Democratic Sentinel, Volume 3, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 November 1879 — IVy’S MISTAKE. [ARTICLE]

IVy’S MISTAKE.

A Story of ThsnkaglTlng.

BY ROSE RAYNESFORD.

Thanksgiving eve in the old Sunderland homestead, and from cellar to garret floated delicious odors of roasting turkey, of chickens done to a tender crisp in their own rich juices, and of a goodly array of pies of all denominations —such pies, teeming with all the odors of Araby the blest, as had won dear, motherly Mrs. Sunderland an enviable reputation through all the region round about. And flitting busily at her mother’s side, in the great, clean, shining kitchen, with light feet and the very daintiest, deftest little hands in all the world, was the blooming Ivy—“sole daughter of her house and heart.” Over her crimson merino was tied a large white apron—her “seven-league apron,” Ivy called it—-which was only assumed when some mighty and important household festivity seemed to command a corresponding magnitude in all the preparations; sleeves were rolled above the dimpled elbows, a stray dab of flour powdered the shining tendrils of chestnut hair above the forehead, and the usual tender pink of the cheeks had blossomed into vivid carnation. “ There, mother,” she said, placing a gigantic plum cake on the table with a triumphant flourish, “that’s the last! The baking is done, thank goodness, and now I’ll attack the parlor.” “ I wouldn’t to-night, dear,” said Mrs. Hunderland. “ You’ll tire yourself out. There’ll be plenty of time in the morning.” “ Oh, no, mother. I promised to be at church early, to practice the new anti icru. They all declare they can’t get along without me. And I thought if I could snatch an hour sometime between no w and then that I’d finish off my blue silk—it only needs a stitch or two. Julia Hunt said she might be over after dinner, and bring her cousin with her. She’s from the city, you know, and so stylish. And then,” she added, with a rather over-done attempt at carelessness, “ it’s possible Joe Dalton may be here in the evening.” “Il’m! Joe Dalton,” said Mrs. Sunderland, a little surprised, but too much absorbed in her contemplation of the cake to pay strict attention to less important matters. “ And when did you hear from him?” “Oh, not since ho left in the summer. But lie told me then that he intended to puss Thanksgiving at the ’Squire’s, and that if he did he’d give us a call. But really I must begin at the parlor.” And into the parlor she went, a curiously -happy light on her face, while she dusted the quaint old spindlelegged piano, and polished tho mirror between the windows, und rubbed tho brass tire-dogs till they shone again. Then she Brought out long wreaths of fragrant ground pine, and knots of scarlet leaves and garlanded the old family portraits, and tilled vases and baskets, till tho old room was sweet and glowing as the bower of a forest queen. Perhaps it was all to please Julia Hunt and her city cousin, but / know that all the while before Ivy’s happy eyes were floating memories of Joe Dalton’s admiring looks when one day lust summer she decorated the room with wild clematis vines, and still in her ears were ringing his praises of what ho called her “exquisite artistic instincts.”

•“There! I think he’ll like that,” she said, as she got down from the chair on which she had mounted in pursuing her labor of love, and shook off the last clinging sprays from hair and dress; and she began setting the furniture in order as energetically as though her feet were not aching, her hands blistered, and every muscle in her body strained and weary. Just then tho whistle of the evening train was heard, and away went the tired feet, twinkling up three flights of stairs to the attic, where, throwing her skirts about her shoulders, Ivy coddled down in tho window commanding a view of the turn in the road by which the ’Squire’s open wagon must pass on its way homo from the depot. Yes, sure enough, there came the tvagon behind the pair of high-stepping bays. Ivy could distinguish the ’Squire’s portly figure on the front seat, beside the coachman, and behind was a slenderer form that Ivy’s beating heart told her was Joe. But a little half-jealous pang shot through that same heart ns she saw that a ladv, evidently young, sat beside him, and marked the devoted air with which he leaned toward her, one arm extended behind her on the back of the seat, the other pointing hero and there, as though drawing her attention to the different beauties of the landscape. “Somo cousin, I suppose,” she said to herself, as she went slowly down the stairs to her own room. The apron must be removed, the silky braids smoothed with extra care, and the plain linen collar replaced with frills of dainty lace. Then from its little sandalwood box Ivy drew forth a slender chain and locket, tho sole ornament she possessed, and settled it among the frills with a satisfied smile. Tender brown eyes, crimson lips, a low white forehead framed in silken curls—it certainly was a pretty picture that looked back at her from the glass. In spite of fatigue, Ivy was looking her prettiest, and kuew it, und was so glad, for who could tell but what he might come over that very night? However, she said nothing to her mother of any such Expectation. But as soon as tea was over, with some strip of fancy work, she drew her own little rocker before the wood fire on the sit-ting-room hearth, and while her swift fingers evolved the mysteries of satin stitch, point, and wheels, her happy thoughts went straying over all that brief, bright month when Joe Dalton had spent his summer vacation in Redleaf, aud every -spare moment of it in close vicinity to the Sunderland farmhouse. Joe, be it known, was the ’Squire’s step-son. Only the year before the Squire had married a dashing, though elderly, widow from the city, with two grown-up sons. One of them Ivy had never seen, but Joe had been in the habit of paying frequent flying visits from the city, where he resided, and, as report said, was amassing a fortune fairly fabulous for so young a man. Of course he was an object of eager curiosity to all the Redleaf belles, and, on Sundays, when he walked slowly up the aisle by his mother’s side and took his place in the ’Squire’s great, square pew, many a pair of bright eyes turned to gaze on his tall, graceful figure, brown, curly head, and dark eyes full of lurking diablerie.

But when summer came, and ho spent a whole month at the Squire’s, he had singled out Ivy from the whole bevy of rustic beauties, and devoted himself to her with a persistence that soon set every gossip’s tongue in motion. Many were the invidious remarks from the other fair damsels as to the flirting propensities of “these city fellows,” uv , roache<i Iv .?’ s ears' but, too blindly happy to listen or to care, the innocent child “took the gifts the gods provided,” and left the future to take care of itself. And what a delightful month it was! How they had picnicked and frolicked together through the long summer days, and strolled through dewy lanes in the dreamy twilight, and rowed on moonlit mghts down the shining river! And then that last eoen§ <?f all! Iyy’g

cheeks glowed at the remembrance of it. She had gone down the garden path with him to the little gate, and there, under the shadow of the elms, and hidden from the house by a clump of syringn bushes, they had somehow found saying good-by a very lingering transaction indeed. Ivy remembered how he had held her hand in his tight clasp till all the warm blood came billowing up over cheek and brow and hei eyes fell beneath his ardent gaze. Then, almost before she knew it, an arm had stolen around her waist, a pair of warm lips were pressed closely, lingeringly on her own. - “Good-by till Thanksgiving,” he laughed, and was off before she could chide him. He hadn’t told her in just so many words that he loved her, but how could she doubt it? Hadn’t every look and act declared it over and over during that happy vacation time ? And then, if he didn’t love her, why that last tender caress speaking volumes to her answering heart? Innocent little Ivy! But while she pondered these things, 8, 9 o’clock chimed from the eight-day clock in the corner, and, with a little sigh, she laid aside her “company work” and took out the bine silk for its finishing touches. Of course, she said to herself, she had no right to expect him that evening. He came home so seldom she was very foolish to think he could come to her the very night of his arrival, when the whole family would be wanting him to themselves. But he would surely be here to-morrow—Thanksgiv-ing day. So she stitched away, picturing to herself the wide family room at the ’Squire’s, all the household gathered about the blazing wood fire, Joe in the midst of them, the stranger cousin at his side, perhaps. Again she sighed—she was just beginning to know that she was tired—and, folding tho completed dress, went wearily to her room, where she was soon tossing in troubled dreams wherein it seemed that she and Joe again stood beneath the old elm at the gate, and just as he was stooping to kiss her the unknown cousin appeared in the guise of a winged evil spirit, and, snatching Joo in her long arms, bore him away through the air, leaving her alone and sobbing with terror. But at last the morning came— Thanksgiving morning—with floods of golden sunlight, and air so crisp and bracing that it made one’s blood tingle just to breathe it. Ivy looked from her window with bounding heart and thrilling pulses. In the glad light doubt and misgiving fled away as if by enchantment. Earth was beautiful. It was a joy even to live. She made haste to finish her light morning tasks, and then daintily arrayed herself for church. She was to walk. It was only a mile, and the choir had arranged to come early and practice their anthem once more before service began. With a light step she tripped down the narrow path. But at the little gate she stopped suddenly, trj ing to check a frown; for there, under the elm, behind the leafless syringa bushes, stood Alvira Simms, the village dressmaker, evidently lying in wait to walk to the church with her, and Miss Simms was one of Ivy’s pet aversions. Many’s the time she and Joe had amused themselves at the expense of those corkscrew curls and affected ways, and tones of vinegar sourness. “ Good-morning,” simpered Miss Alvira. “ I thought likely you’d be coming along, so I walked slow on purpose to see if I couldn’t have the pleasure of your company to church. It’s a beautiful morning.” “ Beautiful,” said Ivy, briefly, and she looked curiously at Miss Simms, as if to divine the cause of this sudden desire for her society, for they were usually as distant as the poles. She fancied an unusually malicious twinkle lurking in the seamstress’ snaky black eyes. “ I supposo you’ve heard tho news? ” with a sharp side-glance and an air of immense importance. “ News? No, I’ve heard no news worth mentioning,” returned Ivy, in her most indifferent tones. “ Well. I don’t know as you’ll consider this worth mentioning,” retorted Alvira, bridling up. “ It’s about Mr. Dalton—Joe Dalton, you know. But you used to be so very intimate with him that I thought perhaps it might interest you to know.” She paused and looked Ivy full in the face. “ He's married /” she said, and there was a hateful, cruel light on her mean face as she watched the effect of her words. “ Married ! ” echoed Ivy, with wide, startled eyes. “ I don’t believe it!” she added, bluntly, in her bewilderment forgetting lier politeness. “Oh, very well,” sniffed Miss Alvira, her nose in the air as she turned to go. “Excuse me,” stammered Ivy, putting out her hand to detain her, “I—l thought you must have been misinformed. How did you hear? ” “Oh,” said Miss Simms, softening, only too glad of the chance to go over the details. “ I didn’t hear at all—l saw! I was up at the ’Squire’s when he brought her home. The sewing-room door was open, and I saw them come into the hall together. Then his mother and the ’Squire ran out, and I heard him introduce her as their new daughter. Then, in the middle of the laughing, and kissing, and handshaking, some one closed the door to prevent the dressmaker from witnessing their family joys, I suppose.” Poor Ivy! She turned faint and sick as the fatal truth forced itself upon her. Her face grew white as death, and there was a stony look of misery in the soft eye that would have melted a less cruel heart than that of the woman beside her. But in the midst of her misery pride came to her aid. One thiDg she was resolved upon—no one should ever suspect her anguish; no one should ever say that she wore the willow for gay Joe Dalton. How she accomplished the rest of the distance to church she never knew. She had a confused remembrance that she turned the subject with some commonplacer emarks—that she discussed the weather, the fall styles, the new minister, with now and then a laugh or careless jest, in much her usual fashion, till they parted at the church door, and Ivy mechanically ascended the gallery stairs and took her place among the “singers’ seats.”

“Why, Ivy Sunderland!” chorused the girls; “what is the matter? You’re as white as a sheet, and your eyes—why, girls, just look at her eyes! ” “ There, girls,” said Ivy, with a faint smile, “please don’t talk to me; I’ve got a horrible headache.” Which was true enough, but heartache would have been truer. So the kind-hearted creatures bustled about and brought her a glass of water and a battered old palm-leaf fan from a dusty closet, and mercifully left her at peace. But for once the soaring soprano was silent, and the anthem obliged to pursue its winding way without her aid, whilqjhe sat on one side idly watching the congregation drifting in, one by one, with their shining holiday faces. By-and-by came a firm, light tread up the aisle, and Ivy closed her eyes with a sickening shudder. When she opened them again Joe Dalton stood at the head of their pew, ushering in a tiny, elegant creature in rustling, purple (jilks, a cloud of fluffy blppde hair

above a childish face, and eyes like great soft violets. He faced the choir for an instant, and, as his eyes met Ivy’s, the whole face lit up with a gleam of dark eyes and a flash of dazzling teeth beneath his brown mustache. Bnt the smile faded to a look of halfindignant surprise as Ivy looked straight on and beyond him without the slightest sign of recognition, and he settled himself with that impatient shake of the broad shoulders which Ivy knew so well. Long after service she lingered in the gallery to avoid ail chance of meeting him, and then slowly made her way home, a curious numb feeling at her heart, a strange blur and chill over the sunny autumn landscape and in the crisp, golden air. But when she reached home she was even more gay and cordial than usual in her greetings of the numerous aunts, uncles, and young fry of cousins who had assembled there during the morning ; and all that afternoon her laugh was the loudest, her jest the wildest among all that hilarious group. A bright spot burned on either cheek, and there was a feverish light in her eyes; but no one knew that her Hands And feet were like ice, that the wild gayety came from an excitement that just escaped delirium. And when Julia Hunt and her cousin called they found her radiant in the blue silk, and ready to discuss “ the news,” which, thanks to Miss Simms, was at present briskly circulating from one end of Redleaf to the other; praising the bride, too, in such glowing terms that the two girls, watching her narrowly, snatched a moment aside to whisper that there “ was nothing in that flirtation of hers with Mr. Dalton, after all—she didn’t show a bit jealous.” So through the long twilight they sat in the firelight, cracking nuts and jokes indiscriminately, pounding their thumbs and screaming with alternate pain and laughter, and chattering through it all like a convocation of hilarious magpies. Then, as the young moon looked in at the western windows, Miss Hunt declared, jumping up, that they mu3t go; there was to be a dance a mile away, at which they were due in an hour, and a pair of “ somebodies” no doubt waiting impatiently at the paternal mansion at this very moment for their return. So Ivy, throwing her scarlet cloak around her shoulders and pulling the hood over her curls—a lovely, growu-up Red Riding Hood—ran down to the gate with them to see them off, in sociable country fashion, aud after a shower of girl-kisses on both sides stood watching them as they tripped up the road in the weird mingling of twilight and moonlight which hung over the world. Standing on one side, peering up the road with intent eyes, absorbed in her own thoughts, she did not hear the footstep that stole softly along the grass bordering of the roadside walk. The next moment a strong arm clasped her, a pair of daring lips snatched a kiss. “Watchingfor me, Ivy?” cried Joe Dalton, triumphantly. “ Mr. Dalton! How dare you ! Let me go, sir!” exclaimed Ivy, breaking away from him with blazing eyes and face shining white with anger in the faint light. “Wliewl” ejaculated Joe, stepping back a pace. “It seems to me that you have changed mightily in three short months. Have you forgotten ” “I have forgotten nothing, sir,” burst out Ivy, in tones of suppressed passion. “It is you who have forgotten—forgotten, among other things, the respect which every gentleman owes to a lady.” “Ivy—Miss Sunderland, what is the meaniug of this? W 7 hat has happened that should break off our friendship?* “What has happened, indeed !” echoed Ivy, scornfully. “Mr. Dalton, have you so low an opinion of me, are you such a libertine yourself, as to suppose that to me marriage is no impediment to such liberties as you have just insulted me by taking?” “Married!” cried Joe. “So you are married, Ivy. And I to know nothing about it! Why did no one tell me? Oh! Ivy, Ivy, how could ” “What are you saying, Mr. Dalton? lam not married; it is you—you!” Here she broke down, her overwrought mood gave way, and she burst into hysterical sobs. “Ivy, Ivy!” cried Joe, “I am not married. Who ever told you so?” and he caught the shuddering, trembling form in his arms, aud drew the head down on his bosom. “So that is the meaning of all this, you]’ averted look this morning, and all. I thought afterward that perhaps you did not see me. Now, who told you such an absurd story ? I insist upon knowing.” “Miss—Miss Simms,” faltered Ivy,as the sobs died away. “Alvira! Well, I declare! And you believed her?” “ She—she said that she saw her last night—that you introduced her to your mother as her new daughter; and then you were at church with her this morning.” “Oh, that meddlesome old maid!” ejaculated Joe; “to think she should have made you suffer all this, my little clinging vine. Never mind, love, we’ll cut her acquaintance when we’re married.” “ But, Joe,” said Ivy, affecting not to hear the last remark, “who is the lady? Your cousin? Do you know, I believe I’m half jealous of her?” “ Jealous! well, you won’t be so long. That lady is my mother’s new daughter, Ivy. She is my brother Dick’s lovely little wife, whom my mother had never seen before. They arrived in New York last night from New Orleans, and as Dick could not come out till the midnight train, and Edith was anxious to get home as soon as possible, I acted as her most dutiful escort.” And Ivy, though she began her Thanksgiving rather late in the day, made up in intensity what was lacking in length of time.