USA > Kentucky > Livingston County > Chronicles of a Kentucky settlement > Part 9
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" Well, let me see !" she said, "let me hold the scales fairly ! Warren, he's the youngest, and the richest, and the best-looking, and loves you ever so hard. That 's a heap on his side-no, his scale. Then, he's nice, accommodating, and liberal ; but most young gentlemen are that way when they 've got plenty of money, like he has. They do say he's a little extravagant, and occasionally gets on a bit of a spree ; but I expect most of them do that if the truth were known. But, then, if you had Warren tied to your apron-string, you could break him of that, for you could always make him do whatever you wanted. -Now for the other side-the other scale," she continued, after taking a fresh supply of judicial grav- ity. "Mr. Adair-I'd always have to call him Mr. Just fancy me calling him Joseph ! But, to begin again. Mr. Adair is most too old; yet that may not be such an objection to you as it might be to me, since I'm only a bud yet and you are a full-blown rose. And right there you had better stick a pin ! for roses will fade and shed their leaves in time, and then, alas ! alas! Then he, Mr. Adair, is not distressingly hand- some ; some people might call him ugly, but it's
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rather an attractive sort of ugliness which some romantic young ladies might even be proud of. And, he is only a mechanic, but we won't count that, for our father was one before he took to surveying. And, he - is poor ; but, I dare say, he'll be as rich, if not richer, some of these days, than Warren Davidson, Esq., for everybody says he is an industrious and money-making man. Then he's the most intelligent man around here, so pa says, and he knows more about such things than any man I know. But, oh my ! if you should ever try to tie him-Mr. Joseph Adair-to your apron- strings, I'm afraid he would tear loose ! But some young ladies that I know would rather follow than lead. And, I'll be bound he's close with his money, but while that might not suit me, it might suit some others. And-"
" But listen !" exclaimed the elder sister as she sprang into bed, "the clock is striking eleven, and remember we must be up early in the morning, so we must adjourn the case until to-morrow, or some other time."
"Oh my !" sighed Ada, " I got so engaged,-no, that 's not the word, for I never was engaged and don't see much chance."
"Oh, don't you fret," retorted her sister, "he '11 come along some of these days." .
" Who ?"
" Your fate."
" Well, I wish he'd come along and let me catch a glimpse of his form and face. I'm sure he'd be better- looking than-"
"'To bed, to bed, says sleepy-head,'" interposed Miss Howard.
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"No, 'tarry awhile, says slow,'" replied Ada. "And, let me see ! Where was I? Oh, yes, I was saying I was so much interested in holding the scales and weighing the two gentlemen that I managed to do. all the talking and let you escape without telling me a word about it all. But you will tell me, won't you,. sister ? "
" Yes, darling ; but not to-night. You did sum up the case-' weigh the gentlemen'-very fairly as far as you went. But you did not finish-you reserved your decision, and I must await that ; so come to bed and you shall hear all in due time."
And as it was really getting late, and as Ada. now that her excitement had in a measure subsided, was getting a little sleepy, into the bed she crept and was soon sound asleep. Not so, however, Miss Howard. She had been interested and amused by her sister's lively manners and conversation. Besides, she felt more hopeful than for a long while, and now that all was quiet she wanted to think. For an hour or more she did think-and as seriously as she could, -but then her eyelids grew heavy, and giving Ada's hand a gen- tle pressure, and possibly imagining it some one else's hand, she closed her eyes, and we will suppose she too slept and had pleasant dreams.
CHAPTER IX.
About "A Home"-Col. Andrew Lovell and Wife-Family Prayer-In the Garden-Love as a Disease-Adair Returns to Town-Laura's and Ada's Stroll-Pleasing Sights and Sounds, but Sad Hearts.
D URING the week or more that Adair remained with his friends, the Howards, he rose early every morning and drank his glass of warin, new milk, and during the day took gentle exercise in the fields, forests, and along the country roads. His horse, Ben Simon, had been brought out from town, and he daily took short rides, in some of which he was accompanied by Miss Howard on her horse Jerry. But he gave her no intimation of the great love which was gradually transforming what might have been a fountain of light into a gloomy dungeon. The nearest approach to this was when, reference having been made to his recent illness, he said : " The prospect, before that, was look- ing bright to me ; I had begun thinking of a little cot- tage which I-for so many years a wanderer-could call my home ; but I never dreamed it was to be occu- pied by the widow and children of my brother."
This speech sounded to Miss Howard much like the knell of all her hopes, nevertheless she gave utterance only to the sentiments of her unselfish nature, when. she replied : " It is sad to have our hopes frustrated,
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but I am sure you will find much tranquil happiness in the performance of so sacred a duty as caring for the widow and fatherless children."
And Adair looked into her face and wondered if she had ever dreamed that his prospective cottage was designed for her home, and if its loss would cost her a pang. But this was verging upon forbidden ground, and he quickly changed the topic, and spoke of Miss Wilmot.
"Emily Wilmot," replied Miss Howard, " is one of my warmest and most intimate friends. You have per- haps heard of visits recently made her by a comparative stranger, a Mr. Brantley. Do you know him ? "
" I do not," answered Adair, " but I have been told that he is something of a magician-a sleight-of-hand showman ; and that, by some, it is thought his voca- tion is only assumed as a convenient disguise to his real business -- that of a gambler. But, be this as it may, your friend should be on her guard."
"Emily is a prudent and sensible girl," replied Miss Howard, "but when next I see her, I will, unless you object, tell her of what I have heard in reference to Mr. Brantley, without, however, mentioning from what source I have received the reports."
"It would perhaps be well for you to do so," he replied.
" Well, here we are at home again," she remarked, as they rode up to the gate, " and I hope your ride has not fatigued you much."
"No, thank you," he replied ; " and what between repose, country air, and pleasant company, I have so far recovered that I must leave to-morrow, and return to town to make preparations for my trip to Hopkinsville."
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" I am sorry," she said, " to know you will leave us so soon, for we will all miss you ; but others have now more claims upon you."
Her closing words-" others have now more claims upon you "-rung in Joseph Adair's memory for many a day.
That evening, when nearly all of the family, with Joseph Adair, were seated on the front porch, a gen- tleman and a lady were seen coming up the road on horseback, and were soon recognized by Miss Howard, who sprang to her feet, exclaiming, "It is brother Andrew and sister Harriet !" There was then a general movement to the front gate to welcome the new-comers.
Adair had often heard of Colonel Andrew Lovell, who had married Squire Howard's eldest daughter, Harriet, but had never before seen him ; his farm being some twelve to fourteen miles from Salem, and only a few miles from the notorious Jim Wilson's. Colonel Lovell had gallantly led his regiment of Ken- tuckians throughout the war against the British and Indians in the Northwest in 1812-14, and was widely known as a daring soldier and as a prudent and skilful officer. Adair was therefore somewhat surprised to find the gallant Colonel a rather small and delicate- looking man with mild gray eyes, and long, thin, brownish hair, rapidly turning gray, although he was then only about forty years of age.
The meeting between Mrs. Lovell and Adair was a joyous one. She had heard of his having settled in Salem, but was not expecting to meet him. She was now the mother of four children, but as handsome, lively, and cheerful as she had ever been. When
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introduced to Mr. Adair, she fairly sprang forward and exclaimed : " What ! Joseph Adair ? Yes, I see it is ! and, for once, I am going to demand a kiss for anid lang syne" ; which she, of course, received, and which. so far from displeasing her husband, caused him to grasp more warmly the hand of the man who evidently stood so high in his wife's favor.
That evening was a memorable one to Adair. He had to give a sketch of his life to Mrs. Lovell ; to talk over their adventures on the road and after their arrival in Knoxville ; and to hear from her the story of her first acquaintance with Colonel Lovell, just after the close of the war, of her marriage, their nice farm, lovely children, etc.
Adair soon found Colonel Lovell to be an exceed- ingly quiet and modest man, but that he could talk well when occasion required. . His words were few, but clear, pointed, and earnest ; and there ran through all a marked vein of charity. as if the injunction, "Judge not, that ye be not judged," was ever present in his mind. It was said that at one time he was a wild, reckless, and somewhat dissipated young man, and that he carried these characteristics with him into the army, but was soon known as a rigid disciplinarian, yet greatly honored and beloved by those under his com- mand ; for there was none braver, and he uncomplain- ingly shared in all the dangers, hardships, and privations of a common soldier.
" Well, Andrew," said Squire Howard in the course of the conversation, " have you still escaped all dangers and annoyances from Wilson's gang ? And is your neighborhood improving any ?"
"I have had no cause to complain," the Colonel
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replied, " but some for rejoicing. Several of my neigh- bors of bad repute have recently aided myself and others in erecting a good Meeting-house and School-house at the Big Spring. Front such seed I expect a good crop.".
When the hour for retiring had about arrived, Adair was somewhat surprised to see a small table set out, and two lighted candles, a Bible, and a hymn-book placed upon it. Ada whispered to him, " We always have family prayers when brother Andrew comes to see us." The Colonel at once approached the table, and opening the Bible read a chapter in a slow, clear, and impressive manner. Then, closing the Bible, he opened the hymn-book, read the first two lines of a familiar hymn, and turning to Miss Laura, indicated by a ges- ture of the head that she was expected to raise the tune. She promptly did so, and all present, excepting Squire Howard, joined in the singing. Mrs. Howard and each of her daughters had good voices, but that of Miss Laura's was far superior to the others. Hers was a soft, well modulated soprano of considerable compass, the higher notes reached without apparent effort and rendered with remarkable clearness, but the most exquisite melody was in her lower, plaintive notes. The singing ended, all knelt down. The prayer was short, simple, appropriate, and when the Colonel arose deep solemnity was apparent on every face.
After a few parting words and kindly " good- nights" were spoken, all repaired to bed, but not all to sleep. There was something in the scene Joseph Adair had just witnessed ; in the words that had been read; in the lingering strains of the old familiar air- " Days of Absence "-to which the hymn had been sung ; and in the Colonel's simple but impressive
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prayer, that awakened in his mind a train of reflec- tions such as rarely occupied his busy brain. And then that voice of such wonderful sweetness would un- bidden obtrude itself among more serious thoughts. And why had he not sooner found out that she could sing so sweetly ? He might then have often prevailed upon her to sing for him, but now he was going away, and there would be many "days of absence." And then-oh, the craving, hungering, thirsting of our na- tures !- he wondered if she could have selected that old air, as one that gave expression to her own thoughts at the moment. "But such fancies," he said to himself, "must not be indulged in, for has she not herself said that ' others have now more claims' upon me ? "
The following morning at breakfast, Adair men- tioned his purpose of returning to town to make prep- arations for his trip to Hopkinsville. He was urged, both by the Squire and his wife, to remain a few days longer, on the plea that he was yet scarcely strong enough to bear fatigue ; but Adair promised to be cau- tious, and said he "must make the effort."
" I have learned," said Colonel Lovell, "that you will soon enter upon the duties of Deputy Sheriff, and this may sometimes bring you into my neighborhood ; and, if so, you must not only come and see us, but make our house your 'headquarters'-your 'base of supplies.' [He could not entirely rid himself of some of his military phrases, although he had tried to do so.] And," he continued, "if you should at any time have any unpleasant duties to perform amongst the so-called ' Wilson gang,' you had, perhaps, better come by and see me, and I may be able to render you some service."
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Mrs. Lovell also united in the Colonel's invitation ; and, proud as she was of her little hero-husband, she would, but for a dissenting gesture from him, have told of some of his methods of managing those pariahs." The fact was, that while the Colonel was known among them as a soldier, and one of unquestioned bravery, he was honored as well as feared. Besides, he had, in his quiet and unassuming way, aided the families of some of "the gang," when their natural protectors had abandoned them or been driven from their homes to escape officers of the law.
Adair thanked the Colonel and his wife most heartily for their invitation, and said he would certainly accept their hospitality whenever he could do so. And thus began a friendship between these two men, Colonel Andrew Lovell and Joseph Adair, which lasted as long as they lived.
Soon after breakfast, Adair approached Miss Howard and said : " Miss Laura, you have in your garden many beautiful flowers. Will you not give me a few to take with me as a present to my little friend, Carrie Gil- roy ?"
"Certainly !" she answered. "But you must go with me and select such as you would like ; and I will clip and pack them for you in a small basket, which you can carry on your arm."
Adair had never visited the garden, but had often observed the flowers when passing through the yard. The yards of farm-houses-then, as now-were seldom ornamented with shrubs and flowers, for these would soon have been destroyed by the chickens and other domestic fowls. Such flowers as were cultivated were usually found along the borders of the walks in the
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garden where vegetables were grown. Adair was sur- prised to find so great a variety in the garden. There were roses, pinks, lilies, violets, jonquils, larkspurs, touch-me-nots, sweet-Williams, prince's-feathers, mari- golds, morning-glories, and some others the names of which Adair did not know. Among the latter was a small flower somewhat resembling the violet, which attracted his attention. "Those are very beautiful," he said, pointing to the bed where they grew, "I never saw such before. What is their name ? "
"Oh," replied Miss Laura, plucking and handing him a few of the most beautiful ones, " these are pan- sies ; accept these for yourself."
At that moment they were joined by Ada, to whom Adair turned and said, " Are these pansies not very beautiful ? "
"Yes," and with a most bewitching gravity she continued, "but I don't call them pansies ; I like their common name, heart's-ease, best."
"I never saw the flower before," replied Adair, "and it was your sister here who told me its name. But if ' heart's-ease ' be its common name, I will know it in future only by that name ; and I will preserve these and test their efficacy."
" Oh," said Ada, "you don't mean to say there is anything the matter with your heart, do you ? You never were in love, were you ? "
"Certainly !" replied Adair, with an effort at jocu- larity. "And the attack was so very severe that I have not entirely recovered from it yet."
"Then," said Ada, with mock compassion, "why did n't you apply to the young lady to doctor you ? She could have cured you."
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" Oh," answered Adair, with rather more serious- ness in his tone than he intended, "she had another patient similarly afflicted, who applied for her services before I thought it advisable to do so, and he required all her skill and attention."
" Then," said Ada, "you should have applied to some other fair charmer for relief."
"Nay-nay !" responded Adair, "I don't think I could have explained my case to another, or that another could have understood it; and, therefore, I have preferred to trust to the slow curative processes of nature. And," he added, "have you never been afflicted in the same way ? "
" Me !" exclaimed Ada, as if surprised. But with a show of conscientiousness she continued : " Well, sev- eral times I have felt some of what I supposed were the symptoms, but it never proved to be a genuine case. At least I never went into a decline, nor lost sleep, nor even my appetite."
" Ah," said Adair, and although he smiled there was the ghost of a sigh in his tones, -"Ah, you '11 have it badly some of these days : and the best wish I can make you is that you may obtain speedy relief, for a lingering case is terrible."
" Why, Mr. Adair, you really appear to have made a specialty of this disease," said Miss Laura, who felt she must say something to hide her increasing embar- rassment ; for she could not divest herself of the im- pression that it was to her he had possibly referred in his remark, "that another had applied for her serv- ices," and "required all her attentions."
Adair looked at her earnestly for a moment before he replied. Then in a casual way he said : "Oh, I
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would not have you think I have confined my attention exclusively to my own case-which I have never regarded as incurable, -but have often observed its manifestations in others. And especially of late," he added, thinking of Benton, "since a friend of mine told me he had taken the disease, and that it had affected him in a very singular manner."
" How was that ? " asked impulsive Ada.
"Oh !" laughingly answered Adair, "he said it had affected him somewhat as the measles sometimes do ; that is, as he expressed it, it had ' struck in,' and hence was all the more dangerous."
"Oh, poor fellow," exclaimed Ada. "I am so sorry for him ! I did n't know it ever affected anybody in that way. I wonder if new milk every morning would n't do him good ? " And away she bounded to avoid the reproof she expected from her sister's eyes, leaving Adair and Miss Laura-who had now gathered as many flowers as were required-to return together to the house. On their way he made some remark about the weather, but she was thinking about another remark of his-that he " had never regarded his case as incurable."
An hour later Adair had bid good-by to all, had mounted Ben Simon, and was slowly riding towards Salem. The conversation in the garden recurred to him, but he supposed both of the ladies would regard it entirely in the light of a piece of pleasantry. On the whole, he was disposed to congratulate himself on his firmness, and that he had been able to pass through the entire ordeal so well. Time and again the thought of the sacrifice he was making arose in his mind and made him wince, but never shook his purpose. On
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his arrival in town, he gave his horse in charge of the hostler of the hotel, and went in search of his little friend, Carrie Gilroy, whom he soon found, and pre- sented her with the flowers, of which he knew her to- be passionately fond. In return he received from her a hearty kiss. This grave, sedate man possessed the soul-born faculty of making himself loved by children. He then hastened across to his shop, where he found his partner, Duncan, hard at work, and in fine spirits, having just secured the services of a good journeyman saddler, named Samuel Miller, to assist him through with the press of work he had on hand.
After Adair's departure from Squire Howard's, the ladies went about their household and other duties as usual ; but when the sun was nearly down, Ada rose from her sewing and approaching her sister Laura,- " Come," she said, " come, let us take a walk ; I'm tired sewing." And putting on their sun-bonnets out the two went to take a short ramble in the wood-pasture and gather some wild flowers.
Ada soon observed that her sister's face wore a trou- bled expression ; she guessed the cause and sought to administer such comfort as she could. "Sister," she said in soft, earnest tones, " don't be cast down ! I'm sure all will come out right, for I'm sure he loves you."
" Who loves me ? " was the quick and slightly petu- lant question.
"Don't be vexed with me, sister," Ada pleaded. "I can see you are in trouble about something, and I have only guessed at the cause ; and perhaps I am wrong about it, but I thought you were thinking of Mr. Adair."
" I am not vexed with you, Ada, and forgive me if I
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spoke petulantly. And I was thinking about him ; and I am troubled. You know well that I have loved him-loved him as I never have and never can love another. But I have deceived myself-he has not deceived me. I hoped,-I thought he-loved-me ! But I was mistaken."
"Sister," said Ada, " he one day said to me that little children were the best detectives ; that as a com- pensation for their helplessness they were endowed with perceptive faculties so exquisitely keen and sensitive that they could, almost at a glance, tell the loving heart, however rough its exterior, from the cold and unsympathetic. I never heard nor thought of such a thing before, but I believe it-is-true ! Now, I am little more than a child, and my ' perceptive faculties,' as he calls them, have not, I hope, been blunted much ; and I have watched him, and I am sure he loves you."
" Then why should he, during this visit, have treated me with much more reserve than formerly, as if he feared I might be misled into supposing that he loved me ? No, Ada, you are mistaken, as I have been."
" But, sister," interposed the sympathetic Ada, "you know papa says he is a very sensible and con- siderate man ; and such men, I suppose, do not rush into love and matrimony like younger and rasher men. Besides, I'll be bound, if he loves you-as I am still sure he does-that he has some good reason for remain- ing silent, of which you may not have thought."
" I have thought," replied Laura, " of several pos- sible reasons. You remember you asked him, when in the garden, why he had not ' applied to the young lady for a cure.' His reply was that 'another had applied
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before him,' and that 'all her attentions were required ' by that other. I thought, at the moment, that pos- sibly he aimed the remark at Warren Davidson and myself."
"I do expect he did !" exclaimed Ada. "Some- body may have told him you and Warren are engaged, for I have no doubt some people think so, and this may explain the whole matter."
"But you now know," Laura replied, " I am not and never was engaged to Warren. I do not and never did love him, but I have ever had a very warm regard for him, and the unhappiness I have unintentionally caused him has, as he well knows, been a source of much trouble to me, and now brings an added misery in its train."
" Oh, sister," replied Ada, " of course you must feel sorry for Warren, but I don't think his nature is so deep and constant as is that of Mr. Adair, who, I really believe, was in earnest when he said he would not seek relief from any other, but would ' trust to the slow pro- cess of nature' to cure him. He will, of course, find out some of these days, that you are not engaged to Warren, and then he will feel free to speak."
" Yes," responded Laura, "if-he-desires-to do so ; but I do not, as I said before, believe he will have any such desire. And, for this reason, let us say no more about him ; and in future let this subject be avoided."
"Oh, but my dear sister," pleaded Ada, "let me say one thing more ! You know Mr. Adair has recently lost a brother whom he doubtless loved very much ; and that he has to take care of the widow and little children. Perhaps he thinks himself unable to main-
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tain a wife also ; and if so, would it not be wrong for him to marry ? "
" Ada," exclaimed Laura-and there was pride in hier mien and voice-" you have mistaken me ! It is not marriage but love that I crave. I honor Mr. Adair for what he intends doing for his brother's widow and children ; and I would not, if I could, deprive them of the full measure of his care and protection. And he too mistakes me if he supposes that I would not be content to wait, if only assured of his love. For wait I could and would, with a quiet, contented spirit, hop- ing and praying that in the future, however distant, I could claim as my own the one gem that can alone satisfy my heart. But, oh, to be without hope is to blast and wither the fruit of life ! "
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