Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 35, Number 70, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 May 1903 — Sunny Bank Farm [ARTICLE]

Sunny Bank Farm

CHAPTER XIX. It was the night before the one npjtuinted for the bridal, and in the solitude •f her chamber a young girl wept ip the mtt«r Jjtpiapleasnj.esa.. of dyspair. At the, morrow's early dawn he would be there to claim her as his bride, and though he was noble and good, there was in her: fteart no answering chord of lore, and •he knew that without such love their union would be unholy. On the table at her side lay her bridal dress, the gift of Richard Delafield, who, without a shadow on his brow, or a wavering in the tones of his voice, had asked her to accept it as a token of the esteem he should ever feel for .\lA*i~4»oar -Rosfty-*e-your tears fell like rain upon the orange wreath which seemed to mock your woe, low little did you dream of the anguish ft cost the donor to say to you the words he did, or that your sorrow was naught compared to his. Slowly the hours of night wore away, and as the moon rose higher and higher hi the heavens, her rays fell upon the bowed form of Rosa, who, with clasped hands and bloodless cheeks, sat praying, —weeping, - thinking, find praylng again,■ntil at last there came over her troubled spirit a calm which ere long resolved itself into a fixed deetrmination. “She would tell him all—how she loved Richard Delafield, and how. though that love were hopeless, she could not call another her husband." And he would release her —she knew he would. It was strange how calm this resolution made her. Rising up from the crouching posture she had assumed in the first abandonment of her grief, she walked to the open window, where she •tood gating out upon the starry sky, ■ntil at last, sick and faint with the sweet perfume of the night air, she turned away, and shuddering, she knew not why. sought her pillow. It was now the first of June, and in that Southern clime the air was always hot, sultry and laden with disease. For two weeks a fearful epidemic, whose nature the oldest ph yskinns did not understand, had been caging in the towns adjoining, and many ■who in the morning rose up full of life *nd vigor, were in the evening no longer numbered among the living, so rapid was the work of death. In great alarm the terrified inhabitants had fled from place to place, but the destroyed was ♦n their track, and the “brain fever,” *s it was termed, claimed them for its victims. As yet there had been no cases in Chester, but the people were in daily dread of its arrival. Mrs. Lansing, on tiie contrary, though usually alarmed, even at the mention of a contagious disease. expressed no fear, and went on • with the preparations for the party, unconscious of the dark cloud hovering ■ear. But when on the morning succeeding the night of which we have spoken, •he heard, in passing Rosa’s door, the •ouud of some one talking incoherently, while at the same time a negro girl came rushing out, exclaiming: “Young miss has now got the brain fever, and gone ravin’ mad'" she fled iu wild alarm to the furthest extremity of the building, and gathering her frightened children together, with Ada. around her, she called to the terrified servants from the window. bidding them go for her brother and tell him as he valued his life not ho venture near the infected room, but to hasten with all speed to her. And there, trembling, weeping, and wringing her hands in fear, the selfish,.cold-lieart-cd woman stayed, while, parched with I fever and thirst, the suffering girl lay ■loaning in her pain; now asking for water to cool her burning brain, and •gain clasping her thin white hands convulsively upon her brow, as if to still its agonized throbbings. But ouo there was who did not forget. In her excitement Mrs. Lansing failed to ! ■otiee the absence of little Jessie, wfiap going fearlessly to the bedside of her . beloved teacher, gently bathed the aching : head, and administered the cooling j draught, while with childish love she i kissed the ashen lips, and smoothed back ] the loug tresses which floated over the pillow. In the hall below there was the sound of footsteps, nnd the bridegroom’s voice was heard, asking for his bride, but his cheek blanched to a marble whitenos when told that she was dying in the chamber above.. In a moment j he had her in his arms—his precious Rosa —dying—(lying—he believed, for he, too, hail heard of the strange disease, nnd he thought there was no hope. With a hitter cry he bent over the unconscious girl. who knew him not, for the light of ■cason was obscured and darkness was apon her vision. “Can nothing be done? Is there no help?” he exclaimed wildly; and little Jessie, awed by his grief, answered, as she laid her soft, white hand on llosa's forehead. “God can help her, nnd maybe Uncle Dick can. I moan to go for him;’’ and gliding noiselessly from the room, •he was soon on her way to Magnolia fSrove. looking, with h?r golden curls ii>ating over her bare white shoulders, as if she were indeed an angel of mercy. • ••*• • • Alone in-hw library sat Richard Delahrid. bis arms resting upon the table, ■ml his face buried in his hands. Ail sbr night long lie had sat there thus, musing sadly of the future when she would hr gone and he should be alone. Why had she crossed his path—that little, hmubie girl? and why had he been |tcrmitted to love hfr so piadly, or to dream •f a time when he could call her “his wrs. Ms Rosa, his wife?" Again and ■gain lie repeated those words to himself, mai then ns he thonght whoso slic woull •r when another sun should huve set, ha groaned aloud, nnd iu despairing tones ■tied out, “How can I give her up?" •*— The tqu had risen, and, struggling dbrougii tne richly curtained window, fell ■pm his bowed head; but he did not ami it. lie was sleeping at last, nnd in Ha dreams another than Dr. Clayton lad claimed Rosa for his brid*f even 9fe*lb. and without a tear he laid her in lrr coffin, and buried her where the soft dfchiug cedar and the whispering pine - timid overshadow her grave. From that hnoi he was roused by Jessie, whd •haieked In hla ear, “Wake, Uncle Dick, md come. Mias Lee is dying with the

BY FLOYD LIVINGSTON

fever, and there is nobody to help her.” With a firm step and composed manner he went with Jessie to Cedar Grove, going, immediately to Rosa's chamber, at the scene before him. She had fearfully changed since last he saw her, for the disease had advanced with rapid strides, nnd now utterly insensible, and white ns the wintry snow, she lay with her head thrown bnck, nnd her lips apart, while her hands nervously picked at the bedclothes around her! Many a time had Dr. Clayton heard that this was a sure omen of death, nnd though—ho tirrflever laughed- wt-ir ns an old woman’s ■ Whim, he shuddered now as he saw !t in her, nnd bowing his head upon tho pillow he wept like a child. For a moment Richard Delafield stood gazing upon the apparently dying girl and the weeping man, who seemed wholly incapable of action; then rousing himself, he went in quest of the black women, commanding them in a voice they dare not disobeyto come at ouce to the sick room. He had heard that nothing but violent nnd continual perspiration had as yet been of any avail in swlr extreme cases, and calmly giving orders to that effect, he himself assisted while the hemlock and the bottles of hot water were applied, then, administering a powerful tonic, he bid Jessie go to her mother, while he took his station at the bedside to watch the result. Quieted in a measure by the cool demeanor of his companion, Dr. Clayton, too, arose, and after hurriedly pacing the room, those two men, the one with his fair, handsome face stained with tears, praying earnestly that she might live; while the other, with dark, lowering countenance nnd wrinkled brow, stood with folded-arms and firmly compressed Tips, struggling to subdue tho evil passion which whispered, “Let her die! There will be a comfort in weeping over her grave, and knowing that she is not the bride _oL another,”. : In the meantime Jessie had been missed, and a servant dispatched to find her. But this the woman failed to do, as she was then at Magnolia Grove, nnd Mrs. Lapsing was about venturing to go in quest of her, when she appeared saying “she knew Miss Lee was dying, she looked so dreadfully,” “Jessie—-child!” screamed the affrighted Mrs. Lansing, shrinking from the little girl ns if she had been a loathsome thing. “Have you been there—in the room?” Without any attempt at concealment, Jessie told what she had done, and tvhen her mother exclaimed, “You are a dead child,” she answered, fearlessly, “I am not afraid to die.” *

Just then the negro who had been sent to the village for the family physician returned, bringing the news that the fever had broken out there the night before, and that in one family two were already dead, while a third was thought to be dying. In the utmost dismay, Mrs. Lansing now announced her intention of leaving the place at ouce and fleeing for safety to her brothers plantation, which was distant about twelve miles. “And leave Miss Lee alone? Oh, mother!” said Jessie, beginning to cry at the unfeeling desertion. But Mrs. Lansing was determined. “She couldn't help her nt all if she stayed,” she said. “And the colored women would do all that was necessary; it wasn't like leaving her? nlone with Dr. Clayton, for there were a dozen ablebodied females in the house to wait upon her.” “And if she dies?” suggested Jessie; but her mother would not hear to reason, nnd urged on by Ada, who was no less frightened than herself, she ordered out the traveling carriage, which soon ktrtod before the door. She would fain have had her brother accompany her, but she knew it was useless to propose it- Still, she would see him before she went, nnd her waiting maid was sent to bring him. s “I’ll go. Let me j;o,” said Jessie; nnd ere her mother could detain her, she was half -way there. Entering the room on tiptoe, she gave her uncle her mother’s message, and then stealing up to Rosa, wound her arms round her neck, nnd laying her soft, warm cheek caressingly against the white, thin fact of the teacher, wept her last adiem They would never, never meet ’again, for ere’ the summer flowers were faded, one would be safely in the bosom of the Good Shepherd, who would lend her iu green pastures, nnd beside the still waters of the better land.

“Bury her under the tal) magnolia, q little ways from father.” was Jessie's last injunction to Dr. Clayton, whose tears burst forth afresh, for not till then had he thonght how he must leave her alone in that far South land—many miles nivny from her native hills, and that to him would be denied the solace of weeping over her early grave.

It was in vain that Mr. Delafield attempted to dissuade his sister from going. She would not listen, for their lives, she said, were all endangered by remaining in town, and ns several other families were going to leave, she should follow their example—then bidding him hasten to tliein the moment Ilosn was dead, she entered her carriage aud was driven rapidly away, followed by Hal-U-rt and two or three negroes ou horseback. Unfeeling ns this proceeding seemed to Richard, die still experienced a sensation of relief nt the absence of tho family, and- thinking they would probably be safer at Tho Pines than at OeJar Grove, he returned to the chamber above, where Rosa still lay, in:the same deathlike unconsciousness, perfectly still suve when a movement of the head or a faiut moan told how she suffered.

The clock in the hall struck the hour of eleven, and then, with a feeble moan, the sick girl withdrew her hand from beneath the covering, and when the elorn man took it within his own he forced baek an exclamation of joy, for it was moist with perspiration. There was hope, aud his first impulse was to tell the good news to hit companion; but tha demon, which all tke morning he ba4 hugged to his bosom, whispered, “not now—let hiqi suffer yet a little longer!”

I Soon,- however, casting this Thought aside as unworthy of hint, he sara, “Look up, I Dr. Claytdn; she is better. She may j live. See!” and lifting / the damp hair | from her brow, he pointed to the dewy drops which stood thickly tipon it! “Thank heaven!” was Dr. Clayton’s exclamation, and bending down, he said, “Rosq< my precious Rosa! She will live, and you have saved her,” he continued, advancing toward the dark statue, whose hand he pressed to his lips. “To you the credit is due, for you worked when despair had rendered me powerless to do it; but now I am strong. I am myself again, nnd if I have any skill ft shall be exerted in her behalf.” All that dny and night they stood over her, applying the remedies J said to be niost efficient in Cases of .thkJjind., ,*Dd when the next morning came she was unquestionably better though still in great danger from a tendency of tho disease to the lungs, which, however, was less to btf feared than its return to the brain. Very carefully and tenderly they watched her, and had not Mr. Delafield been blinded by her supposed love for another, he must—have-seen IKTW~~mucK mrrre"readily she tpok things from him than from Dr. Clayton, following him with her eyes whenever he moved away, and seeming much more quiet when lie was at her side. By the close of the third day she was nearly free from the brain fever, hut much fear was felt by Dr. Clayton lest it should assume the typhoid form, which it did ere long, and then for three weeks she raved-kr wild delirium, driving Richard Delafield from her presence, shuddering when he came near, and begging of Dr. Clayton, whom she called her brother Charlie, “to send ' the black mart with his nglyface "away.” Tliis state of affairs was amost intolerable to Richard, who, 4f~ he had "loved Rosa before, felt that she Was tenfold dearer to him now, and so, though he dared not come in her sight when awake, he watched by her when she slept, standing over her hour after hour, and enduring with almost superhuman strength the care which Dr. Clayton could hardly he said to share, so absorbed was he? in grief at the thought of losing her at last. Thus the days wore on until her frenzy abated, and she sunk into a state of apathy from which nothing could I‘ouse, not even the sight of Richard Delafield, from whom she no longer shrank, but for whom she seemed to have conceived a kind of pity, asking him sometimes “if he hated her because she did not love him, and telling him how hard she had -tried—to—do— s©r- but-cbuld-Jiot,—aud-That he must go away aud leave her alone!” And all this while it never occurred to him that she fancied he was Dr. Clayton, though he did marvel nt her never mentioning her affianced husband, in whose arms she would fall asleep, nnd whose hands she would kiss, calling him Charlie, and asking if he had come to carry her home.

Matters were in this state when one day, toward t-lie dusk of evening, lie was surprised by the appearance of Halbert, who said that the cholera had broken out nt The Fines, nnd he must come immediately, adding further, that his mother and Ada had both had it; that several of the blacks were dead; and that the man who two days before had been sent to Cedar Grove, had died upon the road. Greatly alarmed for the safety of his people. Mr. Delafield started at once for The Pines.

CHAPTER XX. The house which Mrs. Lansing termed her country residence —for she always spoke of her brother’s possessions as her ow-n —was a large double log building, containing nothing very elegant in the way of furniture, but still presenting an air of neatness and comfort; for Aunt Dinah, who had charge of it, prided herself upon keeping it neat, and clean, as her master was likely to come upon her at any time without warning, and she liked fb impress him with her rare qualifications as housekeeper. With Mrs. Lansing, however, she was'less pleased; but still, as the sister of “Mars’r Richard,” she was entitled to consideration, and in high turban and all the dignity of her position, the old lady bustled about from room to room, jingling her keys, kicking the dogs, cuffing the woolly pate of any luckless wight who chanced to be in her way, and occasionally stooping down to kiss little Jessie, who, being of rather a domestic turn, followed her from place to place, herself assisting in spreading the supper table, which, with its snowy cloth, corn cake, iced milk, hot coffee and smoking steaks, soon presented a most inviting aspect. Relieved of their fears nnd thinking themselves beyond the reach of danger, Mrs. and Ada gave themselves up to the enjoyment of the hour, talking and laughing gayly, without a thonght of the sick girl they had left behind, nnd who that night was to have been a bride. Once, indeed, 'when after sunset they were assembled upon the rude piazza, Ada spoke of her, wondering if she were dead, nnd how long it would be ere Dr. Clayton would marry another. Such is the world, to which Ada formed no exception, for how often do we hear the future companion of a broken-hearted man selected even liefore the wife of his bosom is' removed forever from his sight. For a long time Mrs. Lansing sat there with Ada and her children, talking ou indifferent subjects nnd occasionally congratulating herself that they were beyond reach of the fever, unless, indeed, Jessie had contractetTit by her foolish carelessness. On her lap rested the little golden head of the child, who was humming snatches of “The Happy Land,*'-a favorite song which her uncle had taught her, and which she had often sung with her teacher, asking numerous questions concerning the better world. Very naturally now her thoughts reverted to her governess, and ns she listened to the whispering wind sighing through tho fancied it was the voice of Rosa bidding her “come’do the happy lapd.” Sweet little Jeseie, it was the voices of angel children which’ jou heard thm calling through the pines; for from their shining rauks one beatcoun form was missing, nnd they would fain allnre it back to its native sky. Come I now to the qnddest part of my story. Beneath tha evergreens of the sunny Sonth is a little mound, over which the shining stars keep watch, and the cypress spreads Its long green boughs, while the children of the plantation, dark-browed though they are, tread softly near that grave, which they daily strew with flowers, speaking in low tones of “the Angel of The Pines,” as they term the fair young girl who passed ao suddenly from their midst. It was tow nearly live weeks since Mrs. Lansing had fled from the pestilence which walked at noonday, and thongh it had in a rneas-

are abated in the thcn> were Btill frequent cases, and she would not have deemed It safe to return, even if typhoid fever, which she feared nearly as much, had not been in her own house. So there was no alternative but to stay, uncomfortable though she was, for the weather was intensely hot, and.she missed many of the luxuries of her home. Still, it was healthy there, nnd this in a measure reconciled her to remain. Occasionally, it is true, she heard rumors of the cholera on some distant plantation, but it seldom visited the pine regions—it would not come there; she was sure of that; and secure in this belief, she rested in comparative quiet, while each day the heat became more and more intense. The sun came lip red, fiery, and heated like n furnace*-the-clouds gave forth no rain; the brookg were dried up; the leaves withered upon the trees, while the air was full of humming insects, which at night fed upon their helpless, sleeping victims. - ' ~ . (To be continued.!