The wife of two husbands

Front matter

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

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Contents

Chapter Page

XIX. Kate Vaughan’s betrothal 209

XX. The broken promise 220

Chapter I. Covet Not Thy Neighbor’s Wife

Dick Melton was a cool dare-devil by nature, and a born soldier ; he belonged to the tiger order of mea He was tall, well-formed and was thought handsome by those who only look at the features and do not study the meaning of their expression. Character cannot be entirely hidden. A man cannot always wear a mask ; at times a sudden expression will light up his countenance and betray some sinister thought to the keen observer.

Richard Melton’s hair was light brown and he wore it cut close to a rather well-shaped head ; his eyes were of that cold shade of blue-gray, in which, at times, a cruel flash may be detected ; his nose was straight with the pinched nostrils, which disclose to the physiognomist the crafty nature of the man ; the beauty of his mouth was marred by the sensual curve

8 COVET NOT TIIY NEIGHBOR’S WIFE.

of his lips. Still he was admired by many ; but it was the admiration one would have for the good points of a horse.

Ernest Van Tine was the exact opposite of his friend. He was not quite as tall, but his figure had the easy grace of a gentleman. Perhaps he may have inherited his bearing, for he was better born than his friend, adverse fortune having compelled him to mingle with the honest, hard working middle class.

Ernest would probably not have been termed a handsome man, but he had a face that women, children and even the very dogs loved ; it was a face that could be trusted. His eyes were blue, with an open, honest look in them which invited the confidence of all who approached him. His nose and mouth were large, though well shaped, the latter feature had a benevolent expression, and when he smiled his whole face became illumined as with a gleam of sunshine, while his white, even teeth showed through his heavy, dark brown moustache. His dark chestnut hair lay in clustering curls around a high, white brow. He was an honest, whole-souled man, one whose presence in the army, but especially among the men of his own regiment, wrought a good influence. All his comrades loved and esteemed him, while they disliked and even feared his friend, Dick Melton.

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These two men, sz unlike in appearance and character. had rather a romantic history. Ernest Van Tine’s father had been a gentleman ruined by a commercial disaster. He had removed from Pittsburg to Chambersburg after his failure. The cottage in which Ernest Van Tine was born, was but a few feet distant from the one in w^ich Dick Melton first saw the light of this world. These two boys were nearly oi the same age and were brought up side by side, attending the same church and school.

When they arrived at manhood’s maturei years, they were both inspired with a tender passion for the same girl. Emma Church was one of the prettiest maidens in Chambersburg. Her father kept a small dry goods store in the town, where Emma assisted him ; and a very pretty saleswoman she made. Many of the sterner sex walked far out of their way to buy a trifle at Church’s store just for the pleasure of having pretty Emma Church wait upon them.

Prior to the breaking out of the war, Dick Melton had paid marked attention to the belle of Chambers burg, and his handsome person had made an impres sion on her heart. Love’s young dream is more often fed by the imagination than by the real emotions o r the heart, So it had come about that he had beer Emma’s accepted lover for more than two months before he enlisted in the ioth Artillery.

When Ernest Van Tine learned that his friend had *1

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won the heart of the girl whom he also loved, he determined to conquer his passion, and, if possible, devote himself with greater zeal to his country.

Two months before the Battle of the Wilderness Dick Melton obtained a furlough and returned home. During his sojourn in Chambersburg, he prevailed upon Emma to become his wife. A week after his marriage, he rejoined his regiment as his leave of absence had expired. He returned in time to participate in the Battle of the Wilderness. The slaughter on that battle field, was perhaps never equalled in the world’s history. Virginia had her soil deeply stained with the blood of friend and foe during those dreadful days.

Soon after the battle commenced the woods caught fire, and the forest, with its flaming trees, lighted up the field of carnage.

The scene was a realization of Dante’s “ Inferno.” The “ Blue ” and the “ Grey ” mingling in a confused mass while the dying were consumed by the flames ; even the helpless wounded were cremated. Those who were able staggered from tree to tree, putting out their hands in a dazed sort of way, for the smoke from the battle and the burning timber blinded them. These poor martyrs groaned aloud in their anguish, as their poor scorched hands fell helplessly to their sides. Human endurance succumbed to the inevitable, and many of these brave men reeled and fainted, overcome

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by the intense heat of the flames and the torture of their undressed wounds.

One company of determined men tried to fight their way through the devouring element and reach a safe retreat about a mile distant ; but they were overcome by the smoke and fell down suffocated, to be burned to a mass of human ashes.

The ioth Artillery, which had been held in reserve by General Burnside during the first day’s fight, were stationed about half a mile from this terrible scene of carnage and suffering, and not far from the impromptu hospital which the surgeons had erected.

The only accident that occurred to the ioth, was from the explosion of a shell which tore the clothes from the back of one of the gunners. They watched the progress of the battle, and when the shower of iron rain fell most rapidly, they joked about their approaching end, or at the fate of some comrade as he was borne from the field. The finer feelings of men become blunted as they grow accustomed to such scenes of strife.

Towards noon on the first day of this great battle, Richard Melton suddenly turned to his friend and said : “ Ernest, I don’t think I shall answer our roll-call again.”

“ Why Dick, what do you mean ?”

“ That I have listened to my last reveille,” replied the soldier, with a sigh.

00 YET NOT THY NEIGHBOR’S WIFE.

“ Cheer up, Dick,” exclaimed Ernest, “we may both escape as we have done in many a hard fought battle before.”

But Dick shook his head and said : “ No, Ernest, I feel certain my hour has come.”

“ Nonsense, comrade, you feel depressed seeing so many brave men fall.”

“ No, Ernest, I have a presentiment that this is the last battle I shall fight.”

“Upon my word, I am ashamed of you, Dick. I know we are in a pretty queer place, but I believe that my Heavenly Father will protect me as He has done all through the war.”

“ Ah, I wish I had your faith, Ernest,” answered his friend, with a sigh.

“Come, cheer up, don’t be downhearted. Why, man alive, where’s your pluck ?”

“ It’s not the want of pluck, my boy, for I am ready to do my duty ; but when I think of Emma, and feel I may not live to see her again, I must confess that I feel miserable.”

“ Tut, tut, man, don’t talk like that.”

“ I must, Ernest,” replied Dick. “ I want you to promise me that if I fall in this battle, and you escape, you will take a message to my wife.”

“ I will, Dick, though I hope you will live to be your own messenger,” answered Ernest, as he

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stretched his hand across the gun-carriage v and grasped that of his comrade.

“ Tell my wife, Ernest, when you return to Chambersburg that I died like a man, and she must not mourn for me. She is young and may have a long life before her ; tell her to marry some good man, who will protect her and make her lif# pleasant. Don’t forgot my words, Ernest.”

“ I will not, Dick. If I should be more fortunate than you in this battle, I will faithfully deliver your message.”

“ Thank you,” replied his friend.

They had no time to say more. At this moment one of General Burnside’s aids was seen to leave his side and ride rapidly towards Colonel Wentworth, who commanded the ioth. He brought an order for the regiment to move a short distance further up the road, so as to hold in check a Confederate battery which had just taken up a position on the opposite side of the wood.

The gallant ioth wheeled around, and in less than a quarter of an hour, had taken up its new position. As soon as the boys of the 3rd Virginia Artillery saw them they gave a wild howl, which was answered by a wilder one from the “ Boys in Blue ;” before the echo of their cheer had died away an artillery duel had begun.

Dick Melton’s presentiment was realized ; a por-

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tion of his regiment was captured with their guns. Ernest Van Tine could never understand how it was that he escaped, but he found himself thrown violently backwards into the Union ranks just as he caught a glimpse of the gray uniforms in front, and with rare presence of mind, he turned caught hold of a gun-carriage, and thus saved himself from capture. All his endeavors to find his friend were made in vain. The woods were burning all around him, and amid the volumes of smoke and flame, he could not tell friend from foe. On the morning of the third day the cool courage of the Federal troops and their superior numbers enabled them to regain, in a measure, some of their lost ground, though it cost General Grant some of his best men. When the roll was called there were many, absent from the ranks — they had gone to answer the roll-call beyond the borders of this world.

Immediately after the fight, the dead were buried and the wounded removed as speedly as possible. Ernest, having escaped unhurt, was one of the party detailed to remove the wounded. He was quite unmanned by the scenes of helpless suffering around him. Here he saw a poor Union soldier supporting a dying Confederate in his arms. The Northerner was holding his canteen to the Southern boy’s lips and trying to comfort him in his agony. Some of the unfortunate wounded fellows begged not to be

COVET NOT THY NEIGHBOR’S WIFE.

moved ; all they desired was a drink to quench thdir thirst.

One of the strangest sights that Earnest Van Tine witnessed that day was that of an officer of the Federal army, who held in his arms a boy of some eighteen summers. They were brothers. The youngest had been on a visit to their grand parents in Virginia when the war began and had joined his fortunes with the South. Tears were streaming down the Union soldier’s face as he looked upon his dying brother — sons of the same mother. He thought of their innocent childhood, and of the mother who had taught them to lisp their first prayer, and of her agony when she would learn that her youngest son had died on the battle-field of the Wilderness.

Ernest shuddered when he thought of Dick Melton’s premonition and remembered his message to his wife. He felt that he should indeed be compelled to send her the sad tidings of her husband’s death. His only hope was that Dick had been captured by the Confederates when their company had made the last charge.

After Ernest had removed a number of the wounded and rendered all the assistance in his power, he joined a company of men who were engaged in burying the dead. He looked over their list, but as he did not find his friend’s name there he began to feel

COVET NOT THY NEIGHBOR’S WIFE.

confident Dick had been captured and was on his way to Libby Prison.

The party had buried nearly a hundred men, and as they were returning through the field, they discovered three dead artillery-men belonging to Van Tine’s regiment. They immediately recognized two of the bodies, but the third had his head entirely shot away, so that recognition was impossible. Ernest put his hand into the dead man's jacket pocket, and found a letter without an envelope. He shuddered, as he saw it was signed “ Emma Melton.”

“Comrades,” exclaimed Ernest, “this is the body of poor Dick Melton ; see, here is a letter from his wife.”

Ere the sun had set over the battle-field of the Wilderness, that headless trunk had been consigned to a soldier’s grave

DAWN OF A SECOND LOVE.

Chapter II. Dawn Of A Second Love

The war was over. Regiment after regiment returned home and were mustered out of service The day that the ioth Artillery returned to Chambersburg was an exciting one. The thinned ranks and tattered battle-flags spoke volumes to the sad hearts of all who had lost either father, brother, or husband. Those who did return were eagerly and warmly welcomed for their own sake, and on account of their dead comrades.

These war-stained veterans found their town sadly altered in many respects.

The marks of Early’s Raid were apparent everywhere. The ruins of the burned buildings, the scorched and defaced homes they marched past, sent a sharp pang through many a brave man’s heart as he gazed on the wreck of what had once been a home.

There are many of the inhabitants of Chambersburg who remember that July morning when they awoke from their slumbers and found the Confederates in possession of the town. The advance of

the Confederate army, commanded by General Ewell, 1

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on the 27th of June, stole down the Blue Ridge under the shadows of the night and entered the little city.

General Ewell had chosen his time to make this raid when he knew the Federal forces were employed elsewhere and when he believed the two great camps of Cameron and Curtin, outside of Harrisburg, were comparatively empty of troops. General Ewell cut the telegraph wires as soon as he entered the town, and placed sentinels near every avenue that led to the place, in order to prevent a surprise. This raid was made for the purpose of replenishing Southern supplies ; they needed food and clothes of every description. Accordingly they entered all the stores offering Confederate money in payment for their purchases. Except in a few instances, however, the wretched shop-keepers told the men to help themselves.

Old Joe Church was one of the few who resisted the invaders ; he refused to allow his goods to be taken. As his store contained a great many articles which the Confederates wanted, the poor, old man, owing to this resistance, was very roughly handled. Indeed, had it not been for his daughter’s pleading, he would have been killed. She told the enemy to take what they wanted, but to spa e her father’s life.

Before the General left Chambersburg, the town was fired, and the block on which Church’s store was located was entirely destroyed. Joe Church at-

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tempted to save the small remnant of his stock, and while thus engaged, he was struck by a falling beam and severely injured. In spite of all his daughter’s tender care, he died in a few weeks after the raid, and Emma was left alone to fight the battle of life.

The beautiful young widow tried to bear her double bereavement as bravely as she could, but it was a hard struggle to toil for bread, day after day, with a heart overwhelmed by grief.

Emma sat in a poorly furnished room, in which every article was plain and old-fashioned, and yet there was an effort to give it an attractive air. On the snowy bureau cover stood a glass of water holding a bunch of roses. The only window was wide open, admitting the sunshine of a hot July day. The sound of many voices floated upwards on the air, the cheerful talk of the pedestrians, the merry laughter of children, the noise of the wagons and their drivers, to all of which the young widow paid apparently no heed.

The noise of her sewing-machine could be distinctly heard above that of the street, as Emma’s swift fingers guided her work towards the needle.

She was so intent upon completing her task that she did not heed the excited cheers of the multitude until the sound of martial music made her suddenly start from her seat, exclaiming :

“ It is the ioth.” She went swiftly towards the

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window and leaned out. Her slender, supple figure and beautiful face, as the sunbeams fell upon her, would have realized either a painter’s dream or poet’s fancy. Her features were of the Grecian type, her eyes were large and dark, and of that shade of blueblack which we so seldom find. Her plentiful dark brown hair was simply smoothed away from her temples and gathered in a knot at the back of her head. Her plain black dress was buttoned to the throat ; everything about her was unpretending in the extreme, and yet there was in her air and carriage a certain distinction not to be concealed by sordid surroundings.

Her large, serious eyes turned thoughtfully away from the window, and snatching up a black straw hat she passed swiftly from the room, down the stairs to the street below, just as her husband’s old regiment turned the corner of the square and marched past the iiuuse.

That evening Ernest Van Tine called upon his friend’s widow. Emma wept unrestrainedly as the past rose before her, and as she saw Ernest and thought of her young husband’s sad fate, she felt inclined to murmur against the will of Providence. She listened to Van Tine’s account of the battle in which her husband had lost his life, and received the message that he had brought from the dead. After the first out-

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break of grief she mastered her emotions sufficiently to thank Ernest for his kind sympathy.

A few weeks after the return of her husband’s regiment, she obtained a position as saleswoman in a dry goods store in the town. Her daily life was one of toil and weariness. She found her position in a stranger’s employ entirely different from what it had been in her father’s store, and at times she felt utterly miserable.

Ernest Van Tine had opened a blacksmith’s shop in the vicinity of Foster & Co., where Emma was employed. At noon, on their way to dinner, he generally managed to meet the pretty little widow, and have a short conversation with her. If it rained, he invariably waited near the door of her place of business with an umbrella. Gradually his attentions became more marked. At first Emma felt she had no right to receive his addresses. Were not all her hopes buried in that distant grave in Virginia? After a time, in spite of herself, her thoughts would wander towards Ernest ; she was grateful to him for his many acts of kindness and his unobtrusive attentions. A month passed, and she longed for his presence, and counted the hours till her daily task was finished, and she was at liberty to take her evening walk, during which she was always sure to be overtaken by her lover. The image of her dead husband grew fainter

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and fainter every day, and the past began to seem like a dream.

Once in a while she took herself severely to task for her inconstancy to the dead, to whose memory she had vowed to remain loyal. But Emma had to learn that the human heart is a mystery ; and that some of our best and noblest impulses, come to us after the first flush of impatient and unreasoning youth. She had believed in the theory that the heart could know only one perfect love, and she felt ashamed of herself when she began to realize that she loved Ernest Van Tine with a more perfect love than she had ever felt for Richard Melton.

The second love now dawning was a far holier and purer love than the other, for it was founded on sincere respect and admiration for the earnest, devoted man, whose only care in life seemed to be to contribute to her happiness.

The wooing progressed slowly and, but for an accident, Ernest might have continued to pay silent court to his dead friend’s widow for a much longer period of time.

One quiet Sunday afternoon Emma thought she would take a short walk. She had felt ill at ease all day ; as usual, she had been fighting the battle within herself, trying to recall the virtues of the dead and not to dwell upon the happiness that was, she felt, within her grasp. Putting on a broad-brimmed hat,

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WHAT IS THIS ? P. 23 she walked rapdily out of the town towards the valley of the Blue Ridge, crossed the bridge and wandered on to one of her favorite haunts — a little nook formed by a great craggy rock and a group of trees. The wood robins usually haunted this spot, but now it was strangely silent.

What is this ? Something flung in a heap — a human form, a familiar garb, a face ghastly with pallor and blood ; a face so well known to her that she reeled and uttered a wild shriek. Then her senses returned. She felt his pulse and found none. Help must be had. Oh, Heaven, grant it may not be too late !

She flew down the road to a house where she was well known and frightened the occupants by her pale face and startling story. Farmer Joyce and his son started for the place and a man was sent for Dr. Roberts.

They placed Ernest on a bed in Mrs. Joyce’s best room, while she and Emma anxiously waited for the arrival of the physician. When Dr. Roberts examined him, he said : “He is not dead.”

Emma exclaimed : “Thank God !”

“ It is an ugly wound, and he must have bled considerably. It was a mercy you found him.”

“That it was,” said Farmer Joyce, as he entered the room. “You see he took Major Pratt’s horse to try his hand at taming him and was thrown against the rocks. I tell you that beast should be shot ; Van Tyne is the third man he has nearly killed.”

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“As I can testify,” said the doctor. “There was Jack Hastings, who was laid up two months with a broken arm, and Ned Gibbons had just such a wound in the head as this poor fellow has. I had hard work to pull him through.”

“I can’t, for the life of me, think what makes the men so reckless. I suppose this chap thought because he had been in the army he could manage the brute,” said the farmer.

“ Doctor, do you think you can save him ?”

“ I think so, if Mrs. Melton will stay here and nurse him — we all know what a good nurse she is ; besides, I could not undertake the case without a nurse.”

Emma replied as calmly as she could that she would do all in her power.

“And I will give her all the help I can.” said Mrs. Joyce.

Dr. Roberts took his departure, after giving a few directions, saying that he would call early in the morning. The good farmer left the room with the doctor. Mrs. Joyce looked at Emma compassionately and said : “Will you come down, or shall I send you up some hot tea? You look deathly yourself.”

“ Send me up something, if you please,” was the tremulous answer. She wanted nothing but to be alone for a little while ; her thoughts were in a strange whirl. She leaned over the unconscious man and looked at him with tender eyes in which could be read

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the secret she had so carefully guarded, murmuring aloud : “ Can it be that he is dead ?”

Ernest was not dead yet ; his blue eyes unclosed slowly at the sound of her voice and looked up inta her face with an expression of deep tenderness, while his lips curved into a faint smile. For a moment he gazed at her as though taking a mute farewell, and then relapsed into unconsciousness.

“Oh, Ernest, Ernest, my darling!” wailed Emma, as she wept unrestrainedly.

For weeks the poor fellow hovered between life and death. They were terrible weeks for Emma, who rarely permitted anybody to do anything for the invalid save herself. Day and night she tended him, with the care and devotion which a woman gives only to the man she loves. Ernest had grown so thin and white that his recovery seemed almost impossible. He was a mere shadow of the strong, powerful man who was thrown on the rocks. It seemed strange that he should have gone unharmed through some of the most terrible battles of the war, to be brought so dose to death through the trick of a vicious horse.

One night during his delirium, Ernest imagined himself again in the war in Virginia with Dick Melton. He raved of the awful Battle of the Wilderness and of Dick’s message to his wife. Emma listened to him with a beating heart, which throbbed with joy when she heard him say : “ Dick, I will take care of

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Emma. I always loved her ; yes, Dick, long before she became your wife.”

“Thank Heaven!” murmured Emma. “Surely he will live.”

She flung herself on her knees and breathed a fervent prayer to her Heavenly Father for Ernest’s recovery and then sat beside the bed in an agony of suspense, listening to the clock as it struck hour after hour, straining every nerve to watch her patient and note the slightest change.

Dr. Roberts had told her that the next few hours would decide Earnest Van Tine’s fate.

When the physician entered the sick room the next morning and felt the patient’s pulse, he turned at once to Emma and said :

“ He is out of danger ; you have saved his life.”

“ Thank Heaven for all its mercy,” replied Emma, solemnly, bowing her head.

The good doctor thought that Emma was deeply interested in his patient ; but he was a wise man and ma.de no comment.

From this time Ernest’s recovery was slow but certain. He used silently to watch Emma as she moved about the room, anticipating all his wants and one day he said to her :

“ I am deeply grateful to you ; your care has saved my life. Emma, I shall be sorry that you did all this if you will not take care of yourself. You are beginning

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to look thin and pale ; will you not go and lie down ? I can ring for Mrs. Joyce if I want anything.”

“No, Ernest,” answered Emma; “you are very kind, but I do not feel tired.” She looked at the clock as she spoke and found it was time to give her patient his medicine, so she carefully poured out the drops and handed him the glass. Ernest took the medicine and, as he handed back the empty glass to Emma, he caught her hand and kissed it, exclaiming :

“You are a noble woman.”

Emma felt the hot blood rush to her face and hastily left the room to avoid showing the agitation she felt. After she had gone, Ernest asked himself if he had offended her ; this sudden retreat from the room alarmed him. The event, however, only strengthened his determination to end as soon as possible his suspense. Besides, he feared that Emma might not understand the nature of his love ; she might believe it to be only gratitude for the life she had saved.

When Emma entered the apartment, after a few hours' rest, she made a charming picture for the sick man’s eyes. She had changed her dark dress for a white one ; a dark crimson rose nestled at her throat, and a lovely soft flush was in her cheeks. Turning to Ernest, she asked :

“ Shall I bring your supper?”

“ Not yet, if you please ; come and sit down beside me, I have something I wish to say to you.”

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She took a chair, drew it quietly beside him and waited to hear what he had to say.