The Old Man's Bride CHAPTER 31.
Back to The Old Man's Bride
Month after month went by, and still Mr. Wellford remained abroad. The health of Mr. Latta continuing feeble, his physician still enjoined relaxation from business, or, at most, a very moderate devotion of thought and effort in that direction. He could not, therefore, relieve Mr. Wellford. More than a year had elapsed, and yet the father was absent from his family, though yearning in heart to be with his beloved ones again. From loneliness and home-sickness, he had suffered greatly — this separation adding to the pain of his sad bereavement.
Mrs. Bullfinch had been true to her promise, in writing once a week. Every steamer brought him a letter, in which were faithful pen-pictures of what was passing at home. The progress of each child in its education, and most of its sayings and doings that were at all likely to interest the absent father, were recorded. Little faults and defects of character were, likewise, at times, set forth to view, and his advice sought as to the best modes of correction. She gave him, too, an account of household matters, and a monthly statement of expenses. Of the latter, he more than once said, in his letters, that it was needless, as he had every confidence in her, and knew that she was faithful and conscientious in all things. Still the statements were never omitted.
In regard to the tone of her letters, Mr. Wellford was, in some respects, not altogether so well pleased. They had always struck him as cold; but this coldness seemed, as time wore on, to increase. Her letters, too, became briefer, and more formal, while, in writing to her, his own had, almost unconsciously to himself, acquired a greater freedom and a warmer familiarity.
As the time of his absence was still prolonged, Mr. Wellford wrote to have a photograph of each of his children taken and sent to him. This was accordingly done. With what eager and trembling hands, did the father open the welcome package when it came. There were five separate pictures, one of each of his children, from Maggy, the oldest, a beautiful young woman, down to dear, dear, little Harry, the youngest born, and, if that were possible, best beloved. If tears dimmed the father's eyes, as he gazed upon the faces of his children, thus pictured for him to the very life, it was no unmanly weakness. Most of all, the youngest seemed changed. A year in a baby's life is a long period. He looked a great deal older, yet, oh, how much more beautiful! His large, heavenly eyes, his wealth of soft curls, clustering about his neck, and falling over his shoulders, his arching lips that seemed just about to speak to him — all came upon him like a living reality.
But there was another small package, carefully tied and sealed, and Mr. Wellford knew the writing thereon, to be in the hands of his oldest daughter. Opening this, he found, within, a letter from Maggy, and what startled and thrilled him with a strange, yet exquisitely pleased, emotion, another photograph, containing two figures, those of Mrs. Bullfinch and little Harry!
The child was sitting in her lap, with his head partly turned, so that he could look into her face, and the look was full of confiding love. But it was the face of Mrs. Bullfinch which more particularly attracted and chained the eyes of Mr. Wellford. So calm, so pure, so elevated, so spiritual in its beauty! It reminded him of one of Raphael's Madonnas. Instantly, there flowed back upon his heart, in a strong flood, the waters which, for so many years, had been pent up. He kissed, fervently, the pictured face, and, as he did so, murmured —
"Helen! Helen! There has been a great gulf. But it is bridged over at last!"
Opening now the letter of Maggy, he read —
"My Dear, Dear Father: If dear, good Mrs. Bullfinch knew what I was doing, she would scold me dreadfully — no, not scold, for she never spoke a cross word in her life, I'm sure. But if she knew what I was doing, she would be displeased and hurt. I send you her photograph, with our sweet little Harry sitting on her lap. I asked her to let me send it, but she looked half frightened, and said, 'No, indeed, Maggy; not for the world!' But I was bent on your seeing it, so I went out, one day, and had a duplicate made — and here it is! Doesn't she look beautiful? How we all do love her!
"And now let me tell you how it came, that her picture was taken. We all went to sit for our daguerreotypes, to be sent to you. When it came to Harry's turn, he was so frightened that we couldn't get him to sit in the chair. We tried for some time. At last, without thinking what would be the result, Mrs. Bullfinch sat down, and took him on her lap. The picture was taken, and, of course, we had Mrs. Bullfinch as well as Harry. We all said that was just as it should be; but she — and I never saw her face in such a beautiful glow as it was then — said no.
"Do you know, dear father, that Harry always calls her 'Mamma?' She tried a long time to make him say 'Aunty,' but it was no use. He would call her 'Mamma' — his 'own, sweet Mamma,' he says, sometimes. We all encourage him. I'm sure our own dear mother, of whom she often talks to us, never could have loved him more or taken better care of him.
"The other day, and I've thought strange of it ever since, I handed Mrs. Bullfinch the key of your private secretary, and asked her if she wouldn't get me a seal out of one of the little drawers. Thinking, soon after she left me, of something else that I wanted, I went over to your chamber. I had on light slippers, which made no sound on the carpet. Her back was towards me, but I saw that she had that beautiful ebony jewelry box in her hand, and had taken from it the old-fashioned gold watch which it contained, on which she was gazing. A side glance at her face, reflected in a mirror, showed me that she was weeping. I retired without being observed. She stayed a good while. When she brought me the seal, her eyes were red and her face very sober. She has looked more thoughtful than usual ever since. What does it mean?
"On opening the box afterwards, I found in it a note, in your hand-writing — the address was not given — but the note said, briefly — 'A friend restores them to you.' On the watch is engraved the word 'Lee.' Wasn't that her maiden name? There's something about this that I don't understand. Can you tell me what it means, father?
"Yesterday, a lady called to see Mrs. Bullfinch. She came in a handsome carriage, and was very richly dressed. She called Mrs. Bullfinch 'aunt,' and kissed her. Both shed tears at meeting. The lady remained a long time. When she went away, the face of Mrs. Bullfinch looked brighter than it had been for a long time. I asked her who the lady was, and she said that she was a niece of her husband's, who had, some years before, married a wealthy Southern merchant, and now resided at New Orleans. That it was twenty years since they had met.
"I have a good deal more to write about, but, must put it off until the next steamer. Good by, dear father. When are you coming home? Oh, how we long to see you once more. Love, Maggy."
Three months later.
Word had come that Mr. Wellford would be home in the next steamer. What joy there was in his household! Even little Harry caught the infection, and would clap his hands, and cry "Papa coming! Papa coming!" although his infantile memory held but a faint picture of his absent parent.
A close observer would have remarked a very decided change in the countenance and manner of Mrs. Bullfinch, after this news came. Her eyes had in them a different light, her cheeks flushed with a warmer hue, her voice was lower, and her air, at times, that of one whose thoughts dwelt not in the present. Far, very far was she from being at ease in her mind — far from thinking of the return of Mr. Wellford, unaffected by a personal interest. Earnestly had she striven to keep down every heart-throb born of old affections — to turn her thoughts away from the absent one, when his image came before her, as it would often come, with eyes that seemed gazing into her very soul. But all was in vain. He was her first and her only love — the polar star of her woman's life; and, now, when to think of him and to love him were no longer a sin, there was no power in earth strong enough to subdue her leaping pulses — to say to her heart — which trembled at the lowest whisper of his name, peace, be still!
It was time for the steamer to arrive, by which Mr. Wellford was to come home. Hourly his family were in expectation of news from New York, by telegraph, that he had reached that city, and would be with them in a few hours. All were on the tip-toe of expectation.
It was late in the afternoon, and Mrs. Bullfinch was alone with little Harry, who was in one of his playful and affectionate humors.
"Dear mamma!" he would say, as he entwined his arms tightly about her neck, and pressed his lips to hers. "Dear mamma! Aren't I your little dove? Aren't I your sweet darling? Papa coming home?"
"Dear papa!" said Mrs. Bullfinch, in a tender, affectionate tone.
"Yes, dear papa!" responded the child.
"You love him very much, don't you?"
"O yes; and I love you — sweet, good mamma!" And again the fond creature clasped her neck.
How little dreamed the waiting one — waiting with a heart so burdened with feeling, it had scarcely power to perform its office — that Henry Wellford had entered the room where she was sitting, and was a witness of this scene!
"Helen! Helen! Dear Helen!" he exclaimed, utterly unable to control himself and springing to her side, he drew his arms about her and his child, and clasped them together to his heart. Trembling and sobbing from excess of joy, she lay there, not making a motion to withdraw herself — she had no power for that — but shrinking closer and closer into his bosom.
"The long night is over — the trial past — dear Helen!" whispered Mr. Wellford, as he began to acquire some command over his feelings. "To my children, you have been faithful even as a mother. They love you as a mother. Be to me, as well as to them, the sunshine of life — the joy of our dwelling."
Slowly Helen raised her head, looked him for a moment, with glad eyes, in the face, and then buried it again in his bosom.
He was answered.
A few weeks later, and undying love found its long delayed consummation.
THE END.
Back to [[The Old Man's Bride]