Democratic Sentinel, Volume 7, Number 42, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 November 1883 — Miss Wickersham’s Romance. [ARTICLE]

Miss Wickersham’s Romance.

BY M. C. FARLEY.

It was an old/ old hoiwe. Teddy looked up at the many gabled, mossgrown roof, and. the faded red-brick walls with feelings of both anger and Borrow. He was the only heir. In the natural course of events Wickersham farm and Ifctae old ivy-grown mansion, built in Colonial times, would be his own, providing he did nothing to offend his aunt, •the present incumbent. Teddy groaned inwardly at the recollection. For two and twenty years Miss Wickersham had been a mother ito him. If some people declared that iMiss Wickersham had no heart, and was proud and overbearing in disposition and hard to please—her nephew at least had never been made to feel that side of her nature until now. Some six months previous Maj. Willis bad returned froin Europe with his daughter, and settled down quietly at Fern Fields, a tumble-down old manor bouse, which report said was all there left to him of the once great Willis fortune, The Major had lived abroad the better part of his life. His child had been born on a foreign land, and his wife was buried there. Still, for some unknown reason, he had gathered together the remnants of his once splendid fortune, raid, coming home to Fern Fields, was now Miss Wickersham’s nearest neighbor. From the very day of the Major’s return to the home of his boyhood, Miss Wickersham had persistently ignored liim. Fern Fields, she* said, was nothing to her—she wanted nothing whatever to do with the people who lived there, and cautioned her nephew, upon pain of her displeasure, never to have the slightest intercourse with the Willis family. All went smoothly for a short time, when, in some unaccountable manner, Teddy and the Major’s daughter chanced to meet, and Ted fell head over heels in love with her at first sight. What was his consternation to find, upon acquainting his aunt with the turn of affairs, that she suddenly flew into a violent passion and ordered him never to speak to 'the young lady again, ft was all very easy for Miss Wickersham to execute sucli a command, but it was simply impossible for Teddy to obey it. There were stolen interviews and long walks by the riverside, and many -an hour was spent in company with the Major himself, when Te£ found it impossible to inveigle the young lady out of doors. Of course there could be but one ending to the affair. Becklessly Ted proposed, was accepted, and the Major gave them both his paternal Prsdct find happy the young in’au went home to his aunt and told her plainly what he had done, not donbting

bnt that she -would accept the inevitable, with tolerable grace at least, when she found it was to be. But he was appalled at her manner. “If you marry that girl, Teddy, not a cent of my money shall yon ev r have!” screamed Miss Wickersham at the top of her shrill old voice. “I detest the i whole family, root and branch, and there shan’t a dollar’s worth of my property ever go to benefit one of them in any way if I can help myself, and I guess I can.” Teddy’s face fell. It was a bright, handsome, young face, framed in with a lot of yellow hair, that was his aunt’s especial pride though she wap too much overcome with rage now to pay any attention to his good looks. “Just to think,” she went on, in her thin, high-quivering key, “that of all persons in the world, you should select Nellie 'Willis to be your wife. And you know very well, Teddy, what my opinion is of the Willis f .mily—a poor, proud, shiftless set, to make the best of ’em.” Teddy grew very red. . “If rumor is true, Aunt Wickersham, you did not always rate the Willis’ at such a low figure—particularly the Major," retorted he, indignantly. The pale pink that yet lingered in Miss Wickersham’s delicate old face turned suddenly to a viv.d scarlet. She choked, i<nd hesitated an instant. “This from you, Teddy,” said she reproachfully. Directly he had the grace to feel ashamed of himself. “Forgive me, aunt” he cried. “I am a brute.” “Say no more,” said she coldly, motioning him to leave the room, the delicate color in her face having now faded entirely out, giving place to a dull, leaden hue, not pleasaint to see. Once alone, she went to a foreign cabinet that stood in one corner of the apartment, and, unlocking the drawer, took therefrom a small parcel. “It seems strange how the folly of my youth yet clings to me in my old age,” she mused, bitterly, turning the package over in her still white and shapely hands. “I will burn these things. Perhaps forgetfulness will come the more readily,” she uttered to herself, undoing the parcel, and dropping'a bunch of withered roses on the desk. Still, she hesitated, a thousand fliemories of a bygone time, struggling through her mind, and a suspicious moisture dimming the brightness of her proud, dark eyes. “She would only break his heart,” she cried at last, impatiently. “They are coquettes, all—father and daughter alike. Teddy shall not have his .life spoiled by her—the false daughter—of an unworthy parent.” An instant later and she had *flung the little packet into the grate. There was a sudden light puli’ and a strong perfume from 'the burning roses, filled the room. The parlor door was thrown .open. “Maj. Willis,” announced the servant. The room seemed to swim around her, for a moment. She could not have been more astonished to hear a elap of thunder from a clear heaven. A feeling of anger brought back her usual self-possession. “To what am I indebted for this visit, Maj. Willis,” she asked with freezing politeness. “To be frank—various causes. lam here, principally, in behalf of the future well-being of our young people,” replied the Major, bravely. “If you are trying to negotiate a marriage between those two, you may as well know, first as last, that I shall never consent to it,” said Miss Wickersham, ignoring the fact that her visitor was still standing, hat in hand, before her. The Major bit his lip. He glanced critically at his obdurate hostess, as she, too, rose to her full height and confronted him, her face pale, her eyes flashing, and her white ringed fingers tightly clasping the edge of the old cabinet he remembered of yore. It was thirty years since he had entered that house for the last time, as he supposed. He was a young man tfien, gay and handsome, and very much in love indeed, with the angry lady before him. Thirty years. It was a long time, and yet, how well he remembered even the smallest detail of the room. Nothing was changed now, he thought -with a cynical smile, save himself and the little old lady who so ungraciously .received him. Unconsciously the Major fetched a deep sigh. It was evident that, if Miss Wickersham had unhappy memories of the long ago, the dolighty Major also had a few that were not so pleasant as they might have been. “It seems a great pity, ” said he, recalling himself with an effort, “that two young lives should be made miserable because of a mere whim. I called to-day to speak to you about the settlements I shall make my daughter on the occasion of her marriage. I am not rich, still she will have no mean dowry.” “We Avill not discuss the subject of your daughter’s marriage, as it concerns me not the slightest. I have this to say, If my nephew persists in making Miss Willis his wife, I shall execute a will cutting him off with a paltry dollar. My determination is unchangable.” There was the least little bit of an angry sparkle in the corner of the Major’s eye. “Miss Willis will not;, marry for money,” said he, quietly shifting his position a little, and resting his elbow on the low mantle piece. “My daughter’s happiness is my only consideration. ” Miss Wickerham noticed—indeed she could not well help it—what a fine looking man the Major was, in spite of his fifty years. Her heart throbbed a trifle faster as sho-thought $f days long gone past. “But for her dear sakA, ’kcon&nued the Major, “I should not again cro>s the threshold of this house, JRebeceah.” “That ip like a remarked Miss, W ickersham, with biting* f sarcasm, “But I let it rtess. My ndphfew is of agei and wifr undoubtedly do as he likqVitt thistmatter.” Thfe Majhr leaned a little mOje heajtily on the mantle piece, his elbow in dangerous proximity to an old, discolored plaster bust of Franklin. He glanced at it casually, and then remem-

bered with a pang the fast time he had looked upon it —thirty years before. “I shall be sorry to* have Ted lose his inheritance for my daughter’s sake,” said -the Major presently, putting liis hand to his eyes as if to shut out the sight of the room, and the memories it recalled. “Bnt there seems to be no help for it. This being the case, perhaps it might be as well to bring this interview to a close.” Miss Wickersham bowed stiffly. Cold, proud, relentless, she stood there waiting for him to go. “I might argue as successfully with the Sphinx,” thought he, bringing his hand*down forcibly on. the mantle. The next instant the plaster cast toppled over and fell crashing against the old-fashioned brass andirons, and lay shivered in a hundred fragments on the floor. Miss Wickersham gave a little hysterical shriek and flew to the rescue. Cursing his carelessness, the Major stooped down to help gather up the pieces. Could he believe his eyes ? Bight there, with unbroken wafer, was a letter he had himself written, long, long ago. Miss Wickersham picked it up wonderingly, as she saw her own name on the face of it. “It is strange how this note ever came in here,” said she, breaking the seal slowly. The Major had not gone soldiering all those years to no purpose. His military experience had taught him wisdom; and not only wisdom, but patience as well. So he waited quietly until she finished reading the yellow old love-letter. Miss Wickersham was crying now vety softly—very softly, indeed—but the wary Major saw it and took courage. “You must have known how mnch I loved you, Bebeccah, in that past which seems now so far away,” said he, recovering his voice. “After monffhs of hope and fear and anxiety and doubt, I determined to know my fate. I called upon you one day with the intention of telling you all this, but you were not at home. Feeling that further suspense would be unendurable, I wrote that note, here in this room, and,placing it on top of that old plaster bust of Franklin, went away, expecting shortly to hear from you. Weeks went past and yet you did not reply. You know the rest. Hurt and angry, I went to Europe, enlisted, was wounded and sent home to die. I was nursed back to health by a gentle girl, the mother of my daughter Nellie, and I came here, on the death of my wife, to pass the remainder of my days.” “And I have lived all these years believing you had amused yourself by winning my heart only to throw it away,” sobbed Miss Wickersham. “Never !” ejaculated tne Major with energy. “It has been a terrible mistake all round, from first to last.” “That plaster-cast had a crevice in the top of it. The note paust have slipped into it in that way, ” said sh*e, meditatively. < “ Well, Bebeccah, I have waited a long time—thirty years for your reply. 1] must have my answer, ” he persisted. “But we are old now,” objected Miss Wickersham, her heart in a flutter. “The older, the better,” said he, blandly. “My dear, true love is like wine, improved by age.” “But what will Teddy she, faintly, quite willing to be per--suaded, when the persuader was the lover of her youth. “Teddy gives his free consent, and wishes you a long life, full of happiness, in the bargain,” said a voice from the doorway. ‘'And we’ll be one family, after all, won’t we, Major ?” cried Ted, embracing his aunt. “Thank God, we will indeed,” replied the Major. And they were.— Chicago Ledger.