Beholding as in a glass : a novel

Front matter

CORNELL

UNIVERSITY

LIBRARY

Chapter I

It was afternoon, dear reader, and she to whom I wish to introduce you was making a railwayjourney ; and being very tired, on this her second day, was trying to get herself into a comfortable position to take a nap.

I don't know that you would have singled her out if you had been a fellow-passenger, for she was not a person to attract attention by beauty, nor dress, nor arts of speech or manner ; and as your eyes follow mine your cool, critical judgment is amazed that I should select such a heroine, and you recall your lessons in rhetoric, and remind me of the " three unities " that should govern a writer in the treatment of a romance, and ask, " Is not one of these a beautiful shell or body for the spirit that is to take precedence in the ' goodlie companie' the romancer means to invoke ? "

But what if these " unities " are sometimes at variance with nature, and what if experience demonstrates that the central figure in a great drama

4 SEHOLDING AS tN A GLASS.

may be as to body like the unlovely skin bottle which preserves the pure wine from fermentation ?

Have you never found yourself drawn powerfully to those lacking beauty of form, complexion, or feature ?

Who was it of whom the prophet wrote — " He hath no form, nor comeliness ; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him " ?

What is the body but clothing for the soul, and what is clothing but (in the language of " Sartor Resartus"), "a moving rag-screen, overheaped with shreds and tatters, raked from the charnel-house of nature " ?

The man who wrote " Sartor Resartus " is himself a case in point — the greatest man in Europe, upon whom the world fixed its regards, yet he was the homeliest of men.

Mr. Moncure D. Conway has a fine description of the "blue brilliancy of his eyes " and the " illumination " of his face, on that day at Edinburgh University, when, having been invested with the Lord Rector's robes, he tossed aside this insignia, as impeding, and stood forth to speak, transfigured into that soul-beauty which body nor clothes can give.

The sunlight of love transmogrified this chestnut-burr, and changed the gall exuding from this tongue into oil and balm.

But you tap me on the arm and remind me that Carlyle was a man, and that homeliness in a woman is much less endurable — besides confounding all the unities of time, place and circumstances to which she opposes the stumbling-block of unexpectedness, and becomes, as it were, " smoke to the eyes and vinegar to the teeth." But what do you think of the Mrs. Browning type for a heroine ? You recollect a certain author, exceedingly popular some years ago, an encyclopedia of learning, in fact, who had a custom of remanding us (for facial descriptions of her heroines), to the classics ; — as, for instance, " Such a face confronted Golden Fleece Jason from the rhododendrons of Crete," or " On cameo and marble dwell the dainty mouldings of that oval cheek, the airy arched tracery of those brows, the straight slender nose and clearly defined cleft of the rounded chin — in brief, the face was one of the Frate's heavenly visions."

I might say my heroine was " like a mist that changed according to being shone on, more or less ! " At any rate the woman, whose struggle with life I shall endeavor to depict, if no Greek beauty, or odalisque of the Orient, had something about her suggestive of Mrs. Browning — was small like her, dark of eyes and sweet of voice, a voice remarkable in that its inflections reflected every shade of her varying moods.

There were not many people on the train that day — half a dozen men, perhaps, a lady with children who kept fussing over bits of stale luncheon out of a yellow leather hand-bag, and an old woman whose seamed face bore testimony to having seen " a sight o' trouble."

But there was one passenger who had discovered something very interesting in the young woman, whose name I may as well say was Vivia Lemuir. He sat opposite, and could glance at her without embarrassing by a marked regard. He was a student of human nature, which may account for the fact that he, at a glance, singled her out as singular.

She was not munching food as women so generally do on trains, she didn't fuss with the windows, she didn't stare at other passengers. She read a well-worn book, the title of which he made out to be " Romola," and had another, in soft leather cover, which she studied from time to time, and at which he actually started when he perceived it to be a Bible !

Dr. Charles Evans was a cultured gentleman who had travelled much, and had a way of keeping the world at arm's length, being very independent of it, and concentrating his mind on his profession ; tender as a mother to the sick, but rather indifferent to well people.

Yet this polished man of the world, as he appeared, now kept turning his handsome hazel eyes on the unpretty creature, whose air and expression so thoroughly conveyed the idea of fatigue and heart-sinking. Indeed, isolation and long fasting had done their work with her. Kind hands had provided a bountiful lunch when she was starting out upon her journey, but the remnants of biscuit and chicken were now dry and untempting, and she had given away to children on the train the fruit (apples and grapes) which had weighed down her box of eatables.

Hoping to sleep, she now rolled up her shabby cloak for a pillow, but even with this added could not rest. In twisting about she caught sight, out of the corner of her eye, of the gentleman opposite, and her ready fancy was soon busy concerning him. She noticed the contour of his nobly-shaped head, the grandeur of his broad, high forehead. He was well dressed, all his belongings handsome and in order. With the inevitable suggestion of contrast, her thoughts came back to her own poor little pasteboard bandbox, so unsuitable from its batterable nature to travel with, and that horrid old red carpet-bag, that had belonged to her sister's husband in his heyday, now much the worse for wear and tear.

Poor little Vivia suddenly felt a distaste for life from having to face it in such unkempt form. Tears stole into her closed eyes, and in her sudden deep despair her frail form shook. The tears relieved the heated brain, however, and she sank into an uneasy slumber.

She was awakened by a violent jar and crash, and in an instant had all her senses at command. She ran to the door of the coach and there beheld a scene of ruin, for the entire train (save the coach in which she was), lay in the mud of the swamp.

and from the smashed debris came dreadful shrieks and moans.

The man who had had her last waking thought was just climbing down before her when she said : " O please, sir, lend me your hand a moment."

Dr. Evans looked at her remonstrantly, saying, " Go back into the coach ; you are in no danger."

" But I am going to help those poor people. O my Lord, have mercy upon them ! "

" Nonsense, you can't help them ; you'll get your feet wet."

For reply she jumped down and alighted beside him in the oozy mud. Here her slight weight stood her in good stead, for she did not sink in the mire, and the stout doctor did.

The brakeman of the car was before them with his axe, gazing stupidly on the wreck, not knowing what to do. Dr. Evans snatched the axe, and with a few well-directed blows made an opening in the side of the nearest car, from which rolled out a fat man who filled the air with sulphurous ejaculations. Then came a woman, holding tight to her baby, crying out that it was dead. Vivia took the child, examined it carefully, and assured the mother it was only stunned.

Dr. Evans, who was helping to get the people out, heard her and handed her his pocket-case, from which she selected a vial of ammonia, applied it to the little one's nostrils, causing it to sneeze,

£EH0L£>ING as in a GLASS. 9

turn red in the face and cry. Vivia helped the woman into the uninjured coach, handed her the baby, and went back to aid others.

One man had been killed by the stove falling upon him, but fortunately there was no fire in it, so there was no conflagration.

The engineer was unrecognizable save by his clothes, and the conductor had had both legs broken, and one had to be amputated.

A broken culvert had caused the catastrophe, the engine first pitching over, and all the boxes and coaches following except the last, saved by the breaking of its coupling.

It was a cloudy night, the misty sky lighted by a pale moon and filmy stars. Fortunately the crash had come within a mile of a village, and the conductor's danger signal, waking the echoes among the hollow cypresses of the swamp, attracted the attention of the telegraph operator, not yet gone to bed ; and seeing the head-light of the train he had hastened to the rescue with some of the villagers who lived near the depot.

There was work to do, indeed, of a nature to sicken the heart and torture the brain. The most of the wounded were found among the debris of the sleeper — men, women and children ; but two men (mangled creatures, who had been dreaming the night away in the luxurious Pullman), opened eyes on the light no more.

Vivia Lemuir kept by the side of Dr. Evans. She had some hours ago discovered his neart6 BEHOLDING AS IN A GLASS.

sightedness, and now she helped him as he had never been helped before, with a quickness of vision, a readiness of touch, that seemed a kind of prescience of his needs. His surgical skill was called into requisition ere long ; there were dislocated joints to be set, wounds to be bound up, and limbs to be amputated.

Towards daylight a fine, cold rain began to fall, but Vivia Lemuir still held to the ghastly duty of the moment ; still with tender hands sought to assuage the agonies of the wounded and dying. One large man, who had both legs torn off at the knee, was found wedged under the ruins of the stove in the smoking-car. His cries and groans were fearful to listen to. As Vivia stooped over him, bathing his face with her handkerchief, dipped in water that trickled near, " Mein Gott," he said, " you ish like my daughter Gretchen, a leetle ding ! Gott pless you ! "

Dr. Evans put him in an ambulance, asking Vivia to go with him to the village, saying he would join her in a short time ; for by this the wretched victims of disaster, dead, dying, wounded and shocked, had all been gotten out, and the light of morning looked down from tearful skies on a crowd of railroad hands, busily engaged in rebuilding the trestle, that travel might be resumed at the earliest possible moment.

In three hours Dr. Evans and Vivia Lemuir were again en route, she feeling that sense of ease natural to a woman under the recognized

BEHOLDING AS IN A GLASS. ii

protection of man. Circumstances had developed their friendship to quick maturity, and wonderful seemed the revelation of this womanly nature to Dr. Evans, whose personal experience had tinged him with a large degree of cynicism and skepticism. He sat by her side now, and she in answer to his questions told him the story of her life.

" My father was my baby enthusiasm," she said ; " the most affectionate, tender, dear old gentleman in the world ; gray-headed when I was born, an old bachelor when he was first married, and my mother was his second wife. He was a physician (she gave Dr. Evans a smile), and devoted to his profession ; — a close student all his life, not only of books but of such cases as came under his care. But oh ! how gentle and timid he was ; not physically nor even morally, when it came to matters of principle, but he was most afraid of hurting people's feelings ; couldn't bear to present his bill to a man for whom he had done the most faithful work. I don't think he ever dunned a person in his life. In consequence he was, from the time I, his youngest child, could remember, always pinched for money.

" I can see him now, with his shiny, threadbare, but well-brushed clothes. He was very neat ; — his long fingers, knotted with rheumatism, yet constantly brought prominently to view by holding them up to shield his sore lips, resulting from attending medical lectures in Philadelphia. I can hear him clear his throat (he had a perpetual throat trouble), and in going out among his fruit trees he always wore a red silk handkerchief tied over his mouth. His one innocent and useful hobby was the culture of fruit, and he was always eager to spend his very occasional dollar in buying trees, or any new work on horticulture.

" My mother, who was a practical woman, would remonstrate with him energetically, but it never amounted to anything. Next to his interest in a case of sickness, indeed, beyond it perhaps, was his profound, absorbing devotion to the orchard. Every tree was a pet. He gave you the name, English, French, or Dutch, his tongue dwelling unctuously on the syllables, while he held up the specimen before you in his long, knotted fingers, a great luscious red apple, or a melting yellow pear. I learned to speak the hard names of the beautiful specimens he was always bringing in to my mother, along with papa, mamma, and kitty.

" The cellar in the winter was fragrant with hundreds and hundreds of apples and pears, all wrapped in paper, and oh, how his benevolent face beamed with pleasure when, in time of heavy snow, he carried a basket of beauties to some poor convalescent, whose mouth watered for the delicious juices of those well-preserved spheres. I recall our old house, identical with hospitality through the country, picturesque with its charm of roses and wealth of orchards, alive with crooning bees and song of mocking-birds ; but inside where the new additions (old when I was born), joined to the venerable mansion of my grandparents (which, with lands and negroes my papa inherited from his father), there were dreadful leaks. Papa was always intending to have the leaks stopped, but somehow could never find himself able. He was old when his people, as he called his negroes, were freed; and he could never get out of the old ruts of slavery times. So my mother took rheumatic fever and died, and he, who had loved her so dearly, was like one lost afterwards. Oh ! the pitiful, dear figure," — the girl's voice faltered. " Excuse me, Dr. Evans, I should not have told you all this."

The tall head bent, and the strong hand clasped the girl's small one a moment.

"Tell me more," was all he said.

" My father had a son and daughter by his first wife. Brother Arthur and Sister Mary. My mother I barely remember — a large, stately woman, of most dignified bearing ; this was the picture she made even to my chiMish eyes. Sister Mary, whom she reared, says she was cultivated and accomplished, the finest pianist in the country ; having, in fact, had a city education. I've always felt an intense sense of pain and loss in having been deprived of her in childhood," said Vivia (looking at Dr. Evans with eyes, into which tears were again welling). " I think I might have been very different if I had just had her tenderness and training ; but my sister Mary, good as she is, I'm sure had not my mother's capacities, and so I'm like that girl in the story who ' just growed up.' My good, kind sister did what she could ; but, with her own numerous children and imperfect health, I was like a weed."

" Oh, no ! " said Dr. Evans, smilingly, " not a weed ; say a wild morning-glory. You know it comes up in the most barren fields and perfects itself, and it blooms in most unprepossessing places ; why not you ? "

" Ah, thank you ! that is a poetic thought."

" I'm no poet, Miss Lemuir, just a hard-working bread-winner, seeing generally the worst side of human nature. Like you in one respect, — I have just cut loose from old moorings and am now on my way to a new field of labor. I am glad I can see you to your last train."

Much more conversation passed between them, and when they arrived at the bustling city of Melita, Vivia was glad indeed to have the expectation of some one to steer her safely through the swarming carriages ; but just as the train drew into the station, ere it stopped, in fact, a gentleman entered the coach who, by some occult power of recognition, attracted the girl's gaze ; and as he looked at her she rose and murmured —

" Brother Arthur."

" Why Vivia, dear, I'm glad to see you ! " He looked inquiringly at the gentleman beside her, who had also risen.

" Dr. Evans," said she, " my brother, Captain Lemuir."

The two men in a glance took each other's measure, and were each favorably impressed.

Vivia bade the doctor a good-bye with thanks, and walked away with Captain Lemuir to board her last train, drawn up a few hundred yards distant.

l6 BEHOLDING AS IN A GLASS.

CHAPIER II.

vivia's new home.

After a drive of some miles in a buggy, through a country that looked dreary in its late autumn dress of leafless woods and brown fields, the sister and brother reached Ridley, a large, double log-house with shed-rooms, situated in the midst of open fields.

Two children, with shocks of curly yellow hair, rushed to meet them, followed by bird-dogs and a colored boy. Captain Lemuir kissed the children and tried to make them speak to Vivia, but they would not, and went climbing into the buggy to see what he had brought them.

When they entered the house they were met by a very stout woman, whose cool scrutiny instantly abashed Vivia.

" My wife," said Captain Lemuir. " Celestia, this is Vivia."

The pair shook hands and Mrs. Lemuir sank back into her rocking-chair, while Vivia timidly turned away, took off hat and gloves, and placed them, with her cloak, on the bed which stood in the corner.

The sister-in-law asked her about her journey in an unsympathetic voice, but listened, evidently with a shade of interest, to her account of her accidental acquaintance with Dr. Evans. When she paused, she remarked judicially:

" I think it was very improper for you to have talked with an unknawn man. He might have been a robber."

Vivia laughed.

" Why, he was a cultivated, refined gentleman," said she, in a positive voice.

" Yes, and pickpockets often have that look. I hope you will never be so imprudent again."

" Evans is a gentleman I'm certain," said Captain Lemuir; "you mustn't scold her, wife, and she just arrived too."

Further talk was prevented by the appearance of a black woman, wearing a homespun hood, who said simply :

" Dinner's raidy."

Vivia followed her brother into one of the shed-rooms, which seemed, to her already chilled body, icy in temperature. Mrs. Lemuir and the children had dined, Candace told them. It was quite dark and the candles were lighted.

It was an untempting meal, cold turnip greens and corn-bread, cold coffee, stale light-bread and stale cake ; also a saucer of pickles.

On returning to the sitting-room Mrs. Lemuir yawned, laid down her novel, and addressed her little ceptain.

l8 BEHOLDING AS IN A GLASS.

" Hubby, I bought some potatoes from Mrs. Hardwyn to-day."

" I'm sorry, dear. I begged you not to make any more trades with her."

" Oh, well, I wanted the potatoes, and she has a very good kind. I know you will despise her, Vivia, for she is the stingiest woman in this country. Why, she made me pay twenty-five cents for half a cup of honey, and as for chicken-feathers, she calls them cheap at goose-feather prices, that is, when she sells them ; and what makes it more ridiculous is that her daughter sets up to be somebody, when her mother actually works in the field and does the cooking for the family. Leora was at church last Sunday, and the airs she gave herself were perfectly absurd. She is a pale, die-away looking thing, and it's my opinion will never get a husband, as much money as her mother has hoarded up."

" Why, dear," said Captain Lemuir, " I think Leora quite attractive ; very domestic, too. I shouldn't wonder if she married well. Are you not rather severe on your neighbor ? You will make Vivia think she's got into a hard coun-

try."

" I'd like to know what it is if it ain't hard," returned the rasping voice, " but anyway it's bed-time. There's your candle, Vivia ; just walk across the passage. We breakfast at eight o'clock sharp. Good-night."

Captain Lemuir rose, took the candle, led the

BEHOLDING AS W A GLASS. 19

way, and at her door put his arms around his sister and kissed her.

By dint of will-power she restrained herself till in bed, then she shivered and sobbed till sleep came to her relief.

The next morning at breakfast Captain Lemuir asked Vivia if she were fond of walking, and on receiving an affirmative answer, bade her get ready to go with him and Gerald, his little son, to where the help were picking cotton, the last opening of which still whitened the fields.

They walked along near the fence-row of an extensive field of perhaps a hundred acres. The cotton was now all a dead-leaf color, for the early frosts had killed the foliage, except when white flakes clung in spots where close picking had not been given it. The fences were dilapidated, the gin-house an old tumble-down structure, and the ditches they crossed choked with briers. " Brother Arthur " (as Vivia called him) followed a footpath leading by the edge of a cotton-field, and chatted pleasantly of his experience with the freedmen.

They found these " freedmen " picking cotton in the vicinity of a smouldering fire, built in an old stump, handy to warm by ; and making slow work of it as they were all deeply interested in an argument between Uncle Caesar and Uncle Pompey.

Among the pickers was one white man, evidently of the caste known as " poor trash," and decidedly the most sheepish-looking human being Vivia had ever seen. Indeed, as he stood slowly pulling locks of cotton out of the brown burrs, he reminded her forcibly of a sheep nipping berries. Captain Lemuir accosted him with " Morning, Lambmy," and Lambmy snickered and said " Mornin'," watching the girl furtively, with a face, eyes and hair as jaundiced as if bottom clay and air had formed his dietary all his life. The captain made several encouraging remarks to him, but he only answered by a slight distortion of his lilac lips and yellow jaws.

" How are you, Uncle Pompey? " inquired the land-owner of an old negro with small, watery eyes, flat nose and catfish mouth.

" A little gruntin', sir, an' under de wedder. How's yourse'f ? "

" First-rate (the captain was always first-rate). Here's my sister. Miss Vivia Lemuir ; I make you and Uncle Caesar acquainted with her."

" Mos' obeshent," responded Pompey ; " she pears to be a mighty fine young lady."

" Hope you will think a heap of her," said the captain.

" Sartinly, sah ! most sartinly ; a lubly young lady ; got a look outen her eye like yourself. Me an' de ole man Caesar, mum, we wus argyfien a pint out'n de Bible. Csesar dar he am a washfoot Baptist. He tink water eberyting. I tells him water ain't nothin' ; water ain't gwine to save nobody. I've knowed pussens to be put clean under de water an' den go down to the lake what bu'ns wid fire an' brimstone ! "

" How you knowed dey went dar?" growled gruff old Csesar.

" Heard dam say dey was agwine, on dere deathbed," replied Pompey, waxing more veheriient. " Now, Caesar, ole man, you undertakes to wash folks' sins 'way by washin' dere foots. You neber heard dat de tree am knowed by him fruits ? Dis here cotton don't hab wool on hit ? dat dar simmon tree don't bare apples ? Now s'posen you wash a man foot, an' he git dead drunk an' knock somebody in de head, what'll come o' him ? He be save ? No sirree ! I tells you, 'cepting a man be born again St. Peter neber let him in, not ef his foot wash ebery day in the year ; not ef he wus drowned in water ! Now, Uncle Caesar, what does you say to de looks ob your boss ? Dat hoss ob Uncle Caesar's is most ready fur de buzzards to pick ; dat hoss ain't watered onct a week. He ain't fed on corn onct a mont'. Uncle Caesar leadin' man in de church ! I say he ain't got no 'ligion 'tall. ' De mussiful man gardeth de life of his beast,' ain't de Bible say so. Mis' Viviar ? "

She smilingly assented. The venerable speaker paused at the captain's peal of laughter ; regarding this in the light of applause, he resumed, pointing his finger at Uncle Caesar, who hid his discomfiture by emptying his sack into his basket, and getting in it to pack it down.

" Yes, sir ; Cappen, dere's where I got de deadwood on Caesar. De 'postle Poll say he baptize 3,000 pussons in one day, wid one tea-cup ob

22 BEHOLDING AS M A GLAS±

water. Now if one teacupful 'nuff fer all dem, whar de use ob a ribber full fur drown folks in ? "

" None whatever, Uncle Pompey," laughed the captain ; " evidently none."

" I tell you all now, all yinner sinner," said Pompey (adopting an exhortatory manner, and that indescribable sing-song kind of tone the negroes always use when religiously excited), " ' Prepare to meet dy God !' I fell into a trance de odder night. I viewed hell. I lay on de edge of hell all day. De weight ob a bale ob cotton wus on my bres', my head wus hangin' ober. I wus lookin' down into fiery pit. I see all hell a-blazin' like de woods a-fire ; an' dere wus a great big kittle fill up wid hot lead an' brimstone a-bilin', an' a great big rooster he wus pullin' a stick ob timber ten inches square across hell. An' I seed de wicked a-jumpin' an a-howlin' in torment, an' ahollerin' fur Lazarus to come an' bring a drop ob water fur to cool dere parched tongues. I see de debbil wid dat big ole club foot o' hisen, an' a ball an' chain roun' his leg, an' he wus gwine 'bout wid a t'ree-pronged fork, a-stirrin' up de fire, an' drivin' de sinners back in, an' ebery now an' den he would go out and git some ob dat bilin' water outen de kittle an' pour it on 'em, where it wus blistered, an' dey'd holler wuss dan eber, an' de blue blazes would come outen dere nostrils. An' while I wus layin' down at de mouth ob hell, scared to death, lessen I fall in, I hear somebody call me, an' I tu'n my head. I say, ' Who dat call

BEHOLDING AS IN A GLASS. i%

dis nigger ? ' De voice say, ' O, my little one, if you b'leve inter Me, git up an' follow Me.' Then I riz an' took another path what I see gwine up a hill, an' as I goed up stoopin', 'cause de way wus so steep, I see Jesus, an' He wus so wide an' so tall, I couldn't pass him noways ; an' I had to go right up to Him, an' so I drap down on my knees an' say, ' Lord, be merciful to me a sinner.' He say, ' Only b'leve.' I say, ' Lord, I b'leve ' ; help Thou my unbelev,' an' that minute I git lighter, as if I had put down aheaby basket ob cotton. De scales drap from off my eyes, an' I see heaben a-shinin' not fur off, ober de jasper sea uprisin' de pearly gate ob de new Jerusalem. Oh ! An' dere, close by de gate, wus my little sister Jane what died 'fore freedom come. She stood by St. Peter whilst he let me in. I say, ' Dat you, Jane ? ' She say, ' Dat's me. Enter in, thou blessed ob de Lord.' Den lots more angels come roun' an' dey take off my dirty does, an' wash me white in de blood ob de Lamb dat wus slain ; an' dey put de silver slipper on my foot, an' de white robe an' de golden girdle, an' a great crown, like de sun in July, blazin', an carried me in an sot me down to milk an' honey. Oh ! my dyin' friens, tu'n from de error ob your ways, an' b'leve me, now is the 'scepted time ; now is de day ob salvation."