Erema; Or, My Father's SinBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
History
Erema; Or, My Father's Sin
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
California -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Fathers and daughters -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
“Then it seemed as if Heaven, to avenge his lordship, rained down
pestilence upon that house. A horrible disease, the worst I ever met,
broke out upon the little harmless dears, the pride of my heart and of
every body's eyes, for lovelier or better ones never came from heaven.
They was all gone to heaven in a fortnight and three days, and laid in
the church-yard at one another's side, with little beds of mould to the
measure of their stature, and their little carts and drums, as they made
me promise, ready for the judgment-day. Oh, my heart was broken, miss,
my heart was broken! I cried so, I thought I could never cry more.
“But when your dear mother, who knew nothing of all this (for we put all
their illness, by the doctor's orders, away at the further end of the
house), when she was a little better of grievous pain and misery (for
being so upset her time was hard), when she sat up on the pillow,
looking like a bride almost, except that she had what brides hasn't--a
little red thing in white flannel at her side--then she says to me, 'I
am ready, Betsy; it is high time for all of them to see their little
sister. They always love the baby so, whenever there is a new one. And
they are such men and women to it. They have been so good this time
that I have never heard them once. And I am sure that I can trust them,
Betsy, not to make the baby cry. I do so long to see the darlings. Now
do not even whisper to them not to make a noise. They are too good to
require it; and it would hurt their little feelings.'
“I had better have been shot, my dear, according as the old lord was,
than have the pain that went through all my heart, to see the mother so.
She sat up, leaning on one arm, with the hand of the other round your
little head, and her beautiful hair was come out of its loops, and the
color in her cheeks was like a shell. Past the fringe of the curtain,
and behind it too, her soft bright eyes were a-looking here and there
for the first to come in of her children. The Lord only knows what lies
I told her, so as to be satisfied without them. First I said they were
all gone for a walk; and then that the doctor had ordered them away; and
then that they had got the measles. That last she believed, because it
was worse than what I had said before of them; and she begged to see Dr.
Diggory about it, and I promised that she should as soon as he had done
his dinner. And then, with a little sigh, being very weak, she went down
into her nest again, with only you to keep her company.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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