Superior to circumstances

Front matter

r / 1 * ^ O N O

^ ^ ^4/2^ .- y • o

O • A

Chapter I, A Blighted Home

“There is no true potency, remember, but that of help; nor true ambition, but ambition to save.” — Ruskin.

E call it death, Miss Margaret, I grant, but a better way would be to try to think of your mother as but just beginning to truly live.'*

‘‘ It is death, Mr. Blanding. I have watched its cruel course, and my precious mother is dead ! Oh ! my beautiful, perfect mother ! How can there be any life while she is cold and silent, and away from me } I thought God was good, but I now feel that he is pitiless, pitiless ! How could He let this dreadful thing happen V

‘^God is good — very good. Miss Margaret, and very pitiful, and infinitely more loving than any earthly parent ever can be. He has done this which you call dreadful, has taken your mother away, for some wise purpose, and because it

A BLIGHTED HOME.

pleased Him so to do. We should not murmur at His doings, though they are at times hard to bear.''

These words were trippingly and gracefully spoken, but an undertone showing lack of real faith in them on the part of the speaker, produced a chilling effect upon his auditor, who, with a fervor amounting to vehemence, replied :

Mr. Blanding, wait until something like this comes to you! You never have seen the cruel angel smite the one for whom you lived I Nor has your heart died at sight of the stilling of another that held in it your very life 1 Oh I do not tell me not to murmur at such a calamity as this I How can you pretend to know, when God has left you everything ? I cannot bear your words I " Margaret Strong rose and walked nervously about the room, her hands clutching each other, and her face revealing her inward agony.

The Rev. Mr. Blanding also rose and stood with his back to the glowing fire, from which his elegant coat-skirts were guarded by a fender of exquisite design. A hopeless look came over his face, as his eyes followed the movements of the stricken girl before him. If interpreted, the expression would have been :

I am out of place here ; the things I know do not seem to be what people in real trouble want. I would give the world, at least my share in it, to know how to comfort such a sufferer."

A BLIGHTED HOME.

Bringing his gaze back, he began slowly to draw on one of the faultless gloves he had been smoothing in a caressing fashion during his call.

He broke a silence that was becoming unendurable :

‘‘Really, Miss Margaret, I meant to say some comforting words to you, and I beg you to be assured of my sympathy and good intentions, however far I may have come from helping you. I would recommend you to read some of your favorite books now. Science and art are so absorbing, where one has a love for them such as you have, that^he circumstances of life dwindle into insignificance before them. I sincerely hope I shall find you restored to your accustomed poise of heart and mind when I again see you. And may I express the hope, also, that my present series of sermons on the justice of God’s ways to man will be helpful to you at this time of trial ? ”

Margaret had paused near where he stood, and heard his words as one may hear without perceiving. He extended a hand, to which she mechanically responded, and without further words on the part of either, he took his leave.

She stood for a moment, then seeming to realize that she was alone, strode back and dropped into the chair she had left. There was a huskiness in the voice with which she gave expression to her feelings that told of tension of nerve and brain :

lO

A BLIGHTED HOME.

It is easy to preach, easy to say it is all for the best, when one has all that is the best ! Anybody can be happy and thankful while he has all he wants. Oh ! this dreadful heartache ! What a mockery to tell me to read now ! The very pages would blind me ! If God wanted me to be happy, he never would have brought me to this. He knows there could be no calamity to me like this, and he could have spared me. If I could only forget ; forget everything, and for always ! ”

Margaret had counted herself afflicted when, a few months before her mother’s death, her father had been taken away. She had loved him,#and had missed him when she could no longer see him. It touched her heart to see his favorite chair empty, and the books that had been his constant companions standing in their places unused.

One of Satan’s most insidious and misleading temptations to those who love knowledge, is that of intellectual self-sufflciency. Nebuchadnezzar, before his brazen image, or Moses at the cleft rock, were not less mindful of the true source of their power than are those who, by the inflation of superior mental endowments, become addicted to self-admiration, or to the worship of mere mental brilliancy in others.

It was into this snare that Margaret had been entrapped by the influence of a kind of literature in which her father had delighted, and for which,

A BLIGHTED HOME. II

unconsciously to herself, she had come to have an increasing relish. And the instruction she received from Mr. Blanding s pulpit was in no way calculated to counteract this influence. Stranded as she now felt herself to be, she realized that her newly-acquired line of thought and reading furnished no solace.

Mr. Strong had been a silent, reserved man, living mostly among his books, and not seeming to need much of love or sympathy. Even his love for his wife did not often find expression in words. He lived as one secure in an income sufficient to maintain his family in luxury.

Of his business affairs, his family knew nothing ; accustomed to his reticence, they had learned not to question. Once, as if by chance, he had said to his wife : I am a lucky man to have a brother who not only makes my money for me, but cares for all my business, and leaves me with hardly a thought concerning it.” And his brother, Pierre Strong, seemed a model man.

Their home was in some respects ideal. The location was such as to catch the sunshine and the breezes at their best. In the furnishing, no one thing made impression except indeed the harmony of the whole, and this was mainly due to the presiding genius, Mrs. Strong. A spirit of sincerity, and that indescribable quality called good taste, had fully entered into the making of

A BLIGHTED HOME.

the home. And it was her death that had, to use Margaret's own words, ‘^blighted and wrecked the whole world for her."

That a restful, peaceful picture should be hung so as to be the first thing noticeable on entering the apartment that made at once sitting-room, library and music-room, seemed only natural. It was as natural, too, that an exquisite bust of Beethoven should rest on the grand piano, whose keys had given their sweetest, most soulfull response to Mrs. Strong’s reverent touch.

Margaret Strong had many fine characteristics, and an acute observer would discover in her rare possibilities. While she had the companionship of her mother she was seldom conscious of any lack in herself. Mrs. Strong’s intellectual force and sympathetic nature seemed to overflow and in some subtle way to endow her two daughters, and lift them to a plane near her own ; their faults seldom stood out in their true light while she was with them.

Margaret’s sister, Amy, came into this world on a balmy June morning, and life to her seemed one bright holiday. Satisfied with herself and everything about her, she had lived undisturbed by ambitions or restless cares. No one could think of her as ever needing to battle with anything. She could not understand that every other nature was not just like her own, if indeed she

A BLIGHTED HOME.

had observed that some were any different. She mourned her mother’s death, and it seemed to reveal a depth of character be|pre undeveloped ; but floods of tears brought relief, and after a little time she could easily forget her sorrow in the companionship of some congenial friend, or in the pages of a pleasing story.

Margaret shed no tears, and saw no one whom she was not obliged to see. She had gone about silent, attending with scrupulous care to all the details of the housekeeping, but with no light nor hope in her face, and no elasticity in her step.

One morning not long after the interview with Mr. Blanding, she said to her sister at the breakfast table, ‘‘Uncle Pierre will be here to tea this evening.”

“ Oh ! how lovely, sister Margaret ! It is so long since we have had a visit from Uncle Pierre. I’ve been wondering why he hasn’t been here.”

Margaret’s only answer was a look at her sister in which was expressed her amazement at Amy’s evident freedom from the state of mind into which she herself had fallen.

But for the gloom that was everywhere present with Margaret at that time, it was a pleasing occasion on which Pierre Strong and his two nieces met around the tea table. For the first time since her mother’s death, Margaret had allowed the table to be laid in the usual way. It did not

A BLIGHTED HOME.

hurt her so much to see her father’s place occupied, but her mother’s accustomed chair was held too sacred to be ^Hed by any one else. And yet she found no comfort in the thought that in some mysterious way the chair might still hold at times the loved one invisible to the eye of sense. The blessed, beautiful truth that to love is still to have, had not found its way into her soul. She thought of death only as a cruel power that had robbed her of her most precious possession, and made all the world vacant in consequence.

‘‘It is really too bad, girls,” the uncle said, as they seated themselves at the table ; “ I ought to have been here long ago ; I meant to come earlier. I hope you will forgive me.”

“We will forgive anything and everything, uncle, if you will only let us see you oftener,” answered Amy.

“Trust a girl for forgiveness; I hope you’ll always feel so. And by the way, Margaret, I must ask your pardon for my delay in making the last month’s remittance.” As Margaret glanced across the table and full into the face of her father’s brother, she was struck with its look of restlessness and weariness ; and there came into her heart a flutter of tenderness and pity for what she thought was only a physical malady.

That he ate but little, and seemed less genial and entertaining than usual, she supposed was

A BLIGHTED HOME.

owing to their peculiar circumstances. His evident avoidance of any mention as to what they would do in the future, seemed less a neglect than a delicate consideration of their feelings, as well as his own. To their disappointment, he bade them an early good-night, upon the plea of needing rest.

After he had gone, and Amy was sleeping as only the care-free can, Margaret sat before the fire and mused :

Uncle is so changed; how thin and tired he looks ! I almost wish he had not come. I feel that I ought to do something to help him get well ; but how can I ? What can I do to help any one ? Oh ! if mother were only here, she would know just what ought to be done.’' And then the thought of her own woe dispelled every other for the time.

A few days later the mail brought Margaret a letter, in the address of which she recognized the writing of her uncle. She sank into an easy chair, and in a dazed sort of way opened it, and while her heart now momentarily stood still, and then beat with distressing intensity, she read :

Dear Margaret :

I wonder if you will be surprised when you read this letter. With your clear instinct and unerring penetration, I think you may have read right into my very soul as we sat opposite at the tea-table.

i6

A BLIGHTED HOME.

Oh ! the agony of those hours with you and Amy ! Let me say first of all, that but for the destruction of my manhood by stimulants, I never could have done what I have, nor write myself down as I do here.

Even now there are times when my best self has sway, and I have thought I could rise again, but the fiends soon get the ascendency, and then I am theirs, soul and body. I must use this lucid hour industriously, for any moment may find me without power to speak or act rationally.

Let me blurt out the truth at once. I have wasted and lost everything! When I get out of the country, as I shall by the time this reaches you, I shall be without a penny, without a name, without a friend, and without hope I

The vengeful eye of God will forever burn into my soul. But, Margaret, I didn’t start out to do a wrong thing. I was an upright man, and the trust reposed in me was worthy. When my physician told me to take a tonic, the basis of which was too stimulating for me, I refused to touch it. But he insisted that I was worn with business and needed building up. The tonic seemed after a while to give strength. I learned to depend on it. I learned, too, that I could take other drinks that made me feel refreshed and renewed, for the time.

And so it came about that I could not get along unless constantly under the influence of some stimulant. I began to realize that my brain was not always so clear as it had been, and that a feeling of hardness toward the world was growing upon me. My conscience was true at first, but I would not heed its warnings.

I must not dwell upon this. I hope you and Amy will get along. I did think the home would be saved to you, but it will have to be given up to another, and the one whom your father and mother trusted as your safe guardian, will be a vagabond on the face of the earth! I deserve all the blame — yes, all the hate that you can give me ; I think it is a comfort to me to realize that I shall not escape this. Your ruined,

Uncle Pierre.

The faithful serving woman, Rhody, passed

A BLIGHTED HOME.

about, attending to her duties, and sighed as she observed ^‘Miss Marg’et'’ resting in so unusual a manner at that time of day. Finally, Rhody's solicitude led her to come near enough to see that Margaret had fainted. Regaining consciousness, Margaret caught sight of the open letter, where it had fallen from her hands, and again sank as one lifeless.

Daniel, the serving man, who had hastened in at Rhody's violent ring of the bell, stood with bared head, and face full of sympathy.

‘‘ Go and fetch Mrs. Snow over, quick as ye can run,'’ Rhody said ; and Daniel went.

‘‘Now, chile, ye musn't look at nuthin', or say nuthin', 'till ye git rested a little. Jest keep yer eyes tight shet."

Rhody had noticed that it was the sight of the letter that had sent Margaret swooning the second time, but she had too much kindly tact to seem to know it. Without a rustle of the paper, after placing Margaret in a comfortable position, she put the letter carefully and safely out of sight.

Chapter II. Magnolia Bloom And Winter Skies

“The situation that has not its duty, its ideal, was never yet occupied by man. Yes; here, in this poor, miserable, hampered, despicable Actual, wherein thou even now standest, here or nowhere is thy Ideal : work it out therefrom ; and working, believe, live, be free.” — Carlyle.

C LAR to goodness, Dan’l, ef things ain’t jest like a waste howlderness ’round heah.”

O, go ’long, now, Rhody ; what makes yah alius say it wrong ? Waste howlderness ain’t Scripter at all. Why don’t yer say waste howlin’ wilderness ? ” Have it yer own way, ole man ; I ain’t no time to be partickeler ’bout sech disportant things. Times is serus, Dan’l ; serus, I tell ye, and we’d better be gittin’ ready for wus times ’an these.”

Alius lookin’ ahead, Rhody; well, I guess it’s a pretty peart way a-doin’. How’s Miss Marg’et now ? ”

She’s cornin’ up ag’in, but she’s putty low down, and she’s got to be nussed up, or she’ll go right arter the ole Missus. Frettin’ an’ frettin’ ’bout her mother wus bad enuff, but that letter’s

i8

MAGNOLIA BLOOM AND WINTER SKIES. I9

the thing that took all the tuck out’n her. You and me, Dan’l, never took to book lamin’ no how you could fix it, an’ we can’t read no writin’, but we kin read folks putty straight, and I seed it wus when she sot her eyes on that yere letter that over she went ag’in, an’ it did ’pear like she’d never cum to till the angel Gabr’el blowed for her.”

‘^Ef she wus more like Miss Amy, now, an’ didn’t take things to heart so, ’twould be better fur her. But folks ain’t all made alike, no how, an’ it’s good they ain’t, sometimes.”

‘‘You’re right thar ag’in, Dan’l. Now, ef you wus made jest like me, you’d know I want the oven ready ter do its best bakin’ right away. I’m poundin’ this dough ’till it’ll make yer mouth water ter jest think of the beat biscuits Miss Marge’t’ll have fur supper. I’ve thought an’ thought what I could scare up ter make her eat ; and all ’twunst I said to myself, ‘ Rhody, what makes yer so wantin’ in thinkin’ the right thing Reg’lar ole Virginny beat biscuits’ll be the thing to make Miss Marg’et know she’s hungry.’”

Daniel saw that the oven promised all right, and did his evening duties faithfully, but Rhody noticed that he did not whistle about his work as usual, and that the snatches of songs, he hummed had not their accustomed light-hearted tone. She had set him to thinking. Presently he came and sat by the table beside her, his hands resting on his knees, his soft hat slipped back, showing a rim of thick kinky hair about his forehead, and the expression of his honest face telling that he agreed with Rhody that ‘‘times was serus,” and they must consider what was to be done.

Rhody had never so far followed the fluctuations of fashion as to give up her Madras turban and blue cotton working costume. She was a typical specimen of her class. She had been born and bred on a Southern plantation where kindness to all was the rule, and where natural affections were respected in black as well as in white.

Daniel had been owned by a neighboring planter, who held the view that a slave was incapable of feelings and attachments that are counted worthy in their owners, and had no right to them.

In the home of Rhody’s master, and of her own age, grew his lovely daughter, Grace. These children, of different races and such widely divergent conditions, were nevertheless devoted companions and playmates during their childhood. Grace had by nature a tender, loving heart, a fine sense of justice, and an independence of thought that marked her as one who would develop into a noble woman. Rhody, too, had possibilities, giving promise of remarkable physical endurance, aptitude for work, with intuitions that enabled her to judge character, and a spirit of unswerving fidelity to those whom she loved.

When it came time for Miss Grace to leave home for school, the separation did not weaken their attachment for each other. Later on, when Miss Grace became engaged to be married, and confided this most cherished secret of her heart to the faithful Rhody, she in turn told of how she and Daniel had promised each other to work together as long as they both should live, Rhody saying : ‘‘ Me an' Dan’l b'lieve the Lord made

him fur me an' me fur him, 'cause when we's apart, we's that lonesome an' oneasylike we don't know what to do, an' when we's together we both seems to be whar we ought ter be, an' kinder settled like."

When Miss Grace and her young lover started out for their late afternoon horseback rides, and Daniel and Rhody stood by the stile listening to the whip-poor-will's complaint, or the tootings of the complacent owl, it may be that He who knows the heart, and whose thoughts are not as man's thoughts, saw as pure emotions and as true throbbings of love under the thick dark skin as under the fairer and more delicate.

Miss Grace came home from her ride one evening with more of a shade of care on her winsome face than had ever before found its way there. True, she had heard some talk, and read something in the papers of trouble in the political world. Her father had spoken gravely of affairs at Washington, where Lincoln was then in his first term of service as the Chief Executive of the land. But what had she to do with such questions ? They were for men. Her life was in her home, her little world of society, and now that she was the one chosen and beloved by the chivalrous young fellow who was her ideal of young manhood, how could the affairs of nations disturb her ?

But she had learned from the lips of her lover during their ride, that the men of the country were being called to prepare themselves to settle at the cannon’s mouth the questions that had long been harrassing the Government. He didn’t know what might happen ; some believed that the slaves were to be set free ; the air was full of rumors, and the excitement was intense.

Would /le go ?

He could not say ; he must do his part as a man to defend the homes of his people, and the cause in which he believed.

Under the heavy hanging moss, and long after the shadows of moonlight had taken the place of the sunset tintings, the two who, until now, had thought little of the bonds that held them as chattels to their owners, continued their talk ; the last word seemed not easy to speak.

‘‘Hits got to be, Rhody; this yere nigger’ll never be sold ! Thar’s the word with the bark on’t ! While I’se these two legs I kin outrun any feller in these parts, an' if he kin git up sooner in the mornin' 'an I kin, then his evenin' befo’ll be mighty shawt."

‘‘But, Dan’l, thar's me!"

Putting his mouth close to her ear, he whispered : “Thar’s a God in heaven, Rhody, an' He’ll Stan' by you an’ me 'till we gits it fixed right DanTll find ye, if it takes him as long as it did the chillen of Israel to fin' the promus Ian'. Doan you git skeer'd at nuthin’ — nuthin', I say. When I heerd ole Mars a tellin' that he'd sell us all, 'fo it wus too late, and freedom wus come, I riz up t’ll I wus about ten foot high, I did, an’ I sez to myself, sez I, ‘Never! while there's a breath in this yere body ; an' I guess the dead wouldn’t fetch much.’ "

A few weeks later found Daniel out of the pale of slavedom, and after hidings, hunger and perils, he was finally domiciled in the home of Mrs. Strong’s father.

Before the fulfillment of Lincoln's prophecy, “when the mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battle-field and patriot grave, to every loved heart and hearth-stone of our broad land, touched by the better angels of our nature, swelled again the chorus of the Union," Rhody and Daniel were of those whom God hath joined together, at least, for this life. It had not taken them forty years, but their waiting for each other had been almost as long as that of Jacob for his Rachel.

Of the trouble and distress of those years, Rhody and Daniel seldom spoke as time brought lines to their brows and increasing mellowness to their hearts. They knew that his ‘‘ole Mars'' turned his slaves into money before the Emancipation Proclamation made it impossible, and Daniel chuckled, as he said, “ Guess if he'd a cotch this nigger that mornin', as he wus hidin' out'n the moonshine in the shadder uv the Magnolys, he’d a made it hot weather fur him.”

As Daniel now sat looking at Rhody while she shaped the dough, some into dainty spheres, some into squares or oblongs, and placed them in baking pans, and these in the oven, a smile slowly overspread his usually serious face.

Let us be careful to note that the process was a gradual one. Dark as was his complexion, it was nevertheless possible for a perceptible illumination to take place, given sufficient time, and after certain slight vibrations of first one of the muscles of the mouth and then another, a gradual parting of the lips, showing the enviable ivories with which his race is blessed, a grouping of the many wrinkles around his eyes, which were not lacking in white, you came to the realization that an honest, cordial smile was the phenomenon presented in his enlivened features. And unlike some of nature’s phenomena> this developed so deliberately, remained so satisfactorily long, and disappeared so reluctantly, as to afford ample scope for its investigation and analysis.

Broadening the smile, Daniel said, with most genuine warmth, Rhody, Tse as proud uv ye as when I fust went a courtin’ ye ; an’ ye kin beat the world at cookin’ ; an’ I don’t mean to git skeered while we’s got one another! ”

Rebekah Snow, who had hastened in at Daniel’s summons, was a kind-hearted woman, with a dominating conviction that if a thing was right, that was the only consideration. She belonged to the Society of Friends, had quick intuitions, and a ready ability to meet emergencies.

‘‘ What ails thee, dear ? ” was her greeting, as, seating herself near, she took Margaret’s cold hands between her own.

The answer was a sad attempt to smile; and Mrs. Snow proceeded : ‘‘ I have seen for some time that thee was not doing right — pardon me, dear, I don’t mean just that. But thee cannot do without sunshine, and these pale little hands tell me thee is not eating enough.”

The sympathetic tones and unmistakable kindness of Rebekah Snow were what Margaret needed to bring relief to her pent-up sorrow, and the good old lady did not try to check tl^ tears that came so freely, almost convulsively, for awhile.

Stroking Margaret’s forehead gently, Friend Snow said : ‘‘ I want to help thee, and thee must trust me a little, and let thyself be taken care of, so thee can get well again. But just now I’ll do most of the talking, and thee will rest.”

‘‘You will believe that I appreciate your kindness, Mrs. Snow ; but how can a broken heart live, or pretend to be interested in trying to live.?”

She laid her head back on her easy chair and closed her eyes, as if she would shut herself away from the present, the future — even from existence.'x.

Very softly then, and without any comment, Mrs. Snow repeated the words of Him who spoke as man never spake :

“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; he hath sent me to bind up the broken-hearted.

“The Comforter, even the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all that I said unto you.

“ Peace I leave with you ; my peace I give unto you ; let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”

Rhody served the meal, Mrs. Snow sharing it with Margaret and Amy.

The lights in the library, and the one in the comfortable room where Daniel and Rhody had spent their married life, burned late that night.

after Rhody's successful effort to prove to ‘‘ Miss Marg’et/' by old Virginny beat biscuits, that she needed food.

To Mrs. Snow Margaret had confided her sorrows, and Uncle Pierre’s letter had been read, and his course execrated by that acute discriminator of conduct and character. As was usual with her, she had taken in the situation at once, and had already begun to plan for meeting what had to be faced.

Margaret insisted that Amy should be spared any knowledge of their trouble until the next day, saying, ‘‘Let the child have one more night of the peaceful sleep of happy girlhood. To-morrow she will feel the grinding cares of a wretched maturity.”