.

  "Dear me, miss, the parts where he lives is a perfect paradise for your papa, poor man! The flowers are wonderful. You ought to see the fuchsias, miss, and the heliotrope, and the hillsides sparkling with wild flowers! And the trees are huge, miss, and master was always finding out something strange about them and about the rocks. And as for beetles and birds -- ah, Master Eddie, darling, this here canary's not to be compared to them bright birds flitting about among the branches."

  "But, Susan, Susan," says Amaranth, tremblingly, "there is so much to ask you, I scarcely know how to begin. How did they meet? Did it not upset Mother very much? When is she coming home? Is Father going to stay living out there? Surely not."

  "Miss Amaranth, I ain't blind nor deaf, and I knew what Bryantwood folks said of your papa. Of course your dear mamma will have it that it's all a mistake. Well, I don't know what to say one way or the other. The Glyns were always a family as could look the world in the face. I've heard my mother say so, many a time. But when folks takes to pen and ink and hearwigs and slimy creatures, maybe, miss, they ain't no longer responsible. But if he did take the money, Miss Amaranth, he must have spent it long before we came up with him, for truly he'd scarce got a coat to his back by then, and someone had give him a little work to do as kept him in victuals. I know it had something to do with sarsaparilla, because I've taken that medicine in the spring for many a year, and it's a remedy as I believe in for the blood."

  "But, Susan, tell me how they met."

  "It was on the hills, Miss Amaranth. Mistress and me were wandering on among them big calceolarias, when we see someone stooping down after a beetle, with the old tin case we knew so well over his shoulders. And mistress, dead beat as she was, sprung up with a cry, and in a moment she was by his side. Then she fainted away, for the first time, miss, since she and me left these shores of Britannia. As for master, it seemed as if he'd scarcely believe his eyes. I assure you, Miss Amaranth, he cried like a child; and if he didn't leave his tin box on the hills and lose thirty of his best specimens! We carried her home between us, and I don't know how many hours those two didn't sit hand in hand, like a couple of children, while I grilled some meat and made some coffee, and had a bit of a cry all to myself as I tidied up a bit.

  "Mistress told me after, that master felt his head very queer just about the time he drew that money out of the Bank. He says he brought it home, and left the bag hanging under his coat in the hall, and next morning it was gone! Mistress thinks robbers must have got into the house that night, but I know I chained the doors up all right, and found nothing wrong in the morning.

  "She said master felt so ashamed and so sure folks would think him a thief, that he made a bolt for it. He thought it was the kindest thing he could do for his family, and they would get on better without him. But it was evident, miss, he'd been heartsick for the mistress, for he looked years older and feebler when we came up with him, and the folks round about told us he'd been strange in his head more than once. He had a bad attack very soon after mistress met him. Perhaps it was the agitation; and we had to nurse him for some weeks.

  "He insisted on knowing if Bryantwood folks thought him guilty, and he says he'll never come back till they believe in his innocence. So I suppose, miss, there he'll stop, with your dear mamma. She'll never leave him alone. She's got a little teaching, and she does some sewing too, and that's how they live from day to day; but it's to be hoped their fortunes will mend. I suppose, Miss Amaranth, there ain't no good news of your papa's book?"

  "It came back to me soon after Mother went," says Amaranth. "I have laid away the manuscript. I suppose there is really nothing in it after all. And yet father is writing another! Susan, I must read her precious letter now, but tell me one thing: why didn't Mother write to me from Cama? "

  "I know she wrote, miss, as soon as she met your papa. But the post was a long way off, and we gave our letters to a young chap in the mining way -- a very rough fellow he was, miss, and had the impudence to pay me too many compliments. I don't doubt he forgot to post them, for he had not a bit of head on his shoulders, only for guns and horses and such like. But the master took a fancy to him, because he brought him a new sort of lizard. I'd like to get hold of that Allaga and shake him. Mistress made him promise he'd post that letter to you particular. It's a good thing for that young chap as we'll never meet again.

  "And now, Master Eddie, there isn't nothing for you to cry about. Your papa and mamma is sure to come back to this happy country one of these days. And now I'll wash your face, and give you some of this broth. And I'll keep your dinner warm, Miss Amaranth, pet, while you read your dear mamma's letter."

  Chapter 9

  Reaching the Laurels

  For the time being, even the thought of Ardyn, springing up in her heart as an everlasting flower, though alas such a flower as blooms on a grave -- seems covered up by the passionate love with which Amaranth caresses the words her mother has penned. There is no line from her father. Perhaps some dim consciousness is his that his daughter looks upon him as the author of her poverty and disgrace. Stephen Glyn is a proud man in his way, nervous and reserved, and keenly susceptible to the opinion of others. He is powerless to lift the cloud that hangs over him. All he asks is oblivion, concealment, forgetfulness.

  Amaranth thinks her mother's letter is tear-stained, and she begins to understand the divided yearnings of the faithful heart. Mrs. Glyn gives a brief account of their travels, making the account as free from pain as possible, but enlarges on her assurance of Father's innocence. She repeats Mr. Glyn's account of the dazed, confused condition of his thoughts just then, disturbed by floating theories he longed to prove, by the consciousness of debt, and by the frequent rejection of his scientific work. However, he distinctly remembers drawing out the Church Fund money, being prompted to do so by a harassing dream of the instability of the Bank. He has always been a little afraid of banks, and only deposited that money to his account for the convenience of the subscribers.

  He remembers leaving the money in the hall, the bag being hidden behind his coat. He blames his carelessness now in leaving it thus. He meant to inform his wife that it was in the house, and to pass it over next day to the rector, declining the responsibility of being treasurer any longer. But the post had just brought him a new treatise on the centipede, and in his interest in this work he forgot the fact of the bag being there at all.

  Next morning, he arose early, anxious to attend to its safety, but it had vanished. Mrs. Glyn had supplied a tramp with food that day, according to the custom of The Bower, where no one was sent empty away, though the relief only took the shape of food and drink. She noticed that he cast observant looks around him. It
is Mrs. Glyn's opinion that the tramp must have been an accomplished London burglar, and he returned in the night, and finding so much money at his disposal, left the rest of the house intact.

  Amaranth reads the letter again.

  "All I can do, my darling, is to pray unceasingly that by some means your dear father's name may be cleared. This seems just now impossible, but what is too hard for our Lord in whom is all my trust? Father's nerves are so low and weak that I find now that I must make as little allusion as possible to Bryantwood, but I am thinking ever of our dear old home, and far more of my precious children.

  "Amaranth, write to me and tell me of my boy, of yourself, my precious daughter. I scarcely dare to ask you of Eddie's health, or to trust myself to write about him. Kiss my boy for me, and God grant we may all soon meet again! Keep Susan with you, my child, if you can. Hers is a noble heart, and henceforth I must look upon her as a sister. What she has been to me, only Heaven can know.

  I cannot ask you and Eddie to come to us. Father speaks of moving on into the wilder regions, and he is getting restless here. I try to hide from him how my heart yearns for England, but I think he suspects it. You and Eddie are safer in the old country, my child, and I will come to you just as soon as the tangled way seems straight and open. Only One can make the crooked places plain, but He can and will. May He have my children in His safe and tender keeping! Kiss my boy for me, Amaranth, my dearest child. Your own loving Mother,

  Doris Glyn.

  P.S. -- Father has just come in, and he sends Eddie this butterfly. I hope it will reach you safely. It has cheered me so, my child, to hear father speak of Eddie of his own accord, as I can scarcely ever get him to mention his old home or his children. A medical man told me that memory was a difficulty in his state of nerves, so I have been content for him to live in the present; but just now he mentioned Eddie of his own accord, and has taken so much trouble to put up the butterfly well."