The Story of a Summer Part 2

"Nice soup," she said, in the most injured tones; "King of Sweden think excellent, but Miss no like it."

It was, however, too late to make another soup, so we consoled ourselves with the thought that a king approved of it, and we would show a plebeian taste if we did not also appreciate it. However, some wry faces were made over the unlucky soup at the table, and the King of Sweden's taste was the subject of much merriment.

I was somewhat sceptical at first that Lina had ever been in the royal household at Stockholm, notwithstanding that she did cook so admirably; but she managed yesterday evening to tell me, in her broken English, about her residence in the palace.

It seems that inexperienced cooks can, by paying a certain sum, be admitted into the royal kitchen to learn from the chief cook. After they have perfected themselves in their profession, they receive wages, and upon leaving, are presented with a diploma. Why could not a somewhat similar inst.i.tution--omitting the sovereign--become practicable in our own country? Both housekeepers and newspapers groan over the frightful cooking of our Bridgets; Professor Blot lectures upon the kitchen scientifically and artistically considered, and our fas.h.i.+onable ladies go to his cla.s.ses to play at cooking; but the novelty soon wears off, and home matters continue as badly as ever.

I do not know if the President would consent to imitate the Swedish sovereign, by throwing open the kitchen of the White House in the same liberal fas.h.i.+on, but surely he ought to be willing to make some sacrifices for the common good--perhaps even to submit occasionally to a dinner spoilt by the experiments of young apprentices to the culinary art. Three months' training ought to suffice to make a very good cook, and with a diploma from the White House, situations would be plentiful, wages higher than ever, and employers would have the satisfaction of knowing that their money was not thrown away.

_June 11_.

We may pa.s.s some sad hours at Chappaqua this summer, but I do not think we shall suffer from _ennui_--that is, if the startling events of the past week are to be repeated often during the summer.

I have already spoken of the escaped convict whom we saw in the gra.s.s the other day. It is unnecessary to say that we carefully barricaded our doors that night; for, in case of danger, our situation would not be a cheerful one--a household of seven helpless women, save during papa's weekly visit, and Bernard, our only protector, asleep in the side-hill house. Our precautions, however, were superfluous; the convict did not favor us with a visit, but something far more thrilling than the loss of the family silver was in store for us.

Dear Ida has received since last fall scores of letters from, I think, every State in the Union, and even from Europe, from people of whom she had never heard before, and upon all sorts of subjects. Some of her correspondents are interested in her spiritual, others in her temporal, welfare; some advise change of air as beneficial after her affliction, and alternately she is offered a home in Colorado and Maine. But such letters form the exception; usually the writer has a favor to request.

The most modest of the pet.i.tions are for Ida's autograph or photograph, while others request loans of different sums from units to thousands.

She is occasionally informed that the writer has a baby named Ida Greeley, and it is intimated that a present from the G.o.dmother would be acceptable. Again she is asked to a.s.sist in building a church, or to clothe and educate some poor girl--her own cast-off wardrobe of colored clothes will be accepted, the writer graciously says, although new dresses would be preferable.

One letter dated Lebanon is chiefly upon the virtues of a _lucky stone_, which the writer will as a great favor sell to Miss Greeley for twenty-five dollars. All further misfortune will, she says, be averted from Ida if she becomes its owner; the stone is especially recommended as beneficial in love-affairs, and, the writer kindly adds, it is not to be taken internally.

Another letter is from the mother of a young invalid girl, begging Miss Greeley, whom she knows by report to be very wealthy and charitably inclined, to make her daughter a present of a melodeon, as music, she thinks, might help to pa.s.s away the tedious hours of illness.

Sometimes Ida is solicited to open a correspondence for the improvement of her unknown friend, or to dispose of some one's literary wares, while offers of marriage from her unseen admirers are of almost daily occurrence. I think I would not exaggerate in saying she might reckon by the bushel these letters, written generally in very questionable grammar, and worse chirography. In very few instances has she ever replied to them, for they have been usually from people possessing so little claim upon her, that the favors they so boldly requested could only be viewed in the light of impertinence.

One letter, couched in somewhat enigmatical terms, was dated from Baltimore, and was explicit upon one point only--that it was the manifest will of Providence that Ida should marry him--S. M. Hudson.

We read the letter together, laughed a little over it, and threw it into the waste basket. Time pa.s.sed, and we came out here. Ida was greeted upon her arrival by another letter from the mysterious Hudson, who, not at all discomfited by the cool reception, of his proposal, addressed her as his future wife, and announced that he had come on from Baltimore to marry her, that he was now in New York, and would wait there to hear from her.

"The man is certainly crazy!" exclaimed Marguerite.

"Indeed he is!" said mamma, reading his rambling sentences very slowly: "I should judge him to be perfectly insane, and I only hope he will not come out here to pay his _fiancee_ a visit."

"You know he requests me to send him funds to defray his expenses, Aunt Esther," said Ida quietly; "perhaps the lack of money will avert such a calamity."

"What an unromantic conclusion to a love-letter!" said Gabrielle scornfully.

The conversation turned to the depredations of the neighbors and neighbors' children upon the property. "Mr. Greeley's place" had always been looked upon in the light of public property, and intruders walked and drove through the grounds quite as a matter of course, and helped themselves freely to whatever they liked in the floral, fruit, or vegetable line. The young ladies, however, decided that they had submitted to such conduct quite long enough, and we sent to Sing Sing for some printed handbills warning trespa.s.sers off the place.

Two or three days pa.s.sed, and we had entirely forgotten Ida's erratic admirer, when Gabrielle returned from a morning walk with the information that an intoxicated man was sitting upon the steps of the side-hill house. She met mamma and Ida starting for a little stroll, and communicated this unpleasant news to them. Mamma, however, is not timid, and she walked on with Ida, determined to view the invader from afar, and then summon Bernard to dismiss him.

A figure was sitting, as Gabrielle said, upon the piazza of the new house, but was so motionless that Ida exclaimed laughingly:

"It is a scarecrow placed there by some one in retaliation for our notice to trespa.s.sers to keep off the grounds."

As they pa.s.sed it, however, the scarecrow slowly lifted its head and addressed them with:

"Is this Mr. Greeley's place?"

"Yes," said mamma.

"And is this young lady Miss Ida?"

"Yes."

"You have received, I believe, a few letters from me, Miss Ida: my name is Hudson."

Fortunately our family are not of a fainting disposition, for a _tete-a-tete_ with a lunatic was a situation requiring some nerve and perfect self-control; so, although mamma and Ida were much alarmed upon learning the name of their visitor, they neither screamed nor fainted, and mamma invited him quite courteously to walk up to the house.

Mr. Hudson was a tall, powerful man, with cunning, restless, gray eyes, was well dressed, and wore a linen duster. He had come, he said, seven hundred miles to see Ida. Upon reaching the house, he followed mamma into the dining-room where Marguerite, Gabrielle, and I were sitting at work.

"Ah, Miss Gabrielle!" he said, "I supposed you were at school."

One or two other rational remarks of the sort, and mamma's perfect _sang-froid_ so deceived me that I decided the supposed lunatic must be perfectly sane. In a moment, however, he looked somewhat uneasy, and said:

"I have a long story to tell your niece, ma'am, but I feel a little bashful about speaking before so many young ladies."

"Would you like to see me alone, then?" said mamma promptly; "you would not object to telling your story to a married woman."

Then signing to us to leave the room, she followed us to the door, and _breathing_ rather than whispering, "Run for Bernard," returned.

It appears that the man grew more excitable when alone with mamma, and the story he told her was not a cheerful one to hear.

"It began," he said, "five years ago, by my father cutting his throat with a razor. They say he was crazy, and," with a fiendish chuckle, "some people say I am crazy too."

"Indeed!" said mamma, sympathetically, "how sad!"

"This we may call the first scene in the story," he added, although what connection there was between suicide and his proposed marriage with Ida, poor mamma could not imagine.

I could half fill my journal with the rambling, senseless, and menacing remarks that Hudson made to mamma, adding emphasis to his discourse by whirling a pair of very long and sharp scissors close to her eyes (he was further armed with two razors, we subsequently learnt). Ida, he said, first appeared to him in a vision--a beautiful young girl in distress, who appealed to him for aid, but some one seemed to stand between them--a tall woman dressed as a Sister of Charity (evidently mamma, in her mourning dress and long c.r.a.pe veil). He then enlarged upon the awful punishment that inevitably overtook those who opposed the Will of Providence (i.e., his marriage with Ida): death by some violent means being unavoidable. At this point, the scissors were whirled more excitedly than ever, and Hudson's eyes glared with rage.

I need not say that mamma feared every moment would be her last; but still preserving a calm exterior, she never took her eyes off him for an instant, and merely remarking, "It is quite warm here; shall we not sit upon the piazza?" accompanied him there, and sat down close beside him, that he might not suspect she feared him. The moments seemed endless until Bernard's heavy tread was heard upon the kitchen stairs.

"Excuse me a moment," said mamma, with a most innocent face; and in an interview of _half_ a minute explained to Bernard that Hudson was a dangerous lunatic who must be taken away immediately; then waiting till the valorous Bernard was safely out on the piazza, she unceremoniously shut and locked the door. Hudson, apparently much surprised at such inhospitable conduct, pulled the door-bell half a dozen times. When he was quite wearied with his exertions, Bernard suggested that they should take a little walk together. Much coaxing was requisite, for Hudson was quite determined to effect an entrance; but finally Bernard took his arm, and bore him off to the tavern.

"I had much more to say to Mrs. Cleveland," he remarked, _en route_, "but I fear it has already been too much for her nerves."

At the tavern, Bernard found a constable, who immediately arrested the unhappy victim of misplaced affection, and telegraphed to Mount Kisco for a magistrate. Then ensued endless hours of waiting. Mamma lay upon the sofa whiter than any ghost, now that the strain upon her nerves was relaxed, and Mrs. L----, a loquacious neighbor, ran in from time to time with reports of what people were saying, and how the prisoner looked and felt.

At 7 P.M. the magistrate, Mr. Clarence Hyatt, arrived, and we all went down to the improvised court-house in the tavern. Ida and mamma were shown into a private room, where Mr. Hyatt, a very polite and agreeable gentleman, took their affidavits before they were confronted with the enemy. The news had by this time spread far and near, and all Chappaqua was a.s.sembled. The wildest reports were now circulated, to the effect that Hudson had pointed a pistol at Ida, and vowed to kill her instantly if she did not promise to marry him, and mamma and Ida were advised to keep their veils down, that he might not become familiar with their faces, and to remain at a respectful distance from him.

Hudson was sitting between two constables, and was being inspected by a large crowd. He looked very quiet, and upon listening to the affidavits, remarked that Mr. Hyatt must have misunderstood the ladies, for he was perfectly incapable of having alarmed them to the extent indicated; that he certainly admired Miss Ida, and desired to marry her, but that he would not willingly injure or alarm the humblest creature--adding reproachfully that those affidavits would suffice to condemn him to State prison for life. He appeared so perfectly rational and calm, that the magistrate was perfectly dumbfoundered, and for the moment thought him sane; and even we commenced to reproach ourselves, and doubt which was the insane party.

"Well," said Mr. Hyatt, "I will now hear your story."

"I will read it to you," said Hudson, drawing a book from his pocket, and then commenced again the same incoherent nonsense with which he had already favored mamma. The object now was to show the chain of evidence that pointed out Ida as his bride. The most important link was the fact that he had once seen a flock of white geese sailing through the air. He put up his finger, and one fluttered down to him; and as G stood both for goose and Greeley, it was a clear manifestation of the Divine Will (at this point, the audience burst into a roar of laughter). Besides, he liked our family, we suited him in every respect; and especially because we so much reminded him of John the Baptist (we inwardly hoped that the resemblance would not extend to decapitation). If Miss Greeley would not marry him, he kindly added, he would take her cousin Marguerite instead, but he must positively marry one of the family. He was now perfectly wild, and when he remarked, with a reproachful glance at Ida, that he disliked _ko-kwettes_, and liked a girl who would say in answer to an offer, "Yes sir-ee," or "No sir-ee," the magistrate brought the evidence to a conclusion. He gave him to the constable to be taken to the county jail, where he was to be detained until the Court sat, if, in the meantime, his relatives did not appear from Ma.s.sachusetts to claim him (for his place of residence varied--at first Baltimore, then Michigan, it was now Ma.s.sachusetts).

Hudson spent the night at the tavern, and appeared at times so rational, that he was not strictly guarded; consequently, when the constable looked for him after breakfast, the bird had flown. He was instantly followed, and discovered walking on the railway track about two miles off, swinging his little bundle quite unconcernedly. In reply to the questions of his captors, he said that he had just intended to make a little circuit about the country, and then return to marry Ida. He is now, thank fortune, safely lodged _in jail_.