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Mary E. Wilkins Freeman - The Jamesons

M >> Mary E. Wilkins Freeman >> The Jamesons




It had all been done so quickly that we had not fairly seen who the
woman who snatched up the rug was, but when the fire was out we knew:
Caroline Liscom. She was somewhat burned herself, too, but she did
not seem to mind that at all. She was, to our utter surprise--for we
all knew how she had felt about Harry's marrying Harriet--cuddling
the girl in her motherly arms, the sleeves of her best black
grenadine being all scorched, too, and telling her that she must not
be frightened, the fire was all out, and calling her my dear child,
and kissing her. I, for one, never knew that Caroline Liscom could
display so much warmth of love and pity, and that toward a girl whom
she was determined her son should not marry, and before so many. I
suppose when she saw the poor child all in a blaze, and thought she
would be burned to death, her heart smote her, and she felt that she
would do anything in the world if she only lived.

Harry Liscom was as white as a sheet. Once or twice he tried to push
his mother away, as if he wished to do the comforting and cuddling
himself; but she would not have it. "Poor child! poor child!" she
kept repeating; "it's all over, don't be frightened," as if Harriet
had been a baby.

Then Mrs. H. Boardman Jameson came close to Caroline Liscom, and
tears were running down her cheeks quite openly. She did not even
have out her handkerchief, and she threw her arms right around the
other woman who had saved her daughter. "God bless you! Oh, God bless
you!" she said; then her voice broke and she sobbed out loud. I think
a good many of us joined her. As for Caroline Liscom, she sort of
pushed Harriet toward her son, and then she threw her poor, scorched
arms around Mrs. H. Boardman Jameson and kissed her. "Oh, let us both
thank God!" sobbed Caroline.

As soon as we got calm enough we took Harriet upstairs; her pretty
muslin was fluttering around her in yellow rags, and the slight burns
needed attention; she was also exhausted with the nervous shock, and
was trembling like a leaf, her cheeks white and her eyes big with
terror. Caroline Liscom and her mother came too, and Caroline
concealed her burns until Harriet's were dressed. Luckily, the doctor
was there. Then Harriet was induced to lie down on the north chamber
bed on the old blue-and-white counterpane that Mrs. Sim White's
mother spun and wove.

Rev. Henry P. Jacobs did not read his poem; we were too much
perturbed to listen to it, and nobody mentioned it to him. Flora
Clark whispered to me that if he began she should go home; for her
part, she felt as if she had gone through enough that day without
poetry. The poem was delivered by special request at our next sewing
circle, but I think the minister was always disappointed, though he
strove to bear it with Christian grace. However, within three months
he had to console him a larger wedding fee than often falls to a
minister in Linnville.

The centennial dissolved soon after the burning accident. There was
nothing more to do but to put the Shaw house to rights again and
restore the various articles to their owners, which, of course, could
not be done that day, nor for many days to come. I think I never
worked harder in my life than I did setting things to rights after
our centennial; but I had one consolation through it, and that was
the happiness of the two young things, who had had indirectly their
love tangle smoothed out by it.

Caroline Liscom and Mrs. Jameson were on the very best of terms, and
Harriet was running over to Caroline's house to take lessons in
housekeeping, instead of to mine, before the week was out.

There was a beautiful wedding the last of October, and young Mrs.
Harry Liscom has lived in our midst ever since, being considered one
of the most notable housekeepers in the village for her age. She and
her husband live with Caroline Liscom, and Louisa says sometimes that
she believes Caroline loves the girl better than she does her own
son, and that she fairly took her into her heart when she saved her
life.

"Some women can't love anybody except their own very much unless they
can do something for them," says Louisa; and I don't know but she is
right.

The Jamesons are still with us every summer--even Grandma Cobb, who
does not seem to grow feeble at all. Sarah is growing to be quite a
pretty girl, and there is a rumor that Charlie White is attentive to
her, though they are both almost too young to think of such things.
Cobb is a very nice boy, and people say they had as soon have him
come in and sit a while and talk, as a girl. As for Mrs. Jameson,
she still tries to improve us at times, not always with our full
concurrence, and her ways are still not altogether our ways,
provoking mirth, or calling for charity. Yet I must say we have
nowadays a better understanding of her good motives, having had
possibly our spheres enlarged a little by her, after all, and having
gained broader views from the points of view of people outside our
narrow lives. I think we most of us are really fond of Mrs. H.
Boardman Jameson, and are very glad that the Jamesons came to our
village.


THE END

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