CHAPTER X
SORROW MAY LAST FOR A NIGHT
It the was of a piece with the proverbial blindness of man that Nathan Woods should have stepped over the letter as he went out in the morning without taking note of it, just as it was natural to the keen sight of woman that Nannie should see it the first thing as she came down in the morning. She ran swiftly towards it and cast her eye over the address. At first she gasped, then she awoke the echoes with a joyous shriek and went flying up to Mary's room. Mary sat up in bed in dumb amazement which was only increased when the enthusiastic girl threw her arms about her and began sobbing and laughing alternately.
"Oh, Mary," she cried, "it's come, it's come, and he's all right."
"What is it, Nannie? What's come, and who's all right?"
"Your father's been here, oh!"
"My father? When? What did he say?"
"Nothing, oh, I didn't see him, he didn't say anything."
"I don't understand you, Nannie. You say my father didn't say anything at all?"
"Why, how could he? He came at night, and he didn't say anything because he couldn't, you know. We were all asleep, but he left this." She broke off her violent demonstrations long enough to thrust the letter into Mary's hand, then she immediately resumed them with such a degree of fervor that her friend found it impossible to get a glimpse of the missive she held in her hand. Gently, at last, she put her hand aside, and then trembling with anticipation, glanced at the letter. Her face fell.
"But this is not addressed to me," she said.
"Oh, you great goose, don't you see, that it's to your father and from Tom and that he wanted you to know? Else why should he have slipped it under the door?"
"Do you think he did it, really ?"
"Of course, he did, who else? He couldn't lose it crawling into our hallway, and that's the only other way it could have got there."
"I wonder if I ought to read it?" mused Mary fingering the envelope eagerly, but nervously.
"Mary Waters!" exclaimed Nannie, "if you don't read that letter this instant, I'll take it from you and read it myself."
"That's right, do, Nannie, you're braver than I am," and Mary proffered the letter. But Nannie sprang back with sudden timidity.
"No, I won't," she said. "It's for you, but if it were my brother's letter, I'd have read it long before now."
"Well, I'll read it, if you'll stay and hear it," and she took the penciled sheets out and began the perusal of the words which had brought so much joy to her father's heart. As she road, the color came back to her faded chocks and the light to her eyes. Her bosom heaved with pleasure and pride. Nannie was no less delighted. As the reading went on, she continued to give Mary little encouraging hugs, and she was radiant.
Then came the passage about the girls.
"Humph," said Nannie, "is that all a soldier has to write about? I should think he'd be thinking more about the safety of his country than about the girls he sees."
"Oh, you know he's only funning, Nannie, and then he says Washington's as safe as a meeting-house."
"I don't believe it. I believe the rebels are waiting to swoop down on the city at any time and capture all our state papers, and archives and things, wherever they keep them, while our soldiers go around looking pretty for the girls to cheer. Humph!"
Mary kissed her and laughed, and the rest of the reading proceeded without demonstrations from Tom's sweetheart. At its close, she made no comment whatever, but sat upon the bed swinging her feet with pronounced indifference.
"Aren't you glad to hear from him?" said Mary merrily, "and to find him in such good spirits? Dear old Tom. And wasn't it good of father to bring his letter to me? Didn't I tell you, Nannie, that my father didn't mean half he said?"
"No you didn't, Mary Waters. You thought the end of everything had come, even after I tried to convince you that it hadn't, and as for being glad, to be sure, I'm glad you've heard from your brother. Any one with relatives in the field must be very anxious."
"But you know, he said he was going to write to you, Nannie."
"It's very kind in him; I wonder he can take time from his Washington girls to write."
Then Mary laughed. "It can't be that you are jealous, Nannie, girl," she said affectionately taking her friend in her arms. "You know Tom is teasing you."
"I jealous!" oh how the little woman sniffed! "I can assure you that I'm not jealous, but I have the interests of my country at heart, and I cannot but feel sorry to see our soldiers giving themselves up to trivial amusements when she is in danger of—oh, just the most awful things. I'm not jealous, oh, no, but I'm ashamed of Tom."
"Why, Nannie, how can you?" said Mary reddening.
"Well, I am, and I mean it, and it's awful, that's what it is."
"I'm sorry my brother has offended you."
"Oh, Mary," Nannie was always inarticulate in her emotion, but Mary understood the burst of tears as Nannie threw herself on her bosom, and forgave her disparagement of Tom.
"What a little silly you are. You know he was only joking."
"Joking! Such a letter isn't any joke. It's brutal, that's what it is. Pretty girls cheering him! I hate those Washington girls. I just know they're bold, brazen things, and they didn't look at another man but Tom."
"Never you mind, you'll have a letter soon."
"I don't want it."
"All right. Maybe it won't come. The mails are very irregular now."
"Mary Waters, how can you say such a mean thing?"
"I didn't think you'd mind it."
"But I do mind it. You know the mails are regular here. It's not the mails that I'm worrying about."
She must have worried about something though, for when her father came in with the morning paper, she was eager to know if he had been to the post office, and on receiving a negative answer, was downcast for fully five minutes.
"The mail wouldn't have been sorted yet, anyhow," said her father, "and Banes's boy's going to bring it when he goes for theirs."
"The mail is very slow in Dorbury, isn't it?" Nannie proffered a little later, and was angry because Mary laughed again.
The promise of a letter was at least two days away, but Nannie ate very little that morning. She fastened her eyes upon the window which commanded the walk up which the Banes boy must come. Finally, when he hove in sight, she sprang away from the table with a cry, of "Oh, there he is!" and every one knew why her appetite had lapsed.
Fate was kind. It was kind two days ahead of promise, a strange thing, but this was her off day. There was a letter, and it was for Nannie and from Tom. She came directly to the table with it, because she didn't know any better, and there were no daws about to peck at an exposed heart. She read and smiled and bridled and blushed while the rest of the assembly neglected their eggs.
"Oh, give us some of it," said her father banteringly.
"I won't," she answered, and it was a good thing Tom couldn't see her smile and blush, for if he had been any sort of man, he would have deserted at once.
"Isn't there anything he says that we may hear?"
"Oh, do let me alone," she answered, and—well, it's hard to tell, but she giggled.
"What a softy he must be," said her little brother, "just writing about no-account things, when you'd think he'd be saying something about fighting. 'Tain't polite to read letters before folks anyhow."
"You hush up, Reuben," said Nannie indignantly, "don't you suppose a soldier can talk about anything but the horrors of war?"
"I knew it was from Tom," said Reuben jeeringly.
"Keep quiet, Reuben," said his father, "no telling when you'll be putting on fresh ties every night, an' tryin' to find out an excuse to be out to a 'literary' or a singing school."
Reuben grew red and was silent. His particular tone of red was what is denominated Turkey, and it was relieved by freckles.
"Well, I'll just read you a little of it," said Nannie finally. "I'm not going to tell you what he calls me in the beginning. That's none of their business, is it, Mary?" and she ran over and kissed Tom's sister for Tom's sake. Then she looked at the letter again.
"Well, he says, 'Dear little—' no I'm going to leave that out. He sends his love to you, papa, but of course, that's at the last."
"Would it hurt you to be consecutive?" asked Nathan Woods drily.
"Oh, now, don't tease, just listen. He says, oh, Mary, he doesn't say another word about those Washington girls. It was only a joke, don't you think it was? I knew Tom couldn't be thinking very seriously just of girls when there was something very, very important to do. You know I told you so, Mary."
"No," said Mary tantalizingly, "I don't think that you did tell me just that."
"And of course," said her father, "you may not know it isn't, but this is not, I maintain, this is not hearing the letter."
"Oh, well, he says he's in Washington. How perfectly charming it must be in Washington. I know that must be a great town with the government and senators and such things about you. Dear, how I should like to be there, and oh, Mary, don't you remember about the Potomac in the geography, just think, Tom's seen the Potomac!"
"I know about the Potomac," said Reuben.
"That's not the letter yet," was her father's comment.
"Well, if you'd only stop, father, I'd get to it," said Nannie.
"We are dumb."
"Oh, papa, now, please don't joke, it's really very, very serious."
"Has one among them been taken?"
"That's just it, that's just it. The rebels tried to take them, and they didn't, and Tom— Tom— I think he ought to be promoted for it. It's wonderful."
"What did Tom do? Save his whole brigade?"
"Well, I don't know that he did that, but he says that he shot and shot, and that the bullets spit up against the car behind him. Think of it!"
"It would have been a good deal worse if they had spit up against him," said Woods. He had been in the Mexican war and unfortunately had. lost his romance. "Now, daughter, for the letter."
"All right, you won't mind omissions, will you?"
"No, if you'll only omit your pauses and exclamations."
"'We are here, at last at the capital, and I tell you, it's a great place. I don't wonder in the least that men want to be congressmen when they can live in a town like this. Why, I'd be willing to take all the cares of the government on my shoulders just to live in a town like this. But you know, the voters have never pressed upon my shoulders the affairs of state, and so my willingness to be unselfish goes for nothing!' Now isn't that bright of Tom?"
"Oh, Nannie, for heaven's sake, go on." Nathan Woods was both short and impatient. "What we want is news, news about the troops and their condition there."
"I'm afraid, papa," said Nannie ruefully, "that there isn't much news. But never mind, listen. 'I got to see Lincoln the other day, and I don't think much of him. He's a big raw-boned fellow with a long face and an awfully serious look. But for any kind of polish I'll bet old Dennison could give him a good many lessons, although I don't think much of Dennison. My own———' Oh, no, there's where I've got to make an omission, but he goes on to say, 'People are saying that the rebellion is going to be a good deal bigger thing than we think, and that three months' service is hardly going to begin the fighting, others say different. Well, I don't care. I'm in it to stay, and you needn't expect to see me until we've licked the boots off these fellows. Do you know what they say? They boast that one Southerner can lick five Yankees. Well, I'd like to see them try it. Oh, isn't that just like Tom? He always was in for experiments."
"Go on, Nannie, and omit comment."
"'But as old man Wilson used to say in geometry class, if they proceed upon this hypothesis, they will be wrong.' Oh, Mary, don't you remember old Mr. Wilson, and how often Tom used to tell us about his funny expressions. How awfully clever of him to think of it now. But I know you're waiting to hear the rest. Oh, I can't read this, papa, not a bit of it. Nor the rest, oh, I wouldn't read that for anything. Tom is so enthusiastic. You know how he is. That's just what is going to make a good soldier out of him. He says, 'I've seen General Schenck, and he's just what you would expect from the Schenck family. It seems as if those people kept themselves busy making decent men. The boys all like him, although they have not got generally trained into liking generals yet. Say, Nannie—' and that's all," said the young girl with a guilty blush.
"How abruptly your brother ends his letters," said Nathan Woods, turning to Mary with a quizzical smile. "It may be striking, but it's not a good literary style."
"You must always consider the collaborator, Mr. Woods," said Mary.
"In this case, I'm not sure that it has been collaboration. It may have been interpretation, or even, heaven help us, expurgation."
"Papa," said Nannie with a very red face, then she gathered up the loose sheets of her letter and fled from the table.
"Mary," said Nathan Woods, "what has happened this morning has made me very happy, but don't count too much upon it. No man respects your father more than I do. But the oyster opens his shell for a little and then shuts it as tight as ever. So I would advise you to stay with us a while longer. Had he wanted you at home, now this is plain, he would have come to you openly; but in putting the letter under the door, he only made a sacrifice on account of his love for Tom. Don't cry, little girl."
"No, I'm going to be brave, for I am glad even of this kindness from him— but———"
"Aren't we treating you pretty well?"
"Yes, but Mr. Woods, you know, don't you?"
"Yes, I believe I do understand how you feel about it, but just keep on waitin', your time'll come."