Elsie's Widowhood

"Oh, cousin," Molly said to her one day when they were alone together in her beautiful boudoir, "I am so happy! my husband is so kind, so affectionate! I cannot understand how it is that he is so fond and even proud of me – helpless cripple that I am. But I have learned to be thankful even for that," she added, tears springing to her eyes, "because he says it was that that first drew his attention to me; and, strangely enough, his pity soon turned to admiration and love. Oh he has such a big, generous heart!"

"He has indeed!" Elsie said. "But, Molly dear, you underrate yourself. I do not wonder that he admires and is proud of your brave, cheerful courage under your hard trial, and of your talents and the name you are making for yourself as both a translator and original writer; I hope you will not give up your work entirely now that there is no pecuniary necessity for it, for I think it is bringing a blessing to yourself and to others."

"No, oh no; I shall not give it up while I can believe it is doing something for the Master's cause. Louis does not wish me to while I enjoy it, and I find he is just the critic I need to help me to improve. I had a letter from Virgie yesterday," she went on with a happy laugh, "congratulating me on being no longer compelled to work, yet pitying me because I am a stepmother."

"That does not trouble you?" Elsie said, inquiringly.

"Oh no! The boys, Louis and Fred, are so much like their father – seeming to love me all the better for my helplessness (by the way, Louis, my husband, says it is a positive delight to him to take me in his arms and lift me about) – and the baby girls are as lovely and dear as they can be. I wouldn't for anything part with one of the whole four."

"Dear child!" Elsie said, embracing her with full heart and eyes, "I am so glad, so happy for you that it is so! And how your mother and brother seem to enjoy your good fortunes!"

"Yes; Dick is such a dear fellow! and mother – really it is just a pleasure to see how she delights in it all. And I think she couldn't be fonder of the children if she were their own grandmother."

"How glad, how thankful I am that we came to Viamede this winter," Elsie said, after a moment's silent musing; "grandpa has so entirely recovered his health in consequence, a favorable opening has been found for Dick, and four other people are made happy in mutual love who might, perhaps, never have met otherwise – all this, beside dear Mrs. Carrington having the melancholy pleasure of nursing her poor nephew through his last illness. How true is the promise, 'In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.'"

"You take a very unselfish delight in other people's happiness, cousin," Molly remarked. "And Isa is very happy."

"Yes, and Cyril too," Elsie answered with a smile. "I sometimes think my Elsie half envies them – thinking of Lester so far away. But her turn will come too, I trust, poor, dear child!"

May was well advanced, the weather already very warm in the Teche country when at last our friends set out upon their return to their more northern homes.

Everything there was looking very lovely on their arrival. Friends, kindred and servants rejoiced over their return, all in good health.

Elsie and her children took up again the old, quiet life at Ion, missing Molly not a little, and feeling afresh, for a time, the absence of one far nearer and dearer.

Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore spent some weeks with their other children, then again made their home at Ion, at Elsie's urgent solicitation. In the loneliness of her widowhood she knew not how to do without her father.

In order to secure her cousin Elsie's presence at her wedding, Isa insisted upon a very quiet one, only relatives and very intimate friends to be invited to witness the ceremony; but to please her mother and Virginia, there was afterward a brilliant reception. The marriage took place the last of June, and the next two months were spent principally among Cyril's relatives at the North.

CHAPTER XVIII

"The sea! the sea! the open sea!
The blue, the fresh, the ever free!"

    – Proctor.

The summer vacation brought Edward Travilla home just in time for his cousin Isa's wedding. He had grown so manly and so like his father in appearance that at sight of him his mother was much overcome.

His first, his warmest, tenderest greeting was for her. He held her to his heart, his own too full for speech, while she wept upon his shoulder.

But only for a moment; lifting her head, she gazed long and searchingly into his face, then, with a sigh of relief, "Thank God," she whispered, "that I can believe my boy has come back to me as pure and innocent as he went!"

"I hope so, mother; your love, your teachings and my father's have been my safeguard in many an hour of temptation," he answered with emotion.

"Did you not seek help from above, my son?" she asked gently.

"Yes, mother; you had taught me to do so, and I knew that you, too, were daily seeking it for me."

"Yes, my dear boy; I think there was scarce a waking hour in which I did not ask a blessing on my absent son."

The mother dried her tears; grandparents, brothers and sisters drew near and embraced the lad, servants shook him by the hand, and Ion was filled with rejoicing as never before since the removal of its master and head.

Tongues ran nimbly as they sat about the tea-table and on the veranda afterward; so much had happened to the young collegian, so many changes had taken place in the family connection since he went away, that there was a great deal to tell and to hear on both sides.

The voices were blithe, and there was many a silvery peal of laughter mingled with the pleasant, cheery talk.

Isa's and Molly's matches were discussed in a most kindly way, for Edward was quite curious to hear all about them and the preparations for the approaching wedding.

Cyril had arrived earlier in the day, was taking tea at Roselands, but would pass the night at Ion, which Edward was glad to hear, as he wished to make his acquaintance.

A summer at the sea-shore had been decided upon some weeks ago, and Edward, to his great gratification, had been empowered to select a cottage for the family to occupy during the season, his Aunt Adelaide and her husband assisting him with their advice.

He announced with much satisfaction that he had secured one that he thought would accommodate them well – several guests in addition, if mamma cared to invite any of her friends – and please every one.

"It is large, convenient, well – even handsomely furnished – and but a few yards from the shore," he said. "The country is pretty about there, too – pleasant walks and drives through green lanes, fields and woods."

"But where is it, Edward?" asked Violet.

"Not far from Long Branch; and there are some half-dozen other sea-side places within easy driving distance."

There were exclamations of delight and impatience to be there from the younger ones, while the mother covered up with a smile and a few words of commendation to Edward the pain in her heart at the thought that her best beloved would not be with his wife and children beside the sea this summer, as in former years.

Her father and Rose were thinking of that, too, with deep sympathy for her.

In a moment the same thought presented itself to Edward and Violet, and they drew closer to their mother with loving, caressing looks and words. But memories of Lester, and their walks and talks together when last she was at the sea-shore, were filling the mind of the younger Elsie with emotions, half of pleasure, half of pain. When should they meet again? Then the sudden silence that had fallen upon the group about her mother, and a glance at that loved mother's face, reminded her also of the father who would return no more, and whose companionship had been so dear a delight to her and to them all.

It was Rosie who broke the silence at length; "Mamma, can we not go pretty soon?"

"Yes, daughter, in about a week."

The journey was made without accident, the cottage and its vicinity found to be all that Edward had represented.

They had brought some of their own servants with them, and had nothing to do with hotel or boarding-house life. Elsie had always loved the quiet and seclusion of home, and clung to it now, more than ever; yet for her children's sake she would not shut out society entirely; both Edward and his sisters were free to invite their young friends to partake of the hospitalities of their mother's house, but without noise or revelry, for which indeed, they themselves had no heart.

For a while the society of his mother and sisters was quite sufficient for Edward and his for them – they were all so strongly attached to each other and he had been so long away from home that it was very delightful to be together once more.

Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore were at that time visiting relatives in Philadelphia and its vicinity, and his grandfather's absence gave Edward the long coveted opportunity to try how nearly he could fill his father's place as his mother's earthly prop. It was a dear delight to have her lean upon his arm, rely upon his strength, consult him about business or family matters.

He was very proud and fond of his lovely sisters; prouder and fonder still of his sweet and beautiful mother. He quite longed to show her to all his college friends, yet would not for the world have her grief intruded upon by them with their thoughtless gayety.

During these weeks that they were entirely alone she gave herself up wholly to her children, seeking to secure to them the greatest possible amount of innocent enjoyment. No tasks were set, there was no attempt at regular employment, and almost the whole day was spent in the open air; together they sported in the surf, strolled on the beach, or sat in the sand revelling in the delicious sea breeze and the sight of the ever restless, ever changing, beautiful ocean, with its rolling, tumbling, dashing waves. They were there early in the morning, sometimes in season to watch the sun rise out of the water; and often again when the silvery moonlight lent its witchery to the scene.

But there came a day when the rain poured down so continuously and heavily that they were glad to take refuge from it in the house.

They gathered in a room overlooking the sea, the ladies with their fancy work, Rosie with her doll, while Harold and Herbert helped little Walter to build block houses, and Edward read aloud a story selected by the mother, as entertaining and at the same time pure and wholesome.

She was careful in choosing their mental food; she would no sooner have suffered her children's minds to be poisoned than their bodies.