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Chapter 15 – Midsummer

Louisa May AlcottNov 05, 2016'Command+D' Bookmark this page

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"NOW it is all over. I shall never have another chance like that,
and must make up my mind to be a lonely and laborious spinster all
my life. Youth is going fast, and I have little in myself to attract
or win, though David did call me ‘good and lovely.’ Ah, well, I’ll
try to deserve his praise, and not let disappointment sour or sadden
me. Better to hope and wait all my life than marry without love."

Christie often said this to herself during the hard days that
followed Mr. Fletcher’s disappearance; a disappearance, by the way,
which caused Mr. Power much satisfaction, though he only betrayed it
by added kindness to Christie, and in his manner an increased
respect very comforting to her.

But she missed her lover, for nothing now broke up the monotony of a
useful life. She had enjoyed that little episode; for it had lent
romance to every thing while it lasted, even the charity basket with
which she went her rounds; for Mr. Fletcher often met her by
accident apparently, and carried it as if to prove the sincerity of
his devotion. No bouquets came now; no graceful little notes with
books or invitations to some coveted pleasure; no dangerously
delightful evenings in the recess, where, for a time, she felt and
used the power which to a woman is so full of subtle satisfaction;
no bitter-sweet hopes; no exciting dreams of what might be with the
utterance of a word; no soft uncertainty to give a charm to every
hour that passed. Nothing but daily duties, a little leisure that
hung heavy on her hands with no hope to stimulate, no lover to
lighten it, and a sore, sad heart that would clamor for its right;
and even when pride silenced it ached on with the dull pain which
only time and patience have the power to heal.

But as those weeks went slowly by, she began to discover some of the
miracles true love can work. She thought she had laid it in its
grave; but an angel rolled the stone away, and the lost passion rose
stronger, purer, and more beautiful than when she buried it with
bitter tears. A spirit now, fed by no hope, warmed by no tenderness,
clothed in no fond delusion; the vital soul of love which outlives
the fairest, noblest form humanity can give it, and sits among the
ruins singing the immortal hymn of consolation the Great Musician
taught.

Christie felt this strange comfort resting like a baby in her lonely
bosom, cherished and blessed it; wondering while she rejoiced, and
soon perceiving with the swift instinct of a woman, that this was a
lesson, hard to learn, but infinitely precious, helpful, and
sustaining when once gained. She was not happy, only patient; not
hopeful, but trusting; and when life looked dark and barren without,
she went away into that inner world of deep feeling, high thought,
and earnest aspiration; which is a never-failing refuge to those
whose experience has built within them

"The nunnery of a chaste heart and quiet mind."

Some women live fast; and Christie fought her battle, won her
victory, and found peace declared during that winter: for her
loyalty to love brought its own reward in time, giving her the
tranquil steadfastness which comes to those who submit and ask
nothing but fortitude.

She had seen little of David, except at church, and began to regard
him almost as one might a statue on a tomb, the marble effigy of the
beloved dead below; for the sweet old friendship was only a pale
shadow now. He always found her out, gave her the posy she best
liked, said cheerfully, "How goes it, Christie?" and she always
answered, "Good-morning, David. I am well and busy, thank you." Then
they sat together listening to Mr. Power, sung from the same book,
walked a little way together, and parted for another week with a
hand-shake for good-by.

Christie often wondered what prayers David prayed when he sat so
still with his face hidden by his hand, and looked up with such a
clear and steady look when he had done. She tried to do the same;
but her thoughts would wander to the motionless gray figure beside
her, and she felt as if peace and strength unconsciously flowed from
it to sustain and comfort her. Some of her happiest moments were
those she spent sitting there, pale and silent, with absent eyes,
and lips that trembled now and then, hidden by the flowers held
before them, kissed covertly, and kept like relics long after they
were dead.

One bitter drop always marred the pleasure of that hour; for when
she had asked for Mrs. Sterling, and sent her love, she forced
herself to say kindly:

"And Kitty, is she doing well?"

"Capitally; come and see how she has improved; we are quite proud of
her."

"I will if I can find time. It’s a hard winter and we have so much
to do," she would answer smiling, and then go home to struggle back
into the patient mood she tried to make habitual.

But she seldom made time to go and see Kitty’s improvement; and,
when she did run out for an hour she failed to discover any thing,
except that the girl was prettier and more coquettish than ever, and
assumed airs of superiority that tried Christie very much.

"I am ready for any thing," she always said with a resolute air
after one of these visits; but, when the time seemed to have come
she was not so ready as she fancied.

Passing out of a store one day, she saw Kitty all in her best,
buying white gloves with a most important air. "That looks
suspicious," she thought, and could not resist speaking.

"All well at home?" she asked.

"Grandma and I have been alone for nearly a week; David went off on
business; but he’s back now and – oh, my goodness! I forgot: I’m not
to tell a soul yet;" and Kitty pursed up her lips, looking quite
oppressed with some great secret.

"Bless me, how mysterious! Well, I won’t ask any dangerous
questions, only tell me if the dear old lady is well," said
Christie, desperately curious, but too proud to show it.

"She’s well, but dreadfully upset by what’s happened; well she may
be." And Kitty shook her head with a look of mingled mystery and
malicious merriment.

"Mr. Sterling is all right I hope?" Christie never called him David
to Kitty; so that impertinent little person took especial pains to
speak familiarly, sometimes even fondly of him to Christie.

"Dear fellow! he’s so happy he don’t know what to do with himself. I
just wish you could see him go round smiling, and singing, and
looking as if he’d like to dance."

"That looks as if he was going to get a chance to do it," said
Christie, with a glance at the gloves, as Kitty turned from the
counter.

"So he is!" laughed Kitty, patting the little parcel with a joyful
face.

"I do believe you are going to be married:" exclaimed Christie, half
distracted with curiosity.

"I am, but not to Miles. Now don’t you say another word, for I’m
dying to tell, and I promised I wouldn’t. David wants to do it
himself. By-by." And Kitty hurried away, leaving Christie as pale as
if she had seen a ghost at noonday.

She had; for the thought of David’s marrying Kitty had haunted her
all those months, and now she was quite sure the blow had come.

"If she was only a nobler woman I could bear it better; but I am
sure he will regret it when the first illusion is past. I fancy she
reminds him of his lost Letty, and so he thinks he loves her. I pray
he may be happy, and I hope it will be over soon," thought Christie,
with a groan, as she trudged away to carry comfort to those whose
woes could be relieved by tea and sugar, flannel petticoats, and
orders for a ton of coal.

It was over soon, but not as Christie had expected.

That evening Mr. Power was called away, and she sat alone, bravely
trying to forget suspense and grief in copying the record of her
last month’s labor. But she made sad work of it; for her mind was
full of David and his wife, so happy in the little home which had
grown doubly dear to her since she left it. No wonder then that she
put down "two dozen children" to Mrs. Flanagan, and "four knit
hoods" with the measles; or that a great blot fell upon "twenty
yards red flannel," as the pen dropped from the hands she clasped
together; saying with all the fervor of true self-abnegation: "I
hope he will be happy; oh, I hope he will be happy!"

If ever woman deserved reward for patient endeavor, hard-won
submission, and unselfish love, Christie did then. And she received
it in full measure; for the dear Lord requites some faithful hearts,
blesses some lives that seem set apart for silent pain and solitary
labor.

Snow was falling fast, and a bitter wind moaned without; the house
was very still, and nothing stirred in the room but the flames
dancing on the hearth, and the thin hand moving to and fro among the
records of a useful life.

Suddenly the bell rang loudly and repeatedly, as if the new-comer
was impatient of delay. Christie paused to listen. It was not Mr.
Power’s ring, not his voice in the hall below, not his step that
came leaping up the stairs, nor his hand that threw wide the door.
She knew them all, and her heart stood still an instant; then she
gathered up her strength, said low to herself, "Now it is coming,"
and was ready for the truth, with a colorless face; eyes unnaturally
bright and fixed; and one hand on her breast, as if to hold in check
the rebellious heart that would throb so fast.

It was David who came in with such impetuosity. Snow-flakes shone in
his hair; the glow of the keen wind was on his cheek, a smile on his
lips, and in his eyes an expression she had never seen before.
Happiness, touched with the shadow of some past pain; doubt and
desire; gratitude and love, – all seemed to meet and mingle in it;
while, about the whole man, was the free and ardent air of one
relieved from some heavy burden, released from some long captivity.

"O David, what is it?" cried Christie, as he stood looking at her
with this strange look.

"News, Christie! such happy news I can’t find words to tell them,"
he answered, coming nearer, but too absorbed in his own emotion to
heed hers.

She drew a long breath and pressed her hand a little heavier on her
breast, as she said, with the ghost of a smile, more pathetic than
the saddest tears:

"I guess it, David."

"How?" he demanded, as if defrauded of a joy he had set his heart
upon.

"I met Kitty, – she told me nothing, – but her face betrayed what I
have long suspected."

David laughed, such a glad yet scornful laugh, and, snatching a
little miniature from his pocket, offered it, saying, with the new
impetuosity that changed him so:

"That is the daughter I have found for my mother. You know her, – you
love her; and you will not be ashamed to welcome her, I think."

Christie took it; saw a faded, time-worn likeness of a young girl’s
happy face; a face strangely familiar, yet, for a moment, she groped
to find the name belonging to it. Then memory helped her; and she
said, half incredulously, half joyfully:

"Is it my Rachel?"

"It is my Letty!" cried David, with an accent of such mingled love
and sorrow, remorse and joy, that Christie seemed to hear in it the
death-knell of her faith in him. The picture fell from the hands she
put up, as if to ward off some heavy blow, and her voice was sharp
with reproachful anguish, as she cried:

"O David, David, any thing but that!"

An instant he seemed bewildered, then the meaning of the grief in
her face flashed on him, and his own grew white with indignant
repudiation of the thought that daunted her; but he only said with
the stern brevity of truth:

"Letty is my sister."

"Forgive me, – how could I know? Oh, thank God! thank God!" and,
dropping down upon a chair, Christie broke into a passion of the
happiest tears she ever shed.

David stood beside her silent, till tie first irrepressible paroxysm
was over; then, while she sat weeping softly, quite bowed down by
emotion, he said, sadly now, not sternly:

"You could not know, because we hid the truth so carefully. I have
no right to resent that belief of yours, for I did wrong my poor
Letty, almost as much as that lover of hers, who, being dead, I do
not curse. Let me tell you every thing, Christie, before I ask your
respect and confidence again. I never deserved them, but I tried to;
for they were very precious to me."

He paused a moment, then went on rapidly, as if anxious to
accomplish a hard task; and Christie forgot to weep while listening
breathlessly.

"Letty was the pride of my heart; and I loved her very dearly, for
she was all I had. Such a pretty child; such a gay, sweet girl; how
could I help it, when she was so fond of me? We were poor
then, – poorer than now, – and she grew restless; tired of hard work;
longed for a little pleasure, and could not bear to waste her youth
and beauty in that dull town. I did not blame my little girl; but I
could not help her, for I was tugging away to fill father’s place,
he being broken down and helpless. She wanted to go away and support
herself. You know the feeling; and I need not tell you how the
proud, high-hearted creature hated dependence, even on a brother who
would have worked his soul out for her. She would go, and we had
faith in her. For a time she did bravely; but life was too hard for
her; pleasure too alluring, and, when temptation came in the guise
of love, she could not resist. One dreadful day, news came that she
was gone, never to come back, my innocent little Letty, any more."

His voice failed there, and he walked fast through the room, as if
the memory of that bitter day was still unbearable. Christie could
not speak for very pity; and he soon continued, pacing restlessly
before her, as he had often done when she sat by, wondering what
unquiet spirit drove him to and fro:

"That was the beginning of my trouble; but not the worst of it: God
forgive me, not the worst! Father was very feeble, and the shock
killed him; mother’s heart was nearly broken, and all the happiness
was taken out of life for me. But I could bear it, heavy as the blow
was, for I had no part in that sin and sorrow. A year later, there
came a letter from Letty, – a penitent, imploring, little letter,
asking to be forgiven and taken home, for her lover was dead, and
she alone in a foreign land. How would you answer such a letter,
Christie?"

"As you did; saying: ‘Corne home and let us comfort you.’"

"I said: ‘You have killed your father; broken your mother’s heart;
ruined your brother’s hopes, and disgraced your family. You no
longer have a home with us; and we never want to see your face
again.’"

"O David, that was cruel!"

"I said you did not know me; now you see how deceived you have been.
A stern, resentful devil possessed me then, and I obeyed it. I was
very proud; full of ambitious plans and jealous love for the few I
took into my heart. Letty had brought a stain upon our honest name
that time could never wash away; had quenched my hopes in despair
and shame; had made home desolate, and destroyed my faith in every
thing; for whom could I trust, when she, the nearest and dearest
creature in the world, deceived and deserted me. I could not
forgive; wrath burned hot within me, and the desire for retribution
would not be appeased till those cruel words were said. The
retribution and remorse came swift and sure; but they came most
heavily to me."

Still standing where he had paused abruptly as he asked his
question, David wrung his strong hands together with a gesture of
passionate regret, while his face grew sharp with the remembered
suffering of the years he had given to the atonement of that wrong.

Christie put her own hand on those clenched ones, and whispered
softly:

"Don’t tell me any more now: I can wait."

"I must, and you must listen! I’ve longed to tell you, but I was
afraid; now, you shall know every thing, and then decide if you can
forgive me for Letty’s sake," he said, so resolutely that she
listened with a face full of mute compassion.

"That little letter came to me; I never told my mother, but answered
it, and kept silent till news arrived that the ship in which Letty
had taken passage was lost. Remorse had been tugging at my heart;
and, when I knew that she was dead, I forgave her with a vain
forgiveness, and mourned for my darling, as if she had never left
me. I told my mother then, and she did not utter one reproach; but
age seemed to fall upon her all at once, and the pathetic quietude
you see.

"Then, but for her, I should have been desperate; for day and night
Letty’s face haunted me; Letty’s voice cried: ‘Take me home!’ and
every word of that imploring letter burned before my eyes as if
written in fire. Do you wonder now that I hid myself; that I had no
heart to try for any honorable place in the world, and only
struggled to forget, only hoped to expiate my sin?"

With his head bowed down upon his breast, David stood silent, asking
himself if he had even now done enough to win the reward he coveted.
Christie’s voice seemed to answer him; for she said, with heartfelt
gratitude and respect:

"Surely you have atoned for that harshness to one woman by years of
devotion to many. Was it this that made you ‘a brother of girls,’ as
Mr. Power once called you? And, when I asked what he meant, he said
the Arabs call a man that who has ‘a clean heart to love all women
as his sisters, and strength and courage to fight for their
protection!’"

She hoped to lighten his trouble a little, and spoke with a smile
that was like cordial to poor David.

"Yes," he said, lifting his head again. "I tried to be that, and,
for Letty’s sake, had pity on the most forlorn, patience with the
most abandoned; always remembering that she might have been what
they were, if death had not been more merciful than I."

"But she was not dead: she was alive and working as bravely as you.
Ah, how little I thought, when I loved Rachel, and she loved me,
that we should ever meet so happily as we soon shall. Tell me how
you found her? Does she know I am the woman she once saved? Tell me
all about her; and tell it fast," prayed Christie, getting excited,
as she more fully grasped the happy fact that Rachel and Letty were
one.

David came nearer, and his face kindled as he spoke. "The ship
sailed without her; she came later; and, finding that her name was
among the lost, she did not deny it, for she was dead to us, and
decided to remain so till she had earned the right to be forgiven.
You know how she lived and worked, stood firm with no one to
befriend her till you came, and, by years of patient well-doing,
washed away her single sin. If any one dares think I am ashamed to
own her now, let him know what cause I have to be proud of her; let
him come and see how tenderly I love her; how devoutly I thank God
for permitting me to find and bring my little Letty home."

Only the snow-flakes drifting against the window-pane, and the
wailing of the wind, was heard for a moment; then David added, with
brightening eyes and a glad voice:

"I went into a hospital while away, to look after one of my poor
girls who had been doing well till illness brought her there. As I
was passing out I saw a sleeping face, and stopped involuntarily: it
was so like Letty’s. I never doubted she was dead; the name over the
bed was not hers; the face was sadly altered from the happy, rosy
one I knew, but it held me fast; and as I paused the eyes
opened, – Letty’s own soft eyes, – they saw me, and, as if I was the
figure of a dream, she smiled, put up her arms and said, just as she
used to say, a child, when I woke her in her little bed – ‘Why,
Davy!’ – I can’t tell any more, – only that when I brought her home
and put her in mother’s arms, I felt as if I was forgiven at last."

He broke down there, and went and stood behind the window curtains,
letting no one see the grateful tears that washed away the
bitterness of those long years.

Christie had taken up the miniature and was looking at it, while her
heart sang for joy that the lost was found, when David came back to
her, wearing the same look she had seen the night she listened among
the cloaks. Moved and happy, with eager eyes and ardent manner, yet
behind it all a pale expectancy as if some great crisis was at hand:

"Christie, I never can forget that when all others, even I, cast
Letty off, you comforted and saved her. What can I do to thank you
for it?"

"Be my friend, and let me be hers again," she answered, too deeply
moved to think of any private hope or pain.

"Then the past, now that you know it all, does not change your heart
to us?"

"It only makes you dearer."

"And if I asked you to come back to the home that has been desolate
since you went, would you come?"

"Gladly, David."

"And if I dared to say I loved you?"

She only looked at him with a quick rising light and warmth over her
whole face; he stretched both arms to her, and, going to him,
Christie gave her answer silently.

Lovers usually ascend straight into the seventh heaven for a time:
unfortunately they cannot stay long; the air is too rarefied, the
light too brilliant, the fare too ethereal, and they are forced to
come down to mundane things, as larks drop from heaven’s gate into
their grassy nests. David was summoned from that blissful region,
after a brief enjoyment of its divine delights, by Christie, who
looked up from her new refuge with the abrupt question:

"What becomes of Kitty?"

He regarded her with a dazed expression for an instant, for she had
been speaking the delightful language of lips and eyes that lovers
use, and the old tongue sounded harsh to him.

"She is safe with her father, and is to marry the ‘other one’ next
week."

"Heaven be praised!" ejaculated Christie, so fervently that David
looked suddenly enlightened and much amused, as he said quickly:
"What becomes of Fletcher?" "He’s safely out of the way, and I
sincerely hope he will marry some ‘other one’ as soon as possible."
"Christie, you were jealous of that girl." "David, you were jealous
of that man." Then they both burst out laughing like two children,
for heavy burdens had been lifted off their hearts and they were
bubbling over with happiness.

"But truly, David, weren’t you a little jealous of P. F.?" persisted
Christie, feeling an intense desire to ask all manner of harassing
questions, with the agreeable certainty that they would be fully
answered.

"Desperately jealous. You were so kind, so gay, so altogether
charming when with him, that I could not stand by and see it, so I
kept away. Why were you never so to me?"

"Because you never showed that you cared for me, and he did. But it
was wrong in me to do it, and I repent of it heartily; for it hurt
him more than I thought it would when the experiment failed. I truly
tried to love him, but I couldn’t."

"Yet he had so much to offer, and could give you all you most enjoy.
It is very singular that you failed to care for him, and preferred a
poor old fellow like me," said David, beaming at her like a
beatified man.

"I do love luxury and pleasure, but I love independence more. I’m
happier poking in the dirt with you than I should be driving in a
fine carriage with ‘that piece of elegance’ as Mr. Power called him;
prouder of being your wife than his; and none of the costly things
he offered me were half so precious in my sight as your little
nosegays, now mouldering away in my treasure-box upstairs. Why,
Davy, I’ve longed more intensely for the right to push up the curly
lock that is always tumbling into your eyes, than for Philip’s whole
fortune. May I do it now?"

"You may," and Christie did it with a tender satisfaction that made
David love her the more, though he laughed like a boy at the womanly
whim.

"And so you thought I cared for Kitty?" he said presently, taking
his turn at the new game.

"How could I help it when she was so young and pretty and fond of
you?"

"Was she?" innocently.

"Didn’t you see it? How blind men are!"

"Not always."

"David, did you see that I cared for you?" asked Christie, turning
crimson under the significant glance he gave her.

"I wish I had; I confess I once or twice fancied that I caught
glimpses of bliss round the corner, as it were; but, before I could
decide, the glimpses vanished, and I was very sure I was a conceited
coxcomb to think it for a moment. It was very hard, and yet I was
glad."

"Glad!"

"Yes, because I had made a sort of vow that I’d never love or marry
as a punishment for my cruelty to Letty."

"That was wrong, David."

"I see it now; but it was not hard to keep that foolish vow till you
came; and you see I’ve broken it without a shadow of regret
to-night."

"You might have done it months ago and saved me so much woe if you
had not been a dear, modest, morbidly conscientious bat," sighed
Christie, pleased and proud to learn her power, yet sorry for the
long delay.

"Thank you, love. You see I didn’t find out why I liked my friend so
well till I lost her. I had just begun to feel that you were very
dear, – for after the birthday you were like an angel in the house,
Christie, – when you changed all at once, and I thought you suspected
me, and didn’t like it. Your running away when Kitty came confirmed
my fear; then in came that – would you mind if I said – confounded
Fletcher?"

"Not in the least."

"Well, as he didn’t win, I won’t be hard on him; but I gave up then
and had a tough time of it; especially that first night when this
splendid lover appeared and received such a kind welcome."

Christie saw the strong hand that lay on David’s knee clenched
slowly, as he knit his brows with a grim look, plainly showing that
he was not what she was inclined to think him, a perfect saint.

"Oh, my heart! and there I was loving you so dearly all the time,
and you wouldn’t see or speak or understand, but went away, left me
to torment all three of us," cried Christie with a tragic gesture.

"My dearest girl, did you ever know a man in love do, say, or think
the right thing at the right time? I never did," said David, so
penitently that she forgave him on the spot.

"Never mind, dear. It has taught us the worth of love, and perhaps
we are the better for the seeming waste of precious time. Now I’ve
not only got you but Letty also, and your mother is mine in very
truth. Ah, how rich I am!"

"But I thought it was all over with me when I found Letty, because,
seeing no more of Fletcher, I had begun to hope again, and when she
came back to me I knew my home must be hers, yet feared you would
refuse to share it if you knew all. You are very proud, and the
purest-hearted woman I ever knew."

"And if I had refused, you would have let me go and held fast to
Letty?"

"Yes, for I owe her every thing."

"You should have known me better, David. But I don’t refuse, and
there is no need to choose between us."

"No, thank heaven, and you, my Christie! Imagine what I felt when
Letty told me all you had been to her. If any thing could make me
love you more than I now do, it would be that! No, don’t hide your
face; I like to see it blush and smile and turn to me confidingly,
as it has not done all these long months."

"Did Letty tell you what she had done for me?" asked Christie,
looking more like a rose than ever Kitty did.

"She told me every thing, and wished me to tell you all her story,
even the saddest part of it. I’d better do it now before you meet
again."

He paused as if the tale was hard to tell; but Christie put her hand
on his lips saying softly:

"Never tell it; let her past be as sacred as if she were dead. She
was my friend when I had no other: she is my dear sister now, and
nothing can ever change the love between us."

If she had thought David’s face beautiful with gratitude when he
told the happier portions of that history, she found it doubly so
when she spared him the recital of its darkest chapter, and bade him
"leave the rest to silence."

"Now you will come home? Mother wants you, Letty longs for you, and
I have got and mean to keep you all my life, God willing!"

"I’d better die to-night and make a blessed end, for so much
happiness is hardly possible in a world of woe," answered Christie
to that fervent invitation.

"We shall be married very soon, take a wedding trip to any part of
the world you like, and our honeymoon will last for ever, Mrs.
Sterling, Jr.," said David, soaring away into the future with
sublime disregard of obstacles.

Before Christie could get her breath after that somewhat startling
announcement, Mr. Power appeared, took in the situation at a glance,
gave them a smile that was a benediction, and said heartily as he
offered a hand to each:

"Now I’m satisfied; I’ve watched and waited patiently, and after
many tribulations you have found each other in good time;" then with
a meaning look at Christie he added slyly: "But David is ‘no hero’
you know."

She remembered the chat in the strawberry bed, laughed, and colored
brightly, as she answered with her hand trustfully in David’s, her
eyes full of loving pride and reverence lifted to his face:

"I’ve seen both sides of the medal now, and found it ‘sterling
gold.’ Hero or not I’m content; for, though he ‘loves his mother
much,’ there is room in his heart for me too; his ‘old books’ have
given him something better than learning, and he has convinced me
that ‘double flowers’ are loveliest and best."

 

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