A Romance of the Republic (1867)
Child, Lydia Maria Francis, 1802-1880
Table of Contents for this work | The entire work (965 KB)
CHAPTER IX.
ROSA was surprised at the long absence of her
sister;
and when the sun showed only a narrow golden edge
above the
horizon, she began to feel anxious. She went to
the kitchen and said,
"Tulee, have you seen anything of
Floracita lately? She went away while
I was sleeping."
"No, missy," she replied. "The last I see of her
was
in her room, with the embroidery-frame before her. She
was
looking out of the window, as she did sometimes, as if
she was looking
nowhere. She jumped up and hugged
and kissed me, and called me `Dear
Tulee, good Tulee.'
The little darling was always mighty loving. When
I
went there again, her needle was sticking in her work, and
her
thimble was on the frame, but she was gone. I don't
know when she went
away. Thistle's come back alone;
but he does that sometimes when little
missy goes ram-
bling round."
There was no uneasiness expressed in her tones,
but,
being more disquieted than she wished to acknowledge,
she went
forth to search the neighboring wood-paths and
the sea-shore. When she
returned, Rosa ran out with the
eager inquiry, "Is she anywhere in
sight?" In reply to
the negative answer, she said: "I don't know what
to make
of it. Have you ever seen anybody with Floracita since
we
came here?"
"Nobody but Massa Gerald," replied Tulee.
"I wonder whether she was discontented here,"
said
Rosa. "I don't see why she should be, for we all loved
her dearly; and Gerald was as kind to her as if she had
been his own sister. But she has n't seemed like herself
lately; and this forenoon she hugged and kissed me ever so
many times, and cried. When I asked her what was the
matter, she said she was thinking of the pleasant times
when Papasito querido was alive. Do you think she was
unhappy?"
"She told me once she was homesick for Madame
Guir-
lande," replied Tulee.
"Did she? Perhaps she was making so many things
for
Madame because she meant to go there. But she could n't
find her
way alone, and she knew it would be very danger-
ous for either of us
to go to New Orleans."
Tulee made no reply. She seated herself on a
wooden
bench by the open door, swinging her body back and forth
in
an agitated way, ever and anon jumping up and looking
round in all
directions. The veil of twilight descended
upon the earth, and darkness
followed. The two inmates
of the cottage felt very miserable and
helpless, as they sat
there listening to every sound. For a while
nothing was
heard but the dash of the waves, and the occasional
hoot-
ing of an owl. The moon rose up above the pines, and
flooded
earth and sea with silvery splendor.
"I want to go to the plantation and call Tom,"
said
Rosa; "and there is such bright moonshine we might go,
but I am
afraid Gerald would be displeased."
Tulee at once volunteered to bring out Thistle, and
to
walk beside her mistress.
Both started at the sound of footsteps. They were
not
light enough for Floracita, but they thought it might be
some
one bringing news. It proved to be the master of
the house.
"Why, Gerald, how glad I am! I thought you were
in
Savannah," exclaimed Rosa. "Have you seen anything
of
Floracita?"
"No. Is n't she here?" inquired he, in such a tone
of
surprise, that Tulee's suspicions were shaken.
Rosa repeated the story of her disappearance, and
con-
cluded by saying, "She told Tulee she was homesick to go
to
Madame."
"She surely would n't dare to do that," he replied.
"Massa Gerald," said Tulee, and she watched
him
closely while she spoke, "there's something I did n't tell
Missy
Rosy, 'cause I was feared it would worry her. I
found this little glove
of Missy Flory's, with a bunch of
sea-weed, down on the beach; and
there was marks of her
feet all round."
Rosa uttered a cry. "O heavens!" she exclaimed,
"I
saw an alligator a few days ago."
An expression of horror passed over his face.
"I've
cautioned her not to fish so much for shells and
sea-mosses,"
said he; "but she was always so self-willed."
"Don't say anything against the little
darling!" im-
plored Rosa. "Perhaps we shall never see her again."
He spoke a few soothing words, and then took his
hat,
saying, "I am going to the sea-shore."
"Take good care of yourself, dear Gerald!"
cried
Rosa.
"No danger 'bout that," muttered Tulee, as she
walked
out of hearing. "There's things with handsomer mouths
than
alligators that may be more dangerous. Poor little
bird! I wonder where
he has put her."
His feelings as he roamed on the beach were not to
be
envied. His mind was divided between the thoughts that
she had committed suicide, or had been drowned acciden-
tally. That she had escaped from his persecutions by flight
he could not believe; for he knew she was entirely unused
to taking care of herself, and felt sure she had no one to
help her. He returned to say that the tide had washed
away the footprints, and that he found no vestige of the
lost one.
At dawn he started for the plantation, whence,
after
fruitless inquiries, he rode to the Welby estate. Mrs.
Del-
ano had requested the household servants not to mention
having
seen a small young lady there, and they had nothing
to communicate.
He resolved to start for New Orleans as soon as
possible.
After a fortnight's absence he returned, bringing
grieved
and sympathizing letters from the Signor and Madame;
and on
the minds of all, except Tulee, the conviction set-
tled that Floracita
was drowned. Hope lingered long
in her mind. "Wherever the little pet
may be, she 'll
surely contrive to let us know," thought she. "She
ain't
like the poor slaves when they 're carried off. She
can
write." Her mistress talked with her every day about the
lost
darling; but of course such suspicions were not to be
mentioned to her.
Gerald, who disliked everything mourn-
ful, avoided the subject
entirely; and Rosabella, looking
upon him only with the eyes of love,
considered it a sign
of deep feeling, and respected it accordingly.
But, blinded as she was, she gradually became
aware
that he did not seem exactly like the same man who first
won
her girlish love. Her efforts to please him were not
always successful.
He was sometimes moody and fretful.
He swore at the slightest
annoyance, and often flew into
paroxysms of anger with Tom and Tulee.
He was more
and more absent from the cottage, and made few profes-
sions of regret for such frequent separations. Some weeks
after Flora's disappearance, he announced his intention to
travel in the North during the summer months. Rosa-
bella looked up in his face with a pleading expression, but
pride prevented her from asking whether she might ac-
company him. She waited in hopes he would propose it;
but as he did not even think of it, he failed to interpret
the look of disappointment in her expressive eyes, as she
turned from him with a sigh.
"Tom will come with the carriage once a week,"
said
he; "and either he or Joe will be here every night."
"Thank you," she replied.
But the tone was so sad that he took her hand with
the
tenderness of former times, and said, "You are sorry to
part
with me, Bella Rosa?"
"How can I be otherwise than sorry," she
asked,
"when I am all alone in the world without you? Dear
Gerald,
are we always to live thus? Will you never ac-
knowledge me as your
wife?"
"How can I do it," rejoined he, "without putting
myself
in the power of those cursed creditors? It is no fault
of
mine that your mother was a slave."
"We should be secure from them in Europe," she
re-
plied. "Why could n't we live abroad?"
"Do you suppose my rich uncle would leave me a
cent
if he found out I had married the daughter of a quad-
roon?"
rejoined he. "I have met with losses lately, and
I can't afford to
offend my uncle. I am sorry, dear, that
you are dissatisfied with the
home I have provided for
you."
"I am not dissatisfied with my home," said she. "I
have
and these separations are dreadful."
His answer was: "I will write often, dearest, and I
will
send you quantities of new music. I shall always be look-
ing
forward to the delight of hearing it when I return.
You must take good
care of your health, for my sake. You
must go ambling about with
Thistle every day."
The suggestion brought up associations that
overcame
her at once. "O how Floracita loved Thistle!" she
ex-
claimed. "And it really seems as if the poor beast misses
her. I
am afraid we neglected her too much, Gerald.
We were so taken up with
our own happiness, that we
did n't think of her so much as we ought to
have done."
"I am sure I tried to gratify all her wishes,"
responded
he. "I have nothing to reproach myself with, and
cer-
tainly you were always a devoted sister. This is a morbid
state
of feeling, and you must try to drive it off. You
said a little while
ago that you wanted to see how the plan-
tation was looking, and what
flowers had come out in the
garden. Shall I take you there in the
barouche to-mor-
row?"
She gladly assented, and a few affectionate words
soon
restored her confidence in his love.
When the carriage was brought to the entrance of
the
wood the next day, she went to meet it with a smiling face
and a
springing step. As he was about to hand her in, he
said abruptly, "You
have forgotten your veil."
Tulee was summoned to bring it. As Rosa arranged
it
round her head, she remarked, "One would think you were
ashamed
of me, Gerald."
The words were almost whispered, but the tone
sounded
more like a reproach than anything she had ever
uttered.
With ready gallantry he responded aloud, "I think so
much of my treasure that I want to keep it all to myself."
He was very affectionate during their drive; and
this,
combined with the genial air, the lovely scenery, and
the
exhilaration of swift motion, restored her to a greater
sense of
happiness than she had felt since her darling sis-
ter vanished so
suddenly.
The plantation was in gala dress. The veranda was
al-
most covered with the large, white, golden-eyed stars of
the
Cherokee rose, gleaming out from its dark, lustrous foliage.
The
lawn was a sheet of green velvet embroidered with
flowers. Magnolias
and oaks of magnificent growth orna-
mented the extensive grounds. In
the rear was a cluster
of negro huts. Black picaninnies were rolling
about in the
grass, mingling their laughter with the songs of the
birds.
The winding paths of the garden were lined with
flowering
shurbs, and the sea sparkled in the distance. Wherever
the
eye glanced, all was sunshine, bloom, and verdure.
For the first time, he invited her to enter the
mansion.
Her first movement was toward the piano. As she opened
it,
and swept her hand across the keys, he said: "It is
sadly out of tune.
It has been neglected because its own-
er had pleasanter music
elsewhere."
"But the tones are very fine," rejoined she. "What
a
pity it should n't be used!" As she glanced out of the
window on
the blooming garden and spacious lawn, she
said: "How pleasant it would
be if we could live here!
It is so delightful to look out on such an
extensive
open space."
"Perhaps we will some time or other, my love,"
re-
sponded he.
She smiled, and touched the keys, while she
sang
snatches of familiar songs. The servants who brought in
refreshments wondered at her beauty, and clear, ringing
voice. Many dark faces clustered round the crack of the
door to obtain a peep; and as they went away they ex-
changed nudges and winks with each other. Tom and
Chloe had confidentially whispered to some of them the ex-
istence of such a lady, and that Tulee said Massa married
her in the West Indies; and they predicted that she would
be the future mistress of Magnolia Lawn. Others gave it
as their opinion, that Massa would never hide her as he
did if she was to be the Missis. But all agreed that she
was a beautiful, grand lady, and they paid her homage ac-
cordingly. Her cheeks would have burned to scarlet flame
if she had heard all their comments and conjectures; but
unconscious of blame or shame, she gave herself up to the
enjoyment of those bright hours.
A new access of tenderness seemed to have come
over
Fitzgerald; partly because happiness rendered her beauty
more
radiant, and partly because secret thoughts that were
revolving in his
mind brought some twinges of remorse.
He had never seemed more
enamored, not even during the
first week in Nassau, when he came to
claim her as his
bride. Far down in the garden was an umbrageous
walk,
terminating in a vine-covered bower. They remained
there a
long time, intertwined in each other's arms, talking
over the memories
of their dawning consciousness of love,
and singing together the
melodies in which their voices had
first mingled.
Their road home was through woods and groves
fes-
tooned with vines, some hanging in massive coils, others
light
and aerial enough for fairy swings; then over the
smooth beach, where
wave after wave leaped up and
tossed its white foam-garland on the shore. The sun
was sinking in a golden sea, and higher toward the zenith
little gossamer clouds blushingly dissolved in the brilliant
azure, and united again, as if the fragrance of roses had
floated into form.
When they reached the cottage, Rosa passed through
the
silent little parlor with swimming eyes, murmuring to her-
self:
"Poor little Floracita! how the sea made me think
of her. I ought not
to have been so happy."
But memory wrote the record of that halcyon day
in
illuminated manuscript, all glowing with purple and gold,
with
angel faces peeping through a graceful network of
flowers.