[figure description] Page 150.[end figure description]

After Sally's marriage, there occurred at our house
an interval of quiet, enlivened occasionally by letters from
Cousin Emma, whose health was not as much improved
by her visit to the country as she had at first hoped it
would be; consequently, she proposed spending the winter
south. Meantime, from Boston letters came frequently
to Carrie Howard, and as the autumn advanced,
things within and about her father's house foretold some
unusual event. Two dress-makers were hired from the
village, and it was stated, on good authority, that among
Carrie's wardrobe was a white satin and an elegantly embroidered
merino traveling dress.

Numerous were the surmises of Juliet and Anna as
to who and how many would be invited to the wedding.
All misgivings concerning themselves were happily
brought to an end a week before the time, for there came
to our house handsome cards of invitation for Juliet and
Anna, and—I could scarcely believe my eyes—there was
one for me too. For this I was indebted to Aunt Eunice,
who had heard of and commiserated my misfortunes at
Sally's wedding.

I was sorry that my invitation came so soon, for I had
but little hope that the time would ever come. It did,
however, and so did Mr. Ashmore and Agnes. As soon
as dinner was over, I commenced my toilet, although the
wedding was not to take place until eight that evening;
but then I believed, as I do now, in being ready in season.
Oh, how slowly the hours passed, and at last in perfect
despair I watched my opportonity to set the clock

[figure description] Page 151.[end figure description]

forward when no one saw me. For this purpose I put the
footstool in a chair, and mounting, was about to move the
long hand, when—

But I always was the most unfortunate of mortals, so
'twas no wonder that at this point the chair slipped, the stool
slipped, and I slipped. I caught at the clock to save myself;
consequently both clock and I came to the floor with a terrible
crash. My first thought was for the hooks and eyes,
which, undoubtedly, were scattered with the fragments of
the clock, but fortunately every hook was in its place,
and only one eye was straightened. I draw a vail over
the scolding which I got, and the numerous threats that
I should stay at home.

As the clock was broken we had no means for judging
of the time, and thus we were among the first who arrived
at Capt. Howard's. This gave Juliet and Anna an
opportunity of telling Agnes of my mishap. She laughed
heartily, and then immediately changing the subject, she
inquired after Cousin Emma, and when we had heard
from her. After replying to these questions, Anna asked
Agnes about Penoyer, and when she had seen him.

“Don't mention it,” said Agnes, “but I have a suspicion
that he stopped yesterday at the depot when I did.
I may have been mistaken, for I was looking after my
baggage and only caught a glimpse of him. If it were
he, his presence bodes no good.”

“Have you told Carrie?” asked Juliet.

“No, I have not. She seems so nervous whenever he
is mentioned,” was Agnes' reply.

I thought of the obligations once referred to by Agnes,
and felt that I should breathe more freely when Carrie
really was married. Other guests now began to arrive, and
we who had fixed long enough before the looking glass,
repaired to the parlor below. Bill, who saw Sally married,

[figure description] Page 152.[end figure description]

had convinced me that the story of the broomstick was a
falsehood, so I was prepared for its absence, but I wondered
then, not more than I do now, why grown up people
should n't be whipped for telling untruths to children,
as well as children for telling untruths to grown up
people.

The parlor was now rapidly filling, and I was in great
danger of being thrust into the corner, where I could see
nothing, when Aunt Eunice very benevolently drew me
near her, saying, I should see, if no one else did. At last
Mr. Ashmore and Carrie came. Anna can tell you exactly
what she wore, but I cannot. I only know that
she looked most beautifully, though I have a vague recollection
of fancying that in the making of her dress,
the sleeves were forgotten entirely, and the neck very
nearly so.

The marriage ceremony commenced, and I listened
breathlessly, but this did not prevent me from hearing
some one enter the house by the kitchen door. Aunt
Eunice heard it, too, and when the minister began to say
something about Mrs. Ashmore, she arose and went out.
Something had just commenced, I think they called them
congratulations, when the crowd around the door began
to huddle together in order to make room for some person
to enter. I looked up and saw Penoyer, his glittering
teeth now partially disclosed, looking a very little
fiendish, I thought. Carrie saw him, too, and instantly
turned as white as the satin dress she wore, while Agnes,
who seemed to have some suspicion of his errand, exclaimed,
“impudent scoundrel!” at the same time advancing
forward, she laid her hand upon his arm.

He shook it off lightly, saying, “Pardonnez moi, ma
chere; I've no come to trouble you.” Then turning to

[figure description] Page 153.[end figure description]

Ashmore he said, pointing to Carrie, “She be your wife,
I take it?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Ashmore haughtily. “Have you
any objections? If so they have come too late.”

“Not von, not in the least, no sar,” said the Frenchman,
bowing nearly to the floor. “It give me one grand
plaisir; so now you will please settle von leetle bill I have
against her;” at the same time he drew from his pocket
a sheet of half-worn paper.

Carrie, who was leaning heavily against Mr. Ashmore,
instantly sprang forward and endeavored to snatch the
paper, saying half imploringly, “Don't, Penoyer, you
know my father will pay it.”

But Penoyer passed it to Mr. Ashmore, while Capt.
Howard, coming forward, said, “Pay what? What is all
this about!”

“Only a trifle,” said Penoyer; “just a bill for giving
your daughter musique lessons three years in Albany.”

“You give my daughter music lessons?” demanded
Capt. Howard.

“Oui, Monsieur, I do that same thing,” answered
Penoyer.

“Oh, Carrie, Carrie,” said Capt. Howard, in his surprise,
forgetting the time and place, “why did you tell
me that your knowledge of music you acquired yourself,
with the assistance of your cousin, and a little help from
her music teacher, and why, when this man was here a
few months ago, did you not tell me he was your music
teacher and had not been paid.”

Bursting into tears, Carrie answered, “Forgive me,
father, but he said he had no bill against me; he made no
charge.”

“But she gave me von big, large mitten,” said the
Frenchman, “when she see this man, who has more

[figure description] Page 154.[end figure description]

l'argent; but no difference, no difference, sar, this gentleman,”
bowing toward Ashmore, “parfaitement delighted
to pay it.”

Whether he were delighted or not, he did pay it, for
drawing from his pocket his purse, while his large black
eyes emitted gleams of fire, he counted out the required
amount, one hundred and twenty-five dollars; then confronting
Penoyer, he said, fiercely, “Give me a receipt for
this, instantly, after which I will take it upon me to show
you the door.”

“Certainement, certainement, all I want is my l'argent,”
said Penoyer.

The money was paid, the receipt given, and then, as
Penoyer hesitated a moment, Ashmore said, “Are you
waiting to be helped out, sir?”

“No, Monsieur, si vous plait, I have tree letters from
Madame, which will give you one grande satisfaction to
read.” Then tossing toward Ashmore the letters, with a
malicious smile he left the house.

Poor Carrie! When sure that he was gone, she fainted
away and was carried from the room. At supper, however,
she made her appearance, and after that was over,
the guests, unopposed, left en masse.

What effect Penoyer's disclosures had on Ashmore we
never exactly knew, but when, a few days before the
young couple left home, they called at our house, we all
fancied that Carrie was looking more thoughtful than usual,
while a cloud seemed to be resting on Ashmore's brow.
The week following their marriage they left for New
York, where they were going to reside. During the winter
Carrie wrote home frequently, giving accounts of the
many gay and fashionable parties which she attended, and
once in a letter to Anne she wrote, “The flattering

[figure description] Page 155.[end figure description]

attentions which I receive have more than once made Ashmore
jealous.”

Two years from the time they were married, Mrs. Ashmore
was brought back to her home, a pale faded invalid,
worn out by constant dissipation and the care of a
sickly baby, so poor and blue that even I couldn't bear to
touch it. Three days after their arrival Mr. Evelyn
brought to us his bride, Cousin Emma, blooming with
health and beauty. I could scarcely believe that the exceedingly
beautiful Mrs. Evelyn was the same white faced
girl, who, two years before, had sat with me beneath the
old grape-vine.

The day after she came, I went with her to visit Carrie,
who, the physicians said, was in a decline. I had not seen
her before since her return, and on entering the sick-room,
I was as much surprised at her haggard face, sunken eyes,
and sallow skin, as was Mr. Ashmore at the appearance
of Emma. “Is it possible,” said he, coming forward, “Is
it possible, Emma—Mrs. Evelyn, that you have entirely
recovered?”

I remembered what he had once said about “invalid
wives,” and I feared that the comparison he was evidently
making would not be very favorable toward Carrie. We
afterwards learned, however, that he was the kindest of
husbands, frequently walking half the night with his crying
baby, and at other times trying to soothe his nervous
wife, who was sometimes very irritable.

Before we left, Carrie drew Emma closely to her and
said, “They tell me I probably shall never get well, and
now, while I have time, I wish to ask your forgiveness for
the great wrong I once did you.”

“How? When?” asked Emma, quickly, and Carrie
continued: “When first I saw him who is my husband, I
determined to leave no means untried to secure him for

[figure description] Page 156.[end figure description]

myself; I knew you were engaged, but I fancied that
your ill health annoyed him, and I played my part well.
You know how I succeeded, but I am sure you forgive
me, for you love Mr. Evelyn quite as well, perhaps better.”

“Yes, far better,” was Emma's reply, as she kissed
Carrie's wan cheek; then bidding her good-by, she promised
to call frequently during her stay in town. She kept
her word, and was often accompanied by Mr. Evelyn,
who strove faithfully and successfully, too, to lead into
the path of peace, her whose days were well nigh ended.

'Twas on one of those bright days in the Indian summer
time, that Carrie at last slept the sleep that knows no
awakening. The evening after the burial, I went in at
Capt. Howard's, and all the animosity I had cherished for
Mr. Ashmore vanished, when I saw the large tear-drops,
as they fell on the face of his motherless babe, whose
wailing cries he endeavored in vain to hush. When the
first snow flakes came, they fell on a little mound, where
by the side of her mother Mr. Ashmore had laid his baby,
Emma.

And now, dear reader, after telling you that, yielding
to the importunities of Emma's parents, Mr. Evelyn, at
last moved to the city, where, if I mistake not, he is still
living, my story is finished. But do not, I pray you,
think that these few pages contain all that I know of the
olden time:

p598-162

Previous section

Next section