United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
“I ought to have told you before, I suppose. Don’t you remember the day
you had the sick headache, more than a week ago? Well, while you were
asleep, a man came to know if you’d let him into the cottage till
spring, as he was obliged to leave where he was, and could find no other
place. I did not wish to wake you, and as I knew you would not care, I
said yes on my own responsibility, and sent Bridget down to pack all
your things in the chamber, as he only wanted the lower rooms. She put
them away real carefully, Bridget did, for I’ve been myself to see,”
Rose added, quickly, as she saw the color mounting to Annie’s cheeks,
and feared she might be indignant at the liberty.
“And is he there?” Annie asked, conquering all emotion, and speaking in
her natural tone.
“Yes, he’s there,” Rose answered. “You are not angry, are you? He’s a
nice man, and so is his wife.”
“I am not angry,” Annie replied, “but more sorry than I can express,
though, had I been consulted, I should undoubtedly have done as you
did.”
“Oh, I’m so glad, for it has bothered me a heap, wondering what you’d
say!” Rose cried, throwing her arms around Annie’s neck. “And now you’ll
stay with us, for you see you have nowhere else to go; shan’t she,
mother?” and she appealed to Mrs. Carleton, who had just come in.
“Of course Mrs. Graham will stay” was Mrs. Carleton’s reply; for, during
the few days of her sojourn at Rockland, she had become greatly
interested in the sweet young Annie, and already foresaw the benefit she
would be to Rose, who needed some such influence to keep her in check.
Mrs. Carleton was proud, and at first her daughter’s growing intimacy
with the wife of a mechanic had given her pride a pang, but a closer
acquaintance had dispelled the foolish prejudice, for she saw in the
gentle Annie unmistakable marks of education and refinement, while she
was not insensible to the charm thrown round the beautiful stranger by
the lovely Christian character which shone so brightly now in the dark
hour of affliction. Coming nearer to her, and laying her hand in a
motherly way upon her pale brown hair, she said:
“We all want you, Mrs. Graham, and as Rose, by an act which I will admit
was too presuming, has virtually closed your own doors against you, I
see no alternative but for you to stay with us. Rose needs you, and as
she says, you may do Jimmie good, while _Tom_, if he ever comes, will be
glad to meet the wife of one in whom he was greatly interested.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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