Chapter VI: Letters

No. 1.
_Mrs. David West’s Letter._

“MY DEAR RICHARD:

“Your package of money and little note, sent by Miss Dora Freeman, was brought to me with a line from the young lady by Mr. Randall’s colored servant Peter. I know you could not afford to send me so much, and I wish you had kept a part for yourself. Surely, if the commandment with promise means anything,—and we know it does,—you, my son, will be blessed for your kindness to your widowed mother, as well as your unselfish devotion to those who have been, one the innocent, the other the guilty, cause of so much suffering. God reward my boy—my only boy as I sometimes fear. Surely if Robert were living he would have sent us word ere this. I have given him up, asking God to pardon his sin, which was great.

“And so the debt is paid at last! Dear Richard, when I read that I shed tears of gratitude and thanksgiving that you were free from a load you never should have borne. It was a large sum for you to earn and pay in less than seven years, besides supporting me and Robin. He grows dearer to me every day, and yet I seldom look at him without a great choking sob rising to my throat. He is like his mother, and I loved her as if she had been my daughter. O Anna, lost darling, was she as pure and sinless when she died as when she crept into my arms and whispered of her newly found hope in Him who can keep us all from sin? God only knows. Alas! that her end should be wrapt in so dark a mystery; and ten times alas! that any one should be malignant enough to blame you, who had well-nigh died when the trouble fell upon us.

“And so you fear you are more interested in this Dora than you ought to be, or rather that she is far too good for you.

“She must be very, very good, if my boy be not worthy of her.

“Yes, the Randalls are very grand, fashionable people, as you may know from the fact that the Verners and Strykers took them up at once. I don’t know what influence they may have over Dora; not a bad one, I hope. I think I saw her the other night riding by on horseback, in company with Bell Verner. It was too dark to see her distinctly, but I heard Miss Verner say, in reply evidently to some remark, ‘I never trouble myself to know or inquire after any one out of our set,’ and then they galloped on rapidly. As I am not in Miss Verner’s ‘set’ she will not probably bring Dora to see me, but I have obviated that difficulty by writing her a note and inviting her to call on me. Did I do right? I am anxious to see her, for a mother can judge better than her son of what is in woman.

“Yours affectionately,
“HELEN WEST.”

“By the way, did you know that Mr. Randall was the purchaser of West Lawn, our old home?

“H. W.”

No. 2.
_Extract from Dr. West’s reply._

“DEAR MOTHER:—Your letters do me so much good, and make me strong to bear, though really I have perhaps as little to trouble me as do most men of my years. If the mystery concerning poor Anna were made clear,—if we were sure that she was safe with the good Shepherd, and if we knew that Robert, whether dead or alive, had repented of his sin, I should be very happy.

“There’s _Dora_, I know,—a continuous trouble, but one with which I would not willingly dispense. You ask if you did right to invite her to call. You seldom do wrong; but in this case, O mother, I have become a perfect coward since Dora left me. I thought I wanted her to know all that we know of Anna and Robin; but now the very possibility of her hearing the little you can tell, and then giving it the natural construction which she might, makes the cold sweat ooze out in drops upon my face. If she comes, tell her as little as possible. It gives me a thrill of satisfaction to know that she is at West Lawn, enjoying the roses I planted. Dear West Lawn! but for that terrible misfortune which prompted us to sell it, you might have belonged to Miss Bell Verner’s set. But don’t tell Dora. I’d rather she should like me for myself, and not for what I used to be.” * * * *

No. 3.
_Extract from Margaret’s letter to Dora._

* * * * “I do think you might come home, instead of asking to stay longer. It’s right shabby in you to leave me so long, when you know how much I suffer. The children behave dreadfully, and even John has acted real cross, as if he thought all ailed me was nervousness. You cannot love me, Dora, as much as I do you, and I think it’s downright ungrateful after all I’ve done for you since father died. If you care for me at all, you’ll come in just one week from to-day. I have about decided to go to Saratoga, and want you to go with me. Be sure and come.”

No. 4.
_Extract from Mattie’s letter to Margaret._

“DEAR MRS. RUSSELL:—Excuse the liberty I am taking, but really if you and your husband knew how much Dora has improved since leaving home, and how much she really needs rest, you would not insist on her coming home so soon. Husband and I and Bell Verner all think it too bad, and I for one veto her leaving us.”

No. 5.
_Extract from Mr. Randall’s letter._

“MRS. RUSSELL.—MADAM:—Both myself and Mrs. Randall are exceedingly loth to part with our young guest, whom rest is benefiting so much. You will do us and her a great favor to let her remain, and I may add I think it your duty so to do.”

_Scene in Mrs. Russell’s parlor one morning about the first of July._

Squire John nervously fumbling his watch-chain, looking very hot and distressed; Johnnie all swollen up, looking like a little volcano ready to explode; Mrs. Russell crying over Mr. and Mrs. Randall’s letters, wondering what business it was of theirs to _meddle_ and talk, just as if she did not do her duty by Dora. Who, she’d like to know, had supported Dora these dozen years, sending her to school, taking her to Newport, and buying her such nice dresses? It was right mean in Dora, and she would not stand it. Dora should come home, and John should write that very day to tell her so, unless he liked Dora better than he did her, as she presumed he did—yes, she knew he did.

“Thunderation, mother, why shouldn’t he like Auntie best?” and with this outburst, Johnnie plunged heart and soul into the contest. “Who, I’d like to know, makes the house decent as a fellow likes to have it,—a married old chap, I mean, like father. ’Tain’t you. It’s _Auntie_, and so the whole co-boozle of servants say. You ask ’em. Talk about what you’ve done for Dora these dozen years, taking her to Newport, and all that! I think _I’d dry up_ on that strain and tell what she’d done for me. Hasn’t there been a baby about every other week since she lived here, and hasn’t Auntie had the whole care of the brats? And at Newport how was it? I never told before, but I will now. I heard two nice gentlemen talking over what a pretty girl Miss Freeman was, and how mean and selfish it was in her sister to make such a little _nigger_ of her. They didn’t say _nigger_, but that’s what they meant. Dora ain’t coming home, no how. You can go to Saratoga without her. Take Clem, and Daisy, and Tish, and Jim. You know they act the best of the lot. Leave me and Burt and Ben at home. I’ll see to them, and we shall get on well enough.”

By this time Margaret was in hysterics, to think a son of hers should abuse her so, with his father standing by and never once trying to stop him. Possibly some such idea crept through Squire John’s brain, for, putting into his voice as much sternness as he was capable of doing, he said, “My boy, I’m astonished that you should use such shocking words as _thunderation_, _co-boozle_, _dry up_, and the like. Your Aunt Dora would be greatly distressed; but, Madge,” turning to his sobbing wife and trying to wind his arm around her waist, “Johnnie is right, on the whole; his plan is a good one. We’ll take Clem, and Rosa, too, if you like, leaving Johnnie, Ben, and Burt at home, and Dora shall stay where she is. She was tired when she went away, and very pale. You are not selfish, Madge; you’ll let her stay. I’ll write so now,—shall I?” and there was a sound very much like a very large, hearty kiss, while a moment after Johnnie, in the kitchen, was turning a round of somersaults, striking his heels in the fat sides of the cook, and tripping up little Burt in his delight at the victory achieved for Dora.

No. 6.
_Extract from Johnnie’s letter to Dora._

“July 7th.

“DEAR AUNTIE:—The house is still as a mouse, and seems so funny. The old folks, with Tish, Jim, Daisy, Clem, and Rosa, have cut stick for Saratoga, leaving me with Ben and Burt. You orto have seen me pitch into mother about your staying. I give it to her good, and twitted about your being a drudge. I meant it all then, but now that she is gone, I’ll be—I guess I’ll skip the hard words, and say that every time I rem’ber what I said to her, there’s a thumpin’ great lump comes in my throat, and I wish I hadn’t said it. I’ve begun six letters to tell her I am sorry, and she only been gone two days, but I’ve tore ’em all up, and now when you see her you tell her I’m sorry,—’cause I am, and I keep thinkin of when I was a little shaver in petty-coats, how she sometimes took me in her lap and said I was a preshus little hunny, the joy of her life. She says I’m the _pest_ of it now, and she never kisses me no more, nor lets me kiss her ’cause she says I slawber and wet her face, and muss her hair and dress. But she’s mother, and I wish I hadn’t sed them nasty things to her and maid her cry.

“Dr. West was here just now, and wanted to borrow a book, but when he found it was yourn he wouldn’t take it; he said he’d write and ask permission.

“We get on nice, only cook has spanked Ben once and Burt twice. I told her if she did it agen I’d spank her, and so I will. I think I’ve got her under, so she knows I’m man of the house. The old cat has weened her kittens. Burt shut one of ’em up in the meal chest, and the white-fased cow has come in, which means she’s got a calph.”

“Yours,
“JOHNNIE.”

No. 7.
_Dr. West’s letter, on which he spent three hours, wasting half a dozen
sheets of note-paper, and which when finished did not please him at
all._

“MISS FREEMAN:—You probably do not expect me to write to you, and will be surprised at receiving this letter. The fact is I want permission to go to that little library, which, until this morning, I did not know was yours. There are some books I would like to read, but will not do so without leave from the owner.

“I hear you are enjoying your visit, and I am glad, although _I_ miss you very much. Of course you know your brother and sister are at Saratoga, and that Johnnie is keeping house, as he says. If you have not time to answer this to me, please say to Johnnie whether I can read the books or not.

“Yours truly,
“RICHARD WEST.”

No. 8.
_Dora’s reply, over which she spent two hours and wasted five sheets of
note-paper._

“DR. WEST.—DEAR SIR:—You really were over-nice about the books, and I should feel like scolding were it not that your fastidiousness procured me a letter which I did not expect from you. Certainly, you may take any book you like.

“And so you miss me? I wonder if that is true. I should not think you would. I’m not worth missing. I hope you will see Johnnie as often as possible.

“Yours respectfully,
“DORA.

“P. S.—I am going to-morrow to see Mrs. David West.”