Mary J. Holmes - Tempest and Sunshine

M >> Mary J. Holmes >> Tempest and Sunshine

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In a short time Fanny was in the open air, and on her way to the
graveyard. As she approached her mother's grave, she said gently, "Luce,
Luce, why are you out so late?"

The person addressed partially raised her head and answered hurriedly,
"Oh, Fanny, Fanny, do not be frightened and leave me; I am not dead, and
never was buried in that grave, as you suppose, but I am here tonight a
living, repentant woman," and throwing back her bonnet, the thin, white
face of Julia Middleton was in the bright moonlight perfectly
distinguishable to Fanny, who at first recoiled in fear and leaned for
support against the marble pillar near which she was standing.

She, however, soon recovered her self-command and glancing at the object
on the grave, saw that she was caressing Tiger, who seemed trying various
ways to evince his joy at finding one whom he had long missed, for he had
ever been Julia's favorite. Their fiery natures accorded well! Again Julia
spoke, "Fanny, dear Fanny. In an adjoining state I heard of mother's
illness and hastened to see her, but I am too late. Now, do not think me a
phantom, for see, Tiger recognizes me and welcomes me home, and will not
you?"

An instant Fanny wavered, then with a half-fearful, half-joyful cry she
went forward, and by the grave of the mother that day lowered to the dust,
the sisters met in a long, fervent embrace.

Into the best chamber of their father's house Fanny led the weeping,
repentant girl, and gently removing her bonnet and shawl, bade her lie
down on the nicely-cushioned lounge, while she went for her father. As she
was leaving the room Julia arose and laid her small, bony hand on Fanny's
shoulder. It had rested there before, for in the graveyard, with their
buried mother between them, Julia's arms had encircled her sister's neck;
but the first excitement was over, and now involuntarily Fanny shrank from
that touch, for in spite of all her courage, she could not help
associating Julia with the grass-grown grave, and the large white
monument.

"What is it, Julia?" she said calmly. "Do you wish to see father?"

"Oh, yes, yes," answered Julia, "but not him, the other one--at least not
tonight. You understand."

"I do," said Fanny, and she glided down the stairs toward her father's
room. He was awake, for ere her hand touched the doorknob, his sonorous
"Who's thar?" fell on her ear. This somewhat disconcerted her, for she had
intended stopping near his door, to devise the best means by which to
break the intelligence. But "Who's thar?" was again repeated, and entering
the room she said softly, "It's I, father."

"Why, sure enough," said he, and then as the light from her lamp fell on
her features, he exclaimed, "why, how white you be! What's the matter?
Who's upstairs? Is George sick?"

"No, George is not sick," said Fanny, "but--," and then as well as she
could she told him all she knew.

Uncle Joshua's nervous system was unstrung, and his physical health
impaired by long nights of watching with his wife, and now when this fresh
shock came upon him, he fell back half-fainting upon his pillow. Then
rousing himself, he said, "Alive and come back! I don't desarve this. But
where is she? I will go to her."

Fanny directed him where to find her, and then returned to Julia, whither
her father soon followed. Uncle Joshua was not prepared for the change in
his daughter. He did not even think of her as he saw her last, wasted by
sickness, but in imagination he beheld her as she was in her days of
health and dazzling beauty, when with diabolical cunning she had brought
Dr. Lacey to her feet. Now, however, her face was thin, white and haggard,
for such a life as she had lived had never conduced to the beauty and
health of any one. Her eyes, sunken in their sockets, and swollen with
recent weeping, looked frightfully large and wild, and to complete the
metamorphosis, her beautiful, glossy hair was now cut short on her neck,
and pushed far back from a brow, across which lay more than one premature
wrinkle.

The sight of her for a time unsettled the old man's reason. Taking her in
his arms he alternately cried and laughed over her, saying, "I knew you'd
come. I expected it. I've waited for you."

Julia's altered appearance troubled him, and drawing her head down upon
his bosom, and laying his hand on her thin, white face, he said, "Poor
child, what has changed you so, and whar have you been; and who did I buy
that big stun for if 'twasn't for you?"

"Not tonight, dear father," answered Julia. "Let me rest tonight and
tomorrow I will tell you all."

CHAPTER XXVI

JULIA AT HOME AGAIN

Overcome with fatigue and excitement, Julia immediately after her father
left her on the preceding night, had fallen into a deep sleep, which was
unbroken till long after dawn. Then she was aroused by her father calling
up the negroes. Hastily starting up, she looked around her and, for a
moment, strove to remember what had happened. Soon she remembered all, and
burying her face in the pillows, she sobbed out: "Father, I thank Thee;
the prodigal is at last at home."

Hastily arising she proceeded with her toilet, which was nearly completed
when Fanny tapped gently at the door, and immediately entered the room,
saying, "Good morning, dear Julia. I am so glad you really are here and
that it is not a dream. But come, breakfast is waiting and so is father,
and so is--so is--George."

"Oh, I can't see him, I can't," said Julia, and Fanny answered, "Oh, never
mind him. I have told him all about it, and he is ready to receive you as
a sister."

So saying, she led the reluctant girl down the long staircase, through the
wide hall to the door of the breakfast room, where Mr. Middleton stood
waiting for them. His tones and manner were very affectionate as he kissed
the wanderer, and said, "I am so glad you're here."

Julia could have wept, but she would not. There was yet another to meet,
and choking down her tears she nerved herself for the trial. Of what
occurred next she knew nothing until her cold white hand was clasped by
another so warm, so life-giving in its touch that she raised her eyes and
met the calm, quiet gaze of Dr. Lacey. Neither of them spoke until Julia,
averting her eyes, said, "Am I forgiven?"

"You are," was the answer, and then Uncle Joshua exclaimed, "thar, that'll
do. Now come to your breakfast, children, for I'm mighty hungry, and
shan't wait another minute."

After breakfast Julia was greatly surprised at seeing her father take from
the bookcase the old family Bible, on whose dark dusty covers she
remembered having many a time written her name. All was now explained. Her
father's gentleness of look and manner were accounted for; and as for the
first time in her life she knelt by his side and heard him as he prayed,
her heart swelled with emotion, and she longed to tell him, though she
dared not hope she was a Christian, she was still trying to lead a
different, a better life.

That afternoon in her chamber were seated Mr. Middleton and Fanny, while
Julia recounted the story of her wanderings. "The idea of leaving my
home," said she, "was not a sudden impulse, else had I returned sooner,
but it was the result of long, bitter reflection. In the first days of my
humiliation I wished that I might die, for though the thought of death and
the dread hereafter made me tremble, it was preferable to the scorn and
contempt I should necessarily meet if I survived. Then came a reaction,
and when our angel mother glided so noiselessly around my sick room; when
you, darling Fanny, nursed me with so much care, and even father's voice
grew low and kind as he addressed me, my better nature, if I had any, was
touched, and I thought I would like to live for the sake of retrieving the
past. But the evil spirit which has haunted me from infancy whispered that
as soon as I was well all would be changed. You, Fanny, would hate me, and
father would treat me as he always had, only worse."

"Poor dear child! I didn't or'to do so, I know," said Uncle Joshua, and
Julia continued: "Then I thought how the world would loathe, and despise
and point at me, until I was almost maddened, and when Dr. Gordon said I
would live, the tempter whispered suicide; but I dared not do that. About
that time I heard rumors of a marriage which would take place as soon as I
was well; and Fanny will you forgive me? I tried to be sick as long as
possible for the sake of delaying your happiness."

A pressure of the hand was Fanny's only answer, and Julia proceeded: "I
could not see you married to him. I could not meet the world and its
censure, so I determined to go away. I had thirty dollars in my purse, of
which no one knew, and taking that I started, I knew not where. On
reaching the schoolhouse something impelled me to enter it, and I found
there a young girl about my own size. Under other circumstances I might
have been frightened, but now utterly fearless, I addressed her, and found
from her answers that she was crazy. A sudden idea entered my brain. I
would change clothes with her, and thus avoid discovery. She willingly
acceded to my proposition, and in my new attire I again started toward
Lexington, which I reached about four in the morning. I had no definite
idea as to where I wanted to go, but the sight of the Cincinnati stage
drawn up before the Phoenix determined me. I had purposely kept my own
bonnet and veil, as the maniac girl wore neither. Drawing the latter over
my face, I kept it there while securing my place in the coach, and until
we were many miles from the city. Passengers entered and left, and some
looked inquisitively at me and my slightly fantastic dress.

"We reached Cincinnati about ten in the morning, and with a long glad
breath I stepped from the coach, and felt that Kentucky and my notorious
character were behind. I stopped at the ---- Hotel, and the next two days
were spent in procuring myself a decent outfit. Each night I went to a
different house, for the sake of avoiding suspicion, and as my bills were
promptly paid, no questions were ever asked. At the D---- House I saw in a
paper an advertisement for a teacher in a school in one of the interior
towns. I had formed some such plan for the future, and instantly
determined personally to apply for the situation. I did so, but
credentials were required, and I had none to give. Somewhat weary of my
adventure I returned to Cincinnati, and in passing through one of the
streets, my eye caught the sign 'Fashionable Dressmaking and Millinery.' I
knew I had a taste for that, and I concluded to offer myself as an
apprentice."

Then she told how she had toiled on day after day with dim eye and aching
head for over a year in the unwholesome atmosphere of a crowded workshop
conducted by a slave-driving, inconsiderate woman named Miss Dillon, while
thoughts of home and remorse for the past preyed on her heart.

"But why did you not come back?" asked Fanny. "We would have received you
most gladly."

"I felt that I could not do that," said Julia. "I knew that you thought me
dead, and I fancied that father, at least, would feel relieved."

"Oh, child," groaned Uncle Joshua, "don't say so. I was mighty mean, I
know, but I never got to that."

After a moment Julia told them that she had had to deliver a party dress
to Florence Woodburn at Mr. Graham's house one evening and, while waiting
in the hall, had heard Florence read a letter from Nellie Stanton aloud to
Alice Graham. In the letter, Nellie said that Mrs. Middleton was not
expected to live and that Dr. Lacey and Fanny from New Orleans were with
her.

This news caused her to resign her position at Miss Dillon's and hurry
home. "I reached Lexington," said she, "about nine o'clock in the evening,
and as I thought my baggage might incommode me, I purposely left it there,
but hired a boy to bring me home. When we reached the gate at the entrance
of the woods I told him he could return, as I preferred going the
remainder of the way alone. He seemed surprised, but complied with my
request. I had never heard of the new house, and as I drew near I was
puzzled, and fancied I was wrong; but Tiger bounded forward, at first
angrily, then joyfully, and I knew I was right. All about the house was so
dark, so still, that a dreadful foreboding filled my heart--a fear that
mother might be dead. I remembered the little graveyard and instantly bent
my steps thither. I saw the costly marble and the carefully kept grave,
and a thrill of joy ran through my veins, for they told me I was kindly
remembered in the home I had so darkened. But another object riveted my
attention. It was a fresh mound, and I knew full well who rested there.
Never have I shed such tears of anguish as fell upon the sod which covers
my sainted mother. In the intensity of my grief I was not conscious of
Fanny's approach until she stood near me. The rest you know; and now,
father, will you receive to your home and affection one who has so widely
strayed?"

"Willin'ly, most willin'ly," said Uncle Joshua, as he folded her to his
bosom, "and if I had done as I or'to, a heap of this wouldn't have
happened. Oh, I didn't or'to do so, I didn't; and I ain't goin' to any
more. You shall live with me when Sunshine's gone; and we would be so
happy, if your poor mother could only see us and know it all."

From that time nothing could exceed Uncle Joshua's kindness to his
daughter. He seemed indeed trying to make up for the past, and frequently
he would whisper to himself, "No, I didn't or'to do so. I see more and
more that I didn't." Still his fondness for Fanny was undiminished, and
occasionally, after looking earnestly at both his children, he would
exclaim, "Hang me, if I don't b'lieve Sunshine is a heap the handsomest";
but if these words caused Julia any emotion, 'twas never betrayed.

From Julia's story there could be no doubt that the maniac girl was laid
in the grave which Uncle Joshua had thought belonged to his daughter. No
tidings of her had been heard, although one gentleman thought that he once
had met with a girl answering to her description in the stage coach
between Lexington and Cincinnati. All search in that quarter was
unavailing, and over her fate a dark mystery lay, until Julia suddenly
appeared and threw light on the matter. The afflicted father (for she had
no mother) was sent for, and when told where his child was laid, asked
permission to have her disinterred and taken to his family burial place.
His request was granted, the grave was opened, and then refilled and
leveled with the earth. The monument Julia took care to have carefully
preserved as a memento of the olden time.

As will be supposed, Julia's return furnished the neighborhood and
surrounding country with a topic of conversation for many weeks. At first
nearly all treated her with cool neglect, but as she kept entirely at
home, curiosity to see one who had, as it were, come back from the dead
triumphed over all other things; and at last all who came to see Fanny
asked also for her sister.

Among the few who at once hastened to give the penitent girl the hand of
friendship was Kate Miller; and as she marked her gentle manner and the
subdued glance of her still somewhat haughty eyes, she wound her arm about
her neck and whispered, "I shall in time learn to love you dearly for the
sake of more than one."

Julia comprehended her, or thought she did, and answered, "Oh, Mrs.
Miller, that one dreadful crime has troubled me more than all the rest. I
killed him, your noble brother, and from the moment I deliberately
determined to do so I became leagued with the tempter, who lured me madly
on. But I outdid myself, and was entangled in the snare my own hands had
laid."

"It is ever so," answered Kate. "Our most secret sins will in the end find
us out."

The reader is perhaps anxious to know whether back across the Atlantic,
Ashton brought his Spanish bride. Yes, he did. Mr. William Middleton
accompanied him to the house of Sir Arthur Effingham, whom they found to
be dying; his property was gone, and he feared that he must leave the
youthful Inez to the cold charities of the world and a miserly brother.
When Mr. Middleton made himself known, the dying man pointed to Inez, and
said, "You once loved the mother; care for the daughter when I am gone,
will you?"

"I will," answered Mr. Middleton, "on condition that you consent to having
a young friend of mine share the care with me." At the same time he
presented Ashton.

Sir Arthur recognized him immediately and answered, "Willingly, most
willingly. I was a fool to spurn you once as I did."

In a few hours Sir Arthur was dead, and Inez was an orphan. But her grief
was soothed by the presence of Ashton, who, a few days before sailing for
America, made her his wife. During the voyage Mr. Middleton informed
Ashton that as soon as he reached home he intended making his will, by
which he should bequeath his property to Inez. Said he, "I have spent so
many years of my life in India that I find the climate of New Orleans more
congenial to my feelings than a colder one would be, consequently I shall
purchase a house in that city, and as I look upon you and Inez as my
children, I shall insist upon your living with me if you have no
objection."

During the winter Fanny wrote frequently to her father urging him to visit
her; but this he declined doing, and early the following May, he stood one
evening impatiently awaiting the arrival of Ike, who had gone to Frankfort
with the expectation of meeting Fanny and her husband. Everything had been
put in readiness. The parlors and best chamber were opened and aired. The
carriage and carriage horses had been brushed up, a new saddle had been
bought for Fanny's pony, and a new dress for each of the black women, and
everything and everybody seemed expecting a joyful time.

As the carriage approached the house Uncle Joshua looked wistfully toward
it, trying to catch a glimpse of "Sunshine," whom he had not seen for
nearly a year and a half. But only the face of a little negro girl was
seen looking from the window, and Uncle Joshua exclaimed, "Now, what's
possessed them to fetch that yaller gal! I've got niggers enough to wait
on 'em."

But the "yaller gal" knew very well why she was there, and so ere long did
Uncle Joshua. The steps were let down, and there, blithesome and gay as
ever, Fanny sprang from the carriage and ran into the arms of her father,
who kissed her again and again, holding her off to look at her and then
again drawing her to him and saying, "You're handsomer than ever."

During this process the yellow girl, Rose, had brought from the carriage a
mysterious looking bundle of flannel and white cambric, which now in Dr.
Lacey's arms was crowing with delight as its little nurse bobbed up and
down, making at it all sorts of grimaces.

"What the ----, no, I forgot, I didn't mean so. But what--is--that!" said
Uncle Joshua, releasing Fanny and advancing toward Dr. Lacey, who proudly
placed in his arms a beautiful nine-month-old baby, saying, "We have
brought you a second Sunshine."

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