Fireside battles; a story

Front matter

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Chapter I

ELL, Mother, I suppose you will want Conway just as it stands?” said John, opening the discussion in the grand conclave which was being held in the drawing room.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Conway, “I had thought of taking it, if it were agreeable to all of you older children.”

“Why, of course it is!” chimed in Elise. “I am sure we want to keep up our family ties, and as this is our natural place of rendezvous, who else should have it?”

“And then, too,” said Anna, “some of us have children who will soon be old enough to go to school, and no place could be so pleasant or so appropriate for them as their grandfather’s old home.”

As others joined in and the discussion became general, Judge Bruce came across the room and said:

“Madam, I must earnestly advise you against this step; nothing could be more unwise.”

As three young heads turned anxiously and three young hearts almost stopped beating to catch the mother’s reply, there was a sound of scuffling in the hall, followed by shrieks from a baby’s voice, and the mother said :

“Jean, go to the baby;” and Jean had to leave the room though her heart was in her throat.

Baby Kate was awfully spoiled and had a new nurse besides, so Jean didn’t get back into the drawing room all the afternoon. But she lingered as near as Kate’s fretfulness would allow, in the hope that Alice or Duke would come out and tell her what was said. The thought of losing Conway seemed like being brought face to face with the end of things; her mind could conceive of nothing beyond, and she walked up and down the porch trying absently to quiet the child.

Conway Place was a lovely old home, though its beauty was not of the modern sort. It had no picturesque gables, cosy balconies, or jutting bay windows; but there was an air about its spacious walls, high pillared porches, and ample grounds, which seemed to say that its claims to consideration were superior to mere conceits of architecture. To be sure, the walls, guiltless of a fresh coat of paint for many years, were taking on a sad, gray tone; the front gate drooped upon its hinges with a down-in-the-mouth expression, and there were many rifts in the fences through which the calves were constantly straying in and destroying the shrubbery. Then, too, the furniture though handsome, was of a generation gone, and the carpets were worn by feet which no longer crossed the threshold. But in all these defects, Conway had ample good company in the other “homes of the first families” in town. So, never having known anything better, Jean was abundantly content with her old home; indeed how much a part of herself the place and its belongings were she had never realized till the idea of losing it was thrust upon her. Now, everything — from the elms in the avenue to the plum-bushes growing surreptitiously down by the back orchard fence — took on a dearer beauty. The occasion of this new idea was the settlement of her father’s estate.

There was to be a final apportionment and for it all of the other two “sets of children” had assembled at Conway. There were brother John and brother William Henry, sister Elizabeth and sister Marianna, the first wife’s children, who were married and living at a distance. Then, there were brother Rene and sister Elise whose mother, the second Mrs. Conway, was a beautiful French woman from New Orleans. The last wife and her five children, of whom Jean, just fifteen, was the oldest, completed the family.

After awhile, Judge Bruce and the mother came out and stood talking on the steps. As Jean watched her mother’s graceful black-draped figure and saddened face, and thought of her being taken from all that home was to her, her own heart swelled with indignation, and when the mother put her heavily-bordered handkerchief to her eyes, Jean slipped up and stole an arm around her waist. Judge Bruce was saying:

“I tell you it will be suicidal, Madam; you heard what they said in there. As long as you keep this place, you will have a house full of them, and it will take a fortune to keep you up; and candidly, there isn’t going to be anything like a fortune for any of you. You’d better let the place go to whoever will pay the most for it.”

“Oh, Judge,” said the mother tearfully, “I know you are right, practically, but I can’t bring myself to take a practical view of it. I feel that it would be cruelty to my children to take them from their home, and I am prepared to undergo anything rather than inflict it upon them. As for the others, of course their father’s children will always be welcome to what I have, be it much or little, so that will not make any difference. Of course,” she continued in a business-like tone, “I can’t live in my present style; I’ll have to reduce my expenses, but my children will have some income and it will be but fair for them to contribute something to the common support.”

Jean was touched and felt surprised to see that “Uncle Bruce,” as she had been taught to call the judge, didn’t look convinced.

“Then you have decided definitely?” he asked.

“Yes, definitely,” answered Mrs. Conway, and Jean’s heart gave a bound.

“Then I hope you will pardon me, if I have seemed persistent in urging my views,” said the judge, rather grimly. “I’ve only been anxious that we should do the best possible.”

“Of course I understand that, and it makes it all the more painful for me to act in opposition to your advice.” Again mamma’s handkerchief went to her eyes. “Oh, Judge, you are so good to me arid my fatherless little ones, and we are so much trouble, yet so powerless to make any return.”

“Don’t speak of it, Madam,” said Uncle Bruce; then he added, in a softened voice, “Nothing that Conway and I ever did, the one for the other, was accounted troublesome, and had he been spared and I taken, I should have left him the same duty.” Then turning to Jean he added cheerily, “Get your bonnet, little woman, and take a drive with me.”

Care-free and happy once more, Jean ran after her hat, and was soon seated beside the judge and bowling away behind his stout farm-horses. She was named for his wife and had been petted by him ever since she could remember. But she was destined to another unpleasant experience that afternoon ; for no sooner were they well under way, than the judge turned to her and said gravely:

“I am afraid you think it very heartless in me to want to take your home from you, Jean.” She didn’t know what to say at the moment, and he continued, “But it is necessary — absolutely necessary — if I could only get your mother to see it.”

He looked away with a troubled expression and went on to tell her of the changes the war had made in the South; of the destruction of, and shrinkage in property; the changed conditions of life and the necessity for recognizing them.

“Oh dear,” thought the grey-eyed, brown-haired girl at his side, gathering her broad, white forehead into a frown, “there it is again! Hard times! I haven’t heard anything else since I can remember. Poor papa didn’t talk about anything else before he died; yet there has always been plenty. And now Uncle Bruce is at it, too! I do wish he wouldn’t!” But aloud she said, in a voice which failed to conceal her indifference:

“All that is dreadfully bad, and I am mighty glad girls don’t have to bother about such things.”

“That’s just where you are mistaken,” said Judge Bruce, with a gravity that surprised her. “You are expected to understand these things and to act accordingly.”

“Why, Uncle Bruce! What can I do? Can I help you to manage our business?”

“No, but there are more important things you can do ; you can get a clear understanding of affairs and help to influence your mother; and you can look after the management of things at home. You know I said I would do my best to help you to a trip to Europe if you would take first place in your class. But there is a sterner necessity for your applying yourself; you may have to support yourself and not improbably help to educate your brothers and sisters.”

“Uncle Bruce,” said Jean, with a mischievous look at her old friend, “are these what mamma calls your Yankee ideas?”

“Humph!” said the judge, rubbing his long chin, “I suppose they are; at any rate they are the ideas which in practice have raised me from a poor lad on a New England rock-patch to be a man of some means, and I trust of some usefulness in the world; and I hope these same Yankee ideas will do as much for my children. I know my neighbors are criticising me on account of the course I have taken with my children; I don’t argue with them about it, but I will try to justify myself to you, child. We people of the South have been eating our 'whitebread/ as the negroes say, and have been feeding our children on nothing else just because we thought it would last always. I had coarser fare in my youth, but it had been so long ago, and I had had so much whitebread since, that I had forgotten how the other tasted. Your poor father had nothing else all his life, till the last, and then the change of diet killed him. But now the whitebread is all gone, and the best thing I can do for my children is to accustom them to the other diet — to teach them to accept cheerfully a different lot in life from that they anticipated, and to make the best of it.”

“But I should think,” said Jean critically, “that in doing so you could put them at something easier than working in the field.”

“Well, let’s suppose I could get all my boys clerkships in town. They would see all their old playfellows idling around and would conclude they were being hardly treated, and so get dissatisfied and lose their places. But after working in the field, I warrant they’ll think themselves lucky dogs to get something easier, and will stick to it when they find it. It’s better to toil from the bottom of the ladder than to slide from the top ever so easily, eh?”

Jean laughed and the judge continued with something like a quiver in his voice, “I know it was the dearest wish of your father’s heart to make his children comfortable and happy, and for that reason there’s nothing in reason and honor that I wouldn’t do to accomplish the same end ; but it is beyond my power to do it in the old way. The most — the best — I can hope to do for them, is to get them to look life in the face, as it comes, and to prepare to make their own way in the world.

I couldn’t take my old friend by the hand when I meet him in the Great Beyond if I did less. I begin with you because, being the oldest, you can influence the others; you have it in your power to make self-helpful, useful men and women of your brothers and sisters. Oh child! I don’t know of any one who has a grander opportunity for helping their loved ones than you have.”

Uncle Bruc^ spoke enthusiastically, while something very like tears suffused his kind, old eyes. But his enthusiasm died and a cloud passed over his face as Jean answered coldly:

“I don’t think the oldest ought to be held responsible for the others; each should depend on himself; and I know I couldn’t do anything with mamma if you can’t.”

When Jean alighted at the gate once more, it was in rather a dazed state of mind; she felt as if the solid ground had shaken under her feet.

“Why on earth,” she thought, discontentedly, “did things have to go and get torn up so, just as I came along? Why couldn’t they have gone on as they did in papa’s time, when the others were growing up and enjoying themselves? It isn’t at all fair!”

The sun had gone down, leaving a bank of rose against which the old house stood out grandly. The pigeons were wheeling and circling over its roof and among its tall columns. The sound of Mammy’s rolling-pin pounding away on biscuit for supper, mingled cheerily with the song of Aunt Minerva from the cow-pen. Lights were beginning to appear here and there in the house; the sound of music and laughter floated out through the open doors and windows, and the soft air was full of the odor of cape-jasmine.

“Really,” she thought as she went up the avenue, “isn’t Uncle Bruce mistaken after all in thinking that things are going to ruin so fast? Here are brother John and brother William Henry who don’t seem to be alarmed. Maybe its because

Uncle Bruce is getting old, or perhaps he had the blues ; anyway, it won’t do any good to worry.”

The Conways well knew how to enjoy themselves. The children of a wealthy Southern man, the good things of life had always come to them without effort or thought on their part; and being good-natured and light-hearted, they carried an air of cheerfulness and jollity wherever they went.

They had not had a family re-union in some time, and all endeavored to make this a happy one. Jean thought she had never seen such bright faces or heard so many funny jokes and witty sayings as she encountered at the supper table that night.

The great mahogany table, with its massive drop-leaves, had been spread to its full extent and its surface polished till it reflected the snowy napkins laid here and there in lieu of a cloth after Southern fashion at tea. The candelabra from the drawing room stood in a row in the centre, their musical tinkling prisms reflecting the light of many candles. The silver-service had been polished to its brightest and the best china brought out. Mammy Lily-Rose had done her best on the broiled chicken, biscuit and waffles; and Noona’s dark face shone with pleasure beneath her white turban as she passed back and forth or stood with her silver tray behind Mamma’s chair. Once as she passed she whispered :

a O, Miss Jean! this is just like old times!”

It was indeed like the days which Jean could just remember when her father sat at the head of the table with his family around; ere the dark cloud of the civil war had scattered them, sending some into exile, some to the battle-field and prison, and the father’s gray head in sorrow to< the grave.

After supper, friends began to drop in for an evening call; the children were turned into the moonlighted yard to romp; Rene brought out his violin and Elise her banjo ; the servants gathered about the windows to look on, and soon all recollection of Uncle Bruce’s forebodings had vanished from Jean’s mind.

Chapter II

LISE was the most fascinating person the younger Conways had ever seen.

At the beginning of the Civil War, which had not been over long, their father, Governor Conway, had sent Elise and Rene, then a girl and boy of fifteen and seventeen years respectively, with some of their New Orleans relatives to France. But the restraint under which girls are kept in that country didn’t suit Elise’s independent American spirit, and soon she and Rene obtained permission from their father to travel. With a liberal allowance to their credit in a Liverpool bank, the young people spent several years in a free and easy life, going where they pleased and studying only when and what they chose.

The New Orleans relatives were shocked at Governor Conway’s idea of turning loose a boy and a girl, without oversight, on a foreign continent; but he had always allowed his children to do pretty much as they pleased, and as none of the older ones had ever got into serious trouble, he felt no hesitancy in giving Elise and Rene the greatest liberty.

In the fourth year of their absence they were called home by their father’s illness, but did not reach America in time to see him again. They learned the sad news of his death upon reaching New Orleans, and decided not to go back to Conway, but to make their home with relatives in the city, where Rene began the study of law.

So it had come about that Jean and Alice had not seen their favorite half-sister, except at long intervals, in some years. In all this time Elise had developed from a lank, sallow girl into a very handsome woman. She had a slender, graceful figure and an abundance of glossy black hair. Her rich complexion; almond-shaped eyes and delicate arched brows gave her beauty a decidedly Japanesque cast, which was peculiar and very striking. Naturally bright and lively, her residence abroad had given her a wonderful store of information and charming ease and grace of manner. She had a fondness for being liked and exerted herself to please every one with whom she came in contact. With a happy tact at avoiding disagreeable things, she made an atmosphere of cheerfulness and pleasure around her which attracted every one. All the servants at Conway were proud of her and were always glad of a pretext for waiting on her, while the children hung about her constantly. Nor was she a bit spoiled byall the grand sights she had seen; all were agreed upon that. She would run a race, or play a game of marbles with Duke, climb a tree for green apples with Alices or hunt hens’ nests in the stable-loft with Archie.

The young Conways had always lived in a country town, and being “war children” had had few books except those left by their older brothers and sisters, which they had fished up, yellow, torn and backless, from the depths of closets and attic chests. So the handsome sister with her stories of the wonderful things beyond the sea, came into their lives like a real, tangible revelation from fairyland. She had a trunk filled with mementos which was a mine of untold pleasure. There were garments, toys, trinkets, and photographs without number, each of which had a history that was simply a revelation. Elise’s head was full of old legends and stories and the children had but to ask about the picture of an old ruined castle or monastery or some cathedral or palace and she would people it for them with enchanting panoramas of gallant knights in the mad furor of the joust, beautiful ladies in dire distress, fairies and gnomes at their eerie pranks, martyrs at the stake, and lords and kings in high revelry.

Jean and Alice took turns in sleeping with her, and often, after an evening in the parlor where maybe in some picturesque peasant costume she would amuse them with quaint foreign songs and dances to the accompaniment of Rene’s violin, the two would lie and talk till Elise lost the thread of her story and dropped to sleep, leaving her companion wandering in palaces, royal gardens, or over Alpine heights.

During Elise’s first visit after her return from abroad, Jean had gone quite wild, and after one of these imaginary journeys exclaimed:

“O Elise! I must — I will travel. I can never be contented till I have seen all those beautiful, glorious things for myself!”

“Of course,” replied Elise, “every girl ought to travel; no one can have a finished education who doesn’t.”

“But do you think mamma will let me? I’ve no one to go with and — and — oh, there are so many things in the way!”

“There are no great difficulties in the way, though it is quite natural for those who have never traveled to think so. As for company, I can get you into suitable company among my friends in New Orleans any season; and I will talk to Lina about it, if you want me to,” said Elise.

“Oh, do, Elise!” said Jean excitedly. “I know she will listen to what you say; you can persuade her if any one can.”

“Well, I’ll try, and then we shall see if I’m as eloquent as you think.”

“Oh Elise, I just know you are the prettiest, smartest, best sister in the world!” Jean exclaimed, and Elise laughed happily.

Mrs. Conway offered no objection to Jean’s plan; on the contrary she said: “I’m delighted, dear, that you have so much ambition. I have always wanted you to be highly cultured and, since seeing your sister Elise, I am more than ever determined to give you the best advantages.” Elise caught her skirts out at the side and made a mock courtesy, saying laughingly, “You are very flattering, Lina; but without any blarney, I think Jean would improve good opportunities and I’m glad she will get them.”

This had been two years ago; and Jean’s trip had grown to be rather a stale subject in the family, and was not often alluded to except by Duke and Alice to twit and to tease.

During Elise’s present visit, Jean persuaded her to teach her French, but after the first few lessons Alice, not liking to be shut out, insisted on joining the class, using her usual argument that she was “nearly as old as Jean and had as much right.”

Then, somehow, the lessons didn’t progress; they always began in great earnest, but there were so many interesting things to talk about — Paris — the Bon Marche — the beautiful empress and the lovely things she wore. Jean would listen till her conscience began to hurt and then she would wrench herself away and steal off.

In one end of the long attic, Jean had had her playhouse ever since Alice had been large enough to tyrannize over her. It was fenced off by a pile of boxes and old trunks which completely hid it from the rest of the long room. In one corner were the ruins of Lady Ellen Douglass’ rustic lodge. The lake, made of piece of broken mirror, had long ago been shattered and swept into a corner. Lady Ellen herself, Jean’s one “bought” doll, had been sacrificed to Kate’s fretfulness and mamma’s nerves, and her battered remains now lay tragically stretched across the painted paper boat in which she used to float so romantically. In another corner was a pile of dilapidated books — fairy tales — which had been thumbed into hopeless decrepitude. Between the two, stood the upper half of an old bookcase, a peep behind whose faded calico curtain would have shown nothing but books of travel, from Rollo’s Tours to a complete set of Bayard Taylor; and the neatness and care of their arrangement would have told of more recent interest. But the dust was gathering thick on the curtain, while day after day Jean, lying face downward on a piece of matting, her elbows resting on an old red cushion, patiently filled a large slate with figures only to erase them and refill it again and again.

One afternoon as she worked away deeply absorbed, a loud gruff voice at the top of her barricade suddenly said:

“Oh yes, I’ve caught you at last!”

Jean started and blushed as Elise shouted with laughter.

“O Elise, how you scared me!” she cried, looking up to where the intruder stood with her skirts caught up in one hand and her slippers in the other.

“A guilty conscience, Miss, for running off and leaving me!” said Elise, climbing down. “Is this the way you show your appreciation of my society?” she continued, making herself comfortable Turk fashion on the red cushion, which Jean shoved towards her and proceeding to put on her slippers.

“I’d rather be with you than with anybody in the world, but I’ve got to review this book. I don’t understand it thoroughly and professor is going to put us into a higher one next year.”

“What is it? Algebra! Pshaw! I wouldn’t waste my time on that if I were you ; a girl never has any use for such things. If it were mythology now, or history, it would be more sensible.”

“But I must. I may have to teach if I am ever to go to Europe; Uncle Bruce has promised to do his best to let me go if I will take first place in my class, and that is what I am working for now. If he fails, then I will be prepared to teach, you see.”

“I thought you had given up the idea of traveling as you’ve said nothing about itdately.”

“No, indeed; I’m more determined than ever; I feel that life won’t be worth the living if I don’t get to go, and that’s why I am preparing to work. Of course I’ve outlived my childish idea of just seeing things. I am older now and understand that the real object of travel is to study and understand what one sees, and so become intelligent and highly accomplished like you.”

“And if you have to teach, you will get a position in some millionaire’s family, marry the son or brother and take your tour as Mrs. instead of Miss. A nice little scheme! Who would have thought you were so cunning?” said Elise, archly.

“No,” said Jean, hastily. “I am not going to marry — that is, not in years and years, if ever.”

“So?” said Elise, raising her eyebrows laughingly. “I wonder what Louis Matthews will say to that; I see he comes here quite often.”

“Oh, Louis is a nice boy and I like him ever so much, and Annie is my best friend; but I’m going to teach and travel and study, and oh, Elise! if I just had your knowledge of French and German!”

“Eh bien! but I can’t let you have it for the reason that I’m going to use it myself just as you propose doing.”

“You! You teach, Elise!” cried Jean in astonishment.

“Oh! of course, I am not going into the drudgery of it, and wear myself to sticks, like poor little old Crenshaw who used to paralyze herself trying to drum that Algebra into me. ‘Young ladies, will I never get you to remember that you are to add

“l\i rather be with you than with anybody in the world ”

like signs, take the difference between the quantities and affix the sign of the greater?’ Bah! I wouldn’t go through with that, not I ! I am going into a family where my duties will be light, almost nothing, and I will have all the luxuries I am accustomed to. But don’t say anything about it; I haven’t even told Rene yet.”

“But why are you going to do that?” asked Jean. “I thought you were having a splendid time in society.”

“Oh,” replied Elise, suppressing a yawn, “one tires so of this monotonous American life that any change is welcome; besides, this will have a dash of romance on it; for I am going under an assumed name, and what an inviting door that will be for adventures.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Jean, startled by the proposition.

“Why,” said Elise, surprised in her turn, “would you have me shame my father’s honorable name by going out as an upper servant under it!”

Jean had no answer to this argument, though she didn’t feel quite satisfied; and Elise continued, “My employer is very rich — one of the nouveaux riches — and wonderful to say, he has sense enough to know that his family needs one who is ‘to the manor born’ to pilot them through the intricacies of good society. I have stipulated that I am to be received as one of the family and to go into society, where I am to pass as a visiting friend. I am to teach ‘les demoiselles’ French, dancing and etiquette — to form them, in fact — and to help madame entertain. It will be a rich experience, no doubt, and it offers a fine field. The only drawback is that the old niggard won’t pay me near what my — my ministrations* are worth, but I will make him pay roundly for his stinginess before I have done.”

“You are certainly the cleverest girl in America,” said Jean, with profound admiration; “but how did you get such a place? I would never have thought of such an arrangement.”

“Through an agency, of course. I had to let some of my best friends into the secret in order to give references, but they will not betray the joke. So henceforth I am no more myself, but poor Mademoiselle Sevier, daughter of an old creole family, who was sent abroad during the ‘Revolution’ and returned at its close only to find family and fortune swept away. Do you think I can play the demure Mademoiselle successfully?”

“ You may for a time, but the rollicking old Elise will come out in the end, I am sure. How I wish I were going to be with you!” Jean finished with a sigh, and Elise patted her cheek softly.