Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 35, Number 72, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 May 1903 — Sunny Bank Farm [ARTICLE]

Sunny Bank Farm

BY FLOYD LIVINGSTON

CHAPTER XX.—{Continued.) At the close of one of these scorching, sol try days, Mrs. Lansing and Ada sat upon the piazza, panting for a breath of pare, cool air. At the side of each stood a negro girl, industriously fanning their mistresses, who scolded them ns if they were to blame, because the air thus set fa motion was hot and burning as the minds which blow over the great desert •f Sahara. As they sat there thus, an •Id man came up from the negro quarters, saying “his woman done got sick arid de cramps,” and he wished “his mistis jest come down see Iter.” But Mrs. Lansing felt herself too languid for exertion of any kind, and telling Unde Abel that she herself was fully as sick ns his wife, who was undoubtedly feigning, she sent him back with a sinkfag heart to the rude cabin, where his •Id wife lay, groaning aloud whenever the cramps, as she termed them, seized Ker. Scarcely, however, had he entered the low doorway when a fairy form came Sitting down the narrow pathway, her white dress gleaming through the dusky twilight, and her golden hair streaming •at behind. It was little Jessie, who, from her crib, had heard heT mother's refusal to accompany Uncle Abel, and, stealing away unobserved, she had come herself to see Auut Chloe, with whom •be was quite a fnvqrite. Unaccustomed ns Jessie was to sickaess, she saw at a glance that this was mo ordinary case, and, kneeling down heeide the negross, who lay upon the foor. she took her head upon her lap and gently pnshing back, beneath the gay turian, the matted, grizzly hair, she asked where the paiu was. “Bress de sweet chile,” answered Chloe, “you can't tache me with the pint •f a cambric needle wliar 'tain't L and •sems of ebery jiut in me was onsodorin’ when de cramp is on.” As if to verify the truth of this remark, she suddenly bent up nearly double, and rolling upon her face, groaned ■loud. At this moment a negro, who had gained some notoriety among his companions ns a physician, came in, and after looking a moment at the prostrate form of Chloe. lie whispered a word which cleared the cabin in a moment, for the mention of “cholera” had a power to eurdle' Jjie blood of the terrified blacks, who fled to their own dwellings. Utterly fearless, Jessie stayed on, pnd when John, or as he was more familiarly Known, “Doctor,” proposed going for her mother, she answered, “Xo, jbo; Uncle Abe! has been for her once, but she won’t come; and if she knows it is cholera. she’ll take me away.” Tiiis convinced the doctor, who proceeded to put in practice the medical •kill which he had picked up nt intervals. and which was considerable for one •f Iris capacity. By this time, n few of the women more daring than the rest and curious to know the fate of their companion, ventured near the door, where they Stood gazing wonderingly upon the poor •Id creature who was fast floating out •poo the broad river of death. It was a most violent attack, and its malignity was increased by a quantity of unripe fruit which she had eaten that morning. “Will somebody make a pra’r?” she ■aid. feebly, as she felt her life fast ebbing away. “Abel, you pray for poor Chloe;" ami her glassy eyes turned beseechingly toward her husband, who was aoted at camp meetings for praying the Kindest and longest of any one. But his strength had left him now, end Kissing the shriveled face of his dying wife, he said, “ ’Sense tue, Chloe; de •perrit is willin’, but de flesh part is mighty week an’ shaky .like. Miss Jessie. you pray?” he continued, as the child came to his side. “Yes. honey, pray.” gasped Chloe; and, kneeling down, the little girl began the laird’s Prayer, occasionally interspersing St with a petition that “God would tako the departing soul to heaven.” ■ “Yes, dat's it.” whispered Chloe; “dat a better dan all deni fine words ’hout kingdom come an 1 daily bread; dey’ll do for white folks, but God bress old Chloe, de thing for me to die on. Sing, honey, •Lag," she said, at last; and, mingled with the lamentations of the blacks, there arose on the evening air the soft uotes •f the "Happy Laud," which Jessie sung, bending low toward Chloe, who, when the song was ended, clasped her in her arms, and calling her "a shinin' angel,” went, we trust, to the better land. Loud and shrill rose the wail of the •egroes, increasing in violence when it was known-rhat into another cabiu the pestilence had entered, prostrating a boy, who. in his agony, called for Jessie and Kiars’r Richard, thinking they could save bim. Late as it was, Mrs. Lansing. Adn and Lina were still upon the piazza, which was far more comfortable :lian their sleeping room, where they supposed both Halbert and Jessie were safely in bed. They were just thinking of retiring when suddenly the midnight stillness was broken by a cry so shrill tfoat Mrs. Lauding started to her feet, asking what it was. From her couch by the open door Aunt Dinah arose, and going out a few rods, ■•tened to the sound, which seemed to «••« from the negro quarters. Whither •t her mistress’ command, she bent her •feps. But a short time elapsed ere she Mturued with the startling news that **the cholera was thar; that Chloe was dead, and another ltad got it and Miss Jessie was holdiu’ his head.” Wholly overcome with fright, Mrs. Lansing fainted, and was borne to her •mm, where, for a time, she remained ancouscious. forgetful of Jessie, who stayed at the quarter long after niidwfgbt. ministering to the wants of the «kfa of which, before morning, chore sat fire, while others showed symptoms «f the rapidly spreading disease. As soon «s Mrs. Lansing returned to consciousarm she sent for Jessie, who catnc rebwfsiitlj. receiving her mother's reproof in silence, and falling away to sleep as «nfat|y as if she had not just been looking upon death, whose shadow was over mmt around her. ■arly the next morning, a man was •sM in haste to Cedar Grove, which he asm reached, for the destroyer met him «■ the road, and in one of the cablus of • neighboring plantation he died, forget- ■

ting, in the intensity of his suffering, the errand on which he had been i-eht; and as those who attended him know nothing of Mrs. Lansing’s being at The Tines, it was not until the second day after the appearance of the cholera that she learned the fate of her servant. In a state bordering almost upon distraction, she waited for her brother, shuddering with fenr whenever a new case was reported to her, and refusing to visit the sufferers, although among them were some who had played with her In childhood; and one, an old gray-haired man, who had saved her from a watery grave when on the Savannah river she had fallen overboard. But there was no place for gratitude in her selfish heart, and the miserable creatures were left to dm alone, uneheered by the presence of face, save little Jessie, who won her mother's reluctant conseut to be with them, and who, all the day long, went from cabin to cabin, soothing the sick and dying by her presence, and emboldening others by her own intrepidity. Toward sunset* Mrs. Lansing herself was seized with the malady, and with a wild shriek she called on Ada to help her; but that young lady was herself too much intimidated to heed the call, and in an adjoining room she sat with camphor at her nose and brandy at her side until a fierce, darting pain warned her that she, too, was a victim. No longer afraid of Mrs. Lansing, she made no resistance when borne to the same apnrtm.mt, where for hours they lay, bemoaning the fate which had brought them there, and trembling as they thought of tlig probable result. On Mrs. Lansing’s mind there was a heavy load, and once, 'when the cold perspiration stood thickly upon her face, she ordered Jessie and Dinah from the room, while she confessed to Ada the sin of which she had been guilty in deceiving both her brother and Rosa. “It was a wicked falsehood,” said she. “and if you survive me, you must tell them so—will you?” Ada nodded in token that she would; and then, thinking how her own conscience might be made easier by a similar confession,,.she told how she had thought to injure Rosa in Mr. Delafield’s estimation. This done, the two ladies felt greatly relieved; and ns the cholera In their case had been induced mostly by fear, it began ere long to yield to the efficient treatment of Dinah, who to her housekeeping qnnlities added that of being a skillful nurse. Toward morning they were pronounced decidedly better, nnd as Jessie was asleep and Dinah nodding in her chair, Mrs. Lansing lifted her head from her pillow, saying to Ada, “If you please, you needn’t tell what I told you last night, when I thought I was going to die!” Ada promised to be silent, and after winning a similar promise from Mrs. Lansing, they both fell asleep, nor woke again until the sun was high up in the heavens. So much for a sick-bed repeutanceT ' That day was hotter nnd more sultry than any which had preceded it; anil about the middle of the afternoon little Jessie dame to Dinah’s side, and laying her head upon her lap, complained of being both cold and tired. Blankets were wrapped round her, but they brought her rip warmth, for her blood was chilled by approaching death, nnd when at dusk the negroes asked why she came not among them, they were told that she was dying! With streaming eyes they fell upon their knees, and from those humble cabins there went up many a fervent prayer for God to spare the child. But it could not be; She v. as wanted in heaven; and when old Uncle Abel, who had also been 111, crept cm his hands and knees to her bedside, calling upon her name, she did not ’know him, for unconsciousness was upm* her, end in infinite mercy she v, as spared the pain usually attendant upon the disease. Almost bereft of reasou and powerless to act, Mrs. Lansing sat by her child, whose life was fast ebbing away. In a short time all the negroes, who were able, had come to the house, their dark faces stained with tears and expressive of the utmost concern, as they looked upon the little girl who lay so white and still, with her fair hair floating over the pillow and her waxen hauds folded upon her bosom. *- “Sing to me, Uncle Dick,” she said, nt last, “sing of the happy land not far away;” but Unde Dick was not there, and they who watched her were too much overcome with grief to heed her request. Slowly the hours wore on, and the spirit was almost home, when again she murmured: “Sing of the happy land;” and as if in answer to her prayer, the breeze, which all the day long had been hushed nnd still, now sighed mournfully through the trees, while a mocking bird in the distance struck up his evening lay, and amid the gushing melody of that wondrous bird of song nnd the soft breathing notes of the whispering pines, little Jessie passed to the “happy land” which to those who watched the going out of her short life seemed indeed “not far away.” With a bitter cry the bereaved mother fell upon her face and wept aloud, saying, in her heart. “Why have I thus been dealt with?” In the distance was heard the sound of horses’ feet, nnd ere long her brother was with her, weeping as only strong men weep over the lifeless form which returned him no nnswcriug caress. She had been bis idol. “Jessie is gone, Rosa is going, and I shall be left alone,” he thought. “What have I done to deserve a chastiseni ?nt like this?”

Soon, however, he grew calmer, nnd saying, “It is well,” he tenderly kissed the lips and brow of the beautiful child. Who seemed to smile on him even in death; then going out among his people, he comforted them as best he could, dropping more than one tear tq,the memory of those who were dead, and who nuinl*ered eight in all. At a short distance from the hons* was a tall cypreos whore Jessie had often sported, and where now a play house, built by her hands bat a few daya before. Were, by the light of the silvery moon, they made her grave, and when the sun was np. its rays foil upon the pile of aarth which hid from 1 •

view the sunny face and soft blue eyes of Jessie, “the Angel of The Pines.” } CHAPTER XXI. For nearly a week after Jessie’s death, Mr. Delafield remained at The Pines, doing whatever he could for the comfort of his servants, and as at the end of that time the disease had wholly disappeared, he returned to Cedar Grove, rccompanied by his sister and Ada, who had learned by sad experience that the dangers from which we flee are oftentimes less than those to which we go. They found Rosa better, but still qjsite low, and as the fever had not entirely left her, neither Mrs. Lansing nor Ada ventured near her room, but shut themselves In their own apartment. Over Dr. 'Clayton a change had come. The hopeful, happy expression of his face was gone, and in its place was a look of utter hopelessness which at first roused Richard’s fears lest Rosa should be worse, and in much alarm he asked if it were so. “No, no,” answered the doctor, while a shadow of pain passed over his handsome features; “she will live." x -. Then hurrying to the window, fie looked out to hide his tears from him whom he knew to be his rival, and who, now that he was unobserved, bent over the sleeping Rosa, kissing her wasted cheek and mourning for her as he thought how she would weep when she learned the fate of her favorite. Oh, could he have known the whole, how passionately would he have clasped her to his bosom and held her there as his own, his darling Rosa! But it was not yet to be, and he must bide his time.

She had seemed greatly relieved nt his absence, and on the second day after his departure, she called Dr. Clayton to her side, fancying him to be her brother Charlie. Taking his hand in hers, she told him the whole story of her trials; how she had tried -to bring back the old nffection of her childhood, but co r utd not because 6f the love Blie had for Richard Delafield.

“Oh, Charlie,” she exclaimed, “he would forgive me, I know, if he knew how much I suffered during those terrible (lays, when I thought of giving my hand without my heart. The very idea set my brain on fire, and my head has ached, eh, 60 hard, since then; but it’s over now’ for I conquered at last, and on the night before the wedding I resolvnl to tell him I could not and would not marry him. But a dark cloud, which seemed like the rushing of mighty waters, came over me, and I don’t know where I ain, nor what has happened, only he has been here, hanging like a shadow over my pillow, where sat another shadow tenfold blacker, which he said was Death; but grim and hideous as it was, I preferred it to a life with him, when my whole soul was given to another. When I am dead, Charlie, you must tell him how it was, nnd ask him to forgive and think with pity of poor little Rosa, who would have loved him if she could. But not a word of this to Mr. Delafield. Charlie; never let him know how I loved Linn My affection is not returned, and he Would despise me—would never visit my grave or think with pity of one who died so far away from home.” Then followed a message for the loved ones of Sunny Bank; but this Dr. Clayton- did not hear. Perfectly paralyzed, bdrfiid listened, to her story until his reason seemed in danger of leaving him, nnd long ere she had finished lie know he must give her up, but not to death. Laying his head upon the pillow beside that of Rosa, /who, wearied witli her story, "hud fallen asleep, he wept as he had never wept before, not even when he saw creeping over her the shadow of death. Turn which way he would, there was naught before him save the darkness of despair; and as wave after wave broke over him, his mind went backward to the time when she might have been his —when he could hnve gathered her to his bosom —and in piteous accents he cried aloud, “My punishment is greater than I can bear.” But as the fiercest storm soonest expends its fury, so he ere long grew calm and capable of sober, serious thought. Rosa Lee was very dear to him, and to hare possessed her love he would have given almost every tiring; but as that cogld not be, ought he |to stand in the way of her happiness? He knew she was deceived, for he remembered many things he had seen in Mr. Delafield, which, though he had not thought of it then, convinced him now that her affection was reciprocated; and should he not

tell her so, nnd at the same time disclose to Richard the triys state of affairs? Rosa’s quiet, unobtrusive nnd rather reserved manned had misled Richard, no doubt, or he would long ere this have declared his love. “Yes. God Irelping me, I will do right,” he said aloud, clasping* his hands to er his feverish brow. “I will watch by her until his return, and then committing her to his care, I will leave her forever.” Never did a tender brother watch more carefully over a darling sister than did lie over her during the few days which elapsed ere Mr. Delafield’s return. He was alone with her when he came, rnd with comparative calmness he greeted his rival; who was surprised at the change in his looks. That night, in the solitude of his chamber, the doctor penned two letters, one for Rosa and the other for Richard. In substance, the contents of each were much the same, for lie told them all he had heard from Rosa, and how, though it broke his heart to do so, he had given her up. “Deal very, very geutly with her,” he wrote to Mr- Delafield, “for never was there a purer, gentler being, or one more worthy, of your love than she. Then take her, and when your cup ‘ls overflowing with happiness, think sometimes of one who henceforth will be a lonely, wretched man.” The letters being written, lie put them away until Bueh time ns lie should meet them. Once’ he thought to talk with Richard face to face; but this he felt he could not do; so one morning, about a week after the return of the family to Cedar Grove, and when Rosa was out of danger, he pressed a burning kiss upon her forehead, nnd placing the letters on the little dressing bureau where they would attract the immediate attention of Mr. Delafield, who. he knew, would boon be there, he went in quest of Mrs. Lansing, whom he bade good-by as composedly as if no inward fire wore consuming him. Half an hour afterward and the puffing engine, which now each day thundered into town, was bearing him away from a place whither he had come for a bride, and from which he bore only a crushed and aching heart. Scarcely bad be left Rosa's chamber when a colored woman entered it to “set it to rights” as was her daily custom. She was usar-

sighted* and going to the dressing bureau, carelessly brushed off the letter directed to Richard. Falling behind th* bureau, it lay concealed from view, while the degress proceeded with her duties, unconscious of the mischief Bhe had done. In great surprise Richard heard of I)r. Clayton’s sudden departure. “There must be something wrong,” he thought, though what he did not know. Going up to Rosa’s chamber, he found her still asleep. The room was in order, the servant gone, and on the bureau lay the letter which soon caught his attention. Glancing 9 at the superscription, he saw it was for Rosa, and thinking to keep it safely until eh© could understand Its contents, be placed it In his pocket; then taking a book, he sat by her bedside until she awoke. She was apparently bettep, but an unnatural brightness of her eyes told that her mind was still unsettled. So he said nothing to her concerning the doctor’s desertion, but himself ministered to her wants. In the course of a few days Mrs. Lansing was induced to visit her. This she did more willingly, for Rosa had loved her little Jessie; she would weep bitterly when she knew she was! dead; and the proud nature of the haughty woman gave way to the softer feelings, which often prompts a mother to take a deeper interest in whatever was once dear to 1 a lost, a precious child. So casting aside her nervous fear, she nt last went frequently to the sick room, her own white, delicate hands sometimes arranging the tumbled pillow or holding the cooling draught to the lips of her formerly despised governess —despised, not for anything which she had done, but because it was hers to labor for her daily bread. (To be continued.)