USA > California > A picture of pioneer times in California, illustrated with anecdotes and stores taken from real life > Part 37
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CHAPTER XV.
FROM THE THEATER-THE JOYFUL MEETING.
When Captain Casserly left Ada, his plan about the matter was to watch for Edmund's return with the lady from the theater, and tell them of the reception they were likely to meet with, and in this way " help Allen out of the scrape," as he said. The night was cold and raw, and the Captain, moreover, felt a little extra liberal, as he had Ada's three twenties in his pocket, so he invited the driver of the carriage to go with him to a saloon near at hand, in Washington street, and have a hot whisky punch. The driver, of course, accepted, and, fastening his horses near the corner of the street, accompanied the Captain, declaring that it was "just in his hand, for he was so very cold." While they were seated in the saloon enjoying themselves, time passed quickly, so that the Captain was surprised when he looked at his watch to find how late it was.
" Why," he exclaimed, " the theater is out; I must be off. You stay at the corner here until I see you again."
He walked rapidly in the direction of the cottage. As he drew near, he saw a gentleman and lady ahead of him.
" Ah," said he, " I am just in time." And, quickening his pace, he overtook them as they were passing through the little cottage gate. The gentleman had just taken out the night pass-key from his pocket, and was reaching out to put it in the lock, when he felt the Captain's hand on his shoulder, who said, as he pressed his hand hard:
" Mr. Allen, before you go in let me speak to you."
The escort of the lady turned quickly round in astonishment, saying, in broken English:
" I no Mr. Allaine, I Monsieur Bellemere."
" Why, Bellemere! is this you, and this Madam Bellemere with you! and you have been to the theater! and you live here with Mr. Allen!" said Captain Casserly, in a quick, excited tone,
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as he took in the whole position of matters for the first time. " I see it, I see it all now."
" Certain ! Certain !" vociferated the little Frenchman; " Mr. Allaine one very good man ; one very generous man ; me and Madam take care of Mr. Allaine."
Just as the Captain was about to ask another question, they were all startled by a loud, excited cry in the cottage. Captain Casserly snatched the night key from the hand of the French- man, and all three made a rush for the door.
As Ada, as we have described, stood erect in the little front parlor of the cottage, unable to move or speak, the key she heard in the front door did its work, and Edmund, as she knew it was, entered. But he stopped in the hall to take off his overcoat and change his boots. The colored boy ran towards him in excite- ment, but before he had time to speak, Edmund asked:
" Is the Madam in ?"
He asked this question while he was trying to get off a tight boot. The boy's answer was:
" There is a lady in the parlor, sir."
Edmund did not notice that the boy said a lady; he thought he said the lady, and was in too bad spirits, and in too much pain with his boot to notice the boy's excited manner; so he con- tinued:
" Here, boy, put your foot on the toe of this boot until I pull it off. Oh, is that the best you can do ? Just get out my way; I will manage it myself."
Then, as Edmund worked on with the boots, he spoke aloud: " Oh, Madam Bellemere, pity me. I have not heard a word by this steamer from my darling wife. I have been down there at the postoffice standing for over three hours, in the cold and mud, waiting for my turn, expecting to be repaid by a letter from my beloved wife, but not a line did I get; and what is strange, I did not hear either from my partners. All I got was some invoices of goods and a line from my brother-in-law's clerk. What I fear is, that my precious wife is sick and could not write, and that all the others are afraid to write and tell me of it. Yes, she must be sick, if the letters are not lost ; that is my only hope, that the letters are lost. There is one thing I am deter- mined on; this separation must end. I will not, I cannot endure it any longer. I will go home by the next steamer. Madam, where is Monsieur, your husband ? I thought you went to the
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theater with him to-night ? I will not wear these tight boots any more."
Then, as he hung up his hat, he bent his head forward as if in deep thought, and continued to speak, in a lower voice, as if for himself alone:
" My sweet, darling Ada! If you could see my heart to-night, and see how sorry and lonesome it is, you would fly to me if you had to come over that horrid field of floating ice we both saw in our dreams."
As he pronounced the last word, he was inside the parlor door, and, raising his head, he found himself face to face with Ada. Her eyes were on his with a piercing, searching light, but every lineament of his features, every expression of his counte- nance, told only of truth, purity and honor, dispelling every lin- gering shadow of doubt and flooding her heart with love and de- votion. The spell was broken, and, with a loud cry of joy, they flew into each other's arms.
The outside door is thrown open, and Captain Casserly, Mon- sieur and Madam Bellemere stand looking on, as Edmund takes the now fainting form of his wife to the sofa, where he sits back, supporting her in his arms. Captain Casserly remained per- fectly composed; he was evidently satisfied with the turn mat- ters had taken. Madam Bellemere seemed bewildered by the whole scene, until the Captain brought her to herself by telling her what to do for Ada. Then she was active and all attention.
Color and life soon began to appear in Ada, and the Captain, observing it, remarked: "A faint from joy is always short." Then, beckoning to the Bellemeres, he retired with them to the little dining room back of the parlor, explaining to them that the lady whose presence so astonished them was Mr. Allen's wife, just arrived from New York, and that it was just as well to leave her alone with her husband until she had completely recovered. The Bellemeres were delighted at the discovery that the " beautiful lady," as they called her, was their friend's wife, and expressed their joy in all sorts of extravagant ways.
Ada opened her eyes, and, seeing that she was supported in Edmund's arms and that they were alone, she reached out and drew down his head until her lips touched his ear, and whis- pered: " All the horrors, worse, far worse, than the ice-fields we saw in our dream, are passed forever, and I am safe in your arms, darling. Oh! speak to me, Edmund, and tell me that
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this is no cruel dream to deceive me-that it is all reality; for Dh, it seems too happy, too heavenly, to be all true!"
" It is all true-it is all reality, my darling, angel wife," said Edmund, as he clasped her fondly and kissed her; "and we must only thank the Almighty Giver of all good for this happi- ness. To-morrow you will explain all to me. I will not ask you a question to-night; but-but -- " and his voice trembled and he seemed for a moment to fear to speak.
Ada started and gazed anxiously in his face, and exclaimed: " But what, darling ? Speak, love; speak!"
" The children!" was all he said.
" Oh, you poor, dear darling," she said, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. "They are both safe asleep on the sofa in the back parlor. Come and see them."
In an instant he was kneeling by the sofa, lost to all around him, kissing the darling children over and over, while they slept on, all unconscious of his passionate caresses. He kissed their foreheads, their cheeks, their cherry lips; he raised their little hands and well remembered little feet, and pressed them to his lips, while tears stole down his cheeks.
Then Ada was there, leaning on his shoulder, enjoying the happy sight, smiling through her joyous tears, the first she had shed since she had told her father that " she would not shed another tear until she shed tears of joy by Edmund's side."
Then mother and father are both on their knees, leaning over the precious gifts before them, with bowed down heads and hearts overflowing with gratitude. Their whole thoughts are of God and His goodness.
As Edmund arose he recollected the Bellemeres and Captain Casserly. Calling them, he formally introduced Ada to Mon- sieur and Madam Bellemere, saying, in a complimentary way:
"I assure you, my dear wife, you are under great obliga- tions to Madam. She has made me so much more comfortable since she took charge of my cottage than I was before."
Ada received the little couple in the most charming man- ner, and thanked them for all their kind care of her dear husband.
" Oh," said the Madame, "your husband one very kind gen- tleman to us. He help us; he do much for us. Oh, yes, he gave us your own nice room, and take one not so good himself. We very glad you here to take your own room."
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' As she said this, the little Madam pointed to the room Ada had asked the colored boy about, receiving an answer that so frightened her.
Captain Casserly now arose to take his leave, and congratulated both Ada and Edmund in the warmest manner. Ada gave him her hand, and thanked him cordially for his kind attention to her, in which Edmund joined her most heartily.
As Captain Casserly regained the street, he stopped for a mo- ment, turned round, and, looking at the cottage, said, half aloud:
" Well, if there is a happier house on this side of the Rocky Mountains than that cottage is to-night, I would like to see it; for it would be a plant right straight from Heaven."
Then, walking on slowly, he continued to talk to himself, say- ing:
" Well, old Mother Bucket's mischief-making did not turn out so bad after all. Her ' over-dressed creature' turns out to be no other than poor little Madam Bellemere, who is with her hus- band teaching dancing in this good city, and sings in one of the churches on Sundays for a living."
Then, after a pause in thought, the Captain continued:
"Those Jersey fellows always boast of the beauty of their girls, and make fun of us New Yorkers about our girls; but they don't palm Mrs. Allen off on me for an average. No, no; to make a fair average she should have two of the ugliest girls in all New Jersey put with her, and then she would be a little over the average. Well, I can't help admiring beauty. It always bothers me when I come in sight of it. I suppose it is my con- founded Irish blood that is the cause of it. I was once in love with an angel in the Sixth ward, in New York. I was just nine- teen, and the girl was fifteen. She was as handsome as a pic- ture, and that was the reason Eugene and my poor mother packed me off to California, under the care of John McGlynn. Then I dreamed and built castles in the air, as I lay on the deck of the South Carolina, on the passage around Cape Horn. Yes; I was to return home to New York with bags and bags of gold, and was to purchase the Astor House for a private resi- dence, and have a wife just like this Mrs. Allen, but here I am in the second year of my California life, a police captain, under Chief Malachi Fallon. Well, I may strike it yet, who knows ? Three twenties is not so bad for an evening's work, after all."
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Poor George ! He felt sad at the outlook for himself ; but, as usual, was soon over it. He now stopped at the saloon in Washington street, took some more refreshments with the car- riage driver, then he jumped in the carriage and ordered himself driven to his lodging house. There he dismissed the driver, saying : " Tell Mallot to send the bill for the carriage to Allen, Wheeler & Co., to-morrow, and it will be paid."
CHAPTER XVI.
WAITING FOR LETTERS-MRS. BUCKET AGAIN.
On the arrival in New York of the return steamer from Cali- fornia, after Ada's arrival in San Francisco, there was a happy scene in Newark, worthy of notice. The day the steamer was ex- pected Edmund's father, mother and Alice were all at Mr. More- house's, and were to stay there until Alfred should bring them the California letters. About noon they were all seated around a lunch table, urging each other to eat, but no one making it a success, so nervously anxious were they all. From where they sat, they had a view of the walk from the front gate to the house. Suddenly they start, for the gate spring is heard to close with a bang. All eyes are on the walk ; and there, sure enough, comes Alfred, with a hurried, excited step. Alice alone seems able to move. She darted to the window, threw up the sash, but her voice failed her. Alfred, however, saw her, and understood her ; so, taking off his hat, he waved it over his head, and exclaimed : " All is right ; all is glorious !"
The closing of the scene can be imagined, but not described. After Mr. Morehouse regained composure, he exclaimed, while walking up and down the parlor in a joyous, excited way :
" I thought I was not mistaken in that boy of yours, Captain Allen. I have seldom been mistaken in character in my life. I thought I understood him perfectly the day he asked me for Ada's hand. I said to myself that day : 'Yes, you are a spar taken from the old mast ; you will do ; and so it proves, Captain Allen. Yes, so it proves, thank God.' "
After a little struggle with his feelings, the Captain com- manded his voice enough to say :
" I thank God, too, my friend, that you were not mistaken ; but how can we admire that daughter of yours enough ? She has proved herself a priceless treasure; for cool, unfaltering
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courage, and faithful love, she cannot be surpassed on earth, sir. That dear girl is fit to command a ship in a storm. Yes, sir ; I would trust her with the best ship that ever left port in a typhoon, off Cape of Good Hope, and my life for it, she would take her through in safety."
Mr. Morehouse now laughed heartily at the Captain's enthus- iasm, while he slyly wiped away tears of gratitude and joy he did not want any one to see. Ada's letter to Alice was full and minute, and Alfred read it aloud, being the only one who could com- mand his voice on this occasion. The next day Mr. Morehouse handed a check to his wife of a thousand dollars, telling her to make as many poor people as possible happy with it; " for," said he, " we must do as we have been done by."
Then Captain Allen and Alfred followed this good man's ex- ample; and gave Alice a thousand more for the same object ; so the good news that steamer brought from California made many hearts happy."
The little bright-eyed " California grass widow," who was such an unbeliever in Mrs. Bucket's onslaught on the married men of San Francisco, heard the good news that came to the Morehouses with great satisfaction. She contrived to throw herself in Mrs. Bucket's way, and, going up to her in an animated and friendly way, took her hand and exclaimed: "My dear Mrs. Bucket, I am so glad to have met you ; for I know you will be so delighted to hear that all that scandal about Edmund Allen was utterly false. It turns out that the ' over-dressed creature' you de- scribed so exactly, and were so intimately acquainted with, was no other than a highly respectable French lady, of the name of Bellemere. I believe she has a title, but I don't recollect it now ; who, with her husband, yes, with her husband, Mrs. Dr. Bucket, was living with Mr. Allen in his cottage, until such time as his wife could go to California."
" Madam," said Mrs. Bucket, with quiet dignity, but looking much disconcerted, " I would have you to understand that I am not acquainted with any of the ' over-dressed creatures ' that in- fest San Francisco." She was going to say something more, when the little widow ran on :
" Oh, I don't mean to say, exactly, that you said you were ac- quainted personally, you know, but the lady whom you used to stand out in the wind and rain to watch, after dark, you know. That lady, I say, proves to be a French lady of rank,
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and under the protection of the French Consul at San Fran- cisco. Now, don't look so angry at me, for I am your friend, and have sought this interview just to tell you that my husband writes me that it is rumored in San Francisco that the Consul, Monsieur Dillon, Mr. Allen, and the husband of this French lady, are only waiting for your return to California to commence a suit for slander against your good husband, the poor Doctor ; for the law, they say, makes him responsible for his wife's acts, and I wanted to suggest to you that you had better see Mr. More- house before you leave, and get him to beg you off."
Poor Mrs. Bucket turned very pale, but said not a word. The little widow saw she had her revenge, but, notwithstanding this, she had no mercy ; so she continued, by saying in a low, half confidential tone :
" Did the steamer bring you any news of the Doctor's sprained knee ? Had you not better hurry home? He may get out, you know."
Without waiting for an answer, the little widow was out of sight. It is quite certain that Mrs. Bucket called the next day on Mr. Morehouse to beg for mercy, and it may be owing to what he said to her that Mrs. Dr. Bucket was never again heard to allude to the immorality of married men in San Francisco ; though she never let an opportunity pass of giving "California grass widows " a cut. When she returned to San Francisco, Captain Casserly found a decided change in her propensities. All her detective talents were now directed to catching Chinese chicken thieves.
CHAPTER XVII.
A HOUSEKEEPER'S DIFFICULTIES-CONCLUSION.
A word more and our little history concludes. Edmund and Ada were now the happiest of the happy. A few days after Ada's arrival they gave a little entertainment to Edmund's friends. Ada was delighted with this specimen of San Francisco society, and wrote of it enthusiastically to her mother and Alice. Of course Ada had difficulties to encounter in her housekeeping, but Ada and Edmund laughed over these sometimes ludicrous troubles, and, from the way they both took them, you might imagine they enjoyed what would have put a lady housekeeping in the Eastern States into tears. Their great trouble was the almost impossibility of getting, or keeping for any length of time, hired girls. A great many good Irish and German girls came to California in those days to work out in families, hotels and boarding-houses, but they nearly all got married in a very short time after their arrival. Ada was often deserted by her hired girl with half a day's notice; that she wanted to get mar- ried the next day.
" Mary,"" she would say, " why did you not let me know this sooner ?"
" I did not know it myself, ma'am, until just before dinner; it was only then he asked me."
" Try and get him to put it off until next Sunday; that will be such a nice, convenient day to get married, you know, Mary," Ada said, in a half-confidential, coaxing way.
" I did, ma'am, but he said he ' can't wait.' "
When Edmund came home, Ada told him of this.
" Well, my dear," said he, " there is no help for it; it is the old story; so I will go to the hotels to-morrow, just after the steamer gets in, and I will find some girl just arrived."
" Yes, dear, do so, and I will not engage her unless she agrees to remain unmarried for three months, at least."
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" That is an excellent idea, my dear wife; let us try that plan."
The girl was found, and Ada made her bargain. Seventy-five dollars a month, and to remain unmarried three months. The girl worked on nicely until Sunday afternoon, when she asked Ada's permission to go and see a girl who had come out with her from the East, and who was living with a family in Saint Ann's Valley. Of course Ada did not refuse. The girl went, but never came back. The next day Edmund went to hunt for her, and found that she had been married the same Sunday evening she left them. On his return, Ada met him with:
" Did you find her, dear ?"
" Yes, dear, and it is another case of ' can't wait.' The hus- band says he will pay you any reasonable amount of damages."
So Ada's bargain ended, and they had a hearty laugh over the failure of her plan. It was well for Ada that her mother had made her a neat and elegant housekeeper, for she never found herself totally dependent on servants in any respect whatever. Under her directions, the roughest creature, in an emergency, could be made use of for a servant, and everything move smoothly and comfortably.
Mr. and Mrs. Morehouse had promised Ada a visit during the coming Summer, and Alfred had consented that Alice should accompany them. Business being flourishing, Edmund built a charming, commodious little house, amply large enough to ac- commodate their expected friends, and furnished it, with the help of Ada's exquisite taste. The location was high, and com- manded a magnificent view of the bay and city. There was on three sides of the cottage a wide porch or piazza, which added much to the beauty of the building, as well as to the pleasure of the inmates, particularly of the children, who were never tired of racing on it.
When they took possession of this beautiful residence, Ada had a house-warming party. She gave out sixty invitations, and nearly all who were invited came. It was enjoyed as a de- lightful evening by all. There were twenty-five ladies of intelli- gence and education in the company, twenty of whom were married, and all were young and mostly very handsome. The supper was sumptuous; the music was excellent, and dancing was kept up till a late hour. The first dance of the evening was
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opened by the Captain of the steamer in which Mrs. Allen had come to San Francisco leading that lady out for his partner. I was so fortunate as to have had an invitation to that party.
Two short years before, and scarce two of the company knew each other, or ever imagined they would see, or care to see, the Pacific coast. Now all were as familiar as if they had been play- mates in childhood, and all felt that they were Californians in heart and soul. Less than two years before, every one in that company had, in tears and sadness, left home, friends and all the dear surroundings of youth, to face dangers and privations, the extent of which they knew not of. Now it appeared as if, here in Ada's beautiful parlors, the loved scenes of the past had, as if by the stroke of a fairy's wand, come back to them, and that here in this land of gold they were on the eve of realizing the wildest dreams of fortune that had lured them from their far- off, early homes. So, with hearts relieved from every doubt or apprehension as to the future, they gave way to-night to gaiety sparkling with wit, and to unreserved merriment and joyous laughter, that rings yet in my ears. The recollection of that scene is as when sometimes a glorious sunbeam will burst on the path of youth or early manhood, so warm, bright and genial that it seems to reach on, on, through all after life; never wholly ob- scured by the darkest shadows that fortune may fling in your way. No; it seems somehow to come to your mind, when clouds are the darkest, and whispers of a home, a haven, beyond them all, where it will again burst out, amid glories unspeak- able.
The next day after this party, Ada walked with Edmund out on the porch, as he was leaving for his place of business, and, kissing him good-by, she remained to enjoy the view before her. The day was beautiful; the immense number of ships, decorated with the flags of all nations, at anchor in the bay, gave it a pecu- liarly picturesque appearance. The islands in the bay, the Con- tra Costa mountains, with the dark top of Mount Diablo in the distance, all came in to heighten the beauty of the scene and charm the beholder. As Ada looked, her bosom swelled with admiration and enthusiasm, and she could not help exclaiming : " Oh, California! California! I love you with all my heart. You shall always be my home-yes, and my last resting place. I will talk for you; I will work for you. Your friends shall be
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my friends. I love you, not for your gold, but for your majes- tic rivers, your magnificent bays, your grand old mountains and for your fertile, beautiful valleys, that will yet be covered with happy homes and teeming with population. Then will the whole Union be proud of you as a sister State-yes, proud of you for the intelligence, enterprise, skill and high moral bearing of your children; a thousand times more than for all you could ever bring them of riches and GOLD."
MINNIE WAGNER;
OR,
THE FORGED NOTE.
CHAPTER I.
A HAPPY BREAKFAST-ARRIVAL IN CALIFORNIA.
My readers will recollect that in our story of Ada Allen, we left our little heroine, Minnie Wagner, tired and weary from the great day's battle she had fought through so successfully and well, fast asleep in her little bed, a beautiful picture as she lay, that filled the mother's heart with maternal joy, that was almost pride. Yet, why is it, that when Minnie murmurs in her sleep : "Gold ! Walter, gold ! Where is it?" the mother starts, turns pale, trembles, and now kneels and prays to God, with flowing tears, to guard her child? The mother could not an- swer this question, clearly, herself, for it is an undefined feeling of terror ; or a sort of presentiment, it may be, of coming danger to her darling, that Minnie's dreaming words have caused to flash to her heart. It is that one so young, so innocent, so beau- tiful and childlike, should, in her dreams, be in that pursuit, in which, her mother knows, the strongest men, all the world over, have often and often become corrupt and vicious, and in which even innocence and purity have sometimes sunk to the lowest depths of degradation. Yes, the mother trembles that Minnie so covets, even in dreams, the possession of that which seldom or ever elevates or prompts us to good and noble actions, and which it is so hard for us to use in a manner pleasing to God.
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