Men, Women, and Ghosts , livre ebook

Pub One Info - Stuart Phelps Elizabeth

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124 pages

English

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None at all. Understand that, please, to begin with. That you will at once, and distinctly, recall Dr. Sharpe - and his wife, I make no doubt. Indeed, it is because the history is a familiar one, some of the unfamiliar incidents of which have come into my possession, that I undertake to tell it.

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Historical fiction

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	23 octobre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819900313
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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No News.
None at all. Understand that, please, to begin with.That you will at once, and distinctly, recall Dr. Sharpe – and hiswife, I make no doubt. Indeed, it is because the history is afamiliar one, some of the unfamiliar incidents of which have comeinto my possession, that I undertake to tell it.
My relation to the Doctor, his wife, and theirfriend, has been in many respects peculiar. Without entering intoexplanations which I am not at liberty to make, let me say, thatthose portions of their story which concern our present purpose,whether or not they fell under my personal observation, areaccurately, and to the best of my judgment impartially,related.
Nobody, I think, who was at the wedding, dreamedthat there would ever be such a story to tell. It was such apretty, peaceful wedding! If you were there, you remember it as youremember a rare sunrise, or a peculiarly delicate May-flower, orthat strain in a simple old song which is like orioles andbutterflies and dew-drops.
There were not many of us; we were all acquaintedwith one another; the day was bright, and Harrie did not faint norcry. There were a couple of bridesmaids, – Pauline Dallas, and aMiss – Jones, I think, – besides Harrie's little sisters; and thepeople were well dressed and well looking, but everybody wasthoroughly at home, comfortable, and on a level. There was noannihilating of little country friends in gray alpacas by citycousins in point and pearls, no crowding and no crush, and, Ibelieve, not a single "front breadth" spoiled by the ices.
Harrie is not called exactly pretty, but she must bea very plain woman who is not pleasant to see upon her wedding day.Harrie's eyes shone, – I never saw such eyes! and she threw herhead back like a queen whom they were crowning.
Her father married them. Old Mr. Bird was an oddman, with odd notions of many things, of which marriage was one.The service was his own. I afterwards asked him for a copy of it,which I have preserved. The Covenant ran thus: – "Appealing to yourFather who is in heaven to witness your sincerity, you .... do nowtake this woman whose hand you hold – choosing her alone from allthe world – to be your lawfully wedded wife. You trust her as yourbest earthly friend. You promise to love, to cherish, and toprotect her; to be considerate of her happiness in your plans oflife; to cultivate for her sake all manly virtues; and in allthings to seek her welfare as you seek your own. You pledgeyourself thus honorably to her, to be her husband in good faith, solong as the providence of God shall spare you to each other. "Inlike manner, looking to your Heavenly Father for his blessing, you... do now receive this man, whose hand you hold, to be yourlawfully wedded husband. You choose him from all the world as hehas chosen you. You pledge your trust to him as your best earthlyfriend. You promise to love, to comfort, and to honor him; tocultivate for his sake all womanly graces; to guard his reputation,and assist him in his life's work; and in all things to esteem hishappiness as your own. You give yourself thus trustfully to him, tobe his wife in good faith, so long as the providence of God shallspare you to each other."
When Harrie lifted her shining eyes to say, "I do !" the two little happy words ran through the silent roomlike a silver bell; they would have tinkled in your ears for weeksto come if you had heard them.
I have been thus particular in noting the words ofthe service, partly because they pleased me, partly because I havesince had some occasion to recall them, and partly because Iremember having wondered, at the time, how many married men andwomen of your and my acquaintance, if honestly subjecting theirunion to the test and full interpretation and remotest bearing ofsuch vows as these, could live in the sight of God and man as"lawfully wedded" husband and wife.
Weddings are always very sad things to me; as muchsadder than burials as the beginning of life should be sadder thanthe end of it. The readiness with which young girls will flit outof a tried, proved, happy home into the sole care and keeping of aman whom they have known three months, six, twelve, I do notprofess to understand. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; itis high, I cannot attain unto it. But that may be because I amfifty-five, an old maid, and have spent twenty years inboarding-houses.
A woman reads the graces of a man at sight. Hisfaults she cannot thoroughly detect till she has been for years hiswife. And his faults are so much more serious a matter to her thanhers to him!
I was thinking of this the day before the wedding. Ihad stepped in from the kitchen to ask Mrs. Bird about the salad,when I came abruptly, at the door of the sitting-room, upon aschoice a picture as one is likely to see.
The doors were open through the house, and the windswept in and out. A scarlet woodbine swung lazily back and forthbeyond the window. Dimples of light burned through it, dotting thecarpet and the black-and-white marbled oilcloth of the hall.Beyond, in the little front parlor, framed in by the series ofdoorways, was Harrie, all in a cloud of white. It floated about herwith an idle, wavelike motion. She had a veil like fretted pearlsthrough which her tinted arm shone faintly, and the shadow of asingle scarlet leaf trembled through a curtain upon herforehead.
Her mother, crying a little, as mothers will cry theday before the wedding, was smoothing with tender touch a tinycrease upon the cloud; a bridesmaid or two sat chattering on thefloor; gloves, and favors, and flowers, and bits of lace like hoarfrost, lay scattered about; and the whole was repictured andreflected and reshaded in the great old-fashioned mirrors beforewhich Harrie turned herself about.
It seemed a pity that Myron Sharpe should miss that,so I called him in from the porch where he sat reading Stuart Millon Liberty.
If you form your own opinion of a man who mightspend a livelong morning, – an October morning, quivering withcolor, alive with light, sweet with the breath of dropping pines,soft with the caress of a wind that had filtered through miles ofsunshine, – and that the morning of the day before his wedding, –reading Stuart Mill on Liberty, – I cannot help it.
Harrie, turning suddenly, saw us, – met her lover'seyes, stood a moment with lifted lashes and bright cheeks, – creptwith a quick, impulsive movement into her mother's arms, kissedher, and floated away up the stairs. "It's a perfect fit," saidMrs. Bird; coming out with one corner of a very dingy handkerchief– somebody had just used it to dust the Parian vases – at hereyes.
And though, to be sure, it was none of my business,I caught myself saying, under my breath, – "It's a fit for life;for a life , Dr. Sharpe."
Dr. Sharpe smiled serenely. He was very much in lovewith the little pink-and-white cloud that had just fluttered up thestairs. If it had been drifting to him for the venture of twentylifetimes, he would have felt no doubt of the "fit."
Nor, I am sure, would Harrie. She stole out to himthat evening after the bridal finery was put away, and knelt at hisfeet in her plain little muslin dress, her hair all out of crimp,slipping from her net behind her ears, – Harrie's ears were verysmall, and shaded off in the colors of a pale apple-blossom, –up-turning her flushed and weary face. "Put away the book, please,Myron."
Myron put away the book (somebody on BiliousAffections), and looked for a moment without speaking at theup-turned face.
Dr. Sharpe had spasms of distrusting himselfamazingly; perhaps most men have, – and ought to. His face grewgrave just then. That little girl's clear eyes shone upon him likethe lights upon an altar. In very unworthiness of soul he wouldhave put the shoes from off his feet. The ground on which he trodwas holy.
When he spoke to the child, it was in a whisper: –"Harrie, are you afraid of me? I know I am not very good."
And Harrie, kneeling with the shadows of the scarletleaves upon her hair, said softly, "How could I be afraid of you?It is I who am not good."
Dr. Sharpe could not have made much progress inBilious Affections that evening. All the time that the skies werefading, we saw them wandering in and out among the apple-trees, –she with those shining eyes, and her hand in his. And whento-morrow had come and gone, and in the dying light they droveaway, and Miss Dallas threw old Grandmother Bird's little satinboot after the carriage, the last we saw of her was that her handwas clasped in his, and that her eyes were shining.
Well, I believe that they got along very well tillthe first baby came. As far as my observation goes, young peopleusually get along very well till the first baby comes. Theseparticular young people had a clear conscience, – as young people'sconsciences go, – fair health, a comfortable income for two, and avery pleasant home.
This home was on the coast. The townspeople madeshoes, and minded their own business. Dr. Sharpe bought the dyingpractice of an antediluvian who believed in camomile andcastor-oil. Harrie mended a few stockings, made a few pies, andwatched the sea.
It was almost enough of itself to make one happy –the sea – as it tumbled about the shores of Lime. Harrie had alittle seat hollowed out in the cliffs, and a little scarletbathing-dress, which was surprisingly becoming, and a little boatof her own, moored in a little bay, – a pretty shell which herhusband had had made to order, that she might be able to rowherself on a calm water. He was very thoughtful for her in thosedays.
She used to take her sewing out upon the cliff; shewould be demure and busy; she would finish the selvage seam; butthe sun blazed, the sea shone, the birds sang, all the world was atplay, – what could it matter about selvage seams? So the littlegold thimble would drop off, the spool trundle down the cliff, andHarrie, sinking back into a cushion of green and crimson sea-weed,would open her wide eyes and dream. The