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203 pages

English

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Essayist and newspaper columnist Fanny Fern achieved a remarkable level of fame in her lifetime, and in addition to hundreds of newspaper columns, she penned two novels that were based in large part on her own life experiences. Rose Clark, the follow-up to the spectacularly popular Ruth Hall, focuses on a doomed marriage that is similar in many regards to the ill-advised union Fern entered into after the death of her first husband.

Informations

Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 décembre 2012
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775562559
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

ROSE CLARK
* * *
FANNY FERN

*
Rose Clark First published in 1856 ISBN 978-1-77556-255-9 © 2012 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Reader! Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Chapter XIV Chapter XV Chapter XVI Chapter XVII Chapter XVIII Chapter XIX Chapter XX Chapter XXI Chapter XXII Chapter XXIII Chapter XXIV Chapter XXV Chapter XXVI Chapter XXVII Chapter XXVIII Chapter XXIX Chapter XXX Chapter XXXI Chapter XXXII Chapter XXXIII Chapter XXXIV Chapter XXXV Chapter XXXVI Chapter XXXVII Chapter XXXVIII Chapter XXXIX Chapter XL Chapter XLI Chapter XLII Chapter XLIII Chapter XLIV Chapter XLV Chapter XLVI Chapter XLVII Chapter XLVIII Chapter XLIX Chapter L Chapter LI Chapter LII Chapter LIII Chapter LIV Chapter LV Chapter LVI Chapter LVII Chapter LVIII Chapter LIX Chapter LX Chapter LXI Chapter LXII Chapter LXIII Chapter LXIV Chapter LXV Chapter LXVI Chapter LXVII Chapter LXVIII Chapter LXIX Chapter LXX Chapter LXXI
Reader!
*
When the frost curtains the windows, when the wind whistles fiercely atthe key-hole, when the bright fire glows, and the tea-tray is removed,and father in his slippered feet lolls in his arm-chair; and mother withher nimble needle "makes auld claes look amaist as weel as new," andgrandmamma draws closer to the chimney-corner, and Tommy with his plateof chestnuts nestles contentedly at her feet; then let my unpretendingstory be read. For such an hour, for such an audience, was it written.
Should any dictionary on legs rap inopportunely at the door foradmittance, send him away to the groaning shelves of some musty library,where "literature" lies embalmed, with its stony eyes, fleshlessjoints, and ossified heart, in faultless preservation.
Then, should the smile, and the tear, have passed round, while thecandle flickers in the socket, if but one kindly voice murmur low,
"MAY GOD BLESS HER!"
it will brighten the dreams of
FANNY FERN.
Chapter I
*
"Here is number fifty-four, Timmins," said the matron of acharity-school to her factotum, as she led in a little girl about sixyears of age; "number fifty-four; you must put another cot in the longhall, and another plate in the eating-room. What is your name, child?"
"Rose," replied the little one, vailing her soft, dark eyes under theircurtaining lashes, and twisting the corner of a cotton shawl.
"Rose!" repeated the matron, in a contemptuous aside, to Timmins; "Iknew it would be sure to be something fanciful; beggars always go onstilts."
"I am not a beggar," said the child, "I am mother's little Rose."
"Mother's little Rose?" repeated the matron, again, in the same sneeringtone; "well—who was mother?"
"Mother is dead," said the child, with a quivering lip.
"No loss, either," said Mrs. Markham to Timmins, "since she did notknow better than to let the child run in the streets."
"Mother was sick, and I had to go of errands," said the child,defensively.
"Ah, yes—always an excuse; but do you know that I am the matron of thisestablishment? and that you must never answer me back, in that way? Doyou know that you must do exactly as I and the committee say? Timmins,bring me the scissors and let us lop off this mop of a wig," and shelifted up the clustering curls, behind which Rose seemed trying to hide.
"There—now you look proper and more befitting your condition," saidMrs. Markham, as the sheared lamb rose from its kneeling posture andstood before her. "Timmins, Timmins!" Mrs. Markham whispered, "don'tthrow away those curls; the hairdresser always allows me somethinghandsome for them. It is curious what thick hair beggar children alwayshave."
"But I am not a beggar," said Rose again, standing up very straightbefore Mrs. Markham.
"Look at it," said Mrs. Markham, with a sneer; "look at it, Timmins, itis 'not a beggar.' Look at its ragged frock, and soiled shawl, and tornpinafore; it 'is not a beggar.' We shall have some work to do here,Timmins. Come here, Rose."
"Did you hear me, child?" she repeated, as Rose remained stationary.
The child moved slowly toward Mrs. Markham.
"Look me in the eye."
Rose cast a furtive glance at the stern, hard face before her.
"Do you know that naughty girls, in this house, stay in dark closets."
Rose shuddered, but made no reply.
"Ah, I thought so; you had better remember that. Now, go away withTimmins, and have the school uniform put on; 'not a beggar!' was thereever the like of that?" and Mrs. Markham settled herself in herrocking-chair, put her feet upon the sofa, and composed herself for herafter-dinner nap.
As she reclines there, we will venture to take a look at her: not aphrenological glance, for she has a cap on her head; under its frilledborders peep some wiry artificial curls; her lips are thin and vixenish;her nose sharp and long, with a bridge which seems to defy the beholderto cross her will; her dress clings very tightly to her bean-polefigure; and on her long arm hangs a black velvet bag, containing herspectacles, snuff-box, and some checkerberry lozenges, which she has apleasant way of chewing before the children in school hours. You mayknow that she expects a call to-day, because she has on her festal giltbreast-pin with a green stone in the center.
"Beg your pardon, ma'am; sorry to wake you," said Timmins, with a veryflushed face; "but I can't do nothing with that young one, though I havetried my best. I went up stairs to wash her all over, according to rule,before I put on the school uniform; and when I began to strip her, shepulled her clothes all about her, and held them tight, and cried, andtook on, saying that nobody ever saw her all undressed but her mother,and all that sort of thing."
"The affected little prude! and to break up my nap, too!" said Mrs.Markham. "I'll teach her—come along, Timmins."
True enough; there stood Rose in the corner, as Timmins had said; herdress half torn off in the scuffle, leaving exposed herbeautifully-molded shoulders and back, while with her little hands sheclutched the remaining rags closely about her person. With her dilatednostrils, flushed cheeks, and flashing eyes, she made a tableau worthlooking at.
"Come here," hissed Mrs. Markham, in a tone that made Rose's fleshcreep.
Rose moved slowly toward her.
"Take off those rags—every one of them."
"I can not," said Rose; "oh, don't make me; I can not."
"Take them off, I say. What! do you mean to resist me?" (as Rose heldthem more tenaciously about her;) and grasping her tightly by the wrist,she drew her through a long passage-way, down a steep pair of stairs,and pushing her into a dark closet, turned the key on her and strodeaway.
"Obstinate little minx," she said, as she passed Timmins, on her returnto her rocking-chair and to her nap.
"Hark! Mrs. Markham! Mrs. Markham!—what's that groan? Hadn't I betteropen the door and peep in?"
"That is always the way with you, Timmins: no, of course not. She canaffect groaning as well as she can affect delicacy; let her stay theretill her spirit is well broke; when I get ready I will let her outmyself;" and Mrs. Markham walked away.
But Timmins was superstitious, and that groan haunted her, and so shewent back to the closet to listen. It was all very still; perhaps it wasnot Rose, after all; and Timmins breathed easier, and walked a few stepsaway; and then again, perhaps it was, and Timmins walked back again. Itwould do no harm to peep, at any rate; the key was in the lock, and Mrs.Markham never would know it. Timmins softly turned it;—she called,
"Rose!"
No answer. She threw open the blind in the entry, that the light mightstream into the closet. There lay the child in strong convulsions.Timmins knew she risked nothing in calling Mrs. Markham now.
"Come quick—quick—she is dying!"
"Pshaw! only a trick," said Mrs. Markham, more nervous than she choseto acknowledge, as she consulted her watch and thought of the visitorshe was expecting.
"Take her up, Timmins," said she, after satisfying herself the child wassenseless, "take her into my room, and put her on the bed."
"Gracious! how can I?" asked Timmins, looking with dismay at the bloodflowing profusely from a wound in the temple, occasioned by her fall;"she looks so dreadful, Mrs. Markham."
"Fool!" exclaimed that lady, as she snatched up the little sufferer inher arms, and walked rapidly through the entry. "That's the door bell,Timmins; that is Mr. Balch; tell him I will be there directly—mind—nota word about the child, as you value your place. I have not forgottenthat brown soap business."
The cowed Timmins retired as she was bid; and Mrs. Markham, laying theinsensible child on the bed, closed the door of her room and applied theproper restoratives; for her position involved some little knowledge ofthe healing art. After a while, Rose opened her eyes, but as suddenlyclosed them again, as they revealed the form of her persecutor.
" You can attend to her now," said Mrs. Markham to Timmins, about halfan hour after, as she went down to receive Mr. Balch.
Timmins walked about the room uneasily, for Rose's ghastly facedistressed her.
"If she would only speak, or open her eyes!" but the child did neither.Timmins coughed and hemmed, but Rose did not seem to notice it; at last,going up to the bed-side, she passed her hand over her forehead.
"Don't," whispered Rose, glancing round the room as if afraid of seeingMrs. Markham; "d