Winning winds. A novel

Preface

Do good unto your fellow men by adding to their sum of human happiness. Win them from the cankering troubles of life, to while away a pleasant hour. Ever and always let your influence for good grow with the ripening of the years, as a circle widens and widens when a pebble is dropped on the face of smooth waters.

Willis G. Emerson.

Creston, Iowa,

December 2 $th, 1884.

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Contents

Chapter Page

I. Leroy Pembrooke. n

II. The Inimitable Willets is Introduced 19

Chapter I. Leroy Pembrooke

O NCE upon a time, somewhere between a quarter and a half century ago, there lived a gentleman of moderate wants and limited means, named Leroy Pembrooke. We do not wish to infer that every one of limited means is fortunate enough to have moderate wants, but it so happened in this case.

Leroy Pembrooke lived not many hundreds of miles from Cinapolis, one of the many thriving cities in our great Union.

The little village where he received his weekly paper, and where he would have posted his letters, had he ever mailed any, we shall know as Hampton, a sparsely settled inland place with a few wooden stores, of olden date, and a few churches, with their tall, tapering steeples pointing heavenward.

How long Pembrooke had lived there no one exactly knew — possibly ten or a dozen years ; where he came from no one knew or stopped to inquire. He had been so long at Hampton that he seemed one of its fixtures.

Hampton itself was not more than a dozen or fifteen years old, while as to Pembrooke’s age no one pretended to know, — the dates on his full-bearded face said thirty-five at least. His possessions consisted of a few acres of land adjoining the village, which he yearly tilled.

The stage-coach came to Hampton twice every week, and on the very afternoon of the day that our story

LEROY PEMBROOKE.

opens, a certain person did come to Hampton who had known Leroy Pembrooke years before. It was a lady of very prepossessing appearance, who came to teach the village school. Notwithstanding the change in Leroy Pembrooke’s appearance — the once smooth face, now full-bearded, — there was mutual recognition between the lady and himself the moment their eyes met, as she alighted from the stage-coach.

Years before he had attended college at Covesville, and there had met Miss Betsey Goodsil, the new teacher, and was, in those college days, seemingly greatly attached to her. At that time she was a mere child in her teens, and readily believed all the pleasant words whispered to her by Leroy Pembrooke. He never told her where his home was, or anything of his people ; nor did he ever graduate with his class, but very suddenly, and very unceremoniously, took his departure without even so much as saying good-bye to Betsy Goodsil ; and to the day of her arrival at Hampton she had never heard aught of him.

It might not be out of place to say that she thought of him very often ; for in him she saw her ideal. Possibly this accounted for her never having married.

Her family was poor, and she was at last forced to believe he had deserted her for wealth. Possibly her solution was a true one ; possibly not. In less than a year afterward, however, he made Hampton his home, where he had resided ever since.

About a week after Betsey Goodsil’s arrival, Leroy Pembrooke received a letter, which the postmaster declared was the first and only one Pembrooke had ever received since he came to Hampton. What news the letter contained or who it was from, remains to this day a mystery. But let us hope there will come a time in the unraveling of our story when the reader will know its contents. Soon after this, much to the surprise of everyone, Leroy Pembrooke took it into his head to marry. He no doubt could have won success with some blushing maiden of the village who was giggling in her teens, or with the merchant’s daughter, who was languishing for a lover, but he see.med to care nothing for

LEROY PEMBROOKE.

the one nor the other, but assiduously paid his attentions to Betsey Goodsil, whose early affections for him seemed to quickly rekindle, and in due course of time they were married. It is at least just to say that the marriage was one of pure attachment. We do not presume to know whether they would not have married for position or for money had the chance presented itself prior to their meeting at Hampton ; but they seemed either to have had no such opportunity, or if they had, no one at Hampton knew of it. They contented themselves by doing the very wisest thing possible — marrying for the very love they had for one another, if we might judge from appearances. Very like two horseracers who are out of funds and who meet by chance on some old, half-forgotten race-course. Neither have money to bet, hence nothing to lose, and when nothing is lost nothing is won. So they lead their spirited animals toward the wire, side by side, and run for the very fascination the race itself affords them ; and such a race, as such a marriage, is invariably the most satisfactory in the end, as neither party feels cheated, nor complains of foul play.

Leroy Pembrooke's married life commenced much as his single days had ended. No great change. The old house might have been repaired a little here and there to make it more homelike, but that was all. Year after year glided by, and as Leroy one day said to Betsey, the very years seemed to go by as the seasons used to. Thus time slipped noisely on until the hush and rural quiet of Hampton was broken by the hurry and confusion of building railways. Two roads were built through Hampton in one year. One from the south-east, terminating in Chicago ; the other, called the “ Through Trunk Line,” from New York to St. Louis.

Hampton was beautifully located on the banks of a little rocky stream, that ran, year after year, from early spring to late fall, telling the same noisy story, and all the time wearing its bed of smooth stones smoother and smoother. After the railroads came, the little stream was put to use. A dam was put across, and a large building erected which projected out over the waters and over the double doors in front the words “ Hampton Mills ” were painted in large letters. Then the old song of the babbling stream was gone and heard no more, but in its stead was heard the angry sputtering a,nd splashing of the waters as they went tumbling and falling, hurry-scurry, over the large wheel into the channel below, rushing along as if glad to get away from such a pent-up place.

Strange as it may seem, the railroads did very little to improve Hampton. It was nothing but a way-station on both lines. Other towns and villages sprang up along the line, and, as the shop-keepers said, cut off their trade. Very few new buildings were erected, and the old ones remained unchanged, except to look more dingy as time went by. The same old creaking signs swung in front of the stores and shops which had been put up years before. The little wooden-colored cottage at the Suburb,* with the two giant oak trees near by, was the home of Leroy Pembrooke and his wife Betsey, who, good soul thfcat she was, had in due course of time borne unto him a son, who was christened by the fond father immediately after his arrival with the name of Penfield.

“ Pebfield Pembrooke, my heir,” said Leroy, with considerable earnestness and warmth. But what he was to be heir to, a competency or poverty, he did not explain. Perhaps he did not fully understand that question in his mind ; or it might have been that the elder Pembrooke referred to something far back of anything that was known at Hampton ; or, possibly, only referred to the few acres of land, which, year after year, he tilled. Whether it was the one or the other, all would some day belong to Pen. The nickname “ Pen ” was almost from the first given to the new arrival, “ because,” as Aunt Zurilda said, “it was decidedly unpoetic ; and then there were entirely too many syllables to pronouce to say ‘ Penfield.’ It might do when he got to be a man, but now he didn’t amount to enough, and she doubted mightily if he ever improved.”

Aunt Zurilda was Mrs. Pembrooke’s sister. Possibly she had not seen more than thirty winters, but it was

LEROY PEMBROOKE.

hardly possible to think she was younger. Her angular features were beginning to wrinkle ; in figure she was rather spare, — in fact, inclined to be bony ; her face was thin and weazen, the lower part of which projected out and ended in a sharp chin ; her nose was rather too large for her face, and had an inclination to turn up ; and you would have known at once she had cheek bones by their noticeable prominence. The time, if ever, when she would have passed as handsome was certainly long years ago. It was said that years before, when she was quite young, she had a bitter experience in a love affair, the poetry of which was still fresh and green in the spinster’s heart. In fact, she had a hobby (a weakness some thought) to this day for poetry. She had come to Hampton only a short time before, and seemed angry to think she was there. By the way she looked at Leroy one would have thought she was angry because he had married Betsey, and she certainly was indignant to think the new arrival was not a girl; “ and the name ‘ Penfield ’ too,” she said, “ was distressingly unpoetic ; in fact, simply horrid.”

At the very hour of the same day that Penfield Pembroke came into this world an event of great similarity happened in another part of Hampton. It was at the home of a Mr. Brinkerhoff, and the infant had been given the name of Hamlin at once. As the child said nothing against the name, the elder Brinkerhoff remarked that he considered his silence on the subject to be a good and sufficient evidence of the acceptance of said name ; accordingly, early the following morning, the family Bible was brought forward, and the name “ Hamlin Brinkerhoff,” with date and fact of his arrival, duly recorded. While this was being done, Leroy Pembrooke was chronicling the facts relative to Penfield’s arrival. Thus two were born into the world at the same time who were destined to pursue widely different lives. Which is the preferable life for the rising young to imitate, we leave the reader to decide when he shall have accompanied us to the end.

In time they grew to be healthy, care-free boys, and great companions, both at play and at school, but very

LEROY PEMBROOKE.

different in many ways. Pen was rather small of his age, timid and retiring. The evening stories his mother told him of privations and hardships which she, in younger days, had met with, and which are so prevalent in the big world of cities, caused him to shrink from such tales of misery, and his young, overflowing soul shed tears of sympathy, causing him to become far more attached to his home, and especially to his bed-room, where his books were kept in a box which he had fastened with his own hands to the wall.

With Hamlin Brinkerhoff, or Lin, as he was called, it was quite different. The tales of hunger, hardships, and dire poverty were listened to by him with all the attention given them by young Pembrooke, yet he heard them differently, and he could deduce from them but two facts, which he termed key-notes, the first of which was, that to be happy one must possess the luxuries of high life, and the second, the luxuries of life are purchasable with money. In short, he considered riches the only true source of happiness and power ; that to acquire wealth was proper, no matter by what method, so it was not discovered felony ; that all things else were subordinate to money. Nor did he confine himself to theory alone, or permit his faculties to rust in mere abstract speculations. Even when in the primary schools he commenced practicing as a gainer of goods by speculation and usury. His capital stock consisted of marbles, slate-pencils, jack-knives, etc. He did not confine himself to charging interest at even usurious rates, but usually succeeded in keeping the entire principal, and the boy who traded or borrowed of Lin Brinkerhoff was fortunate to retain ten percent, of his original stock of school-boy possessions. At this writing, we know of certain money-mongers, who seem to do business by the same rule, which is certainly easy enough and simple to comprehend. It is, make a dollar earn a dollar, though the new dollar be taken from the widow’s mite.

Notwithstanding all these defects in Lin’s character, it can not be said his reputation was bad, either with lbs teacher at school or with the people of the village generally. At school lie was studious, and learned rapidly.

LEROY PEMBKOOKE.

In his books he saw an advantage over ignorance, and he was ambitious to stand on the vantage ground. While out of school, he was praised by his teacher; and old men, who ought to have known better, would laugh at his keeness, and say, “ Lin will take care of himself ; he will win his way,” and many other such remarks, insignificant, perhaps, within themselves, yet meaning everything toward encouraging in the boy a disposition that was by nature his greatest enemy.

Little Pen was an apt and ready scholar, and read much besides his class books. He loved to ramble through the quaint old village, and down the lanes among the shade trees to the ever-talking brook, among the large, leafy oaks, and away still further into the deep woods. He had an interest in all these — a bond of attachment, to him, a kind of kinship, growing day by day and year by year stronger and stronger, and in his after years only, can we see how strong his love for these old haunts of childhood really was.

Years before, when these boys were but babes, the guns at Fort Sumpter echoed over the Republic, sounding the tocsin of war, marking the end and the commencement of an old and a new epoch. Questions that the ballot-box and the eloquence of the learned statesmen of the day could not or did not settle, were handed over to marshaled armies to settle in cruel battle. Mr. Brinkerhoff was one of the first who responded to his country’s call. He went away, with many others, on a certain summer’s day, under the flaunting flag of his country, which kissed the breezes alike of morning and night, keeping step to the stirring strains of music. He went away, but he never returned. His fate was the story of thousands of others who fell on the field of battle and sleep in unmarked graves. The cruelties of war robbed Lin of a father in his infancy, and he had never known the counsel of a father’s deep-felt interest.

Almost a dozen years of these boys lives have now flown by; heretofore they had been uneventful, but now there w^as to be a change.

In the following spring, on a clear, bright day, Pen was told that he was to be taken to Covesville to visit a

LEROY PEMBR'OOKE.

few days with his Aunt Zurilda. He hardly knew why he was going. He certainly had never formed any great attachment for his aunt, as she always seemed so sour and crabbed when she visited them ; but as it was his first trip away from home there was a novelty in the drive, to which the young are always susceptible. Had Pen been more observant of the peculiar line of goods, tiny articles of wear which the sewing girl had been engaged on for the past month, lie would have known that another heir was expected ; but he did not know. He only knew that he was going to Aunt Zurilda’s. His mother had never parted with him before, and when she bade him good-by, Pen saw two great tears trembling on her cheeks; and as she stooped down to kiss him they fell on his face, and as they did so they seemed to loose the fount of his own tender feelings, and he sobbed outright. And when he got down to the little gate in front, where was hitched the horse and carriage, he felt as if he must, and did, go back along the graveled walk and again kiss his mother good-by, and tell her he would soon come back again. After this he felt better, and even called good-by to Lin with right good cheer, as they passed him just as they "were turning into the old road that led away into the country. He went away from the home he had always known, and known as. he would never know it again. After this there came a night when preparations were hastily made for the reception of Leroy Pembrooke’s second heir, and on the following morning when darkness gave way to light, and the dawn brightened into day, clusters and knots of figures might have been seen conversing on the street corners and in front of the shops in silent whispers. There had been a birth at Mr. Pembrooke’s, and there had been a death. A baby girl had been born, hence there was rejoicing, but it was changed to weeping. The infant girl had scarcely said to those around, “ I live,” when the chord of life was broken and the mother’s spirit joined those of kindred gone before. The baby’s life commenced as the mother’s ceased. Within that little cottage was the smiling June and the bleak December ; the budding flowers and the fading leaves ; the fresh-blown daisies and the withered

WTLLETS IS INTRODUCED.

grass ; the morning and the night ; the new and the old; the beginning and the end; all were there. All so strangely new ; so real, so unreal ; so expected, so unexpected.

The little baby was carefully cared for, and the last sad rites for the mother performed. Leroy Pembrooke was broken-hearted. The strong man of a few days before was no more, but instead a weak and exhausted man who took his bed to find a rest this world could not give him.

“ Such things must happen,” remarked an old friend. “ It is not right to rebel against Divine Providence,” said the clergyman ; and the neighbors told him he must live for his children, but to all these entreaties he was seemingly deaf, and turned languidly and exhausted on his pillow. He called for Pen. “ My boy Pen, where is he ?” and then he talked incoherently of times long, long past, when he himself was a happy, roving boy at school.

Pen and Aunt Zurilda fortunately arrived, and soon the latter was told the sad news. And then Pen was taken to his father, whose fit of wandering seemed temporarily past, and on poor sobbing Pen’s head he bestowed his blessing, and told him of his infant sister and bade him live and care for her, and commended both to One who never deserts the fatherless children, and then he asked to be alone with his son, and when they all withdrew he whispered a secret to the boy and bade him keep it sacredly. Then, turning his face on his pillow, he fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Chapter II. The Inimitable Willets Is Introduced

L EROY PEMBROOKE slept in the little church-yard at Hampton, by the side of a new-made mound where his life-companion had been laid to rest. The church was an old time-worn structure and

WILLETS IS INTRODUCED.

the painted glass was ragged with age, like an old man in his dotage, so much of the paint here and there had been chipped off by the ruthless hand of time. Just back of the church, among the tufted grasses, were the tombstones, so white and so suggestive of quiet repose. Some of the mounds were green with velvety grasses ; others lined about with mossy shells from the sea ; others richly decked with fragrant flowers, while others still were unmarked by headstones and weeded over, neglected and almost forgotten. How true it has been said : Life is a passing shadow ; ’tis like the shadow of a bird in flight, so hurriedly, in many cases, does it pale and pale from our memories away !

At the sacred altar of the church the prattling child receives baptism, and later bows over the communion table. Time rolls on, and at last there comes a joyful morn when the old bell rings out clear and happy, and before this same altar the marriage vows are breathed while the organ peals forth its cheerful notes of joy. Time passes away, and at last there comes a time when the muffled bell tolls forth the solemn notes of death, and the once child is borne softly and slowly down the aisle out to an open grave, while the organ breathes a measured dirge and sobs a requiem over the lifeless clay. Thus life and death follow in each other’s wake.

Leroy Pembrooke’s n.arriage had been a happy one. So, also, let us hope, their spirits, in the other world where doubt is unknown, will commune as only congenial spirits can.

If there was any hidden secret in his heart it remained only with himself, unless he had parted with it on his death-bed. No wife could ask for a more considerate and attentive husband than he had been.

Let us now follow little Pen. He is an orphaned boy ; his legacy, a baby sister and a few acres of land, worn out by long tilling.

The next morning but one after the funeral ceremonies were over, which marked the close of Leroy Pembrooke’s life, little Pen was summoned into the little tucked-up parlor of his old home by his Aunt Zurilda.

The spinster was so upright and stiff that there was a

WILLETS IS INTRODUCED.

noticeable space between her back and the back of the chair ; her arms folded across her bony bosom ; her lips tightly drawn ; her eyebrows slightly elevated, causing many temporary wrinkles to add themselves to the army of permanent ones. She looked hard at the boy as he came in, and her every expression seemed to say, “ 1 am a very important person, very indeed, and have been lawfully recognized as such, and now I must commence rightly/’ Accordingly she addressed the boy, and said in a rather brusque and snappish style :

“ Pen, I am your guardian !”

My what, aunt ?” the boy inquired.

“ Guardian, your guardian ! Do ye hear ?”

Pen signified that he did, but his confused looks would have convinced any one but his Aunt Zurilda that he did not understand.

“ I am,” said the spinster, “ going to bind you out. Do ye hear that ?”

Pen mumbled out that he did, and the spinster continued :

“ Your father left mighty little property, not worth much, and it is mortgaged. Do ye hear ?”

Again the boy nodded an affirmative reply, although the whole conversation was Greek to him. His aunt was terrifying him by her stiffness, but he finally summoned courage enough to timidly ask:

“ Will I go to school any more, aunt ?”

“ Perhaps you will, boy, in the winter time,” the spinster replied, “ if you are not too smart, and don’t get above your business ; but in the summer time you will work for your board and clothes. You have had entirely too much of this book and school business, leastways, in my opinion.”

“ After dinner,” she continued, “ I will take you to see your little sister, and to-morrow morning you will go away from Hampton and be put to work. Do ye hear ?”

It is highly probable that he did hear, and heard with sorrow.

It is hard to tell just how much longer this amiable spinster would have continued to lay down the law, had

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not a vigorous rap sounded at the front door, which was quickly responded to by Aunt Zurilda with a “ Come in,” and a moment later a tall, slim, angular, big-footed, big-jointed individual stepped into the room ; and as he did so his hat came off with military precision, which plainly told the spinster that the stranger knew he was in the presence of a woman far superior to the common herd of mortals.

“Have I the pleasure,” said the newcomer, “of addressing Miss Goodsil?” He carefully emphasized the word “ Miss.”

The spinster dropped a courtesy, and faintly smiled as she answered affirmatively.

“Ah, this is an honor,” said he, at the same time drawing forth a letter from his pocket, which he handed over to the now smiling spinster. And while she reads we will take a look at the stranger’s face. It is slim, like his body ; a very large mouth ; a faint attempt at a mustache is discoverable on his lip, which adds to his already sandy complexion ; short side whiskers, very like his mustache in color, and very dwarfed looking, while his nose is very prominent and aquiline and very high at the bridge, and then turned downward toward the face, as if it was determined not to turn up at anything in the wide world. The whole expression of his countenance seemed humorous and glowing, which expression was noticeably strengthened by his close-cut sandy hair.

The letter he had given to the spinster was an introductory one from a mutual city acquaintance, and, as the spinster’s city friends were few, she prized them very highly, if for no other reason than because they were so easily counted ; and she paid due deference to their opinions. A letter introducing such a very appreciative appearing individual, at once, and without further ceremony, commanded her greatest courtesy.

It may be well for us to explain that the spinster’s city acquaintance had not only given the new comer an introductory letter, but had also given him a page of the spinster's early history, posting him on her poetic hobby. Accordingly, as soon as the spinster concluded reading

WILLETS IS INTRODUCED.

the letter, she extended her bony hand and said in her blandest tone :

“Mr. Willets, I welcome you to Hampton ; ” and before Mr. Willets could reply, she turned to Pen, and bade him leave the room. Perhaps she did not want the boy to know what a smiling countenance she could wear, even when a congenial spirit flitted within the halo of her disc.

Pen withdrew ; and as the door closed, Mr. Edward Willet’s mouth opened.

“Miss Goodsil,” said he, “I thank you from the innermost recesses of my heart for this unlooked-for welcome.”

She nodded and smiled, and he continued :

“ Never before have I been so far West. I felt that I was coming to a land where the congenial meeting of poetic spirits was unknown. Alas ! how happily have I been disappointed since coming into this room/ 7

“Ah! Mr. Willets, how did you now that I doted so much on poetry ? — in fact, lived with my thoughts in a poetic world ?”

“ My dear Miss Goodsil, if I may be permitted to address you in such familiar terms,” (she was smiling her approval, and he continued), “there was a time when life to me was a happy May-day ; no storms, no clouds ; I was the household pet. Ah ! Miss Goodsil, I was the household treasure.” Here he applied his handkerchief to his face, and continued :

“ But that was a long time since, and its memory to me is as the faded rose. I lived in poetic muse ; but alas, that was long, long ago.”

“ Mr. Edward, — I beg pardon, — Mr. Willets, 1 should have said.”

“Miss Goodsil,” said Willets, “I cannot grant your pardon. Call me Edward, always Edward. If you only knew what hallowed associations it brings back of that rosy, rosy, rosy existence.”

Here the handkerchief came in play again and prevented him from speaking further.

“Ah, Mr. Willets,” said the spinster, “how much your experience is like my own. If I only had words to

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express my feelings and explain to you how many I meet that are unpoetic, cold, and unappreciative people of the world.”

“ Don’t, don’t,” interposed the inimitable Edward ;

“ don’t tell me of that which precipitated me from a lap of luxury out into a barren world. In those good old days I lived with the poets and basked in the sunshine of happiness.”

The spinster had just nerved herself up to a reply, when the- servant opened the door from the adjoining room, and, in a sonorous tone, said: